To Tame a Rogue (Ghost)
by aimée lutkin
Thunder crashed as the soldier rode his fading steed across bracken and muddy pools. He tried to move slowly, as the uneven ground endangered his horse; if he were thrown on this dark night there'd be no one to find him. But the bitter cold drove him on, pushing the stallion just a bit further, and a bit further still, searching for shelter until one of them dropped from exhaustion.
A light sprang up in the gloom, so warm and sprightly that the soldier wondered for a moment if he had indeed been thrown and broken his neck somewhere out on the moors. He must be dead, for help to appear so suddenly and at a moment of such dire need. Barely daring to hope, he guided his steaming mount towards the glow of a window, careful now that it seemed he might have found an answer to his prayer.
The door to the modest manor flew open at his first knock, and again the solider wondered if he had died: there in the light stood the most beautiful and voluptuous woman he'd ever laid eyes upon. Her simple rust red round gown clung to generous curves, the slopes of her breast framed modestly but enticingly by the edge of a linen chemise. Were it not for the rain still beating against his body, he would have thought he was being welcomed into heaven.
"Good lady," he rasped, "I was sent to deliver a letter from my regiment to Sir Richard Hemington, but became lost upon my return. I fear if you don't let me in, I will perish in the night. May I beg a space to sleep in your stables?"
The woman drew in a breath, her chest heaving.
"Sirrah, how perilous!" she exclaimed, "But of course you must rest here until the morning, but there is a clean bed in the house. Make your horse comfortable in the stables behind, then enter. It is lucky you came this way, for there is no one about for many miles."
Gratefully, the soldier led his horse to a simple stable that seemed to keep no other animals. But there was fresh hay, and a blanket to dry his faithful friend. Gratefully, the soldier left his beast to eat, then walked back through the rain, weary, but anticipating imminent relief. He wondered if the lady's husband would be inside, for she seemed too mature to be the daughter of the house.
But when the door swung open, she was waiting alone before a sumptuous fire.
"Oh, but you're so wet! You must dry off at once, or risk falling ill," she said, and suiting word to action approached him to help remove his coat.
The soldier was startled by the feel of the woman's hands against his chest, even through the sodden wool of his clothes, and briefly covered them with his own. She stared up at him, and the silence lengthened and thickened, as did his cock. Her mouth softened, and her eyes moved to his own lips. Unable to resist, he leaned down to taste her.
Moments later they were both divested of their garments. He rubbed his hard length against the wet seam of her folds. She dug her fingernails into the muscles of his back and ass, urging him forward. Perhaps the lady had a husband, but if he'd burst in at that moment, the soldier wouldn't have noticed. Her molten depths engulfed him as her legs wrapped around his waist.
They twisted by the fire, now far too hot, but unable to pause in their animalistic thrusting long enough to bank the flames. His mystery lady scrambled to sit on top of him, the head of his slick member slipping up and down against her clit. She leaned forward to slide her tongue into his mouth. Her pendulous breasts, freed from her chemise, brushed against his chest. He took them in his hands, groaning into her mouth at the feel of their delicious weight. She shuddered as his thumbs brushed over her swollen nipples, and he pushed up impatiently into her, seating himself to the balls.
Was it minutes or hours that they furiously pounded against one another as the sky released across the manor's roof? The soldier lost all sense of time and reality as the unknown woman brought him to a dizzying burst of pleasure. He yelled, clutching her to his chest. They fell into a momentary doze.
When the soldier woke, it was to see the woman drawing on her chemise.
"So soon, dear lady? I thought we might go again."
"Ah, sirrah, I need to drink some water first. But I see you have left some of your clothes on as well."
So saying, she reached up to the soldier's green cravat, which had remained tied around his neck throughout their love making.
"No!" he shouted, but it was too late. With a pull and a slither, the woman undid his neckcloth. It fell to the ground, as did his head. The scarf was the only thing keeping it attached.