Riding Crop (2 page)

The stark contrast from the tender and gentle
lovemaking he observed to this torture chamber scene was hard to
fathom. He recognized Sir Anthony Tollingham, Knight of the Realm
and a respected judge at Chancery. The older man was completely
naked and restrained by chains hanging from the ceiling. His arms
elevated slightly, he glanced toward the door. Mixed with the look
of trepidation was also expectation. The man no doubt waited to be
birched or flogged. The door swung open and a woman walked in the
room. Gideon’s breath caught in his throat. She was exquisite. Lush
and shapely, she wore a black lace bodice with knee high boots a
pirate might wear. Her golden-honey hair hung in thick waves down
her back. The woman wore black leather gloves and in her hand was a
riding crop, which she tapped absently in her palm as she walked
around the judge as a lion would stalk its prey. Her blue-gray eyes
were hard and cold. The look on her beautiful face furious and
determined and Gideon felt the blood rush to his head and to his
cock simultaneously.

“Do you wish to be bloodied?” she asked the
judge, in a tone of voice she might use in the parlor to ask him if
he wanted sugar in his tea.

The judge closed his eyes and
smiled.

“Oh yes, please.”

“Yes please—what?”

“Yes please, Mistress Birch.”

Gideon choked back a snort of derision. These
types of games he may have dabbled in a few times. He did take a
cat-o-nine-tails to a woman once, but he hardly made a mark on her.
He just reveled in the role of master in full control. Come to
think of it, he was the authoritarian person in all his salacious
sex play. Could he submit to this wisp of a beautiful woman and her
riding crop?
Not bloody likely.

Before he could form another thought, an
almighty thwack filled the air as the Mistress laid the riding crop
across the back of the judge. The man howled, but the cry ended in
joyous laughter. The riding crop then flayed open the judge’s thigh
and blood dripped to the floor. Gideon’s eyes widened in shock.
This
he had never seen before. She slid the crop along the
judge’s erect cock and the man moaned in ecstasy.

“One more, where do you want it? Chest? Back?
Your buttocks?” The crop moved back and forth along his stiff
prick. “Or here?”

“Yes! There!”

Gideon tore out of the alcove. Be damned if he
would watch
that
. He heard the crop make contact and the
judge scream in pleasure-agony. Silence filled the air. He leaned
against the wall.
Jesus, he was hard as a pike.

Pan appeared before him.

“Are you ready, Lord Craven? Have you decided
what is next on the menu?”

Gideon gulped deeply. “Yes, I
want—her.”

****

Olivia Durham stepped out the side door into
the private passageway. With the riding crop under her arm, she
peeled off the leather gloves and handed them to Pan, who stood
nearby.

“The judge is unconscious. He will have to be
attended to.”

Pan’s eyebrow rose. “My dear Olivia, did you
beat him into submission once again?”

“The old reprobate wished for me to flay the
skin off his cock. The request was tempting, however, I hit close
enough for him to faint. I am going to my room to rest.”

Pan reached out and laid a hand on her arm. The
contact made her flinch.

“You have another customer. Lord Craven. I
placed him upstairs in the gold room with a bottle of brandy, so he
should be comfortable for the next forty minutes or so until you
collect yourself.”

Lord Craven? She had seen the man from a
distance and heard the idle gossip. Very tall, imposing, dark, and
dangerous. His glare could cause ice to form around one’s
extremities. Of course, the same could be said about herself.
Olivia frowned. She also heard he behaved as a beast in bed, not
that she planned to fornicate with the depraved viscount. None of
her encounters at The Riding Crop had anything to do with sexual
gratification.

“He has paid a great deal of money to be in
your company,” Pan urged.

“Lord Craven does not strike me as the type to
surrender to anything.”

“
Agreed. He observed you with the
judge, so he is well aware of what you offer. I am surprised he
would subject himself to be in a submissive position, but there it
is. The man sported quite the erection when he left the alcove.”
Pan reached for her arm again, but then pulled back as if
remembering she didn’t like to be touched. “All the safeguards are
in place. The room is completely private, but the hidden bells are
in working order should you need assistance. Gordon will be down
the hall in case you need him.”

Olivia exhaled. “A lot of money, you
say?”

“Yes, your cut will be quite substantial, I
assure you. More than you made all of last month.”

Olivia needed the money. The offer was too good
to pass up. Poverty and the ever-lurking specter of living in the
streets caused her to nod her agreement.

“Fine. Give me the gloves. I’ll go to him in
forty-five minutes. No sooner.”

Pan handed them over then bowed slightly. “As
you wish, my dear.”

Olivia walked down the back stairs to the
enclosed walkway that linked to the house directly behind The
Riding Crop. This area was exclusive for the staff. The whores had
their own rooms, as did she. Pan made sure the area was neat,
clean, and entirely livable and insisted the staff kept it that
way. Living here was far enough removed from the business and it
would do for now. In truth she had no place else to go.

Entering her room, she turned the gas on the
wall sconce and with a decided hiss and pop, illumination filled
the small space. The room was cozy, a single bed with lots of warm
blankets and feather pillows sitting against one wall. In the other
corner sat a dresser and a plush chair she used for reading.
Further along the wall was a fireplace for warmth and for heating
water for a cup of tea when the mood struck.

Olivia stripped off her clothes and pulled open
the drawer. What to wear for Lord Craven? Something to titillate
but nothing more. She held up a sheer coral peignoir with a
matching coral and gold corset. Might as well give the viscount his
money’s worth for he would be looking, not touching.

As Olivia dressed, she pondered her fate and
what led her to The Riding Crop. If Pan hadn’t found her that
night—she shuddered. Pan had become her dear friend and confidant.
His real name was James Sidle and contrary to tittle-tattle he was
not a eunuch. He played up his role around customers. He confided
to her one night over a bottle of port “his gate swung both ways”.
In this cold world, it behooves one to discover warmth and
affection where one can find it
, he had explained. The man was
a hopeless romantic who found a profit could be made in the vices
of others. There was more to his past no doubt, but that could be
said of everyone working and living at The Riding Crop. Pan—or
James as she called him when they were alone—knew of her past. He
was the only one she confided in. Her long-term plan consisted of
making enough money to live quietly in an isolated cottage either
far north or south of London.

Affixing the cloak around her shoulders, she
stepped into the gold ankle high boots, grabbed her crop and,
turning down the light, walked out of the room.

****

Gideon paced the room for the twentieth time, a
snifter of brandy in his hand. “The Gold Room”—he could understand
the reference. From the gold brocade curtains and matching silk bed
linens to the fleur-de-lis gold wallpaper, the room was plush and
Georgian in its decor. His cock was still hard as stone and damned
uncomfortable. Not so much from the flogging he witnessed, but the
woman herself. Never had such a swift and lustful reaction to any
woman in all these years. Quite astounding, really. The cold,
implacable gaze countered with the soft, feminine body intrigued
him to no end. He wasn’t exactly sure how to approach this
situation. Perhaps he could make her his mistress. He never had a
long-term one before. Mistress Birch was the first woman that even
had him considering the option. The offer of a townhouse, servants,
jewels, and money surely would appeal. He would even sign a
long-term contract if she insisted. He had to have her. His hand
brushed by his erect prick and he shuddered.

****

Olivia opened the door to the gold room and
locked the door behind her. Slipping the key into the side pocket,
she removed the cloak and laid it across the nearby chair. She
turned and the sight of Lord Craven made her gasp
softly.

The viscount laid on his side on the velvet
settee propped on one elbow, a snifter of brandy in his hand. His
coat and waistcoat removed, his white shirt was unbuttoned to his
waist. A muscled chest dusted with a sprinkling of black hair was
evident, along with a flat stomach. Tight black trousers did
nothing to hide the quite prominent bulge. Long, graceful legs
stretched past the end of the settee. His feet were bare and
elegantly shaped. Her gaze roved back to his face. He was in a
word—stunning. A lock of his black-as-midnight hair hung over his
forehead in a carefree manner. Thick black brows only enhanced the
obsidian shade of his eyes. The lashes were thick and long. His
face was handsome beyond reckoning, with a sturdy, well-shaped jaw
and sharp, high cheekbones any woman would envy. His gaze met hers,
and a frisson of heat trickled down her spine. The face, beautiful
in its masculinity, showed no warmth at all. His eyes narrowed as
he looked her over quite thoroughly. She tapped the crop against
her white leather gloved palm. Olivia did not look away. The man’s
intelligent and cool gaze did not intimidate her.

Lord Craven sat the snifter on the table, swung
his long legs over the side and stood. Broad shoulders tapered to
narrow, muscular hips. His body was as stunning as his face. He
appealed as no man ever had. Olivia tamped down the spark of
attraction. Merely the twitching of a corpse, she
reasoned.

“Mistress Birch, I presume?”

His voice sounded deep, but raspy.

“Yes. I rarely take on two clients in one
night.”

He bowed slightly.

“I am honored, then.” His arm inclined toward
the nearby chair. “Shall we discuss terms?”

Taking a seat, Olivia watched as he sat on the
edge of the bed and crossed his long legs.

“As Pan may have told you, I allow three
strikes. How hard and deep I wield the crop is up to you. As he
also no doubt told you I am not to be touched, nor will any sexual
congress pass between us.”

His thick eyebrows arched in question. “Indeed?
Seems to me a vast amount of coin paid out for the privilege of
being whipped as a naughty school boy. I have another proposal in
mind.”

Lord Craven was used to getting his way, Olivia
could tell by the determined set of his jaw. The onyx eyes
glittered with interest.

“Pray tell me what manner of perversion you
require. I have heard of your reputation, Lord Craven.”

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “I can well
imagine. This is not my chosen form of pleasure. Agreeing to this
was the only way I could see and talk to you. If I must endure a
flogging, so be it. My proposal is this: For each strike I allow,
you will give me something in return. And there will be more than
three.”

This man was beyond arrogant. She heard he
reveled in being in control. Be damned she would let him wrestle
power away from her in this situation.

“I do not make deals. This is not the
marketplace at Bethnal Green where we will haggle over the price of
fresh fish or a loaf of bread. Take what is offered or I am
leaving.”

He smiled a predatory grin of a crafty
fox.

“Why do you flog men, Mistress? If you do not
allow anyone to touch you or engage in fucking, then sexual
gratification for yourself is not the reason. Do you seek to punish
them or all men in general?”

His observation hit too close to the mark.
Olivia struggled to hide her reaction, but she knew she showed her
emotions. Lord Craven threatened her cool reserve.

****

Gideon watched as her luscious eyes widened. He
had hit the bulls-eye. The fact she did not wish to be touched
spoke of her utter disgust with the male species. The look on her
face when she flayed open the judge’s thigh would be forever etched
in his mind. Satisfaction, retribution and vengeance. The depth of
her emotions made her all the more fascinating. She did not
reply.

“Come. Think of the contentment you will derive
in bringing such a supercilious man to his knees. You will be the
first to make me surrender.”

She cocked her head as if studying
him.

“I have brought many such men to their knees.
That is hardly an inducement.”

Gideon strode to his coat and pulled out a
velvet pouch. He dropped it on the bed.

“Then perhaps money will convince you. There
are fifty gold guineas in the sack. All yours, no splitting with
Pan. A side exchange between us. What I propose is sharing. For
every strike of your crop, you will allow me to touch you or kiss
you. We will also share something of our lives. Imagine, neither of
us in control, neither of us submitting. We will both give and
take.”