Bargain, My Ass
Copyright Emy Naso
William poured a large brandy. This was his first day as the new lord after the sudden death of his uncle. He lounged back into the sofa. After a while he leaned forward and flipped open the lid of an onyx box on the coffee table. It contained hand rolled Black Russian cigarettes.
“What the heck,” he muttered, picked one up, lit it and exhaled a long puff of smoke.
There was a light rap at the door of his study. William paused, then realized he was expected to give permission for them to enter. In his previous life you’d be lucky if someone knocked politely when you were having a bath.
“Come,” he shouted, enjoying the feeling of power.
Nathaniel Oberdyer, the obsequious Estate Manager, crept in, his hands working in their humble mannerism. He was followed by a tall and broad man of about thirty-five, hair receding and a beard that was neither one thing or another. It was not a designer stubble or a sailor’s beard. More like a dead badger settling on the man’s chin. William assumed this was the fruit selling Mr. Archer.
The third figure was hidden by Mr. Archer. When she eventually appeared around her husband, William choked on his cigarette.
“Alan and Matilda Archer,” Oberdyer announced. “They use some of your land, my lord and are here to discuss the rent.“
The Estate Manager sat in one armchair and Mr. Archer perched in the other. Matilda Archer hovered for a moment, then settled her lovely ass on the end of the sofa where William sat.
For the next five minutes he was aware of Oberdyer and Mr. Archer talking. Nothing much they said registered…or mattered. He was studying Mrs. Archer.
The lady was what magazines called buxom. To William’s eyes that meant a real woman. She didn’t appear to wear much make-up, her complexion deep tanned with a mass of tasseled black hair. It gave the impression she’d been romping in a haystack. Or perhaps that was William’s overworked imagination. She’d lost two buttons on the front of her white blouse and not done up a third. The effect was a display of cleavage, accentuated even more when she tantalizing leaned forward.
“So that’s why the rent has been agreed,” Oberdyer said. William dragged his attention away from Matilda’s body. It was an effort. Magnetic polarity of sexual fantasy being difficult to break.
He grimaced, looking at Oberdyer, then rapidly at Mr. Archer, trying to give the impression he’d heard every word of the discussion.
“You know I’m a simple man, Oberdyer. For the sake of clarity, tell me…again…how much is the rent?”
“It’s a peppercorn rent, my lord. I thought I’d explained that. The Estate Manager’s face showed the very slightest tinge of exasperation.
“Peppercorn?” William said, as if the word was in a foreign language.
“A nominal amount, my lord.”
“Can you give that to me numerically, Oberdyer, and not this quaint old fashioned term of the Middle Ages.”
Alan Archer smiled politely at his new lordship. Matilda suppressed a giggle.
“One pound per annum, sir,” Oberdyer said.
William, Lord Straithmoor got up from the sofa, stubbed out his cigarette, poured another brandy and stared out the window. The view was of the parterre, with its sections of many herbs. With a studied slowness he turned back to the three people in the study.
“Let me get this straight. The fruit trees and bushes…”
“And strawberries,” Oberdyer corrected.
“Thank you. Let’s not forget the strawberries,” William muttered through clenched teeth. “All this produce is grown on my land and then picked and sold in Mr. and Mrs. Archer’s shop, which is also on my land…and for this I receive the princely sum of one pound sterling?”
“That’s right,” Oberdyer grinned in a self-satisfied way.
William kept control of his emotion. He resumed his seat on the sofa, and casually said. “I don’t think I know enough about this business to make any decision on this extension. Who runs the shop?”
“My wife does,” Alan Archer said, pride in his voice.
Oh good, William thought, a tingle running through his more intimate parts.
“I have an idea.” He actually had more than one. “Why doesn’t Mrs. Archer,” he waved a hand toward the young woman perched seductively on the end of the sofa, “Stay and tell me all about the plans? She can fill me in on what is what.”
“What is what?” Oberdyer parroted.
“Yes, you know. All about ripe peaches and large melons.” At that point his eyes were feasted on Matilda’s abundance of fruity breasts.
Oberdyer nodded. Mr. Archer smiled at his wife. William tried to keep a straight face.
Dirty Offers
The door closed. William offered Mrs. Archer a cigarette.
“Not for me, sir,” she said, shaking her head. William liked that. Her breasts moved provocatively at the same time. He shuffled a little closer to her along the sofa, lewdly wondering what she did like between her wide mouth lips.
“May I call you Matilda?”
She nodded vigorously. Her bosom shook again
“Please call me Bill,” he smiled. He edged nearer. For all his life his parents had called him William. Now he was a Duke he didn’t want to get saddled with this formal old fashioned name. At that moment he decided to become Bill. Well at least in the more intimate moments.
“The business is doing well?”
“Very well my lo…Bill,” she offered him a grin. He accepted it and put the smile in his pocket, next to his cock.
“And this extension will make it even more profitable?”
“Oh yes.”
He made a play of pondering, his actions that of an actor communicating to the audience that he was thinking.
“I think, Matilda you will understand that I might slightly raise the rent.” She kept the smile on her adorable, slightly grubby cheeks. Matilda was an Angel with a dirty face. What she didn’t know was that Bill was a devil with a dirty mind.
“Well, my beautiful Matilda, shall we say…ten thousand pounds.”
He watched as her eyes rolled and mouth curled at the corners. Her complexion was too sun kissed and brown to show the true shock of what he’d said. On any other person the face would now be ashen white.
“Ten thousand pounds?” Matilda choked, grappling for what to say. Bill remained still, eyes never leaving her face.
“We can’t…” she began, tried again with, “That would ruin..” These words also stuck in her petty throat.
“Don’t distress yourself, Matilda,” he said, offering her a glass of brandy. “I’m sure we can reach a compromise.”
She sipped the brandy, looking up, hope in her expression, trusting the new lord of the land.
“Compromise, Bill?”
“Why yes, Matilda. I am a reasonable man.”
The dark eyed lady took a gulp of the brandy.
“Would I be right in saying a rent of ten thousand pounds would ruin your business?”
The brandy glass at her lips, she merely nodded.
“Then we don’t want that, do we, Matilda?”
“No, Bill.”
“So you’d do anything for that not to happen, Matilda?”
“Yes, Bill.”
“Even bend over that armchair and let me screw you, pressing tight into your gorgeous ass, Matilda?”
She spewed the brandy over the carpet, slammed the glass down on the coffee table and jumped up from the sofa.
“That’s…that’s an outrageous suggestion,” she indignantly said, her hair even more disheveled.
“That’s some price to pay for a fuck. You should be honored, Matilda.”
She bustled toward the door.
“I’ll send the invoice for the new rent of ten thousand, shall I then?”
Her hand was on the gold plated handle, half turned it, heard the click of the catch, released her grip and stood still. Matilda was too buxom to be really elegant. The gorgeously proportioned body slowly turned. At first her eyes were lowered, stray locks of shiny black hair hanging down over her face.
Bill remained silent, leaning back in the sofa, arms spread along the back rest.
“We can’t afford that,” Matilda said, dry mouthed and biting the corning of her lips.
“Either you get screwed with the high rent, young lady…or I screw you.”
Like a recalcitrant pubescent girl she walked back toward Lord Straithmoor.
“It’s not right,” she croaked.
“It’s not meant to be,” he lugubriously answered.
Matilda came close, fiddling with a long strand of her hair. “What about my husband?”
“I don’t fancy fucking him,” he laughed rudely.
There was a long, long silence, Matilda standing before him, constantly shifting from one leg to the other, Bill lizard lounging on the sofa, erotic thoughts of Matilda giving him a perpetual erection, secretly knowing she could see the outline of the anticipatory hardness of his cock.
Eventually she said very softly, “And the rent doesn’t go up?”
“No,” he replied, thinking, but I know what does go up!
“Where?” she gulped.
“Over that armchair,” he smiled lasciviously
“When?”
“Now.”
Bill got up, holding a hand out. Matilda took it. He grabbed her arm, pulling Matilda close, pushing the mop of black hair up, out of her face. He kissed her passionately, open mouthed, tongue seeking, the beginning of his exploration.
Just as suddenly he forced her down over the arm of the chair.
“What shall I do?” she asked, her head slightly turned to see him, her hair again like a thick veil over her face.
“Leave it to me,” he grunted.
Pressing his body against her protruding ass, Bill took his time, wriggling, enjoying the sensation. Leaning forward he reached around her waist, undid the button on her tight pants, heard the sexy zip smoothly slide down.
Slipping Matilda’s pants down to her knees, he became too excited to delay, fumbling for her panties and tugging them over her presented ass.
Bill made a very male groaning noise. The type men make in the back of their throat, a primeval grunt at the sight of a female rear. While contemplating Matilda’s naked derriere, he slipped his own pants and shorts down, leaning over to push his erection against her rear.
He moved his stiff cock against Matilda, hands groping inside her blouse, discovery she wore no bra, making another low, grumbling sound of sexual stimulation.
Undoing the few remaining buttons on her blouse, he eagerly yanked it off, pressed in to her, hands cupping and massaging her breasts.
“Let me in,” he moaned.
Matilda complied to his demands, parting her legs. He pushed and shoved, finding her clitoris with his cock, thrusting into her with force.
He kept his pace even to begin, plunging back and forward, his penis tight in her vagina. If he wanted it to be a long screw, his pleasure got the better of him. Thrusting quicker and quicker he stood up, held her hips and rammed solidly into Matilda.
“What if someone comes in?” she moaned, the unwilling partner in the seductive fuck, but unable to hide her own mounting gratification.
“The only person who’s coming is me, sweet Matilda.”
“This will be our secret, Bill?”
“Yes, yes, Matilda”.
“Our bargain,” she panted
Bargain, my ass, he thought.
“Oh yes, yes,” Bill whopped.
“Yes…yes….yes,” Matilda echoed.
The other side of the door, Nathaniel knelt, one eye to the keyhole, cock out and in his hand, masturbating, watching His Lordship strike a bargain with one of the tenants.
Oberdyer got gratification, ejaculating over the baronial carpet. He straightened up, walked dignifiedly up the corridor and muttered, “The seventh Duke used to bang away at the pheasants. Looks like the eighth Duke is going to bang the females on the estate.
Back in the Duke’s room, Matilda stood up, leaning down to pull her panties up.
“Not yet, Matilda,” Bill stopped her.
“But, my lord, you said…”
“That I wanted to fuck you?”
“Yes.”
“But not how many times, Matilda.”
He leisurely stripped her, taking a great deal of time to inspect and feel the ripeness of her own fruit. He then insisted she undressed him. Taking her over to the sofa he sat her on his knee.
“Well, Matilda, this is cozy. Why don’t we have a little chat.”
“What about, my lord?”
“Why don’t we talk about your body…and see what comes up.”
“I’m not sure…oh, my lord,” she squealed.
Something had come-up quicker than expected. His lordship made sure he pressed home the subject very hard.
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