The Tender Days of May (The Belle House Book 1)

by Vlad Kahany

  May could smell the food, the cooking, something rotting, perhaps garbage, smoke coming from somewhere, but always kept the window open so that the air could waft through as if she was a prisoner looking through the bars of a window out into the freedom, catching every precious breath of life.

  It’s been a week now.

  It wasn’t that bad, May thought.

  She sulked at first, then made peace with it and started feeling grateful for the circumstances that could’ve been much worse. At least she didn’t have to marry to save herself. That could’ve been worse and for life. Life started showing her a different perspective.

  If it were to be a brothel—so be it. She didn’t have her maid here, but that was fine—she hardly ever left the room. She got used to wearing the simplest house dress she had brought with her. Long sleeves and high neckline, no jewelry or corset—she definitely could’ve passed for a maid. The thought amused her. The chefs of the House weren’t that bad. She was never too picky about food, anyways, having grown up in the country. A talkative maid Krissy served her room and brought all she needed and was more than willing to tell her about the life of the establishment and the ladies of the House. That was the most entertainment she got.

  The owner of the place, Mrs. Sharke, wasn’t a monster May had imagined. The woman seemed friendly and level-headed, quite reasonable and nothing like what May thought of madams. She also knew that sometimes life and circumstances made seemingly good-natured people do wicked things. So May tried to stay in the shadows. In the back room. Without complaining. Without making trouble. Without being seen.

  It seemed like a simple thing to do, but somehow, just the other day, in the hallway, she managed to run into one of the ladies with her client. The most shocking and inappropriate thing May had seen! And the way the man had looked at her sent uneasy shivers down her spine. It wasn’t the fact that she was discovered. Wasn’t the possibility of people trying to find out who she was. No. But the man himself! The eyes that pierced her and left her with the feeling that she encountered some dark power that from now on watched her.

  May tried to forget the scene, but it kept emerging in her mind.

  The hands!

  The nakedness!

  The shamelessness with which the two grabbed each other out in the open!

  She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  It was boredom, she told herself. But she was mistaken.

  She was young and in the center of all things exciting. Young people longed to explore the world. They possessed the one thing that was sharpened by their age—curiosity. May was no different. Except she was too young to know that it was curiosity that usually led to the biggest adventures, the most breath-taking discoveries. More than anything, it led to trouble.

  CHAPTER 3

  “This is extremely entertaining.”

  Walter Bentley, a young man in his early twenties, flipped through the pages of “The School For Girls,” a pornographic work of certain Jean L’Ange of 17th century. The book was illustrated most scandalously. He studied the pictures with amusement and shock, failing to conceal the feeling of shame.

  “Life should be entertaining,” agreed his cousin, Lord Ashbee, who stood nearby with a smile on his face. He glanced from time to time at Walter and felt immense satisfaction. Nothing gave him as much pleasure as watching a young mind being educated in the dark truths of human nature.

  The shop they were in was a discreet dark establishment, not advertised from the outside but one of many on Holywell Street that were notorious for obscene and scandalous material, whether political radicalism, or social upheaval, or pornography. The thick doors disguised its purpose, kept the unwanted individuals away and neutralized any noise that came from the street. When one walked in—he or she was meant to immerse oneself fully into the world of pleasure. Some people preferred literature to reality. Some wanted information on the variety of London sex-entertainment, which could be found in many catalogs that were sold in the shop. Others wanted an education.

  “To your knowledge,” Lord Ashbee addressed his cousin, “to keep the uneducated eyes away, the first pornographic works were written in Latin. Inevitable, its prime audience became the one that knew Latin so well—the priesthood.”

  “Hah!” Walter exclaimed.

  “Yes. You should tell your Lutheran-fanatic aunt Harriet. See what explanation her holy works have for that. Here.” Lord Ashbee passed him a book by a known French writer Marquis de Sade. Called “Juliette,” it described the bedroom adventures of several libertines. The cover featured a naked body that was hung upside down and was being kissed and pleasured by a group of five people in the most obscene positions and engaged in an orgy.

  “Huh!” Bentley exhaled with raised eyebrows, though secretly gloating over the image. He felt awkward as the books and the shop itself made him feel uncomfortable, but he was determined to learn as much as possible about the city entertainment while visiting his cousin. Lord Ashbee was the best guide.

  In fact, Walter Bentley felt immensely proud of being related to such a man. His cousin certainly had a reputation. With as much wealth as Lord Ashbee, one didn’t care much what sort of reputation it was. Apart from inheriting quite a substantial sum, he was known to be a successful businessman, having tripled his fortune by the age of thirty-five. He was a socialite, a collector, a traveler. He knew the latest fashion and followed the latest trends. Educated and well-read, he possessed wit and cynicism that made him popular at parties.

  But it wasn’t what one knew about him that fueled his popularity. Rather, what one didn’t. One is always intrigued more by others’ secrets. Occasionally, Lord Ashbee disappeared into the notorious parts of London and was spotted there. Not in a particular company. But the mere fact that he had any business or interest in the dreadful places that no honorable or decent man would step his foot into made him the topic of the most hushed conversations and whispers at parties. The rumors only seemed to increase his charm in the eyes of others, as it often happened when one had money and self-reliance not to pay attention to the gossips. Lord Ashbee was undoubtedly that man. The fascination with him in London circles never ceased, especially among women. The ones that used to associate with his company one time or another, eventually grew bitter when they fell out of his favor. They talked about him as if he was another trend, but every time he brought a new woman that tickled his fancy, immediately regarded her with utmost hatred as if she was lucky to get her hands on someone they had lost forever.

  “The most impure tale that has ever been told since the world began,” Walter Bentley read out loud from the introduction by the author and closed the book, afraid to go any deeper. At least right now. At least in front of Lord Ashbee. His cousin had a reputation for this kind of thing, and Walter felt that no matter how he tried to hide his thoughts and emotions, his cousin could see right through them.

  Lord Ashbee certainly could. He smiled.

  “You will definitely find yourself entertained on the lonely quiet nights in the country. The book is meant to be read with one hand.”

  He chuckled at seeing Walter blush and, after paying, led him out of the shop.

  They walked the noisy streets of London, talking and discussing the city, the country, the ways one could never know life without living in both.

  It was warm and sunny outside—the best time to take in the awakening of the city life. And so, giving his cousin the tour of the city, its people and architecture, he preferred walking to taking a carriage.

  Lord Ashbee enjoyed the company of his cousin, who was more than a decade younger than him. Walter was a naive young man, having grown up at a country estate and, therefore, limited in his experience of the city’s social life. It delighted Lord Ashbee how hungry the young man was for knowledge, eager to dive into the city life, and curious at the more candid side of it, yet shy and timid. Right after his arrival a couple of weeks back, Lord Ashbee had taken him to several parties. The usual cliché which chee
red Walter but didn’t show him anything he hadn’t seen back home.

  But then there was Lord Dekker’s gathering, a smaller and more intimate one, just men and their mistresses and Lady Dekker, of course, for she always accompanied her husband in his debaucheries. The guests got entertained by the singing and the dancing of the young girls who, as the evening progressed, lost pieces of clothing, one by one, as if on cue until some were left with translucent gowns over their naked bodies, others—completely bare. Several girls found themselves on the laps of the guests who openly stroked the girls’ most intimate parts. The girls, in their turn, responded with eagerness.

  Lord Ashbee threw one glance at his cousin, who didn’t know where to hide his eyes, and ordered one of the girls to keep him company.

  Lord Dekker was highly entertained by this display of shyness, to the point of bursting in laughter when the girl started unbuttoning Bentley’s waistcoat and the young man turned the color of beets.

  “Precious! Just precious! Where did you find such a charming youth?” Lord Dekker, feasting on oysters and fondling the girl on his lap, turned to Lord Ashbee. The latter sat across the table, trying to look entertained but dying of absolute boredom.

  “The deep country is full of charm and untapped virtue,” Lord Ashbee answered with a cynical smirk through the smoke of the cigar.

  Walter felt embarrassed but glad he was under his cousin’s protection. Lord Ashbee stood out in every company. His gestures, full of impertinence, were nevertheless graceful. They made others look like an assembly of a street crowd.

  “You surely have had women before, Sir Bentley.” Lord Dekker, who, despite the wealth, was far from being graceful, looked at the young man not expecting an argument. Bentley nodded timidly, which sent Lord Dekker into another fit of laughter. When he stopped and wiped oyster juice off his chin, he looked at Lord Ashbee in reproach. “Raymond, I didn’t expect your cousin, out of all people,”—he widened his eyes for emphasis—“to have less education than a virgin.” He broke out in cackle that others followed, which made Lord Ashbee chuckle and Walter turn the color of brandy in his glass.

  “I am working on it. The important part of the proper education is to go at a slow pace,” Lord Ashbee said, not minding the touch of a young girl who came over from behind and slid her hands under his jacket.

  “Well, then…” Lord Dekker looked at Walter and the naked girl who coyly stroked his hair. “Dear, why don’t you take him upstairs for some ‘slow’ education?” His eyes followed Walter, who was led away by the smiling nude, and he shook his head in delight. “Ah! To be so young!”

  Walter’s recollection of that evening was still fresh and shocking. The naked girl, much younger than Walter himself, took him up to one of the bedrooms. “Rose is my name,” she said. Walter doubted that, but she indeed smelled like flowers, and her hands were of the gentlest touch. When she pulled him closer, still in the hallway, and started to kiss his neck and rub his intimate parts through the trousers, he felt aroused instantly.

  In the room, she helped Walter undress, curiously observing his moves. It made him blush. When she removed his drawers, his member sprung free and perked up with hunger. She asked him to lie on the bed, straddled him and started caressing his body.

  “Touch me, please,” she asked, taking his hands and putting them on her breasts, and Walter did, with hesitation. It surprised him that such a young creature, several years his junior, had so much determination and openness, and it aroused him even more. Meanwhile, she moved so she could sit just beneath his member, and her hand started stroking it while the other played with his testicles. Walter felt he couldn’t breathe. He gasped at every stroke, tense from pleasure and shock, and watched her hand go up and down his shaft, circling its tip. He felt his whole body swell with built-up energy, and when Rose moved and lowered her lips to his swollen member, her tongue barely reached the tip when Walter clutched the sheets in convulsions and exploded in orgasm, spilling his semen.

  Rose looked up at him, giggling. “So impatient,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Sorry,” Walter murmured in embarrassment.

  But Rose didn’t seem to mind. “It’s perfectly fine,” she said with an air of a tutor. She wiped him with a sheet, moved up to his belly, still straddling him, took his hand and moved it to the wetness between her legs. For the first time, Walter touched the part of the woman’s body that was a secret to him before. His fingers explored her folds as she started moving her hips back and forth. Slowly. Then more intensely. And when she let her hand go, Walter kept his hand there, for he seemed to understand now what she wanted.

  Meanwhile, his member got aroused again. How quickly his body regained its strength, he thought. Overcome with desire, Walter pushed the girl up slightly and set her on top of his throbbing member, sinking her onto it. The girl moaned and gasped and started moving up and down, swallowing his erection. His eyes were wide open, watching intensely the union of sexes, the flesh grinding together. How fascinating! How raw! How it excited him!

  “Faster,” Rose pleaded, pushing his hand against her clit, her back—arched, her legs—wide open, her sex—pounding his. Walter could feel her wetness, could hear it, could see her body throbbing for his touch. “Faster,” she repeated, and Walter’s fingers started moving violently, skipping and losing the rhythm, giving in to his excitement.

  Finally, the girl cried out several times, moving her butt up and down like she was nailing him to the bed, and Walter once again lost his mind to an exploding orgasm.

  Afterward, Rose took a wet cloth from the bowl next to the bed and wiped herself, her intimate parts. Then did it for Walter, going around his member and down to his balls with gentle moves. She did it with a smile, once again, too happy to oblige, shocking Walter with such openness.

  “It was nice meeting you,” she said, smiling when she helped him dress.

  Indeed.

  Now, a week later, Walter was less intimidated by the idea of intimacy. His mind kept replaying the evening at Lord Dekker’s, for the encounter was nothing like the one he had had with the girl back home. Once. In the darkness of the night. This time it was much more pleasurable, and he couldn’t wait to see what else Lord Ashbee had in store for him.

  They stopped at a coffee shop, chatted with Charles Hamilton, one of Lord Ashbee’s close friends, made arrangements to meet up for dinner, and found themselves walking the streets again.

  “I look forward to introducing you to a curious establishment that I got to enjoy lately,” Lord Ashbee said as they veered into the newly built Piccadilly Circus. “The Belle House. One of the most entertaining establishments around here. Not the finest, but one of the cleanest and most versatile in its selection of women.”

  “Why does one need versatility if one can be satisfied in minutes?” Walter was young, therefore, sure that after having known several women, he was an experienced man.

  “The fact that you think that bedroom pleasures are a matter of minutes shows that you know nothing of them. A proper woman can keep you occupied for hours. A skillful woman can find your specialty.”

  “Specialty?”

  Lord Ashbee gave him a condescending glance and an equally diminishing smile.

  “Sure, you don’t think that every man enjoys those minutes the same way. Some enjoy days; some enjoy just thinking about it; some prefer men; some—very young girls; some like to draw blood or apply violence; some even go to the extreme of involving animals in—“

  “Stop! I get it! I get it!” Walter shook his head in shock. Lord Ashbee’s ideas could be overwhelming. No wonder Walter’s aunt Lady Harriet was against his staying for a month with “such a scandalous man who has a bad influence over people, especially young and innocent” as she described Lord Ashbee. However, Walter’s father thought that was precisely what he needed.

  The two men passed a group of women dressed in the best fashion, greeted them by nodding politely while Bentley stared so intensely that he stumbled,
to the delighted giggle of the females.

  “If you come across a woman,” Ashbee continued as they walked, “that can tickle your mind as well as your senses, you might find that you are desperate to stretch these several minutes into much longer.” Lord Ashbee looked at him cunningly. “Intimacy starts not between your legs, but in your mind, dear boy. Sometimes it turns into the most entertaining game that humanity ever invented—love.”

  Walter looked at his cousin with interest.

  “An old and boring concept,” Lord Ashbee added with a smirk, passing another group of females. After the cold months, all of London seemed to have come out into the streets searching for adventures. This part of the city certainly abounded with women of all sorts, and that was precisely what Lord Ashbee intended for his cousin. “One should experience love once,” he continued, “and preferably at a young age so as to learn to steer away from anything that leads down that road. And that’s not the purpose of your spending time here. Back to the topic—the best selection means you might find the woman that will occupy your mind and curiosity enough to give you the widest range of experiences. You have no idea what education is until you’ve been to a proper brothel.”

  At these words, Lord Ashbee stopped and looked up at the building on their right. Walter threw a sweeping glance across it and turned to look inquiringly at his cousin.

  “The Belle House.” Lord Ashbee nodded towards the door. “The things that you will learn here might change your life.” He smiled and patted Bentley on the back.