A PINCH OF SPICE
An erotic novella
Alcamia Payne
Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2013
ISBN 9781909624511
Copyright © Alcamia Payne 2013
The right of Alcamia Payne to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter One
Martha stood in the hallway trying to make sense of Eliza’s unorthodox furnishing of the house. It was a sensual feast, with its sumptuous lace covers and billowing chiffon, and had none of the muted Victorian colours she was used to. ‘Oh, it’s so pretty and you furnished it all yourself. How amazing!’
Unpinning her hat, Eliza coaxed her thick, dark hair in place. Her riotous mass of curls had – due to the dampness – clustered attractively around her brow. ‘Thank you, Martha. I knew you’d adore it, but you’d better explain yourself before you explode.’ Eliza was no fool. Martha always visited for a reason and … She suppressed a smile, here it came. Her friend was gearing up for the revelation and her cheeks had become flushed, as was her wont before the sharing of some delectable gem of information.
‘You and I get along so dreadfully well because we swim in a different pool to the rest of womankind, don’t we?’
Eliza nodded. This much was true, for Eliza and Martha considered themselves Victorian rebels and both refused to be restrained by the barricades of a society they believed limited in the extreme. Martha lived on the other side of the city and fought her own battles on her own terms, principally through diffusing clandestine and interesting information to her limited coterie of female friends – those swimming in the highest echelons of society and who wielded what Eliza termed “intimate power”. Martha made no secret of the fact she esteemed Eliza Pinch, since Eliza had been brave enough to walk where no woman had walked before. Even now she was staring at her, while Eliza basked in the admiration.
On the surface Eliza was a fashionable style icon, a rich heiress and tasteful woman of means. Scratch that surface, though, and beneath she was a scandal, a woman with more than a pinch of spice and who ran a secretive service which she called “The Assistance”. Yes, Eliza Pinch was a sexually liberated young lady, self-instructed in all manner of delights of the flesh, and who believed in the freedom of a woman to express herself in whatever way necessary to procure pleasure. To that end, she indulged her sensitivities and fetishes – and they were many. In particular, Eliza derived orgasmic relish from parading the secrets beneath her clothes. Today she was wearing a tightly fitting scarlet silk bodice composed of a plunging neckline which flowed out into a skirt of copious layers, fashionably pinned in pretty rosettes to lift the skirt away from her legs. It was a daring design because it showed more leg than it ought to. Eliza wriggled her buttocks as she enjoyed the cut of her new combinations. The stiff lace was rubbing her tender skin and tickling her clit as fiercely as a lover’s rough hand.
Martha leant forward eagerly. ‘You know how the women of our circle consider you the veritable font of womanly advice as regards matters of a delicate nature? Over the last few years you’ve become our rock and sounding post in specialised matters. Indeed, for questions of a feminine nature we’d come to no one else.’ She made sure to emphasise the word “circle” as if it was some kind of secret coven, which, in a way, The Assistance was.
Eliza felt such a satisfying pulse between her legs she had to clench them together. Ah, The Assistance. Running a secret service covertly while continuing to be a pillar of society and mingling with personages like Lady Smithers and Nancy Wilding – and being party to their most secret wishes and desires – was a most definite thrill. There was nothing she liked better, in a day and age when little in the way of exciting employment for a wealthy young heiress was available, than unravelling women’s complex personal conundrums and inhabiting a lofty pinnacle as sexual oracle. Her little enterprise was a much more stimulating prospect than mere charitable works and an ideal way in which to employ her specific talents.
Eliza wasn’t absolutely certain how she’d risen to such stratospheric heights, though it had probably started with a few well-placed snippets of salaciousness, dispensed from her erotic font. There was no doubt she had a knack, and no wonder, because the subject of sex occupied her perpetually. It had been a small step from there to advising unfulfilled women who dared not touch or allow themselves to indulge even the slightest frisson of liberated rapture, let alone orgasm. Entry into the homes of the socially distinguished had rapidly followed, and led to her being a close confidante of female whimsies.
‘Here’s my daring request,’ Martha continued. ‘I have a friend who desperately needs your help. Her name is Katia, a Russian countess who has inherited her nephew, a striking and mysterious young man who she’s brought with her from overseas. This nephew’s by all accounts a troubled boy, who requires –’ she paused ‘– assistance.’ Delving in her purse, she handed Eliza a splendid embossed card on which was printed the name “Katia Tsarev”. On inspecting it, Eliza saw a note had been written on the back.
Dear Miss Pinch. I need your advice on a matter of the utmost delicacy. Please may I call on you at 11 a.m. tomorrow?
‘I was positive that although the subject in question is a man, you’d be certain to help. You are, after all, a genius.’
‘Martha, how could you?’ Eliza quavered. ‘You understand I never deal in problems of a male nature. I may be emancipated and free thinking, but I’m definitely not an instructress in carnal pleasures.’
‘No, I know, my dear, but there’s always room for expansion in a business such as yours, isn’t there? The least you can do is talk to Katia.’
Chapter Two
Of course, Eliza never said no, she was too curious for that. The next morning she dressed in a reserved brown taffeta gown and arranged her hair carefully yet simply. It wouldn’t do to look too forward in front of Madam Tsarev, and she knew on occasion she intimidated women with her flamboyancy. They were continually snatching jealous glances at her, while men experienced a strange intoxication over Eliza, composed of a mixture of both admiration and lecherous intent. She smiled to herself. Yes, and they secretively fondled their cocks every time she walked by.
Eliza stroked her well rounded hips. She knew she was exceedingly pretty. However, her weakness – her appetite for lemon cream fancies which she had delivered from a French pâtisserie to her stylish Bloomsbury house – meant her curves had become a little more pronounced lately.
Eliza strolled through the house, making last-minute adjustments here and there. She felt a sense of pride over how beautiful her home looked and how her independent stamp and outrageous décor had embellished the unique style bequeathed to her by her grandmother, who had brought her up when her mother had died in childbirth. She had never known her father. Her mother,
a bohemian, had supposedly met him on a trip to Italy and a brief, carnal affair had resulted in Eliza. She’d had a fabulous upbringing in an uncensored household, her outrageously amusing and sex-fuelled grandmother being much fought over for dinner invitations. Eliza had benefited from notable extravagances: a wonderful governess who’d thoroughly educated her, and, later on, a finishing school in Switzerland. At 21 – her grandmother being then deceased – she’d inherited the family fortune and the house, together with its copious library of erotic texts.
It seemed Eliza was a chip off the old block. Sex added a spicy zest to her life, and there was nothing she liked more than dispensing her advice with considerable aplomb. She could have easily married but for one serious impediment, her dominant personality. Now, if a man could be seen to allow her her liberty, marriage could work very well. But, in Eliza’s view, marriage and liberty made sorry partners. As soon as a man caught you, you were harnessed and – she repressed a smile – she’d much rather be harnessing him. Besides, what man would understand her attitude to sex, which she saw as a mode of free expression and a cure for all things? Yes, she was sure it was a cure, because she suffered few of the problems which assailed her peers. She was agile and content in body and spirit and rarely visited a doctor. Having overcome the numerous taboos of the society she lived in, she enjoyed admiring her naked body and attentively caring for it in truly scandalous ways by shaving away every loose hair, keeping it alabaster white and smooth and fragranced with exotic and daring scents. Not forgetting enjoyment, a daily occurrence as necessary as a pot of tea. Eliza had taught herself every trick in the book as regards self-pleasure; using her fingers and thumbs, scarves and ropes, to excite herself.
Eliza was unprepared for Katia, who drew up at the house in a luxurious carriage drawn by two splendid horses. You could instantly tell she was a woman of substance. Her black gown was chic and exquisitely styled and she wore a splendid plumed hat and fabulous Russian enamelled jewellery. She was astounding, too, with her creamy white complexion and luscious dark eyes. Eliza liked her immediately.
‘It’s so kind of you to see me. It was a godsend when Martha mentioned your considerable gifts. She told me you were unique and there wasn’t another woman in London able to offer such expert advice. I’ll get straight to the point.’ Katia sat down, fluffing out her skirts. ‘My nephew Emile requires your help.’
At this instant Alice, Eliza’s maid came in with a pot of tea and it took a moment or two for Katia to compose herself.
‘Emile has – how can I describe them? – delicate problems as regards women. I cannot for the life of me make sense of them, except to say he’s a troubled young man who, at his age, should be more than au fait with the fair sex.’
‘How old is your nephew?’ Eliza queried, expecting the boy in question to be very young.
‘Therein lies the problem. He’s far from a boy. Actually, he’s 24.’
‘Most certainly not a boy,’ Eliza breathed in surprise, putting her cup down with a rattle.
‘Emile needs to be out in society and he needs to procure a wife, but how can he? My plan is this. I’ll send him to you under the guise of tutoring in etiquette. Once under your thumb you might then be able to get to the crux of his problems and, with your skills, solve them.’
‘Madam Tsarev.’ Eliza laughed. ‘I don’t wish to disappoint you, but I’ve never instructed a man.’
‘Of that I’m aware.’ Katia wagged her finger. ‘You instruct women and educate them in delicate matters, ironing out their foibles regarding subjects of a carnal nature and instructing them in correct and pleasurable sex. But why not a man, since it’s said you have the utmost affinity with the male sex? Gentlemen adore you and find you amenable company. Emile would adore you too and in so doing he’d open up and discuss with you his odd whimsies.’
‘I wouldn’t know where to start, and then I’d have to have a chaperone. I’m a single woman and it would be unseemly for me to entertain a young man alone in my home. I simply cannot afford the scandal,’ Eliza insisted vehemently.
‘Oh my darling!’ Katia burst out laughing. ‘Is that all? What’s seemly doesn’t come into it. You have the highest regard of all around you, and naturally I’d spread the word that you were tutoring Emile.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘My mind’s made up. I’m exceedingly choosy whose care I put him in and my heart’s set on you. You’re perfect for the job of bringing Emile out and moulding him for society. Be his saviour, Eliza, and I’ll be eternally grateful to you.’
Chapter Three
‘I’d drawn a picture in my head of an old crone, so please excuse me for staring,’ he said. ‘I really didn’t expect a beautiful woman who wouldn’t be out of place gracing a tsar’s table.’ Emile stood in the hallway, treating Eliza to a quirky grin as he shook back his thick, black, wavy hair.
Eliza peered at him appreciatively, taking in his fashionable heavy lace shirt and embroidered jacket. The young man was striking and his mahogany brown eyes glittered with a devilish sense of fun.
‘A tsar’s table, I wouldn’t go that far.’ She led him through into the separate parlour she kept expressly for her own enjoyment and which was seductive and appealing. She was certainly not a whore, but Eliza had some of the inherent traits of a fashionable courtesan and as such it was seemly to have a room decked out for her fantasies. Amongst her many thirsts Eliza enjoyed the attentions of flirtatious beaus, and numerous eligible men called on her; on the one hand to see for themselves how pretty she was, and on the other to actually try and court her. Eliza rarely indulged herself fully, and then only when the urge for affection chased her into a corner. If she yielded, she took every sensible precaution necessary in an age when syphilis was rampant. Besides which she always researched a beau’s credentials. However, her relationships never lasted long. No man could possibly live up to her expectations so, while she liked to titillate her palate, she kept her appetites well under control.
‘May I call you Eliza?’ Stepping forward, he grabbed her hand and, without further ado, pressed it to his lips. So, this was the way of a shy boy, was it? Emile was definitely not the gauche innocent she’d expected.
‘Yes, you may call me Eliza and I’ll call you Emile.’
Emile settled in a chair by the window, the sunlight profiling his high cheekbones and fine lips. Eliza felt an uncomfortable churning in her belly. She was observant and, as she scrutinised him, waiting for Alice to bring in the tea, she noticed Emile had an impressive erection which he must have been aware of, but made no attempt to conceal. Stirred almost to the point of orgasm, she sat as still as a statue, clenching her thigh muscles as she endured a familiar frisson.
She’d once had a Russian lover who’d been extremely kinky and she wondered if Emile could possibly acquire the same tendencies and vices. The Russian had had similar tendencies to her own, notably an addiction to rope which was nearly as strong as the opium pipe or alcohol. In her experience, it only took a small titbit of bait to make a man bite. She suppressed a smile. She hadn’t had such a daring thought in ages. Eliza shivered and her skin prickled all over.
‘Aunt Katia can be so dreadfully persuasive,’ Emile mumbled, crossing his lean legs. ‘One must obey her.’
A tight knot loosened within her. He was affecting her in the way no man had for ages and she didn’t know why. Maybe it was the apparent contradiction in terms; his evident naivety and innocence, which seemed at war with his masculinity, and an untamed and lustful wildness not yet tempered and formed by woman. For just an instant, Eliza’s strong mental distaste of emotional involvement, which she guarded herself against tenaciously, wavered, and her mind strayed to that most elusive of things, love and its appeasement. She didn’t rate love that highly and if she decided to indulge she nibbled at the fringes and would never allow herself to sink deeper than a weak attachment. The platter of love was a complex dining experience of many courses, drawing you deeper and deeper into delicious flavours and sensual textu
res which, when gobbled down, inevitably reached satiation point. No, it was much better to titillate the palate and discard.
She’d witnessed love’s tragic spell at first hand with her distant cousin Cordelia; seen the way it vanquished the spirit, leaving her hopelessly besotted and the life sucked from her. Poor Cordelia, so fragile and now a pale reflection. A jaundiced, bitter woman who was poisoned against sex. No, to preserve her sanity a woman must have fulfilment on her own terms and have her hands firmly on the reins at all times. Love, if savoured, must be imprisoned in a safe compartment where it could be contained and controlled in safety. As she stared at Emile, though, something odd and a little bit frightening began to happen to Eliza and she became consumed by an uncontrollable and rather wonderful sensation.
‘You’re an enigma, Eliza. It seems you’re a useful and potent medicine, a sexual philanthropist. And why not? What could be more worthwhile than saving poor, sexually uneducated women – and now a naïve boy – from making utter fools of themselves?’ His voice was husky and melodious, his glance holding more knowledge than Emile readily gave away. ‘One day, when the ladies were enjoying tea I crept up on them. Mrs Douglas was talking to Aunt Katia and couldn’t sing your praises highly enough. She said you were of a new breed; an emancipated woman but not of the harsh variety. Her very words were “Eliza’s intelligent and sensible and she brings women out. She has a way of strengthening about her and doubtless she can do the same for a young man”.’
He impaled her with his gaze. ‘You know the real reason why my aunt sent me here, don’t you, Eliza? It’s for lessons in love. Please may we progress, and rapidly, for I have a clear view of what I want to achieve with your tutoring.’
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