Wings of the Fallen ((UnHolyPimpHand & Curious_Muse))

[Curious_Muse]

Lucy hurried up the stairs, excited to be able to be of service to Mr. Dawkins. She carried a porcelain bowl and his shaving kit, helplessly trying to simultaneously grab a large pitcher with water that one of the kitchen maids had placed there for her.

“Oh, don’t tire yourself,” a voice said behind her. “I’ll carry that for you.” Lucy, recognising Nora, flinched. “It’s fine, I can do it myself.” The other girl laughed softly. “Don’t be silly. With what hand? You’ll break your neck on these stairs if you try to carry of this at once.”

If Nora had seen Lucy’s face, she’d have understood that the girl was pondering the breaking of necks herself. Why could this Nora not keep her nose out of other people’s business for once? Mr. Caldwell had specifically asked for her, Lucy’s help, and yet there she was, trying to barge in on favours that were not for her to collect.

“Fine,” she said coldly and continued her way up without turning around. “Don’t spill anything.”

Nora was too distracted to notice Lucy’s displeasure. Her offer to help was not a selfless gesture. She very much hoped to find a moment to ask Mr. Dawkins about Dr Winchester. Maybe he would inquire about the research he had asked her to undertake? It would be an excellent opportunity to bring up the Society she had read about without revealing too much of her knowledge. When she arrived in the dressing room, Lucy was already preparing the shaving foam in a small bowl.

“Don’t just stand there,” Lucy snapped at her. “I need the water.”

Lucy applied the shaving cream with gentle, almost loving gestures. He was such a fine man. Her fingertips brushed over his naked chest in a gesture that could have been accidental, or not. The sharp blade scraped over his skin without so much of a nip. Nora watched, lost in thought. There had been several pictures in that scandalous album where men had used blades to cut away strings of silk, of lace. Some had used knives to caress the skin of the helplessly bound women, and Nora wondered if that had been all. In one of the images the tip of a blade had drawn small drops of blood, and yet the victim had seemed lost in blissful extasy.

“You’re such a klutz!”

Nora realised that she had accidentally tipped the pitcher she had been holding, pouring water onto the floor. Lucy was furious.

“Just…just put it down. I’m fine doing this by myself.”

The red-haired girl mumbled an apology, blushing profusely and avoided looking at Mr. Dawkins before rushing out of the room. She needed to get a grip on herself before she’d be kicked out of the house.

***

Kitty opened the door and beamed at the woman on their doorstep. “Good morning, miss,” she said happily. “Please do come in. Mr. Caldwell and Mrs. Mortimer are already expecting you in the Great Room.”

Elena smiled at her and nodded. “Thank you.” Kitty nodded happily. “I do hope you had a pleasant journey.” She so wanted the young woman to feel comfortable and at home in Dawkins House. How very sad her eyes looked! “It’s right through there.”

To a woman of an aristocratic background such as Elena, the setting of the Great Room was somehow familiar. She curtsied briefly at the door before making her way towards the table. Everything in this house was of a tasteful elegance that she had not expected. When the guesthouse owner had told her about this place, Elena had pictured a home for wayward waifs and fallen women, a sombre, joyless residence.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Mr. Dawkins,” Elena said nodding her head, her Greek accent slightly more pronounced than usual. She was nervous. “I’m Miss Elena Castellanos.” There was a brief pause. In fact, she was now Mrs. Wesley Gilmore, if the ceremony had not been a lie as well. But what did that name now signify? If anything, it only added to her shame. She turned towards Adelia. “It is such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Mortimer.” She assumed that the empty chair was for her but decided to remain standing until she was invited to sit.

“Please,” Adelia said, “Do sit down.” She briefly smiled at Caldwell, signalling how thrilled she was with their first candidate of the day. Such elegance, such fragile, heart-wrenching beauty. It was rare that Dawkins House welcomed upper class women, as they usually commanded the means to extricate themselves from shameful situations with the help of their families. But here was a young aristocratic woman who was stranded in a foreign city, lost and alone. The potential of such a girl! Adelia lost herself in images of Elena dressed in expensive black silk, in corsets, stockings and pearls. She’d bring even the most jaded young dandy to his knees.

Nora appeared with a silver tray, carrying three porcelain cups with coffee, a bowl with sugar and a small pitcher with cream. Aware of Mr. Dawkins’ earlier displeasure she did not linger, but she shot furtive, curious glances at the new arrival.

Elena thanked Adelia and sat down, her gloved hands resting on the tablecloth before her, wondering what would be required of her in order to be admitted to Dawkins House. Adelia looked at her lover. “My dear Caldwell, please, you go first.”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

((Collaborated works of UnHolyPimpHand & Curious_Muse))
​

It was impressive, the way Elena effortlessly charmed everyone in her path. Kitty’s eyes were like saucers, Adelia was smiling that smile that betrayed her mind exploring carnal deeds. Caldwell wasn’t quite as thrilled. He turned over a few pages of her file that had been prepared for him—as charming as her presence clearly was, her prospects on paper were much more dubious.

“You’re using your maiden name?” Caldwell asked, glancing up from her papers and barely acknowledging Adelia, “has the church granted an annulment so swiftly? My understanding is that you’re recently wedded.. a Mr. Gilmore.”

Caldwell glanced down at the paperwork to discover the name of her husband.

The fact that Elena was still married wasn’t the only thing that made Caldwell hesitant to give in to her charms. Though he’d never speak it aloud, her complexion could mean trouble for Dawkins House. The fact that she was Greek and not Moorish or Muslim might not make a difference to some of the more reactive among the London Elites. Once something was rumored it was as good as fact—since it would be so often repeated yet never openly stated. If rumors began that Caldwell was sheltering escaped slaves or uplifting non-Christians through his charity, things could get quite difficult for them.

“Isn’t it true that your husband could stride through those doors right now as far as you know? Might he show up several months into your stay here? If he were to do so, how might I answer his reasonable question, ‘what have you been doing with my wife?’”

At this, Caldwell folded his hands over the papers, looking Elena squarely in her expressive brown eyes. His own were not quite fierce but not kind either.

Elena froze. How was it possible that Mr. Dawkins had heard about Wesley? Who had told him? Had the old guesthouse owner known about her marriage? Had she maybe, on one of these long, lonely evenings in his care, unwisely shared more than she should have? She glanced at the papers on the table, wondering what else was in them. For the length of a few heartbeats, Elena said nothing, unsure of how to proceed.

“A…husband?” Adelia looked from Elena to Caldwell, trying to catch his gaze, but he ignored her. After her terrible blunder the night before she knew that she was in no position to contest this damaging challenge to Miss Castellanos’ candidacy in front of everyone, but she would have hated to lose this promising addition to their house before even a little taste. Adelia cleared her throat and smiled reassuringly at the young woman. “I am sure there is some explanation to this misunderstanding,” she said softly. Elena looked at her.

“I am afraid that Mr. Dawkins is right,” she said slowly. What use was it to deny the truth now? “Mr. Wesley Gilmore is my husband, I married him in Smyrna a little more than a month ago…” Adelia took a deep breath, and Elena, sitting up very straight, looked straight at Mr. Dawkins. “In fact, my husband is the reason I am here. He asked for my hand in marriage and my father, excited at the prospect of a better life for me in London, agreed. We were wed.” A hint of a blush spread over Elena’s delicate features as she paused, hoping that her silence was indication enough that the marriage had been consummated. “But as it turned out, Mr. Gilmore never intended to live with me as my husband. He abandoned me in a London hotel as soon as we got here. He took my dowry, and the money my father had given us.” Adelia had to stop herself from taking the young woman’s hand in hers in sympathy. This lovely creature’s fate was even more tragic than she had at first guessed. “I am not sure if his name really is Mr. Wesley Gilmore, or if he owns a successful business and a large estate.”

Elena did not expect pity from Mr. Dawkins, but it was important to her that he understood that she had never intended to mislead him and his associate. “So as to your question, Mr. Dawkins. I suppose you are right to worry, and that my “husband” might return to stake such a claim. However, I highly doubt that he has any interest in ever seeing me again. I know very little of him, but I do now that he is a coward.”

Caldwell nodded thoughtfully as he listened to Elena’s confirmation that she was in fact still married and the whereabouts of her husband were presently unknown, even to her. It was not ideal—unseemly even, but Caldwell found himself feeling oddly reassured that she’d been honest enough to own her shame. At least in portion. He scribbled something on the paper in front of him and then shuffled more pages about.

“Hm, so you feel as if you’ve been taken advantage of. I’ll confide that your husband’s name is not one known to me—as it likely would be if he were the owner of a successful business or a large estate,” Caldwell finished shuffling papers and made some more scribbled notes on the page now on top, “in all likelihood, your intuition is correct and you’ve been the victim of a scam. If it could be proven, that he’d married you under a false name for instance, it could go a long way toward getting an annulment from the Church.”

Caldwell looked up from his notes, leaning back in his chair as he laid down his pen and raised his coffee cup to his lips. He spent an uncomfortable amount of time staring at her like that, through the steam rising from his cup and over the porcelain rim, edged in gold—like his eyes were conjuring a sickle of light that at any moment might cut Elena in half if he willed it so.

“You are beautiful, to be sure,” Caldwell muttered into his coffee before setting the cup back in the saucer, “what is it that you’re hoping for from us here at Dawkins House? Do you hope to achieve the rank and status that your ne’er-do-well husband gave pretense to? Or do you simply wish to escape back to your homeland? My associate’s husband is a dry goods merchant with a fleet of ships at his command and still more seafaring professionals owing him favors—we could find you passage back to your home without much trouble and at almost no expense.

“So I suppose what I’m asking is, what would keep you here if you had the option to leave? We do not keep prisoners here, nor are we in the business of badgering the church for single-party annulments so as to tax our already tenuous relationship with them. Did you come here with the intention of running away or did you come here intending to stand your ground and fight?”

An excellent question that Elena had, until now, never given any thought to. The anxious and lonely days at the guesthouse had been filled with daydreams of returning to Smyrna, with the hope that her family would welcome her back, and that she would eventually return to her old life and forget about Wesley Gilmore. Now, with the possibility of being granted passage back home, she found herself hesitant. She lowered her eyes, unable to withstand Mr. Dawkins’ inquisitive stare. What was it that she wanted?

Adelia seized onto the pause. “My dear Miss Castellanos, my husband would indeed be delighted to be of service to you. And rest assured that the journey would be in all comfort.” She smiled. “However, if you wish to redress the outrage that has been done to you, allow me to offer my services instead. I am sure that this man can be found, and that, should you wish it, he would be brought to justice.” To her it was clear that a woman such as Elena chased neither status nor riches, and that the only way to convince her to stay was to offer her something altogether more valuable: revenge. How perceptive of Caldwell to let her glimpse that possibility.

“I have to admit that I had very few expectations upon my arrival,” Elena said in a low voice. “I was desperate and alone, and I don’t know anyone in this city.” She stared at her interlaced fingers on the table. “To be quite honest, I thought that all I wanted was to put this awful place and everything that has happened here behind me.” Another pause. Adelia held her breath. Elena raised her gaze to meet the steely eyes of Mr. Dawkins. “Though simply running away now appears like an unseemly thing to do. I have no expectations of you and your house, Mr. Dawkins, and how could I dare to, but if you offer me, how shall I put it, satisfaction…” Here, Adelia had to hide a smile behind her coffee cup, “…I would gladly accept.”

Caldwell made no attempt to hide his expression behind his coffee cup this time. He smiled whole-heartedly in a way that reached his eyes when Elena said the word “satisfaction.” For the first time since she’d arrived, he allowed himself to be swept up in her beauty and overall charm. She would make quite the addition to his house if she could play by the rules, it was clear to everyone, but he needed to know that she wanted to stay.

“Satisfaction, quite so,” Caldwell smiled, making a final note in her file and closing it shut, “I’m glad that you understand. While my partner here is confident that she could deliver you direct vengeance, I’m more concerned with restoring your place in society. If you were to convert, for instance, to Roman Catholicism—and if it can be proven that this man married you under an assumed name, under some other church’s tradition, we might not even need an annulment and furthermore, you might find yourself restored to high-society by the right associations. You might return home as a lady or a duchess—if your charms work as well on my clients as they do on my associates.”

Caldwell let one hand run up Adelia’s inner thigh below the table, caressing her leg even through the layers of fabric of her dress.

“It was a genuine pleasure, Miss Castillanos,” Caldwell smiled, creasing Adelia’s dress between her legs before standing up and extending the same hand to Elena, “if you may, please make yourself comfortable in the Parlour. The girls would be delighted to bring you anything you might like to eat or drink. We will call you back after the other interviews are completed. I appreciate your candor in speaking with us about difficult subjects. Kitty! Please show Miss Castillanos to the Parlour and then you may begin fixing breakfast. Lucy will help you if you need it.”

This was perhaps a large leap, putting Kitty in charge of preparing a meal not only for Caldwell and Adelia but also prospective tenants of Dawkins’ House, but she needed to learn sooner or later. With the prospect of the party looming, Caldwell was becoming increasingly anxious that he’d been too complacent in the education of both Kitty and Nora who he estimated as ill prepared for the roles that new arrivals would force them into.

“Nora, please come refresh our coffees,” Caldwell called over his shoulder once Elana had been shown off, he’d noticed Nora’s increased attention and furtive glances, the extra color in her cheeks—he wanted to know what her issue was before continuing with interviews, lest her distracted focus create more problems for him, “it’s just us here now, Nora. You seem to have something on your mind this morning. Would you care to unburden yourself?”

Caldwell held out his empty cup to her, waiting to discover what could be keeping her so distracted. Without a word, Caldwell sent Lucy to forestall the next interview a moment longer with a pointed glance and a motion of his head when she poked her face into the great room. He then shifted his expressive blue eyes back to Nora, eager to hear what it was she was so timid to inquire about.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nora was uncomfortable at being made to ask Mr. Dawkins in front of his associate, Mrs. Mortimer, whom she did not quite trust. However, it could not be helped, and this was her best chance to get the request of her chest. She carefully filled both coffee cups, careful not to spill a drop, and took a deep breath.

“Last night, during my research in your library…,” Nora said hesitantly. She wanted to avoid having to mention the scandalous book she had come across but did not quite know how. Adelia threw a furtive glance at Caldwell, intrigued that he had let the girl use his usually well-guarded sanctuary so freely. Nora cleared her throat, annoyed at her own nervousness. After all, Mr. Dawkins was an open-minded, progressive man, she was sure of it, and would not find it unseemly that she showed interest in science. She began again. “Before my…before I came here I had hoped to enter medical school,” she said softly, unable to look either of the two in the eyes. “I have always wanted to learn more about the art of medicine, cure illnesses…well…and yesterday evening Violet told me about a Dr Winchester? Who is a patron of this house?”

Adelia started coughing. “My excuses,” she sputtered. “The coffee was hotter than I expected. Please do go on.” It seemed that Violet needed a lesson in confidentiality. Had she forgotten the most important house rule? How much had the silly girl shared with Nora? She shot a worried glance at Caldwell. Nora continued: “Violet told me that Mr. Winchester is a respected doctor, and a renowned scholar.” Her eyes met that of Mr. Dawkins. “And I was wondering, Sir, if this is not too bold a request so early in my education here, if you might find it appropriate to introduce us. I would be so glad to meet a man such as him. And maybe…I don’t know…maybe I could be of use to him. As a student. Because as you said…after…after what happened I want nothing better than to be of use again.” Nora blushed a deep crimson. Not only because her request, said out loud, sounded preposterous, but because this was only half the truth. Of course, she wanted to meet the renowned doctor, and of course she would love to study the art of medicine, but the real reason behind her request now seemed like a betrayal. “I hope I haven’t insulted you with such a wish.”

Adelia put down her coffee cup and looked at Caldwell. Now here was an interesting prospect that she was unsure what to think of. Dr Winchester! Was his doubtlessly astonishing medical career really all that Violet had told Nora about him? Or had the girl come across more than just scholarly tomes in Caldwell’s library? Maybe he was able to make sense of this rather unexpected request. Outside in the parlour, Adelia could already hear the new arrivals, the excited chatter of a girl and the hesitant replies of her companion, and Violet’s calm voice asking them to be patient for just another moment. There was not much time for discussion, and she was curious what Caldwell would say.

***

Kitty carefully placed the cup and the plate in front of Elena, beaming at her. “I am so happy that you will join us here,” she said, while filling the cup with tea. “You will like it here.” Elena smiled at the girl, relieved that she could stay in Dawkins House, and amused by the lovely girl’s unbridled enthusiasm. It had been so long since she’d been around such cheerfulness. “Thank you,” she said, taking a sip of the hot tea. “I am very grateful.”

Elena had insisted that she would join Kitty in the kitchen and help her prepare breakfast for everyone else. If she was to live here now, she wanted to make herself useful as quickly as possible. It let like she had wasted so much precious time already. “If you like, I can show you how to make a Smyrna breakfast,” she offered. Kitty nodded. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Caldwell’s mouth pursed up into a kind of grimace at the mention of medical school once again—he’d already been worried that he’d coddled both Nora and Kitty too much in the days and weeks prior. Kitty ought to at least be comfortable sucking cocks by now and Nora ought to be able to take on clients of her own by now—yet she seemed every bit the naïve young thing she had been upon her arrival at his door.

“Perhaps it was a mistake to allow you unrestricted access to my library, sweet Nora. Medical school indeed—” Caldwell’s tone made it clear that this should be the last mention of medical school he hoped to hear from Nora.

“While I feel responsible to inform you that your ambitions are folly, women cannot be doctors—they haven’t the constitution for it. Dr. Winchester would tell you so himself if you were foolish enough to let it slip to him what you intend, however, if you can keep your more grandiose ambitions to yourself, I do believe that Dr. Winchester would enjoy your company.”

For a moment Caldwell hesitated, imagining just how much he might enjoy her company, behind locked doors and betwixt bedsheets. It almost felt too cruel, sending this innocent lamb to the table of that psychological butcher—but had he not just feared from coddling her? Perhaps this was the best possible solution, let Winchester expose Nora to the harsher side of life at Caldwell House while also injecting some steel into her spine. Time spent with Winchester was sure to make the needs of subsequent suitors seem tame by contrast.

She was, after all, asking for it.

“If you can promise not to mention any of your personal ambitions, aside from finding a respectable husband, and commit fully to indulging the desires of Dr. Winchester without hesitation or argument, I would be very glad to arrange such a meeting.” Caldwell assented at last turning back to the table, “just be very careful around that man, Nora. He can be every inch as cruel as he is brilliant. While I do want you to satisfy him, I’d not see you hurt. If you must, cry out for help and help will come. I believe in you, Nora. I do not lend you this task lightly and hope not to regret it.”

With that, Caldwell returned to his notes and scribbled something on a pad which he closed again afterward.

“Violet, you may bring in the next applicant.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

Adelia delicately put the coffee cup back on the saucer, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. Was Caldwell as puzzled as she about this most unexpected request? She noticed, as Nora surely must have, that he was visibly displeased about her desire to enter medical school. Her otherwise so open-minded lover did not think much of overambitious women, whereas she, Adelia, felt sympathy for Nora. Having forever been relegated to the position of wife and mistress, she admired the girl’s aspiration to become a doctor, a profession that was still dominated, as so many other fields in this world, by men who jealously guarded that privilege.

But Caldwell was right: There were likely very few men who did so as strictly as Winchester.

Surprisingly, Nora did not argue. Surely a girl as well-read and informed as her knew all about the London School of Medicine for Women that had been founded by Dr. Elizabeth Garrett Anderson a few years prior, but Adelia could not help but notice that she did not bat an eyelid at Caldwell’s rather condescending comment about women being too frail to become doctors. The assumption that they lacked the brains to study medicine was of course implied. Adelia started to wonder if the girl’s curious request was really about her professional ambitions at all. But what else would drive her to ask for an introduction to Dr. Winchester, a man who was feared and dreaded by almost all the women who had met him? Was it possible that Violet was trying to trick her and had told her rosy stories about the man in order to rid herself of the burden of having to serve and satisfy him? Petty rivalries were common amongst the girls, but Violet had neither the courage nor the brains to think of such a devilish scheme.

What, then, could be Nora’s motivation?

Adelia had a vague notion of how Nora had come to be a lodger at Dawkins House, and she knew that the girl had been a governess in the Hammersmith household before. From what she had been able to gather, both from Caldwell and bits of information gleaned from conversations with Kitty, it seemed highly unlikely that Nora would seek Winchester’s company if she knew about his tastes and preferences. Even Adelia had never been admitted to his Society’s meetings, neither as a spectator nor as a participant, but she had a rather clear idea of the things these rich men and their sons indulged in. A girl as fragile as Nora, who had been the victim of male violence before, would not last long at their mercy.

She assumed that Caldwell was similarly hesitant, but she also knew that he would not dare to refuse Winchester anything, and in the end Nora was a girl as all the others. Certain sacrifices had to be made if Dawkins House was to prosper. So, she remained silent, but made a mental note to press her lover on the matter later. Maybe he knew what Nora could have come across in the library, and what might have motivated her to ask for this dangerous introduction.

After the girl had left, Violet entered with the next two interviewees in tow. As they had arrived together and from the same house, they probably assumed that they would either both be admitted to the house, or not at all. What a curious pair the two made! It was impossible to imagine two more different girls: whereas one was shy and obviously uncomfortable to be there, the other was rather frivolous and already openly trying to flirt with Caldwell. Adelia threw an amused glance at her lover. This interview promised to be entertaining.

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

((Collaborated works of UnHolyPimpHand & Curious_Muse))

Caldwell was dismayed at the arrival of dual applicants—a practice heretofore unheard of until Nora had come with Kitty. The urgency of their situation and the aspect of Kitty’s innocence—how such a treasure could be leveraged, had moved Caldwell to admit them together. In the time since, their codependency and general complications with both of their development did little to commend the practice of admitting applicants in pairs.

Two files were spread open across the desk as the girls were brought in and seated across from Caldwell and Adelia. Closer up it was clear that the sketches Caldwell had commissioned of the girls didn’t do full justice to their beauty. The one called Evie had a mirthful haze of deviousness behind her eyes while the other, Alice carried a wide-eyed seriousness that made her stunningly beautiful in her sheer potential.

It seemed that the sweet looking one, Evie was notoriously amorous and Alice had sought to win favor with the mistress of their prior workplace by exposing her exploits. The plan had backfired and both had been evicted in disgrace—none would hire Evie out from under the cloud of scandal and no respectable house staff would allow Alice to be brought on.

It begged the question of Alice’s chastity in his mind.

“You two have come to be interviewed together, though the notes of your files seem to imply that you’re somewhat… at odds. Let’s suppose that I can only take on one of you,” Caldwell began, his tone measured yet firm, “speak only to why the other would be a poor choice. I’ll hear more from the one with a more compelling argument against the other.”

*-*-*

Alice sat frozen at Mr. Dawkins’ request. She wished for nothing more than to finally rid herself of Evie’s company, and she rather liked the idea of that little trollop being sent back out onto the streets, for once unable to charm her way past her many transgressions. There were a million reasons she could have given as to why Evie should not be admitted to this house, but to say them out loud in front of this distinguished gentleman and his elegant lady companion? She blushed at the mere thought of it. What would it say about her if she stooped so low? Alice looked from Caldwell to Adelia, and back at the hands folded in her lap, her throat tight with shame. Finally, when the silence and Evie’s mocking stares became too much, she whispered: “Mr. Dawkins, you are mistaken. Evie has been a good and hard worker in the Mayfair household. She has been led astray by an evil man is all. I have not one bad word to say about her…”

She was interrupted by a snort. Evie had tried to contain herself, but this was just too much. “Mr. Dawkins, there you have the reason why you shouldn’t let Alice here into this house! What a hypocrite,” she laughed. “That girl hates me. The only reason that she doesn’t tell you what she really thinks is that she is too prim and uptight! Alice hates all that is joyful, she is boring and a tattle tale at that.”

Alice sat open-mouthed, unable to believe what she just heard. But Evie was undeterred. “Alice is a little goody two shoes who thinks she is better than me, only because she was not as loved as me in the Mayfair house.”

*-*-*

Caldwell just leaned back in his chair, glancing over to Adelia to confirm that she was indeed thinking the way he was. It was almost too easy sometimes—or perhaps he was getting better at sorting out the girls with potential versus those who would cause him problems down the line. Regardless, this interview had yielded more than enough for him to make a clear decision.

Caldwell set down his coffee cup and gently took Evie’s slender hand between both of his gently, like he was sheltering an injured bird. He looked deep into her eyes.

“My dear, Evie… Are you familiar with the judgment of King Solomon?” at that, Caldwell released her hand abruptly, grabbed his rubber stamp and slammed it down inside Alice’s open profile, “no, I don’t imagine so—otherwise you might have thought twice about denigrating your companion here. You swung the sword and in doing so punched her ticket into Caldwell house. Alice, I bid you welcome. You may go relax in the parlour with the others. Evie, I thank you for your application, but you will not be admitted at this time. We should have applications again in one month’s time. Thank you.”

Evie seemed much better suited to life as a common parlor-maid or a whore. The girl seemed plenty amorous for that type of work and perhaps she could fit in with others like herself. She was hardly Dawkins’ House material, though.

Unless she could show him something he hadn’t yet considered.

“Adelia, my love. Who is next?”

*-*-*

Alice, who had held her breath, was almost faint with relief when Mr. Dawkins announced that she would be the one allowed to stay in his house. “Thank you, Mr. Dawkins,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. If he had refused her, she would have been out in the street, reduced to begging or worse.

Evie, however, was uncharacteristically quiet. She sat very still, her lips pressed together in an expression of disbelief and defiance. It was maybe the first time for her that her sassy charm had not gotten her what she wanted, and she was stunned. How could this man prefer that boring, prim girl over herself? Had she not clearly communicated, with her eyes, her smile, a flirtatious sway of her hips, that she was willing to repay him with pleasure of the flesh if he only admitted her to Dawkins House? Had he maybe not understood, had she been too subtle?

Summoning all the audacity she could muster under the circumstances, she put her hand on that of Mr. Dawkins when he closed the leather folder in front of him. “Sir…,” Evie said softly. “Please don’t send me away. I was foolish to talk badly about sweet Alice here, and believe me, it was only in jest that I said these things…” She managed to produce a single tear that slid down her porcelain cheek. “I promise that I’d be willing to do anything…really anything, to be allowed to stay here.”

Alice looked at her in horror but said nothing. Adelia raised a brow and smiled. While she fully agreed with Caldwell that Evie was more suited for a career in a common whorehouse, the girl’s utter shamelessness and her talent for deceit intrigued her. But was that enough? She exchanged a glance with her lover. After all, girls like Evie also presented a real danger for the reputation and image of their house.

“Please don’t send her away.” This time it was the lovely Alice who spoke up. Despite her anger, despite everything she had suffered because of Evie and her lack of all decency, she was surprised not to feel any joy at the prospect of the girl being thrown out into the street. Maybe an upstanding gentleman like Mr. Dawkins could make a proper woman of her yet? Maybe she was not beyond all redemption. “She has a good heart, Sir, despite her faults.”


*-*-*

Caldwell captured Alice’s gaze at once, his blue eyes almost sparkling with admiration—the girl’s generosity was practically boundless, truly biblical in scale. He wrested his hand from Evie’s clutch without hardly sparing her a glance, taking both of Alice’s hands in his own.

“Dear lady, you show more kindness than is required. Does she hold some secret leverage over you that you importune yourself even in the face of her derision? Can’t you see plainly that she would not show such kindness to you if the roles were reversed?”

Finally, Caldwell sighed and looked back to meet Adelia’s gaze. He knew before even looking that spark of desire in her eyes would be smoldering—and so it was. It was unsurprising that Adelia wanted Evie—it was oddly impossible not to want her, eager and unburdened by shame as she was. But the unavoidable truth was that shame was the foundation upon which Dawkins’ House was built.

“Very well, I shall allow your companion here another opportunity to prove herself worthy—but know this. Her actions and behavior are now your responsibility as well. Whatever she does, from this point forward will reflect on you. Truly a senseless risk for someone who’s place is already so tenuous… but it’s a risk you’re free to make,” Caldwell released Alice’s hands somewhat ominously, “I already have two dates confirmed for the celebration tonight, but under the circumstances, I can bring you as well. As my date you’ll be expected to socialize and entertain my guests—without flirting or making attempts to seduce them. To do so would shame you, me and Alice here. If you behave yourself as an impeccable lady, I’ll continue to gauge your worthiness. If the sun comes up and you remain in Dawkins’ House by then, I’ll stamp your residency papers. If at any point during the evening or early morning you are asked to leave, I will expect that you will never return.”

With this, Caldwell stacked the folders and made it clear that he would hear no more on the subject of Evie’s residency by standing up from the table. “Ladies, you must excuse me. I have a throbbing head and must rest. Adelia, I trust that you can admit Ms. Delacroix and advise the new girls what tonight will entail. Evie, you will be welcomed back after dark, until then I charge you to make your own arrangements in readying for tonight. Think of it as part of your trial.”

Caldwell gathered up the folders of paperwork on the table and gave a final nod of farewell before ascending the stairs toward his bedchamber.

“Send Lucy up after a while to rub my shoulders,” Caldwell asked over his shoulder as he was ascending, “I’m sure her outfit still fits the same.”

Readying for the Introductory Reception meant mostly getting the new girls measured and dressed for the theme which was always a masquerade—patterned after Greek mythology. The girls, new and old, would be dressed in white linens, with small unremarkable masks—not unlike togas, yet more modern in provocation. Their sashes would reflect their status in the house. New arrivals wore sky blue sashes, Elena, Alice and would wear such adornments after being thoroughly fitted for their togas. Nora and Kitty would move up to navy sashes, indicating their senior position in the house. Violet would wear a purple sash, being most senior aside from Lucy—who would for the first time, embellish her white toga with sashes and braids of gold—indicating she was both eligible and entertaining a suitor. As she was.

Much to Caldwell’s dismay, her suitor, Lord Arthur Kent of Buckingham was as young as Lucy and his interest in her was not as a consort or mistress—Arthur genuinely loved her and wished to marry her, in spite of her status.

As much as it might please him, Caldwell could never allow this to happen. To have one of his girls wed to a Lord—the shame it would bring on his house and people—it could spell the end for Dawkins’ House to be seen as a den of harlots seeking to seduce wealthy bachelors.

He needed to temper Lucy’s feelings. He needed to remind her that she was in control and steer her toward a more suitable outcome.

Caldwell sighed as he shed his outer clothes and sprawled onto his expansive bed. He wasn’t lying about the ache in his head. There was so much to worry over and he’d had so little sleep. His consciousness drifted from him in mere moments.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Lucy entered Mr. Dawkins’ bedchamber in an excellent mood. Only this morning a message had arrived, a letter from Lord Arthur Kent of Buckingham, telling her that he was neither able to eat or to sleep, and that he was counting the days until he was able to see her again. That he had not been able to stop thinking of her ever since his last visit to Dawkins House. That she had brought light and beauty into his grey life, and that, no matter what had happened in her past, he was set on making her the Lady Kent of Buckingham.

It was almost too good to be true. Did God really grant her this second chance? Would she finally allowed to be happy?

Lucy had seen the young gentleman in question several times now, and twice she had been allowed to walk with him in the garden of the house. He was everything that her former husband had not been: handsome, soft-spoken, interested in her opinions, and, above all, utterly in love with her. She was barely able to believe her luck after all the heartbreak and misfortune that had befallen her after her first wedding. Of course, there was the smitten lord’s family to reckon with. Would they accept a disgraced girl, and a commoner, to wed their son? In his letter, Arthur had brushed such worries aside and assured her that they, too, would count themselves lucky to welcome such a priceless flower as Lucy into their family.

Now all she needed was the blessing of Mr. Dawkins to be married to Lord Buckingham. And why would he object? Had he not set up this house to help girls such as her find suitable husbands and leave their shameful pasts behind them, no matter how unjust the accusations against them really were?

She had been too shy to tell Arthur the truth, that she had never been with a man, and that her cruel former husband had refused to believe her and refused to consummate their marriage as a result.

Mr. Dawkins was apparently sleeping, lying on his stomach on top of the duvet, naked from the waist up. Lucy hesitated. She had been told that he wanted her to give him a shoulder rub, which surely meant that he had been pleased with the shave she had given him earlier. The girl allowed herself to admire his well-formed back, rising and falling softly with his breathing. Should she wake him? Bending down, softly placing her hands on his shoulders, she whispered: “It’s me, Lucy.”

***

Ms. Henriette Delacroix looked over the piece of fabric she was holding up, wondering about the girls. The seamstress had outfitted many balls at Dawkins House, but this time an unusual nervous gloom seemed to hang over the room. Henriette squinted at the stiches she had just completed.

“This should do, dear. Why don’t you try it on?”

Alice took the garment from her with an absent-minded smile. The soft-spoken brunette barely paid Henriette any heed as she draped the toga around her. Instead she anxiously eyed her lively companion, who was busy whirling around in front of a large mirror, admiring flashes of her shapely naked legs each time the delicate fabric rose up. When she caught Alice’s eye watching her, Evie winked.

“This girl doesn’t know how to behave like a lady,” Alice whispered unhappily. “She will shame us both tonight.”

The seamstress, who was tugging at an unruly piece of thread, looked up at the girl.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Mr. Dawkins has graciously allowed us both to stay here, but only under the condition that I take responsibility for Evie’s behaviour. If she doesn’t refrain from improper conduct, we will both be thrown out.” Alice was close to tears now.

There was a brief pause, as Henriette bit off the remaining end of thread, a finishing touch.

“In that case you might want to make sure that your friend makes the acquaintance of Dr Winchester tonight.” The seamstress sounded casual, but Alice heard a hint of acid mockery in her voice.”

“Why? Who is he?”

“I have never met him myself, but I have it on good account that if anyone will be able to tame a tart like her, it will be the good doctor.”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Caldwell shifted slightly as Lucy’s delicate whisper in his ear roused him from his sleep. He hummed into the pillow for a moment, gathering his wits about him, placing her as his proudest protégée and not a welcome lover. He briefly had an impulse to kiss her until he fully realized himself and who was waking him.

“Yes, thank you,” Caldwell turned over to face her, keeping his chest and stomach pressed against the bed, “I’m glad to see you. It’s a big night as I recall for your relationship with Lord Kent. I wanted to tell you how proud I am of the proper lady you’ve become in our care and I wish you all the prosperity your heart or the heavens could ever offer. Go ahead and straddle my hips if you please—I’ve a pain just inside of my shoulder blade.”

There was an odd mixture of emotions going through Caldwell as he contemplated Lucy’s departure from Dawkins’ House. She had been an exemplary pupil and always carried herself like a lady—regardless of the situation. She’d once even publicly brought Dr. Winchester to task when the doctor tried to take overmany liberties with her at a party. Her boundaries were respected without exception, thereafter.

There was a great deal of mystery surrounding Lucy’s chastity, which had been the cause of her first marriage’s downfall. She swore to still be chaste—but admitted that her maidenhead was no longer with her. Was such a thing even possible?

Caldwell wanted very much to believe her, nothing about her made him doubt her sincerity—but there must have been something she wasn’t telling—perhaps something she herself didn’t even know. If it was true, and her word could be taken as fact, she made a perfectly adequate match to the Lord Kent—her beauty and grace worthy of a Lady, even if her social status left something to be desired.

If—on the other hand—doubt emerged about her chastity, however…

“I only hope that you may restrain your wildest hopes in case his family does not approve. His Lady Mother still lives and may have cause to wish another match for her only son. I’ll do all that I might to improve your chances, but I must ask you now… would you still desire to live with Lord Kent, even if it wasn’t as his wife? Do you love the man enough to be his mistress? I ask, not for an answer, but only so that you may find the answer within yourself—and I’ll pray that the decision won’t matter.”

Caldwell arched his body on the bed, easily lifting Lucy’s petite body with him and swiftly turning himself over, wanting to look into Lucy’s massive, blue eyes when he told her.

“In the interest of improving your prospects, I have laid aside a sum of one thousand pounds sterling to serve as your dowry—a modest but respectable sum for marriage to such a lordly gentleman as Kent,” Caldwell gathered his hands around Lucy’s smaller ones, bringing them up to his lips and kissing her fingertips gently, “I love you no less than I might a daughter of my own, Lucy. I would wish you to want for nothing.”

*-*-*

By nightfall, every candle, lantern and sconce was lit and bathing the already impressive main hall in golden, flickering light. At the center of the domed room stood a tower of crystal glasses which reached to the second story, already being cascaded with several glittering bottles of champagne—appearing almost diamond clear in the gold light.

The wood and leather trim of the main Parlour was strung with cloth leaves and imitation vines—glutting forth bundles of fresh, ripe, real grapes in red and green. At the back of the Parlour, a stone fountain (which typically resided in the garden) had been scrubbed thoroughly and filled with a sweet, red port wine that cascaded down the stone body of Bacchus—depicted as a roguish toddler pouring a carafe over his head, crowned in grape clusters and vines where the pouring wine joined the rest in the basin.

The house staff was increased four times over—which meant that some of the cooks and maids were subcontracted from other houses. It wasn’t coincidence that the majority of overflow staff were hired from Alice and Evie’s former residence.

The food was still being prepared so that it might be served hot when the guests were there to see it—but the place settings were all being set up. Spun sugar and sculpted chocolates, painted by hand to resemble busts of the Greek Pantheon and bundles of golden grapes. At another table, a stuffed pheasant on the wing bared its spurs at a pure chocolate Artemis, standing tall with her bow drawn. No hint of fear in her painted face, with pomegranate seeds in a carpet underfoot. At another table, a duck-liver pate Hercules wrestled against the claws of a cooked, emptied and rearranged lobster shell. Sprigs of rosemary yielded to the ferocity of their staged combat.

So it was all around the main hall, vast settings of garde manger and charcuterie set up and awaiting the arrival of the main dishes, still being cooked. The center of the hall was left bare to serve as a dance floor and the whole scene was overlooked by the towering chandelier, which held hundreds of candles—all reflecting and refracting their light off of mirrored tiles in the dome and through dangling crystals of the chandelier itself.

The scene was truly a spectacle to behold.

No less impressive was Caldwell himself, emerging from his bedchamber in full regalia. He was Zeus, king of the gods and his white vest was sewn with lightning bolt patterns of actual gold, wrought into threads. His pants bore the same pattern and his tan colored overcoat had no sleeves, allowing his silken dress shirt to be seen, along with his lightning bolt cufflinks. He truly looked like a God. His dates would be Hera and Leda—the mortal Zeus seduced in the guise of a swan.

“To my new residents, please come over. Lay aside whatever you’re doing, the servants can handle the rest,” Caldwell gathered the girls together—all dressed alike, with stylish variations and synching cords that indicated seniority within the house, “tonight, you girls are the guests of honor and everyone who comes tonight will be eager to meet you and know you better. You should greet everyone and pay particular attention to gentlemen who arrive without dates. You should be available, but not needy. You should compose yourselves as ladies at all times while being available for dancing, conversation and general hosting duties whatever they may be. If you feel uncomfortable, confronted or unsafe, let myself, Adelia or one of the more experienced girls know.”

Caldwell reached into his suede, sleeveless coat where he retrieved the masks which the girls would wear, passing the stack of starched lace masks to Lucy first.

“I’m very proud to have each of you here tonight. I hope you will make me prouder still with your behavior as my hostesses. The first guests should be arriving soon, please, make yourselves comfortable.”

Caldwell slid on his porcelain, half-face Zeus mask, crowned with bolts of polished 24k gold. He stopped to gently kiss Lucy on the top of her head as he passed the line of girls down the staircase into the hall. He took a moment to ensure that the ice sculpture of Poseidon landed safely on the table where goose-liver-Hercules continued to wrestle the red, hollow lobster.

It was then that the first guests arrived. Closest to the door, Caldwell answered it himself, half expecting to know who the early arrivals were.

“Welcome home, Princess,” Caldwell grinned, barely getting the door open before the beautiful woman in exquisite, cream-colored silks dove at Caldwell’s chest, clinging around his waist desperately, “ah ha! I’ve missed you too, Lady Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth Hollingsworth was one of Dawkins’ House’s earliest and most notable successes. She’d come to them as Liz Shay, daughter of a barkeep who’d been disgraced by one of his patrons and who suffered further from the damage done to her reputation. Her father was sympathetic—but the bar was less able than Liz to endure the sting of public censure. In spite of her birth and her lost innocence, she was happily wed to Lord Shane Hollingsworth. Liz appreciated that he demanded little of her in the bedroom and Shane appreciated that she allowed him his extramarital endeavors—without judgment.

Shane was like many well-born young men, developing a taste simply for “more” without overmany concerns over what. Rumors had been circulating that he had sucked the cock of a valet while visiting among society—but his marriage to Elizabeth put an end to all that, even without ceasing to pay visits to the valet.

“Oh don’t tease me, Caldwell,” Lizzie gasped, “you look divine!”

“You’re quite the sight yourself, though not quite as eye-catching as your goodly Lord. How are you, Shane?”

“Save the small talk for my wife, Dawkins,” Shane (or perhaps Narcissus) held out his gloves for a span of perhaps three seconds before letting them go, not looking after where they went after that, “I’d like to inspect the new livestock.”

“The girls would be all too happy to meet you, I’m sure.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nora watched the evening unfold from a corner of the parlour. What a spectacle. She nervously adjusted her mask, aware that she, just like all the other girls who lived in Dawkins House, were on display tonight, and not just as a testament to the London bourgeoisie’s charity.

Not that most of them seemed to mind. Lucy looked more radiant and happier than she had in weeks, and Nora wondered what had caused this miraculous transformation. She had not failed to notice the tender exchange between Mr. Dawkins and his charge and assumed that the shy girl had finally managed to get the attention from him that she had so obviously craved for so long. Elena, the Greek girl, was obviously used to and comfortable in settings like these. She was Grace itself, easily striking up conversations, never vulgar, never unsure of herself. Both male and female guests were seeking her presence, and Elena, dressed up as Hebe, enjoyed the admiration she had gone without for so long.

Nora had wanted to take the mask of Artemis but decided that such a choice would have been a little on the nose, and besides, it would send the wrong signal to the man she hoped to meet tonight. Hers was the mask of Nemesis. Nora had to choose between protecting Kitty and getting revenge over the men who were responsible for her situation, and she had decided that her friend was in safe enough hands, for now. Would she, Nora, be safe? She recalled what Caldwell Dawkins had said about the doctor. That he was “every inch as cruel as he was brilliant”, and she wondered, again, if this judgement referred, on both accounts, to the Society she had read about in the library.

None of these thoughts were reflected in her appearance, though. The seamstress and her assistant had transformed Nora into a true goddess, straight-backed and beautiful. Even Lucy had to admit that she looked stunning, fierce in her beauty, and yet there was a dark shadow hanging over her, a feeling of foreboding that she was unable to shake.

Kitty, on the other hand, could not stop smiling. Giddy and almost literally glowing with joy, she scanned the parlour with an open mouth. In the house of her former employers, she had only ever been able to glimpse the glamour of a soirée on the very rare occasions that a task briefly removed her from the drudgery of the kitchen, and even then she had been expected to remain invisible to the guests. And the Hammersmiths had never hosted such an evening, had never indulged in such splendour! She could not stop marvelling at the beautifully arranged delicacies, at the many lights, the artful place settings. And the ladies and gentlemen that had started to arrive! Kitty found herself staring.

“If you’re not careful, you’ll swallow a fly,” Violet, walking past, teased her. The girl, usually somewhat sombre and maladroit, had transformed into a pretty forest nymph, playful and confident, and fully at ease at welcoming new guests. Kitty watched her as she offered a lone gentleman a glass of champagne, clinking her glass to his, never fumbling, never blushing behind her half-mask.

Kitty desperately wanted to be able to do that as well. Mr. Caldwell had told her that she had the potential, that she was not a scullery maid any longer, that he believed in her. The girl squared her slim shoulders. How difficult could this be? Just now a man entered the parlour, exquisitely dressed, his face masked like all the others. It was difficult to tell his age from where she stood but he certainly cut an imposing figure. She took a deep breath and walked towards him, set on rehearsing what she had watched Violet do.

“Sir, welcome to Dawkins House. May I offer you my company?” she smiled at him, her eyes bright like stars behind her mask. She held up a glass of champagne. If she was being too forward, surely her enthusiasm would make up for that.

Shadowing her companion, Alice barely had eyes for the beauty of the evening. Why had she agreed to this ill-fated bargain, when Mr. Dawkins had been willing and ready to admit her, Alice, to his house and offered her the opportunity to forever rid herself of that little strumpet whose fault her dismissal had been in the first place? She was uncomfortably aware that several of the footmen had been hired from their former employer, and that at least two of them had prominently featured in one of Evie’s disgusting stories. What if that silly tart got involved with them here? Alice had seen the looks, and knew what they meant, having watched similar exchanges in her old house countless times. So, she kept an eye on Evie, hoping against hope that she would not have to pull that horrible girl out from under the stairs or some other, similarly disgusting place, and from the clutches of one of the servants.

“You don’t have to follow me around the whole time, you know,” Evie now snapped at her. “You’ll chase away all my suitors.”

“Suitors? Have you not heard what Mr. Dawkins told us earlier? These men aren’t suitors, they are his guests, and we are to behave graciously…like ladies.” Alice hated the desperation in her voice. “And we are certainly not here to entertain his employees!”

“Ladies?” Evie chuckled. “Is that what you think you are now? A lady?” She gave Alice a mocking look-over. “We’re no ladies.” She pointed at the expensively dressed women that stood talking in another corner of the parlour. “They are the ladies, and we serve them. Always have, always will. But we might as well have a good time when we can, and if you play your cards right, you might draw the eye of some fancy bloke who will help you do just that.” She winked at Alice. “You look lovely, you know, in your little toga, with your hair up and all. A proper little minx.”

Alice was about to retort when someone touched her shoulder. A tall, blonde woman, her face almost entirely hidden behind an elaborate gold mask. Dark blue silk was draped around her lean figure, accentuating her waist, and setting off the porcelain skin of her naked shoulders. Every inch of her belied her aristocratic birth.

“You are new here.”

It was not a question. Alice blushed, unsure how to respond, and instinctively curtsied. The woman laughed softly, never taking her emerald eyes off the girl.

“He dressed you up as…what? Aura? How intriguing.” She gently caressed her cheek. “And so very pretty.”

Alice did not know who Aura was, and the beautiful woman intimidated her. “Thank you, Madame,” she said timidly, desperately trying to think of what else to say. Mr. Dawkins had asked that she make conversation with his guests and all she managed to do was to gawk at this woman.

“You seem a bit lost,” the woman now said, sounding amused. “Maybe I can help you to find your bearings?”

Evie had seized the opportunity to shake her chaperone. For a moment, Alice feared she had let her escape, but then she saw the blonde girl across the room. She felt faint when she saw that Evie had hiked up her toga, flashing more of her naked calves than the seamstress had intended. She was just tilting her head back to finish her glass of champagne while scanning the room for a man to prey on.

“M..maybe you could help me find a Dr. Winchester,” Alice whispered, recalling what the seamstress had said. “I was told that he might be able to help me.”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Dr. Winchester had to bite his lip to keep from laughing in the sweet, innocent girl’s face. Though her… circumstances prevented him from getting too close to her, he knew Kitty by name and she might have known him too, if not for his low hood and full-faced mask. The mask gave way to a towering, horned helmet that must have cost a small fortune from a uniquely skilled metalsmith. There were long, sweeping, overlapping lines of real gold filigree, inlaid with black and red lacquer. On one side, a depiction of the River Styx with a boatful of coin eyed passengers being ferried to the Underworld. On the other side, a dramatic tableau of Zeus and Hades at war—throughout, accents were made of solid gold, the coins on the passengers’ eyes, the bolt in Zeus’ fist.

“Would that I could accept your lovely company, beautiful girl—” Winchester’s low voice was muffled inside the metallic mask, hood still pulled forward, “but I’ve come for the company of one and all—to bring them across the river Styx that they may accompany me forever—in the Underworld!”

With a broad, almost violent flourish, Winchester threw open his cloak revealing the flame-patterned, red, silk lining and the rest of his exquisite ensemble. The waistcoat was woven of textured silks and the buttons were gold skulls. His shirt was a hazy, irregular grey like dense smoke and the full scale of his helm was awe inspiring once revealed—the horns easily making the helm itself over three feet tall.

The cloak also obscured a collapsing cage that he’d purchased from a magic store, releasing a screech owl—a symbol of Hades, when he opened his cloak. He released the wild bird into the vaulted hall, a creature acquired through some less than legitimate dealings. Lizzie shrieked out loud and clutched onto Caldwell’s sleeve.

The initial shock and terror of Winchester’s arrival gave way to relieved laughter and a spattering of applause as he removed his helm and took a bow. He straightened his hair as he came up smiling. An arm swiftly moved around Kitty’s back, he pulled her close and gave her a tender, sincere kiss by way of thanks.

“You’re a wonderful sport, my beauty. I would be honored to be accompanied by such a beautiful Helen as yourself,” Winchester smiled, leaving his cloak where he’d tossed it on the floor and wrapping his arm around Kitty’s slender shoulders.

He may have been wrong about her costume, but her beautiful, expressive eyes reminded Winchester too much of Helen of Troy to see her as any other.

“Such a shame that you’re so innocent…” Winchester muttered under his breath, scanning Kitty’s more grown up outfit without pretense. She’d been much more covered up at her own debut, “Caldwell, my dear friend! How long has it been? Two nights I think.”

“One can hardly count that foggy crossing of paths as a proper meeting. It’s been weeks since we properly socialized. Champagne?”

“For a start, surely. Are you certain, though that you’ll have enough?” Winchester teased, looking up at the towering pyramid of glittering crystal glasses.

“Better to have and not need, than to need an not have,” Caldwell smirked in reply, picking up a concealed, hollow, tin rod that he used to reach up to the second story and lift one single glass from the top of the tower, using C-shaped prongs at the very end. He turned a reel near the handle which began steadily telescoping the arm back to him where he retrieved the glass and handed it off to his guest.

“A writer’s mind is always inventing,” Winchester chuckled raising a glass to his lips.

“That was quite the stunt you pulled,” Lizzie remarked coldly, still less than thrilled at being frightened by Winchester’s stunt.

“Better to be remembered as a demon than soon forgotten, is it not?”

“Depends on the audience, I suppose,” Lizzie was quite practiced at being unimpressed by Winchester’s antics, the two of them having had a history before she was matched with her husband.

“One of my girls, Nora—you should have met last time you were here. She was hoping to gain an audience with you, at some point. The girl has a curiosity for medicine—even fancies being a doctor one day herself—”

Winchester literally spat his champagne on the floor.

“A woman doctor! Ha ha ha! I think a curious racoon might do less damage—”

“Nonetheless, I’d see her treated kindly.”

“I suppose I can manage—if, that is, my darling Helen here would share me willingly. Which one is she… the Red Nemesis over there?” Winchester pointed and beckoned Nora over.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Lizzie remarked, departing with a sweet kiss on Caldwell’s cheek.

It seemed odd, leaving him there without a date—since it was his vision that made the night possible, but she had no interest in hearing Winchester tear down some poor, naïve girl’s dreams. Instead she followed the smell of opium smoke into the parlour, where her husband was already tipping the long pipe toward a candle at the horseshoe booth at the back of the room.

As she made her way past, she overheard some of the conversation between Alice and Evie, though she didn’t stop or even look back, she continued to listen. Gossip was better than gold among the friends of Dawkins’ House.

She mixed herself a gin and tonic, as the champagne was hardly doing its job. She continued listening from behind the bar and when the two of them split, she followed Evie to the other end of the bar where she began conversing.

“He’s still doing the whole conditional acceptance routine, is he?” Lizzie smiled, sliding her delicate fingers onto Evie’s forearm on the bar, “don’t worry. Caldwell has his ulterior motives—that’s true, but he’s got too much of a heart to ever really turn anyone away. Especially someone as lovely as yourself. You may call me Lizzie, I’m an alumni of this tragic sorority. Don’t let on that I told you, though.”

Lizzie took hold of Evie’s hand, slipping it inside her arm so that the back of her hand glazed against her breast.

“Keep me company for a while, won’t you?”

Lizzie lined up a pair of shot glasses and poured two straight gin shots.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nora froze, at first, when she recognised the man in the impressive helmet and the beautifully stitched costume. She had seen him before at the house, then unaware who he was. At her and Kitty’s debut, he had shown little interest in either of them. And she recognised his features from the album she had leafed through in the library, pictures of him presenting a captivated audience with spectacles of debauchery, cruelty, and shameless pleasure. Nora would have recognised that face anywhere.

Of course he had chosen the God of the Underworld to be his disguise tonight. Taking a deep breath, willing herself not to show any sign of fear or uncertainty, she walked over to him.

“Sir,” she said, slightly bowing her head in greeting, but without showing too much deference. “I am so glad that you could come.” It was important that she acted the part, tonight. Nora did her best to ignore his arm around Kitty’s shoulders, and the blonde girls’ sweetly triumphant smile at her success to charm an important guest such as Dr Winchester. But Kitty was too good of a friend to potentially ruin Nora’s chance of talking freely to the doctor, since she knew how much Nora wanted to enter a medical school.

“It’s not that I am unwilling to share, good Sir,” she said with a theatrical bow. “But I do not dare to come between Hades and Nemesis.” Kitty blushed and left, visibly flustered by the whole encounter. Nora’s heart ached at her innocence. She turned to Winchester. Would he expect her to pretend that what she wanted was professional advice? But to what end? She knew already that all she would get in return was condescension and ridicule. And what were these bloody masks for if not to allow their wearers to be bold?

“I am interested in the London Society of Knowledgeable Gentlemen,” she said without a trace of bashfulness. “And I heard that you are the man to introduce me to that intriguing group.”

Alice had blushed a deep crimson when she realised that the beautiful blonde woman seemed to disapprove of her question. And indeed, Lady Henrietta, Baroness of Gloucester, was wondering what on earth this darling girl would want from a devil like Winchester. “Are you sure that is who you are looking for?” Alice’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I was told he could…maybe…help me.” Henrietta raised an eyebrow. “Or rather…help…my friend.” She looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of Evie, but that horrid girl was nowhere to be seen. “You see, my friend needs some guidance and maybe Dr Winchester could help her?”

Now Henrietta smiled. Evidently that sweet creature’s “friend” was anything but. So this girl, as lovely as she was, was hiding a little demon inside. Something fierce and ruthless enough to feed her foe to a monster. It was a trait that Henrietta found utterly titillating. She put her arm around Alice’s shoulder. “How about I help you instead, my dear?” She knew that the new girls were off limits on the night of their debut, but Caldwell seldomly managed to refuse her anything. “Why don’t we take a walk in the garden?”

Evie dared to glimpse around the corner. That annoying little bitch seemed to be busy in the clutches of some rich lady, likely another bleeding-heart philanthropist out to save wayward girls. She rolled her eyes. “So nice to meet you, Lizzie,” she said, lifting the glass before downing its contents in one gulp. “You seem like someone who knows how to have a good time. Tell me, how did you survive this little house that makes proper ladies?” Evie pushed her empty glass towards the other woman, wanting her to refill it. “Obviously you have managed well, a good marriage and all? Did Mr. Dawkins arrange this for you?”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Dr. Winchester froze in his tracks, eyes abruptly wide at the unfettered gall of the pretty young woman who seemed to know more than she ought. He raised his hand suddenly, as though he might strike her but managed to restrain himself enough that he simply laid his fingertips on her supple, pouty lips.

“We do not speak of such things in public, little dove,” his voice sounded almost tremulous with held back rage, “let us enjoy the party for a while longer, then perhaps we may speak more in private. Discretion is paramount in Society circles.”

He once again wrapped Nora’s slender frame in his arm, leading her over to where Caldwell was distributing glasses from a huge champagne tower. Winchester greeted him with a jovial clap on the shoulder.

“The king of the Gods himself, mighty Zeus—well met, dear brother,” Winchester smiled, eager to resume intellectual jousting with the renowned author, “but where is your Hera? I pray that Charles’ injury has not detained the lovely Miss Adelia.”

“In fact I’m not certain—I had expected her by now, but knowing her, it’s more likely a delay related to the finer touches of her ensemble than her husband’s condition. She’s also bringing a member of her house staff as my guest.”

“Two dates at once—how fitting for one as resplendent as Zeus himself.”

“You mock me, surely. You must have spent a small fortune on your elaborate costume and all its… effects,” Caldwell’s eyes moved upward to where the terrified screech owl had taken up refuge at the top tier of the chandelier—shifting uneasily to try and avoid the heat from the flickering candles below.

Winchester just laughed a belly laugh and took his glass of champagne from Caldwell after handing one to his companion.

“Speaking of birds, this little dove here asked me something quite astonishing—perhaps bordering on alarming.”

“Dear Nora is a curious sort, I’m sure she meant no offense. The poor dear dreams of becoming a medical doctor.”

The sudden impulse to laughter nearly caused Winchester to spit his drink, though discretion wouldn’t allow it. When he’d forced down the liquid, he came up again coughing over his sincere and helpless laugher.

“Is that so, little dove? Is that why you came to inquire about the Society?”

“She inquired about the what?” Caldwell looked shocked.

“Yes, the little thing seems to know more than some first-born sons of Lords.”

“The girl loves to read, she must have discovered some documents in my private study. I ought not have given her such freedom.”

“No, no, be at ease Caldwell. A beautiful dove ought to be free. What say you, little dove? How did you come to be so interested in the Society?”

*-*-*

“Proper ladies,” Lizzie smiled, the words dancing on her lips like a bedtime fairy tale, she downed her shot as though the words were a half-hearted toast, “you know as well as I do that such creatures don’t exist.”

Lizzie wasted no time refilling both glasses.

“My husband, such as he is, has been a useful ally. Much more about him I cannot say for certain. Caldwell has been a useful ally as well, but it would be more accurate to say that the writer uses this place to cultivate fantasies. That of the ‘proper lady’ is a popular one, among the crowd this place usually caters to—it’s also handy camouflage in a pinch,” Lizzie drank again, letting no time pass between refills, “but be reassured—Caldwell does not expect innocence from his wards, merely the semblance thereof.”

Lizzie cast a glance after her husband who was already dull-eyed from opium smoke and seemed to be getting jerked off by a stable hand below the furthest table in the Stable-Side parlour.

“Caldwell depends on the clergy to maintain the image and charitable status of this place—but what the clergy ask in return is seldom piety. In fact, here comes one of God’s chosen now, perhaps he can shed more light on the subject,” Lizzie smiled, filling a third glass.

Father Owens was a portly man, already red in the face from liquor. He entered through the back of the parlour, coming from the stables entrance rather than the garden gate. Most of Caldwell’s guests took carriages to his parties, but Father Owens, being a man of the cloth preferred not to be seen indulging himself needlessly.

“Welcome Father—or is it Poseidon tonight?”

“I’ll answer to any beauty offering me a glass,” the priest slurred faintly, tossing back his gin quickly.

“To the father, the son and the holy spirits,” Lizzie winked before joining him in the drink and refilling the glasses.

“But this is a beauty I’ve not yet beheld,” Owens took Evie’s slender hand in his own, he was still wearing his riding gloves, “have I missed the introductions?”

“No, not yet… it seems the lady of the house is somehow detained. Caldwell would sooner shutter his doors than begin without Adelia—though he’d never admit it. This little beauty is worried that she’s not… proper enough to be accepted here at Dawkins House.”

Father Owens laughed at that before drinking his second shot.

“Have no fear, lovely one. Merely put your faith in the lord and you’ll find that God forgives all kinds,” this last bit was a whisper, as the priest’s gloved hand moved under the already daring hem of Evie’s toga, caressing her soft thigh and firm ass, “if you’d like to give confession, I’m sure I could find us some place in private.”

“Not without me,” Lizzie interrupted, grasping Evie’s arm possessively, “I found her first.”

*-*-*

Lord Arthur Kent did not look at all like one arriving to a party. He wore no costume, instead dressed in typical black-tie attire. His footfalls were heavy, like one on the way to the gallows. His Lady Mother had discovered several of Lucy’s letters to him and from them inferred his intentions to marry her without his mother’s knowledge of the arrangement.

Needless to say, his Lady Mother did not approve.

She had even gone so far to threaten him with disinheritance if he moved forward with his intentions for Lucy. As much as he loved her, Arthur was neigh on powerless in the face of his mother’s disapproval. He’d only been permitted to come tonight with the understanding that he was to break things off with the sweet, blue-eyed, object of his affection…

Arthur felt positively sick as he used his key to enter the garden gate, making his way toward the house. He stopped to cut a white rose with his boot knife and slicing away the thorns from the stem before he made his way to the front door.

A flower for his love, small recompence for his helplessness. He was here to break the heart of the one he loved.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nora understood at once that Mr Dawkins was wary of being found out as the source of her information, no matter how unwittingly he had granted her access to it.

“Oh, the freedom that our gracious host has granted me is only to blame for encouraging my flights of fancy, wanting to study medicine,” she said to Dr Winchester with a coquettish smile, the sharp undertone faint, but detectable. “However, my curiosity for the Society was sparked elsewhere.” Nora waited, hoping to sound as calm as she needed to.

“In my former house of employment, I…made the acquaintance of the young Duke of St. Albans,” she added nonchalantly. “Why..he must have found it amusing to shock the governess by imparting his experiences of the Society.” She managed to laugh, swallowing the bile rising in her throat at the thought of the duke. “I don’t suppose that he has a son, but I bet there are a number of bastards in this city that resemble his lordship.” Nora was astounded at her calm demeanour while uttering such scandalous words about her betters, as if gossiping with the footmen in the manor’s kitchen. It did not matter. She wanted these men to be shocked enough to take her and her request seriously.

***

Adelia, dressed as a magnificent Hera tonight, turned a few heads as she entered the Grand Salon. She was late, and she knew it, and quite enjoyed the attention, the impatient shuffles, and the admiration as she walked into the room.

Her loosely fitted toga, made from fine, pearl-coloured silk, left everything – and nothing – to the imagination. The candlelight danced off her enticing curves and it was clear for everyone who cared to look closer, that this expensive piece of cloth was indeed all she was wearing. Her hair was piled up in loose curls, held only by a thin golden ribbon, and scattered with gold dust. And still she had somehow managed to look every inch a lady of good standing, untouchable and divine.

Her face was hidden behind an intricate golden mask, severe in its features.

Rose, her overly curious chamber maid, was dressed in a costume that was nothing short of scandalous, and the poor girl was obviously very conscious of the looks she attracted, barely daring to lift her eyes from the floor. A skirt that barely covered her knees, decked with white swan feathers and glass stones that reflected the light of the many candles, and a silk corset that left her shoulders and arms nude. This Leda, Adelia was sure, would draw the attention of Zeus and it was only fitting that it was her, his god-like wife, that was bringing her to him to devour.

However, her smile froze on her lips when she caught sight of Lady Henrietta. She had not expected to see her at the house tonight, and her mood soured immediately. While not her rival for Caldwell’s affection – Adelia knew that her interest in marrying the poet had long faded – she was well aware of his lingering yearning for her. She hated that the baroness still succeeded in flustering her, how one of her icily mocking glances was enough to make her loose her countenance. Tonight she could not afford not to shine.

Luckily the baroness had not yet seen her and was apparently on her way to the garden with one of the new girls. Alice, was it? The prim half of the peculiar pair that had arrived in the house. Adelia wondered what the sweet little thing was doing in the clutches of the notoriously debauched noblewoman, but her attention strayed to Caldwell, who was – unlucky again - conversing with Winchester. It was the one guest she did not dare approach, or interrupt, without an invitation to do so.

***

Evie laughed. The good pastor did not even pretend to expect decency from her, and his beady eyes were positively bulging with lecherous hunger. “I do have quite a long list of sins to confess, father,” she said with faux distress, batting her eyelashes at him. It was always useful to count a man of the cloth as one’s grateful ally. (Though Father Martin, the young priest in her old parish, had been shamefully unhelpful when her mother had chased her off, and that despite the two times that she had taken him into her mouth.)

“Lizzy has just given me a short introduction of her own,” Evie continued. “And I swear by all that is holy that I will be the eager and hard-working student that my new master, the good Mr. Dawkins, wants me to be.” As if to underline her dedication, she knocked back another shot of gin. Then she looked around. “But what is it that we are all waiting for?”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Caldwell was visibly relieved to spy Adelia, as he was feeling more than a little outnumbered by Winchester and Nora in that moment. The foolish girl seemed intent on getting herself killed… or worse. Caldwell wanted to defend her, somehow, but he was at something of a disadvantage from being discovered out late the night before with blood on his collar. It was impossible to truly know how much, if anything, Winchester knew about the plot against Charles and the subsequent murder to silence his attacker—but what Caldwell knew for certain was that the man would tell him what he wanted to hear as often as it differed from the truth.

Winchester could lie like the devil, when he pleased. The great irony was that his mask was slipping, so-to-speak. Something about Nora seemed to cut him to the quick and leave him vulnerable—something Caldwell was unsure about the unintended consequences of, both now and in the future.

When Adelia joined them, it was Caldwell who broke the conversation to greet her warmly. He grasped her mask from her face with his index and ring fingers on her pronounced cheekbones and his thumb under her top lip. He balanced the exquisite mask on her voluminous bundle of curls and pulling back his own mask and removing it entirely as he dove into a deep passionate kiss with Adelia. He needed her, this all felt so tawdry without her encouragement.

“My beautiful wife, Hera,” Caldwell smiled, playfully lowering her mask back over her face, “only your beauty could do such justice to immortality. And such a delectable looking companion you’ve brought for me.”

Caldwell had no trouble kissing Rose around her starched lace mask, pulling her bawdily closer by the small of her back. Their arrival gave the perfect opportunity for Caldwell to change the mood of the party, which in his presence, had shifted to something ominous. He turned back to the room, tapping the edge of his champagne glass with a cheese knife.

“Introductions will begin in five minutes.”

*-*-*

“Oh, you poor darling,” Lizzie gently patted the back of Evie’s hand, barely able to contain her laughter, “you don’t know what he has in store for you. He’s going to show you off like a prized mare—you’re going to despise it!”

At this, Lizzie burst into drunken laughter so captivating that even the priest joined in the laughter, though he lacked the experience to truly appreciate what was funny. Lizzie was quite enjoying being an alumnus of Caldwell house and thought that maybe she ought to have her husband purchase a gate key for her exclusive use—just in case she wanted to visit her new friend without trailing him along.

It was then that Caldwell called the group to order by tapping his glass.

“Off you go, little pony,” Lizzie teased gleefully, slapping Evie’s exposed thigh with the back of her hand, imitating a riding crop and mimicking a gallop with her shoulders, “make sure you show off your good teeth and your strong flanks.”

Lizzie couldn’t stop giggling, but she poured three more shots anyway.

“To rare breeding!”

*-*-*

Arthur Kent rushed over to Lucy as soon as he laid eyes on her, his heart swelling in his chest at the sight of her. He kissed her sweetly and gave over the flower he’d cut from the garden. He embraced her like she was saving him from a shipwreck. The urgency of the moment not yet communicated to her.

“Lucy, my darling love! How I’ve missed you!” Arthur kissed her again, this time more passionately—in the French way, “it seems like it has been ages, my love. Please, I must speak with you in privacy.”

Arthur heard Caldwell calling for the introductions—but paid little mind to it. Lucy wasn’t a new arrival. She was practically his wife already in Arthur’s heart, but that wasn’t what counted.

“Where should we go?”

*-*-*

Caldwell instructed the new girls how to line themselves up on the wrapping staircase that bordered the Grand Salon, each girl arranged in a pose that seemed to fit her character in the grand masquerade.

“Welcome, ladies, gentlemen and patrons whose magnificence transcends classification—to the Dawkins’ House 8th Introductions Masquerade. We are delighted to be joined tonight by one of our esteemed alumni tonight—welcome back dear Lizzie.

“As we honor those like Lizzie, who were able to make their way out of ruin with the help of our esteemed facility—we are here to welcome a new generation of young women, eager and brimming with opportunity and enthusiasm—young women, who if not for the help of patrons like you, might face ruin and disgrace on the streets. I could fill hundreds of pages detailing their magnificence—but better that they tell you themselves. Introduce yourselves, ladies.”

They had been instructed to go sequentially down the stairs, from high to low. The Introductions of the Masquerade were quite literal.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Adelia watched the introductions from the side. Caldwell had his arm wrapped around Rose, who, thanks to a couple of glasses of champagne, was more relaxed in her revealing gown. Adelia watched Caldwell’s fingers idly caressing the girl’s upper thigh through the thin fabric. They made such a pretty pair!

But as the murmur in the Grand Salon died down, and the plaintiff melody of one cello announced the start of the Introductions, her attention, like everyone else’s, was drawn to the staircase were the new girls stood in formation, each waiting their turn.

And what a pretty parade it was. The cocky stray – Evie, was it? – was first. She came prancing down the steps, swaying her hips like a dockside whore. Adelia was momentarily worried that the patrons she was supposed to woo tonight would find her too vulgar, too ordinary, but she was pleasantly surprised to realise that the girl’s flirtatious manner, her playful twirls and almost cartoonishly inviting smiles were greeted with enthusiast clapping. It was obvious that the little minx had roused the interest of more than one gentleman present. Maybe Caldwell and she had misjudged the need to hide the House’s real purpose? Maybe this titillating offer, this only thinly-veiled pretence that someone like Evie was in need of recovering her decency, stoked appetites in all the right ways? Adelia still doubted that the girl had been the right pick, but nothing spoke against having her reel in a few more sponsors before sending her off to earn her keep in less exclusive houses.

And the Greek girl! Now there was a true goddess, a woman who knew exactly how to dangle the mere promise of bliss in front of hungry men. Her slight accent, the soft golden shimmer of her skin, the promising curves of her body hidden beneath demure layers of ivory silk, the elegant manner in which she seemed to float down the staircase were all magnificent. Adelia exchanged a quick glance with Caldwell and smiled. A triumph! Adelia watched as several men, and more than a couple of women, scribbled hectically on the small cards they had been given while Elena bowed her head. They would all be rushing to secure a key to her room, and if they were lucky maybe she would even secure one exclusive sponsor.

Caldwell seemed nervous when Nora started to descend the stairs, carefully and deliberately choosing each step. Something had happened prior to her arrival, and she guesses that it had to do with the good Doctor Winchester. If that were so, the witty governess would have to watch more than only her steps. The girl bowed and, while lifting her head again, her eyes seemed indeed glued to the man from behind her mask, daring to meet her gaze. Did she know who she was provoking that way or had ill fate blown her into the sights of one of the most debauched monsters in the city?

Oh, and then sweet Kitty. She was flustered by all the attention, and clearly not used to the open veneration of men. She stuttered timidly through her introduction, blushing wildly behind her mask, her fingers nervously intertwined in front of her chest. Adelia smiled. That alone would motivate a small stampede of lecherous admirers who recognised innocence when it was presented to them on such a golden platter.

But was there not someone missing? Where was Evie’s unlucky friend and guarantor of her virtue, Alice? Patrons checked their cards against the number of girls on the stairs and found one missing, but after a brief murmur of confusion decided that there must have been a mistake. Uproarious applause greeted the four young women on the stairs.

***

Alice was nervously aware that she was supposed to be elsewhere when the beautiful lady pulled her through the door and into the garden. Flickering lanterns bathed the grounds in warm, yellow light and threw shadows of dancing leaves and gnarled branches against the wall of the mansion. She was too intimidated to point out that, as a new arrival, it was expected of her to join the Introductions, and the woman by her side did not seem to care. The heavy scent of roses was in the air, turnig her head.

“It looks like you missed the introductions, little dove,” she said with a smile as the applause drifted into the garden. There was a twinkle in her eyes. “It looks like I might have gotten you into trouble.”

***

Lucy was breathless with joy when Arthur pulled her aside. She could not wait to tell him about the permission she had secured from Mr. Dawkins, and that nothing would now stand in the way of their happiness.

“My love,” she whispered, pressing her body against his. “We can go to my room. Nobody will disturb us there.”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Caldwell smiled and applauded at the end of the introductions. His concern over the blonde free-spirit Evie were apparently unfounded, as the girl seemed to blossom under the glow of constant attention from potential suitors. Her silver-tongued compatriot, Alice, was nowhere to be found, it seemed. Yet another lesson in the peril of judging based on first impressions.

Thanking and congratulating each girl as she descended the stairs, taking a brief moment to convey an appreciative kiss to Elena’s cheek, as he now felt—perhaps for the first time, just how much potential the girl had. He resolved to draft letters to some members of the Saudi royal family, and a select few other international interested parties who may have need and resources to facilitate the boarding of a full-time mistress—or even a second or third wife, depending on the situation.

But as Caldwell turned back to Adelia, he realized that he’d been neglectful toward her. His mind was so occupied with the introductions and the potential of his new residents that he’d been all but ignoring the woman to whom he owed so much of his success.

“Dance with me,” Caldwell asked of Adelia, his deep blue eyes locked with hers, removing his hand from Rose’s hip and reaching out to take her hand, “Zeus needs his Hera.”

Their fingertips had scarcely touched before Caldwell pulled her sharply into his arms and pivoted away from the others, toward the dancefloor. The two were practiced dancers and had learned many styles and types of dance in their world travels, their bodies moved together with practiced unison that few on the planet could rival.

“You were right about the blonde,” Caldwell said softly, his lips lightly brushing her neck as he turned her again and began gliding back the way they’d come, “and Father Martin seems quite taken with her. It’s useful to have someone to work the clergy, we haven’t had a girl favored of the church since Lizzie graduated.”

*-*-*

Arthur felt a deep pang of guilt as Lucy pressed herself against him, grateful and breathless—expecting to hear a reaffirmation of their heartfelt promises to one another, expecting him to do as he’d promised and make an honest woman of her.

Through the thin fabric of her form-fitting toga, Arthur could feel the lean, firmness of her petite, lithe body pressing against him. His cock was rigid within an instant, plainly visible behind his tailor-cut slacks and growing increasingly uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Arthur sighed, his hands betraying him as they moved along Lucy’s muscular back, slipping under the thin fabric she wore, “let’s go to your room… my love.”

His heart screamed out at him, he had to tell her—to leave this terrible blow unlanded was a betrayal and he knew it. It was his libido, however, that hushed his confession and led him after Lucy to her room. “The truth can wait,” his base urges reassured him—and in the end, his libido outflanked his heart.

*-*-*

Lizzie was eagerly grinning and feigning applause, tapping her fingertips against the heel of her hand while it held a flute of champagne. She was casually ignoring Father Martin’s drunken pawing at her ass, but inwardly she was eager for Evie to return and absorb some of the priest’s drunken advances.

Her husband was passed out as usual, the opium pipe still perched on his slack lower lip while he slumbered near the back of the first floor parlour, a young stableboy working at jacking him off under the table. It was useless, trying to get him off in his condition—but the young man dared not stop until instructed to do so.

“Such a fine philly, everyone is quite impressed,” Lizzie grinned, giving just a gentle kiss to Evie’s cheek as she returned, “show us to your room, if you may. I think Father Martin here could use a lay down and I’m curious where Mr. Dawkins has set you up. I know some things about this house that are less than common knowledge.”

*-*-*

“Show me to your room, there we can have a real discussion,” Winchester said firmly, as he took hold Nora’s petite arm at least as firmly, “these matters are not to be discussed in public—not by anyone, not anywhere.”

Inside the stitched folds of his elaborate costume, Dr. Winchester casually reached inside and touched the smooth handle of his straight razor that he carried with him. It reassured him to feel that handle, like a comfort object.

This… this brazen girl had unsettled him and ruined his big entrance, she’d even stopped him from tormenting Caldwell to his satisfaction.

“But I can tell you more in private.”

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nora felt her courage waver once they reached the room that Kitty and her shared on the third floor of the house. The window was slightly ajar, and a soft breeze billowed the curtains. The garden behind the house was quiet except for the muffled sounds of the party that drifted up from the Grand Salon.
The flowers Kitty had picked in the rose garden were still in their vase, starting to wilt. The bed the two girls shared was neatly made, and an anatomy book that Nora had found in the library was laying on the small reading table by the window. Kitty’s dress hung over the end of the bed where she had left it before the party, too excited and too in a hurry to range it in the modest armoire.

She twisted her arm from his grip and turned around to face him. “Here we will have privacy, sir.” Her smile betrayed her nervousness despite her attempt to appear calm. “I apologise for having been indiscrete. The duke took the liberty of imparting his…appetites, but he failed to mention that he was sharing a secret.” Her throat felt horribly dry. She regretted not having brought a bottle from downstairs, a glass of champagne, or at least some water. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a confined bird. Nora was aware of how scandalously thin the fabric of her costume was, how much of her bare legs were showing, and that her left shoulder was bare almost to the curve of her upper breast. The images she had seen in that cursed book - the naked women twisted into revealing positions, and the men who tormented them - appeared unbidden in her mind. What else was the Society hiding?

If Dawkins was afraid of this man, shouldn’t she be? Nora regretted having allowed Winchester to come between her and the door. Dawkins had promised that help would come if she required it, should the doctor appear threatening, but who would hear her if she would call out now?

***

“This was almost too easy,” Evie said in a bored tone when she returned to join her new friend, who by the looks of it had a hard time keeping the priest from humping her there and then. “Though I suppose it’s not a surprise that well-bred gentlemen are just as lecherous as the gutter rats in Whitechapel.” She took the half-full glass of champagne from Lizzie’s hand and downed it in one gulp. Then she turned and grinned at the holy man. “I feel like I need to lay down myself.”

She pried his fat fingers off Lizzie’s behind and planted them firmly on her own with a flirtatious sway of her hips. “Follow me, father, and don’t let go.”

Since her and Alice had only just arrived in Dawkins House, they had not had time to settle into the room the other girls had showed her. It was an airy chamber on the second floor, with the two high windows looking out towards the front gate of the house. Even through the glass they could hear the music, and the noise of the gathering downstairs. The two bulky suitcases the girls had brought were still standing by the untouched bed, and two pairs of worn leather shoes stood abandoned by the door.

Evie put her hands on her hips and wiggled her eyebrows at Lizzie. “So…what secrets does this fine house have in store then? Are there hidden passageways? A boudoir behind every room? Spying holes? I am curious. Show us!” The priest – Father Martin? Father Owens? Evie did not remember and did not care – stared red-faced and somewhat slack-jawed at the outline of her perky breasts under the toga and made a muffled grunting sound.

“Father, are you feeling quite well?” Evie chimed, her voice full of feigned concern. She rushed to support the swaying man, careful to press her firm little body against him while she did so. “Let me guide you to the bed, so you can rest.” When she grabbed his arm, she shrugged off the toga as if by accident, leaving one breast bare and the other dangerously close to being exposed. “Oh, silly me,” she giggled, while she tried to cover herself up again. It was obvious how much Evie enjoyed herself. The introductions and the liquor had left her feeling quite bawdy, and she was eager to break in her stay in Dawkins House with some kind of romp. Evie just hoped that prim, boring Alice would not walk in on them and spoil all the fun – though it seemed that little Miss Manners had run. She had probably balked at the idea of being gawked at and apprised by a salon full of people, and that was fine with Evie. Though it was curious that she would have left without taking her only pair of good shoes.

***

“Aren’t I always?” Adelia whispered into Caldwell’s ear, one hand draped gently around his neck while they were dancing. “The girl is a welcome change from all the prim pretence all of these fine people usually encounter in polite society.” She laughed softly while he spun her past another couple who gingerly stepped aside, throwing them admiring glances. Adelia enjoyed the attention they drew, the magnificent golden couple of London salons. “It might be that few of them would admit it, but they are intrigued by what they purport to condemn. Father Martin is the best example. Evie will bring him closer to paradise than any of his sermons.”

It was good to be back in Caldwell’s arms again, and she was grateful that he did not even mention Lady Henrietta, and even more grateful that the blonde woman was nowhere to be seen. The introductions had gone better than they could have hoped for. Their guests were enjoying the fête, and she was sure that donations and suitors would follow on the morrow. “A pity about Alice, though,” she said absent-mindedly, the girl clearly not more than an afterthought. “She looked so sweet tonight, so very…delicious that I had half a mind to sample a taste myself. I suppose she changed her mind and must have left?”

There was a brief commotion on the dancefloor when the screeching owl that Winchester had unleashed onto the party took flight from the grand chandelier overhead. A young lady ducked her head and let out a frightened wail, inadvertently bumping into another pair of dancers. “Someone should cage that creature,” Adelia quipped. “Or maybe shoot it.” That reminded her of the scene she had witnessed earlier.

“I think Violet has told Nora more than she should have,” Adelia whispered, her face pressed tenderly against Caldwell’s cheek. “Winchester did not look pleased.” The doctor was the one patron of their house that she had never been able to charm and draw into her confidence, and her comment was born of curiosity rather than worry for the girl. “Violet keeps disappointing me,” she added with a sigh, keeping her suspicions about her scheming against Nora to herself. “Maybe we need to think about rearrangements for her if no permanent suitor can be found.” She turned her head to look Caldwell in the eyes, her lips brushing against his. “The Society has expressed an interest in taking care of her.” The tone of her voice was casual, and yet she was unable to hold his gaze. “It is an option we might want to consider before real damage is done.”

***

Lucy had earned a room of her own on the second floor of the house. It was a small, but neat little chamber that looked out over the lantern-lit garden. She had never taken any of the guests to visit it, not even during the day, but why should she wait to show her beloved Arthur how devoted she was to him? When it was so very plain that he, too, was full of love and affection for her! They would be married within the fortnight, Arthur had promised her as much, so why still pretend? On a beautiful night like this one, surrounded by music and elegance and desire!

“Come, come,” she whispered when she pulled him through the door and into her embrace, feeling brazen like never before. Lucy pulled his shirt up impatiently, tore at the buttons, hungry for his naked skin. All the while she shrugged out of the loose-fitting toga, and the thin material fell over her shoulders, leaving her bare above the waist. “I have never wanted anything more, my love,” she breathed in his ear, drunk with happiness. “You are my husband already, to me you are, and in only a few days you will be my husband to the world as well.” With a gasp, and still a little unable to believe her own courage, she took his hand and guided it between her legs. Lucy wanted him to feel how ready she was for him, how much her body was aching for him, how much she wanted him. For the first time since that horrible, failed wedding night she felt like she was whole again, and that she could allow herself to trust another man again. “I love you, Arthur.”

***

What a promising fawn of a girl. Lady Henrietta held Alice’s hand while the trembling former maid told her about Evie, about her shameful eviction from the Mayfair household, and her desperation about the contract she had entered in Dawkins House. Did Caldwell know what a treasure had strayed into his home? Untouched, and wholly uncorrupted, Alice was a priceless find. So pretty, too, and so…distressed. Such easy prey. Part of her, the debauched, cruel part, was tempted to direct her towards the man Alice had asked her to point out, but what a waste would that be? All Winchester and his club of spoiled aristocrats would be able to do was to terrify the poor girl and spoil her for everyone else forever.

Tears were welling up in those large doe eyes now, rolling down her cheeks. The baroness dabbed at them gently with a silken handkerchief. “My sweet, and here I am adding to your troubles,” she sighed. “But when you approached me inside, so obviously lost, I felt it an obligation to hear your story unadulterated and not as the parade version they make you tell during the introductions.” Henrietta kissed Alice’s cheek. “And I am glad I did.” She stood up and pulled Alice up with her. The costume of Aura was a witty idea, but Henrietta longed to see the girl in an attire that would challenge the admirer, and not the girl. Already she could think of a dozen young men in her circle she would love to introduce the former maid to, and then watch her blossom and unfold like a spring flower.

Watching had always held a special thrill for her.

“And fear not, I will set my fault to rights with your benefactor. Come now, sweetling, don’t be afraid.”

They returned to the house and the Grand Salon, where several couples were dancing. The baroness walked straight up to Caldwell, mid-music, and tapped him on the shoulder. She ignored Adelia, who looked flustered and furious at the rude interruption. “Caldwell,” she blonde woman purred while Alice wished she could simply sink into the ground and disappear. “I wish to become this lovely creature’s sole patron and holder of the only key. Just name your price.”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

No sooner had Nora let him into her bedchamber than he moved to the window and shut it, latching it shut. He closed the blinds dramatically before moving to conspiratorially knock on one painting after another, peeking behind some of the thicker frames to ensure that there were no hidden peep holes or listening alcoves. He didn’t want to be interrupted—that was clear. After the walls and window were investigated, he brushed past Nora to lean his shoulder into the door and check the locks, making sure there was no level of closed or locked beyond the present condition of the door.

When he was reasonably convinced that they were well and truly alone, he struck a match and lifted the glass cover on the lamp nearest the door. Once the oil was burning, he turned the knob down until just the faintest glow of orange illuminated his features from below. He replaced the lamp cover and shrugged his cloak from his shoulders, revealing his muscular body, now clothed only in a black tunic and burgundy slacks.

“Go on, strip,” Winchester urged Nora, continuing to disrobe, exposing more of his muscular chest, “you already know more than I’d prefer about me and my business, I’d like to balance the playing field some…”

His smile was disingenuous, and less than reassuring.

Like most of his actions since he’d arrived in her room, Winchester seemed to be in a hurry for Nora to disrobe. He reached out, sliding the thin fabric of her toga off of her pale shoulders until the entire gown slipped free and pooled at her feet.

Winchester’s eyes seemed to light some at the sight of Nora’s pale, smooth body—until his eyes reached the soft, light carpet of her red pubic hairs. At this he made a disgusted face, curling his lip back.

“That will not do. We are an institution of medicine,” At this, Winchester both dropped his trousers and unfolded his straight razor, “we meet tomorrow night, I can bring you as my guest—but only if you let me make you clean.”

Winchester set down the razor and began vigorously washing his hands in the basin on the dresser without inquiring how long the water had been sitting.

“It’s in your best interest to agree. We try to minimize those in the know who do not directly participate.”

*-*-*

Lizzie smiled wide as Evie returned and resumed her impressive command over the would-be patron from the church. When Evie guided his hands onto her, round, firm ass Father Martin squeezed aggressively, waddling up behind her to grasp her ass with both hands. His pudgy tongue poked out of his reddened face as his eyes became glued on the girl’s sashaying bounty.

“You seem born for this,” Lizzie grinned, dragging her finger along the newly posted rooms list—it seemed Evie was staying on the first floor, fortunate since the pastor seemed inequal to the task of stairs, “let’s go.”

With Father Martin latched securely to Evie’s backside and her garment covering less and less, Lizzie took swift action, nabbing an unopened bottle from an ice bucket near the pyramid of champagne flutes and grabbing Evie’s hand with her other hand.

“This way,” Lizzie giggled, hoping that Evie was enjoying the view of her from behind half as much as Father Martin was enjoying Evie’s lead, she put a little extra skip in her step to hopefully achieve the full effect of her shape in motion.

Lizzie led the trio to the bedroom that would be Alice and Evies’ together. She set down the champagne and dimmed the lamp, beckoning Evie in after her and into a sweet, passionate kiss. Her slender, jasmine scented hands cradled Evie’s face as one tongue sought another. Her hand trailed down the blonde’s slender throat to caress her exposed breast.

*-*-*

Caldwell raised his eyebrows at Lady Henrietta, a beloved patron and friend—but nonetheless bold to the point of recklessness at interrupting his dance with his paramour. He listened, glancing back behind Henrietta at the girl Alice who had apparently made such and impression on the notoriously discriminating Lady Henrietta.

Though she might not have realized it, Adelia may have been glad at the interruption—since her renewed interest in Violet, who Caldwell had found altogether satisfactory in her responsibilities, and her supposition that she was “always” in the right had led him to recall the very severe instance of her recently being wrong and the steep personal cost it had required of him to ensure that it remained a private affair.

“Well, I’m sure that would be impossible, my darling Lady—for you see, the young woman here has missed her debut, and as such must endure a period of probation before being allowed to entertain a sponsor. Suppose someone here tonight wished to outbid you for the privilege—but never got the chance to assess our dear Alice’s assets. It’s simply impossible…”

Caldwell feinted as though he was going to turn back to dancing, only to stop himself and turn back.

“Of course, I might see fit to allow her to accompany you back home tonight and return to us on the morrow—should your ‘at any price’ proposal extend to one-time services. With an eye toward future patronage.”

It was a risky situation all around. With someone as new to the program as Alice, there was a genuine risk that he could lose control over the girl after her loyalty was eroded away. He needed to demonstrate control early on. He needed to milk Henrietta for all he could without seeming to deprive Alice of anything. It was a narrow path to say the least.

*-*-*

The sight of Lucy’s exposed, perky, upturned breasts seemed to awaken some primal need in Arthur, his own shirt nearly torn from him by a new, lust-filled Lucy that he barely recognized, but partially preferred. He grasped at her body with a desperation so intense that his hands made slapping sounds when they landed on her firm flesh and within an instant her perky nipple was in his mouth.

He nearly tackled her onto the bed, the wooden frame creaking at the sudden impact. His teeth dragged back and forth over the flesh of her erect nipple while he desperately fumbled with the buttons and catches of his trousers to release his rigid cock from its confines. When he did, he sat back up, rearing like a viper winding up to strike as he hurriedly tugged the bottom half of her costume past her long, milky legs.

There was no hesitation left in him. There was no room against the scale of his desire for her for him to force the truth in—so in fact, he forced himself in instead. Not that it took much forcing, as Lucy was wetter than seemed proper for any creature to be.

*-*-*

Prince Nassar had not enjoyed his visit to England so far. The common folk seemed to somehow view themselves as better than him, despite his station, because of some twisted, provincial notion of racial superiority and the well-to-do seemed to view him more as a bauble to show off to one another than a peer.

“So exotic!” one twisted old bat had remarked at tea, as though he should be flattered to be noticed at all.

He’d been on the verge of proclaiming this clandestine meeting of those rumored to be the most bohemian and discreet operators among London society when he spied her for the first time. Her skin a deep, rich ochre—unlike these pale British blue bloods who inevitably faded into translucence with age, revealing the ghastly network of spidering veins below the surface (he really hadn’t like the old woman calling him ‘exotic’). Her hair was black as a moonless night in the desert but her English tongue proper and well-practiced.

She introduced herself as Elena as though she was talking directly to him and no one else.

He’d half expected to have to fight his way over to her, but she was alone when he approached. His English was fluent, but not without some effort.

“Lady Elena, was it? I am Prince Nassar from Oman. I am most of all pleased to make your acquaintance.” The prince gently raised her wrist to his lips, hoping that she saw in him what he saw in her.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nora shivered, and her nipples stiffened in the cool evening breeze. She did not dare to speak, or to even move, for fear that he would change his mind. His gaze felt like more of an examination like a pair of hands could have achieved. It was impossible to discern if he was pleased by what he saw. Despite a strong urge to do so, she stopped herself from covering up her nakedness with her hands.

She watched him with equal concentration. A handsome man, under different circumstances. In this room, alone with him and naked, his strength and poise inspired terror. Nora knew that tonight was her only chance to gain access to the society, and with that, to her tormentors, and to revenge. Any hesitation would bar her from either forever.

The sight of him, of the razor made her knees go weak, but she forced herself not to avert her gaze. “Of course,” she said curtly. “I understand.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, her heart beating hard and fast in her chest. Nora slowly parted her legs for him, her fingers curling around the wood of the bedframe so hard that it hurt.

Tomorrow. Already. She closed her eyes. The splashing of the water stopped. Intently listening for his movements, Nora did not even realise that she was holding her breath.

***
The baroness laughed softly at his ruse. “My dear Caldwell, what would the fun be in that?” She turned around to Alice, who stood in the middle of the ballroom, terrified of the undue attention she suddenly attracted. A few other couples had stopped their dancing and were watching the exchange, and Alice wanted nothing more than to run, but she did not dare to. Henrietta beckoned her closer. “Of course every guest this evening should have the chance to declare an interest in this most charming creature.” Alice looked nothing short of delectable, trembling and blushing as she was. “If there really is anyone who would like to contest my patronage of dear little Alice, I am ready to make my case.”

The blonde woman gave a secretly fuming Adelia her most winning smile before turning back to Caldwell. “You know how much I thrive on competition.”

***

Evie’s eyes sparkled in the dim light of the lantern that Lizzie had set down. “Is that the way of it then?” she whispered wickedly, breathless and eager.

The priest had come into the room behind them, smacking his lips at the sight of the two women kissing, and Evie was afraid that he might keel over, the way he was panting and wheezing. She shrugged, confident that his Lord would keep watch over him, and turned her attention back to the beauty in front of her. “It seems like you can teach me a lot about this house,” she whispered while starting to undo the laces of Lizzies bodice with the practiced fingers of a dressing maid. “But maybe I can teach you a thing or two as well,” she added with a giggle, shoving the other woman towards the bed.

“It’s a pity that your husband is otherwise occupied,” she said as she crawled onto the bed next to Lizzie. “I’m afraid that we are one cock short…” Evie helped the other women to shed her gown, leaving her only in a silk slip and stockings. “Pretty,” she whispered while caressing Lizzie’s bared legs, her finger trailing her thigh. “So tell me, how does Dawkins turns little harlots like me into ladies?”

***

Lucy let out a soft, plaintive cry as Arthur pushed himself into her in one deep thrust. She was more than ready for him, and her wet, tight pussy stretched around his cock like a silk glove. It did not hurt, like she had been told, not at all. It felt wonderful. Being crushed beneath him, filled out entirely, it was better than she had ever imagined. “My love,” she sighed as he withdrew, shivering and writhing, wanting him to go on.

He knew that she had not been with any man before, and for the smallest moment, the length of a heartbeat, she wondered if her behaviour befitted someone supposed to be entirely innocent of carnal desire. But even if she had wanted to, she would not have been able to pretend that she did not want this with every fibre of her body. With him, she was all instinct. “How good this is,” she breathed into his ear. And as he started to move in her, Lucy wrapped her slender legs around him and lifted her hips to draw him closer.

“I never want to do anything else,” she whispered happily. “I never want to be anywhere else.”

***
“It’s just Elena now, Nassar Bey Effendi,” she said, dropping into a curtsy without withdrawing her hand from his grip. “It is such a pleasure to meet you.” Her face lit up with genuine joy. “And it seems that we are both a very long way from home.” While she had never had the chance to travel that far East from her hometown, her father had told her many stories about the rich lands of Oman, the azure sea, the rich architecture, the beautiful mountains. As an envoy for the Sublime Porte he had been lucky enough to visit those lands, and ever since she had been a little girl, Elena had dreamed of travelling the world herself.

His accent was thick, but very charming, but Elena was eager to speak to him in his own language, even if her Arabic was somewhat stilted, like that of her tutor had been. “My father brought this from one of his voyages.” She lifted up the pearl dangling at the end of a delicate necklace. “He said he bought it from a travelling magician in Muscat.” Elena laughed. “Back then, I believed him.” Aware that her gesture revealed even more of the deep décolleté of her costume, she blushed and drew back.

“What brings you to London, Effendi?” she asked, eager to distract him from what suddenly felt like the frivolity of her task. “And how do you come to know about Dawkins House?”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

When Dr. Winchester returned to Nora’s bedside with the basin, he didn’t even spare a glance up to her terrified face or her pleading blue eyes. His focus was on the slow but deft unfolding of the straight razor until the metal blade clicked into a groove that locked it in the open position. Not knowing or caring that the bed belonged to Kitty, Winchester grabbed the pillow from the other bed for himself to kneel on. His cold fingers touched her stomach, his middle digit settling over her xyphoid process where the sides of her ribcage merged together. His other fingers landed shortly thereafter and all four moved slowly over her petite body in unison, moving downward until they combed through the delicate, amber down that bashfully framed her small, perfect pussy.

Just as it seemed that Winchester might say something to praise her, to break the tension and compliment her body, her willingness to obey him or even her poise at sitting still while being touched—he made a fist of his hand, efficiently gripping each strand of hair—pulling them firmly but not fiercely.

The first few strokes came quickly, slicing through the hairs with almost no resistance. Even as fast as he was moving, slicing away, the blade never touched either of them until Winchester was left with a fistful of orange hairs and her delicate, pale pussy looked somehow wounded—the gentle down around it now cut short and slightly uneven.

Winchester rinsed his hand of her hairs in the basin before reaching in to retrieve a bar of soap which he worked up into a rich, thick lather between his hands after setting the blade down on Nora’s bed.

“You sit well,” Winchester said at last, gently stroking and caressing Nora’s most intimate and sensitive parts with his lathered hand, now warm from the basin water, “that’s good.”

And just like that, the conversation was at an end. Even with the warmth of the water and lather, the blade would be cold—as a courtesy, Winchester slowly passed the flat of the blade that would be touching her skin over his tongue, letting the warmth of his mouth lend some warmth to the blade.

It was wet and warm by the time it slid down the subtle slope of Nora’s pubic mound. Though it made a soft noise that sounded like rough, metallic scraping, the stroke itself was smooth as melting butter. There was no hesitation or doubt in the stroke and as the blade passed through the frothy, ginger slop of what remained of her pubic hair, it left behind smooth, alabaster skin in its wake, smooth and gleaming like fresh fallen snow.

When he finished his stroke, just a shiver above her asshole, he moved quickly back to the basin, where he rinsed the blade with a splash and in a blink the warm blade was making its second pass, starting from the opposite side and working the other way across. The second pass only briefly overlapped the first, just barely above her clit, and passing smoothly over her opposite lip. The two strokes had made a perfect X above where her pussy transitioned from pale to pink. There was just a small triangle of hair left above where the strokes crossed. A third, easy stroke left her bare as the day she was born, with no hint of stubble.

“Much better,” Winchester nodded, staring at his work as he wiped her up and down with a wet cloth from the warm basin, making sure no hint of hair or lather was left behind, “I think you might be a welcome addition to our little society, “so long as you can keep a secret.”

The blade clicked shut, the rag splashed back into the water and Dr. Winchester leaned forward to wrap his warm mouth around Nora’s clean-shaven pussy, the tip of his tongue thrashing at her clit—untouched until this very moment. Two warm, clean fingers slid inside of her tiny, little snatch.

*-*-*

“Ah—ah-haah!” Arthur groaned as Lucy began working her hips around him, embracing him with her long, gracile legs and urging him deeper, “oh—oh—but love, I—”

Arthur wasn’t sure how to say it, but he was getting close to climax already. He wasn’t chaste, like Lucy presumed herself to be, but he was finding this very different from the rushed, shameful romp with the whore in that filthy bedroom of the Inn. Lucy was tight and wet and proclaiming that she wished for this to go on forever.

“Oh, beloved—I—I too wish to do this as much as we can, but I need a moment—ah—a moment respite… please, darling—if you might release me?”

Arthur actually reached back to disentangle her legs from him, but just the pulling back proved too much for his inexperience and his cock spurted a sad, little glut of goo, jerking up and down as he groaned.

“Oh dear…” Arthur said at last, looking at the small glob of yuck on the mattress, “I’m sorry, my love, but I cannot marry you. Mother would never allow it. But you may live as my mistress, and we can do this every day—I assume my future wife will take lovers of his own…”

Arthur was lost in his regret at finishing so soon, he figured that he might try to deny it if he had to—if Lucy didn’t consent to be his mistress and he had to leave her behind. He didn’t want to. And she would enjoy a comfortable life as his mistress.

“I still love you, though.”

*-*-*

“I had some business regarding tobacco which concluded some days ago, since then my new associates have been desperately trying in vain to convince me of this city’s charm. Up until this moment I haven’t felt much charmed by London… until now. By you, an import yourself,” the song changed and Nassar avoided releasing Elena’s hand after their initial greeting, “do you dance, Elena? Because I do not, but I’d be much delighted to learn if you were my teacher. It’s something I could bring back from England to delight the court.”

In spite of saying that he didn’t know how to dance, Nassar certainly knew enough to place his other hand on the small of Elena’s back, gently bringing her closer so that their faces were inches apart so that they could feel one another’s breath on their faces.

“Would you teach me?”

*-*-*

“It’s crass to talk business at a party, but I’ll tell you what I will do. Since it seems that your choice for the evening has been at least temporarily shut out of her room,” Caldwell gestured with his masked face toward the room where Evie, Lizzie and the reverend had gone and locked the door behind themselves, “I’ll allow you to bring her home with you—to whatever ends you might desire. I ask only that you bring her back on the morrow, that I might allow her to make the acquaintance of other… more suitable, suitors.”

Caldwell had no doubt that Henrietta would show Alice a night of intense pleasure, but the fact remained that the two of them couldn’t be wed. In order to make their little romance last would require layers of subterfuge and Caldwell wanted to know what Alice really felt about the Baroness’ attention.

“Is that acceptable?” Caldwell looked past Henrietta to Alice, who seemed overwhelmed by the attention, “to both of you?”

*-*-*

At the mention that Lizzie could teach Evie a thing or two, Lizzie smiled and shoved the small chair at the dressing table under the knob of the door—a veteran’s trick for bypassing the “key system” that Caldwell had in place, “maybe I can,” she grinned, just moments before shrieking with laughter as she was tossed back onto the bed.

“Oh please,” Lizzie rolled her eyes, “my husband would be of less use than the priest. At least he’s excited.”

As if by way of reply, the priest tumbled over sideways, too drunk to successfully extricate himself from his pants without tripping to the floor. Nonetheless, as Lizzie had noted, Father Martin was most noticeably excited. His cock was unexpectedly large and quite thick, especially around the extraordinarily red head.

“Mmm,” Lizzie cooed as Evie finished undressing her and began caressing her thighs, “I’ll let you get your guts rearranged by the Padre tonight, sweetness. But frankly, I think it’s high time you find a better use for that pretty, pink mouth.”

Lizzie suddenly rocked back, her hips coming off of the bed to close her athletic legs around Evie’s head like a scorpion’s stinger arching overhead to strike. Lizzie gripped the finials of the headboard and slammed it against the wall, arching her whole body up and thrusting her sex into Evie’s face.

Lizzie’s heels playfully, but not quite gently kicked Evie’s back until she was down on all fours with her bare ass pointed at the priest. Lizzie buried both hands into the mane of Lizzie’s silken, blonde hair, holding her in place.

“I’ve always wanted to get eaten out by a blonde,” Lizzie giggled, “go on, pretty—teach me something.

“And as for Caldwell, he’s not a magician—he just sees things as they are. He doesn’t change us, jagged, broken wretches—he just fits us together with others who are symmetrically broken. Like puzzle pieces—oh! Oh yeah! Fuck her hard, padre!”

Indeed, Father Martin was back up and at Lizzie’s urging, slammed his almost grotesquely huge cock into Evie in one stroke.

 

[Curious_Muse]

Nora watched, terrified and enthralled, as Winchester passed the glittering blade over his tongue, his eyes never leaving hers. She suppressed a sigh as the metal pressed against her flesh, half expecting him to slip, to slice her delicate flesh. But he never did. Nora anticipated to feel shame, or at least discomfort, as she watched him bare her pussy with each stroke of the razor, handling her most intimate parts with such blunt attention. But she did not.

When she carefully wiped her now shaven mound with a soft cloth, she shivered, but not from the breeze in the small room. It was not that she was not afraid anymore, or that Winchester inspired any less terror in her. But she found that this fear was not entirely unpleasant. It filled her with a feeling of breathless anticipation, of excitement. What was he going to do?

First, she almost pushed him away when he leant forward against her pussy, his breath cool and soft against her folds. What on earth…

”Heavens…,” she exclaimed as his lips wrapped around hers, holding her breath. Her fingers dug into the soft sheets of the bed she was sitting on, arching her hips for him, unable to control her growing arousal any longer. The touch of his tongue was electrifying, drawing a plaintive moan from her lips that made her blush. Nora leant back, falling back on her elbows, unable to remain upright, and as she felt his finger enter her tight little pussy, her knuckles turned white in the effort not to rock back against his hand. His caress was sweet, almost affectionate.

Maybe the rumours were all wrong, and there was nothing to be afraid of after all.

***

“Oh Caldwell,” the baroness chuckled. “You misunderstood my meaning, though I am amused and flattered by the idea.” The blonde woman threw a furtive glance over her shoulder at Alice who still stood petrified, her fingers wrapped together in front of her, her eyes wide and with a beautiful blush still suffusing her face. A perfect picture of innocence. “While I am sorely tempted to take you up on this offer – it seems criminal to try and resist her – I had a different kind of patronage in mind. I mean to be her instructor, if you will. Her supervisor. There are so many people I would love to introduce her to.” She tapped him playfully on the arm with her silk fan and laughed. “But you are also right that my rude interruption now borders on the impertinent. I will leave you to your own…amusement.”

Alice said nothing. She dipped into a shy curtsy as Caldwell Dawkins’ eyes fell on her. If only he would not throw her out for missing the introductions, she was happy to agree to anything he asked.

Adelia bit back an angry comment at what she felt was nothing more than condescension from Lady Henrietta, but she was glad to see the other woman take her leave. “I wonder if this would be too much of a risk, Caldwell,” she whispered in his ear as they resumed their dance together. “The baroness has such an…insouciant air about her, surely she cannot presume to introduce half the dandies of London to that poor little creature and think that word will not get out? There are other institutions in this city that cater to such…tastes.” Admittedly, most of her indignation stemmed from the fact that she simply did not like the Lady Henrietta and her lingering hold on Caldwell. Her suggestion was tempting, however, and someone as rich and influential as the young baroness would open doors that had previously been firmly closed to the lodgers of Dawkins House. “What do you think, my darling?”

***

At first, Lucy did not hear him at all, lost as she was in her own haze of intense pleasure that he had so abruptly interrupted. “Oh, my sweet, come back to me,“ she purred, pulling against his buttocks and upper thighs with her heels, bucking her hips against him. It was only when her longing turned into frustration, and when she saw his crumpled, sad face, that Lucy lifted herself up on her elbows, realising what he was really suggesting.

“Surely you cannot mean that?” she said, shivering as if someone had just emptied a bucket of ice water over her head. “Your…your mistress?” Lucy was unable to put the other implication of such a suggestion into words: that, if she was to be his mistress, someone else was going to be his wife. She looked down at her own nakedness, suddenly aware of what they had done, ashamed of what she had allowed him to do. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And what kind of man are you to take your pleasure from me like this, knowing that you never intended to marry me?” Her eyes glittered with angry tears. “What do you take me for? Your whore? What have you done?”

Her abasement and the disgrace of the past months finally caught up with her, firing up her rage. She had trusted him! Loved him!

“Get out.”

She did not wait for him to move. Never in her life had she felt this humiliated. “Get out!” she shrieked, grabbing the letter opener that had been lying on her nightstand. Blinded by her tears, Lucy furiously slashed at him, oblivious to the damage she might cause with the little metal blade. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

***

Elena looked up at the prince, shivering at his touch. “Gladly, effendi”, she sighed. Dance was a language that Elena had been familiar with ever since she was able to walk, and there were few things in the world that she loved to do more. Her father had employed dance teachers from all over the world, and the local English dances were quite familiar to her. “See…,” she guided his feet with featherlight movements, her eyes never leaving his, “like this.” On the dancefloor, all the sadness and gloom of the past weeks fell away from her. They drifted past other couples, oblivious to their presence. Elena laughed, happier than she had been in a very long time.

***

“Mmpff!” Evie squealed as the father slammed his massive rod into her, shoving her face roughly against Lizzy’s pussy. “Easy, padre,” she moaned, disentangling herself from between the lovely young woman’s thighs for a moment. “It would be a pity if you’d destroy my cunny before we can get started.” Grinning up at Lizzy, she said: “This blonde is happy to oblige…”

She wrapped her lips around the other girl’s warm, dripping pussy, and softly started lapping at her clit. Each time that Father Martin drove his full length into her, Evie let out a loud, muffled squeal, trying very hard not to interrupt her efforts to make Lizzy pant for more. She slid first one, then two fingers into her hungry little cunt, matching her own movements to that of the priest fucking her. So far, she thoroughly enjoyed her stay at Dawkins House.

“Yes, fuck me,” she panted, coming up for air. “It can’t be a sin if it’s a holy man doing it, right?” Her chuckle rose to a throaty moan as another hard thrust drove her face back into Lizzy’s eager pussy.

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

“Hm,” Caldwell said softly, when Lady Henrietta left him and Adelia—ironically, just as he started wanting to hear more. His face betrayed none of it, however, pivoting away from the direction Henrietta had gone, leaving Alice alone in her uncertainty.

Adelia had her doubts, which was not altogether surprising—but even she seemed to recognize that the socialite’s offer was too tempting to overlook.

“I do share your concerns, beloved,” Caldwell whispered into the nape of Adelia’s neck, spinning her back into the center of the dance floor yet again, “but while I do suspect Lady Henrietta’s intentions, I must confess that I trust her discretion. Binding herself to one of our girls as she suggests, it seems hard to imagine a way in which she might expose us without exposing herself. Besides, if it were her intention to expose us and our operation to censure, there are far more affordable ways to go about it.

“What’s more, we could utilize this newfound leverage over Lady Henrietta to make arrangements for our more…” his eyes moved across the dance floor to Violet who seemed once more to have been overlooked, “deeply rooted residents.”

If Lady Henrietta was indeed as fixated as she seemed on the young Alice, the fringe occupant might in fact rise to the top of this new class of resident.

The song ended and Caldwell kissed Adelia tenderly, leading her by the hand back to Alice, who seemed to be contemplating the worst.

“It seems that you may have more potential than previously thought. I am not so proud that I can’t admit being wrong. About you, it seems I was. You are most welcome here. I receive you most enthusiastically, dear Alice,” Caldwell smiled, feeling altogether optimistic about the future when a most unforeseen commotion emerged from Lucy’s room.

Arthur came stumbling backward through the door, slamming hard against the far wall. His forearm was bleeding from a defensive cut as he continued backpedaling toward the front door.

“My goodness! Help! Help me! Why, the young lady’s gone mad!” Arthur was shrieking—looking even more frail and pathetic than usual by his nakedness, “someone help!”

Caldwell sprinted through the crowd, blowing right past Arthur, finding Lucy within her room, also naked and brandishing a weapon. Wasting no time, Caldwell grabbed her slender wrist in a powerful grip, immobilizing the small blade, encouraging her to let go by squeezing her wrist tighter and tighter.

With his other hand, Caldwell snatched the silken comforter off of her bed and draped it quickly around her shoulders. His arm followed the blanket, embracing her against his chest.

“Breathe,” he whispered into Lucy’s ear, “take a deep breath. You will survive this. I shall ensure it.”

“Be careful Caldwell, the girl’s lost her wits!” Arthur whimpered, peering back into the room hesitantly, “she nearly slashed me to death.”

“You’ve done worse to yourself while shaving,” Caldwell spat back at him, holding Lucy back from potentially more violence, “I think you should leave.”

“Yes, of course. Just let me grab my…”

“No. Do not set another foot in this room or I’ll show you what a wound looks like.”

“…good heavens…”

“Leave this house. And leave your key and your clothes behind as well.”

“My clothes, but Caldwell—”

“It’s Maestro to the likes of you. Consider this a lesson about what happens when you toy with the emotions of innocent girls.”

“Innocent? Why—” the glare from Caldwell made Arthur swallow back what he was about to say next, “as you say, Maestro.”

Arthur covered his front and back with his hands, shuffling out into the cold night where he’d need to move quickly to avoid violence or frostbite.

“Mother will hear of this!” Arthur shouted at last before slamming the door behind himself.

“Breathe. He’s gone,” Caldwell said softly, “I am so sorry, my darling. My heart is broken for you—but we will not be defeated by the likes of that waif. The next time he sees you, darling Lucy, you shall be taller than a giant to that small man. For now, you should rest. Tomorrow we will set in motion the wheels of vengeance.”

*-*-*

When the song ended, Nassar let go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He’d been entranced, walking through the dance as if he’d been doing it all his life. Her eyes guided him through the steps. It was magic. Her smile was a miracle. Where had this woman been all of his life?

“Of all the things I expected to find in this gloomy, wet country—I most certainly couldn’t have imagined meeting you…” Nassar whispered, lowering his lips gently on her exposed shoulder, his eyes drifting closed, breathing in at the nose.

The commotion down the hall seemed to startle Nassar back to his senses, suddenly desperate to know more—to reassure himself that he could see her again before he left.

“You’ve caught me quite off guard, Eliana. I had intended to come here, drink too much and leave this country for home, never to look back. Now, for the first time, I’m loathe to imagine myself leaving you. May I come back tomorrow, before we board the ship? I must see you again—for every second that it is possible.”

His hand drifted up gently, caressing her jawline and neck. He leaned in, his eyelids fluttering closed. He kissed her tenderly, affectionately, with feeling.

*-*-*

Winchester scarcely noticed the commotion outside and downstairs, he was far too enraptured with his newest find at Dawkins House. It seemed odd that he would have overlooked her for this long. He’d grown so disillusioned with his dissatisfaction over Violet he hadn’t considered that another of Caldwell’s protegees might be ready to satisfy him.

His finger continued to work in and out of Nora’s tight, warm little cunny while his tongue coiled and rolled over the tip of her clit, coaxing it further and further out from under its pretty, pink hood. Exposed and hairless as it now was, Nora’s tight, inexperienced pussy looked like some remarkable work of art.

With no attempts made to quiet the slurping and slapping sounds he was making as he ate her pussy, Winchester worked his tongue over her clit, across her urethra and into her pussy, seeking out her G spot that he’d felt out with his finger. He swished his tongue from side to side within her, it made a loud, sloshing sound, repetitive and wet.

“Phlegm,” Winchester smiled, lifting his wet face from between her thighs, stretching out her fluids between his index finger and thumb—an odd first word to speak coming up from what he was doing, “it’s one of the body’s four humors, you see? Phlegm is the humor most closely tied to the libido. An excess of phlegm dominance can lead to an excess of sex interest—in both genders. Women, however, are unique in that your phlegm can express itself freely through your internal sex organs—while we men, can only express our phlegm through climax, which is why we experience increased sex interest and negative consequences if our phlegm is allowed to build up too long.”

With his fingers still coated in Nora’s “phlegm”, Dr. Winchester stuck them into Nora’s mouth while he repositioned himself on top of her. One of her legs was lifted up to her ear, mounted on Winchester’s shoulder while his arm worked under to continue fingering her mouth.

At the same time he was aligning his cock with her wet, shaven pussy.

“Nod your head so I know that you want this.”

There was no question about what Winchester meant by this.

*-*-*

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Eat me out, you flaxen haired whore! Ohhhhh!” Lizzy wailed as loudly as she could, eager for everyone to know that she had claimed one from this freshman class of new residents—and what a one! “Oh—Shit! That tongue is magic!”

Lizzie’s fingers tangled up in Evie’s long, blonde hair—shoving her face deep between her thighs as she leaned forward, arched her back and bucked her hips hard. Lizzie had a squirting orgasm into the blonde’s face, suffocating her for the brief but a-ma-zing paralysis phase of her climax. It must have seemed longer to Evie than it did to Lizzie who would prefer to lock herself up in that feeling and never move again.

“Oh fuck…” Lizzie groaned, falling back into the bed and releasing Evie’s head again.

It may have been somewhat ironic, but since he’d been warned, Lizzie was being far rougher with Evie’s face than the drunken minister was with her little cunny.

“Yeah—good!” the priest was showing his age—ten to fifteen minutes of hard thrusting and he was pouring sweat like there was a bucket being poured over him, “I don’t know if I—oh, good heavens! Ah! Saints preserve--! Ahhhh Yes!”

The priest came inside of Evie without asking permission or giving proper warning.

 

[Curious_Muse]

As soon as Lucy found herself wrapped in Caldwell Dawkins’ arms, all the fight went out of her and she collapsed against him, sobbing freely. “He promised,” she whispered, her face against his shoulder. “I am such a terrible fool.” She was crying so hard she could barely breathe; she was trying to say something else, but she couldn’t talk.

Kitty appeared behind them in the door. Poor Lucy. From her nakedness and the state of the bed and that of the man now chased out of the house it wasn’t difficult to guess what had happened. What a horrible, horrible brute that man was, to betray someone as kind and lovely as Lucy! Kitty ached for the older girl, and she would have done anything to make her feel better. She carried a glass of brandy that delicately sat down on the small table by the window and nodded at Mr Dawkins when their eyes met over Lucy’s heaving shoulder. Kitty softly closed the door behind her, making sure that none of the guests, some of whom had followed Mr Dawkins up the stairs, were able to catch a glimpse of the room and its occupants.

Adelia, still downstairs, saw that the commotion and the glimpse of scandal threatened to turn the evening into disaster, and Dawkins House could not afford to lose any patrons to the silly daydreams of one of its occupants. She took a deep breath, tipped a manicured nail against her raised champagne glass and said, her voice firm and untroubled:

“Ladies and gentlemen, the evening is wearing on and the time has come for you to make your bids on sponsorships for our charitable house! Lovely Violet here” – she pointed to the girl who held a silver bowl – “will start to make the rounds now.”

***

“Oh…” A soft, plaintive moan escaped Nora’s parted lips. Her eyelashes fluttered against her porcelain cheeks, her slender body was rigid with the pleasure that was mounting, mounting, rushing towards its peak. Her fingers were entangled in the sheets white-knuckle tight. This, yes, this! His tongue, his lips, his fingers sent ripples of delight over her whole body. He made her writhe. Pant. Wince with the effort not to scream.

His comment about the science of bodily humours briefly shattered that spell, pulled her away from the brink. Only hours earlier, his lesson would have had her choked with humiliation, with guilt, with abashment, but Nora was too aroused to feel any fear, or any shame. When he climbed on top of her, she considered either emotion. Dismissed them. Where she wanted him to take her, neither would serve.

Nora looked Winchester in the eyes, unflinching. There was a commotion outside, screams, a door being flung open in loud panic. The sound of feet running up the wide flight of stairs. She did not bat an eyelid, never strayed from his gaze. There was another crash, angry shouting. For Nora, there was only him. She was laying still, not moving a muscle.

She slowly, deliberately nodded her head yes, only once. Her lips, who had until then only timidly accommodated his probing fingers, tightened. She sucked his fingers into her mouth, tickled them with her tongue, urging him on. Yes, she needed Winchester to accept her, to want her, but now, she also needed him to fuck her.

***

Elena had forgotten what it felt like to be this happy. Feel this weightless. The room around them had fallen away, the other guests had disappeared. His lips were so soft, his kiss was both forceful and incredibly tender. He smelled so good. Tasted so sweet. It would have been so easy to give in to the desire to believe that her fortune had changed, or that all she had suffered had been to this end, had led her into the arms of this man. But Elena didn’t dare to entertain similar thoughts, not after all that had happened. Her “husband”, too, had seemed too good to be true at first.

“I would love to welcome you tomorrow, Nassar Bey Effendi,” she said earnestly, her hand in his. “But it would be wrong if I didn’t tell you that my time and my decisions do not belong to me, not entirely, and that Mr. Dawkins, who so kindly agreed to welcome me into his house, needs to give his permission as well. I owe him so much more than just polite gratitude.” A shadow passed over her face, almost too swift to be noticed. “And that is not all.” She did not shy away from his gaze when she continued. “And I am here…I decided to stay here because I am looking to take revenge. Revenge on a man who has caused grave damage to myself and my family. I need to find him. Confront him before I can leave this city.” Elena looked at the prince, scanning his beautiful face for any sign that this new information had changed his mind about her, or that he was lying. “And I am…what is the word? Wary? That man has crushed my ability to trust and my heart. As we say back home, I have burned my lips and now feel the need to beware even of milk that appears to be cold.”

***

“Aww…bloody hell, Father!” Evie emerged from between the lock of Lizzie’s thighs, her lips and cheeks smeared with the other woman’s juices. She turned at the priest, who was groaning through his subsiding climax, his face beet-red and sweaty. “You didn’t just…” She gave the fat man a little shove, wiggling away, and his half-erect cock slipped from her tight snatch with a squelching sound. “What about me? I believed you to be a gentleman.” She had been so close.

“Heavens, would you look at that,” she said, over her shoulder, to Lizzie. Father Martin had collapsed against the bedpost, his now limp cock hanging from his half-open trousers. Evie closed her fingers around it, jerking it, hoping to bring it back to life. When that didn’t yield the desired result, she sank onto her knees and took his wet, sticky cock between her lips. It was so thick that she had trouble taking it into her mouth, even in its current state. “Mmmm…,” Evie tried, humming around the priest’s shaft. Her head was bobbing back and forth on his cock, she licked its veiny underside, wrapped her tongue skilfully around the bulbous head. The poor priest yerked helplessly, made a high wheezing sound, but it was obvious that he was in no position to give Evie the satisfaction she was craving. “Damn…,” the blonde girl whispered, frowning at the flaccid dick in front of her face. She wiped her lips. “Told you that we were a cock short. What are we going to do?”

Evie pulled herself up and crawled back onto the bed next to Lizzie. “I hope that little lick-spittle Alice is enjoying her night here. It’ll likely be her last.” She giggled and turned her head to look at the brunette next to her. “She was supposed to make sure that I behave like a proper lady,” – Evie used a mocking posh accent on that last word - ,”but well, here we are. We’ll likely both be kicked out by morning.” She propped herself up on one elbow, her little pink tongue darted out to flick against Lizzie’s erect nipple. “We should make it worth our while.”

 

[UnHolyPimpHand]

Winchester smiled. Gone was the timid reluctance that he was so accustomed to seeing in his romantic partners. The cringing whores and that frightened mouse, Violet—they all feared him, his big cock, his cold demeanor, his social prowess. Nora was different and it delighted him. She was ready—eager, even for him to continue. And so he would.

“Good girl,” the doctor sighed, reaching both of his strong hands up into Nora’s roil of crimson hair, his pinky fingers settling behind her ears, his middle digits just under the hinge of her jaw and his thumbs resting at the base of her neck, where her pulse ducked behind her collarbones. As his cock slid into her, his fingers pressed inward, gently at first, then harder, “these pressure points I’m touching are renowned for relieving stress, releasing inhibitions and promoting general feelings of pleasure. I’m opening up the pathways that allow you to feel pleasure, you ought to feel the effects immediately.”

By the time his hips pressed against hers, the pressure from his fingers was intense, muscles in his defined forearms and biceps tensed as he flexed his chest and added more pressure. He was pushing so hard that it seemed like it ought to have hurt—and yet, even with the intensity of his pressure, all of the pressing he was doing felt amazing.

The commotion outside didn’t escape Winchester’s notice, but he paid it no heed whatsoever. If he had to, he could probably guess, but that would deprive him the wonder of hearing all about it in the gossip mills the next day.

His gaze never departed from Nora’s, swimming in her wide, blue eyes, even as his hips drew back and then filled her again, the insertion faster this time, deeper too. His shaven pelvis grinding against hers—neither showing a hint of any stubble, smooth and wet against smooth and wet.

“You are quite remarkable,” Winchester smiled, catching himself before he got too lost in how good Nora’s pussy felt, his tension on her pressure points relaxed as well, giving her a little more opportunity to catch his breath—though his escalations below the waist continued to increase in severity, “not a virgin, but still so tight—an innocent look without trying. You’ll be a fantastic earner for Caldwell.”

Now, as his fingers continued to crawl along her scalp, they spread out on the back of her head. He was pumping his hips furiously now, his eyes still locked with hers. He was making audible panting sounds each time he drove himself down on her, the sheer exertion of humping her petite body this fast forcing his lungs to grunt over each breath that he took as he battered her shaven mound again and again.

Winchester had more to say, surely, but he couldn’t talk when he was moving this fast—and continuing to push himself, his lean, defined muscles flexing about his stomach and sides. A sheen of sweat wrapped his body within seconds of his furious pounding, but he only pushed himself to go faster.

“Hah-hah-hah-hah-hah—” Winchester was panting as his sweat dripped down onto Nora’s body, “come-on—hah-hah-hah—give-it-to-me!”


*-*-*


“Hush child, find your breath,” Caldwell said softly, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head as she wept against his shoulder, “my heart is broken for you, but this too shall pass. You have endured worse than this. You shall survive this, as well. Just breathe.”

Caldwell demonstrated by taking deep, calming breaths of his own, his chest rising and falling against her cheek. When he spotted Kitty over by the door, he beckoned her over with his eyes, gently shifting Alice from his arms into hers.

“Stay with her tonight. Hold her if she weeps. Please, she needs your gentle kindness now,” Caldwell said softly to Kitty before leaning into Alice’s ear, whispering even softer, “tomorrow we will begin to imagine our revenge.”

A gentle kiss to the crown of Alice’s head and Caldwell reluctantly slipped from her embrace, leaving her in the capable hands of Kitty. Closing the door behind himself, Caldwell was pleased to find Adelia salvaging a somewhat respectable conclusion to the evening. It spared him from having to disguise himself as the jovial host once more.

He nodded, shook hands, thanked his guests as the staff brought them their jackets, hats and walking sticks. To the regulars, he made his apologies for the abrupt end to the evening. “Thanks so much,” “We hope you’ll join us again,” “A safe ride home.” Inside, he was still seething.

The nerve of that skinny little twat and his wrinkled, old hag of a mother. Their uppance would come.


*-*-*


Nassar smiled, taking Elena’s hands in his own, bringing them up to his face and kissing the spot where her forearm became wrist—one, then the other.

“I’ve heard the English say—'once bitten, twice shy.’” Nassar smiled, “I shall come back tomorrow. Your dignity impresses as much as your manners. Though I am disappointed, I respect your hesitancy.”

Lastly, Nassar leaned in, his hand sliding gently up her forearm. He kissed her cheek, dutifully. Sweetly. When Violet strode by with her tray of donations, Nassar laid his entire billfold atop the stack. The thick, polished, white gold money clip still shut around what must have been his entire, remaining travel budget.

“The gold is for her,” Nassar told Violet, indicating Elena before turning back to her, “the first of many gifts, be assured.”

Another soft kiss, this time at the corner of her lovely mouth.

“Six hours ago, I couldn’t wait to leave this awful country—now I’d make a pauper of myself just for a while longer with you. Please, from now on, call me Nas. No more formalities, I pray you.”

Again, he kissed her, but this time he meant it. One hand wrapped in among the soft folds of her costume to rest on the small of her back. His other hand followed the line of her jaw to caress her face. He kissed her tenderly, full of love and affection.

“Until tomorrow, I shall try to endure the lack of you.” One last kiss to her cheek.

Nassar took his hat and coat from the attendant, letting the traffic at the front door clear out some before attempting to get his carriage through.

“Mister Dawkins,” Nassar smiled, genuinely awed by his host, perhaps even a tad drunk, “I find that I’ve been misled by my advisor—days wasted, bowing and scraping before feeble monarchs—only to find that Caldwell Dawkins is the true King of England.”

Caldwell gave his best fake laugh at this, fond as he was of having his ass kissed, his ability to enjoy anything was compromised by the earlier scandal.

“You are too kind, Highness,” Caldwell clapped him on his upper arm as the men exchanged a hearty handshake, steering him toward the door.

“Please, call me Nas. I intend to return to call on the young and lovely Elena, beginning tomorrow and continuing for some time thereafter.”

“I’m sure the young lady will be most pleased, your—Nas,”

Caldwell nodded and at last, closing the door behind Nassar, who seemed to have more to say. He pressed his back against the closed door and sighed. His eyes swept the room, Lizzie’s husband, Lord Hollingsworth was passed out atop one of his stable hands, who had been made shirtless and seemed to desire escape but dared not rouse the Lord.

“Is it me, or are these things getting worse?” Caldwell sighed, looking for Adelia to commiserate with him, “the nerve of that Kent brat. I think I’ll pay that mother of his a visit tomorrow.”



*-*-*


“Mmmm, that’s a good girl,” Lizzie giggled, as Evie began playing with her nipple. She arched her back and pushed out her chest into the girl’s attentions, “don’t be afraid to use a little bit of teeth, I’m not made of sugar glass.”

Lizzie’s hand spread out on the back of Evie’s head, encouraging her to continue. Her other hand slipped in between her thighs to gently press around the outside of her still swollen clit. She worked her way inward, slowly. When she noticed Father Martin’s intense gaze on them, she canted her knee outward, opening her thighs to his view just as her middle finger swiped across the exposed tip.

“Uunfff,” Lizzie moaned, theatrically, “ohhh, if only there were a hard cock present to fuck this horny slut some more! She’s all sexed up and desperate—I can feel her desperation!”

It was a performance, but it was working. Father Martin wasn’t exactly an inquisitor and he was beginning to have his own Divine Resurrection.

“There you go, Father,” Lizzie giggled, sitting up and wrestling Evie onto her back, smothering her with her breast now and reaching down to spread open her legs, Lizzie’s own legs climbing up onto the headboard, “now come fuck the holy ghost into this harlot!”

“Amen!” Father Martin slurred, lunging forward and collapsing on top of Evie, stuffing his half-stiff cock inside.

Once he was rooted, regaining his full verity from one moment to the next, Lizzie climbed down from the headboard and allowed Evie to breathe again. After a moment’s respite, Lizzie straddled her face, settling down to smother her again. She leaned forward to lean on and squeeze her breasts, working her hips up and down, humping Evie’s face.

“Yes, father, yes! Fuck her until I cum!”

 

[Curious_Muse]

Kitty sat holding Lucy’s hand, caressing her cheek with the other. “It’ll be alright,” she cooed. “Your heard what Mr. Dawkins said, he will help you.” The other girl was now loosely wrapped in a silk dressing gown, her porcelain cheeks stained with leftover tears. Her thick chestnut hair in disarray, her lips still swollen from stolen kisses, Kitty thought that Lucy looked beautiful. She squeezed her hand in sympathy, sure that Mr. Dawkins would make good on his promise.

“Revenge,” Lucy whispered, her voice low and hoarse from crying. “It is what I want. It is all I want.” Kitty was taken aback when she saw the fierce glint in the other girl’s eyes. She had only ever known Lucy as a soft-spoken, dutiful resident of the house. But nothing was left of that docility. The dressing gown had slipped from Lucy’s shoulder, revealing silken skin. But Lucy paid it no mind.

“I want the revenge Caldwell Dawkins promised me,” she repeated, her expression tempestuous and wild. “And not only against that horrid, small man.” Kitty smiled nervously, not sure what to say. She had never seen Lucy like this. “Men have treated me like a plaything, like dirt, like a nuisance when I have done nothing but try to please them, to obey their every wish. I want to take my revenge on all of them.”

“Oh Lucy, don’t say that. You’re upset! Things will get better again…”

“No.” Lucy shook her head. “I want to ruin men like they did me.”

***

Nora never took her eyes from his when he slowly and deliberately pushed into her. It felt incredible, like a piece of her had been missing and it was now that she was finally complete. His cock stretching her pussy drew a deep, husky moan from her lips, and she arched her back against him, eager for more. She surprised herself. What she had expected to be an ordeal, a trying means to a worthy end, turned out to be not only feasible, but entirely desirable. What other delights were to come from this? And from this secret society? The words of the duke echoed through her mind. Was she made for this? Had she always been?

The touch of his fingers against her skull and her neck intensified her pleasure thousandfold. “Yes…,” she breathed, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as his touch became stronger. “Oh yes, yesyesyes!”

She felt both helpless and powerful in his embrace. His touch, his weight pressing her down, the feeling of his slick skin against hers, the intensity of his gaze boring down on her – it was all incredible. Her whole body was on fire, burning for him.

“Harder…,” she whispered, her head tilted back, baring her neck to him like a submissive animal. Her nails dug into his back, aggressively, possessively, leaving bloody scratches. “Harder!” She rocked back against him, chasing the orgasm that was building in her, threatening to crash over her in a violent, all-destroying wave. “Devour me!”

***

This time it barely took more than a couple of the father’s deep thrusts for Evie to climax. She would have screamed her pleasure, but Lizzy was humping her face with such abandon that she was barely able to draw air into her lungs. The muffled cries were half-smothered by the other woman’s wet pussy, and Evie tried to keep up what she had been doing nevertheless, fucking Lizzy with her sharp little tongue, enjoying the feeling of Lizzy smearing her pussy juices all over her face.

The priest, on the other hand, had found his second wind and was mercilessly pounding into her despite her pussy milking his cock like a vice through her orgasm. Who would have thought that Father Martin had such stamina? Evie felt a second climax approaching and wiggled her hips, trying to buck against him as much as she could in her position.

There was a knock at the door. A brief, panicky rap. “Evie?” It was Alice who whispered through the thick wood. “Are you in there?”

Instead of an answer, Evie redoubled her assault on Lizzy’s clit, circling the fleshy nub with the tip of her tongue, suckling on it while grabbing her pert ass cheeks, urging her on. Evie wanted that little idiot Alice to hear exactly what was happening in their shared bedroom. Surely, missing out on their formal introductions had destroyed that insufferable goody two-shoes’ feeling of moral superiority.

For a moment, there were only the sounds of flesh slapping on flesh, the wet sound of her pussy, the grunts of the priest, Lizzy’s little screams and their moans.

“Please Evie, you will ruin both of us!” Evie had to smile. The poor girl really sounded desperate.

***

Adelia took the bowl from Violet’s hands, gazing pensively at the thick wad of banknotes the prince had left there for Elena. All in all, and despite the unfortunate incident that had forced them to chase their guests out the door early, it had been a very successful evening. Caldwell looked exhausted, but she felt elated. The prince was the most desirable suitor they had ever had in Dawkins House, and surely, he would bring more fortune in his wake. She had watched the Greek girl dance with the aristocrat, had seen her hesitation, and it was all-important to impress on her that a refusal of his advances, no matter the reason, was out of the question.

In the meantime, Adelia was set on taking up the baroness’ offer regarding Alice. An innocent like her, naïve and unspoiled, would bring in a whole gaggle of willing sponsors, if they played their cards right. With a tutor like the baroness, who entertained friendships with the most illustrious circle of intellectuals, dandies, and young, wealthy aristocrats, the possibilities really were endless.

“Violet, my dear,” she said, lightly touching the girl’s arm. “I need you to deliver a few invitations tonight. I feel that poor Alice has missed her chance to shine. I shall organise a small soirée, just for her.” Adelia licked her lips. The thought alone set her skin humming.

The men and women she had in mind would not refuse, not with Lady Henrietta as the host. The event would have them fighting each other for the right to corrupt sweet, innocent Alice.

The forlorn gaze of the girl was almost comical. Adelia patted her hand. “Oh, don’t you worry, my sweet. You are invited as well. In fact, you’ll be the centre of attention.”