Edward Wallingham-Finch is an aristocratic connoisseur of sexual perversions, residing in baronial splendor at Rosedale Manor. At his side is his wife, the lovely Lady Penelope. Invited for a weekend visit, his friend James is amazed to discover that the Mistress of Rosedale is as cool and haughty as she is beautiful. James first sees her, and her equally appealing friend, Fiona, as the alluring females head to the showers following a vigorous game of tennis. When Edward finally makes the introductions, Lady Penelope defies James' first impressions of the elegant lady. Despite her cool demeanor and natural reticence, she proves to be quite submissive to her husband and his demands. James is further surprised when Penelope begins to strip away her tennis clothes in his company, while urging her friend to do the same. When the two finally retreat to the showers, Edward takes James to a room adjacent to the bath, where, though a one-way glass, they watch the females in the shower, feasting on each other's bodies until they arrive at an explosive end.
Penelope continues to be a study in contradictions. Though she protests Edward's brazen sexual advances in front of James, she soon reveals herself to be an insatiable woman whose lustful demands know no bounds. While she has a natural inclination to dominate, it's only when she's made to submit that she turns into a sexual tigress. She likes to crawl before a man and she likes it rough. When Edward gives her to James for the weekend, while he's off to the city with Fiona, James will see just how far the lovely female will go to please him.
A masterfully told tale by one of erotic fiction's finest authors. The skillfully drawn scenes of sex and sexual submission include bondage, restraint, casual nudity, exhibitionism, voyeurism, live sex shows, paddles, rules, punishment, brief F/m and graphic sex--straight, oral, anal and lesbian.
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June 21, 2010
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Excerpt from The Mistress of Rosedale by Don Winslow
Don Winslow is an internationally best selling writer, with some 20 books of erotic fiction to his credit including: The Ironwood Series, Slave Girls of Rome, Winslow's Victorian Erotica, and most recently from Pink Flamingo Agents In Harm's Way. Hollis Compton, critic for New Age Publications, has called Don Winslow "the Maxfield Parrish of erotic fiction."
I heard the solid "CLUNK" of riding boots on the wooden floor of the stable and glanced at my watch...3PM...right on time. The door opened, and there she was! A quiet thrill ran through me as I realized she had done as I said dressing in her trim riding outfit; creamy, buff-colored jodhpurs tucked into sleek, knee-high riding boots, that neatly-cut jacket, tapering, waist-hugging and fawn-colored, worn over a crisp white blouse.
She looked magnificent as she stood in the doorway, short hair brushed back, one hand on a hip, blue eyes hard, bright and alert, and a wicked smile played along the edges of her lips as she took in the sight of me sitting there with folded arms. Her widened eyes took in my open shirt, my chest, and I watched her gaze drop to the front of my tight jeans. I noted the look of frank approval.
"Edward tells me you wanted to do a little riding," she teased in a low sexy voice. Her superior smirk infuriated me.
"Close the door," I muttered, tight-lipped, my eyes meeting hers, without expression. I made no move towards her but kept my seat, sitting there with folded arms, my legs well parted, watching her.
Penelope pulled the door shut and, turning to me with an even broader smile, a look of triumph as she started for me.
"No! Stay right where you are!" I stopped her in her tracks. She froze, a little uncertain; a flicker of annoyance crossed her brow.
"Wha...?" she began.
Her eyebrows arched up, and her lips parted. But she said nothing, simply shrugged with bored indifference. Perhaps it was dawning on her ladyship that the sex she wanted would not, this time, be on her own terms? Looking a bit bored, she nonchalantly removed her riding jacket and hung it on a nearby peg.
Penelope turned to look at me; and, for the first time, I saw something new in those big blue eyes. It was a curious softness that seemed to suffuse through her, as her hands went dutifully to the collar of the white blouse. I watched those exquisite hands make their way down the front of the blouse, pull it free of the snug pants, undo each cuff, and slipped the loose blouse back off her shoulders, hanging it up with the jacket, her eyes avoiding mine all the while.
Now the attractive blonde stood before me, bared to the hips, but for a narrow brassiere of shiny metallic bronze banding her long torso: flimsy lingerie of thin straps and small cups, opaque and glossy cups, into which her sexy tits nestled with a tight, cuddly bulge. You could feel the sexual tension as Lady Penelope stood there in her bra, and I studied the short pale hair on her lowered head, and marveled at the way she had so suddenly become submissive. I wondered what was going through that blonde head at that moment.
"Look at me." My voice was calm and even. "I want you looking into my eyes while you're taking your clothes off," I instructed, determined to keep my composure; my voice, steady and cool.
The blonde head came up, and I found myself staring into those light blue eyes once more; inquisitive eyes, that were, perhaps, growing just a bit apprehensive. I knew this was not quite what the lady had expected. The haughty smirk was gone; Penelope's lips pressed together in a thin tight line. She stood facing me with her hands at her sides. Slender fingers played with a hint of nervousness along the seams of her billowing trousers. I resisted the smile that tried to force itself on me.
I nodded my permission. "Go on, and keep looking at me," I reminded her.
The beautiful blonde was looking deep into my eyes, as she moved like some lovely automaton, reaching up behind, blindly feeling for the catch of the bra, undoing it, and delicately peeling the ribbon-like shoulder straps down each shoulder only to gather up the sagging cups while baring those precocious little tits. She twisted around to drape the flimsy contraption over the peg, and then turned back to face me, standing at loose attention, chin held high, her arms hanging at her sides. My eyes caressed the delicate contours of her exposed breasts: small, firm, and pertly-mounded; perky tits capped with a crinkled aureole of soft coral. The topless blonde watched me staring at her breasts, saw the hungry look in my eyes; her lips curled in a knowing, wicked smirk as she regained a sense of her own seductive power. I felt a surge of anger at her brazen audacity of the woman.
"Now, get down...on the floor."
"On the floor! But, really, James, it's all dusty and...,"
"Do it! On your knees, woman!"
The magnificent blonde hesitated. My anger was more apparent than real, but I wanted to give her the impression that I was in no mood to be trifled with. I would have this proud woman's absolute obedience.
"Get down...on...your..knees," I repeated each word carefully enunciated when she didn't move fast enough.
The bare-breasted blonde stood regarding me, and I could swear I saw a new respect creep into those lovely eyes. Her tongue peeked out to quickly wet her lips, but she said not a word. I waited, acutely tense, scarcely daring to breathe, desperately hoping she would obey, terrified she might turn on her heel, or even worse...laugh at me. Looking into those big blue eyes, I waited in agony for those long seconds to pass.
And then, she did it. She moved. Holding herself perfectly erect, that exquisite blonde woman slowly lowered herself to kneel on the dusty floorboards. I was jubilant. She was mine!
"Now, I want you to come over here." She looked perplexed and started to rise. "No! Don't get up. Down on hands and knees. You are to come to me on hands and knees. Crawl!"
The kneeling girl opened her mouth as if to speak but seemed to think better of it. She seemed ready to try again, took a deep breath; but, before she could say anything, I gave her a look of cold determination, making it clear to her, that I would brook no nonsense.
Penelope's lower lip curled in, and she bit down on it with small white teeth. Then she acquiesced. She fell forward onto her hands to crawl across the dirty wooden planks. I watched her naked breasts dangling down, elongating into pointy tit-bags, which swayed and moved seductively beneath her lithe torso as she made her way forward, moving like a big blonde cat.
She crawled to the place I pointed to, just between my parted legs, and stopped there, drawing back her head to look up at me. Her expectant face was placed just inches from my crotch. I couldn't help smiling as I looked down the blonde head that waited with docile submission between my thighs. Now, feeling much more confident, I made her kneel up, straightening her back, and throwing back her shoulders. I noticed the way Penelope's delightful breasts shifted and settled with a liquid jiggle, until the firm globes sat there, rising and falling with her even breathing, crying out to be touched. My palms were damp and my throat was dry. I tried to control my breathing.
Scarcely trusting my voice, I had her reach up, place her hands on the back on her neck, hold that pose. Without comment, she did as she was told, assuming the pose that raised those poignant breasts to even greater prominence while her startling blue eyes watched me with a new appreciation.
Inanely pleased to see her on her knees, I couldn't help smiling down at her as I reached down to fondle the choice tits of the sophisticated Lady Penelope as she knelt at my feet, arched back held rigid. Her delicate lashes fluttered down, and her lids closed dreamily in anticipation of my touch. I let my fingertips glide down one of the little slopes, following the curve, slipping up and under the tuck to cup that delicate weight and flop it about on my curved fingertips. I savored the pleasing feel of fingering that silky smooth tittie-flesh between my fingers, fondling her expansively, savoring the feel of her right tit, until Penelope, still trying to hold herself rigid, began to respond in spite of herself, straining back and arching up even further, twisting her shoulders helplessly as I lavishly played with her small, close-set bosom. Her eyes closed as she savored the feeling of having her breasts fondled so lavishly.
"Look at me." Much as I tried, I couldn't keep the growing excitement from my voice. I licked my lips. My half-risen erection was painful, having been caught up in my jeans. As my hand played with her, I looked into her eyes. Big and blue and they had become curiously vacant, as I slowly rubbed the pad of my thumb over a rubbery nipple, tweaking the emerging nubbin, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. The blonde lashes fluttered, and the girl let out a long, shivering breath as, using both hands now, I pinched and pulled on those sensate tips, twisting the pliant flesh, testing that firm elasticity until a twinge of pain shot across that high, smooth brow, and she sucked in a sharp, hissing gasp of air. Through hooded eyes she watched my hands while I cupped two neat handfuls of that soft lovely flesh, closed my curled fingers, squeezed and twisted, roughly mauling her captive breasts while Penelope bit down on her curled lower lip and grunted, eyes clenched tight against the sweet hurt.
"You like this don't you, you bitch? You like it rough...Go on, say it!" I demanded, with sudden vehemence.
"Ooooohh...yessssss..." she hissed through clenched teeth, "Ohmygod...yessss, yes, yes, I love it! Do it. Do it to me." Her plea trailed off into a low and throaty moan.
I let her go with a vicious twist of my wrist, and Penelope swayed forward, almost toppled. She shivered with arousal, shoulders heaving as she knelt with bowed head, panting deeply; reddened breasts undulating in deep juddering swells. The ripe nipples were clearly distended now, the responsive tips stood out, stiffened and taut with arousal.
The powerful urge to jump on her threatened to overwhelm me, but I forced myself to move slowly. Taking my time, I looked down on the girl at my feet, watching her breasts rise and fall as her breathing evened out. Then I got up and, leaving her kneeling in front of the chair, I went to the workbench. When I sat back down again, I had a handful of harness leather with me which I held up squarely in front of her eyes.
"Wha...What are you going to do?" she breathed in a voice that had gone suddenly husky.
"I'm going to do whatever I want to do to you, and you're going to do whatever I tell you to do. Exactly what I tell you. Do I make myself clear?"
The kneeling blonde, swaying with eyes closed, took a breath and dumbly nodded her acquiescence. I let her kneel there in silence, bare-breasted, waiting for me to begin, her body tense with anticipation, her labored breathing audible in the quiet room. Her tongue slithered out to nervously moisten her lips.