The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series (14 page)

“What a pleasure to meet at
last Lord
MacCaulay
. I’ve heard so much about you,”
she smiled.
 
“You should call me
Maud and, perhaps, I might call you Henry; I feel that I know you well enough
for you to be a brother to me also. Sweet Cecile hardly stops from offering up
her praise of you.”

He was quite lost for words,
knowing not whether to run from the room in shame or leap forward to grasp her
in his arms.

“I’ve promised to run to
Penhaligon’s
for a bottle of
Hammam
Bouquet. It’s for our aunt, can you believe; rather exotic I know: all that
musk and jasmine! It’s a rather masculine fragrance - like a musty book –
but I suppose it suits some. We members of the fairer sex are trying all sorts
these days! I’ve heard Queen Victoria secretly wears it, but people say all
manner of silly things don’t they. Anyway, it will only take me a short while
to walk to Jermyn Street and I’ll be in time to catch the late afternoon train
to
Oxfordshire
. I know Maud is safe with you; she
might even convert you to the notion of women’s suffrage Henry!” laughed
Cecile. With that, she swept from the room.

Maud was the first to move,
rising from her chair with the fluidity of a python. Carefully, she took
teacups and plates from the table, placing them upon the side cabinet, next to
a covered platter of bacon and eggs, which had been awaiting
MacCaulay’s
arrival. He watched her in this, still hardly
able to believe his eyes, or to accept all that Cecile had told him.

It seemed impossible that he
should no longer refer to her as Mademoiselle. Despite her modest attire,
everything about her remained familiar: the curve of her figure, the glint of
gold in her hair and the aloof, smug smile that habituated her lips. Plush and
pink, he thought of them about the shaft of his cock.

She perched on the edge of
the breakfast table, her eyes beadily on his.
MacCaulay
moved close, leaning to kiss her, but she extended back, exposing rather her
full throat. Cupping the softness of her auburn locks, he pressed his lips to
her jawline then took the lobe of her ear, so that his hot breath made her quiver.

His caresses travelled down
her neck, while his hands fumbled with the buttons of her taffeta jacket,
causing her to help him, until she had shrugged it off, standing in her
under-blouse and heavy coral skirt. He began unbuttoning the muslin, his mouth
working down her collarbone, onto the upper curve of her breasts. He was more
urgent now, his rough chin tearing at the delicate skin.
MacCaulay
reached behind to loosen the upper ties of her corset, but lost patience and
picked up a knife from the table instead, cutting through the ribbons. It took
but a moment and the abundance of her breasts was in his hands. Falling upon them
fiercely, he bit into the generous flesh, opening his mouth wide, taking her pert
nipples hard between his teeth. She cried out in pain, but her arched back and
grasping at his neck told him all he needed to know. He sated himself like a
babe in arms, burying his torment in the heavy warmth of her bosom.

His hands grasped below her
skirts; he found no bloomers, only the top of her stockings and soft, cool thigh
above. He might have lingered there, caressing this tender part of her, but he
was too eager, bearing down to cup her mossy garden, pushing several fingers
within.

Her breath caught in her
throat and she held her head apart, surveying him through half-closed eyes,
enjoying the moment, watching him.
 
He held her gaze then moved his fingers deeper, all four, massaging her
velvet orifice. Grasping his arms, she rocked her pubis against him, riding his
hand, so that her warm juices oozed down his palm. The smell of her – hot
and musky – made his jaw slack with lust.

Able to wait no longer, thinking
only of her cunt and his desire to feel his cock tightly grasped within her, he
untied the cord of his dressing gown and dropped his
pyjamas
,
releasing the club of his engorged manhood. She took it immediately, coiling
her fingers around the shaft, guiding it to her, as eager as he, aching with
need.

He stabbed into her, driving
deeply, repeatedly, iron-hard and demanding. She welcomed the piercing pleasure
of his urgency, opening her legs wider, pushing her skirts away and wrapping
her legs about him. His thrusts pushed her roughly against the table, but she
rose to meet each one, clinging to him at the hip, grinding her own need to
match his. Her fingers clawed at his buttocks, gripping him to her, pushing
herself against him, devouring him.

Her cries and the rhythmic
clenching of her oyster told him that her crisis was upon her, and he felt his
own shuddering spasm, fuelled by lust: beautiful and all consuming. His head
swam as if he might lose consciousness, so that he clung to her, his face again
at her breast, his mouth open in a groan of great satisfaction. He assailed her
with the full weight of his body, pressing down upon her, so that his weapon
was buried to the hilt, pinning her immovable as his spume jetted violently. At
last, he drew back, freeing her of the burden of his torso, allowing her to
breathe freely once more. Thighs still spread, he admired his cock emerging
from her juicy cunny, oozing now with his viscous spurting.

The table, unsurprisingly,
was in some chaos, since she had not removed every item.
 
Meanwhile, her own appearance was in
disarray, her breasts tossed free and hair tousled in wanton fashion. The
pupils of her eyes were wide and her breath continued to come in short rasps.

“Is this how you usually take
breakfast Lord
MacCaulay
?” she exclaimed, laughing
now and
endeavouring
to sit upright.
 

He took the knife and cut the
remainder of her corset ribbons, tossing the offending garment across the room,
to their mutual amusement.
 
The
muslin blouse he pushed upwards and over her head. She turned, so that he might
unhook her skirts, and these she tumbled to the floor, so that she stood naked,
shivering a little.

She began to mockingly scold
him on the chill of the room, but he stopped her mirth with a gentle kiss and
pushed her back against the flat of the table. She did not struggle, allowing
him to lower his lips to hers. Her hands he placed above her head, so that her
frame was lengthened. The ivory orbs were exquisite in their paleness, topped
each by a sweet raspberry. He held her wrists there,
savouring
this moment of physical dominance; then drew forward the pot of marmalade,
overturned upon the cloth. He dipped his fingers within and transferred the
sweetness to first one nipple and then the other, causing her to chuckle
merrily as he had not heard before.

“I rather prefer cherry jam
in the mornings,” she admonished him, but grew silent as his mouth descended to
its task, consuming the stickiness in long, slow strokes of his tongue.

He released her hands to move
down her belly, his stubble grazing her softness. She opened and raised her
legs in invitation, fully displayed, and watched his mouth sink to her
shell-like lips, parting them with an extended tongue. He licked her there as
he had done her breasts: lingering, lapping lazily, as if she were his
dedicated plaything, and they had all the time in the world to enjoy such
caresses. She surrendered herself to
MacCaulay’s
leisurely attentions, allowing him to do as he wished between her legs.

He reached deeply, pressing
his nose into her fur and the moist valley, inhaling her sweet smell,
intermingled with the saltiness of his own recent offering. She wriggled as he
did so, pushing towards his face, so that he had no trouble sliding his tongue
further.
 
She moaned, her toes
fluttering and curling, and urged him not to stop, lifting her bottom to his
face in her desire to encourage his snake-like probing. His hands grasped her plump
bottom, relishing her gyrations. She rubbed the nub of herself against the
point of his tongue, ever faster, until she was clutching at his hair,
embedding his face in her slit, and crying out so loudly that
MacCaulay
believed George must surely come to investigate
the commotion. Her pleasure taken, she gasped and released him, sighing with
contentment and stretching her body with languor.

MacCaulay
rose quickly, catching the door to the breakfast room
just as George was about to enter, assuring him that all was well and that Lady
Franchingham
had simply banged her elbow on the edge
of some furniture.

“Very good
M’Lord
,” his trusty butler replied, “Should I bring some
more tea?”

“Perhaps later,”
MacCaulay
smiled.

On turning, he saw that Maud
had secreted herself under the table. She peered from below the cloth,
concealing her merriment poorly. He helped her up and drew her to him, wrapping
his dressing gown about them both, and laughing into the hair at the crown of
her dainty head.
 

“Having taken my pleasure of
you
M’Lord
,” she taunted, “I shall be on my way.
Meanwhile, I believe your sister will not be long in returning.”

MacCaulay
, however, had other plans. The warmth of her body pressed
so delightfully against him that he decided one last act must be his. He spun
her about and bent her quickly over the table: an assault to which she
complied. Spreading her cheeks, he buried his face between them, that he might
rim her tightest hole with his tongue. Pushing the tip within, he caused Maud
to tremble and, having no desire to unduly hurt her, looked then for the butter
dish. A handful was sufficient for his purpose, amply lubricating the anal crevice
of her rump and allowing one finger entry. He progressed to further digits,
until she appeared ripe and ready, returning the rhythm of his motion with
evident pleasure.

Amidst the slipperiness of
the butter - and with a further ration applied to his member - it was with ease
that
MacCaulay
slid his phallus between her peaches.
His bulbous end knocked only briefly at her door before being welcomed, sliding
by inches within that intimate passage, causing the gentle lady to sigh and
moan. He held her firmly about the hips, ensuring smooth progress, until he
felt his cock happily buried. He began a steady motion, aware that his campaign
required some care, despite the generous supply of breakfast lubricant.
 

However, it was not long
before the lady was moving her haunches in a shameless manner, facilitating his
labours
greatly. He spread her buttocks then, that he
might observe his turgid organ in its motions. Its employment was a sight to
relish, pounding at the rosebud of Lady Maud
Franchingham
.
She was clearly gratified by his efforts, reaching back through her legs to
clasp his testicles, and urging him on with her own lewd thrusts.

With a final pump of his cream
coated shaft, he spewed forth a pleasing torrent, his groan of satisfaction akin
to that of a caveman taking his woman. At this, she gave his jewels a hearty
squeeze, ground herself upon his pulsing sword, and uttered her own sob of delight.
Breakfast could not have ended more satisfactorily.

Chapter Seventeen

Proposal

Having assisted Lady Maud in
some semblance of appropriate attire,
MacCaulay
fell
then upon his knees, imploring her to make him her slave if she might, but to
allow him to always be at her side. Should she wish it, he would be
honoured
to make her his wife. If she required time to
ponder, he would wait indefinitely; the latter offer he hoped to have spoken
convincingly, since it was far from his dearest wish.

Her reply was immediate, “I
have no need of a husband, other than as a show of respectability, and fear
that I will never mend my ways Lord
MacCaulay
; I hope
yet to have many more lovers. In fact, I am planning a trip to Europe for that
very purpose, since each nation is known to have its own
flavours
and eccentricities. It would bring me pleasure for you to escort me – and
your sister too. She is a sweet, dear soul, whose company lightens my heart.”

“My darling,” he beseeched
her. “In that case, allow me to take you as my bride with only the intention of
providing a veil of propriety. You may act as you wish once we are abroad, and
I may ensure your safety. I ask only that I be present at each assignation,
that you may come to no harm.”

His proposal seemed so bizarre
that Maud let forth a peel of ringing laughter, but the notion appealed to her
as one both practical and novel. To whit, she accepted, and allowed him to
place a napkin ring about two of her fingers in token of his promise. They
kissed once more and, having made arrangements to acquire a special license at
the first opportunity, parted one from the other.