His Lordship's Downfall: Part Two

by Josie Litton

  At some point, she slid her gown down, baring her breasts, and dipped each in turn into the champagne before giving them to him to suck. As he did so, she rubbed his bare crest over her clit, writhing on him but not, he couldn’t help noticing, coming. He couldn’t imagine why she held back but was vengefully glad all the same that she did.

  They had finished one bottle and started on the next when Jane at last allowed him to see her handiwork.

  “I think you’ll agree with me that it’s quite extraordinary,” she said as she removed the blindfold.

  He blinked, his eyes adjusting rapidly to the fractured light of headlamps moving in the opposite direction along a highway.

  Staring down at himself, he confirmed that the cage was gone. Instead, the shaft of his fully erect cock was encased in gold, a good eight inches of it. From the surface of this new adornment, an intricate carving of a springing stag thrust upward, depicting the beast in mid-leap. Beyond that wild pagan evocation, his swollen glans thrust forward, darkly purple, fully exposed and as he already knew, acutely vulnerable. As a final adornment, the ring through the crest of his cock glinted darkly.

  The gold sheath was held upright by a thicker, larger ring fastened tightly enough around the base of his balls to assure that he could not come. On the contrary, no matter how much she might tease and torment him, he would remain like Priapus, god of the endless and eternal fuck.

  The contrast of the dark elegance of his tuxedo with the lewd display of the carved gold sheath jutting from his groin only served to emphasize his massive erection and the bull-like size of his swollen balls. With a sinking feeling, his lordship acknowledged that he was in for a long and decidedly hard night.

  On the outskirts of London, Jane handed him a Venetian mask of black silk, the sort designed to conceal the eyes and the upper half of the face, and thereby, he had to hope, the identity of the wearer.

  “Put this on,” she said as she donned her own--violet like her gown, tied at the back among the little flowers in her hair, more misplaced innocence.

  He had just done so when the Rolls came to a stop in front of an elegant, three-story building of Georgian design in the heart of London mere minutes’ walk from 10 Downing Street and the Houses of Parliament.

  With a tremor of unwilling anticipation, his lordship realized where the journey through the night had brought them.

  Chapter Seven

  The Odalisque.

  Every great city of the world aspired to possess such an establishment. A few came close--Singapore, Paris, Cairo, one or two others. But agreement was universal that the club intime near the corner of St. James Street and Piccadilly was without equal, in a class entirely its own. Since its opening eight years before the fascination with it had only grown.

  Membership was limited not merely by the most obvious criteria--wealth--but also by the whim of the proprietor who was impervious to all blandishments whether bribes or threats. To be permitted entry as a guest was even rarer. His lordship could scarcely begin to imagine how ‘Mistress Jane’--or more likely Bunny again, damn her--had arranged it.

  In the marble-and-gilt entry hall adorned with the famously explicit 18th-century tapestries depicting the seduction of Leda by Zeus, Jane handed a white card embossed with a red wax seal to a hostess.

  During the brief wait that would have been unnecessary had he arrived simply as himself, the lovely bane of his existence leaned closer and whispered, “Is it true that you are one of the original members?”

  Lord Adrian raised a brow. “Who told you that?”

  “It was in your file.”

  “My what?”

  “Where I was trained. You didn’t think they just let us accept a pet contract without knowing who we’d be dealing with, did you?”

  Truth was he hadn’t thought about it at all. He’d made his specifications clear without ever considering that there might be equal attention given to his own suitability for her. What an extraordinary idea.

  “Such an invasion of privacy by any organization is intolerable,” he said. “If there aren’t already sufficient laws to prevent it, there should be. I shall see to it at the earliest possible opportunity.”

  “But not tonight,” Jane countered.

  Having assured herself of their bona fides, the hostess returned and gestured to the double doors of hammered gold at the far end of the lobby.

  “Enjoy your evening.”

  Under other circumstances, his lordship would have found it amusing to watch his wildly misbehaving pet try to maintain the appearance of confidence while confronting the imminent realization of her ill-conceived adventure. Like a cat in any doubtful situation, he half-expected her to suddenly begin licking her paw…or more likely something else that was all-too readily available.

  Seeking distraction from the thought of her on her knees sucking his sheathed cock, he said, “I would wager that you do not have even the remotest idea of what lies on the other side of those doors.”

  She raised her chin, narrowed her gaze, and declared, “Some idea, thanks to you and then, of course, my training was fairly comprehensive.”

  “So you consider yourself unshockable?” The very notion was a joke. He was going to enjoy this immensely.

  “I am well aware, milord, that since passage of the Oscar Wilde Act of 1895, all forms of sexual congress between consenting adults are entirely legal. It would not surprise me if I was to see every one of them being performed tonight.”

  Well, then… Gallantly, apart from a smirk, he offered his arm. Head high, she took it.

  The doors opened as they approached, onto what appeared at first glance to be a large group of elegant, sophisticated people gathered for a masquerade party in an array of luxurious costumes, all just as would be found at such an event in the finest homes.

  Until, that is, closer scrutiny revealed that in among them were a good many other men and women who were almost entirely nude. Some sported elaborate body paint, others were tattooed, most were adorned with piercings, ornamental chains, collars of various sorts and the like. All were young and attractive.

  His lordship was pleased to note that Mistress Jane was not quite so blasé as she wished to appear. Her lovely blue eyes widened and he caught a faint gasp as a fellow in worse straits than himself, several thick stainless steel shackles weighing down his balls and stretching them to an extravagant length, strolled past.

  As they stepped farther into the room, he was aware of the gazes turning their way. That was hardly a surprise. She was, after all, young, fresh and quite remarkably beautiful. He, too, was garnering attention but he put that down to nothing more than his overall appearance. Although he was hardly the only man present with an elaborately adorned cock, none equaled his own for sheer artistic creativity and heft.

  More to the point, he had to acknowledge that she had done well in selecting the club for their evening’s outing. In such a setting and given his current condition--both collared and sheathed--he was bound to choose the preservation of his anonymity over any attempt at freedom.

  Unless, of course, she mistook how much he would tolerate and compelled him to expose them both. He found himself curiously anxious to discover just how astute his lovely tormentor really was.

  They had proceeded only a little distance into the central room when a tall, willowy blonde cut diagonally through the crowd and approached them. She was in full riding apparel--high black boots polished to a blinding sheen, skintight white breeches, and an elegant black long-tailed coat. The outfit would have been ideal for a trot along the famed Rotten Row of Hyde Park were it not the mask protecting her identity and the black leather harness secured between her legs. Even by the standards of a man as well-endowed as his lordship, the molded silicon cock and balls jutting from it were formidable.

  A glance at Lord Adrian and the torque around his neck, a look at Jane and the equestrian summed up the situation, or at least she thought that she did. Her strap-on twitched.

  “Hip
polyta,” she said, introducing herself to Jane with a nom intime that was a tribute to the queen of the Amazons. He spared a moment to wonder if she was acquainted with Bunny.

  “My compliments on his look,” their new friend went on. “That combination of elegance and raw carnality is stunning.”

  Jane cleared her throat and croaked, “Thank you.”

  Her eyes flicked to the two nude young men at the ends of the leashes that Hippolyta dangled from the carmine-tipped fingers of one hand. Both tall, blond and muscular, they each sported studded black leather collars, pierced nipples linked by chains, matching see-through cock cages and, as was revealed when they turned to display their sculpted asses, large butt plugs.

  “I wonder,” their new friend said, “if I could interest you in a trade? An hour, say, my two for yours.”

  She dropped her voice a notch and leaned a little closer. “Swedish, twins as you can see, marvelous stamina, they can go all night. If you’re so inclined, one of them has a fondness for having his balls flogged while the other likes nothing so much as a good hard rogering.” She patted her appendage meaningfully.

  Jane turned bright red. His lordship found that quite endearing although he did have to fight an impish desire to inquire if both acts had to take place simultaneously. The ball flogging of one while at the same time rogering the other would surely require a degree of dexterity associated only with ace helicopter pilots and supple aerial gymnasts.

  As it was, he had all he could do to stifle a chuckle. Never mind that the question of just how his pet would respond lurked uncomfortably at the back of his mind.

  “Oh…well…” she said with some difficulty. “As to that…thank you…very thoughtful, I’m sure. But no…definitely no. He’s not to share…shareable, that is.”

  Hippolyta cast her an assessing look and sighed. “A shame.”

  The Swedish twins gave her a last, lingering glance and pouted their disappointment.

  Stifling the urge to smash their handsome faces in, his lordship watched razor-eyed until the trio drifted off in search of other diversion.

  “Good choice, pet,” he said when they were gone. “This torque be damned, make no mistake, you are mine and mine alone.”

  He could not decipher the look she shot him for all that it speared directly to his groin but he understood her words well enough.

  “That cuts both ways,” she said firmly and, holding his arm, ventured further into the carnal melee.

  For his lordship, it was a typical night at the Odalisque. Fucking in all its colorful variety, the usual imbibing, both alcohol and various drugs, a bit of networking although for the life of him, he could never see how anyone conducted business there.

  For Jane, despite all her protestations to the contrary, it was clearly a revelation. His amusement grew by the moment as her head virtually swiveled on her slender neck, drawn to first one startling scene, then to another.

  All around the gathering on the main floor, men and women disported themselves in every possible combination--couples, threesomes, more. Here a lovely young blonde’s head bobbed up and down as she sucked off one man while another fucked her from behind. Not far away, two women pleasured each other while several men looked on, masturbating. A stark naked red head swung back and forth in a rope swing, sliding on and off the cock of the tuxedoed man propelling her.

  But it was the even more elaborate performances that truly drew the eye. The Odalisque was justly renowned for them.

  On stages around the center floor, set pieces were underway. As at a carnival where a juggler will appear, then a fire eater, then a contortionist, popular themes were playing out in all their fleshly glory. A sheen of classicism dispelled any possible tawdriness and elevated the overall proceedings to a stature in keeping with the exclusive nature of the clientele.

  At the moment, Ariadne was being vigorously fucked by a bull-headed Minotaur while on the opposite stage, the rape of Cassandra by Ajax in the ruins of Troy was being re-enacted with enthusiasm by both parties. But center stage, garnering the most attention, was the wrestling match going on between two ‘Spartan warriors’, at the end of which the victor would fuck the other. Bets were flying fast and furious as to which of the two muscular young men would be face down on the mat, taking it up the ass.

  Observing that his pet had gone a bit pale, his lordship said, “You might prefer a private box.”

  “W-what?”

  He had his own, of course, exclusively for his use. But in the interest of preserving his anonymity, he intended to avail himself of one of those set aside for guests.

  “A private box,” he repeated. “Away from the eyes of others where you can see or not see as much as you choose.”

  She was tempted, he could tell, but her resolve stiffened. “Not just yet.” Taking a quick breath, she said, “Now that I’m finally here, I want to see everything.”

  Lord Adrian frowned. Something about that didn’t sound quite right. For all that the Odalisque was renowned among the elite, the horde of commonplace humanity had no need to know of its existence.

  “What do you mean, finally? Didn’t you just learn of this place?” From Bunny, he had assumed, damn his delinquent wife.

  She shot him a measured look, as though weighing how to respond. His anticipation mounted until at last she said, “Contrary to what you believe, there have always been rumors about the Odalisque. I wanted to see if what people said could possibly be true. That’s why I applied for a job here a few months ago.”

  His lately virgin pet, so innocent, so tender, so strangely precious to him, had sought employment in Europe’s--make that the world’s--most notorious sex club? What the fuck had she been thinking?

  “You did what?”

  Abruptly aware that the fervor of his response was drawing attention to them, his lordship moderated his tone, if only partially.

  “What the hell do you mean, you applied for a job here?”

  With a toss of her head, she said, “Don’t get your panties in a twist, milord. I had an idea to work in the kitchens, that’s all.”

  Slightly mollified despite her irreverence, his lordship said, “Perhaps it has escaped your notice but as to panties, I’m not wearing any.”

  She laughed and gave his gold-sheathed cock an appreciative glance. “Indeed, I had noticed, milord. The look suits you.”

  All well and good but he refused to be mollified.

  “Why would you possibly have wanted to work here, in the kitchens, no less? Surely, if you were interested in washing dishes, you could have applied to work at any number of other, more proper establishments?”

  Jane delayed responding long enough to pluck two flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing server sporting nipple clamps and a cock piercing that made his lordship’s look mild by comparison.

  Handing him a flute, she said, “Perhaps but that wouldn’t have served my purpose.”

  Staring at her, a strange and decidedly unwelcome thought sprouted in his lordship’s mind. So outlandish was it that his first reaction was to dismiss it out of hand. But his pet’s all-too daring nature--with which he was becoming so painfully familiar--forced him to reconsider. When added to her bold, outspoken views on the state of the empire and her professed love of the written word--

  Setting the champagne aside, he took her arm. The violet mask shielded her somewhat but he was confident that he could read her eyes and even more the telltale movements of her delectable mouth.

  “Why exactly did you want to come to work here?”

  She shrugged and with a little twist, freed herself. Her lovely throat rippled as she tossed back the champagne before answering him. He had the sudden impression that she was gathering her courage.

  All the same, he was utterly gobsmacked when she said, “So that I could write an exposé about it and secure employment as a journalist.”

  Had she revealed a fondness for the worst imaginable depravity--the mind strains to conceive what his lordship would
have regarded as such and remain within the tolerance of the law--he could not have been more shocked.

  His lovely, exquisitely responsive, delightful pet who was surely meant to live a life of carnal indulgence under the hand of an appreciative male--specifically himself--wanted what? To wallow with the muck-raking, gutter-dwelling, slime balls of the scandal-mongering media? The sort behind the blaring headlines that screamed from every tabloid and littered the airwaves like so many used condoms?

  The very notion was so deeply offensive that he could not hide his dismay. “You cannot be serious.”

  She shot daggers at him. “Why? Because I am a woman? Or perhaps you think that members of the ‘lower class’ are incapable of perceiving and reporting the truth.”

  “Truth?” He shook his head in honest bewilderment. “What has that got to do with being a journalist? The few respectable people in that trade report what they’re told to and are well rewarded for doing so. The rest are merely entertainers, little more than carnival acts whose sole objective is to titillate and shock.”

  His gaze narrowed as he continued. “Is that what you want to do? To appeal to the basest appetites of the salivating public?”

  “Of course not! I intended to use the media’s obsession with all things salacious and sensational to show people that those who claim to be their betters--morally and intellectually--are really just human like the rest of us, driven by the same appetites, the same needs, the same weaknesses.”

  She drew herself up, assumed an even more lofty tone, and concluded, “Ordinary people have become far too accustomed to having decisions made for instead of by them. They should be questioning everything and demanding better. Until they do, the slide into chaos will not be stopped.”

  He saw her lips move, heard her words but nothing she said made the remotest sense. Until, abruptly, it did. When the full impact of her delusion struck him, he erupted at the sheer lunacy of it.

  “You’re a bloody Utopian! What you’re describing is a prescription for disaster. The average man or woman in the street is not remotely equipped to make decisions that affect the lives of billions!”