by Josie Litton
“Travel! I want to see the world.” At least from the rooftops of the finest residences before relieving their inhabitants of at least a small portion of their wealth.
“Ah, well now that I can understand, having had the good fortune to travel quite a bit myself.”
“There you see, it makes sense. Now let me go.”
“Where do you plan to visit first?”
“I don’t know… what difference does it make?”
“Clearly, you haven’t given enough thought to this,” Lucius said and ramped up the devices yet again.
“Noooo!” Hurtled to the precipice and at least half over it, she fought the urge to free herself. Another moment…a second and she would--
The hideous things loosened abruptly and fell away into Lucius’ hand. So distracted had she been that he had been able to approach without her realizing.
Slipping the evil devices back into the case, he said, “I think these will be quite popular in the club.”
Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t breathe…couldn’t think… She was coming undone. Far in the back of her mind, an alarm bell went off. Why had he suddenly asked about her plans? What did he suspect? She had to gather herself, be strong, fight him--
“Hush,” he said and knelt in front of her. The hard pads of his thumbs parted her outer lips. Hot, swollen flesh was bathed in his breath. The flat of his tongue stroked all along her, at once strangely soothing and too arousing to bear.
She cried out and gripped his hair, holding him to her as her hips arched.
The tip of his tongue drove just into her cunt, lapping at her. At the same time, his hands slipped under the robe and found her abused nipples, lightly stroking them.
Her vision narrowed, the world spinning down into a focused circle of pure sensation that held only the two of them. Everything in her tightened, straining, reaching outward…
Her release, when it came at last, was cataclysmic. She felt torn apart, nothing left but shards of herself.
But it didn’t end there. Barely had she begun to come down than Lucius drove her up again, making her come again and again, a maestro playing the instrument of her body in ways she had never imagined possible. Until at last, sobbing, she begged him to stop.
He did so at once but even then, he wasn’t quite through with her.
Rising, he smiled down at her as she lay, legs spread wide, pussy red and swollen, oozing with her cream.
“Better than a sneeze?” he asked.
She dragged in breath and hurled it back at him. “You bastard!”
Far from taking offense, he merely shrugged and began to untie her. When her legs were free, he handed her a bottle of water.
“Drink,” he said, waiting just a moment to be sure she did so before starting to massage her calves and feet.
Doing so, he said quietly, “As it happens, my parents were married. Not happily and not for long but married all the same. What about yours?”
Another question but this one posed in a way that seemed to reveal something about himself. Building a sense of personal connection was a tried-and-true tactic of interrogators. She would be a fool to forget that. And yet…
Sparring with Lucius filled her with an unexpected sense of elation. She felt as though she was balanced high on a roof, far above the mundane world, capable of defying even gravity.
Softly, looking down at his dark head as he remained kneeling before her, she said, “Mine were married and they were devoted to each other.”
He glanced up, his eyes meeting hers. “Then they were fortunate.”
“Perhaps…” The shadow of anguish moved through her, a reminder of the terrible price to be paid for such love when it was amputated by death.
Yet staring into the amber eyes that saw her so intensely, she unexpectedly felt the pull of a different landscape. Try though she did to shy away from it, it remained a treacherous vision in her mind.
One where she and this mysterious, intriguing and all too tempting man were not enemies. And where the risk of even terrible pain was worth taking.
Chapter Thirteen
“Ladies,” Arabella Hamilton called out, “calm yourselves! I realize this is all very exciting but I really must have your attention. There is a great deal to be accomplished before you make your first appearance in the club this evening.”
Sitting off to one side of the parlor, to which they had been summoned for tea and instruction, Natalia did her best to listen. Six days after beginning her “practice” sessions with Lucius, her mind was a blur. She, who had always prided herself on the clarity of her thoughts was now scarcely capable of thinking at all.
Feeling was an entirely different matter. That seemed to be all she did--continually, endlessly, vividly, her body roiled by need, her mind a tempest.
Each day, his summons had resulted in new and enticing forms of torment. Truly, the man’s imagination appeared to have no limits. Worse yet, drawn by the seduction of her traitorous senses, she had begun to look forward to their time together.
This despite the growing risk that had her tossing and turning at night, unable to find more than the briefest rest. Each session, he had posed questions, waiting until her most vulnerable moments to do so. Each time, she feared she would reveal too much.
Her only comfort was that in order to draw her out, he had revealed tantalizing glimpses of himself: He had grown up in Shanghai, the son of a British accountant and his wife. He had dropped out of Oxford. He had a taste for ginger beer, developed while in India. Small but not insignificant insights into the man he was.
Above all, one fact she had gleaned; his control over his magnificent body was truly remarkable. Not once did he again succumb to her or allow her to touch him in any way that might have given her an advantage. Instead, he focused entirely on wresting from her paroxysms of release that left her feeling no more than putty in his hands.
She had the sinking feeling that he had learned rather more about her than she had of him, no matter how careful she had tried to be. Nothing of importance, she hoped. Nothing that could disprove her carefully crafted legend. But still--
Little by little, she could feel her resistance eroding. No closer to finding Naomi, she was pinning all her hopes on what she could discover once she was inside the Odalisque.
Surely, among the crowd of members and whatever else went on there, she would find an opportunity to slip away. She had to because despite everything that Lucius had done to undermine her, she finally possessed concrete hope that she really could succeed.
Two days before, during a brief period of respite that he granted her, she had managed to watch as he keyed in the password on his computer. The movement of his fingers was wicked fast. An untrained observer would never have been able to recall the sequence. But she possessed a memory rigorously trained to do exactly that. Access codes of every sort were child’s play for her. Now all she had to do was find a way to make use of it.
“Isn’t that true, Miss Bollinger?”
Starting at the sound of her name, Natalia belatedly turned her attention to the abbess. “Yes, of course, ma’am.”
“I’m so glad you agree. Kindly step up here.”
Baffled as to what she had just agreed to, Natalia nevertheless did as she was bid only to immediately regret the impulse.
During her reverie, an item had been brought into the parlor without her noticing. Next to the abbess stood a full-sized dress mannequin adorned with…
What in god’s name was that? It looked like some sort of medieval torture device shaped to the female body… Almost as though it was a--
“Corsets of this type will be worn under your robes whilst you are serving in the club,” the abbess said.
Eight virgins giggled. One stood wide-eyed and disbelieving.
“Ladies,” Arabella Hamilton said chidingly, “I realize this may seem extreme but we do it this way to make a point to the patrons, namely that you are untouched and untouchable.”
Kathleen was seated a dozen feet away but Natalia heard her snort clearly. In a stage whisper, the Irish girl murmured, “Guess that must not include ‘practice’ sessions then?”
All the girls laughed except, once again, Natalia who blushed fiercely at the thought of what had gone on in her own such sessions.
“That’s enough of that,” the abbess said firmly. “Miss Bollinger, kindly remove your robe.”
With fumbling fingers, Natalia reached around and undid the lacing. As she did, she glanced toward the mirror. Was he watching again? A flush of heat suffused her skin but her mood changed to outright wariness as she looked more closely at the contraption Arabella Hamilton was removing from the mannequin.
“The chastity corset,” the abbess said, “is a refinement on the more traditional chastity belt. Its point isn’t merely to prevent intercourse. Instead, it is designed to ward off any possible physical contact of an untoward nature.”
Staring at it, Natalia concluded that to all intents and purposes, the corset was a metal cage. Made of stainless steel bars at least a half-inch in diameter and set at narrow intervals, it was designed to enclose the female body from breasts to crotch.
The arms and legs were left free but all those parts likely to draw the attention of lecherous club members were unreachable. Groping hands would encounter not warm, inviting flesh but hard, unyielding metal.
As much as she could see its usefulness, Natalia said, “It looks singularly uncomfortable.”
“You will become accustomed to it,” the abbess replied firmly. “Now if you please…” Opening the corset where it hinged in the back, she held it out for Natalia to step into.
As the wicked thing was fastened up, she had to suck in her breath. Steel bars clenched her waist and rib cage. Her breasts were squeezed and thrust up. The metal plate covering the gap between her thighs felt cold and unyielding. Quickly, she discovered that she could no longer bend but had to remain rigidly upright, her back held ramrod straight. She felt suddenly like one of the automata so popular in the 19th century, life-sized mechanical dolls designed to appear human and perform assigned functions for the amusement of an audience.
“Perfect,” the abbess said. “Move around a bit and get the feel for it.”
Reluctantly, Natalia did so. She avoided looking toward the mirror but even so, she was certain that she could feel Lucius’ eyes on her as she practiced bending from the knees to serve drinks and otherwise accommodating her movements to the corset’s severe restrictions.
“Excellent,” the abbess said finally. “Ladies, the rest of you will find your corsets waiting in the dormitory. Kindly put them on and report back here for final instructions before we go over to the club.”
In a flurry of laughter and excited anticipation, the gaggle of virgins sped off. Natalia put her robe back on and redid the lacing. With every breath, she felt the tight constriction of the corset against her flesh. The thought occurred to her that it was meant not merely as a reminder to club members but to the virgins themselves. One they no doubt needed after the excesses of the ‘practice’ sessions. Their bodies were taboo, at least until bought and paid for.
Yet it was bound to have another effect. What was forbidden automatically became more desirable. The sight of beautiful virgins, their bodies off-limits, was a blatant incitement to male lust. No doubt the intention was to generate even larger bids.
Grimacing, she went to sit down and wait until the others returned only to be reminded that she could not. Finding any position that was remotely comfortable proved difficult. She settled finally for leaning up against a wall as she stared at the mirror.
Resentment flared in her. If he was there, no doubt he was perfectly at ease where she was tormented, swollen, needy and now reminded with every breath of the purpose assigned to her by men.
Fine then, she might as well give him something to look at. From the tiered plates of pastries brought in to accompany tea, she selected a puff pastry roll filled with vanilla cream meringue. Holding it delicately between two fingers, she tipped her head back and took a swipe at one end with the tip of her tongue.
It really was delicious. Certainly enough to merit another lick…and another before swirling her tongue all the way around the tip and sliding the roll into her mouth. Resisting the impulse to bite down on it--see what he’d make of that!--she hollowed her cheeks and began sucking the meringue out with steadily increasing vigor. By the time she was finished, every inch of it had been devoured.
Placing the empty roll on a plate, she licked the corners of her mouth and then her fingers until the last little taste of creamy goodness was gone.
From the other side of the mirror, she thought she heard a muffled grown.
Briefly, she eyed another of the pastries and considered giving a repeat performance. Alas, the constriction of the Steel Maiden, as she had dubbed the corset, did not allow for such indulgence.
Even so, Natalia smiled and turned her thoughts to what she would do when, in just a few more hours, she finally set foot inside the notorious Odalisque.
Chapter Fourteen
Lucius stifled another groan and concentrated on adjusting his trousers. He had never before considered that he might have a masochistic streak. But how else to explain the unrelenting torture to which he had subjected himself the past few days?
Miss Bollinger was easily the most exquisitely sensual and responsive woman he had ever encountered. Pleasuring her had become addictive. Even so, a truly astounding number of orgasms had failed to uncover the truth of her intentions. Surely, any other woman would have slipped up, if only a little, and said something incriminating.
But not Natalia, not her. He knew nothing more about her than he had when he set out on his grand plan to sensually torture the truth from her. He’d expected to succeed long before now but with one more day to go to the auction, he was no closer to his goal.
As schemes went, this wasn’t turning out to be one of his best.
If that weren’t bad enough, he’d seen fit to subject himself to the sight of her in that damn corset. What had he been thinking? On the one hand, showing the virgins off the evening before the auction raised excitement and boosted bids. On the other hand, signing up to sell one’s virginity didn’t mean agreeing to be groped by all and sundry. On the other, other hand--there were more than enough to go around--some club clients could come across as entitled pricks who thought they could get away with anything until properly instructed otherwise.
For all those reasons, the corsets had seemed like a good idea. But that was in the world Before Natalia. Fuck, the way she looked! Caged, confined, restricted in a manner that stirred decidedly dark thoughts in him.
He’d lain awake the previous night imagining keeping her in a silk-lined bower, naked except for a pair of fuck-me shoes, preferably Jimmy Choos, and one of those egg vibrators inserted into her cunt, thrumming away. Remote controlled, of course, so that she would be continuously aroused, hot, wet and writhing in need.
He pictured her crouched on her knees in the center of the bed, her legs spread, her nipples hard and begging to be sucked. She would want to touch herself, of course, but it was his fantasy so she damn well wouldn’t.
Instead, she’d scoot to the edge of the bed, look up at him appealingly and, having received his approval, eagerly undo his trousers and take him into her exquisite mouth.
And then he’d finally discover if the feat with the dildo was for real.
In the meantime, he was going to need some way to prop up his cock because he sure as hell couldn’t keep lugging the thing around on his own as perpetually big and hard as it had gotten. A shelf of some sort with wheels that could precede him wherever he went, that’s what was needed. Horace knew his way around a carpentry shop; he could rig one up for him.
He was losing his mind. Maybe that was her scheme! In one fell swoop, she could deprive him of his wits, rob England of a champion, and gain control of a treasure trove of information
about the ruling class of virtually every country on the planet.
After that, she could just declare herself queen and be done with it.
His only consolation was that he would know soon whether the trap he had laid for her was going to work. Had she been paying attention when--in a final, desperate ploy to uncover the truth--he had deliberately keyed in his password within her line of sight? Was she able to remember it? If she was what Adrian believed, the answer to both had to be ‘yes’.
Speaking of whom, Lucius was a tad surprised upon wandering down to the main floor of the club to discover his friend seated at the bar.
Not that Lord Burleigh hadn’t been round to the Odalisque a time or few since his marriage. However, that was always in the evening, most definitely always in the company of his lovely wife, Lady Jane and then only with plans to occupy their private box strictly for their own enjoyment.
Yet there was Adrian, on his own, chatting with Beatrix the Buxom Bartender, as she had dubbed herself.
“There you are,” he said upon spying Lucius. “Beatrix here was just saying she thought you’d be round.”
“And so I am.” Taking the stool next to him, Lucius signaled for a couple of the usual. He didn’t think for a moment that Adrian’s appearance on the eve of the auction, just as time was running out, could be a coincidence. Still, a personal visit was unusual.
“What brings you by?”
His lordship had the look of a man confronting a reality so improbable that he struggled to comprehend it.
“Jane is at Harrods shopping for the baby. My mother is with her.”
To the best of Lucius’ knowledge, Adrian had hitherto had only the most distant relationship with his mother, who vastly preferred life in the south of France. Belatedly, it dawned on him that much as the salmon swims upstream to spawn, the lure of a grandchild must have drawn her north.
“It might just be the novelty,” he said by way of reassurance.