by Zoe Blake
She heard Madame Minerva’s usual greeting but the response was too low to hear, almost masculine, which was odd. A dressmaker’s shop was a woman’s domain. They almost never saw any men and only then to complain about their wives’ extravagant spending. After a brief conversation, Madame Minerva came rushing through the curtain that separated the needlewomen from the outer shop. She was flushed and flustered.
“Winnie, make yourself presentable immediately. You must join me in the salon,” barked Madame Minerva with a snap of her fingers.
“Me, Madame?” asked Winnie. Never in her all her years had she been asked to join Madame in the outer salon area with one of the customers. Madame had always complained Winnie was too short and her hair too straight for her to make a competent shop girl.
“Oui! Fille stupide! Maintenant!” snapped Madame.
Winnie rose so swiftly, she knocked her chair over. Straightening her simple pelisse as she hurried around her work station, Winnie suffered through Madame’s disapproving look at her hair. She gave the bun precariously perched on top of her head an uncertain pat. She had given the curling tongs another try. This time with a high bun and what passed for ringlet curls on either side. It looked a little bit closer to the fashion illustration if she held her head a certain way.
Madame stopped abruptly at the curtains and turned facing Winnie. Giving her a quick once over, Madam reached up and gave Winnie’s cheeks a harsh pinch.
“Ouch!” cried Winnie.
“Mode souffre, ma chère!” sighed Madame before turning with a flourish and entering the salon.
“Did I not tell you, my lord? I have the perfect model for your needs,” Madame announced triumphantly.
“You have not disappointed, Madame.”
Startled, Winnie looked aghast at Madame’s male customer. It was the Marquess from the theater! For days she had been walking around nervous as a cat, terrified Madame would hear of her scandalous behavior. Now here the very embodiment of her scandalous behavior stood in the middle of the salon. Winnie was certain she was about to be sacked.
“Oh please, Madame, I can explain,” cried Winnie.
“Hush, you silly girl, never speak until spoken to,” reprimanded Madame. “I’m terribly sorry, my lord, she’s not accustomed to exalted guests.”
“Quite all right, Madame,” soothed Archer as he stared intently at Winnie. “Shall we proceed?”
“Why of course,” said Madame in what could only be described as a titter. “Now as to your particular tastes, I believe I have a few selections to choose from that can be readily tailored.”
Winnie watched, thoroughly confused, as Madame crossed the room to several display cases and wardrobes. As she ruffled through sample patterns, bolts of fabric and ready-to-wear dresses, Winnie took the opportunity to address the man who had haunted her dreams since she met him.
“My lord, I don’t understand. Why are you here?” she hurriedly inquired, keeping an eye out for Madame’s return.
Archer took a step closer. Winnie inhaled the now familiar scent of clove and bergamot. Today he was dressed in a pair of tight fitting buff trousers which hugged his strong thighs and a woollen waistcoat of deep burgundy. The palette bringing out the rich sable color of his hair and his unfashionable tan. In the bright, sunlight, Winnie could finally get a good look at his eyes. They were blue. A deep, azure blue so intense a girl could forget to breathe staring into them.
Leaning in close, so the barest hint of his afternoon stubble brushed against her soft cheek, Archer whispered, “I’m here for you.”
Feeling his warm breath against the tender skin below her ear, Winnie almost didn’t hear what he said, so overwhelmed was she by his mere presence. Once his words sunk into her addled mind, they still did not make sense.
“Wait, what?”
Archer abruptly took a step back. “Thank you, Miss…I’m sorry I don’t believe we have been introduced…Miss…”
It took Winnie another moment to realize he was talking to her and Madame had once again returned to their part of the salon.
“Applegarth, my lord,” she responded weakly.
“Well, thank you, Miss Applegarth. I agree, blue is a lovely color,” said Archer, turning to Madame. “Your lovely protégé was keeping me entertained in your absence.”
“Very good, my lord,” responded Madame Minerva, looking slightly suspiciously from one to the other, certain she had missed something but not certain what. In her arms, she held a dazzling array of colors and fabrics. “As, my lord mentioned, you require costumes and various dresses to fit a jeune femme of petite stature. You want these dresses to have de petite fille…a girlish feel…n’est-ce pas?”
“Correct, Madame,” stated Archer.
“Oh, la la. Who says you Englishman are not passionnant in the boudoir! I am right, n’est-ce pas?” asked Madame Minerva with a lascivious wink.
“I was impressed with the costumes you created for the Haymarket production of The Lady of the Camellias,” observed Archer adroitly changing the subject. “Do you perhaps have more of the fabric from the courtesan’s costume in the second act?”
“But of course! I have it somewhere I am sure,” said Madame as she swirled about and once again crossed to the other side of the salon, leaving a silent Winnie alone with Archer.
“What do you mean you are here for me?” asked a fretful Winnie as she twisted her hands in front of her nervously. “Are you going to take me to the…to the gaol?” A tear slipped down her cheek as she lowered her head, overcome.
Archer gently stroked her tears away, secretly loving how they made her soft, gray eyes sparkle. “My adorable, silly, little one. Why on earth would I be here to take you to that awful place?”
Winnie sniffed. “Because…because…I…I,” she looked over her shoulder to make sure Madame could not overhear before continuing, “because I tried on that costume when I oughtn’t.”
“Yes, you were very naughty,” conceded Archer as he played with one of her half-straight curls. “Technically, that was theft. You, my dear, are a little thief but that was not all you did,” he prompted.
Winnie blushed furiously as she twirled the ribbons of her pelisse around her finger.
“Winnie?”
“Yes, my lord?” she asked weakly.
“What else did you do?”
“I…well…I…hid behind the dressing screen when I shouldn’t have…”
“And…”
“And?”
Archer gave an exasperated sigh. “My dear, I believe you know what I want to hear,” he admonished.
“I saw you and the…the woman…being…intimate together,” she finished sheepishly.
“You saw me push my cock into her mouth,” he stated bluntly.
Winnie gasped in shock. It was one thing to witness such a thing in a dark chamber. Another to have wanton dreams about it over the last several nights but it was quite another matter to have it discussed so openly as if he just asked her to pass the biscuit tin at afternoon tea!
“My lord, I…I…” She was at a complete loss for words.
“I want you to say it,” he commanded.
“No! I couldn’t possibly!” refused Winnie.
“My dear, I have already warned you that is not a word I like hearing on your lips.”
“But…”
“Do as you’re told,” Archer ordered, his voice taking on a darker tone.
“I saw you put your…thing…in her mouth.”
“Cock. Say it,” commanded Archer watching her mouth intently.
“Cock,” she said, barely audible.
“Louder.”
“Cock!” Winnie practically shouted.
“What was that?” asked Madame from across the salon. “Did you need something, my lord?”
“Not at all, Madame,” assured Archer. “Please continue looking for the fabric, I’m perfectly content.”
Winnie meanwhile burned with humiliation.
“Tell me the trut
h, little one,” asked Archer as he took a step closer. “Did you like watching me force my cock down her throat?”
Winnie took several steps back. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she objected, her cheeks burning. “It was scandalous!”
She would rather the ground opened and swallowed her whole rather than admit visions of that outrageously shameful act had plagued her both night and day. Winnie could not fully understand her response, all she knew was she felt flushed and faint and not just a little warm whenever she happened to think on it.
Archer continued his relentless advance. “Scandalous. Exciting. Elicit.” With each word, he took a step closer till she was backed against the wall.
“My lord, I shall scream!” warned Winnie as she fretfully looked about for Madame’s return.
Archer leaned in, placing his forearm against the wall, high above her head, caging her in. “No. You won’t.”
Winnie’s shoulders sagged in defeat. He was right. If she screamed, she would have to explain to Madame her relationship to the Marquess, something she was loath to do.
“What do you want from me?” she asked, her voice sounding small and childlike. His nearness affected her like an aphrodisiac. He was just so large and powerful. So in control. There were not alot of males in her life, so to be confronted with such a dynamic presence, left her feeling muddled and warm under the collar.
Archer stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. He was fascinated with her mouth. For the last three days he had thought of little else. Already full and soft, he liked to imagine what her lips would look like swollen from his bruising kisses, from the friction of his cock. Would the bright, cherry pink color turn a deeper, darker blush red? The thought obsessed him.
“You owe me a punishment,” his voice pitched dark and low.
“A…punishment?” she squeaked.
“Yes, you were a very naughty girl. You need to be punished. By me.” He smiled.
Before Winnie could respond, there was the unmistakable sound of Madame’s return. Archer smoothly stepped away, leaving Winnie flustered and bewildered.
“Pardon, my lord, I could not find any more of that lovely fabric, but I do have some other options for you to view,” she huffed, slightly out of breath.
“Quite all right, I would like to see some of the costumes on the model, Miss Applegarth, if I may,” he stated casually as he took a seat in the plush, upholstered chair by the cheery fire.
“But of course!” said Madame. “Can I offer you some tea or a nip of Sherry? I am sorry we have nothing stronger, my lord. We are not used to such handsome, masculine customers such as yourself,” she fawned.
“A Sherry sounds like just the thing.”
“Very good, my lord,” she responded with slightly pursed lips. Madame Minerva was torn. If he had requested tea, she would have sent Winnie to prepare it, but the Sherry she would have to retrieve herself since it was kept locked in a cabinet in her private chamber. She had already left the silly girl alone with the lord too many times. If only Henrietta, her shop girl, was not in bed with the sniffles! Drat! Grabbing Winnie by the upper arm, she sent a conciliatory smile to his lordship as she dragged Winnie a few steps away. In a harsh whisper she warned, “I must go get the Sherry. Keep your mouth shut and do not say anything to his lordship that would embarrass me.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“What have you spoken of while I was looking for the fabric?”
“Nothing of note, Madame. The…the weather,” stammered Winnie.
“Very well. Only speak when spoken to. I will return shortly.”
“Yes, Madame.”
With that, Madame scurried out of the salon. Winnie occupied herself by straightening a display of ribbons.
“Come here, Winnie.”
She thought about pretending not to hear him.
“I wouldn’t,” he stated flatly.
Winnie started. It was like he read her mind. With slow determined steps, she approached him but stopped a few feet away.
“Closer,” Archer ordered as he uncrossed his legs and opened his knees wide.
Winnie took another step so the hem of her flimsy dress brushed the tops of his polished boots.
Archer steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “Closer.”
“There’s no room,” Winnie said hesitantly, blushing as she glimpsed the unmistakable ridge outlined along his thigh. The light buff trousers concealing nothing.
Ignoring her objection, Archer merely raised an eyebrow as his gaze remained fixed on her face.
Chewing her bottom lip in indecision, Winnie finally slid her slippered right foot along the carpeted floor before slowly joining it with her left. She was now standing between his outstretched legs. Winnie closed her arms tight about her as if she could make her body smaller, lowering her head, refusing to meet his intense gaze.
Amused, Archer pressed his legs together till his inner thighs brushed against her skirts. Winnie’s mouth fell open in shock. Her dress was so thin, she could feel the heat from his skin through her dress and petticoats. She tried to back away but his legs tightened, trapping her.
“Please, my lord. Madame could return at any moment,” she pleaded.
“Then you had better do as I say without prevarication,” he warned darkly. “Did you touch that sweet, little cunny of yours dreaming of me forcing my cock on you?”
Winnie felt lightheaded with shame and guilt. Should she even try to deny it? It seemed pointless since this enigmatic man seemed to have the power to read her innermost, wicked thoughts!
Winnie covered her face in mortification. “Please don’t, my lord,” she muttered.
Archer rubbed his thigh against her own. Winnie could feel the press of his arousal. “Answer me, Winnie.”
All she could muster was a small shake of her head…yes.
Archer smiled. She was the perfect combination of seductive innocence. Her existence in the East End ensured she was not completely sheltered as to the ways between a man and a woman. Yet, her blushes confirmed she was undoubtedly still untouched.
“Unbutton your dress.”
All Winnie could do was stare at him over the tips of her fingers.
“Unbutton. Your. Dress.”
Her mind spun. He couldn’t possibly mean to…to…not…here…in the salon…during the day…with her…um…ah…
“My dear, there will be time for that later, after your punishment. For now, I want you to unbutton the front of your dress.”
Once again, he knew her thoughts before she had even fully formed them.
Not feeling as if she had a choice and trusting in the safety of the daylight and open setting, Winnie forced her numb fingers to unhook the tiny buttons that ran down the front of her dress. Slowly the threadbare, white chemise and top of her whalebone corset were revealed as the flaps of her dress fell open.
She was so tiny, her beautiful breasts were at his eye level. Archer leaned forward. Placing his index finger between her generous cleavage, he pressed on the top of the corset till it shifted down a few inches, just enough for her breasts to peek out over the top. He could see the cute, pink nipples through the practically sheer chemise. Tearing his gaze from the stunning vision before him, Archer glanced up to see Winnie’s eyes tightly close, her mouth slightly open, her cheeks flushed, her breaths coming in short gasps. He smiled.
He breathed deeply, taking in the warm, fresh scent of her skin. No perfume. Just the clean scent of lemon verbena soap and her. Knowing his time was short. Knowing if he gave into the impulse to taste her flesh he would not be able to stop there, Archer decided to test Winnie’s pleasure impulses.
He gently flicked her right nipple, watching as it became even more erect. She started but kept her eyes closed. Archer then lightly rolled both nipples between his index finger and thumb. Winnie shifted on her feet, a soft moan escaping her open lips. Instinctively, her body leaned in closer to his.
Without warning, he clamped down hard on her nipples. Pinching
and twisting the delicate bunch of nerves. Archer tightened his thighs around Winnie as she bucked, trying to escape the pain. Locking her against him. Pressing her harder against his erection.
“Keep quiet, my dove. You don’t want Madame to hear and come running,” he whispered harshly as he kept up the pressure on her nipples, oblivious to her distress.
Winnie bit down on her lower lip till she tasted blood. Quelling her own cries.
The moment he released her tortured flesh, there was this euphoric rush. As if the pain turned the absence of pain into pleasure. Her whole body felt warm and sensitive, especially the secret place between her legs. Without thought, she collapsed onto his lap. Archer kissed her forehead, as he gingerly re-buttoned her dress.
“Was that my punishment, my lord?” she asked, still in a daze. Her gray eyes still dark and stormy with confused desire.
“No, my dear. That was just a test. Your punishment is still to come.”
Archer set her on her feet just as Madame returned with the Sherry tray.
~
“Here we are, my lord,” said Madam cheerily as she set the tray on the small table in front of the fire. “Shall I pour?”
“By all means. I believe I would like your shop girl to model the fairy costume first,” said Archer with a suggestive wink sent in Winnie’s direction.
“Excellent choice. Come, Winnie,” motioned Madame.
Winnie was ushered to a separate room off the salon, kept private only by a pair of thick blue velvet curtains.