The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series (10 page)

His battlefield was less
tangible but he felt it nonetheless: an inner conflict, in which his head and
heart conducted their own havoc. As for his Achilles’
Heel
,
her name remained unknown to him, despite the planes of her face being etched
upon his consciousness.
MacCaulay
stood he knew not
how long, pondering his feelings, wracking his heart and mind. Other
pedestrians bustled speedily now that the wind had picked up and drizzle was
descending. At last, he turned homeward, the final leaves of autumn eddying
about his feet.

He passed the old ‘Route du
Roi
’ – corrupted incongruously into its common name
of ‘Rotten Row’. In fine weather, the broad avenue attracted all ladies and
gentlemen of fashion, wealth, celebrity and beauty. It ran to his right,
leading off into the darkness. His own path stretched similarly before him. He
rarely thought of the future, or the inevitable changes brought by age, but
they pre-occupied him now; he imagined growing older, dissatisfied, without
hope of a great amour, passionless and withered.

In the summer months, the
bridleway would have been crowded with hundreds of equestrians, creating a
scene of brilliance, pomp and
splendour
; now, it
appeared only dank and gloomy. When winter’s frost brought its bite, the Park
would glitter once more, skaters taking to the frozen Serpentine, illuminated
by torchlight. Many a love affair had been nursed in its acres, fair young men
seeking out a certain rosy cheek, approaching nervously, to be greeted by
blushes and downcast lashes. A lady might drop a glove and bestow a smile.
Often, such assignations were obliged to remain furtive, ultimately foiled by a
match-making
mamma, caring not for the secret wishes
of youthful hearts.

He had thought to make
Mademoiselle Noire his sometime mistress, but he realized now that it would
never be sufficient. He must possess her completely. She would be his torch in
the darkness: no other existed for him.
 
His amour would not be thwarted.

A ginger tom shot past: the
domestic quadruped clearly no more eager to remain in the damp than he.
MacCaulay
clutched his coat more tightly and made towards
the elaborate iron gates of the Park. He hurried past
Apsley
House: one time residence of the ‘hero of a hundred fights’ – the Duke of
Wellington. His monument to his own great deeds stood yet in front of the drawing-room
windows. If he had, in modesty, forgotten his own greatness, he might have
looked upon it, and been reminded.

MacCaulay
passed out onto Grosvenor Place and through
Belgravia. As he entered Eaton Square, fog was rolling in from the direction of
the Thames. The interior of his residence appeared darker than usual, although
the fires and lamps had been lit some hour previously. He made towards his
room, to dress for dinner, but stopped rather at his sister’s door, knocking
gently.

She called for him to enter,
and he found her at her dressing table, her maid placing the finishing touches
to her hair.
 
Cecile would never
think to question him, but he felt compelled to explain his hasty removal from
the carriage earlier.
 
Sensing that
he had something heartfelt to impart, she dismissed Alice from the room and
turned to give him her full attention.

“What would you say sister
were I to tell you that I may have fallen in love?”

Seeing the earnest look upon
his face – a combination of anxiety and incomprehension - her reaction
was to succumb to amusement. Then, clapping her hands in delight, she exclaimed
her joy, proclaiming that nothing would bring her greater satisfaction than to
see her darling brother happily settled. She had doubted that the day would
ever come, since he had already courted several of the most beautiful and
eligible debutants of past seasons, without any inclination to formalize a
union. That he had taken his time to choose wisely was only to his credit, and
she yearned with all her heart to meet the object of his affections, that she
might call her sister.

Her words were as he
expected, she being so generous of nature. He doubted not that she would
receive any bride he brought into the house with all deference, treating her at
once as her closest friend and confidante.

“And what if the woman I
chose were not born into a notable family Cecile?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows but
gave him the simplest of answers. “Regardless of her birth dearest, if she is
the other half of your soul then she will be a lady indeed. Your good taste and
discernment could only bring about your preference for a woman of substance,
refinement and intelligence. I cannot believe it would be otherwise.”

Her words were a comfort.
Certainly, whatever her name or status in society, Mademoiselle Noire lacked
neither wits nor imagination. Her conversation was eloquent, her spirit
admirable and her bearing noble. Perhaps all could be well.
 
However,
MacCaulay
remained doubtful that she had any notion of marriage: much less, that she
might wish to accept an overture from him.

MacCaulay
took leave of Cecile with his customary kiss upon her
forehead and promised to join her downstairs in good time.

Chapter Thirteen

Many Hands Make Light Work

MacCaulay
returned to the Club the following evening, his mind
now set that he must speak to Mademoiselle Noire alone and apprise her of his
feelings. He would expect her refusal but entreat her to consider his proposal.
That she would have terms of her own, he fully expected. These he would
consider, although her continued exhibition of herself at the Club he felt he
could not countenance. He would relinquish his own membership if necessary.

He found a place upon a side
sofa, away from the main throng.

Mademoiselle’s entrance to
the salon was heralded by the swish of her skirts, as she made her way to the
centre
of the assembly. She had never looked more regal,
wearing a dress of crimson red velvet, cut low, so that her porcelain shoulders
were fully exposed. Her corset was laced tightly, supporting her cleavage to
utmost advantage, the orbs of her breasts as two ripe peaches. Her coiffure was
pinned with diamante stones, which caught the light, so that her auburn hair
appeared set with stars.

She began her address.

“Gentlemen, you are familiar
with the delight of watching a fair bottom wriggle upon a manly piston –
your own or that of another!”

Merry agreement rippled
through the room.

“What joy it is to witness
such coupling, spurring on the efforts of others and offering murmurs of
encouragement as you watch appreciatively, waiting your turn.”

She paused, allowing the rosy
image to permeate.

“Some might say that lusts
are best inflamed by watching ladies coax one another, with gentle fondles or
harsher play. Others prefer a girl to be coy, since shy modesty has its own
appeal and men like to hunt. A woman too willing is perhaps no sport. Who among
you has not thrilled to the act of overcoming seeming resistance?
To the lifting of a reluctant girl’s skirts?
The ladies of
our harem know you well Gentlemen, acting the virgin or the whore, as suits the
occasion.”

Her voice, low and seductive,
continued.

“Tonight, we bid farewell to
Evaline
, who has been your sporting companion these last 12
months. Her fields have been watered most liberally, and in every manner, by
our
honourable
host. Sadly, this is her last night
with us, since she is soon to enter the sacred union of marriage and plans to
put aside, with much reluctance, her life of adventure within these walls.”

Mademoiselle here allowed the
Gentlemen to conjure forth their own recollections of the majestic
Evaline
.

“To mark her departure, she
has requested the
honour
of your participation in a
special performance: no less than the reenactment of Messalina’s orgy. Being
learned gentlemen, I am sure you know the story well: the Roman Emperor
Claudius’ wife, being insatiable of appetite and immensely competitive, challenged
the well known prostitute Scylla to a contest, to see who might fulfill the
desires and lusts of the most men.
 
Of course, Messalina demonstrated
herself
to be
the greater whore, fulfilling the most perverse demands by the greater number
of suitors.
 
This evening,
Evaline
will be without challenge, since we humbly acknowledge
her as the foremost lady of this establishment.”

Having received such an
introduction, guaranteed to whet the appetite, the lady herself entered,
dressed fittingly in a Roman toga, her chestnut hair braided and looped in the
style made famous by Messalina of old.

She took a sedate promenade
about the room, so that her figure might be admired, and that she might
appraise her suitors. Satisfied at last that all attention was hers, she lay
back upon the cushioned day bed in the
centre
of the
room, and summoned forth her first lover with a crook of her finger. The
gentleman remained fully clothed, taking out only those parts of
himself
essential to the act, and lifted the skirts of his
Messalina, running his hands slowly up her milky thighs, until her forest was
revealed.

She tilted her hips upwards
towards him, so that his angle of entry was facilitated, and his organ gained
the first toast of the night, drawn slowly back and forth, so that all could
admire his fluidity of action and control.
Evaline
closed her eyes, allowing the sensation to wash through her: the delight of
opening her legs and receiving whatever offering was placed between them.

Their coupling was sedate, a performance
of sensual languor, although every man there knew that the night could end in
only one fashion: a feast of hard ramming in which every one of them would
enjoy entry of her body.

For her next suitor, she
knelt upon the divan, offering her buttocks. He poured champagne down the
cleft, as another bent his head to drink, rubbing his bearded face against the
full length of her valley, from one orifice to the other, stimulating her with
his hairy chin, his nose and, of course, his tongue. The sucking of the liquid
from her secret folds inspired much wriggling from the lady, who was soon ready
to welcome the stricter ministrations of the two men.

They shared her with utmost
decorum, enjoying several strokes to her velvet passage before withdrawing and
making way for their rival. In this manner, they kept her pleasure simmering
for nigh ten minutes, delivering ever fiercer strokes until, at last, they
submitted her to a hammering which shook the lady’s breasts free of her draping
costume.

Her face flushed and radiant,
she removed her simple garb, reclining now naked upon the divan, placing her
hands upon her own body: her generous breasts, her rounded belly and the mount
of her Venus, She encouraged four to gather about her, requesting that they
pleasure themselves as she touched her own places most erogenous.

The lady’s undulations as she
brought herself to a peak of enjoyment were most enchanting to behold, and soon
summoned
forth joyous
eruptions from her admirers.
Their devotional juices created a work of art upon her beautiful curves, which
she rubbed provocatively into her thighs, breasts and stomach, kneading her
flesh with their gift to her.

In various states of undress,
those about her joined in her fondling, lowering their mouths not only to her
nipples
but
to her arms and legs, so that each limb
was held captive about the wrist or ankle, and smothered in kisses and gentle
nibbles. In this way, perhaps eight of the assembly joined in pleasuring the
young lady, taking care to only deliver the sweetest of sensations.

A cushion was placed then
under her dainty buttocks, so that her cunny was best able to invite the
attention of her suitors. One after another they took their turn in delighting
her there in the most agreeable manner, licking and sucking at her sweet jewel.
Hands and lips continued to rove about her body in a tender fashion, her snowy
breasts squeezed and softly pinched, teeth grazing her skin. Her nipples ached
for those tweaks and bites, just as her inner chamber throbbed for the probing
of tongue after tongue.

Her ecstasy came upon her
repeatedly and
MacCaulay
wondered at the girl’s
ability to continue, but
Evaline’s
enthusiasm was far
from spent. Just like Messalina, she presented herself for the use of
every man, enjoying the knowledge of their
eyes and hands upon
her. Their unrelenting attentions she received with indefatigable delight.