Dirty Aristocrat

By: Georgia Le Carre



Music crashed and lights flashed around us while she rode my hand. She didn’t last long. The heat. The music. The audience. She climaxed all over my hand. Her juices squirting on the dance floor.

I pulled my fingers out of her and looked down at the hot, sticky mess I had made between her open thighs. Her legs were still trembling and her pussy lips were red and swollen from the vigorous finger fucking I had just given her.

Yeah, she’ll do nicely.

I released her leg, and with a satisfied smirk she pulled her dress over her dripping bits. She’d had her fun and now it was my turn. I dragged her off the dance floor towards the men’s toilets. Unlike her I like a bit of privacy when I get my rocks off.

Here I wasn’t Lord Ivan De Greystoke. Here I was Ivan the Terrible.



Tawny Maxwell

Barrington Manor, Bedfordshire

‘Whatever you do, don’t ever trust them. Not one of them,’ Robert whispered. His voice was so faint I had to strain to catch it.

‘I won’t,’ I said softly.

‘They are my own flesh and blood so they are dangerous in a way you will never understand. Never let your guard down.’

‘OK,’ I agreed immediately. I just wanted him to stop talking about his children. These last precious minutes I didn’t want to waste on them.

He shook his head unhappily. ‘No, you don’t understand. You can never let your guard down for even an instant. Never.’

‘All right I won’t,’ I said in a placating voice.

‘I will be a very sad spirit if you do.’

‘I won’t,’ I cried passionately and reached for his hand. The contrast between our hands couldn’t be greater. Mine was smooth and soft and his was gnarled and full of green veins, the skin waxy and liver spotted. His nails were the color of polished ivory. The hand of a sixty-year old dying man. I lifted it to my lips and kissed it tenderly.

His eyes glowed briefly in his wasted, sunken face. ‘How I love you, my darling Tawny,’ he murmured.

‘I love you. I love you. I love you,’ I cried desperately. I felt frightened. I didn’t want to lose him. The world stretched out as a cruel and lonely place without him.

‘Keep our secret and they cannot touch you,’ he said calmly.

‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I promised.

‘No one,’ he insisted.

‘No one,’ I agreed, shaking my head.

He sighed. ‘It’s nearly time.’

‘Don’t say that,’ I urged even though I knew he was right.

His eyes moved to the window. ‘Ah,’ he sighed softly. ‘You’ve come.’

My gaze swung to the window. It was closed. The heavy drapes pulled shut. Goose pimples ran up my arms. ‘Don’t go yet. Please,’ I begged.

He dragged his gaze reluctantly from the window. His thin pale lips rose at the edges as he drew in a rattling breath. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve got to pay my dues. I haven’t been a good man.’

‘Just wait a while.’

‘You have your whole life ahead of you.’

He turned his unnaturally bright eyes away from me. Looking straight ahead, and with a violent shudder, he left this world.

For a few seconds I simply stared at him. Appropriately, outside the January wind howled and dashed itself into the shutters. I knew the servants were waiting downstairs. Everyone was waiting for me to go down and give them the bad news. Then I leaned forward and put my cheek on his still, bony chest. He smelled strongly of medicine. I closed my eyes tightly. Why did you have to die and leave me to the wolves?

In that moment I felt so close to him I wished this time would not end. I wished I could lie on his chest, safe and closeted away from the real world. I heard the clock ticking. The fire in the massive hearth cracked and spat. Somewhere a pipe creaked.

I placed my chin on his chest and turned to look at him one last time. He appeared to be sleeping. Peaceful, at any rate. I stroked the thin strands of white hair lying across his pinkish white scalp. I let my finger run down his prominent nose and it shocked me how quickly the tip of his nose had lost warmth. Soon all of him will be stone cold.

I wondered whom he had seen at the window. Who had come to take him to his reckoning?

My sorrow was so complete I could put my fingertips into it and feel the edges. Smooth. Without corners. Without sharpness. I had no tears. I knew he was dying two hours before. Strange because it had seemed as if he had taken a turn for the better. He seemed stronger, his cheeks pink, his eyes brilliant bright and when he smiled it seemed as if he was lit from within. He seemed so much stronger. I asked him if he wanted to eat.

‘Milk. I’ll have a glass of milk,’ he said decisively.

But after I called for milk and it was brought to him he smiled and refused it. ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ he asked. ‘I feel so good.’

▶ Also By Georgia Le Carre

▶ Last Updated

▶ Hot Read

▶ Recommend

Top Books