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She Goes Both Ways

By: martahari1858



Eighteen fifty seven had not been a good year for Missus Amanda Williams. 

In February, her husband Samuel had left her. Not just left her for another woman, but of all people, an actress of twenty something. Whilst losing her husband was hard to take, for a woman rapidly approaching forty, the fact that he opted for a young thing was devastating to her. 

Then in July, her father had died from a massive heart attack. Being in London when that happened, it was impossible to get home to the family plantation Selby Bluff in Meldrim near Savannah, Georgia for the funeral. Now, though, two months later, after settling her affairs in London, she was about to set sail from Bristol in the West of England to Norfolk, Virginia. 

Amanda and her father George had never been close, in fact since she was in her teens they had only seen each other a few times. Her mother had been the family, her father was the plantation. He ran it well with a military-like precision and efficiency, which ensured that it made loads of money and was one of the most successful in the Savannah area. 

Whilst the slaves were, of course, treated very strictly, 'as you had to otherwise they would be lazy,' they were certainly better off at Selby Bluff Plantation than many others in Georgia. George La Salle recognised that even slaves responded to fair treatment and that it was in his and the plantation's interest for them to be well motivated. He achieved that, and thus greater productivity than most plantations, by finding a good balance between fair treatment and strict sometimes harsh physical discipline. 

Despite having been brought up surrounded by slaves, Amanda found the whole slavery ownership of human beings hard to take or accept. 

It was her mother, Florence, who had been the driving influence in Amanda's life. A Yankee from Boston, she was well educated and well read. Why on earth she had moved from the sophistication of Massachusetts to the cultural wastelands of Georgia was a question that always fascinated Amanda, but had remained unanswered right up until her mother's death a few years ago. 

She had ensured that both Amanda and her year younger brother, Adam, had received excellent educations, something that her father felt was a waste of time, particularly for women. 

Whereas her brother went to Harvard, Amanda never did get to university, or to the finishing school in Europe that Florence had intended. On a weekend trip to New York from Boston where she had been visiting Adam when she was twenty-three, she met Samuel Williams. Amongst other things, he was a professional gambler and simply swept her off her feet. The next weekend he took the train to Boston and not only captivated her again, he swept her into his bed at the original hotel in Copley Place, The Belvedere. 

Pregnant, she married him a month later at a dazzling wedding in Manhattan, paid for by Samuel. Her father and most of her family apart from Florence and Adam refused to attend. Losing the baby after a few months and being unable to have further children was a heartache Amanda constantly struggled to come to terms with. 

Unlike most gamblers, Samuel was shrewd. Every time he won, he gave a quarter of his winnings to Amanda and invested another quarter in longer-term, difficult-to-sell investments. One of these was in a theatrical company owned by a descendant of David Garrick, a massive name in the American and English theatres. That investment grew rapidly and provided Samuel and Amanda with a steady income from both the New York and, particularly, the London businesses. 

"Let's go and live in London, Mandy," Samuel said one night as they lay in bed, still sweaty and panting from their lovemaking, which as usual had been spectacular. 

They talked about it for some time, with Amanda becoming increasingly more excited at, and interested in, the idea of living in the greatest city in the world, at that time, Queen Victoria's London. 

Whilst Samuel's gambling increased in London, where big poker games, roulette and Chemin De Fer were all the rage, his main occupation gradually became a theatrical impresario. He loved setting up the plays and music halls, negotiating the deals, motivating writers and, as Amanda found out later, fucking the young actresses. 

London had been fantastic. Samuel had been fabulously successful as a theatrical producer and latterly as a theatre owner. That had opened doors to so many circles that their five years in England was a whirl of social engagements which reached right up to the level of the Prince of Wales, Queen Victoria's eldest son. 

They lived in a mansion near to Piccadilly and had an estate in the country in Berkshire, not far from Windsor Castle where the royal family spent much of their time. They travelled frequently visiting the major cities in Europe, even going as far as to sailing down the Nile in Egypt. 

In many ways it was an ideal life. 

They were rich and successful and both had interesting work. Amanda had used some of the gambling money from Samuel to open a publishing company and as a hobby had started writing books, under a nom de plume of course. Her description of her writing as 'Jane Austen with red blood' meant that under no circumstances could they be associated with her! 

That was her secret occupation, even from Samuel. The string of houses of ill repute he owned were his secret from Amanda. As time went on, the brothels became not just a business for him, but also a hobby. 

It had taken Amanda, and Samuel come to that, to understand and adapt to the 'standards' of Victorian England. In America such aspects of life as etiquette, dress codes, manner, behaviour and morals were clearer and more straightforward than they were in Britain where everything appeared to one thing, but turned out to be something else. For some reason, probably the personality of the thirty eight year old Queen Victoria, social and family life was conducted with such a degree of prudishness that on the surface everything appeared to be of very highly morale values. But scratch that surface and all manner of double standards with pornography, prostitution, opium smoking, mistresses and lovers, kept women and gargoyles quickly emerged. In many ways this suited the liberal, easy going relaxed thinking and loose standards that Samuel, particularly and Amanda to a lesser, but nevertheless meaningful degree held.

They were both fairly heavily involved in charity work, having befriended the Earl of Shaftesbury, Anthony Ashley-Cooper, who was the leading philanthropist of the time. Amanda worked closely with him and Florence Nightingale, a nurse who Anthony supported. Samuel had a great interest in boxing and worked closely with the father of John Chambers who went on to develop the Queensberry rules. 

Overall it was a very heady time. But as Amanda came to learn, nothing is perfect, no couple's life is ideal, and there are always problems of one sort or the other either existing or just round the corner. 

London in mid-Victorian times was similar to the revolution in the nineteen sixties; it was 'swinging London,' but without the Beatles. With their various interests, Samuel and Amanda were right at the heart of the swinging scene. As usual with most 'swinging scenes,' sex featured strongly and Victorian London was awash with the desires of the flesh. 

Infidelity was rife among the upper classes, generally and, particularly, within the 'arty' set that Samuel and Amanda frequented. 

Most men had mistresses and many 'highly respectable' women found nothing immoral in having a lover. The difference between the genders was that men tended to have a series of mistresses, sometimes several at the same time whilst 'respectable' women generally had one lover, preferably lasting some time. The established pattern worked well, though naturally it was never discussed, apart from between very close friends.

The whole rather sordid way of life was 'brushed under the carpet.' Pornography was rife and on the increase, with brothels and streetwalkers seemingly everywhere. Not much different to later years, really. 

Samuel had always been a ladies' man. The tall, slim and muscular long, dark haired man had a highly fashionable, heavy black moustache tinged with grey. His piercing blue eyes seemed to permanently sparkle and, when looking at ladies, appeared to have x-ray abilities that seemed to send his gaze right through their clothing. For the first few years of their marriage, Amanda had believed his flirting was just his way. 

But slowly, it dawned on her that it was more than that. 

She never, of course, confronted him with her suspicions, but as time went on and their position in London became more deeply involved with the liberal life-style of theatre folk, her reservations turned into convictions.

It hurt at first. She found it demeaning, annoying and frustrating to wonder who, sitting around her table at a dinner party for instance, was being shagged by her husband, or which one of this week's cast was he putting up in a hotel away from the rest so he could pop round for 'afternoon matinees.' 

After a period of heartache, she gradually came to accept that was just how things were in upper class London. What was good for the goose was good for the gander, she eventually decided, responding to his infidelity by taking her own lover or, more accurately, lovers. 

After several meaningless, but nevertheless sexually satisfying flings, Amanda settled down with her long-term lover, Sir Bernard d'Argent. Into his fifties, the grey haired man was a scholar, being very versed in early psychology and as a playwright and author. Amanda thought he was the most intelligent man she had ever met; and a good mind had always been far more likely to get her juices flowing than mere good looks. 

After meeting him at the premiere of a play produced by Samuel, his intellect took just a few weeks not only to get inside her bloomers, but to get them, together with every other piece of her clothing onto the floor of his London apartment in Dover Street. 

Amanda had been careful, shrewd and, to an extent, lucky with the investments she had made with her share of Samuel's gambling winnings. She had acquired a considerable amount of jewellery, mainly gold and diamonds, invested in two railway companies in America, had bought land in the 'new world' of California and had earned interest from banks in both England and America on the cash deposited with them. 

When their relationship came to its inevitable end, Samuel was generous with his settlement, including the estate in Datchet and the house in Piccadilly with an annual allowance of several thousand pounds. After her father's death and her decision to return home, it came as a huge surprise to Amanda, after finalising her affairs in London, to find just how wealthy she was. 

She didn't really want to go back to the Deep South, but reluctantly felt she had no choice. Her brother, Adam was a dreamer, an artist a thinker. He wasn't a doer and he certainly could not run the plantation, well not by himself. She agreed to come home and run it with him until they could find a buyer, or until they decided what alternative courses of action were open to them. 

***

It was seven months since Amanda had had sex and she was suffering! Since losing her virginity at eighteen, she had not gone that long without it, but with Bernard on a visit to India, she had little opportunity, despite a few of her husband's friends 'offering their services.' 

Although believing that having a lover was acceptable, Amanda, like many other London women in similar situations to her, could not countenance sleeping around or promiscuity. So in the months leading up to her return home, she was reluctantly forced into celibacy. 

That changed on the voyage from Bristol to Norfolk. She had not meant to have sex with Jarvis, though was fully aware that men like the Captain regularly had such liaisons as they crossed the Atlantic. She was under no misapprehensions at all what this was about - a shipboard romance, a sexual fling for both of them that would end when they reached America. 

The feeling as his cock slid into her was amazing. It was like finding sex for the first time. She had forgotten just how wonderful a sensation it was to have a man push himself deeply inside her, filling her, seemingly consuming her and, yes, stuffing her to overflowing. 

Amanda had hoped to sail home on one of the newer, steam powered ships, but cost constraints by the shipping lines meant that New York was currently their only destination. She had asked around in London and had been advised not to take a cabin on one of the returning cotton ships for they were slow, had inferior quarters and often unruly and vulgar crews. That would never do! 

Instead, she booked a passage on one of the lighter, faster clippers that primarily transported tobacco into Bristol and light machinery, clothing and other goods back to Norfolk. The Western Spirit carried a maximum of ten passengers, but only five were on this trip. With Amanda were Mr and Mrs Stevensen, an elderly couple visiting their daughter in Baltimore, and Sir and Lady Barton, a middle aged couple who were moving to Washington as part of England's diplomatic team. 

Amanda had booked the premier cabin located in the stern of the ship. It had its own small balcony and was located near to the Captain's cabin, with only the dining room between the two. Both cabins had doors leading into the well-appointed dining room, where the five passengers dined most evenings in the company of the Captain and his three officers who shared the three eight hour shifts. 

Richard Jarvis was a career ship's captain. He had served in the Royal Navy for ten years before receiving an inheritance, most of which he invested in the Western Spirit. Being not just the captain, but also part owner, gave him the freedom he craved. A bachelor from Bath, he had an eye for the ladies and he had perfected the art of seduction on many of his journeys. Sometimes with a daughter of a passenger, occasionally with a wife and, rarer, with a woman travelling alone.

Amanda was a perfect target. 

His hopes had been raised when he had checked the manifest and passenger list after the ship had been unloaded following its arrival from Norfolk. The recent advances in the dockside materials handling equipment had speeded up the loading and unloading, and now the Spirit could be turned round in ten days. This enabled Richard to travel up to London for business meetings and to see his mistress there, the wife of one of his business partners. 

It also provided him with the time to oversee the loading and any repairs and to see his lady friend, his betrothed, in Bristol. 

Greeting the guests as they boarded the ship, Captain Jarvis felt the familiar fire in his loins when he saw Amanda. Probably in her late thirties, he guessed, she was a typical 'Southern belle'. He admired her pale skin, her lustrous, long, wavy, chestnut coloured hair, but most of all, her wonderful curves. Accentuated by her corset, her narrow waist, delightfully flared hips and deliciously full bust were enough to inflame any red-blooded male. 

As a footman helped Amanda down from the carriage she had taken from the railway station, Jarvis admired the fashionably low-cut, heavily patterned dress that seemed to gape away her from as she leaned forward descending from the carriage. He loved the warm days that brought out such clothing. The fashionable, very London cut of the dress drew his gaze, along with that of every other man on the deck, to her spectacular breasts. 

There and then, he vowed that he would be sucking them before the estimated seven-week journey to America was completed. 

As it turned out, it took him less than two weeks. 

As most attractive, especially heavily breasted women do, Amanda had felt his attraction to her as they shook hands and he accompanied her onto his ship. The sparkle in his eye was similar to her estranged husband, and she felt comfortable with him as he showed her to her quarters. The cabin had a small sitting room, a bedroom with a dressing room off to one side and doors leading to the balcony, looking out from the stern of the ship, and to the dining room. It had been worth paying the extra for the grandest, most luxurious and private accommodation on the ship. 

During the first week at sea, the two other officers alternated dining or lunching with the passengers, but the Captain hosted each meal. That wasn't his normal practice, but how else was Richard Jarvis to get to know Mrs Williams as quickly as he needed to? His plan worked well.

She sat on his left during the first week, with the captain paying her that extra amount of special attention without ignoring the other passengers. Amanda was flattered at his attention, which gradually became more flirtatious, albeit highly discrete, as they got to know each other. She began to realise that it was probably only a matter of time and as he became more forthright and forward in the second week, she made sure he realised she was interested. 

She did that in the practised way she had learned in London society, in the way that only women who are confident of their sexual attraction can do.

It was not very long before he invited her to join him for an after dinner drink in his Captain's night cabin when the other passengers had retired: discretion and good standards had to be maintained of course! Two days after their first drink in his cabin,, he kissed her. At first it was gentle and respectful on her cheek accompanied by a "Good night Missus Williams." 

Within a couple of days, however, it was powerful and suggestive right on her mouth, as he said, "I have wanted to do that since the moment I saw you alighting from your carriage, Amanda." She had no hesitation in responding. 

As they kissed, they both knew it was just a matter of time before they made love. What they did not know as he squeezed her breast, was that it would be as soon as the following day. 

Mr and Mrs Barton hadn't joined them for dinner as she was slightly unwell, and Sir and Lady Stevensen, as usual, retired early. Amanda and Richard stood on the balcony sipping wine as he smoked a pipe. Their location was completely isolated, they were alone, no one could see them, for the dining room door was locked. 

Perfect for the seduction he had in mind! He kissed her and she responded. 

The sexual frustrations Amanda had felt for several months had become more extreme since she had been on the ship. Even her daily masturbation sessions had not provided the real relief she needed. Only a man's cock could do that.

In a desperate attempt to assuage her need, she'd one time bravely risked having sex with herself on her secluded balcony. She had only once before been naked in the open air and the feel of the sea air on her bare body was fantastic. Her resultant self-induced orgasm was wonderful, and a second had quickly followed. That was the moment she knew she had to have Captain Richard Jarvis's cock inside her. 

Even as she recalled that moment, Richard's hand found her breast and squeezed it with just the right amount of pressure. It sent a shudder through her, bringing a little groan of pent up arousal from her mouth. 

Richard smiled to himself. He recognised the signs of her excitement and frustration, but then he always did. He was used to fucking middle-aged women who had been starved of sex and invariably they reacted in the same way. "I want you so much Amanda," he seductively whispered into her ear, crushing her stomach against his strong erection, as best he could in her voluminous, hooped skirt. 

She shuddered and groaned again. Never before had she felt such a strong need, nor had such powerful sensations flowed through her. Her sexual frustrations seemed obvious to them both. Shamelessly, she kissed him back, pushing her upper body firmly against his chest. 


She Goes Both Ways Ch. 02



Stopping at both Raleigh and Charleston for a night, the four hundred or so miles trip passed quite pleasantly. Adam met her at the train. 

"God he's handsome," she reminded herself, not having seen her brother for three years when he had visited her in London. 

Adam had inherited his mother's artistic side and not the commercial nature of their father. Amanda had more commercial acumen, but was also an artist at heart. Both had taken on the warmth of their mother and not the hardness of their father. 

Her brother had left the South, just as Amanda had. Following four years at Harvard, and graduating Phi Beta Kappa in fine arts and history, he could not bear the thought of being 'culturally buried' at the plantation. Additionally, he felt little affiliation with the South where he had been raised. 

What with Florence's 'Yankee' propaganda during his childhood and the eight years he had spent in New York and Boston at school and university, his perspective, attitudes and whole range of views were far more in tune with Northern thinking than that of the South. He had never expected to return to the Deep South, other than on visits. 

After Harvard, he had worked in an art gallery in Boston for a year or so, before moving to New York to join an eminent firm of artwork auctioneers. With the inheritance, he gained when granny O'Rourke, Florence's mother, had died ten years ago, he set up his own gallery on Madison Avenue right in the centre of Manhattan. Whilst it had enjoyed only varying levels of modest financial success, it had been absolutely fantastic as an entrance to, and a way of maintaining a position in, New York's social scene. 

So, as Amanda and Samuel had been in London, Adam was in New York, right at the heart of the heart of the trendy, sophisticated, artistic and creative set. 

He had studied at Harvard for four years from when he was twenty-two. Florence and granny O'Rourke had paid his fees, his father thinking that most education, other than business related subjects, was a waste of time and learning about art and history was totally pointless. 

Adam loved the student way of life. The whole idea of education purely for enjoyment and for learning's sake appealed to his intellectual and creative philosophy. The partying, drinking and mild drug taking played to his hedonistic aspirations and the reasonably ready supply of sex satisfied the constant needs of his flesh. 

It was at Harvard that he met Guy, a French Canadian also studying fine art. They got on well, they helped each other with their studies and partied together. They became almost inseparable and a force to be reckoned with by the increasing number of female students at the nearby Lasiter University for ladies. They went whoring together in downtown Boston in the area that later became known as the 'combat zone' and to the many opium dens around Quincy Market and the harbour. 

They also had sex together!

It had been accidental. Neither had experienced gay sex before. Neither had really thought about it; it just didn't register with either of them that they would be attracted to another man. And in a way they weren't. It was the buzz, the turn on, the thrill, the adventure, the taboo and experiencing the forbidden that attracted them. 

They were in Guy's apartment. They were discussing whether to go and smoke some opium or visit a nearby, upscale brothel. 

"It's very cold outside, I think it might even snow." Guy said. 

"Shall we stay in then?" Adam asked. 

"Yes, shall we?" 

"Why not, we've got some booze left." Adam said brightly, for they had been drinking brandy most of the afternoon. They were both slightly drunk. 

"No dope though." Guy said gloomily. 

"Or women." Adam commented. 

"I'm getting fed up with whores, even those at the Craven," Guy responded, referring to the brothel they had thought of visiting.

"I know what you mean," Adam replied, walking over to where Guy was sitting on the floor in front of the blazing fire and poured more brandy into his friend's glass. He stood there in his tight, white breeches, no boots or socks and his lacy, white shirt undone almost all the way down the front, looking down at his similarly dressed friend. "They rarely turn out to be as good as they look," he added, loving the warmth from the fire on his thighs and stomach. 

"No, but then I can't be bothered chasing the Lasiter bitches who lead you on then won't get their drawers off for you," Guy sneered.

Adam nodded as he slid down beside his friend on the floor, feeling an unexpected thrill as their legs touched. "Fucking women," he muttered, sipping his brandy and not moving away even though their hips were now also pressed together. He was well aware that he'd instigated the physical contact, but wasn't sure why. The trembling he felt inside also told him that Guy had made no effort to move away.

Instead, he laughed. "That used to be my hobby." 

"What did?" 

"Fucking women of course," Guy told him, flashing his eyes across at his friend. He and Adam often had this sort of cosy chat, but not with any physical contact between them. 

"Who needs 'em?" Adam slurred, reaching up and pushing away the thick lock of black hair that continually fell over his eyes. 

"Not us, mon ami," Guy said, casually resting his hand on his friend's leg, midway between his knee and groin. He hadn't meant to, had he? It was as if some sort of external force controlled it. 

Adam shivered. It was as though a hot poker had been placed on his thigh. His whole body was tingling at the contact. Did Guy feel the same? Was his friend's cock twitching and starting to lengthen, just like his own? What the hell was happening?

For a while, neither spoke. Only the sound of their heavy breathing filled the otherwise empty air as they sipped their Cognac. Neither wanted to disturb the other and neither wanted the feelings to go away, but neither felt able to say or do anything. Something was happening between them, and neither would or could admit it.

They remained like that for some time, leaning back against a chesterfield, their legs stretched out towards the fire, their tight trousers emphasising their respectable bulges, their shirts open almost to their waists.

Guy's hand almost imperceptibly moved on Adam's leg, and then stopped. The sound of their heavy breathing increased as the possibilities slowly dawned on them both.

They both turned their heads at the same time. Their eyes met. They simply looked at each other, enquiringly on one hand, invitingly on the other. They didn't speak, neither could find the words to express their feelings, but somehow they communicated the same message to each other. 

The feelings were not like those when with a girl. They didn't feel tenderness, they weren't seeking a sensitive, caring relationship. It was purely sexual.

But sexual of a sort neither had experienced before. They couldn't understand it nor could they explain it. That didn't matter. All that was of concern was satisfying this new found sexual inquisitiveness, giving vent to the adventure they felt and experiencing the buzz of going outside their sexuality comfort zone. 

Guy's hand moved again, softly sliding up Adam's leg. Not all the way, not to where he wanted to put it and not to where Adam wanted it, but far enough to indicate his intent; sufficient so that, with just the merest further movement, the side of his hand would nestle against the bulge of his friend's balls. Adam's leg began to shake uncontrollably under his friend's touch. 

In a croaky voice that Adam had never heard before, Guy suddenly broke the silence. "Would you like to remove your shirt, Adam?" 

His words burst over Adam. They were simple words, but meant so much. They carried a reassuring message, telling his friend that their feelings, needs, desires and lust were in tune with one another. 

"Why don't we both undress?" was Adam's reply. It surprised Guy. It surprised Adam, too. With it, he was accepting Guy's invitation to experiment with their sexuality. 

***

"Hello darling," Amanda said, as she stepped down the steps from the train at the main station near to River Street, in Savannah. 

"Amanda, it's so wonderful to see you. You look fantastic," Adam gushed to his sister. 

She really did look wonderful, too. Her long, thick, chestnut-coloured hair that was piled up on top of her head, with ringlets falling down by her ears, neck and forehead was so different to the parted in the middle, austere look that was still popular in Boston and New York and of course around dreary Georgia. 

The pale blue, silk dress with a wide hoop accentuated both her beauty and her body. The bodice was tight with a high neckline and a frilly collar that touched the bottom of her chin. It was pushed out in such erotic curves by the fullness of her breasts and by the way that her usual twenty-six inch waist was pinched in by her corset to a highly fashionable twenty-three inches. 

That, together with her upright posture encouraged by her corset, exaggerated the size of his sister's breasts and the flair of her hips. My God, her figure looked so amazingly feminine. As they embraced and kissed, her full breasts squashed against his chest. 

Adam was horrified to find himself becoming erect - surely that was all behind them? 

They took a carriage to the Eliza Thompson Guest House in what had become known as the Garden District of Savannah. With the price of cotton on a seemingly endless upward trend, until the very recent slump, which most were terming a 'blip', Savannah had been booming. The cotton barons had latched onto the elegant squares and beautiful gardens of, what was considered to be, America's first 'planned' city and had built impressive mansions in the area. 

Oglethorpe had set the scene well all those years ago. 

They went to their rooms to rest after their travels and agreed to meet for dinner at seven. Right on the dot, Adam tapped on his sister's door. She was waiting for him in a similar style gown to that she'd worn on her arrival, but this was a pale, smoky pink. 

His gaze immediately went straight to her magnificent, half-uncovered breasts. 

In America, such a sight was something only shared by husbands and wives, and then usually with the lamps out. Yet for some time in Europe, the necklines of gowns, in the evening especially, had been dropping. In the set where Amanda had moved it was often only a few ruffles of lace that prevented the tops of a woman's areola being seen. 

Adam had heard and had seen lithographs of European fashions, but had not realised just how extreme it had become. 

Meeting his sister's eyes, it seemed she was almost flaunting her well-endowed swells at him. The familiar stirrings in his tight, tailored grey pin-stripe trousers returned and his mind went back to the times he had seen those breasts in all their wonderful female glory. 

"As we have so many confidential topics to discuss Adam, I thought it would be preferable to dine in a private room, I hope you agree?" Amanda said as she walked out onto the landing in her voluminous hooped skirt. The bulk made it difficult for her to get through the door of her room and she gave one of her delightful giggles. 

"Of course Amanda, whatever you say," he replied, smiling at her laugh. He remembered it so well, and it put him at ease, so he easily fell into the older sister, younger brother roles they had shared most of their lives. 

They had a delightful dinner catching up on their lives, before moving onto discussing the plantation. Both agreed that they did not want to stay there permanently and would prefer to sell it as soon as possible. 

"But can we with all that's going on?" Adam asked, swilling back more wine. 

Amanda had no answer to that. They both knew how difficult that could be. "Let's wait and see when we get to Selby shall we?" she eventually replied thinking that it was a problem for tomorrow, not now.

"Yes of course," Adam replied, dreading the prospect of living on the plantation. The damn thing was miles away from anywhere that he would consider as 'civilisation.' 

And that, of course, meant away from a social scene of parties, drinking, dope, girls, hookers and now, occasionally other men. Although he knew he was not homosexual, he was well aware he needed the buzz of a variety of sexual opportunities. His appetite for sex was huge and he was greedy, he was adventurous and he just could not get enough of anything and everything. 

Yes, he knew that he could have an almost endless supply of black, slave women, but like the Boston hookers, they did not appeal. 

He needed other things. The forbidden. Just like the one he'd found with Guy that marvellous snowy night all those years ago, but which he could recall as if it was yesterday.

***

In the pleasant low eighty degrees temperature of Georgia in November, the thirty miles or so ride in the open top carriage to Meldrim was very pleasant, particularly as much of the way was alongside the lovely, slow flowing Ogeechee River with its abundance of birds and wonderful trees and plants. 

'Mmmmm, maybe it's not so bad," Amanda found herself thinking, reluctantly.

Amanda and Adam arrived at the plantation just before six in the evening, their excitement building as they drove up the oak lined half-mile drive from the road. It was, after all, where they had been born and had spent their childhoods. 

Their earliest memories were mainly warm and comforting, but as each had developed more sophisticated approaches to life, so Selby Bluff had become somewhere they resented. And now they were back there! 

The three floor, ten bedroomed mansion house had lain empty for several months and as the carriage pulled up outside they felt mixed emotions. Neither spoke as the driver opened the door and placed the steps for them to climb down. Both of them had been away so long they didn't know the man who had driven them, nor the footman who opened the door to the house. It was only when the maids, cooks, and general helpers came out and lined up that they both recognised some of the family's slaves and servants. 

Amanda had dressed conservatively, realising that London and European fashions had not yet reached New York and Boston, let alone Savannah. Last night had been a massive mistake. Although they ate in a private dining room and despite the guesthouse staff being as diplomatic as they could be, she was aware of their stares. The male waiters and the maitre'd could hardly contain themselves and when they sat on the balcony with some of the other guests, the eyes of the male guests seemed to be popping out. 

The resultant stares from their mostly, austere looking wives had been too much for Amanda. 

"I think we should go inside," she had said to Adam after just a few minutes of enduring the uncomfortable looks of disdain. She was not shy, but recognised that flashing so much of her bosom was wrong, or at least undiplomatic in this setting. 'Savannah was not ready for Amanda's tits yet' she laughed to herself as she and Adam retired to her room for a nightcap. 

Although, beautifully appointed, the second floor room was quite small. It did, though, have French windows opening onto a tiny balcony, which really was not large enough to sit out on, especially in the latest fashion of huge hooped skirts. Instead, there were two chairs with a low table just in front of the open French windows. Within a few seconds, a rather aged waiter brought a jug of red wine and two glasses. 

Adam stood and poured the drink as his sister, leaning forward a little, held her glass out for him. Even had he not wanted to, and he was not that shocked to find that he did, Adam could not have avoided seeing Amanda's deep cleavage. Her corset held her back ramrod straight, resulting in the slight forward incline of her body from the waist plunging her magnificent breasts forward. At the same, time the firm corset pushed them up and together, creating a beautifully enticing crease between. 

The London fashion of having frilly lace along the neckline of the dress, cut as daringly low as possible, meant that from some angles an onlooker was afforded a glimpse of the lady's areola, something that just never happened in America. Last evening, though, it had happened in Savannah and Adam had found it enormously difficult to tear his eyes away from the patches of pink, the deep crease and the expanse of powdered, soft and yielding flesh that swayed deliciously as his sister moved. Even though they were more covered tonight, the swell in her dress and her cleavage were quite spectacular.

Amanda was only too well aware that Adam was staring at her breasts. He had she knew been staring at them at every opportunity since she had walked down the steps from the train. Smiling, she reminded herself that he had actually been staring at them for years, but she was used to that for many men did just that. In all honesty, she told herself, it was not something that worried her unduly and in fact like many other ample bosomed women she quite enjoyed it. 

She was well aware that in the time since they had last been together in London, her breasts had grown into wonderful, round, peaches. They were like magnets with men, whose eyes invariable greeted them even as their mouths said hello to her eyes whilst their lips touched the back of her hand.

Some part of her had wondered if Adam would be the same when she saw him again. She was well aware of his fetish for breasts, any breasts, but especially hers. The way she had cradled his head to them as she comforted him seemed a long time ago. So did the way, in their late teens, he would continually stare at them, hypnotised by her twin delights. That was not all, of course, and she gave a soft sigh as she hurriedly put to the back of her mind the other things that had happened between them. 

It took some time to greet all the slaves and staff, particularly nanny Goldie who had looked after both of them when they were young. Then they met with Overseer Nathan Stevens. The fifty-odd-year old had been born on the plantation and had worked there all his life. He had been their father's right hand man and had been running it since he had died.

It took some time for him to bring them both up to date with the plantation business. The financial side of it was okay, he said, but was inevitably deteriorating due to the cotton yield per acre declining in recent years. 

"The slaves work slower," he explained, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. 

A quick tour followed. It was one that struck apprehension into the brother and sister. The clear signs of neglect would never have been allowed when they were younger. Uncut lawns, overgrowing shrubs, white fences where the paint was peeling and holes in the roadways round the estate, all spoke volumes. 

They would have their work cut out to make this work, let alone sell it for top dollar, Amanda was thinking.

***

Over the next few weeks they familiarised themselves with the slaves, the staff and the plantation, learning as much about the business side of it as possible. 

"We need to reach a decision by Christmas" Amanda had insisted to Adam. They had agreed that they had three options: keep running it and live there, be absentee owners or sell it. 

"The heavy planting season is late January, so that's our deadline," Amanda firmly told him. 

Of course, it didn't work out like that. How could such a far-reaching decision be made in such a short time? 

Not with them having to re-familiarise themselves with the area and their neighbours, the modest social life of Meldrim and the whirl of that in Savannah. Not with Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year to celebrate. Not with them having to learn about the running of a plantation that had simply been taken for granted all those years. 




She Goes Both Ways Ch. 03



The letter arrived some six weeks or so after Amanda arrived at Selby. That had been a trying and quite disturbing period not just because of the issues with the plantation and the dreadful situation developing between the North and South, but also because she had no sex with anyone. She had taken to masturbating frequently to relieve the frustration, but she knew that was not sufficient. She had always had a high sex drive and that needed satisfying, but the opportunities were as good as non-existent in Meldrim and even Savannah. So Amanda suffered, but knew full well that sooner or later and preferably sooner, she would have to take another lover.

The letter arrived by special delivery. Her heart started to pound when she saw the return address for it was The Western Spirit in Bristol, England. Taking it to her room, Amanda locked the door and with shaking fingers opened it and began to read.

My dearest Amanda,

I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the wonderful time we had during your voyage to America on my ship The Spirit. I most sincerely hope that you enjoyed it and gained as much pleasure, excitement and satisfaction from it as I did.

There are two reasons for this letter.

The first, my love, is to advise you that I will be visiting Savannah very soon and would love to have the pleasure of your company for some or all of the three days I will be in port. I will telegraph the details to you as soon as I have them.

The second reason, Amanda, is that I want to tell you something. As I write this I am ten days into yet another crossing of the Atlantic. I have no female companion and to be absolutely truthful with you I feel incredibly frustrated. Since those wonderful days, and nights we had together, being frustrated is becoming a condition with which I am very familiar. I see you everywhere Amanda and every part of my body feels you and that instantly arouses me and makes me hard as I am now: for the past few weeks I have almost permanently been erect. 

This feeling of sexual arousal with no means other than my hand to relieve it, is the prompt to me writing this letter. 

I am dressed and sitting at the writing desk in my cabin. You will remember the oak desk as the one I bent you over, the one where you presented your bounteous buttocks to me and the one Amanda where I fucked your ass. That was such a thrill to me. I don't simply mean the incredible sensation of having my cock in that wonderfully tight anus, but also the humility I felt when you offered that special place to me. For that, my dear, I offer you my undying thanks.

That said, Amanda, there were so many wonderful times that we shared. Right now, I want to 'talk' to you about some of them. At this stage I am removing my jacket and cravat and am hoping that will cause you to loosen your bodice. It may also persuade you to undo the buttons on your dress as I remove my shirt.

I sincerely hope, Amanda that you can recall my naked chest; that you can recall the way you stroked and caressed it and, as we got to know each other sexually, how you kissed, licked and sucked it. I can and do very clearly. As I sit here bare chested I am running my fingers over it trying desperately to replicate the feelings you gave me. Will you think about that? Think about your lips, tongue and mouth on the skin of my chest as my hands squeezed and adored your so wonderfully full breasts and receptive nipples that always exploded to my touch.

Soon Amanda I will need to undress completely. Please feel free to join me, my darling. To show me those breasts that I fell completely in love with, your rounded body, flat stomach and lithe thighs. To show me Amanda that rich thatch of your chestnut coloured pubic hairs and that pink slit that gave us both so much enjoyment. That slit that I stimulated with my fingers, sucked and licked with my mouth and yes, my dear fucked hard, long and often with my big, thick cock. 

Have you dreamed about that since you have been home Amanda? Have you recalled it sliding up your wet and welcome cunt.

Join me my lover as I make myself naked. The memories of our times together and the vain hope that you may even now be baring yourself for me has raised my cock to its fullest. As you know it rears well up my flat stomach to nearly reach my belly button. At the moment, Amanda it is so hard and feels as if it might keep growing until it reaches past my navel. Would you like that Amanda? Would you like a ten inch cock to fuck you right now?

I have done enough. I hope you are stimulating yourself as I rub my balls and cock. There is no doubt that soon my cock will explode just as it did so many times with you, in you and on you. On your breasts, your belly, your thighs, your buttocks and so marvellously over your beautiful face. Today alas, it will be my belly and chest that receives my offering.

Please my dear, as I use my hands to have sex, make love to yourself. Do all those wonderful things to your awesome body that you did for me when we mutually masturbated as the other looked on. Yes Amanda, just as I am please fuck yourself for me.

Your most obedient servant, total lover and complete admirer

Richard.

Amanda was mesmerised by what she read. Over the years she had received many love letters, but never one with such sexual content as this. It was as if Richard was there with her in her bedroom and how, as she gradually undressed she so wished he was. It was difficult reading and undressing at the same time, but Amanda could not stop either so she coped with the difficulty. 

She was not wearing a hoop and as she was at home expecting to see no one, not even Adam, she was wearing only one, thin petticoat and no corset, which made disrobing much easier. After removing the grey, cotton working dress she slipped her chemmi off and looked at her big, aching breasts in the full length mirror that she had recently had installed. 

'God they feel so full and warm' she thought to herself cupping them and pinching her pounding nipples as, reading his letter, she recalled the times Richard had sucked and chewed them. The sensations from her fingers and from the memories of the captain were so strong that a low moan slipped from her lips. Wearing just her white, thin cotton, knee length pantelettes she moved to the bed. Standing beside it she turned so that once more she could see herself in the mirror. She watched one hand kneading her breasts and the other sliding down her body, past her waist and over the swell of her stomach to reach the thick thatch of pubic hairs. The drawers did not have a gusset and the legs were separated and sewn to the waist band thus making freer access to that part of woman's body. Another low moan slipped from her mouth as she cupped her pubic mound, her fingers touching her soaked lips and the palm of her hand pressing on her clitoris.

She fell back on the bed her legs hanging over the side as both hands went between her legs. Although there was no need she removed her drawers so that she was naked, just as Richard had pleaded in the letter. It made her feel so aroused and free. Closing her eyes the memories of the five weeks that she and Captain Jarvis had been intimate as they crossed the North Atlantic, flooded into her mind.

Her hands went back to her breasts. She lifted them and bent her head so that she could lick and, just about, chew her nipples, an action that Richard had found so incredibly exciting. Recalling the times he had straddled her by her waist as she pushed the two tits together she did that now. She could almost feel the almond oil that he had poured onto the tips of them and let dribble down the sides and into her deep cleavage. And of course in her naked aroused state, with her lover's letter running through her mind it was so easy for her to recall the memory of him leaning forward so that his cock nuzzled between them, She remembered looking up into his eyes as she pushed the fleshy mounds together capturing his long, thick cock between as he whispered. "I am going to love your breasts Amanda." She recalled replying. "Yes Richard, fuck my tits" as he started thrusting in and out of the surrogate cunt she was creating with her bosom. 

And of course she recalled as clearly as if his cock was between them now it exploding and stream after stream of thick, gooey spunk splattering onto her neck and face.

The memories of the sex they had were so strong that quickly she felt herself starting to climax. Then the feelings broke over her and moaning and grunting as the tears flowed and her fingers probed deeply into her most womanly place she had a wonderfully powerful orgasm.

* Amanda had first met Oliver Strand at the Cotton Spring Ball in Savannah. Because of his fiftieth birthday, he was the guest of honour at the gala dinner and extravagant ball, although his status as Deputy Lieutenant General of the State of Georgia, would probably have guaranteed him that honour in any case. Except for the ceremonial figurehead, Will Cunningham, the aged Senator of Georgia and Lieutenant General, Oliver was probably the most senior and certainly the most powerful man in the state. He split his time between Georgia and Washington DC, where he had worked hard to establish a strong network of contacts. "Lobbying against this crazy idea to stop new slaves is my mission," he pompously told Amanda as they danced. "I have to succeed, or everything we have, all that is truly Southern will be destroyed." She nodded to him as they returned from the dance floor, his rather evangelical preaching falling on her deaf ears. She was more concerned that, having danced together several times, actually a few too many for decorum, that tongues would undoubtedly wag. Lieutenant General Oliver Strand didn't care about such things. Why should he, when he was above mere mortal chit chat? However, the other women's critical gazes didn't escape Amanda, particularly that of his crone of a wife Mathilda and the last thing she was looking for was to make enemies. Taking a moment to study her host, she considered him to be a distinguished looking rather than handsome man. His fine head of silver hair was slicked back and the mutton chop whiskers, although still fashionable, for the South, had long gone in the north of the country and Europe. As with many men of his age and position in society in the South, Strand was slightly overweight, and his slight stoop made him appear a few inches shorter than his full six feet. "It sure is a real pleasure and honour to have you come back all the way from England Miss Amanda," he continued, once they had returned to stand by the table holding the punch bowls and mint juleps. "It was circumstances Mister Strand, not choice," Amanda said, waving her fan across her face, more to hide her eyes from him than to cool down. "Well the people of Georgia thank the lord for those circumstances bringing you home to us," he smoothly said, his eyes roaming all over her body. Amanda smiled sweetly. Her foresight in telling Oliver Strand the Deputy Lieutenant Governor of Georgia and by some margin the most influential man in the State that she and her brother Adam were considering selling the plantation was paying off. He had already advised her that disposing of such a prestigious and historic plantation as Selby Bluff required considerable thought and planning. 

"Particularly, my dear, in times like these," he continued, with a hint of a sneer in his gruff voice. Amanda was not excused the patronising manner he took to most people, particularly women, when discussing business matters. After all, 'What could women know of such things?' he was thinking as he took hold of Amanda's elbow. 

Amanda ignored his superior look and allowed him to steer her out onto the terrace. "Why is that? What planning?" she asked, watching a plume of blue smoke hit the night air as he lit his pipe. 

"Nothing for someone as beautiful as you to worry about," he condescendingly told her. "Merely the fact that there are some new laws going through the State Legislature concerning such sales and, of course, cotton prices are not increasing as much as they have in the past due to this ridiculous recession. It's merely a short-term aberration of course, for once we put real pressure on the Yankees they will resolve the recession, but it does complicate things, especially plantation sales." 

Although no economist Amanda knew that Strand's reasoning about coming out of the recession was as weak as his argument that the South could pressure the North to end it. From her many heated discussions when she was married and lived in London she knew that recessions, although man made were not ended solely by the actions of man.

He finished with the look of someone lecturing a child, though the way he edged closer to press the sides of their bodies together suggested he thought of her as anything but a child. 

"Yes, I have been hearing rumours," she nervously replied, averting her eyes from him and looking out across the magnificent gardens to the distant river. 

"It's mainly due to the Yankees ridiculous obsession with the labour market," he drawled, using the South's euphemism for slavery as he slipped his hand around her waist. "It's to protect our way of life," 

"Oh, really," Amanda mumbled, feeling Strand's fingers tighten through her clothes just above her waist.

"Oh, yes," he smugly responded, sending another plume of smoke skywards. "Look, why don't you come and see me soon and we can go through the rigmarole and such stuff?" His hand inched along her waist and up a little as he spoke. Turning to face him, there was no way for Amanda to escape the leg that pressed against her skirt, pushing the hoop backwards. "Thank you sir, but alas I shall be leaving for a trip north shortly" she replied with a smile, knowing that this man's guidance would be invaluable, but wondering if she could get it without compromising herself?

"May I ask where you will be visiting?"

"Yes of course, Washington, New York and Boston."

"Wonderful."

"I beg your pardon sir?"

"Sorry Missus Williams. What I meant was that I too spend much time in Washington where I have an office."

"I see."

"And it would give me great pleasure if you would honour me by visiting me there."

"I would be pleased to do so Lieutenant Strand."

"No title pleas, I will send you some available dates tomorrow," he told her, waving his pipe in the air. "You are staying in town tonight aren't you?" 

"Yes Mister Strand, I am." 

"Where, may I ask?" 

"The Eliza Thompson place, she told him, attempting to edge a step backwards." 

"Yes, I know it. Will you be staying all day tomorrow?" 

"No my brother Adam will be meeting me for lunch and then we will ride to Meldrim." 

"Well I will have some dates delivered early" he told her, following her movement so that their shoulders brushed against each other. "It really isn't something that such a pretty head as yours should have to worry about," he continued reaching up and rather indiscreetly given the short time they had known each other and the public nature of where they were, brushing a lock of her chestnut coloured hair away from her forehead.

Amanda smiled sweetly, her face showing him that she was grateful for the compliment. Inside, rage seethed. How dare this pompous man talk to her in such a way, and press his body so close to hers when his wife could come onto the terrace at any moment? But her instincts told her to hide her annoyance. 

She knew how powerful he was and how useful he could be to her; pretty, delicate and female she might be, but at heart she was and always had been an opportunist. 

Besides, his earlier offer was very attractive and if he could deliver as he claimed his assistance would be invaluable: perhaps their only chance of escape from what was looking more and more like a living hell. Could he really help her organise things so that the estate could be available for sale to as wide a range of potential buyers as the State law permitted, she wondered using her business instincts? Or was that just a ploy to bed her, she wondered, letting her female intuition come into play.

"So," she asked, wanting to fully understand what he had told her. She needed to explain this to Adam later. "Exactly who would fall into the category as a potential buyer?"

He smiled condescendingly again, knowing only too well that this 'English' beauty needed him. He could use that to his advantage. 

"That means all residents in all states beneath, but not above the Mason Dixon line or outside the Union," he explained. "And French, of course, but not British individuals and companies. It's to stop people who oppose us buying up the cotton estates and freeing the slaves that way." 

"But, pray, Mister Strand, does that not restrict the buyers who might purchase Selby Bluff" 

"Yes of course it does." 

She smiled again, wanting him to explain. "So what exactly are you proposing?" 

He took a silent puff on his pipe before answering. "Well that is what the new State laws are there for and that is where I come in, Amanda," he told her confidently, resting his palm on the back of her hand. "I may call you by your first name, I hope my dear?" 

"Yes, of course" she retorted quickly eager to glean more information. "But pray sir where do you come in? How is that?" 

"To our friends," he began, raising his eyebrows as if to suggest she should do everything in her power to remain one of his friends, "That is, those who are loyal to the Confederacy, we want to help, not hinder." 

"I am not sure, sir that I am completely following you." There was more to this than met the eye, and Amanda wanted to pin down exactly what he was proposing?

"Well, please, my dear, don't worry your pretty little head about it too much, that is what I am for and where I will help?" Strand said very patronisingly, leaning forward so his mouth was close to Amanda's ear as he squeezed her hand. 

Amanda returned his smile, but was determined not to be distracted. If she read it right, this man was offering to ensure the sale would go through to the right person at the right price. How could she get him to confirm that, she wondered?

"I thank you sir, of course, but could you explain more?" 

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, planting a smoke fuelled kiss on her skin. It took all her effort not to show her repulsion. His next words proved the wisdom of her keeping her feelings to herself.

"There are ways and means, Amanda," he replied with a knowing look. "Ways and means around everything, if you know the right people." 

She had what she wanted! "And you, I assume Mister Strand are one of those?" she smiled graciously, happy to receive confirmation that this was a man she needed. 

"Oh, yes, Missus Williams, I am very much one of the right people! And please call me Oliver."

***

The trip to Washington DC went quickly, despite the rather tiresome delays due to the frequent changes of railroad made necessary by the state restricted nature of the companies. Just two days after leaving Savannah, they were checked in to the brand new and rather ostentatious Willard hotel on K Street, not far from the White House. 

Their meticulously drawn up schedule allowed Amanda and Adam three days in the capital. They needed that time, with their individual contacts and old friends, many of who were involved with the government. The heavy schedule of lunches and dinners, balls, soirees and parties would be tiring, but worthwhile.

The more views they solicited in Washington, the more alarmed they became. They hadn't anticipated the sheer strength of opinion against slavery in general and its extension in particular. Then there was the value of their plantation. It looked to be significantly lower than they had been led to believe down south. 




She Goes Both Ways Ch. 05



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 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 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 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. 




She Goes Both Ways Ch. 06



"Mister La Salle," a voice called from over Adam's shoulder.

Turning, he recognised Jayne Essington, a friend of Amanda's from some time ago. "Good morning Missus Essington" he said taking her hand, bowing and kissing it. "How lovely to see you. What brings you to Boston?"

"I am here for my nephew's graduation" the plumpish, but nevertheless quite attractive, black haired widow informed him, leaving her hand in Adam's.

"From Harvard?"

"No Boston University. He wanted to study agriculture and Harvard didn't offer such a course" she replied. 

"Has it opened yet, I had heard it was being planned?"

"Well its not officially a university yet" Jayne flustered, mentally kicking herself for trying to show off. "Oh" Adam said politely.

"It's the agricultural college that will become the university in the next year or so if the recession lifts" she went on giving Adam the phrases the college had given to her. He wants to be a modern farmer and none of the major colleges offered anything in those subjects. Whilst Jayne was confirming the modern trend of 'secondary' colleges and universities offering more practical studies, she was also telling Adam that the family couldn't afford Harvard. That reminded him that Amanda had always said that Jayne was a snob and a social climber.

"And when does that take place, may I ask?"

"The graduation? Not for a few days."

"So until then?"

"I have no plans, I have time on my hands" she said.

Whilst Adam didn't know Jayne well, he knew that she and Amanda had been at school together and as young ladies had been fairly close friends. That had waned when Amanda moved to the North, then on to Europe and had, until very recently remained dormant, although the two similarly aged women had maintained a correspondence relationship. He knew that they had met a few times since Amanda's return to Meldrim and the Bluff and recently he had been at a ball with his estranged sister and the widow Essington. They had got on quite well and had indulged in some mild flirting.

He had always had a penchant for her. He found her hugely sexy and for years they had flirted, both thinking, but not confiding in the other that in other circumstance after Hugo, her husband had been killed in a railroad accident that something might happen. The circumstances that might have made it possible had not, however, happened. 'Until now' Adam was thinking to himself.

"So Adam, what, pray, brings you to Boston?"

"Oh this and that, a little business, some old friends and some new ones" he quipped. "Amanda and I are on a trip."

"Is your adorable sister here?"

"No she's in Washington or maybe New York, I don't know."

"Don't know?" Jayne asked fluttering her eyelids. "Pray why not?"

"Sorry, I should not have said that, but as you know only too well Missus... er Jayne, Amanda is difficult to keep up with."

She laughed. "Yes I have spent most of my life trying to do that."

Jayne had been sitting in the lobby of the Tremont Hotel that was reputed to be the first luxury hotel in the country, certainly it was in Boston opening some fifty years ago. "May I get you something, tea, coffee or a juice perhaps?"

"No thank you Adam, I am meeting my attorney who is late, infuriatingly so I might add."

"All I can say Jayne is that I consider his tardiness to be fortunate."

"Fortunate, Mister La Salle?" she asked raising her eyebrows and turning her head enjoying the flattery

"Yes, for otherwise we may not have met."

She threw her head back and laughed, her small, mostly uncovered bosom jiggling delightfully. "But we have met so many times Adam," she replied quietly.

"But not in such circumstances, madam."

"Such circumstances as what may I ask sir?" she said, holding his gaze.

"Well... away from Georgia, in Boston, by ourselves and with time on our hands."

"Are you not busy then Adam?"

"No not for a few days until I go down to Washington or New York."

"I see, that's er... nice."

"Yes I think so," Adam said their gazes again lingering.

"I do too sir, if I may be so bold to tell you."

"Oh yes madam, you may well be so bold and I thank you for that."

"Thank you too sir, I am indeed flattered you say such a thing" she went on carefully using her fan to shield her eyes from his.

"Not at all ma'am. Perhaps we could continue the conversation over dinner, maybe this evening?"

Adam knew he was chancing his arm. It was unusual for a man, albeit a single one, to ask a lady, albeit a widow, in person to dinner; etiquette required a written invitation. It was even more unusual to present any invitation with such short notice for that implied that both parties had a limited diary. Jayne Essington was as acutely aware of these social conventions as she knew Adam was and she knew that she should respectfully decline. But as he had conveniently pointed out they were away from home and they were in Boston. What had gone unsaid, but was clearly implied was that they were both single and that they had the time, the place and the opportunity if they were so inclined. They both knew that no one was checking on them, they were both clearly attracted to each other and it was dawning on them, they both probably were 'so inclined.'

Before she could answer, a stunningly good looking young man came into the lobby. He was tall and slim with a full head of long, dark wavy hair that he wore in a fashionable, to Boston and New York, unkempt style. He was clean shaven and was wearing a deep burgundy coloured coat and pale grey, very tight trousers with a black, silk waistcoat. He cut a handsome figure as he strode purposefully, his hat in his hand across the marble floor of the huge lobby seemingly oblivious to the stares of envy from the men and admiration, verging on lust from the women.

"Oh Adam," Jayne said, turning towards the man. "May I introduce you to William Ableforce, my nephew? William, this is a very old friend of mine from Georgia, Mister Adam La Salle."

The two men held hands and each other's gazes slightly longer than maybe they should.

"Very pleased to meet you Mister Ableforce."

"Enchantee Mister La Salle," the young man said, with a Boston accent

"I'm not French," Adam smiled.

"And I don't speak it really," William laughed.

"Call me Adam, please."

"Of course, and I am William" the beaming smile and the locked gaze the young man gave him sent heat rushing to his loins. It had been some time since Adam had been with any man other than a male whore.

"Adam has just invited us to dinner," Jayne said with a mischievous smile. "Oh sorry sir, your invitation was to both of us, wasn't it?" 

"Yes of course" Adam lied, half disappointed that he would not be getting her to himself, but half elated that he would spend more time with William.

"Ah aunt I have a confession."

"Pray what is that William?"

"I have an appointment this evening."

Adam liked hearing that for it meant he would have Jayne to himself.

"I have agreed to play chemin de fer at nine this evening."

"Ah such a shame, but perhaps dinner with us first?"

"I would be honoured Aunt, Adam." 

"Until dinner then" the young man said. Holding Adam's gaze he placed his hands on Jayne's shoulder and kissed her on both cheeks. Watching them Adam couldn't help wondering whether it was rather too lingering a kiss for a nephew and an aunt? Moving away from Jayne he bowed slightly and said. "I am afraid I have to go I am meeting some fellow graduates to work on our speeches, very nice to meet you Mister La Salle and I look forward to dinner."

The older man and woman watched the youngster amble confidently across the lobby before Adam spoke again. "A very amenable young man" he said, looking at Jayne who appeared to be blushing. "It should be an enjoyable evening. Where would you like to dine?" 

"Well we are staying here at the Tremont so perhaps here?"

"That would be wonderful."

"We have a suite. That might be more convenient than a restaurant?"

Adam nodded, wondering why she had suggested her hotel, or included William, for that matter. Not that he intended protesting. "Until this evening then, madam, say seven o'clock?"

"Yes Adam, that would be favourable, but please sir may I ask for your discretion."

"Of course, I am a Southern gentleman at heart," he smiled.

"As I am naturally a Southern Belle," Jayne laughed back.

"And the discretion madam? In which direction is that."

"In all directions, sir."

His eyebrows curved in confusion at the flirtatious, attractive and very sexy woman. "Pray madam, why the need for such discretion? We are both free and unencumbered are we not?"

"I have my reasons, Adam."

"May I ask if they are they for sharing?"

"I would not wish for my friend, your sister to learn about us meeting here."

They were silent for a few moments. "Is it me Jayne? Is it that you need discretion because of me?"

"No not at all, but I have a reputation to preserve. I do not wish to be seen as a merry widow."

"Ah" Adam smiled adding with a glint in his eyes "Are you, Jayne?"

With an equally beguiling smile and eye twinkle she replied. "Well Mister La Salle, that is not the type of question I am accustomed to and I must advise it is for me to know and you to find out, isn't it?"

"Yes true and I had hoped to do that at dinner with you alone this evening. Does William need to be there?"

"That is part of the discretion. I would also not wish for Amanda to know about William."

"How is that? He is your nephew isn't he?"

"He is not blood Mister La Salle," she explained, staring deep into his eyes before being distracted by a black coated aging gentleman with mutton chop whiskers. "Ah Mister Quelch, at last." 

*

Adam quickly concluded his business in a private room of the hotel and went back through the lobby hoping that Jayne might be there or, as appealingly, William. Neither were. He took a cab to his quarters in Harvard, which the university provided free of charge to their alumni benefactors. Although they were rather Spartan, they brought back such wonderful memories that he always stayed there when visiting Boston.

He lunched in the post graduate restaurant, meeting a number of people he had known for years. As usual that resulted in rather too much wine and port and so he spent the latter part of the afternoon slumbering in his small room.

Waking rather later than he had anticipated, he had to rush his preparation before calling a carriage. Trundling along Massachusetts Avenue, across the bridge and turning left onto Storrow Street with the Charles River on his left, before reaching the Common, his head was a whirl of thought, hopes and considerations. Although he probably should have been thinking more about the sale of the plantation or, even more importantly his generally disastrous business ventures, his thoughts could not extend beyond Jayne, William and the forthcoming dinner with them. 

He was thinking specifically about how he could get one of them into bed, but kept reaching a blockage that revolved around Jayne's parting phrase this morning. 'He is not blood.' What could that mean and why was she so concerned for discretion especially with his sister who was an old friend? 

He still had no answer when he arrived at the hotel.

He advised the flunky at reception that he had an appointment with Missus Essington and Mister Ableforce and was asked to wait as a page went to the suite and returned, advising Adam to follow him.

"Good evening Mister La Salle," Jayne said, after she opened the door to the suite. "Thank you Morgan," she said to the page, who beamed adoringly at her as Adam gave him a quarter.

He was surprised, but hugely pleased that she was wearing a fashionably, almost European level of low cut dress. It had a blue top and pale yellow skirt with blue piping that was not hooped as was the norm. When in large company, the voluminous hooped dresses were de rigueur, but often nowadays America ladies were taking to dispensing with the frame under the skirt that produced the huge skirt. The practicalities of moving around, sitting down and generally being in modest sized rooms were beginning to win the battle with convention and etiquette. 

She looked fantastic. 

As she was wearing a French cut dress which had yellow lace round the low neckline most of her chest almost to the edge of her areolae were on view and although her breasts were modest her cleavage was spectacular; he couldn't help thinking of his sister's breasts as he stared at Jayne's. She had arranged her black hair so that it was bunched at the back and had numerous curls and tresses tumbling down onto her bare shoulders the darkness of her hair contrasting wonderfully with the paleness of her Southern Belle flesh. Taking her hand and bowing deeply he kissed her and muttered. 

"You look wonderful Missus Essington."

"Thank you kind sir," she replied very aware that the focus of Adam's attention was her bosom. As Adam straightened up still holding her hand neither moved. They looked into each other eyes and both could see the desire.

"You are most welcome, ma'am," Adam replied as Jayne slowly and reluctantly removed her hand from his.

"I have ordered dinner for seven thirty if that is agreeable to you?"

"Of course it is Jayne. Where's William?"

"I don't know, but he is often late."

"My lucky day then," he smiled, accepting the glass of red wine.

"Lucky Adam?" she said, looking across the rim of her glass.

"To have the opportunity madam, to be alone with you."

"Thank you sir, but then by that measure maybe it is my lucky day as well?"

"Do you think that Jayne?" Adam asked, his hopes rising.

"Indeed I do sir, indeed I do."

"Well that makes everything nice and dandy Jayne, that we both feel the same," Adam said standing up from the high backed chair and moving over to sit beside her on the long low chaise.

"Yes Adam," she said as he took her hand.

"What time do you expect William?" he asked, wondering if there was any chance of some form of sex with Jayne before her nephew arrived. The situation was hopeful.

Jayne diplomatically pulled her hand away. "Adam there is something you need to know."

"And what may that be Jayne?"

"I told you earlier, that he is not blood didn't I?"

"Yes Jayne, yes you did."

"I also told you that William needed to be part of your discretion didn't I?"

"Yes."

"And have you noticed that this is a one bedroom suite Adam?"

It hit him like a thunderbolt. William was Jayne's lover. She was a forty something woman and he a twenty four year old man. He had heard of older women taking younger lovers and when at Harvard he had been one of the younger male lovers who enjoyed the pleasures of more mature women. But it hadn't entered his mind that he was in competition with William. 

"I see, madam. You can rely on my discretion," he said, feeling and sounding disappointed.

There was an atmosphere between them as they chatted politely, waiting for the staff to serve dinner. Adam felt let down and Jayne apprehensive of what she had planned for later in the evening. It wasn't too long before William arrived, just as the waiting staff was setting up the dinner.

The three of them chatted in a reserved way at first, but as they drank the white then red wine they loosened up and the conversation became more animated. The dinner was oysters followed by a choice of pumpkin soup or a beef consommé, a fillet of red mullet, a very rare rib of beef with potatoes and beans then salad followed by cheese, a chocolate cake and coffee and brandy.

"Jayne, thank you that was a wonderful dinner," Adam said, breathing in and wishing he had not worn the trousers he had bought in Paris two years ago before he'd put on a few pounds.

"You are most welcome, Adam."

They were sitting at a small round table. As the waiting staff were extremely attentive and cleared plates and other used crockery very quickly, the table generally had only the diner's three plates and the condiments, salt, black pepper, brown pickle, red cabbage and mustard on it. It was now dark outside and several lamps and candles had been lit in the room, providing the suite with a flittering, dim and romantic atmosphere.

"Gentlemen," Jayne said standing up. Adam and William also stood as she continued "Please enjoy your port." 

With that, she glided across the room and vanished through the floor to ceiling double doors presumably, into the bedroom. The waiting staff produced a carafe of port, a basket of fruit and a large portion of cheese and then cleared everything else away. 

William and Adam looked at each other not saying much for a while as Adam lit a cigar and William a pipe. They chatted for a while about William's studies and impending graduation and then about the worsening economic situation. Inevitably the question of the tension between the North and South came up and both of them agreed that military action seemed more and more likely.

"William, may I be bold and ask you a personal question or two?" Adam eventually asked as the two handsome men, both of whom had deep set, moody eyes smiled at one another.

"Please feel free to do so Adam" William replied wondering where this might lead.

"Jayne advised me that you are her nephew."

"Yes that is correct."

"Yet she also advised that you were not blood."

"That is also correct."

"Hmmmm," Adam mused, sipping his port and feeling even more confused. But before he could take it further, one of the floor-to-ceiling double doors leading to the bedroom opened, not fully, but just half way. Adam expected Jayne to emerge through the doorway, but instead he just heard her voice. "Gentlemen, I await your pleasure."

Adam raised his eyebrows at William who immediately stood up.

"I think she wants us both to wait upon her. Come Adam."

Now more confused than ever, but equally hugely excited at the prospect of visiting Jayne in her boudoir, albeit with her 'nephew' in attendance, he followed the younger man across the sitting room and into the bedroom.

"Welcome" Jayne said.

The only light in the room came from a single candle on a table by the French windows and what shone in through the half closed doorway. As his eyes became accustomed to the dim light, he saw that Jayne was sitting on the edge of the high, wide bed. She had let her hair down so the black tresses tumbled onto and over her nearly bare shoulders for, amazingly and utterly surprisingly she was wearing just a white, broderie Anglais sleeveless nightdress. 

Staring with incredulity, he made out the narrow straps of lace over her shoulders, her bare arms the low cut neck, the buttons from the neckline to her waist, the top one of which was rakishly open, the hem of the nightdress daringly only just covering her knees and her white stocking covered legs with no shoes.

"My pleasure madam" Adam stammered, feeling himself hardening.

"And mine Jayne" William added.

They were silent for a moment.

"Thank you for attending me in my boudoir, my two most favoured men."

"Again you are of course most welcome, but Jayne what do you have in mind," Adam managed to blurt out as his confidence returning.

With a beguiling and very sexy smile on her face, she replied in a highly coquettish manner. "I haven't simply asked you to join me in my boudoir, gentlemen."

"No, pray, where then?" Adam asked.

Jayne stood, turned her back on them, pulled the sheet back on the bed and slid under it.

"Here Adam," she said patting the bed on her right side. "And here William," she continued touching the bed alongside her left. "I wish you both to attend me in my bed."

Adam was amazed at the temerity of the woman; amazed, but also incredibly aroused. He didn't know for sure, though, what to do. Lay on the bed clothed, or undress first. Maybe because they had done this before, he conjectured, William seemed to know what to do. Already he had removed his cravat, taken off his waist coat and jacket and was undoing the buttons on his shirt.




She Goes Both Ways Ch. 07



Amanda and Adam returned to Selby Bluff in mid-July for the cotton harvesting. That entailed very early starts at daybreak, long days and late finishes at dark; a work pattern that neither were at all used to. The crop was satisfactory in overall volume, but the yield per acre was low, the lowest it had ever been. Most plantation owners attributed this to the slaves getting lazier over the years; they never really gave much consideration to fact that it might be due to lack of capital investment, training or lack of management techniques on their part.

The siblings were both appalled at just how hard the slaves were made to work even with the scratched and torn hands that were part of the lot for cotton pickers. Even the oldest and frailest were made to work along with the girls and women, some of whom were clearly pregnant. Although they both hated the spectacle they knew there was nothing that could be done so they spent most of their time in the house writing letters or completing their diaries.

"Amanda I really cannot stand this any longer" Adam grunted one evening when they met for a glass of wine before dinner. 

"Stand what brother?" She asked looking at Adam and realising that he was probably slightly drunk.

"These wretched souls working fourteen hours a day, seven days a week" he replied adding. "Have you looked at their poor hands?"

"No Adam" she replied not quite sure what he was talking about and thinking he might be joking. "But then I don't see their hands in close up do I?"

"What?"

Smiling she replied. "Emiline?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are her hands rougher than they used to be? You presumably see hers in close up." She smiled.

Adam realized what she meant. "Don't be ridiculous."

"What do you mean?"

"This has nothing to do with her, I am serious."

"Sorry brother" Amanda replied realising by the look on his face that indeed Adam was serious.

"It's just so horrendous how we treat them. It's not as bad as this in the slaughterhouses of Chicago, the steel mills in Pittsburgh or the garment district sweatshops in New York."

"I know darling" she whispered cradling his head in her hands as she saw that he was starting to cry.

Everything was getting on top of Amanda. She was beginning to loath the plantation and the life-style it created as much as Adam clearly did. Although she had believed that she had sorted out his financial affairs when they were in New York she was disappointed and annoyed to learn that more creditors were chasing him. One evening when he was slightly drunk and they were discussing the situation he tearfully admitted that he owed thousands of dollars that he had 'forgotten' about. The recession brought on by the collapse of the Ohio Life company had cost Amanda very heavily. As British investors withdrew funds from the US and invested them in the safer home markets so US stocks and bond prices fell, land values in the mid-west slumped, grain prices dropped severely and economic activity declined. Amanda was getting hit everywhere. Even her collection of jewelry was losing value for the gold flooding in from California was too much for the market to absorb without prices dropping, and they did. On top of that there was the situation with Strand and the conflict she had between abhorring the man yet gaining enormous pleasure and excitement from having sex with him or, she realized as that came into her mind, even the thought of having it with him. Then, of course, there was Fairfax and her 'love' for him and her spying on her 'homeland. Her life was too complicated, she was beginning to believe. 

The letter delivered by an army militiaman just as the final cotton was being picked, baled and dispatched simply added to her woes. 

My darling,

I am deeply and acutely aware of the imposition I place on you and it rips at my heart to do so. But there is a greater good that I seek to serve and know that you wish to help as well. 

I have no doubt that when your harvest is complete and the time is right that you intend to address the business we discussed last time we met. I hate to have to press you on this, but a hasty end to the matter in hand is becoming more crucial by the day. Anything at all, my love, that you can do to help our cause with this matter will be greatly appreciated by me, of course and by others at the very highest of levels.

Your everlasting love

F

"Damn, damn, damn, damn him and all men" she groaned after reading the elegantly phrased, but overall demeaning to her letter. 'It's almost an instruction from him and those of the highest of levels to let Strand fuck me' she thought, again wondering just who knew that she had slept with the monster and how far up the chain of command it went? 'I bet even old doughface knows' she thought using the nickname for the President who she had met many time when he was the US Ambassador to the Court of Saint James in London. 

She hated doing it, but tingled as she did. On a shopping trip to Meldrim she telegraphed Strand.

My Dear Sir,

Please forgive me being forward, but I am most keen to learn if there have been any developments with our mutual venture. I would be delighted to receive a telegram to advise me or, if you prefer, to attend on you to discuss the matter further.

My kindest possible regards

Your obedient servant

Amanda Williams

She had only been back at the plantation an hour or so and was just taking tea with one of the engineer's wife when she saw the courier arrive. Moments later Lucy a junior housemaid delivered the telegram to her on a silver tray.

"Excuse me Mary I do need to read this" she said fighting hard to stop her hands shaking as she opened the envelope.

My Dearest Missus Williams,

It was as delightful as it was precipitous to receive your message earlier this afternoon. 

There have indeed been some developments and I was just about to contact you to invite you to meet with me to discuss them. They are fairly complicated and may require us consulting with lawyers and possibly a land surveyor as well as having detailed discussions. I was hoping, therefore that you would be able to arrange a two day visit to Savannah at your earliest possible convenience. I shall be in Savannah for the next ten days and can make myself available to you to meet your schedule. I would, though, urge you to arrange this for the earliest possible date.

Your most willing servant and friend

Oliver 



"I have to go to Savannah for a few days," she told Adam after she had been into Meldrim and exchanged telegrams with Strand arranging a convenient date the Monday of the following week. She explained that it was to do with the sale of the plantation.

"Shouldn't I be there too?"

"Well Strand insisted I come alone."

"Hmmm, I wonder what he wants?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well you saw a lot of him in Washington and quite frankly Amanda, he is known as a notorious womaniser."

"Is he, I didn't know that?"

"Oh come on, you must have heard about him," he said sulkily.

"Well now you mention it Jayne Essington did rather hint that he has propositioned her."

"And others, you included I imagine."

"Actually Adam, whether he has or hasn't really is not your business is it?"

"Yes sister dear, it is, it's partly my plantation, but you go and fuck him if you think that will help sell the plantation" Adam snarled storming out.

Amanda felt a lick of heat inside her body. That was precisely her plan. They had made arrangements to have dinner together on the Tuesday, the day she arrived, when Strand had advised it will be a 'dinner a deux a la Washington' clearly implying that was when he would first take her. 

In the lengthy telegram exchange between them setting up their meetings they had been highly discrete using vague phrases and near codes to explain their points. He had implored her to leave the Monday afternoon and evening free adding very undiplomatically and cheekily 'night as well' for her to meet some more of his friends. Amanda knew that he wanted to impress her by showing how popular and well-connected he was and at the same time show her off to them and illustrate what a rake he was, for she was positive he had told some or all of his cronies, de Bow included, that they were lovers. That made her wonder just how many men from both camps were aware of her loose drawers.

As usual when in Savannah Amanda stayed at the Eliza Thompson guest house. That was now run by Eliza's daughter Megan, a fifty year old spinster. She provided an outstanding and extremely confidential service in her small, exquisitely appointed and scrupulously clean facility as well as providing wonderful food. Amanda had telegraphed her booking to the guest house and Megan welcomed her like an old friend showing her to her usual room that had a balcony with floor to ceiling windows overlooking Oglethorpe Avenue and Yamacraw Village.  As Milly unpacked all the clothes and stored them away Amanda rested for what she knew was likely to be a very tiring, both emotionally and physically, visit.

As in Washington, Strand had a mansion outside the city and a combined house and office in the city in Reynolds Square. These were in addition to his official residence as the Deputy Lieutenant Governor that was in Forsyth Park. He, therefore, had a range of locations where he could indulge his fancies and the location he chose to meet Amanda was his office and house in Reynolds Square; it was just a few minutes carriage ride from the guesthouse.

She was very aware that Strand would expect her to pay a price for the help he had provided. What she didn't know was just what the price would be and what form it would take. That she would have to have sex with him was certain, and while it partly appalled her, in a strange and inexplicable way it also thrilled her, just as it had last time. 

Was that something to do with Strand himself? Or was it just the thought of debasing herself like a common whore for money and information that she found so arousing? But then on the other hand, her alter ego told her, it might be to do with the greater good. It could be that the thought of being part of the campaign to stop the country sliding into civil war appealed so much to her that it became like an aphrodisiac. It certainly felt that way and she liked to think that it was at least a contributory reason. The mere idea of being able to give her lover Fairfax Lennon information that could prevent the terrible suffering on the one hand made her feel good, but on the other excited her. After all, her thought processes told her; how often can a woman play a part in history?

*

Amanda arrived by carriage at Eliza Thompson's guesthouse at just after two on the Monday afternoon. It hadn't been a particularly pleasant journey for Casio the driver had to ride the horses fairly hard to maintain a speed where there was a constant breeze, cooling Amanda and Milly and that made the journey bumpy and very hectic. At a nice, leisurely pace the humidity and one hundred degree heat would have been so oppressive that the journey could not have been contemplated by a genteel lady and her maid. The fact that they were using a carriage and four made the speed possible and thus, they were transported from Selby to the heart of Savannah by noon in just over three hours, the quickest Amanda could remember ever completing the journey.

As she had expected there was a number of messages waiting for her. One was from Adam begging her forgiveness, another was from Fairfax, one was from Strand and the other, totally unexpectedly was from James de Bow. It didn't occur to Amanda until later just how de Bow could have known she was expected at the guest house. But then both national and state politics were both full of intrigue and so it seemed everyone had their own information network!

After she had met de Bow in Washington he had sent her a few telegraphs confirming that when she was next in New Orleans she would be most welcome to visit his publishing house and printing press. They had exchanged letters and when he was on his way from New Orleans to a meeting in Charleston just before the cotton harvest he and his wife had spent a night at Selby Bluff. Amanda really liked James and in other circumstances might have been very attracted to him, but not she told herself, that she would have any interest in becoming the fifth Missus de Bow, particularly when he was still attached to the fourth.

The telegram advised her that he understood she was due to be in Savannah this coming week and would she honor him by dining with him.

She wrote her replies, telling Adam that everything was fine and that of course he was forgiven and thanking Fairfax for his good wishes and confirming that she would try her hardest to find out more about the situation in South Carolina and the names of as many Fire-Eaters fighters as she could. She acknowledged Strand's message and confirmed her acceptance of his invitation to tea at his Government office in Forsyth Park at four when, as he put it, 'Hopefully we can fully address the sale of the plantation to leave the rest of our time together for more agreeable pursuits.' 

Amanda took longer composing her reply to de Bow for she was sure that he wanted to proposition her; the issue was whether she welcomed that and what her response would be. She thought carefully before replying:

My Dear James,

My most sincere thanks for your kind invitation to dinner. Regrettably I will have to decline for I am likely to have another arrangement. I would, however be delighted to meet you and Missus de Bow for tea on Tuesday if that meets with your arrangements.

Kindest personal regards to you both

Amanda

She had Milly take the messages to the nearby telegraph office and then undressed and removed her corset lay on the bed and snoozed. Milly returned at just after one having waited for replies that came from Strand and de Bow, but not Fairfax. Strand's simply stressed how much he was looking forward to seeing her again and de Bow's read:

My dearest Amanda

Whilst feeling inconsolable at probably missing the delight of spending an evening at dinner with you, I will of course alter my schedule so that I may accept your generous suggestion of meeting for tea on Tuesday; Missus de Bow is not accompanying me on this trip so she will not be joining us. 

Sublime though that tea will undoubtedly be, it will of course be of little compensation for the disappointment I will feel when we part after such a short period. I implore you with all my heart Amanda that should your circumstances change and you become free for dinner at whatever time and no matter how late, you think of me and accept my invitation.

I wait with bated breath and am at your beck and call

James.



Amanda felt a surge of excitement as she read the telegram. Firstly, that was because, as she expected, he was inviting her to meet with him alone and secondly due to his quite obvious desire to please and thrill her with his flattering and flowery prose. She was quite sure now that Mister de Bow was pursuing her, something that early middle aged divorcees and widows have to contend with. She decided to play a game.

My dear James,

In light of your situation with regard to Missus de Bow and my circumstances I feel that tea would be more appropriate and look forward to joining you. Do you have a location in mind?

As ever

Amanda

Milly ran her bath and Amanda luxuriated in the warm soapy water before dressing to meet Strand for tea. She wore only one petticoat, her chemise was under her corset, which she instructed Milly to lace up less tight than usual due to the heat. She wore an olive green dress with a high, tight front, which meant she showed little cleavage, but emphasized the fullness of her breasts.

If Strand was trying to impress her with the grandioseness of his official office, he succeeded. From being greeted by name by the two wigged footmen at the entrance, to being accompanied by a red coated page through the long corridors to being shown into Strand's huge office was a series of surprises and massive impressions to Amanda. Although she had visited palaces and government building in London, she was still amazed at the opulence of this State building, which wasn't even the main government facility.

The footmen passed Amanda over to a secretary who again greeted her by name. He was seated outside a pair of double doors. "Good afternoon Missus Williams, the Lieutenant Governor is expecting you, may I announce you?"

"Yes please" Amanda replied duly impressed by the organization combined with pomp and splendor that reminded her of the court surrounding Queen Victoria in Britain.

He tapped on the door and without waiting for an answer opened it.

"Lieutenant Governor, Missus Williams."

Strand was seated behind a huge desk, but quickly stood up and walked the forty feet or so Amanda guessed to greet her.

"My dear how lovely to meet you again," he said taking her hand and kissing it as the secretary left the room and shut the door. Immediately it clicked shut, he pulled Amanda to him and kissed her hard right on her lips. 

Between sucking and kissing her lips he gasped. "I have been counting the minutes until I could do this again."

"Pray sir, please" Amanda protested trying to push him off.

"Don't tell me to stop."

"But sir, your office."

"No one would dare enter" he growled, kissing her again.

He was too strong for Amanda to push off and she had to endure his slobbering kisses and bear hug cuddling until he had sated himself.

"It is wonderful to see you again Amanda," he said leading her to a sofa by a large bowed window overlooking a rose garden, a feature that had become popular since the one had been planted in the White House grounds.

He sat across from her and rang a bell.

"What may I offer you, Missus Williams?" he asked in front of the secretary. 

"Tea would be lovely please, Lieutenant Governor" she replied lapsing into dropping the 'Deputy' as Starnd's staff did.

The lacky left to get the tea they had both ordered and Amanda and Strand made small talk as they waited. He couldn't keep his eyes off her, which wasn't surprising for it was only with his most stringent resolve that he was keeping his hands off her.

The intensity of his desire for her had increased with the length of time since he had last seen her in Washington. Since agreeing to this series of meetings his want had increased immensely and he had taken to masturbating at least once a day about her and on the nights he visited a brothel, which recently had become most, it was her who was in his mind when his body fucked the whore. Sitting there waiting for the tea he was once again mulling over in his mind what he would like to do to her this time. 

He was becoming erect at those thoughts and as the memories of her full breasts and rounded ass filled his mind. He wanted them, especially the rounded full cheeks of her ass. He wanted to stroke them, kiss and lick them, bite them, spank them, eat them and if he could and most of all he wanted to fuck them.

Amanda could see that his attention was wandering and desperately wanted to broach the subject of the plantation, but etiquette demanded that be left until they had taken refreshment and then had to be raised by the host of the meeting

"So Amanda," he started after the tea had been served in bone china, thin cups from a silver teapot. "Selby Bluff."

"Yes Oliver," Amanda breathed leaning forward knowing that would stretch the material more tightly across her breasts.

"I have some good news and some not so good news for you. What would you prefer first?"

"The bad I suppose."

"Well that will not come as too great a surprise to you I imagine."

"Good, what is it?"