The Regency, Men, Women and Lust

The Regency

Men, Women and Lust

SMASHWORDS EDITION

By

Charlie B.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION (A FICTITIOUS NOTE)

Chapter 1. The feud

Chapter 2. Introductions.

Chapter 3. A Highland fling

Chapter 4. Secret Liaisons

Chapter 5. A night at the Inn.

Chapter 6. A bawdy night indeed.

Chapter 7. A bookshop and a night at the theatre

COPYRIGHT.

The right of Dollhouse Books to be identified as the owners of this work (The Regency, Men, Women and Lust by Charlie B.) has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction. Any Similarity to actual persons, alive or deceased is purely coincidental.

This ebook contains sexually explicit situations and terms and is intended for a mature audience only.

All persons portrayed in this ebook are 18 years of age or older.

INTRODUCTION

Imagine yourself back in Regency Times, 1813 to be precise. Stagecoaches the fastest means of travel at some five miles an hour, or faster if the roads are better maintained, but not by much. Coal fires; Industrialisation in its earliest form; home cottage industries, mostly wool spinners, and society divided between the rich and the poor. The setting for our story is the County of Somerset toward the west of England. The Towns of nearby Bristol and Bath are thriving with new classical rows of tall, terraced uniform houses being built, and yet the poor of the surrounding areas are living off the land. A two-tier society that rarely mixes except where there is an Employer/Employee relationship, and of course when they visit the local inns.

Underneath the proper social veneer that high society presents is a pocket of licentiousness that is hidden from the public eye. Maids are fair game for their employers and the women of the house are not slow to take advantage of an opportunity to indulge in pleasures of the flesh which might present themselves among the hired hands or indeed the male servants either. The rigorous requirements needed before a marriage can take place are the criteria that most women in society are expected to abide by before any marriage, but in private? Well, let’s just say that these proprieties are not always observed. Well to do, women are expected to be married by eighteen years old but as we shall see when we read Mary Bolingbroke’s salaciously wicked tale, that did not stop married women or their daughters from dalliances beyond the marriage bed. Brothels and certain houses of ill repute were the frequent haunts of wayward husbands as well as their licentious wives.

So, here’s her book, published in 1817, according to the French publisher’s inscription inside the cover, and re-produced here for your enjoyment.

AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION (A FICTITIOUS NOTE)

I sat down to write this story at what some might, in future times, consider a tender age. I don’t know in what form it might be re-printed or if it is even a success in years to come but this is the first of what I hope will be many more stories, for I am resolved to shelve all thoughts of marriage in return for writing such racy stories for the world to read, in perpetuity.

I was introduced to the joys that sexual liaisons can bring some years ago. My music teacher, Robert, being a most handsome man, at first taught me to play piano to the best of his ability, at the piano that my now deceased Mother had once played and at which my Father decided I too should learn to play for some reason best known to himself. My development as a piano player halted after some four months, my development as a lover started at that self-same four months when I decided that I would seduce my Robert so that I could learn far more exciting lessons under his expert guidance than those at which I had virtually no skill.

Oh, so much did I learn as he or I played the notes with one hand while exploring each other with the other and the instrument that I was by far best at playing certainly gave me far more pleasure than the keys of that piano. What chances we took as he had me over the piano stool, on the piano stool and sometimes beneath it too.

For a year or more I learned that sex, practised cautiously, for no woman needs pregnancy at so young an age, is both fun and exciting, and upon my discovering, as you shall learn, of my father’s hidden French volumes, my curiosity was further still aroused as to the pleasures that new conquests can bring, as well as awakening my later desire to write such stories.

So here is my first book. A true tale of the bitter feud between my stepmother, Charlotte Bolingbroke by second marriage and our neighbour, Lady Gormley. Learn of how they vie with each other to secure the services of the local rakes for their own salacious and most illicit pleasures.

Of course, I have included my own adventures for your delectation, after all, one needs variety in a story as well as a plot does one not? So, I hope you enjoy this volume. Oh, how exciting to know that many years hence people might still want to know of my bawdy adventures and will still enjoy reading my little book.

Mary Constance Bolingbroke.

Chapter 1. The feud

My Stepmother, Charlotte Bolingbroke has returned home in a most foul mood. She flings open the carriage door with such venom that the coachman needs to calm the horses. Emerging from the carriage looking like Britannia herself, or maybe that scourge of the Romans, that ancient queen, Boudicca, her face carries a scowl that no servant or domestic wants turned upon them. She stands at the bottom of the carriage steps and lets her gaze roam in search of someone to rant at.

Every head is lowered, the liveried coachman, the butler and the ladies’ maids, who remain in hiding inside the carriage, having listened throughout the journey to her angry ranting’s, have no desire to meet her glowering eyes either.

Seeing no release for her ire, she suddenly raps her sunshade against Tomkins, the liveried footman’s leg, causing him to flinch but not to speak, for that would have been very bad form.

Tomkins, where’s Thomas?

I will find out Ma’am, your instructions?

My room, in an hour and make sure he washes thoroughly, I’ll have no blackamore sweatiness in my boudoir, none at all. He must be clean and presentable; do you hear?

Yes Ma’am, and what shall I tell Mister Bolingbroke? He said you’re to attend him when you arrive.

My husband? Tell him I’m indisposed until later. The damned man probably only wants into my skirts anyway. I suppose the housemaids are all in hiding? Yes, tell him I need some time to myself first, and anyway, I’m certainly not in the mood for a tumble with him. Not after that damnable woman openly flaunted my latest Beau’s at me so insolently. Sheer bravado. No, I’m not in a good mood.

Yes ma’am, he mutters, disappearing at a trot as a footman is supposed to do.

Charlotte Bolingbroke takes a quick look over the large Estate House. Some twenty rooms and a colonnaded front entrance that reeks of grandeur. Extravagant indeed, but one must keep up appearances, mustn’t one? She hitches up her diaphanous dress with both hands from its high line just below her breasts, eyes flickering in her direction because the sheer muslin garment she wears does little to hide those twin treasures on her chest from view and there isn’t a man alive, unless he is more disposed toward his own sex, who could refuse a romp with Charlotte Bolingbroke should it be offered.

The cause for her anger? In truth, as soon I learn of it from one of her maids, is not that Lady Gormley had flaunted the men, yes both of them at her, actually that is untrue because that act had further fanned the flames, but that she had previously sought out and arranged for their services to be available to her alone. Yes, again I must affirm that she had arranged to secure both men’s service’s as her lovers for the afternoon. Lady Gormley, it transpires had, in an act of near cuckolding effrontery, obviously hired them previously to not only service her own lusty needs, but too cock a snook at Charlotte as well.

Totally unforgivable behaviour in my stepmother’s eyes for she, having already set up the assignation with these two rascally rake’s, had put on her favourite dress. seductively sprayed her heady colognes about her person; applied light make-up in the newest fashion; tied off her short white stocking’s above her knees and worn little else. Nay nothing else in truth to impede the, hoped for, progress when their exploring hands might reach under her dress or else when their rampant cocks seek out her lusting, barely hidden, most needy treasure. Well that had been the plan, but all had gone awry in the worst fashion thanks to that woman, Gormley, and consequentially, Charlotte Bolingbroke is now, not amused.

Amy, here a shilling. Go see to my husband’s needs. Keep him well-occupied mind, none of that five-minute frolicking now. La, a rethink. Give him that new French thing, that way you will retain your virtue my girl, such as its worth.

Ma’am, the pretty creature giggles, gathering up her dress, and knowing that the randy man will at least double her trove for a job well done, she happily runs off. My father does so like a pretty wench to suckle his cock, small though it is, or so we are frequently told by Charlotte, and slow to rise too, due to his partial impotence, as I have heard for myself from the maids.

Her new plans thus put into play, Charlotte waves all except her other Lady’s Maid away to their work, then turns her gaze on the other girl.

"Faith Lily, you may smile for after he’s done with me, you can have the