Lady Agnew is an erotic tale based on the art work of John singer Sargant. It is fiction based on history, and follow-up to Madame X, but can be read as a standalone.
I’d spent countless days at the rear of the carriage, bouncing along first the English and then the Scottish countryside. Nearing the lands of Clan Agnew, a small portion of a small isthmus tucked between Loch Ryan and the North Channel, I unfolded the letter, soliciting a commission once more.
Fine script leapt out at me, the words clear. Lord Agnew of Lochnaw would like me to make a masterpiece of his wife, the Lady Agnew, to the sum of £500. His only condition being, he be allowed to watch.
Since Madame X, I had gained quite the reputation for my work, both on canvas and beneath the covers. Word of my prestige had travelled from Florence to Florida, and I had shown my artistry to many ladies, and Lords, in between. I received numerous requests, but this particular invitation had unequivocally piqued my interest.
Arriving at Lochnaw Castle, I took in my surroundings. A wall, towers jutting into the sky on the north and south ends, surrounded the stone building. Departing the coach, I nodded my hat at the two young lads who wordlessly retrieved my possessions, taking care to place them in one of the plenitude of rooms in which I would stay. Following behind a busty woman, round in waist and cheek, I was led to the parlour, where my new exhibit lay in wait.
As the oak door swung inward, the Lady of the house came into view. She sat with her head tilted back, eyes closed, in a wonderfully handcrafted French bergère. Cloaked in an overfilled, seemingly bloated, ivory evening gown, an amaranthine sash tied around her slim midriff, she grasped the base of her armchair, almost as if that sole act held her in place.
With a polite smile, a tip of my hat, and a slight bow, I announced my arrival. “Lady Agnew. It is a pleasure.”
“Dear husband, do fetch Mister Sargent a dram.” Lady Agnew said, eyes opening, gaze settling on me. “Whisky, John?” she asked with sure familiarity.
It was only then that I became aware of the Lord of the house. As he crawled out from beneath the lady’s skirts, the layers of silk deflated as if sighing in relief. Its wearer sagged too, her grip on the chair easing, fingertips changing from white to pink.
There was no hiding the twitch of my cheek. Sir Agnew’s and my eyes met as a slight blush rosied his cheeks, but he smiled with pride, his wife’s lust glistening on his lips.
I looked back at the Lady, and as her grin widened, so did mine.
“There’s no need for formalities, Mr. Sargent,” the baronetess said. “We will soon be well acquainted, and I’m sure it will be I who holds all the pleasure.”
Her expression was pointed, but also quietly intrigued. Like a cat who had caught her prey; knowing exactly what she was going to do with it, but was interested to see how much fight her quarry had. I didn’t miss the challenge in her forward innuendo. Most men would have shied away from such an advance, especially in the presence of her husband. But my cock already pressed upon my fly strings, encouraged further by the sight of the fair lady licking her lips.
Lord Agnew handed me a crystal tumbler, tilting his own towards me with a gruff, “Sláinte”, before tossing his much heavier portion back. He’d returned to the decanter before I’d swallowed my first scant nip. Refill in hand, the lord moved to stand behind his wife and offered his glass, which she took with a slight smile, although she didn’t look at him; her gaze still on me, appraising, as if she were about to procure a piece of meat from the butcher.
Hands free, Sir Agnew began first tracing, then gently massaging the thin column of his wife’s porcelain neck until her head lolled back. Then he removed innumerable pins, one at a time, until the lady’s hair draped around her squared shoulders in perfect chestnut ringlets.
“Do you know why I asked for you, Mr. Sargent?” Lady Agnew asked, giving her voluminous locks a shake.
With a slight tilt of my head, I replied, “It was Sir Agnew from whom I received a letter, my lady. I wasn’t aware.”
“Yes, well, it would be positively scandalous for a known socialite to ask you to paint her without the blessing of her husband. So, that was only for appearances. But be sure, John, though my husband approves…” She paused there, her husband agreeing with a single grunt before she continued. “It was I who requested you.” Her eyes were dark, calculating, her stare direct. More was spoken in those hazel orbs than the simple words being said. I was curious to know how much more.
“The letter stated you were looking for a commission. I believe the correct words were, I request this work be completed by you, not only due to your reputation,” I raised my brow as I continued, “but also for your considerable knowledge of the human form and its many nuances.”
Brushing the lady’s locks to the side, Lord Agnew continued his finger’s exploration, first across her collarbones, then lower to the tie of fabric gathered at her bust. I followed his route with my eyes, before looking up at first the lady, then the Lord. They both watched me like I was on display, and yet the pull in my groin suggested I did not mind.
“Hmmm. Yes, John. We’ve heard much about your… technique. It only seemed reasonable to test it ourselves.”
I shuffled in place, my confined arousal becoming quite severe as the lord’s fingers continued to descend, untying first the laces that held Lady Agnew’s bodice, then the sash at her waist. Watching, to ensure he had my attention, the good sir separated the silk shielding his wife and let the fabric sink into her lap.
Beneath, the Lady was nude, except for a gold necklace that tucked between her flawless breasts. Her skin was fair and without blemish, rouged nipples sticking out in sharp peaks, perkiness belaying the absence of motherhood. Lord Agnew took no time in grasping his wife’s womanly features, first gently, then more firm, plucking the tips until the Lady revealed her pleasure with a low moan.
“They say you’re an expert at various strokes, John. Is that true?” Lady Agnew asked, hooded gaze settling on my tented trousers. Behind her, the Lord of Lochnaw had begun suckling on his wife’s neck, his fingers continuing their sensuous attention to her feminine form.
“It is what they say, my lady.” I responded, doing my best to not squirm under her scrutinous leer. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer you witness for yourselves.” Her smile stretched and my cock twitched eagerly.
“Is it also true that you are well skilled with the tools of your trade, John?” The lady asked, pushing from her seat. The remainder of her gown crumpled to the floor, exposing the entirety of her form, bare, except her legs, which were fitted in fine wool stockings, tied on slender thighs. Like her chest and arms, she was impeccable, the only colouring on her pale skin a downy hair covering her loins, the shade matching the halo that highlighted her almond-shaped face.
Had I been in possession of my case, stuffed with brushes and pigments and dyes, I may have been confused about the ladies’ line of questioning, but seeing as I carried none of those, I could only think of one tool she may have needed currently. At the sight of her, my best known instrument jumped.
“It is true.” I said, eyeing her nudity with obvious approval. “I know many ways to use my tools, my lady. I’ve been gifted the benefit of many accomplished teachers, near and far.”
“I’d like to be the judge of that, John. Maybe you require a few practice strokes?” She asked, her gaze heated. “Perhaps, you should show me what you’re working with.”
I could no longer deny my desire. As I undid my flies, holding back a sigh of relief as I freed my member from its cage, Lord Agnew began removing his kerchief and unbuttoning his vest. His actions were silent, but his never-wavering gaze remained fixed on me, even as I fisted my length.
At the sight of my cock pointing northward from my pants, the lady licked her lips, then summoned me forward with a crook of her finger. Like a marionette, I followed the invisible string, until I stood but a hairsbreadth away, my toes nudging the puddle of her discarded dress.
Having divested himself of his remaining upper garments, the lord sat on the chair behind his wife, holding her hand valiantly as she stepped out of the circle of snowy fabric. Bending to gather it off the carpet-lined floor, the lady took no delay in encircling her lips around the crown of my cock, confessing any further intentions with a swirl of her tongue.
Using one hand, Lord Agnew unfastened his flies, and with the other, reached for his wife’s hip. With a tug, he pulled her into his lap, my member releasing from her mouth with an audible pop.
Wordlessly, the lord of the house spread Lady Agnew’s thighs atop his own. Porcelain flesh separated, and a picture perfect pink slit appeared, glistening in the late afternoon sun. Her scent filled my nostrils, my mouth watered, and I licked my lips, increasing my hand’s pace. With both sets of eyes still focused on me, the Lord guided himself into her moist centre and, in one thrust, claimed his wife. I swallowed audibly, my fist moving freely over my hardened length.
“Now, John. How many sittings do you think you’ll need to complete the work?” Lady Agnew asked, hands supporting her on each chair arm as she rose and lowered herself into her husband’s lap. Lord Agnew guided her with a hand at each hip, but for that infinitesimal movement, remained still, his vigilant stare ever upon me. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”
“I cannot say, my lady.” I replied, tongue tangling in my dried mouth. My focus had narrowed to the scene before me, and the pressure of my own hand. “But I reckon it will take at least five sittings.”
My voice sounded strained even to my own ears and although still mute as a mouse, Lord Agnew’s breaths became laboured. Fingers digging into his wife’s flesh, his hips lifted from the chair.
“I can see that your strokes are quite precise. You handle your tool well. But what of your paint? How do you like to lay it? Perhaps you should come closer, so I may decide how I want it.” Lady Agnew beckoned.
I shuffled awkwardly, a step, then two until my knees rested against those of the Lord’s. With that simple touch, his pace increased until his biceps bulged as he pistoned his wife’s frame upon him, the crash of their flesh echoing off the blue curtained walls.
“Tell me John. Do you begin a painting at the top?” The lady began, positioning her fingers at her mouth. “Or the bottom?” She continued, pulling her hand down, over her chin, to sternum and finally settling at the apex of her thighs, two fingers circling the small protruding bud.
“Usually, I begin with a base coat, my lady.” I replied breathlessly, the stride of my hand matching the pace of the coupling before me.
“I’d like to witness that,” Lady Agnew said, and without warning, reached out and grasped me by the cullions, giving them a tight squeeze. I gritted my teeth, using everything in my power to dissuade my imminent eruption, but the shock of sudden pain was my undoing.
With a groan that drowned out all other sounds, I released in a surge, streams of white tinting the chin, neck and chest of Lady Agnew, who gasped delightfully.
As the last of my seed drained from me, Lord Agnew threw his head back and grunted, once, twice, then a third time, pushing forcefully into his wife.
Before I’d caught my breath, the lady ran a finger through the ribbons of pearl that striped her breasts, and placed the tip on her tongue. Closing her eyes as if savouring a fine wine, she sampled the results of my handiwork, then looked at me and said, “I think you’ll do splendidly, Mr. Sargent.” Turning to her husband, she asked, “What do you think, dear?”
“Aye, quite.” Lord Agnew said, breaths still coming hard. His gaze had softened, but never faltered.
“I’m honoured, my lady, Sir. And if I might say, looking forward to working with you.” I said, tucking my softened member into my trousers.
“I’ll have you shown to your room so you can get cleaned up for dinner. It must have been quite a day.” Lady Agnew said, a smirk lighting her face. As if waiting for this moment, the door opened and the busty woman who’d brought me here was waiting for me to take my leave. With a tip of my hat, I did just that.
I’d only made it past the threshold when from behind me I heard the lady say, “Oh, and John. Your suite is across from his Lord’s. Don’t be shy. You may find you have a lot in common.”
Header image for Lady Agnew found on Wikipedia
All three characters in Lady Agnew are real people, but the story is not. Not that I know of anyway. Lady Agnew was rather sick woman for most of her time and died at the age of 44 years old. Sir Andrew Agnew was a Scottish politician and nobleman holding the title of 9th Baronet of the Lochnaw clan. The seat is still owned by the family, but the title is no longer claimed. The castle is privately owned and provides a fishing paradise for many outdoorsman.
It is said that John Singer Sargant was a bit of an inamorato for lack of a better term. He had many lovers of either gender, and I thought it would be fun to add some of his amorous ways here. There are more John Singer Sargant stories to tell, which means, there are more retellings to come.
Lady Agnew has been linked to Mmm Mondays and Erotic Fiction deluxe.
Check out those memes for other great work.
More fiction from MrsK can be found here.
Such an intriguing story with a great use of language.
An interesting and very active beginning of the story. I would love to read a sequel.
I just finished packing, heading for the Castle. I sure hope I don’t need to use my flyrod. I will be waiting for more stories as I imagine that there will be a long wait at the airport. Exactly where was the location again? Loved the story. Tip