Damon Snow and the Nocturnal Lessons (3 page)

Kendall nodded. He was a quiet boy, not particularly handsome as Rogers was, but well enough looking that he could make decent coin at it. Maybe if he were blond like Rogers, instead of drab brown hair that looked right at home on a mouse, he would have more requests. Apparently, not enough men preferred a honeyed voice, for although Kendall didn’t speak a lot, he spoke richer than Rogers, even though Rogers had actually been a clerk before joining Mother Dovers.

Kendall took a seat on a chair across from us. Lucky him. I couldn’t exactly move away from Rogers. He’d take affront to it.

“I’ve already had mine tonight,” Rogers said. “Tell you what, boys. I’ll buy the bottle of blue ruin tonight.”

I almost grinned. Usually, that would mean I could pass any of the men off onto him. I had fed, I would be sated for a few days at least. Then later that night, we could both get foxed anyway.

Except for this writing business. Well, I could wrap that up in one night, and then Byrne could give me the answer I expected — he hadn’t really meant any of it.

“I tried to give this one some help, but you know what he’s like,” Rogers said.

“Frigid?” Kendall offered.

I frowned at him.

“I mean, straight-laced?” Kendall asked, as if this were some sort of test.

“Truly,” Rogers said. “I’m only trying to help you, Damon.”

“Snow,” I corrected.

“Damon,” Rogers said again. “Once I get you nice and plump, with the size of your cock, the next pink that comes through that door…”

All three of us looked toward the door. It remained shut. After a long moment, Kendall shuddered as if the tension had got to him.

“Why would they care?” I asked. No one who had ever ridden me had cared about my enjoyment. If they had, they wouldn’t have carried on. As soon as coin crossed Mother Dover’s palm, there was only one agreement. My body to do whatever they wished.

“Why — why would they care?” Rogers looked at Kendall, as if Kendall could somehow aid him with his grasp of the obvious. “Kendall, did you hear that? Did he really just ask—?”

Kendall showed his colours, but before he could sputter a response, the front parlour door opened and a gentleman entered. Benjamin Dover, Mother Dover’s son, followed him in, shutting the door behind them. Kendall promptly lost all the colour in his cheeks, faster than if he had seen his own corpse.

The gentleman wasn’t new. I had seen him about, every so often, for the past couple of years, although I was not personally acquainted with him. I had heard others call him Price. Mollies, like all whores, are terrible gossips, but I had never heard anything that would suggest such a severe reaction to the man’s presence. I have seen less of a reaction from mollies who had been beaten black and blue.

Rogers gave the man a wink. He must be attractive then, although from what I could tell, Rogers actually enjoyed his work. Only God could fathom why. Price was a head taller than me, and his jacket fit his well-built figure. I almost whistled when my eyes met his calves. This was the man for whom pantaloons had been designed.

Obviously a gentleman, obviously far too much a dandy. But the jacket was old. The cuff had started to wear. I would put him at… two thousand pounds annual income. From the length of his hair, he didn’t spend it on valets.

Perhaps that extra coin would end up in my pocket.

I smirked. I didn’t even need to speak to the man. I could just write the entry on that. The reason he visited Mother Dover’s? The same as all men.

“Well, sir?” Benjamin asked. He rubbed his hands together.

Strike the gift. He had obviously paid Benjamin well — too well to throw more at his whore after.

Rogers grinned at me and tried to elbow me forward. I plastered on a smile that I knew would never reach my eyes. It never did anymore.

“Perhaps Kendall would be obliged…” Price stopped to bite his lower lip.

Kendall jumped to his feet like a startled rabbit. “Much apologies, sir, but — but mayhap—”

The look Benjamin granted Kendall could poison King George III himself. Kendall hardly noticed as he stared at the floor.

As graceful as a feline, I stood and slid my arm around his waist. Price jumped, as if he had forgotten anyone else was in the room. I whispered into his ear, “Kendall is occupied. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind me?”

Over my shoulder, I could see Rogers beaming like a lighthouse.
“That’s me boy,”
Rogers mouthed. I resisted giving him a dirty gesture.

Price looked back to the Kendall, but Kendall just stared at the dirt, like Price had killed his puppy. And then fed it to him.

I pinched my lips together. If anyone could survive him… Well, the question may be if he could survive me first.

“Yes, that would be fine,” Price finally said without taking his eyes off Kendall.

“Top room,” Benjamin said.

Price was a big spender. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be on me. Well, Rogers had promised me a share of his blue ruin.

I led him up the stairs, past the other rooms. Like other bawdy houses, Mother Dover’s house had been carved up into more bedrooms than any proper house ought to have. In proper houses like Byrne’s, and I would assume Price’s, the more important rooms and bedrooms were lower to the ground. No need for climbing all those stairs. But in Mother Dover’s house, the first floor was as open as the architecture allowed, with cots, sofas, and cushions arranged all around for Sunday nights, or for a quick pitch or other gathering.

The higher one went, and the more privacy one gained, the more the rooms cost. A man could have me on that first floor for six pence. On the top floor, he’d have paid at least ten pounds. Of course, little of that crossed my palm.

But men had to have their comforts. On the third floor, a scream erupted from behind a closed door. Price jumped and he looked at me. It wasn’t an entirely concerned look. I patted his hip. “That’s just Long,” I said, referring to another molly. I sensed the pair inside, Long panting and covered with semen. He always screamed. Apparently some culls liked that about him.

Price looked back to the door. His tongue darted across his lip. Oh, Price liked that too. Perhaps Long would be gaining another regular customer.

But for now, Price was my burden. We climbed the last set of stairs and I opened the door for him. The room wasn’t as posh as the parlour. It couldn’t be, not with the stucco around the fireplace. Carvings of a man thrusting into a woman’s mouth, a man being whipped by another woman, a woman being taken from behind… not really suitable for a molly house. I’d had more than one cull mention it. But that stucco was only a pence a tile from the factory, since half of the Covent Garden bawdy houses used it too, so Mother Dover had decided it would spruce up the place.

Perhaps it would even fool the Bow Street Runners. Oh no, this couldn’t possibly be a molly house. They have naked women on the walls.

The main feature of the room, the bed, was nicer than anyone could find in a molly house. Enough room for two grown men to lay next to each other, with clean sheets to boot. It couldn’t compare to Byrne’s bed, of course, but nothing in this molly house would ever compare.

I sat Mr Price on the edge of the bed and knelt before him. His eyes widened. I examined his expression. My hand went to his thigh. What would a man like him want from me?

The curse of my nature didn’t extend far enough to glean inside his head, or perhaps I already knew and didn’t need to be told over and over again. Price needed to fuck something. The methods, the equipment, it didn’t matter as long as I ended up filled with his semen. Or perhaps covered.

On the floor below, I could feel as much as hear Long get started again with his client, and hoped he received a bloody lip for it. We only got paid for one roll in the sack.

Price heard it too, or he had started to enjoy my subservience to him, for the placket of his pantaloons tented.

“What is your desire?” I asked. I blinked, the sensual smile I was putting into action froze. The question that Byrne wanted me to ask. What was it to him, anyway? “Tell me what you want.”

Price looked in my eyes for a long moment. What was wrong with him? Why was he hesitating? Half the men I’d been with would have been snapping orders at me as soon as we reached the door, and the other half would have dragged me to the bed.

I couldn’t bear his eyes judging me any longer, so I looked down. His hand caught my chin and lifted it. Oh, so that’s what he liked about Kendall. I could play with that. I kept my eyes away from him. “Please, sir,” I whispered.

“Please, what?” he asked, and I must have had a moon-filled moment, but he seemed as lost as I did.

I didn’t know what to say to that. What was the right word? What would Kendall say? “Please take me?”

Price let out a heavy breath. “Take off your clothes,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” I said. I stood and stepped away from him.

I slipped out of my jacket, as smooth as Byrne had taught me, and the cravat went next. I let the cravat snake to the ground, Price’s eyes following it. He swallowed.

My hand went into the front of my breeches, and Price’s eyes returned to me. As Byrne had taught me, I slid my hand up, catching the hem of my undershirt, and brought my hand up my chest until I could slip the shirt over my head. That, too, I let drift to the ground.

Price’s eyes roved over my chest. I cut a fine figure, if I do say so myself. Part of my inheritance, I supposed.

A peal of laughter came from below. “What are they doing?” Price asked.

“Fucking,” I said.

“I want to do that,” Price said.

Of course he did. Why else would he be at Mother Dover’s?

I slid off my shoes and peeled off my breeches and stockings both. Price gave me a shocked look as he peered between my legs. Yes, yes, I was large, and it wanted to be fed, even knowing it was never fed directly. I didn’t wait for him to say anything, but dropped between his knees and undid the placket. Unlike me, he actually wore underdrawers, and I fought with them for a minute to let his cock spring free.

Another shout came from below. Price’s cock bobbed.

I lowered my lips to its head. Price tried to thrust his hips up. I understood, I wanted to tell him. No teasing, just fucking. No one had ever accused me of being a tease.

I opened my mouth and it took him all into my mouth in one stroke. Price bucked again, the tip near the back of my throat. His hand went into my hair, and he actually pulled me back.

I swallowed, and opened my lips to ask him if anything was wrong, but he struggled to stand and jerked my head forward as he struggled. I knew what he wanted. I opened my mouth wide for him. He shoved his cock back in, and again, and again.

Not many mollies could do this, as I understood it. They had to learn how to take a man so deep, take lessons from Benjamin who very much enjoyed schooling the new mollies he procured, but I had just done it.

Price started thrusting faster and faster. I plastered my tongue against his cock, adding to the friction, and tasted his salty seed. My cock throbbed, as if connected to the back of my throat, saying ‘yes, yes, spend in my throat’, and my mind said the same thing.

Oh yes, use me. Use me to build that achingly hot lust.

His need raged inside him, a beast fighting to break free, but only succeeding in becoming more and more frenzied. I knew the point when the cage would break. I could count down the number of thrusts until he reached it, and I knew Price didn’t know. All he seemed to know was that he needed to keep going. He needed to lose control. He needed it, he needed it so very badly, and he would pound into my mouth again and again, hoping, praying it would happen…

Price pulled free and collapsed onto the bed. My lips stayed parted, my throat still dry, though my lips were wet. What — why?

“Get on the bed,” Price said. “Please, please just get on the bed. Where’s… where’s the…”

How could he still possess such patience? I could sense how close he was. A breeze along his shaft would be enough to finish it.

But he had paid good coin for me. Too much for just my mouth, even if he enjoyed nothing more than forcing me to stay there as he thoroughly debauched me.

So I rose to my feet and cursed my knee for trembling and my cock for being excited, and I went to the bedside table and found the bottle of oil.

Once upon a time, I hadn’t thought I needed it. A fuck was a fuck. I didn’t have to enjoy it. His cock glistened already from my mouth and that would be enough. I still believed that — I could heal almost anything with just another fuck — but the lack of soreness was worth in the morning every second of delay now.

He grabbed it from me and pulled me onto the mattress. I kicked against the bed and managed to turn myself over before his oil slicked fingers found the curve of my arse and impelled inside.

I grunted as he entered me. His fingers were not soft or slow like a virgin bride ought to expect on her wedding night, but clearly on a mission. My cock wanted to become better acquainted with the sheets, so I rolled my hips, then pressed back onto his finger.

Price took that as encouragement. He started to fuck me with his fingers as he had been fucking my throat, but it wasn’t enough. Not for him. I could feel the beast within him curling in its cage, and I wanted to devour it.