Evil's Niece

by Melissa MacNeal

  ‘Step over by the doors,’ she whispered, guiding me to where the moonlight washed over us. ‘Make yourself naked. Touch your body, like Chapin was watching you. Wanting you.’

  Was it me, or had the sultry Louisiana evening entered my room with Monique, to infuse everything with its erotic heat? I smelled her sex. I peeled away the layers of clothing proper ladies wore: the dress that covered me to the neck and wrists and ankles…the shift that shimmered to the floor like a dying ghost…the corset cover and drawers — which Monique delighted in tugging over my hips, so she could caress my thighs as I stepped out of them.

  ‘Why do you wear this nasty thing?’ she asked as she unlaced my stays. ‘Let your breasts and curves flow, ma tante. A woman who feels free and breathes easy, she moves like a panther in heat. Like a pussy always hot for a cock, oui?’

  I did feel wonderful as she tossed my corset aside, yet I rolled my eyes. ‘And what woman has time to think about such things, except before bed —’

  ‘Every woman! You, Auntie Evil,’ came her sibilant whisper.

  She turned me to face her, both of us bare except for our stockings and shoes, silhouetted in the moonlight pouring through the French doors. ‘If sex is a game you always want to play, think how happy you’ll be! Like Monique with her Tommy Jon. And I promise, ma tante, your husband won’t stay in his room if he thinks you always want it. If he knows you sleep naked. If he believes Miss Eve’s got a wet little cunt that wants fucking.’

  She ran her hand down my front, rustling my curls with her fingers before slipping them inside me. My legs parted of their own accord, and I couldn’t hold back a moan.

  ‘See there?’ she crowed softly, rubbing my own honey into my lips. ‘You’re soaking wet, cherie. It’ll be a wild night, even if Chapin never takes his turn. I’m going to show you our new toy now, oui? You’re going to love it.’

  She held the oddly shaped contraption between us, so the moonlight fell on the dark leather, making it glimmer seductively. ‘Same thick shafts, same wide, rounded heads like the other ones T-Jon’s made,’ she explained, running her fingertip along each feature. ‘He moulds them on his own cock, you know. Then he laces the leather skin over a wooden shaft, so it stays hard all the time. We’ll never find a man this good, non?’

  I laughed, touching the dildo to feel its bump-studded centre, where the two cocks came together at differing angles. ‘It looks very…filling here in the middle,’ I murmured. ‘And these ridges —’

  ‘Designed to excite both clits, while the cunts get stuffed full. Its curves and length are just right for rubbing that sweet spot way up inside,’ she breathed, as though her own were already tingling. ‘So when both pussies are pushing and pulling, going out of control, things will get wet and wild, Aunt Evil. Very wet…and wild like only your Monique’s imagination can make them. Are you ready?’

  I nodded. Schuck was drinking all this in as well, and his rhythmic rubbing against the wall was having its effect on me. ‘You first.’

  ‘No, you! Get down on the floor and I’ll warm you up.’

  As though the night wasn’t already hot. As though my body wasn’t already quivering with inner heat as it obeyed her siren call. The rug chafed my bottom as I sat on it, and then scooted back against the armoire. ‘I want to watch you…’

  She grinned. ‘Watch me fuck you with it? Watch this big black cock slip inside —’

  I moaned, opening my legs further as she inserted it; kneeling before me like a slave, to sate the desires of my night. Something told me Monique had arranged everything to the last detail, so our nasty valet got a profile view of our nude bodies through that keyhole.

  ‘— and then tickle you with its ridges…and rub you in all the right ways, and places, oui?’ she continued her hypnotic chant. ‘In and out, so slow and solid…getting my auntie so hot and bothered, before I prod her —’

  I gasped when the tip of that dildo found the sweet spot she’d alluded to, high and forward, and so very, very sensitive. I couldn’t sit still. My ass danced, rubbing against the rug with a suggestive whisper that told of my secret hunger, my need for more release than I’d realised. ‘Please — I — Monique —’

  ‘Raise up and thrust against it, ma belle,’ she coaxed. ‘Think of Dewel, sinking himself into you like he’s got all night. Like he wants to make you come and come and come, so your poor little puss can’t stand any more — but can’t say no to it either. You are desperate, non?’

  The mention of that bourbon-skinned scoundrel shot my pulse to a gallop, and I rose to Monique’s challenge. Faster she pumped it into me, driving me towards those spirals that started like a fire down deep, and suddenly flared to a point of no return.

  ‘My turn, you.’ She yanked the leather cock out of me, her sly laugh saying my need was no secret. ‘Here. Make me beg too — and then we’ll ride together.’

  Monique’s hair swayed in alluring disarray as she positioned herself between my spread knees, with her feet on either side of my hips and her elbows on the floor. Her high-heeled boots gave her leverage, and as I slipped the dildo inside her, her garters stretched over her flexing legs. As dark as her stockings, her bush parted with her sex lips, giving the toy full access…allowing me to twist and turn it, so the ridges and leather lacings titillated her channel in all the best places.

  On impulse, I shoved it all the way up, so the wide, ridged centre held her fully open as it pressed into her clit.

  She muttered French obscenities, all the more intense because she was trying not to be heard. Her hips gyrated; she pulsed forward and up, thrusting shamelessly to attain the level of pleasure where she’d left me hanging. Her eyes closed, the long lashes casting shadows on her smooth, moonlit cheeks, and when her head fell back she made the most erotic sight I’d ever seen. Her breasts were jiggling, pricking the air with distended nipples I so badly wanted to suck.

  So I rolled forward, to let my mouth go where my mind had led it. Monique’s eyes flew open, and then, hooded with her passion, they fixed upon my lips as I suckled.

  ‘Climb on,’ she breathed. ‘Straddle me, like a man. And then fuck me, like a woman.’

  The groan from the other room overrode my own and, as I positioned my slit at the tip of the dildo, I felt a surge of power. I had it within me to bring us both to a mind-boggling climax, if I settled just right…if I pushed just right and got into her rhythm.

  I impaled myself, allowing a moment for my sheath to adjust to the thickness. The angle felt more advantageous than I’d imagined, deep and curving to fit my channel. I braced my arms alongside Monique’s shoulders, and began my brazen attempt to drive her until she cried out for mercy.

  Where had this desire come from? My slit instinctively found the pressure points it yearned for, while my maid shifted beneath me. She thrust upward, grinning lasciviously, and the control I’d thought was mine got snatched away.

  ‘You like it, oui?’ she whispered. ‘Auntie Evil looks wicked and wonderful, her breasts dangling in my face, spreading my legs with her hips. Now rub me, cherie! Grind against the centre, and I will too.’

  The rustling of our curls…the incense of our combined sex…the heaviness of my breasts as they slapped my ribcage — faster now, as the wily woman beneath me began writhing in earnest. Our breathing came in duelling bursts, filling the room with a song only vixens could sing. I felt unbelievably full, yet greedy. My spasms began, deep and leisurely, but as I settled lower to scratch that intense inner itch, Monique arched up.

  She nipped my nipple, and I shot forward like a horse from the starting gate. I lost track of everything save the fine, frenzied heat between us and the wetness splattering my thighs — and then Schuck’s bumping against the wall drove us home. Monique curled around me, groaning her encouragements, commanding me not to stop. Then she convulsed like a crazed puppet whose strings were being pulled very tightly from behind me.

  We collapsed with a gasp. The room rang with sudden silence. My mind was trying t
o wrap itself around yet another sexual adventure made so stunning by this Cajun maid: could it be I preferred girls? That I’d never known this, and had sent some unwitting signal to Chapin, which made me undesirable to him?

  Monique’s chuckle brought me out of these distressing thoughts. ‘Stud Fuck got his too. And how nice that we didn’t have to touch him!’

  I dismounted, leaving the dildo between her gaping legs like a huge, lewd erection. It took several moments for my boneless limbs to recover as I stretched out beside her. ‘I’d like to step outside, to cool off on the gallery,’ I breathed, ‘but I don’t want Judd coming out.’

  My maid sat up. The leather toy made a loud slurping sound as she pulled it out. Then she cocked her head towards the wall that adjoined Schuck’s room. ‘He’s snoring. Come on, ma tante.’

  The breeze was barely there on this hot New Orleans night, but as it caressed my body, the scent of the magnolia trees and gardenias drifted around us too. I leaned over the railing — very brazen indeed, for I’d never stood naked outside my room. Had never experienced many simple pleasures that were second nature to Monique.

  ‘Thank you,’ I breathed.

  Her dark eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she lit a cheroot. ‘For letting you be on top?’

  ‘For setting me free. For breaking the rules. For…proving men aren’t the only ones who possess power.’ I smiled when she patted my arm in her childlike way. ‘That’s a lot to learn in a very short time.’

  ‘Oh, there’s more, Auntie Evil,’ she replied. She drew deeply on her little cigar, letting its smoke surround her in its mystical haze. Then she playfully slapped my ass. ‘But enough for tonight, oui? We must set those three sissy maids to cleaning the ballroom tomorrow! Sleep well, ma tante.’

  Through the open doors I heard her gathering her clothes, and then quietly slipping out of my room. I spent a few more moments gazing over the gardens, so cloaked in ethereal beauty at this hour; so much more symmetrical and planned-out than my life seemed to be. Chapin had his plans, but what about mine?

  Was I ready to approach him? To seduce him, now that my sensual awakening made me aware of what we’d never shared?

  Or would I only learn things I didn’t want to know?

  I slipped into bed naked, but couldn’t sleep. I was too aware of my own skin, so boldly on display without benefit of even a sheet — although no one else would see me, or slip through my open French doors like the subtle sounds of the night. I felt alive and on edge — saw scenes in my mind, of bare asses across my lap, juddering beneath the smack of a hand…of a wicked little woman returning thrust for thrust, moaning in breathy French…Dewel, peeling away his silk shirt, taking control of me with that molasses drawl and the deceptive power behind his languid ways.

  I stiffened. Was that a footstep on the gallery? Looking towards my doors, I wished I’d closed them like any proper wife whose suite now adjoined the valet’s.

  I heard the noise again — furtive footfalls, indeed. And then a figure hurried past, towards the steps at the end of the gallery! Recalling Chapin’s remark to his valet, I rushed to the gallery to look out, but all I saw was the predawn retreat of someone in swirling skirts and a shawl that shone an unearthly white in the thickening mist.

  A woman! Far too sophisticated to be Monique sneaking off to see Tommy Jon, so who was she? The snoring that drifted through Judd’s open window gave me an answer — a conclusion no wife wants to reach, for it rips her heart out and fills in the hole with suspicions, which coil and hiss like a nest of snakes.

  The only other room with access to the gallery was Chapin’s.

  17 A Closet Rendezvous

  He had already gone to the Cotton Exchange when I went downstairs for breakfast. Or was Mrs Frike covering for him, out of the loyalty that spanned her years of service to his philandering father as well?

  As she set down my plate of stewed fruits and pecan sticky buns, I almost asked her if Chapin had entertained a guest last night, while supposedly sequestered in his study. But did I really want to know? What else did I need to see, after watching him hump that blonde in the courtyard a few weeks ago?

  ‘Fanny, I’ve been thinking about our Mardi Gras ball,’ I ventured, deciding another avenue of exploration might yield tastier fruit. ‘And I’m wondering if we’ll find things in the attic — decorations, and perhaps even costumes — we could use? Surely Chapin’s parents hosted such parties.’

  The housekeeper’s grey eyes lit up. ‘Why, yes! Virgilia Proffit prided herself on being the hostess to be outdone. Spared no expense, that woman — and Chapin loved those balls too.’

  ‘So why hasn’t he entertained more often, these past seven years?’

  Mrs Frike’s wrinkles tightened as she decided whether to divulge such information. ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted, ‘but I think once his mother died, your husband lost his enthusiasm for such pageantry and dancing. And when his daddy’s will split the Proffit properties between him and that Creole courtesan’s son, Chapin became a shell of his former self.’

  Eaten away by jealousy, even more than greed, my heart whispered.

  I nodded, proceeding cautiously along a path I hadn’t planned in advance. Perhaps my husband’s absence was inspiring me, after watching that woman flee his suite: I felt compelled to explore this rambling family mansion, hoping I’d find answers without having to ask any nasty questions.

  ‘Well, I think we should look up there,’ I announced with my best smile. ‘I’m guessing we’ll find all sorts of finery that deserves another fling. If you want to come with me —’

  ‘Mr Chapin has the key.’

  The finality of this pronouncement sounded a warning. Might I find things besides the usual cast-away clothing and furniture, and the costumes I was hoping for? Things a husband didn’t want his wife to see?

  I smiled sweetly. ‘Now, Fanny, you’ve run this household since before I was born. If you feel I’d be trespassing on old family secrets by —’

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Eve. When he did some remodelling in his suite — which was Virgilia’s, when she was alive — he put a lock on that attic door.’ She shrugged, making her pillowy breasts rise behind her starched apron. ‘I use it as my excuse not to clean up there. I would never compromise Mr Chapin’s privacy, you see.’

  Not the answer I wanted. And when she asked what I’d like the three maids to do today, the subject got locked up as tight as that door in the alcove — a door I was determined to open!

  Opportunity knocked within the hour. I made an appearance on the third floor — where the unaired ballroom was so stuffy, Monique allowed the maids to work naked — and then slipped away. I was the lady of this house, after all. I saw no reason to avoid my husband’s chambers.

  I removed my shoes and glanced around his small sitting room; checked the drawer of his secretary, but found it locked. What was he so afraid someone else might find? This only prompted me to pass through his bedroom, past the half-tester and other furnishings of cherry wood that belonged to his mother. Such sentiment touched me, yet keeping this room as a sort of shrine to Virgilia Proffit seemed incongruous to Chapin’s current relationships with…Other Women.

  I paused at the arched entryway to the alcove he’d remodelled as a closet. There I saw the frock coats, trousers, silk shirts and shoes of a gentleman with excellent taste; a man who chose the tobacco browns, creams and pale blues that complemented his golden complexion and eye colour, over the darker, more staid hues currently in fashion.

  But I was drawn to the two wooden doors — the one in the alcove, which led to the attic, and the identical one in his room that gave access to the gallery. Both bore conspicuous padlocks, as though Chapin needed safety — from outside intruders and the household staff, I presumed, since I’d never spent enough time here to threaten his sense of security.

  I smiled and pulled a pin from my hair. Apparently men assumed their women too stupid — or too obedient — to finesse a locked door! But I’d g
otten some practice as a little sister who’d raided her brother’s gun cabinet, where he kept his stash of ribald magazines until he married and moved away.

  In went the rounded end of the slender hairpin. As I held the lock in one hand, I gently felt for the place I could push to snap it open.

  ‘Allow me, Mrs Proffit.’

  I gasped and dropped the padlock, my pulse pounding. Behind me, wearing only his maid’s apron, stood Antoinette. With a sly smile, he showed me a slender metal rod, and then reached around me to grasp the padlock.

  ‘Thieves and the police find these extremely useful,’ he said, standing so close his breath dampened the back of my neck. ‘I overheard you at breakfast. I thought I’d find you here.’

  ‘But I —’ The surreptitious snick of the lock didn’t distract me from his surprise appearance. ‘The others must think —’

  ‘That I had to use the toilet. So I haven’t much time.’

  How odd it felt to have a man’s voice coming from lips that had been rouged, accentuating a smile that brightened his slender face. Odd, and — improper!

  ‘Toinette, I must remind you that the help —’

  ‘My name’s Russell. Let’s go on in, before Mrs Frike comes hunting us. She was in a real dither after you asked about the attic.’

  I couldn’t argue with that logic, but I couldn’t assume his intentions were entirely honourable either. ‘And why are you here? Has Chapin told Judd Schuck what he’s hiding?’

  His smile made my stomach shimmer. ‘You’re here, aren’t you?’

  He steered me up the short flight of wooden stairs into what appeared to be another spacious closet — far roomier than where my own gowns were hung, and lit by skylights.

  ‘I don’t understand.’ I was trying to block out the array of female finery I saw, by concentrating on this male maid’s interest in me. ‘You’re telling me your real name — touching me like — like a —’