Nymphomania Read online

  NYMPHOMANIA

  Book One in the Draper Estates trilogy

  An erotic novel

  By Kyoko Church

  Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2012

  ISBN 9781908917966

  Copyright © Kyoko Church 2012

  The right of Kyoko Church to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY

  Lie back and think of England.

  -Queen Victoria to her daughter on her wedding night

  Chapter One

  ‘This cannot go on.’

  ‘James …’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but it simply cannot. I’ve just come from town. The rumours are beginning to circulate.’

  ‘So let them.’ Ewan sank himself into his library armchair and lit a cigar.

  ‘It will affect business.’ After 15 years working as Ewan Draper’s butler, James knew how to get his lord’s attention. ‘Certain people prefer to deal with a man who is –’ he paused here, choosing his words carefully ‘– more of a family man, sir.’

  Ewan scoffed. ‘“Certain people?” You’re talking about Samms.’

  ‘I’m talking about prominent leaders in this town. The mill is growing, sir, but its growth is at a crucial point. You need Samms. You need all of them. A scandal will affect who does business with you.’

  ‘A scandal,’ Ewan muttered. ‘I spent the evening with some friends. I hardly see what the issue is.’

  ‘It would be advisable to be more selective in choosing your – friends.’ James paused. ‘Sir,’ he added quietly.

  ‘Besides, I’m hardly a novelty. I pass by half of Boston’s elite going up Ms Rodham’s steps.’ Ewan grinned. ‘I just spend more time up there than most.’

  James swallowed. He was well aware of his master’s appetite, in all areas. It was part of what made him such a successful businessman. Ewan Draper threw himself into whatever he did, with an aim to doing it better, bigger, more successfully. That’s how he was growing his cotton mill into the booming power it was becoming. He worked hard and he played hard. But the playing was getting to be a problem.

  ‘That may be true, sir, but those men exercise a certain amount of decorum. Their – activities are carried out with a significant amount of subtlety. It means there is less to talk about.’

  Ewan smiled widely at this. ‘I had Rodham pick three out for me last night. I told her I wanted a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead.’ He took a long puff of his cigar and stretched back in his chair. ‘Mm, that redhead was a vixen. I had the other two warm me up with their mouths but I saved my seed for that redhead’s tight little …’ He looked up and caught sight of James’s disapproving stare. ‘Ah, James, wipe that look off your puss. It would do you good to come with me some time. Getting your cock wet might get your mind thinking about something other than business for a change.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not necessary, sir,’ James said tightly. ‘But your colourful account only proves my point. Samms and others may visit those establishments, but they are discreet. And by and large they are married, which affords them the benefit of appearances.’

  ‘I am hardly going to pin myself down to one woman for the sake of appearances, James. Didn’t you just hear me say I had three last night? And those three could hardly keep up with me,’ he said, smiling again.

  ‘Appearances, sir. That’s the issue. Find a wife. Have a child.’ Ewan grimaced. ‘Your marriage vows and whether or not you uphold them will be secondary, as long as you conduct yourself with a tad more discretion.’

  Ewan silently stubbed out his cigar, mulling this over. ‘Perhaps I could speak to Rodham and see if she’d let me take the little redhead. That pussy in my bed every night might not be a bad thing.’

  ‘Sir!’ James exclaimed. ‘Sir, having one of Ms Rodham’s employees become your wife is hardly going to help with appearances. Now, you have that meeting with Samms next month so time is of the essence here. She needn’t be someone of high birth, as long as she’s from a wholesome background. I can take care of the rest.’ James thought for a moment. ‘Even Celeste would do,’ he said, almost to himself.

  ‘Celeste!’ Ewan scoffed. Ewan being Ewan, he’d already attempted on a number of occasions to avail himself of his kitchen maid’s comely figure, only to be spurned, almost viciously. The only reason the young woman still had her job was at James’s insistence. She was impeccable at her duties and, as James reminded his boss, such good help was difficult to find. ‘There is no chance I will be hitching myself to that frigid wench. Think again.’ Ewan stood and crossed the room, rested his hand on a bookshelf, and gazed out the library’s bay window across the expanse of his estate. ‘I mean, I’ve never had a shortage of women to go to, but wholesome? Wholesome …’ He muttered.

  ‘The mill, sir,’ James began.

  ‘Yes, I know, I’m doing this for the mill.’

  ‘Of course, sir. But what I mean is there are the mill girls …’

  The air in the textile mill was stale and hot, the din of 50 sewing machines droning on around Lillianne. At 20, she was unaccustomed to being on her own after spending most of her life on her family’s New England farm. Work on the farm was tough, back breaking at times, and they often went without, but surrounded by her family and local folk, she never wanted for any other kind of life.

  But when the businessmen from Draper Mills had visited from the city a month ago, explaining they were recruiting young women to come and work for them, their promises of up to four or five dollars a week in wages was more than Lillianne’s struggling family could pass up.

  Her new family, her new home, was something she was still getting used to. The company provided her with her food and lodging in the Draper boarding houses, along with her weekly salary, the majority of which she sent back home to help keep her mother and father’s farm afloat. Her new sisters, mill sisters, were nice enough, if somewhat pale and unimaginative. But what else could one expect from a life lived indoors, fairly chained to a machine, performing the same tasks over and over? This was what was hardest for Lillianne.

  She was certainly no stranger to hard work and more than willing to do her share. Everyone was expected to carry her own weight on the farm and Lilly’s slim but sturdy frame was tanned and firm from her exertions in the fresh New England air. Now, seated here, working the treadles up and down as her machine hummed along, the monotony of her task made it impossible not to let her mind wander all number of tracks.

  It wasn’t just the monotony. The work on the machine itself was distracting. As she worked the treadles her thighs rubbed together and this, combined with the vibrations of the machine – well, Lilly had heard that one girl had gotten herself in trouble this way. The two foremen patrolling the mill always had an ear primed to hear the tell-tale sound of a machine suddenly bursting into a frenzied speed. Rules were strict here and the girls were harshly punished and even docked pay for straying from their work.

  But docked pay was not the worst of punishments. The way Lilly heard it, last month Mr Weiler, the older of the two foremen, had caught a girl using the machine “improperly”. Lilly shuddered as she thought of the wrinkled, gap-toothed grin of the lecherous old man the way it must have been,
the way she heard he’d grabbed the girl up, snarling that he would give her what she wanted, and shoved her into the back office. Nothing could be heard over the frightening din of the machines, they’d said, but when the girl emerged 15 minutes later, the pathetic creature’s eyes were red from crying, her lip was swollen, and her skirts were torn. She’d disappeared the next morning, leaving a note saying she’d gone back to her family’s farm.

  So Lilly tried her best to focus on her work. But her mind often betrayed her. And it always seemed to find its way back to Ewan Draper.

  She had seen the mill’s owner only once before when he came to consult with the foremen. She did her best not to let her gaze linger too long as he strode across the factory floor, but her quick glimpses drank in his six foot three frame, wavy black hair, wide shoulders and narrow waist in his finely tailored suit. His stride was long, each step certain and purposeful. His voice commanded respect but his smile was wide and easy. When he laughed it was a profound, sonorous sound from deep within his gut, and he slapped the backs of the men he spoke with. He had actually walked down her aisle and stopped right by her as she worked. She had held her breath and didn’t dare look up, but his hand had lingered for a moment on the edge of her machine as he discussed some small point with the foreman. The size of that hand! She’d stared raptly at the wide palm and long, thick fingers, something almost brutal in the circumference and apparent strength of each one. She’d had a sudden impulse to grab that hand, take one of those digits between her lips and suck it. Madness! She had shoved the ridiculous thought aside as her body shivered.

  Now the thought returned. Diligently she sat, pushing the coarse fabric deftly through, working the treadle up and down, her thighs squeezed tightly together, her machine drumming its threaded road along its fabric path. The hammering of the needle caused vibrations to pulse through her chair and she worked to push her buttocks closer to the edge of her seat, so slowly as to be barely perceptible. In her mind she caressed Mr Draper’s hand, slid her own slim fingers between his broad ones, brought them to her cheek and then kissed each finger softly. Now at the edge of her seat, she pushed herself down, spread and flattened the soft folds of her flesh firmly on the fabric of her skirts and against the hard wood so as to experience the full intensity of its vibrations. Her thoughts turned to taking that hand, those fingers, and pulling them up, under her skirts, between her legs. Slowly she worked the speed up on her treadle, the motion only serving to further work her thighs against her swelling flesh. She tried hard to keep from gasping as sweat sprang to her brow and began to roll down her temples. Mr Draper’s imaginary fingers found their target and it took every fibre of her being not to work the treadle to its highest velocity, thereby arousing the suspicion of the wicked Mr Weiler. Instead, she continued her steady pace as the vibrations brought her ever closer to her destination.

  ‘Halt!’ roared the foreman, and Lilly had to stifle a strangled cry of desperation as she unwillingly forced her foot off the treadle, causing the vibration to cease.

  ‘Mr Draper will be visiting the mill in five minutes! This time he wants to take a small amount of time to speak to his mill girls.’ A tangible buzz went around the room. Mr Draper to address the mill girls? ‘I know this is highly unusual. I’m sure you’re all excited but let us not allow our emotions to override our good sense. I expect you all to show the highest amount of decorum and industriousness.’

  The noise level increased as all the girls turned to each other to converse in giddy anticipation of the arrival of their much-esteemed leader. Lilly, however, was still preoccupied. Her body throbbing, she took advantage of the renewed noise level to gear up her machine to its highest speed. Her mind swirled with thoughts of Ewan Draper now that his presence was imminent: his powerful stride; his commanding voice; his deep laugh. With everyone preoccupied, she worked her treadles furiously, her lower body writhing against the humming chair as she imagined Draper’s hands probing her, rubbing her, taking her. She swallowed her whimpering cries and had almost, almost, reached her peak just as Ewan Draper entered the mill and Mr Weiler’s piercing eyes fell upon her.

  Chapter Two

  Ewan strode down the front of the sewing room where all the mill girls had been lined up per his instructions to Bob Brighton. Brighton was the younger of his two foremen and the one Ewan preferred dealing with; he found Weiler shifty. There was something he didn’t trust about the man. Thankfully he was absent at the moment.

  As he walked, he took in each girl. Some stood together, giggling nervously and picking lint and thread from their hair and clothes, but most of them looked down, studying the floor. Their frocks were mostly grey or brown, buttoned high around their necks, and fell, wrinkled and shapeless, over their underskirts to mid-calf. All wore their hair pulled tightly back, presumably to allow them to work unfettered. They were a pale, dusty bunch and none inspired even the smallest spark in Ewan. He remembered James’s advice, that he needn’t heed his wedding vows but only take a wife to become the family man that Boston society apparently needed him to be. But if he was to father a child it would be necessary to bed the woman who was to become his bride at least sporadically, and he couldn’t imagine his staff rising to the occasion with any of the dismal creatures he had before him.

  Suddenly, in the unusual quiet of the sewing room, he heard a muffled cry and a scraping of chair legs from the back office.

  ‘What’s going on back there?’ Ewan demanded of his foreman as he headed to the back to check on the noise himself.

  ‘Sir! Don’t go back there, sir!’ With his long strides, Ewan was already halfway to the back and his foreman couldn’t keep up. ‘Weiler’s reprimanding an employee, sir,’ Bob yelled after him in vain. ‘You needn’t concern yourself!’

  When Ewan threw open the door to the foreman’s back office he could barely believe what he saw. Weiler had one of the younger mill girls, his newest if he recalled correctly, gagged with a piece of cotton tied around her mouth and another around her wrists. Her frock was torn, leaving the white corset she wore underneath exposed. He had her pushed against the desk, the only furniture in the small room besides the chair. She was bent over it with her pelvis pressed to the edge, trying to support her upper body on the desk with her bound hands. Weiler had her underskirts pulled up and Ewan caught him furiously yanking at his half-hard meat when he opened the door.

  ‘What the hell is going on in here!’ he bellowed. From behind him he heard gasping and whispering from the rest of his staff. ‘Brighton, get those girls back to work,’ he yelled out into the work area and slammed the office door shut, leaving him alone with Weiler and the distraught girl.

  ‘Sir! I – I can explain,’ Weiler stammered, pulling his softening prick back into his trousers. ‘This one was using the machine improperly, sir, she … I was reprimanding her, sir.’

  ‘This is reprimanding, is it?’ Ewan stared at the girl. Her hair had come loose and tumbled in chocolate waves down her exposed back. Her skin was a deep olive shade, unlike the pale skin of the other girls. Tears welled in her dark, almond-shaped eyes as she looked over her shoulder and met his gaze. In that moment, Ewan experienced a feeling he had never encountered, a connection that went straight to the core of his being. Something about the maiden’s pleading face, her beauty and vulnerability, triggered a chord deep within him. ‘The “improper” use of equipment? What sort of use could warrant this?’

  ‘Yes, let me explain, Mr Draper,’ Weiler began. ‘I know her type, sir. What she was doing, sir – well, you see, she’s a wanton slut, she needed …’ At these words Ewan took a step and backhanded Weiler across his face.

  ‘How dare you claim to know such things?’ he roared. Grabbing Weiler by the scruff of the neck, he muttered, ‘I should have done this ages ago.’ Then, loudly, ‘You’re fired! Now get out!’ Ewan opened the door and shoved Weiler out of the office so forcefully he tripped and fell, sprawling across the floor. ‘Brighton! Get him outta here,’ he yelled before h
e slammed the door again.

  Alone in the room now with the poor girl, Ewan approached her, untied the cloth around her mouth, and asked, somewhat awkwardly, her name.

  ‘Lillianne, sir,’ she whispered. ‘Lillianne Saunders.’

  Next, Ewan untied the cloth around her wrists. But even after they were untied he remained close to her, still holding her wrists, gently massaging the reddened areas where the cloth had pressed into her flesh. He gazed down into her face. It was more than the loosened hair and exposed skin that separated her from the other mill girls. Somehow she glowed. Her cheeks were flushed, perhaps from the exertion, the terror she had just experienced at almost being assaulted by the vile Weiler. But it seemed to Ewan it was more than that. She radiated with a kind of intensity that barely registered with Ewan’s brain, but of which his body was acutely aware. He realised then that his cock was stiff and had been since he laid eyes on her, bound and partially exposed.

  ‘Lillianne,’ he murmured, as if in a trance, pulling her close, feeling her soft warmth through her dishevelled clothing, against his hardness.

  Lilly could barely breathe, her mind whirling, as Mr Draper, his muscled arms enveloping her body, leant down to kiss her. So much was happening so fast. Ewan Draper coming to the mill; Mr Weiler catching her; what he had almost done to her! But now, with Mr Draper’s lips upon hers, his hands roaming over her just as she’d been imagining, her mind forgot all of that as her body responded to those hands.

  In fact, it seemed her body picked up right from where it had been left by her machine, pulsing, writhing, hanging on that edge and cut off from reaching its climax. Her undergarments were still soaked from those earlier exertions and were only becoming wetter as she felt Ewan Draper’s manhood pressed firmly against the top of her mound.

  Being a farm girl, Lilly was not ignorant of the couplings of animals and people. There had even been a few romps in the hay with a neighbour boy. But never had she felt desire like this, never this throbbing between her thighs, never the intensity of this want, this need. She marvelled at the hardness of him that she could feel against her and then every other thought was obliterated by the image of him driving that pulsing shaft into her, filling that throbbing emptiness with every inch it so desperately needed. As she imagined it, she felt a tear of moisture slip down between her thighs.