Page 8 of Mounted By Her Officers

“And I can give you so much. We can.”

His voice held promise, but Lydia had taken promises seriously once and paid the cost.

“Can you now?” she asked, playing the coquette.

Denny’s smile flickered, then turned into a comical leer. “Can I ever.”

“But Captain Denny, I’m a young matron left all alone at this inn by my feckless husband. Won’t you help me?”

“I can help you, Lydia,” he said, palming himself over his breeches. “But will you help me?”

“I’ll do anything,” she said, placing a hand on his chest and sliding it up to where his medals were pinned. “But you must be careful.”

“With your virtue?” he asked skeptically.

“I must not return to my husband carrying another man’s child.”

“Oh, my good lady,” murmured Denny, bringing her hand to where he was hard for her. “I have just the method, if you would consent to trying it.”

“Anything not to reveal my shame.”

He reached into his pocket. In his hand, there was a small tin.

“Do you mean to smoke before we conduct our liaison?” she asked.

“While fighting, we men were charged with keeping our guns at the ready. We’d clean them and shave rough edges off bullets. And in the evenings, oil them with grease.” He popped open the lid and dabbed a finger in the yellow fat. “It seems my hand is dirty. You’ll have to take down my falls.”

Working quickly at the buttons, Lydia couldn’t help but smile. It was just like her officers to turn even the cloudiest day into one worthy of a picnic.

“That’s it, take it out, yes,” said Denny, grasping his shaft with his oiled hand and stroking.

“But helpful sir,” she said, “why must you use the precious grease on your piece? I’ve plenty of that.”

“Is that so? Your hot little cunny is in a lather for me, is it?”

“I didn’t say that,” she replied with a pout.

“No matter, I don’t mean to take you there.”

“You don’t?” she asked, affecting shock.

“Where are we, madam?”

Lydia thought back to the many signs they’d passed on the road. “...Little Horsted?”

“The name of the building.”

“It’s a barn, silly.”

“Yes, and if we’re in the barn, we should do away with the usual modes, shouldn’t we? Indulge our more animal sensibilities?”

“You mean to mount me from behind,” she said confidently, getting to her knees.

“That I do. And I’ll take you in a way that won’t leave you with child.”

Lydia gasped. “You don’t plan to insert yourself—”

“That I do,” he said, turning her so she faced away from him. “Feel free to consume straw while I make use of you.”