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Oliver Strand rubbed his podgy hands with anticipation as Amanda’s carriage concluded the gentle twenty-five minute ride from her lodgings and came to a stop outside his house. She’d taken his suggestion as to her dress, and looked every bit as beautiful as he had anticipated.

He had slightly known and been introduced to Amanda before she left the South for college and then England, but they had never really had much to do with each other, certainly not in the way that he liked when he met full breasted, curvy figured young women.

Over the years, he had learned about Amanda’s life and was pleased when he heard about her marriage break up and her impending return to the family plantation. Since meeting her properly at the Cotton Christmas Ball, he had become very single minded about his desire for getting her into his bed and that had become a key objective in his active sex life.

But he had bigger plans for her as well. He was aware of her connections in the North from her time at college and living there with her husband. He was also aware that she knew many prominent Yankees, including General Fairfax Lennon. His contacts had informed him that she had dined with the head of military intelligence several times in New York, and also here in Washington just last week.

Fairfax might be head of military intelligence, but Strand had his own very effective network as well. He would have absolutely no compunction whatsoever about adding Amanda to that network and persuading her to spy on her Yankee ‘friends.’ At the back of his mind was the idea that he could use the assistance he was offering her as a lever to persuade her to feed him information about the North and its plans.

As the carriage stopped in the small shingled courtyard of his office, and occasional living quarters in Foggy Bottom, Strand pushed past the driver and opened the door to the carriage.

“That will be fine, Jenkins,” he said, holding his hand out to Amanda as she leaned forward to alight from the closed carriage. “Just put the stairs there for Missus Williams please, I’ll handle the rest.”

She was wearing a highly fashionable two-colour outfit. It had a tight, white, low cut bodice with black lace around the neck and small, black buttons running up from her waist to the low cut neckline. The black with white piping and lace trimmed skirt was fully hooped and beautifully layered. The fullness of the skirt was in stark, but alluring contrast to the slim, tautness of the bodice.

“Welcome back, Amanda” he said, taking her hand as she stepped down. Her partially covered breasts almost touched him as he bent his arm to aid her progress down the steps, which the footman Jenkins had put in place.

She smiled, “Thank you. It is very nice to be back Mister Strand.”

“Now, please, how many times must I remind you? I insist on Oliver and Amanda.”

“Why, certainly sir” she smiled. “It just slips my mind to be so intimate after knowing a gentleman for such a short time” she went on looking up at him and right into his eyes from her downcast gaze. She was aware that it was an overtly flirtatious look and wished she had not done it, but it was natural and as such was part of her character.

Smirking in an oily way Strand oozed back. “Ma’am, short the time may be, but surely it has been er, how should we phrase it, close and meaningful perhaps? Yes I think that sums up our relationship, don’t you Amanda?”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she inclined her head to one side, slightly fluttered her eyelids and covered her face with her fan, providing a completely non-committal persona.

Slipping his arm through hers to walk her into the house, he said, “Well then, my dear, this evening presents the ideal opportunity for us both to do something about that. To make it even more close and meaningful, doesn’t it?”

Smiling, knowing full well his meaning, Amanda decided to play a coy game. As he stood aside to let her through the doorway, she replied.

“Pray sir… sorry, Oliver! Whatever can you mean?”

Strand had always been a man who took risks, one who chanced his arm, pushed things and sometimes went for broke. He relied on his intuition and instinct, far more than most men. And he sensed that this was a time to go with his gut feel. As they walked into the light oak, panelled entrance hall, he pulled on Amanda’s elbow, stopping and turning her so that they faced each other.

Putting his arms round her before she could stop him, he pulled her to him and attempted to kiss her, muttering, “This madam, I meant this.”

Amanda’s immediate reaction was to push him away, but instinct stopped her even as she began to protest. She needed his help and his connections, and her quick mind whirled into action. Leaning back so that his mouth could not reach hers she said.

“But sir, this is so sudden, so extreme.”

Strand went on the offensive. His inner self took over, the self that had raped many black slaves and several ataşehir escort white trash women. The self that had tortured a variety of harlots and whores and the self that had seen him force himself on so many women over the years.

“Don’t talk arrant rubbish,” he growled as he pulled Amanda’s body against him. “You have known as well as I that this was going to happen,” he muttered pressing his lips firmly against hers.

It was true, of course. After all, she had chosen her outfit expressly for being undressed and having sex with Strand. She had worn her sheerest, black stockings, her sexiest, silk pantalettes and she had daringly dispensed with both her chemise and camisole, and was wearing her corset next to her skin.

The stunningly low cut, French gown had no extra material, as was the American fashion, to cover her breasts. Without the chemmy and camisole, they were tantalisingly on display, much more so than was normal in American society.

She had come to this meeting showing more of the flesh of her bosom than Strand would probably have ever seen on a ‘dressed’ woman, other than in a brothel, perhaps. Yes, she had arrived at his house with most of her splendid tits on show. And to a man like Strand, that meant just one thing! She was ready and willing to be fucked!

His arms were around his prey’s slim back, his fingers finding the laces of her firm corset. Pulling Amanda against his broad chest and crushing her breasts, she gasped with surprise and, she was amazed to realise, excitement.

“You know you want me, Amanda,” he said, roughly pushing his tongue against her closed lips. She tried to keep them closed, but her sense of pragmatism, that touch of excitement she was feeling and the persistence of Stand’s tongue, slowly forced them apart.

To Oliver Strand, a woman opening her mouth and allowing his tongue to slide inside, was a clear indicator that later she would opening her legs for him to lie between. Both gestures said, you can fuck me!

His kiss was deep and passionate. He kissed her on both lips and then just the top one. He shoved his tongue forcibly deep into her mouth and then sucked on her bottom lip. She shivered as he plastered kisses all over her chin and cheeks, and then down her neck and throat and onto her shoulders.

Strand took her shudder to be excitement and responded by kissing and sucking along her collar bone. His hand pushed against the thick silk of her hooped skirt, trying but failing to reach and feel the delights that lay beneath. The dress was too well made and voluminous for that.

Amanda had such a complex mix of emotions rushing through her mind, and body. Fear, surprise, rage, dislike all welled in her heart. But, most disappointingly of all, she felt excitement. The last time she’d experienced rough sex was with an enormously well endowed, mixed race boxer in London. It had left her breathless.

Despite herself, her struggles were half hearted as she felt a familiar tingle between her loins. There was no doubt that as Strand was becoming more excited by the second so, amazingly and very worryingly, was Amanda.

“Come on, you feisty vixen, you know this is what you want” he growled into her ear.

His hand at last found what it had wanted since the moment he had seen the ‘grown up’ Missus Williams at the ball last Christmas. He grabbed her not insubstantial breast and squeezed it, not caring whether he caused pain.

“Ouch,” she grunted, flinching from the contact. “That hurt.”

“Sorry,” Strand grunted, but made no effort to slow his actions. Forcing his fingers inside the neckline of her dress, he revelled in the feelings of the mass of soft, pliant flesh in the palm of his hand. Amanda’s breast felt every bit as good as it looked. Without consideration for her discomfort, he aggressively yanked the mounds out from the restrictions of the dress, his eyes registering his lust.

“Oh God, Amanda, your breasts are wonderful,” he grunted, bending his face towards the soft flesh. His eyes flashed with smug satisfaction at the hardness of her nipple. “You want this as much as I do, you sexy aroused bitch,” he muttered, as his mouth closed over her extremely swollen bud.

Amanda’s head was in a whirl. She knew she had to go through with this, and part of her was confessing that she did indeed want it, too. But everything was happening too quickly. “Oliver please,” she pleaded, trying to push him off.

“No!” he insisted, his voice full of lust. “You knew the price Amanda. You agreed and you know you want it! You want me!”

“But not now, not here,” she cried, desperate for a way out. Being fucked by a man she despised was one thing, being fucked by him on a carpet in an entrance hall where, for all she knew a servant or, worse, one of Strand’s business colleagues could come by, was something totally different. It would be humiliating.

Her cries brought Strand to his senses. Although he only kept a skeleton kadıköy escort bayan staff at this location, drawing them from and returning them to his main Washington residence as needed, he knew that it would be unfortunate if any of them saw what was happening. Not for the embarrassment it would cause, for Strand had no such morals. But finding good staff was difficult and the maid or footman that would be so unlucky as to witness the scene would be immediately fired and shipped out of the capital.

“Yes madam, I am sorry,” he gasped, backing away from Amanda in a calculated attempt to reassure her. “Your beauty and your perfect body, inflamed my ardour, and I can but apologise for my sudden actions. Forgive me, please!”

“Thank you Mister Strand,” Amanda replied, panting from the effort of pushing her attacker away. Despite herself, she felt waves of arousal flood through her at the thought of being taken so roughly. God, servants or no servants, she’d almost allowed him to do what he wished. And she realised as they moved apart she could hardly now blame that on sexual frustrated; her few days with Fairfax had put paid to that!

She went to adjust her clothes. The sight of his gaze on her bountiful breasts hanging out from the neckline of her dress only served to arouse her more.

Strand grabbed her hand. “No, madam, pray leave them for me to feast my eyes as we dine.”

My God, Amanda thought. The animal wants us to have dinner with me sitting there with my tits out. Even that outrageous thought sent another waft of arousal through her body, though such an idea was preposterous. Wasn’t it? “But sir, I beseech you! I can’t! Not with your servants around!”

Strand slyly smiled and licked his fat lips. “Don’t worry your pretty head about my servants, Amanda, I will send them away. Come with me.”

His sweaty palm grabbed her hand, pulling her with him further into the house, her bare, unfettered breast jiggling provocatively. With each step, Strand’s glances over his shoulders devoured her naked flesh. Amanda had to almost run, such was her host’s urgency as he dragged her by the hand up a narrow staircase and along a short, pine panelled corridor to the rear of the house.

The door he eventually opened led into a modest sized dressing room, with a number of closets, a table to lay dresses out on, and three chairs adjacent to another door to the right.

“Now my dear,” he slurred, unable to take his eyes from her wonderful breasts. For a moment, Amanda thought he was going to grab them again. She realised with horror that part of her actually wanted him to.

“You stay her and ready yourself for dinner,” he growled.

“Pray, Oliver,” she responded hoarsely, attempting to control her breathing as she used her black fan to cover her nakedness. “I don’t understand! Whatever do you mean?”

“We will eat dinner alone, Amanda! We will serve ourselves, there will be no servants! In a few moments, they will all be leaving for the evening.” His hand pushed away the fan Amanda was using to hide her embarrassment, which increased as leering at her he added “And for the entire night.

“So you see, madam,” he mumbled, saliva almost dripping from his fat lips as he leered at her breasts. “Modesty is not necessary, no one will be here, just you and me.”

“Oh,” Amanda muttered, feeling another surge of excitement at his proposal. The knowledge that this man was desperate for her sent a shiver of excitement through her voluptuous body. She was only too aware that her excitement was as illogical as it was outlandish, but recently she had no real understanding of her emotions and why she felt the way she did.

Strand instantly closed the gap between them, unable to resist the wanton sight she presented to him. Roughly pulling her to him, her naked breasts squashed into his chest as his hungry mouth found her lips again.

Such was her arousal, Amanda found herself opening her mouth, allowing his tongue to delve inside. The feeling of her hard nipples brushing against his silk waistcoat was exquisite.

“What it means, my dear,” Strand breathed between kisses, is that I want you undressed as we eat dinner. Leave just enough on to titillate me! Understand?” Staring intently at her he nodded, as if that reinforced that this was an instruction, not a request. “Forgive me for a moment, for I must take care of the servants. After all, we do not want to be disturbed, do we?

The sneering smile he gave her as he turned on his heel and left the room made Amanda feel light headed, very confused and slightly revolted, no very revolted, but now at herself as much as at him. Previously, this was a fate to be endured. Now, the thought of being made love to by this rough monster already had made her wet. Being made love to? No – she was going to be fucked!

Alone in the dressing room, she wondered how far to go with her clothes. She had heard of parties, orgies, in England where the escort maltepe participants wore very little as they drank and ate. She had heard about brothels where nude dining was the vogue.

There was no doubt Strand really meant what he’d said! His eyes and tone had confirmed that. And the thought sent another waft of arousal through her body. She realised she needed this almost as much as he did and she started to undress. The only redeeming factor was that she wouldn’t have to endure a man undressing her; it really was almost a torture.

‘Well at least’ she conjectured pragmatically, ‘It will prevent him pawing my finest French gown.’

*

Fairfax was pleased with the way things were going. Whilst it had been at the back of his mind to ask for Amanda’s help he hadn’t expected her to as it were ‘hand it to him on a plate.’ He was slightly perturbed at just how readily she had agreed with his oblique suggestion of using her body to gain information and that made him wonder whether she had already decided to do that to ease the sale of Selby. His trained intelligence mind told him that she probably had and that didn’t bother him one iota; to him sex was merely a commodity.

Having Amanda announce that she wouldn’t be able to meet him that evening pleased him. He hoped it would mean that she would probably have sex with Strand and might glean some useful information and it also meant that he could travel to New York on the overnight train. This was a new initiative by the railroad and came about from the encouragement of the government in Washington and the merchants and financiers of New York.

Until very recently the trains stopped overnight and passengers disembarked and slept in guest houses that had been built near stations. An enterprising entrepreneur from Germany had developed and launched a ‘sleeping car’ that was made up of small, some said cell-like, rooms with beds. One train containing two of these cars left Washington and another New York at nine o’clock three evenings each week. This meant that the passengers could arrive in central New York city or the capital early the next morning perform a day’s work and return home over the next night.

Prior to his assignation with Amanda being cancelled Fairfax had planned to travel the next day and had scheduled late afternoon and evening meetings as usual hoping against hope that there would be no significant delays. By travelling overnight he was able to arrange more meetings and bring some of the others forward from the evening, thus giving him more time with his long-term mistress.

*

Strand’s eyes popped out like organ stops when Amanda walked into his private quarters. The tongue that had been devouring her mouth ran across his fat lips as his gaze took in every inch of the voluptuous beauty. The cock that longed for her began to unfurl in his breaches and reach its full potential.

“I hope you don’t mind Oliver,” she murmured seductively, posing for a moment so that his eyes could drink in all of her beauty. “But I am wearing stockings as well. I trust my attire pleases you?”

As she walked in Strand had exclaimed to himself. ‘My God, my fucking God, she looks incredible.’

“Please me?” he stuttered. “Madam, you are nothing short of magnificent!”

Amanda smiled coquettishly. Somehow, pleasing him and inflaming his lust only served to increase her own arousal. Her recollection of Captain Richard Jarvis’s reaction to her stockings added to the sensation.

Wearing just her corset and her English bloomers, she had let her hair down so that its chestnut tressess were cascading over her bare shoulders. The small gap between the bottom of her pale grey corset and her drawers left part of her stomach exposed, and by removing her shoes, Strand could see the black silk of her stockings under her bloomers that ended well above her slim ankles.

“Magnificent” Strand repeated, his gaze circling her body before returning to her crowning glories, the feature that so strongly attracted Strand’s attention. Bare and powdered, her unfettered breasts looked magnificent. Strand could not drag his gaze away from their shape and majesty, his hungry eyes focusing on the fiercely hardened nipples and the mound of flesh that jiggled so seductively as she moved.

His face looked like he was close to hyperventilating at the erotic sight posing for him. He pulled at his jacket, dropping it to the floor, quickly followed by his waistcoat and cravat. With his white, cotton shirt open at the throat, Amanda could see the black, grey-flecked hair at the top of his chest.

With a lecherous smile that sent shivers to her very core, Strand moved behind one of the high backed dining chairs placed each end of the small table located in the bow window of his room.

Pulling the chair out he said. “Madam, pay be seated, dinner will shortly be served.”

His hungry eyes devoured every part of Amanda’s body as she sashayed across the room, looking far more confident than she felt. Her corset kept her back straight so her breasts were pushed out and her tummy was held in. Determined to put on a show, but not fully understanding why, she shuffled a little making her breasts jiggle deliciously as she took her place.

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