Devi's Paradise (10 page)

‘Mistress Sabrina had us rigged out like this. Our own clothes were in rags. These are comfortable, so much cooler than stays and lacing and skirts.’ Kitty did a twirl, showing off her single garment that consisted of a length of flowered material that just about covered her ample charms.

‘Well I shan’t feel right until I’m wearing sober, civilised clothing again,’ said Jessica, shame-facedly. ‘You can hardly call these dignified or modest.’

Romilly thought this new mode of dress suited her starchy duenna. She looked years younger and her hair, once confined in a tight bun, was hanging loose, softening her face and curling down her back.

‘I like it, and can’t wait to try it myself,’ said Alvina.

‘So you shall,’ Sabrina promised.

‘The captain says you are to prepare them and join him for supper,’ Johnson pronounced with a monstrous leer, happy as a king amidst this bevy of women, finding even Jessica bed-worthy. ‘Her ladyship here was about to be shafted by Awan. That means she’s bound to be a virgin, for that crafty old devil Riku the shaman wouldn’t have dared fob his chief off with used goods, now would he?’

‘Have you been with a man, Lady Romilly?’ Sabrina asked bluntly. ‘Answer truthfully, for this will make a difference to your fate.’

‘It is the second time I have been put through this embarrassing ordeal,’ Romilly snapped, head held high, spine stiff. ‘That impertinent shaman and the vile old crone with him asked me the same thing and dared to examine me. Yes, Sabrina, for what it’s worth, I am a virgin.’

‘Good,’ Sabina said slowly, while Marcus positioned himself behind her and stirred the warm air with a peacock fan mounted on a bamboo pole. ‘And you, Lady Alvina?’

‘I’m a woman of experience,’ she retorted proudly. ‘So your leader can put that in his pipe and smoke it. No one tells me what to do.’

Sabrina’s pleasant expression changed dramatically. She sprang up, seizing a short-handled whip and launching herself on Alvina. The thong flicked her flesh lightly, but enough to make her bare arm sting. She out-faced Sabrina and for a long moment there was a tense battle of wills, then, ‘You’ll find everything is different here,’ Sabrina hissed. ‘We abide by Armand’s laws and those of the
Brethren of the Coast
. No snotty-nosed cow who thinks she’s above him can get away with insolence.’

‘Out of my way, bitch,’ Alvina growled.

The whip twitched again and this time it struck her across her barely covered buttocks. Alvina couldn’t stifle a yell.

‘Don’t defy her, my lady,’ urged Kitty. ‘They are a ruthless bunch and it’s best to give in to what they want. Trust me, I know.’

‘They haven’t hurt you?’ Alvina asked anxiously, rubbing her own stinging flanks.

‘No, no, but I’m not sure of our fate. There is talk of a slave auction in somewhere called Cayona. I don’t want to be sold, my lady. I want to stay with you,’ and she started to cry, the usually feisty lass who could give any man the rough edge of her tongue.

‘Don’t worry, I shall put a stop to this nonsense,’ promised Alvina, but she and Romilly exchanged a worried glance.

‘I want to see your master,’ Romilly demanded. She felt responsible for the safety of her friends. If it hadn’t been for her they would never have found themselves in this situation.

Johnson slapped his thigh and roared with laughter and Sabrina raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you indeed? You’re brave; I’ll give you that. Do you know what you’re saying? It’s not wise to toy with a tiger.’

‘I shan’t toy with him. I intend to negotiate.’

‘On your own head be it. I’m warning you that he is renowned for his black moods and evil temper.’

‘I want to see him
now
.’ Romilly refused to be put off.

Sabrina shook her head, hoop earrings gleaming. ‘Can’t be done. He’s given orders not to be disturbed till supper. You’ll see him then and not before.’

‘But…’

‘Relax, young lady. I expect you are hungry. Eat with me and then we’ll find you something gorgeous to wear tonight. Armand is a man of taste who appreciates style and breeding. He misses France and his own kind.’

‘He’s from Europe?’ Romilly was annoyed with herself for betraying interest. Interest meant caring, and she had no intention of getting any closer to the man than was strictly necessary.

‘I thought as much; a nobleman, I shouldn’t wonder,’ Alvina cut in, but Romilly refused to discuss him.

Sabrina’s slaves brought in dishes of delicious food. There were pyramids of fruit, cold chicken served in rich sauce and crusty bread still warm from the oven, and sweet potatoes and unusual vegetables. Romilly realised how hungry she was and tucked in with relish. Kitty and Jessica were ordered to eat with the other servants but given no freedom, under house arrest.

The food settled comfortingly inside her, the wine was heady, the atmosphere one of sensual delight, and Romilly lay back on the couch unable to keep her eyes open. When she awoke later it was already dark – the darkness that comes so abruptly in the tropics. Marcus went round taking a wick to the candles.

‘Time to start preparations,’ said Sabrina, bending over her.

Bemused with sleep Romilly gathered her wits, looked for Alvina, and found her already yielding to Aponi’s ministrations. Kitty was there too, working on her mistress’s flame-red hair, which refused to be tamed. A mane of curls it suited her nature to perfection – unruly, rebellious, a law unto itself. Romilly was becoming more like her by the minute. Though they were in an untenable position, she was learning to fight and stick up for herself, her independent nature coming to the fore.

She consented to rise and visit Sabrina’s privy, a civilised affair consisting of a wooden seat over a shaft that led down into darkness. There was a pitcher of water for flushing it. The offices at Harding Hall were little better, and the bathing facilities impressed her even more. They were led down a spiral staircase into the foundations, coming out in a cavern, lit by braziers reflected in water that trickled into a pool from an underground stream.

Romilly could hear the hiss of waves on the beach somewhere outside. Jessica was ordered to officiate over her toilette, and Kitty to assist Alvina, while Aponi ran about with fresh towels, jugs of hot water, and creams to make their skin silky smooth. Marcus assisted her, not in the least embarrassed to be attending naked bathers. Sabrina organised everything, a stern taskmaster never hesitating to use her whip.

Romilly found her fascinating. African people were a rarity in London, though some of the great ladies kept little black pageboys in silk suits and turbans to run errands, treating them like exotic pets. Sabrina was half-caste, her skin honey-gold, her body statuesque with full breasts and a supple waist. She was so beautiful that Romilly wondered if she was Armand’s lover.

Sabrina slipped a hand under Romilly’s towel, her nails skimming across her buttocks as she said, ‘We must hurry; he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Into the pool and let me wash you.’

Alvina was already immersed, giving little shrieks as the water wormed its way into her nooks and crannies. ’Oh… that’s cold!’ But her protests changed to moans of pleasure as Marcus went down the stone steps that surrounded the watering hole, lathering his hands with scented soap and commencing to anoint her all over. No area was sacred, neither her breasts nor between her thighs.

He was hardening, his cock straining against the codpiece. He released it from its imprisonment and Sabrina didn’t stop him as Alvina slid her arms around his neck and drew him closer. Their lower halves were concealed by the watery cascade flowing over the rocks, but Romilly watched as her friend’s legs appeared, milky white and shining with droplets, and hooked around the young slave’s waist as he raised and then penetrated her.

‘Don’t try that trick with him,’ Sabrina cautioned Romilly, though she was breathing hard, excited by the spectacle. ‘You are for the master.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ Romilly answered heavily, averting her eyes from the antics of her promiscuous friend.

‘Such disgraceful behaviour,’ huffed Jessica. ‘She’s no better than she should be! As for yon black-a-moor; no gentleman worth his salt would have put her in charge!’

Unfortunately Sabrina heard her and the whip landed unerringly across Jessica’s backside. ‘Are you talking about me?’ she snapped, and lashed her again.

‘“If the cap fits wear it”,’ Jessica responded sharply.

‘Hush,’ Romilly warned, but it was too late. Sabrina fell upon the hapless duenna, lashing out mercilessly, the whip singing as it cut through the air, landing with brutal force. Jessica hopped about nimbly but could not avoid the blows. Sabrina was too skilled and eventually her victim dropped to her knees, head bowed as she tried to protect herself. Then tiring of this game her tormenter threw the whip down and lowered herself into the pool, her draperies floating around her as she moved across to join Alvina and Marcus in their amatory play.

Romilly ventured in and Sabrina paid her special attention, hands skimming over her body and limbs, bringing her to a tingling state of arousal. To lie back with her head resting on the pool’s rim was a blissful sensation. She allowed her legs to float, becoming used to the unusual sight of her own nakedness. Sabina’s caresses were gentle, making the excuse of soaping her, and Romilly relaxed, limp as a puppet whose strings are slack, remembering the native girl, Jacy, and the way in which she had pleasured her. Would Sabrina do the same? She forgot the disapproving Jessica, forgot even to be sorry for her because she’d been lashed. Nothing mattered but that this sensual bath went on.

Sabrina smiled and idled her fingers around Romilly’s labia, skimming across the hard pea of her nodule, making it throb. She was rousing but not satisfying her and after a while she gave her a final rinse and then said, ‘Come, let us get on, you are to be dressed for the master.’

Romilly opened her eyes reluctantly, coming to herself and shocked by her wanton delight in Sabrina’s caresses. It was as if she was under a spell, and she did as the Creole ordered, dripping water as she got out of the pool, and allowing the slaves to dry her then rub oil into her skin until she felt completely boneless. She was then conducted back to Sabrina’s apartment.

Seated on a stool before a mirror in a gilded stand, she watched as they brushed her hair so that it swept down like a golden curtain. Jessica carried over a pink silk robe threaded with silver and it was carefully dropped over Romilly’s head and fastened, Greek fashion, with a girdle that crossed over her breasts and underneath them, lifting the rounded globes. The neckline was revealing, the material transparent, showing the curves of her buttocks, the tiny waist and flat belly, the light gold floss that covered her pubis.

Sabrina had changed too, into an embroidered scarlet skirt slit to the thigh and a tiny bolero that gave glimpses of her breasts at almost every movement. Alvina, similarly dressed to Romilly, though in purple, posed in front of the mirror, exclaiming, ‘It’s like a masquerade costume! I love it. When I get back to London I’ll introduce it to balls at Court. The King will adore it!’

‘You know the King of England?’ Sabrina asked, momentarily jerked out of her complacency.

‘Well, not exactly… not personally… but I have seen him close up and been to parties at the palace.’

Sabrina recovered her poise, saying with a dark note in her voice, ‘I’ll wager they are nothing like the gathering you are to attend tonight. Armand excels himself when it comes to entertaining.’

‘I can’t possibly appear like this!’ Romilly exclaimed. ‘It’s indecent.’

‘And lovely, look.’ Sabrina made her stand at the looking glass while she fastened a circlet of flowers around her unbound hair. The silk of Romilly’s robe was so fine that the candlelight shone through it, haloing her limbs, and its lines flowed to her bare feet, hiding nothing. It was embarrassing and her cheeks flamed at the thought of Armand seeing her like that, and would there be others?

‘He’ll be alone?’ she asked, her voice shaking.

Sabrina shrugged. ‘Feasting with his men, I expect, and maybe your companions. Don’t fret; I’ll be there and Lady Alvina. Who knows that may happen? That’s what makes it exciting, isn’t it?’

It was with fear, trepidation and a sickening sense of excitement that Romilly followed Sabrina from the bedchamber, down the central staircase and through double doors into the Great Hall. She was aware that Alvina was on one side of her and Sabrina on the other. Johnson and Marcus brought up the rear.

It was the same large room to which she’d been brought earlier, but now crowded with men lounging around the long central table, servants on the trot, lovely slave girls ready to perform their every desire. The air was hazy with tobacco smoke, and their loud voices drowned out the two violinists and a man seated at a spinet who were supplying the music from a small platform near a window. Romilly’s heart was racing and she saw one man only. Armand lounged elegantly in the magnificent carver that dominated the table, clad in crimson brocade trimmed with the finest Mechlin lace, smooth-shaven with his hair curling around his shoulders and across his chest, a nobleman not a pirate, who could have graced the French king’s court.

He stood as the ladies entered and so did his companions, for it seemed he had surrounded himself with his officers that night, and they had retained a semblance of good manners. Romilly was surprised and delighted to see Jamie and George, both wearing smart clothing. Joshua Willard was there too, and Lieutenant Clive Morrison, whom she had last seen being sodomised by George. They bowed, hand on heart, and Joshua said, ‘Well met, your ladyships.’