A Pinch of Spice

by Alcamia Payne

Eliza opened her mouth and then closed it again as, fighting for composure, she clutched the arms of her chair. To say she was shocked by Emile’s forthright words were an understatement. He was so disarmingly direct. ‘Do you indeed?’

  ‘Yes. You’ll cure my problem.’

  ‘And what if I simply inflame it and replace it with something worse?’

  ‘I don’t think that’ll happen.’ He winked at her. ‘Now, don’t let’s – how do they say? – beat about the bush. What did Katia say about me? Did she tell you I’m the family’s dirty secret, the by-blow of a gypsy king whose charms, I am told, were so enchanting my mother couldn’t resist him?’

  Baffled, Eliza felt another stab of excitement. ‘No, she said very little.’

  ‘Well, it’s true. I was born in a barn, shunned and brought up by the housemaid. Katia would visit me, though, and, in time, when my mother eventually died and my father married again, she rescued me and brought me over to her house in England, hoping I’d make a good marriage.’

  At that moment Alice came in with the tea things. She almost dropped them when she saw Emile, and her eyes became as round as saucers. ‘Sorry, miss.’

  ‘It’s all right. Meet our guest, since you’ll soon be seeing a lot more of him.’

  Alice’s cheeks turned flaming red. As soon as the door closed, Eliza burst into laughter.

  ‘You have an astonishing story and an equally astonishing effect on women.’

  She poured the tea, and when Emile took his tea cup their fingers inadvertently touched. Fire sprang to life in Eliza’s veins – and a not altogether unwelcome fire at that. She recognised this sensation, knew she shouldn’t pursue it as it could so easily burn out of control. But in no way did she profess to be perfect, and part of her craved it as any woman would.

  ‘That may be so but …’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s little hope for me, Eliza. You see, I harbour a forbidding secret. My mother was obsessively religious and had a loathing of sex. When I was a boy she caught me touching myself and told me I was so evil I’d bring the devil to our door. She forbade me to so much as look at myself in a mirror, let alone caress my flesh or tease a girl. My lusts burning out of control, I couldn’t resist my urges. Ira the dairymaid was a comely girl and, after teasing me constantly and saying how much she adored me, I gave in and seduced her. Of course, my mother caught us. She locked me in my room and it was then she commenced beating me with the strap of a broken bridle. I’m ashamed to say I found the whipping excited me and the harder she struck, the larger my cock grew.’

  Eliza was incredulous, clenching her fists so tightly her knuckles were white. ‘Carry on,’ she urged huskily.

  ‘In the end, my view of sex became distorted. I was convinced I must tame the beast which betrayed me. However, in the act of taming it, I imprisoned my body.’

  ‘Imprisoned your body. How?’

  ‘I discovered this ancient book. It taught men how to harness their inner sexual strength and control their cock.’ He shook his head. ‘Now you’ll think me a perverse individual. In the act of harnessing this power, I discovered that the holding back of my seed made me feel powerful, as if my whole body was pulsing with primeval force. I became addicted to it to such an extent curious things began to happen to me. As a result, my cock now remains stubbornly obdurate and no amount of coaxing leads to liberation.’

  ‘I confess I’m at a loss,’ Eliza said, clambering to her feet and wandering to the window. ‘I’m not qualified in these matters. Isn’t there a male physician you could go to?’

  ‘Oh Eliza, for goodness’ sakes, it’s you I need. I require the gentle coaxing and instruction which only your hand can deliver. There isn’t a woman in England so well suited to the task. I need to explore avenues of physical and mental stimulation which will allow me to disentangle this conundrum and help me find the key which has trapped me. But, more importantly, I like you and isn’t it essential to like one’s therapist?’

  A tidal wave of emotion was washing over Eliza as she peered out into the garden. She should turn him away; such things were beyond her ability. And yet she didn’t want to. Nothing inspired her more than a challenge. She was compelled to steer herself into uncharted waters, coax forth his inner demon, and perhaps expose him to her web of obscene pleasures. ‘One thing I must make clear. The purpose is for us to cure you. This will not develop into an affair.’

  Emile’s face lit up. ‘Well, of course not. You’re the instructress and I’m the pupil.’

  Chapter Four

  Eliza possessed several grand wardrobes situated in the guest rooms, all bulging with clothing; ball gowns, skirts, and beautifully embroidered corsets. Extravagant hats and soft calfskin shoes. Besides which she had an enormous locked black lacquered armoire which stood in the corner of her boudoir – her secret hiding place for her more daring creations.

  Eliza dressed for her own lusty satisfaction and had discovered early on that simply the touch of lace, the cool drape of satin on her skin, or the rub of heavy fustian enlivened and excited her, tempting her to the most extreme fantasies. She’d also learnt that a man’s attention was easily assured by a woman enrobed in fripperies, and she liked to entice with a material of choice showing the promise of the delights underneath and perhaps a peep of naked skin here and there. She made no excuses for her teases and treats. She liked to dress to the height of fashion but enjoyed her clothes having an edge. The application of clothing in sex fascinated her so much she was continually dreaming up new delights to walk out in and amuse herself with, delights which would outdo her flirtatious and arch rivals. A body skilfully portrayed was exceedingly seductive and men were enraptured by the temptation provoked by Eliza’s clever wrapping and naughty little twists on a theme, which added piquancy to her covert thrills. To this end, and with the assistance of the skilful seamstress, Madame Vilette, her clothing boasted a bow here, and a ruche there, to draw attention to décolletage and leg, besides carefully concealed apertures and filmy windows designed to frame patches of flesh. Madame had once worked at an exclusive couture house in Paris. Deft with a needle and thread and able to cut her own patterns, she was a seamstress way ahead of her time. She designed Eliza sumptuous skirts, cleverly designed to arouse, which sported hidden slits fashioned to open at opportune moments and offer a man a surprise if he were bold enough to slide his hand inside. She’d sewn daring ensembles to be worn in private; corsets for provocation with mesh inlays to frame her customer’s nipples, and combinations with ruches and bows which could be tweaked apart more easily than normal to reveal expanses of pink flesh.

  Provocation . The word made her smile. It was all part of the future emancipation of women who, in the soon to be “new society”, would have the courage to domineer their beaux.

  Eliza also didn’t conform to the typical layers of clothing worn by a Victorian lady. She found the style for bloomers, corsets and protectors far too noxious, wearing nothing beneath all her embellishments except a simple petticoat or one of her kinky contraptions. She’d have to make sure she kept those secrets hidden from Emile. Driven by the cravings of her body, her haberdashery box was a casket of delights providing bespoke trimmings for naughty chastity belts and restraints – the lace or satin of which abraded her pubes and added a satisfying pinch to her day to day activities.

  The morning following Emile’s visit, she decided to make another kinky contraption and, taking out a length of heavily embroidered black lace, she fastened a thin belt of ribbon around her waist. Using a complicated system of knots she then fastened the lace around her groins, before passing one long piece up between her pouting sex slit and butt to be fastened on the belt. On this occasion she jerked the lace up much tighter than she normally did, so her sex lips pouted sexily either side. Eliza shivered, the shivers turning into convulsions as she pressed her hand down against the lace. Sometimes she liked the slippery coolness of pure silk or satin; however, her favourite was the rough grate of fine starched lace on her clit. Eliza
’s lips trembled and her gaze became naughty. Tingling with the thought of having her clit tickled while provoking Emile, she toyed with the idea of a new harness composed of a tight, criss-cross binding of scratchy lace around her breasts.

  Chapter Five

  Eliza soon found out Emile was not half as shy as she’d anticipated. He was lively and engaging and somewhat flirtatious, and he evidently found it hugely amusing the two of them were playing a role. Eliza already fantasised about him and her hunger raged as she began to contemplate how she might dress each day to attract him. After all, if he was to learn the art of seduction he must understand the language of titillation, and what better way was there than through clothing?

  Today, Eliza wore a satin dress of blue crêpe de chine which clung to her body in all the right places. Emile had shrugged off his jacket and was strolling about the room with his shirt unbuttoned, his long, flowing hair giving him the look of a predatory wild man.

  Eliza was sure she wasn’t mistaken. His eyes seemed to be smouldering with carnal knowledge. She sat down on the couch, patting the satin, and Emile sat down beside her. She was aware of his cologne and animal scent and her senses quivered. ‘What do you ultimately hope to achieve from my tuition, Emile?’

  He grinned at her. He was learning so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. ‘Instruction in whatever my mistress thinks fit, dear Eliza.’

  Katia Tsarev had only that morning sent her a note of unstinting praise, and Emile’s comments heaped on top of this gave Eliza a glow of pleasure.

  The note had read: Thank heaven Emile likes you so well. He can’t stop talking about you. I’m so pleased, since with most women he retires into an impervious shell. Do all that is necessary, my dear. I give you carte blanche. You’re a woman of the world and I trust you implicitly.

  Eliza had had a smile on her lips. Carte blanche was such a liberating phrase.

  Emile, she noticed, was staring at her legs. The skirt of the dress was ruched and the ruches neatly lifted here and there to show much more leg than would be considered tasteful in public.

  ‘Emile, forgive me for being blunt. But have you had no liaisons other than with that girl?’

  ‘No, Eliza, although women seem to want to touch me.’ He paused. ‘I abhor it for the pain and frustration it causes me. Besides that first ghastly seduction, I’ve never once been properly kissed or had the leisure of exploring a woman’s body.’

  ‘Well, we must put that to rights. Practice is all it takes.’ Eliza took hold of his hand; she enjoyed the feel of his long, smooth fingers and the way he shuddered with excitement. ‘You say you feel easy in my company? Do you trust me?’

  Emile laughed. ‘How could I not?’

  ‘That’s good.’ Eliza felt stirred. She hardly dared give free expression to the thoughts she’d been having over the last few days about Emile’s proposed lessons in love.’

  ‘Eliza, I’m sorry. This is uncommon for you and so it should be. You’re an advisor of women, the queen of advice on intimate feminine matters, and yet I’m a man and you’ve never instructed a man.’ He was tantalizingly close, his thigh brushing her leg. ‘During our instruction perhaps we should maintain a detached distance, so ties of affection should not interfere. Heaven forbid love should come into this and I should make you feel awkward. You must lead the way, for I don’t know whether to kiss you on the lips or roll over and behave like a puppy.’

  Eliza folded her hands to stop them shaking. She was fighting to contain her intense delight at the prospect of what was in store as she imagined Emile, docile and puppy-like, giving in to her dominant streak. ‘A detached emotional distance! Yes, I agree that no depth of affection should be allowed. It would get in the way of the tuition. But I do believe a physical distance would be unrealistic in the circumstances. I must instruct you how to undress and please a woman and in return we must discover what pleases you. Even maybe at some point explore a proper kiss or two, administered, you understand, solely for the sake of experiment.’

  ‘Oh yes, that sounds perfect.’ Emile stared at her teasingly from beneath his black brows. ‘When will we begin, and how? You see the magic you’ve worked on me. Books and pictures are one thing, practice another. You must prepare me to be thrown into the den of lionesses, for unprepared they’d tear an ingénue like me flesh from bone. Think of the accomplishment when you turn a young man out into the world brimming with confidence and the skills any woman would find alluring.’

  Eliza realised she was more attracted to the innocent than she had been to any man in ages. She paused for a moment, her finger pressed to her lips as she recalled the previous night and the way her hands had slipped and slithered pleasurably over her skin.

  ‘We’ll take a walk,’ she said suddenly, as her confused mind fought on the one hand to escape and on the other to submit. ‘I’ll teach you how to escort a lady.’

  She got to her feet and Emile followed, slipping his arm through hers. ‘Like this?’ The press of his muscular body made her sigh.

  ‘You’re a fast learner.’ Eliza’s eyelids fluttered closed as his thumb pressed against her palm and began circling it in slow rotations. He might just as well have been circling her clit. She was unprepared for the jolt of excitement as his hand slid up her wrist, tracing the pulsing blue vein and kneading her soft flesh. In that instant she knew Emile was going to be a model student and she had a sense he’d need little of her instruction in the arts of seduction since they seemed to come so naturally.

  They strolled out onto the terrace. The house didn’t have a grand garden but it was pleasant, leading through thick, shady walkways which had been artfully planted to give the garden the illusion of being much bigger than it really was. Out of sight of the house, Eliza paused by a small love seat and Emile drew her down beside him. They sat close together, his thumb continuing to move in delectable circles. Emile had the skills of an instinctual Casanova.

  ‘Emile, you don’t play me for a fool, do you? You seem so adept, so much more experienced than I thought. Or is it simply that love comes naturally to you?’

  ‘Hah?’ He raised her hand and, holding it to his sensual lips, jabbed and circled it with his tongue before sucking on the tender flesh. For a second Eliza’s world tilted alarmingly as she felt a warm rush between her legs. The thought of those lips gently sucking on her clit was too much to bear.

  ‘A fool. Of course not. The thing is I’ve rehearsed these scenarios so many times in my head it’s like they’re pieces of music which keep repeating themselves. They’re so firmly embedded in my consciousness they’ve become real to me. So much so, I’m able to take them out and play them whenever I like.’

  ‘My task will be short at this rate.’ Eliza quaked, clinging to his arm as he stroked her hair back from her nape with the lightest of embraces.

  ‘Is this right?’ He trickled his fingers up under her lace sleeve, slowly tracing the blue vein further up the inside of her arm.

  ‘Yes, Emile.’

  ‘And I suppose I’d fondle your breasts in the same way?’ His glance dropped to the copious ruffles of her décolletage. ‘And, dare I say it, that other place.’

  ‘Emile.’ The blood rushed to Eliza’s face as his gaze bored into hers and his lips parted in the suggestion of a kiss.

  Damn him, he had nerves and wit.

  Chapter Six

  The next day she was walking through the market, and had stopped to admire a particularly splendid piece of lace, when Eliza felt a hand on her arm.

  ‘Why, look who it is!’

  ‘Georgiana,’ Eliza replied, enduring a familiar frisson. ‘What a surprise.’

  Georgiana was the wife of Lord Howard, a handsome rogue with a passion for tying his wife up in private. When she’d come to Eliza many months ago, Georgiana had been bitter and repressed, but had swiftly become one of her more vociferous advocates. She was a fickle character, loyal to those she considered her friends, but also loose with her tongue and dreadfully spit
eful to her social adversaries.

  ‘How’s your little pet puppy? Have you tied a bow around his neck yet?’

  Eliza gave a gasp and spun to face her. Georgiana laughed. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You’re such a hot-blooded creature you were bound to take a puppy with a sleek black pelt to please you, and don’t dispute it, for your eyes are shining wickedly and –’ she tapped her nose ‘– I’ve impeccable sources.’

  She steered Eliza up a side street towards a discreet tea room. Pushing open the door, the two women were assailed by tantalizing smells.

  ‘Sit down, my dear, and appease your sweet tooth,’ Georgiana urged. ‘And, don’t worry. I’m not out to topple you. I owe you a debt of gratitude and am your devoted protector. I’ll never forget how you liberated me and saved my miserable marriage.’

  Eliza smoothed her dress. She relied on her veil of secrecy. Due to the strata of society her clients inhabited, their confidentiality – and her own – was her primary concern.

  ‘Your little advice service is gaining a formidable reputation amongst the London elite,’ Georgiana went on, eyeing her speculatively as she placed her gloved hand over Eliza’s. ‘However, it seems your talents have been harnessed in the direction of young men lacking – how can I put it delicately? ‑ proficiency in sex.’ Georgiana shook out her napkin. ‘Emile is fascinating, yet somewhat mysterious. Every woman in society drools over his considerable charms. You’ll have your work cut out with him, though doubtless with the right tuition I’m sure he’ll be a fine Casanova. Though what dangerous waters in which to dip your pretty toes, dear. But that isn’t what I want to tell you, it’s this. One day last week, I saw him sitting on a bench in the park with his tongue hanging out. Supposedly petrified of the fairer sex, it seems he avidly observes Miss Carter on her daily constitutional and he was staring so much at her ridiculous lace confection his eyes were out on stalks. For some reason she seems to have the power to turn the boy mute. What do you make of that?’ Georgiana sipped her tea. ‘Emile’s a man who is seduced not by a pretty face, but is an admirer of fripperies and perhaps the secrets a woman hides. I’d say he’s more inclined to be seduced by a silk ribbon than a plump bosom and kissable lips. In essence, like Mr Howard, he seems to like to add a pinch of spice to his seduction.’