The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series (8 page)

He felt at once the warmth of
her, the tightness of her inner walls squeezing him, and her labia pushing down
upon his groin. She rocked herself against the hardness of him, drawing him
into her. Her soapy breasts crushed against his chest and her fingers twined in
his hair, pulling back his head. She sought his open lips, covering them with
her own. The rawness of her desire overpowered him, pushing him towards the
precipice. His hands found the curve of her buttocks and claimed her steadfastly,
holding her firmly against him as his rod shot forth once more, this time into
her deepest channel.

She kissed him fervently and
then allowed his mouth to find her neck, nuzzling it as he moaned. She arched
her back, offering him her breasts, eager for his hungry kisses. His mouth
clasped to her nipple, suckling as if she were his
saviour
in a desert-world.
 
He bit down upon
the tender areola, taking her over the edge, so that her womb shuddered within
her and his cock was lifted upon her waves of pleasure. He felt the ripples of
her orgasm as a mouth upon his penis, massaging him, coaxing him ever closer
within her. She gave a great cry and then a series of gasps, struggling to
breathe against the ferocity of the tempest rising through her body. At last,
only sighs remained, and she held his head to her chest.

Chapter Ten

A Close Shave

They remained clasped
together for some minutes, neither wishing to relinquish their hold on the
other. At last, it was the impatient murmurings of
Hetty
and Daisy that roused them.

Mademoiselle Noire was heavy
with the afterglow of her lust but she rose from the water, droplets cascading
down her sculpted limbs, and shimmering upon the hair of her pubis. She stepped
from the bath,
MacCaulay’s
eyes following her all the
while, feasting on the beauty of her form.

Hetty
and Daisy rose also, so that
MacCaulay
was finally obliged to follow. He allowed Mademoiselle to steer him towards the
bed, his head growing sleepy now that his body was spent. He perhaps dozed for
a few minutes, for when he opened his eyes he discovered her tying a sash to the
last of his limbs. His legs and arms were spread in the manner of Da Vinci’s
Vitruvian Man, fastened securely to the corners of the solid wooden bed frame.

Spread-eagled on his back,
his penis loomed large, already reviving at the thought of her next intention
for him. She placed a large cushion beneath his buttocks to raise him and he
closed his eyes, waiting for her mouth to close around his member. The sharp
sound of a razor being sharpened against leather jolted him to his senses.
There she sat, neatly between his legs, his jewels at her mercy. Seeing the
look of horror upon his face, Mademoiselle Noire let forth a great peal of
laughter.

“My goodness,” she cried, wiping
a tear of merriment from her eye, “How brave you are!”

A bowl beside
her contained soap, which she lathered with a brush, in readiness to shave him.

The shame of it: being
stripped of the hair about his genitals. How would he enter the Club sauna with
his cock and balls as naked as a baby’s; he’d be a laughing stock.

She began to daub the brush
around the base of his shaft, and then into the nooks and crannies of his sac.
The bristles felt a little harsh and the soap cold, so that he felt his erection
fading fast.
 

“This will be much easier
done if you remain upright my Lord,” reproached Mademoiselle, grasping his
truncheon and delivering several long, slow strokes. The soap at its base
offered pleasant lubrication for the job.

“Hold very still,” she
warned. “It’s not my intention to injure you.”

She proved adept at the job,
holding his skin taut, so that the razor could do its work effectively.
Finally, wiping away the soap and hair with a sponge, she sat back to admire
her handiwork.

“You see, we can more easily
admire you now,” she smiled, smirking slightly, as she always did. “Don’t
complain, or I’ll shave also between your buttocks.”

She then called Daisy and
Hetty
to sit a little closer and explained to
MacCaulay
that, as part of their ongoing instruction in how
best to pleasure themselves and, thereby, pleasure the gentlemen they might
encounter, she would appreciate
MacCaulay’s
assistance. As he was already placed so fortuitously upon the bed, it would be
a shame to forsake the opportunity.

He recognized the small
bottle of oil she now held, and the fragrance of orange oil. Just as she had
rubbed it into the skin of
Semele
, she did so now to
herself, her hands travelling languorously up her arms, over her belly, and
across her breasts. She watched
MacCaulay’s
face
closely as she massaged her flesh, her orbs squeezed upwards, glistening, then
released, and pressed upwards once more. Her fondling inflamed
MacCaulay
greatly, so that his organ was soon fully
engorged.
 
She continued to touch
her breasts for him, acting where he could not, being tied as he was to the
bed. Her nipples she twisted and slid between her fingers, the oil enabling her
hands to move fluidly, caressing the soft loveliness of her curvaceous body.

She roamed then to her
thighs, stroking the orange fragrance over them, so that her skin gleamed in
the gentle lamplight of the room. Her fingers next found her cunny. Her lips opened
as she touched her flower, pulsing her pressure, as felt best to her.
MacCaulay
admired once more the genuine desire within her,
and her shamelessness.

Her eyes met his with an
expression of unadulterated lust, her pupils fully dilated. She lowered herself
now, so that her entire body, slippery with oil, lay across his: her legs she
spread upon those of
MacCaulay
. Flesh touching flesh,
she began to slide herself back and forth, his penis between her legs, but
hitting only her buttock cheeks. Her cunny pressed hard against his newly
shaven upper groin, her breasts against his stomach and torso.

She rocked herself,
slithering this way and that, rubbing herself against him, and biting at his
nipples, until he felt he could barely endure more.
 
He was acutely aware of every inch of
his body, being used to pleasure his Queen of the Night.

At last, she moved upwards,
towards
MacCaulay’s
face, and turned herself the
other way, sitting astride his chest. As she bent, his view was of her smooth
thighs, her golden moss, and the cleft of her buttocks. She was able to reach
his cock, using the oil upon her hands to stroke its delicate skin
rhythmically. Her nipples brushed lightly upon his belly. As she bent over
further, the better to minister to his phallus, her buttocks parted, revealing
the rosebud of her anus, pink from its recent bath. How he’d love to place his
tongue upon it and play with the lily-white cheeks of her naked bottom.

She moved back now to
straddle his face, her moist slit hovering teasingly above,
her
heated aroma reaching his nostrils. Her pubic hair brushed the tip of his nose.
The smell of her was intoxicating: the heady scent of salt and musk overlaying
the orange blossom.

Mademoiselle called
Hetty
and Daisy forward, requesting that they might do
their part. One upon each leg, they kissed
MacCaulay’s
inner thighs, up, up, towards his balls, which they took, one each, into their
mouths, sucking lightly thereupon, and then harder, hearing his groans of
anguished delight. Mademoiselle’s own mouth found his hot poker, wrapping her
lips tightly upon it. Even in his most debauched fantasies, he had never
imagined three mouths applied to his private parts, each acting independently,
offering its own rhythm of attention.

Mademoiselle Noire then lowered
herself a little, so that, at last, his tongue might reach within her juicy
lips. She wriggled the nub of her clitoris upon him, and rocked her hips back
and forth, keeping herself lightly above. With each motion, her ripe bottom
grazed his nose. He ventured his tongue deeper, which brought forth a purr of
appreciation and her cunny dropped down, to press against his face more
persistently.

As her frenzy grew, her mouth
drew down upon his shaft with tight, smooth strokes. Finally, the sensations
across his balls and cock overwhelmed him, and his fierce erection burst into
Mademoiselle’s mouth.
Hetty
and Daisy’s dainty
orifices remained firmly about his testicles as he gave forth. Mademoiselle
allowed then her own satisfaction to bubble over, her spasm sending honey
juices flowing onto
MacCaulay’s
tongue, so that each
enjoyed the taste of the other.

Chapter Eleven

Obsession

She had dismissed
Hetty
and Daisy, sponged him clean and dried him, untied
him, kissing each wrist and ankle, then donned a silken kimono and retired to
the next room, leaving Lord
MacCaulay
without another
word.
 

Lightheaded, he dressed. It
felt as if a lifetime had passed since his arrival at the Club earlier that
evening.

His carriage he took not
home, but through the empty streets of Belgravia and Knightsbridge, wishing to
gather his thoughts. He passed the homes of those whom he knew and those whom
he did not: families slept behind darkened windows, concealed by drapes
tangible and by veils imperceptible.
 
The world he had thought he understood, and, by default, belonged to,
seemed now false.

Eventually, as dawn was
breaking, he turned homeward and found oblivion in his bed, waking only after
noon, to a head hot and a feeling of uncomfortable constriction about his chest.
He was strong of constitution, but he felt quite out of sorts and, on ringing
for his valet, George, asked if he might recommend any preparation for the
easing of such symptoms.
 

A detoxifying solution of
Epsom
Salts
was placed before him, and a pot of
peppermint tea – for its soothing properties. George also requested a
tray from the kitchen, of sparsely buttered white bread toast, and two lightly
boiled eggs. His Lordship would surely feel more himself after some breakfast,
and might then take a turn in Kensington Gardens, since fresh air, albeit
accompanied by a mist of drizzle, was known for its restorative powers.

MacCaulay
felt somewhat revived by mid afternoon, although his
head continued to plague him. He wondered if his discomfort was no more than
the confluence of a great many conflicting ideas battling one another for
supremacy.

His thoughts
centred
entirely upon the night previous. Such images
assailed him as brought a rush of blood not only to his head, which made it
throb, but to his groin – which behaved likewise.

After so much waiting,
allowing him to watch her, drink her in with his eyes, even wield the crop
against her, but never to touch her, his Queen of the Night had opened herself
to him.
 
She had given him the
essence of herself: her heart of pure passion. She had clasped him to her as if
he were the only man alive. His rod she had claimed as her own plaything,
having taken such care to shear it (as he recalled on reaching for a scratch
beneath the bedcovers).

She had made efforts to
discover his name, although to what purpose he could not be sure. Her own
remained a mystery to him.

He
endeavoured
to understand his feelings for her, beyond his desire to consume her carnally.
She continued to fascinate him, perhaps because she continued to elude him. He
might possess her body, but her mind and spirit flew free.

He had no sense that she
sought to entrap him. Her carefree, casual nature was obvious. She lived
intensely, taking her own pleasure, without seeking anything in return.
 
She desired no promises or declarations
of love. They were unnecessary.

Nevertheless, his feelings
were such that he now wished to heap adoration upon her. She swam in his blood
and in his bones. Her breath was in his pulse and her touch imprinted on the naked
meat of his flesh.

He had little doubt that
professions of devotion would repulse her. She might only scorn him with
laughter, but she might also revile him, denouncing his romantic
conventions.
 
He had long held the
state of marriage to be undesirable, since it placed irrevocable constraints upon
a man, forcing him into the company of a wife chosen to fit his place in
society.
 
He had never met any woman
whose company he sought for longer than a few hours. Even his sister, of whom
he was inordinately fond, tried his patience at times.