CarnalDevices (7 page)

Ambrose’s eyes widen as he realizes what Phineas has
implied. Now that Phineas has vouched for my skills, Ambrose finds me even more
desirable. Excellent.

The butler grudgingly brings me a glass of sherry. Ambrose
and Phineas thank me for the cognac, which they swirl in their glasses before
taking a sip. How civilized. Not like the drunkards in Lower London, who reek
of ale and stumble about in a state of intoxication.

Phineas glances through a series of magazines on a table
beside us and pulls out a booklet. “Have you read this?” he asks Ambrose. “It
is Constance Pettigrew’s latest publication.”

I read the title.
Sexual Advice for Weary Wives
.“She
is encouraging wives to perform their duties in the marital bed?” This woman
will put me out of business.

Ambrose and Phineas chuckle and exchange amused glances.

“Quite the opposite,” says Ambrose.

“Her publications have made it more difficult than ever for
a man to receive sexual satisfaction at home,” says Phineas. “Her reputation is
growing in popularity among women, but men would like to see her work banned or
burned.”

As I leaf through the pages, a list of items draws my
attention.

Since most women deem the sexual act to be repulsive and
uncomfortable, here are methods to limit the number of encounters.

1.If
your husband becomes amorous, do not hesitate to feign illness (a headache or
complaints about your monthly visitor will often suffice).

2.Never
allow your husband to see you without clothing, and you should demonstrate no
interest whatsoever if he should show you his own unclothed body. A look of
repugnance accompanied by a slight shudder may help deter any advances.

3.When
in bed, lie very quietly lest your husband should mistake any sounds or
movement as a display of interest in a sexual interlude.

4.Do not
kiss on the lips unless absolutely necessary. Whenever possible, tilt your head
to the side so the kiss lands on your cheek.

5.If
sexual intercourse must occur (our duty is procreation, after all), ensure that
it is practiced in total darkness and remove only the most necessary articles
of clothing.

“What a fascinating treatise on the state of matrimony in
the English household.” I should probably write Constance Pettigrew a letter
thanking her for swelling the ranks of the clients in England’s brothels.

“Isn’t it amusing? It has sold thousands of copies,” says
Ambrose. “After reading this, I dread the thought of marriage. Unhappiness
begins with the words ‘
I do’
!”

“I could not agree more!” echoes Phineas, raising his glass.

As I sip my sherry, Phineas and the architect exchange
glances. The glance becomes a look that transforms into a hard, needy stare. It
is unmistakable. I sense longing between them. The air crackles with unspoken
male lust.

Phineas Felter wishes to experiment with the sin of the
Greeks. So be it. What of my young architect?

Why should my visit to the Steam Society be limited to my
own need for a better clientele? Why shouldn’t this also be a sexual journey
for Phineas? I could open an entire new world of sensations for him, just as he
did for me when he initiated me to the joys of sex. Yes, why not? It will be my
way of thanking him for improving my outlook on life.

How can I arrange an encounter between these two men? Better
yet, how can I arrange the encounter as well as witness it? “Ambrose, could you
give me a guided tour of your cathedral?”

“Absolutely,” he says. “This evening? It is already dark.
Would you prefer tomorrow?”

“Tonight.” I move closer to him, allowing our arms to brush
against each other. “Moonlight is romantic, after all.”

“All right.” His handsome face suffuses with color.

“Phineas has expressed interest in the progress being made
at St. Paul’s,” I lie. “Might he come along as well?”

Their eyes lock in a silent embrace. What would it be like
if they physically held each other? I lick my lips as I imagine the sight.

“Let us get a hansom cab.” Ambrose looks from me to Phineas
with the same uninhibited lust.

“I will join you in a moment.” Before leaving, I must have a
few words with the owner, who is sitting among his elderly cohort, his gnarled
hand now gripping a glass of port instead of a walking stick. Although he is
somewhat repulsive, he did allow me to remain in his club when he had the right
to have me removed. I owe him a kind word.

And probably an evening of carnal entertainment.

So be it. A small price to pay, I suppose, for admittance to
the Steam Society.

“Thank you, sir, for allowing me to join you this evening.”
I squeeze his hand, its texture as thick and rough as an elephant’s hide. The
other men glare at me, and one utters a reproachful
tsk, tsk
sound.

“My pleasure, Miss India,” he says.

“I fear we were not formally introduced. You are…?”

“Lord Alfred Bennington. I am a judge who sits on the
Supreme Court.”

A truly powerful man, someone I should make every effort to
keep on my side.

“If you wish to visit another evening,” he says quietly,
“let me know in advance and I will let you in through the back door.”

“Thank you, Lord Bennington.” As a sign of deference, I
curtsy, and promptly join my companions.

We exit the Steam Society and descend the stairs, Ambrose on
my right, Phineas and his carry case on my left. I grasp both their arms in a
manner my deportment teacher would consider terribly unacceptable. For the
first time in a long time, I see a rosy future ahead, and it begins with these
two men.

Chapter Four

Ambrose hails a hansom cab. One pulls up immediately, drawn
by a pair of bay geldings whose shod hooves clatter on the cobblestones. The
driver doffs his hat and Ambrose calls out, “To St. Paul’s!”

After Ambrose disappears into the cab, I question Phineas.
“If you knew Madam Rowena was rejected by the Steam Society, why did you think
it would be different for me? Why did you bother going upstairs and asking if I
could enter?”

He pauses before answering and there is a wicked gleam in
his eye. “I did not. I simply stood by the door a few minutes. My goal was to
test your determination in the face of an obstacle, and you responded
brilliantly.”

“Oh, Phineas!” I smack his arm in anger, but my anger is
short-lived. Even after meeting me only yesterday, he knows exactly what to do
to obtain the desired responses.

Holding the fabric that sweeps over my shoulder, I step
inside the cab. Briefly, I consider sitting between both men. No, better let
them sit next to each other. I sit alone on the opposite side, contemplating
them.

They are tense, uncertain, their hands in their laps,
looking out the window as if some terribly fascinating event is taking place on
the street. They must be aware of the sexual energy they exude, and I imagine
it frightens them.

“Phineas,” I ask, seductively crossing my legs, “with all
your expertise in sexual matters, can you clarify a few things for me?”

“Of course.”

At the mention of “sexual matters”, Ambrose turns his upper
body toward Phineas and leans slightly forward.

“There are definitions for Sapphists and Uranians, but what
of an individual who is drawn to both sexes?”

“This is a rare phenomenon that has been the object of few
psychosexual studies,” he answers. “There is no specific term.”

“What conclusions have these studies arrived at?” asks
Ambrose. Concern clouds his face. “Because these individuals exist in our
society. Some may question their sexuality and whether their tendencies mean
they are aberrations in need of psychiatric intervention.”

Oh, poor Ambrose. Is this how he sees himself? If so, he
must be a tortured soul.

“These studies,” Phineas begins, “and all the studies I have
read concerning Uranian and Sapphist relationships, come to the same
conclusion. Love between individuals of the same sex is an abomination. The
Church has always deemed it so. The law sets out punishments for those found to
be sodomites. Now science is following suit with claims that homosexuality is
indicative of a baser nature and every effort must be made to eradicate it.”

Ambrose swallows. He nods and shifts closer to Phineas. “Do
you also believe this?”

“Personally this is a matter that I have pondered over the
years, but I have not conducted any studies, nor have I conducted interviews
with individuals who are drawn to members of the same sex. Needless to say,
they do not wish to be identified.”

“That is a given,” I add.

Ambrose’s eyes flicker. His breathing quickens. I see the
pulse at his throat as his heart rate increases.

“I do not believe homosexuals to be innately perverse. There
might be something in the brain that drives them to be what they are,” Phineas
explains. “According to my beliefs, which are not yet founded on scientific
inquiry, having sexual intercourse with an individual of the same sex is not a
problem in and of itself.”

“I see,” says Ambrose, clearly relieved by Phineas’
assertions. “Men should be more tolerant of differences in others. Take George
Quentin’s sentence. It seems drastic to confine a man to a year’s hard labor
for so little. He is not hurting anyone else, after all.”

“So it is indeed possible to be drawn to
both
sexes
then, Phineas?” I ask.

“Yes, I believe so.”

I decide to make a confession. “I once had an encounter with
a woman, a brief yet highly pleasurable one.” Their eyes meet mine and then
each other’s. “Do you believe you might be aroused by a similar encounter with
an individual of the same sex?”

Phineas pauses and licks his lips. “Yes, I do. My career
involves sexuality, after all, and I believe experimentation is good for mental
and physical health. There is nothing perverse about it.”

Ambrose says nothing, so I try to coax a response out of
him. “And you?”

“Me? Aroused by a man?” Ambrose’s voice trembles. His Adam’s
apple bobs as he swallows and finally speaks. The words wrench out of him
slowly, painfully. “I have always been taught such feelings are an aberration,
but I believe that, perhaps, under the right circumstances, I would be.”

He must have spent much time questioning his feelings,
believing them to be aberrant. Believing
himself
to be an aberration.

The carriage clatters along on the cobblestones. Our
curtains are open and a cool breeze drifts in through the window.

“Yet you both enjoy the company of women.”

“Yes,” they reply in unison.

“Phineas, you have bedded me. Ambrose, I can tell by your
expression that you wish to bed me.” Once more, their gazes fixate on me. “I
should most like to see you bed each other.”

Their eyes widen. Oh, how I wish I could see into their
minds. Are they picturing each other locked in a naked embrace, their
sweat-sheened bodies tangled in rough, passionate lovemaking?

“Lay hands on each other. Here. In this carriage,” I say.
“Later you can share me. No one will know of this. It will be our secret.” The
thought thrills me. I will have such power over them. I will be the one to free
Ambrose from his fears of inadequacy and I will give Phineas the opportunity to
experiment with a man.

They are statues. Motionless. Mute. Ambrose stares blankly
out the window. Phineas peers with great interest at my feet.

Granted, it is a big step to admit to a mutual attraction
and a bigger one to act on it. I draw the curtains closed, fastening them so
they do not blow open in the wind. There. We have privacy. Faint light from the
street lamps streams in through the thin curtains. In the shadows, the men
appear to be chiseled from the finest Italian marble. Still, they make no effort
to touch.

They need encouragement. I take Phineas’ hand and place it
on Ambrose’s thigh. Ambrose turns to Phineas, but refrains from making physical
contact. I take Ambrose’s hand and place it on Phineas’ cheek.

“Now kiss.”

My words break their inertia. Their heads bow toward each
another, the distance between them closes, and their lips touch. A tingle runs
down my spine. Their forbidden gesture arouses me, and my fingers slide down
the front of my sari to my mound.

They are tentative and awkward, similar to boys learning to
kiss for the first time. It does not take long before passion ignites and their
fingers twist roughly in each other’s hair. Their mouths become demanding,
their kisses hard and bruising. They are beasts set afire by carnal appetites. This
is so different from a union between a man and a woman. There is no tenderness.
They wholeheartedly and fiercely take what they want. Now that their shyness is
gone, I see their true natures, base and lustful, consumed by physical need.

Their hunger consumes me as well. My sari is wrapped around
my body so tightly my fingers cannot find their way to my slit, which aches for
my touch. I squirm in my seat, my blood heating at the sight of these two men
devouring each other, and manage to find a position where I can stimulate
myself.

“Remove each other’s garments,” I say, my fingers flicking
my pearl. “I wish to see you naked. Both of you.”

Shadows play on Ambrose’s face. He sounds anxious. “But we
are in a public cab.”

The threat of discovery arouses me. The curtain might fly
open, revealing our debauchery to Londoners out for an evening walk. We still
have some time before we arrive at St. Paul’s and I want to make the best of
it. “If you wish to enjoy my body later, you must obey me now. Do as I say.”

His eyes rove over my sari, and I take a deep breath to
accentuate my breasts. The sight of a heaving bosom turns most men to clay.
Ambrose is no exception. He nods.

“Begin,” I say.

While Ambrose is still reserved, Phineas knows what he
wants. It is obvious that he has contemplated the love of a man for some time.
His hands are hungry and rough as he grabs Ambrose’s shirt and wastes no time
removing it. Ambrose makes no effort to disrobe Phineas.

“The curtains are drawn, Ambrose,” I say. “Don’t hesitate.
You both want the same thing. This yearning has existed within you for a long
time. Release it.”

“This is wrong.” He pulls away.

“Is it?” asks Phineas, placing his palm on Ambrose’s
shoulder. “Who says it is wrong? Religion? Priests who probably spend their nights
buggering each other? Psychiatrists who still know little about the functioning
of the human mind? There is no perversion in desire, Ambrose. If you desire me,
take me. I am yours.”

As Phineas removes his own jacket and shirt, Ambrose’s
demeanor changes. His quick, nervous glances at the window cease. His hunger
surfaces. He has eyes only for Phineas’ muscled chest.

A pang of jealousy stabs at my heart. It is all I can do to
refrain from stripping off my sari and joining them. My fingers stroke my pearl
in circular motions, and heat flushes my cunny. I wish one of them was inside
me, driving his cock into me. Not yet. But soon.

This is my gift to Phineas. It is time for him to satisfy
his needs. Afterward he and Ambrose can satisfy mine. “Remove each other’s
trousers.”

The carriage bumps over the cobblestones, jostling the men
together. Although the shadows make it difficult to read the expression on
Ambrose’s face, something seems to break free within him. Suddenly he goes down
on his knees and fumbles with the buttons on Phineas’ trousers. He pulls down
the garments, revealing a pair of silk drawers and the outline of Phineas’
bulging cock. It is huge and I smile as I remember how it felt to have the
long, thick member inside me.

And soon I will have him inside me again.

After a few more tugs at the drawers, Ambrose frees Phineas’
glorious appendage. I wait for Ambrose to seize the cock in his hands, but he
balks. Shaking his head, he reaches for his seat and begins to rise. Phineas
does nothing to stop him.

“No!” I place my hand on his shoulder, keeping him on his
knees. “Don’t you want to touch it?”

“I shouldn’t.”

A war is taking place inside him. His submerged desires are
vying for supremacy over the ingrained notion that this type of conduct is
perverse.

“Hold Phineas’ cock.” I guide his hand to the swollen
member.

Phineas strokes Ambrose’s thick hair. “Give in to your
desires. Don’t let anyone stop you from doing what you want.”

I can sense Phineas’ anticipation. The muscles in his thighs
are taut, his breathing rapid, his cock ready. If Ambrose’s lips were this
close to my cunny I should be a bundle of quivering nerves.

I guide Ambrose’s hand up and down Phineas’ shaft until he
establishes a smooth rhythm and is comfortable continuing without my aid. Ambrose
expels a long sigh of satisfaction and with sharp movements of his hips,
Phineas thrusts his cock into his partner’s grip.

Phineas and I look at each other.
Thank you
,he
mouths. His appreciation sends shivers of delight racing over my body.

Now that Ambrose appears quite comfortable with manual
stimulation, it is time to push him further. “Take it in your mouth.”

A moment of hesitation. But he does not pull away as before.
He stares at the cock in mute fascination as Phineas continues to stroke his
hair.

“Have women pleasured you this way?” I ask him.

“Yes,” Ambrose says.

“Then you know how a man likes to be stimulated.”

“Yes,” he says. However, he does not move.

I must step in. “Like this.” Getting down on my knees, I
take hold of Phineas’ cock. I start at the base of the shaft, slide my tongue
all the way up to the narrow slit and take the head into my mouth. My jaws open
wide, for Phineas’ cock is substantial. Soft moans escape Phineas’ throat as I
take him as deep as my throat will allow. After swirling my tongue over the
salty tip several times—I thoroughly enjoy stimulating him in this manner—I
stop. Enough demonstrating. Time for Ambrose to carry on. “Your turn. Suck.”

Now I hold Phineas’ cock while gently pressing on the back
of Ambrose’s head, moving his mouth ever closer. Closer. And closer. I watch,
utterly aroused, as his tongue protrudes from his mouth, makes contact with the
veined member and slides from the base of the shaft all the way up to the head.

“Excellent,” I say.

Ambrose takes the head in his mouth, working his head up and
down in a steady rhythm. With every downward movement, Phineas lets out a sharp
groan. After a while, Ambrose stops for breath. I imagine his jaw must be sore.

“Don’t stop,” Phineas cries out. “Continue! Continue!”

Immediately Ambrose takes the cock in his mouth, holds the
base with both fists and picks up the rhythm. By the look on Phineas’ face, I
know he won’t last much longer. The excitement is too great. Phineas grunts and
Ambrose moans in response as Phineas orgasms. Ambrose raises his head and thick
ropes of milky liquid spill over his hands, which still grip Phineas’ member.

With astonishing abruptness, Phineas grabs Ambrose by the
shoulders and forces him onto the seat. He pulls at Ambrose’s trousers, pushing
them down around his ankles, not bothering to remove them completely. Although
Ambrose’s cock is not as large as Phineas’ it is still impressive. I barely
have time to admire it before Phineas takes it in his mouth. Unlike the
architect, he is not the least bit tentative despite his inexperience. His
tongue slides up Ambrose’s cock with unbridled enthusiasm. A man knows how to
pleasure a man, it seems, because in moments Ambrose plunges both fists into
Phineas’ hair and throws his head back. His orgasm is intense, and groans fill
the cab. I am certain the driver can hear. I peek out the window and two
passersby raise their heads to look in our direction. If only they knew of our
wanton behavior. What would they say? Ambrose utters another sharp moan and
Phineas greedily swallows his lover’s seed, tenderly licking Ambrose’s cock
until every drop is gone.