The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series (11 page)

Mademoiselle had stood
unnoticed to one side: unnoticed to all but one.
MacCaulay
,
like the others present, could not help but be drawn into the scene playing out
before him, but his eyes continued to seek out she who occupied his thoughts.

Seeing his glances, she made
her way towards him, coming to sit at his side, so that she could speak quietly
in his ear, their conversation unheeded.

She began by asking him the
question which
played much on her mind.

“Gentle sir, do you
understand the desire for pleasurable oblivion at the hands of many others, not
knowing who is clasped to you, or whose lips embrace your flesh?”

He hesitated before answering
that he thought he could appreciate the thrill of such sensations, having
enjoyed the touch of more than one woman at a time on occasions past.

She continued, “Among my
greatest loves is the act of being pinned and invaded – not by one, or
two or three, but by many, one after the other. What it is to lose yourself
among many, so that your identity exists only as ‘woman’: a goddess of flesh
and desire. No names, no promises, no social niceties, no conversational
conventions: only lust and fulfillment.”

The thought of her placed
now
as
Evaline
had not crossed his
mind. It both aroused him and repulsed him.

“On many nights I have
availed myself of these very gentlemen, in the adjoining room. Each time, I
wondered if you might arrive and see me, as I took my pleasure, allowing their
hands to explore my body. There is no part of me that has not been kissed and
enjoyed. I opened myself in welcome, encouraging my suitors to bury themselves
deep and hard, to obliterate all reserve and find the heart of me.”

He looked at her now, seeing
that her eyes had grown dark with desire speaking of these matters.

She continued, “I love being
watched, love knowing that every man in the room is waiting for me, desiring me.
At those moments, I control them, through their eagerness to take possession of
my flesh. I satisfy their desires and my own.
 
A whole evening is barely enough for me
to sate myself, relishing that which others would consider barbarous.”

MacCaulay
knew not what to reply. His adoration of her was
unshaken by her revelations. The
ardour
with which
she spoke was unexpected, but her sexual preferences did not surprise him. The
openness with which she described her needs only aroused his admiration.

Evaline
now moved herself into a seated position, upon her
knees, breathless with having reached her crisis. She took some sips of
champagne and rested for a moment, before calling forth another.

The gentleman’s phallus she
removed from his trousers, rolling and pressing it between her ample breasts, fondling
its length effectively in this way, so that it was soon quite erect, juices
quivering at the tip. As she did so, another of her admirers approached from
behind, since her buttocks were easily accessible, to delve his fingers into
the forest of her cunny.
 
Thus she
received an intimate massage from the rear while delivering pleasure before
her, soon bringing her recipient to his ultimate destination.

MacCaulay
turned to Mademoiselle Noire, who sat composed beside
him, her hands calmly in her lap, as if listening to a chamber orchestra rather
than the grunts and moans of men engaged in sexual
labour
.

His desire to convey his
feelings overcame all else.

“Do you never yearn as other
women do for the haven of marriage?
The security of a husband
in your bed?
Status in society as a wedded woman?
And a family of your own, with rosy-cheeked children in the nursery?”

Her voice was almost weary in
its reply.

“There is enough conformity
in the world Lord
MacCaulay
. I doubt that mine, or
lack of it, will send the planet from its axis. Meanwhile, my heart does not
soar for the riches you set before me. Perhaps one day, I may feel differently.
For now, I wish to taste that which most women do not.”

Evaline’s
suitor spurted generously over her magnificent orbs,
to cheers of approval by the assembly, and another took his place, so that her
breasts were put to work once more in delivering a man to Paradise, the juices
of the first creating a more lubricated motion.

Mademoiselle turned fully to
face Lord
MacCaulay
, enquiring of him, “What is it
that you desire my Lord?
A gentle wife in your
parlour
, to pour your coffee and soothe your brow?
What are you made of? Do your roots hold you fast; or is your spirit free?
Perhaps you are no more than a feather, tossed on the breath of others’ winds,
with no direction of your own?”

“I know that I want you,” he
answered. “I think of you every waking moment, through the night and through
the day. You haunt my dreams, so that there is no escape. You are all and
everything.”

His reply struck her as
honest.

“For that, I am not
displeased, since there is something in you that sings to me and it would pain
me were you to leave this place and never return. You have come to love me;
that I know.
 
It is the most
dangerous game, posing the greatest risk and challenge. It is a game I have
ever been loathe to entertain.”

The fingers devoted to
Evaline’s
garden were no longer two in number but three and
then four, plunging back and forth with steady rhythm, so that her cleft opened
greedily to accept more. Several hands worked in unison, so that she knew not
how many gentlemen were behind her, their fingers playing their part in freeing
the flow of her juices.

Mademoiselle chose her words
carefully. “If I am capable of loving you Lord
MacCaulay
,
of devoting myself to you, it will never be under the terms to which other
women submit, for I am battle-born – a female warrior sworn to defy the
bonds which enslave those of my sex. I will not, purely to follow common ideas
of decency and femininity, give up my enjoyment of other men.”

The fingers exploring
Evaline
had now progressed to rubbing about the rosette of
her anus, inching within. Entry of those fingers at both her pretty passages
was soon underway, and the young woman cried out most piercingly at the
pleasure this afforded her. There was nothing but delight in her cries.

Evaline
took the engorged member from her breasts and placed
it in her eager mouth, relishing the sensation of each orifice now being
satisfied.

Mademoiselle urged
MacCaulay
, “Observe my Lord; I am not the only woman to
feel this way. How dull would it be to consume my meat with only one variety of
sauce? My body and spirit would whither, being fed on such limited fare. To
sample the delights of a great many women is considered right and healthy for a
man, yet the opposite is held true for those of our sex. Where we display undue
interest in sexual matters, even within marriage, we are thought immoral. For
myself, I can only conceive of such limitation with horror: a torture for which
I have no taste.”

Beads of perspiration dripped
now between
Evaline’s
breasts, her breath fast as she
succumbed to the rhythmic probing of her anus. Transported to another place, her
body enjoyed such heightened awareness that she was no longer conscious of the
room or the vanity of her own identity. She knew only the sensations upon her
skin and the great ball of fire within her body.

The fingers at her cunny were
pushed aside, so that one of the
company
might insert
his phallus. He smacked roughly against her bottom, his hefty balls swinging as
his pelvis ground forward. Those hairy globes knocked at her with each thrust.
Meanwhile, her mouth lapped at the salty secretions of the organ offered for
her oral delectation.

Those watching stroked their ready
erections, waiting their turn, seeking release in the confines of her soft body.

The smell of sexual heat hung
thick.

Seeking only to appease his
love,
MacCaulay
replied in desperation, swearing that
he would never attempt to hold her to the covenants binding other women. They
could create their own contract: a new charter. He would be her devoted
servant, entrusted with her safety and happiness, sharing her life and her bed,
yet respectful of her chosen path.

Mademoiselle smiled at
MacCaulay’s
ardent promises.

“Grand words my love,” she
admitted. “If they are sincere, I commend you.”

One after another, men claimed
their
fill of
Evaline
, wielding
rods young and old, hairy, wrinkly, thick and thin, taking their pleasure. She
knew not who impaled her, nor cared, submitting herself to the anonymity of
their lustful penises, the slippery tips gaining easy entry, stroking her to a
state between wakefulness and dreaming.

Mademoiselle watched
Evaline’s
erotic dance as if in her own trance: one of remembrance
and fantasy, in which she clasped her mouth to the bulbous head of a stranger’s
penis, and opened her own legs, to be slain by the steel of an unknown
assailant.

MacCaulay
saw her lips parted, her teeth biting gently upon
them and her tongue wetting their dryness.

He desired nothing more than
to scoop her in his arms and carry her off to some place of quiet, where he
might kiss her heavy eyes and stopper the bottle of her desire, which threatened
so dangerously to overflow. He expected at any moment for her to join
Evaline
in her choreography of erotic abandon.

Whatever her feelings, she
controlled them for the moment, rising to leave the room at last, removing
herself.

Her last words to him were
that he should meet her the next night, at 10pm, in the Mirrored Room.

Chapter Fourteen

A Mirror to the Soul

Lord
MacCaulay
felt no compulsion to stay longer, returning home promptly, to sit by his fire
with a large glass of cognac. His thoughts ran through every nuance of his
conversation with Mademoiselle Noire, and her facial expressions at various
points of the evening.

He could not anticipate what
the following night would bring, but assumed it would be some sort of test: an
ultimatum perhaps.
 

He felt in his heart that
this woman who so perplexed him was enduring her own conflict, her head battling
her heart. At the next moment, he berated himself for even attempting to
understand her motives. She was beyond his fathom, which, he reminded himself,
was what made her all the more alluring to him.

At last, he retired to his
bed, sleeping with more reward than had been the case on most nights
previously.

The following morning, he
joined Cecile at the breakfast table for a tolerable repast of kedgeree and
poached eggs, at which his dear sister, dressed fetchingly in dark coral silk,
related her plans for the day. She was to visit her dressmaker in the
Burlington Arcade, and then meet an old school friend for luncheon at The
Savoy; it was to be a day most delightful.

George then brought in the
morning post and Cecile departed, to ready herself for the carriage. There were
six items of correspondence: one an invitation to the opening of a new gallery
(he would decline), two invitations to dinner (also to be declined), a long and
exceptionally dull missive from the
Oxfordshire
aunt,
berating the state of her gardens following the wet weather and insisting that
she could not do without Cecile. She hoped that her niece might take the train
at her earliest convenience. Of
MacCaulay
she made
little, other than to add that he might accompany his sister if he had no other
business to detain him. The fifth envelope contained a brief report from his
bank, informing him of his current affairs and investments (all were most
healthy).

The last was addressed in a
hand he did not recognize, upon dove grey paper. On opening, he saw at once
that the note said little, but he knew then who had written it, although it was
only signed ‘M’. That she had discovered his place of residence surprised him
not a jot.