Free The Wicked Confessions of Lady Cecelia Stanton by Viveka Portman Page A

notion of my husband rutting someone else did not seem quite so distressing as intriguing. I wanted to see him, I realised dimly. I wanted to see his face contort with passion. I wanted to see his cock spear another, whilst I hid, and watched.
    I realised then that Brentwood’s assumption of me might indeed be correct. I was not only wickedly afflicted by unnatural desires for another woman, but I am also a depraved voyeur.
    ‘Bend over that lounge there, girl,’ William ordered and I could hear the amusement ring in his voice. ‘Ah. Yes. A man likes to see a round rump in the air like that. He does.’
    My innards convulsed with excitement and inwardly I tried to chastise myself for such wickedness. But I have never been good at self-castigation. No, I have ever been one of a decidedly practical mind. It is true that most in my situation would have been repulsed, vexed and otherwise made unfairly miserable by what was occurring. Not I, however, and I say this with some pride. If anything it shows a strength of character and resilience. Though I shall refuse to be ashamed of my alleged unusual desires, they are not something I’d like to be made public knowledge!
    ‘Milord,’ came the unmistakeable voice of Nancy, my wet nurse. ‘Someone might find us…’
    ‘So?’ I heard William retort. ‘I’m a man of substantial appetites, girl. God above, it’s been nigh on six months since I’ve had my own wife! Why I’m as toey as a Roman sandal! I care naught for discovery. But would that I could have Ceecee where you are right now, girl. I’d paddle her arse pink for looking at me as she does. All accusations and hurt. If she only knew how much I wanted her.’
    If only he knew how much I wanted him.
    Nancy giggled. ‘But you got me here instead, milord. You can paddle my rump raw if you like.’
    Her voice irked me, and I wished for a moment that I could smack the ungrateful wretch.
    Astonishingly perhaps, came the distinct sound of a smack of hand on flesh.
    ‘You’ve been a naughty girl, Nancy!’ William growled, passion made his voice thick.
    The slapping of skin sung out through the room once more.
    I found my skirts being moistened by intense arousal. I wished I were the one smacking her flesh.
    ‘My lord!’ Nancy gave a cry.
    The sound of a hand hitting flesh echoed again.
    My thighs grew slick. I again attempted to inwardly chastise myself for feeling such rude excitement, but instantly failed and found my hand swiftly and silently lifting my own skirts to find my wet heat. As my fingers sought my secret, dewy inner lips, I silently thanked Bess for her artful tutelage.
    ‘You know what happens when my maids break something, don’t you, Nancy?’ I heard William growl. ‘Do you, Nancy?’ he repeated.
    ‘Yes.’ Her answer was quiet.
    I wanted to see beyond the curtains then. I wanted to witness with mine own eyes my husband’s amorous reprimand of our recalcitrant wet nurse. I wondered briefly what she had broken, but my wonder faded into lustful dreaming as my husband growled again.
    ‘What do I do to naughty maids who break things? What do I do, Nancy?’
    My fingers danced over the rigid nub betwixt my legs and I shuddered.
    ‘You spank them my, lord.’ The servant’s voice was tremulous.
    Another high-pitched slap rang through the room. On this occasion however, Nancy moaned and the sound echoed the pure longing I felt myself.
    ‘You want my cock in you too, Nancy?’
    I could scarce even hear Nancy’s muffled, pleasure soaked answer.
    My fingers moved quicker and in repeated fashion across the slickened folds of my sex. Desperate now, I leaned forward to try and peer between the curtains.
    ‘Naughty Nancy!’ William laughed and gave the wet nurse’s buttocks a firm crack with his hand.
    Through the thin gap, I struggled to maintain focus. Nancy was bent rudely over the arm of our Grecian couch. Her head was buried in the cushions, her hair dishevelled. It was however my husband that