Regency Rogues Omnibus (104 page)

Affinity started forward to guide Madam DeJonge and Sebastian toward the parlor, but it was then that she noticed that Sebastian was carrying a small leather satchel. How she’d missed it in all the excitement, she did not know, and the sudden knowledge of it now made her very nervous. Thieves surely carried satchels such as this filled with the underhanded tools of their trade.

“Might I take that for you, Mr. Sebastian?” Affinity offered lamely, as she halted right before the parlor entryway.

“Non-Non, Lady Affinity,” Madam DeJonge said, sailing past Affinity as she was removing her veil and bonnet. “I must have the satchel. These things we will be needing.”

Oh my.
But Affinity lost her immediate concern for the next few moments, over the possible nefarious reasons for the satchel’s presence, as more important events came to light, like the first view of Madam DeJonge’s face and the introduction to her friends. Madam DeJonge was an attractive older woman with rich auburn hair and dark eyebrows, perhaps wearing a bit too much lavender coloring over her eyes and red rouge on her slightly plump cheeks. But her smile appeared genuine and her manner was forthright. Introductions were made quickly, and Affinity’s friends all sent questioning looks at her, and then at the Spaniard.

Madam DeJonge broke the awkwardness, as she said, “My Lady Brevity, Lady Caprice, and Lady Diversity, this is Sebastian and he will be helping us in this most unusual instructions today.” Then, Madam DeJonge added, “Oh, you are all so
bravura.
I am impressed and I might try to convince you to come work for me as Sebastian does.”

The tea cup Affinity was handing to Madam DeJonge rattled noticeably, then Sebastian chuckled, sitting beside Madam DeJonge on the settee with the satchel at his feet. Brevity beside her, at the intimate sound coming from the handsome exotic, nearly spilled the tea out of the cup she was handing to Sebastian.

Madam DeJonge was clearly pleased at being served tea. “Ladies, there are none of the parents about that would set the Bow Street Runner on Madam DeJonge is there?”

“No, none at all,” Affinity said, as they all shook their heads solemnly. “We are completely private.”

“Very good then,” Madam DeJonge said, sitting forward and setting her teacup and saucer on the table between them. “Now what is it you young ladies wish to know from Madam DeJonge?”

The moment had arrived, and Affinity glanced uncomfortably at Sebastian. She’d stated quite clearly in her missive to Madam DeJonge that they wished instruction to the fullest extent on intimate relations between a man and a woman. However, Affinity understood if this conversation were to be open and the least bit comfortable, it must begin now.

“We desire, Madam DeJonge, that you would share with us all things sexual,” Affinity stated briskly, with as unaffected manner as she was able. “Ah, from the very beginning that is,” she added.

“And the purpose, ladies?” Madam DeJonge paused expectantly. “You will tell me the purpose.”

“To catch husbands-s-s,” Brevity blurted, with long edges to her lisp.

“Oh, how clever of you!” Madam DeJonge exclaimed. “And this sound that you have, Lady Brevity, when you speak, is very seductive and foreign. Men will love this. Just as Sebastian’s and mine. It will, how you say, intrigue . . . yes, Sebastian?”

“Titillate, Madam DeJonge,” Sebastian practically purred with his rolling tenor accent. “Captura, completely.” Sebastian’s suggestive gaze, filled with darkening brown heat was all for Brevity, whose cheeks washed pink beneath his scrutiny.

Every one of the Lady Rogues felt instantly relieved, and then burgeoning with confidence that they’d made the right choice, after Madam DeJonge’s generous compliment of Brevity.

“Oui,” Madam DeJonge agreed with Sebastian, then she turned her dark eyes on all of them. “And this is why we have, Sebastian, with us today. Have any of you ladies seen the male body before?” Madam DeJonge paused . . . then she said slowly. “Naked?”

“P-Perhaps parts,” Affinity stuttered, reprimanding herself for her wavering words. The rest of her friends shifted in their seats trying to remain blasé in their appearance, however, the excited energy newly formed in the room could not be denied. Then, Sebastian stood suddenly, taking off his jacket as he did so, and Affinity lately thought to add, “But we do not want sex, here and now, just to learn about it.”

Sebastian’s answering chuckle shivered down all of their spines, as Madam DeJonge said, “I would not be, how do you say, a good business woman, if I did not offer the services of the handsome gentleman. So I say, that should any of you lovely ladies change your mind, Sebastian, can be enjoyed intimately for another fee.” By then, Sebastian had continued untying his shirt and had just pulled it off as Madam DeJonge added, “Even so, ladies, I think it is best for you to become familiar with the naked skin on a man.”

All of them sat in varying degrees of appreciation, curiosity, and embarrassment, over the spectacular view of Sebastian’s naked upper torso. A torso that was lean, but physically roped with muscle made of warmly browned flesh.

Yet they boldly kept their seats, every one of them, as the bare-chested Sebastian walked forward and paused in front of each of them, taking one hand and bowing over it for a moment, while he placed their hand briefly on his bare chest. Steadfastly, causing a bit of serious blushing among her friends. And Affinity noticed that when Sebastian came to Brevity last, he added a kiss to her hand as well.

“Men desire to be touched as much as women. Is this not so, Sebastian?” Madam DeJonge asked, as she looked at each of them. Sebastian responded with a sensuous grin, but said nothing. “They love for their lovers to be adventurous and playful. No pouts. This is most important, to not say, ‘no,’ to your man. There is nothing a good man can do with his woman that she will not enjoy to try, yes.”

Sebastian returned to Madam DeJonge’s side and she reached up stroking her hand over the bronzed-skin and dark hair on his muscular chest. “They in turn appreciate a woman who is open and receptive. She must be willing to give the pleasure as well as receive it. Have you ever given your body joy from the female’s lower lips?” Pausing, Madam DeJonge looked at them. “Ah, I see you have felt between your thighs. Have you touched this place and made it weep the pleasure?”

Affinity was taken by surprise from watching Madam DeJonge’s fingers lightly tracing over the mounded sinew on Sebastian’s chest, and she, as all her friends found herself blurting out, “Yes.”

“Excellent,” Madam DeJonge said, “Then, all of you know how you want to be touched and caressed. Perhaps, you dream how you wish a man would put his breath on your skin, or his mouth, or the lick of his tongue. Men have the same pleasure and dreams. Do you see?” Madam DeJonge asked, as she stroked lower over the obvious bulge in Sebastian’s breeches. “Just speaking of this has aroused, our beautiful Sebastian.”

Affinity saw Diversity waving her napkin in front of her face as she sucked in her own heated breath. The long outline beneath the black of Sebastian’s breeches was impressive looking, and while Madam DeJonge stroked the projecting length, the tanned-skinned and lightly ridged muscles in Sebastian’s belly tighten visibly to show six well-defined ribs of sinew.

“This is the essence, my ladies. The shaft of a man’s passion. A woman who worships this freely has her gentleman’s desire captured. I instruct all my ladies to love this with abandon.”

“But h-how?” Affinity asked, clearing her throat with a catch.

“I could do this now with, Sebastian’s, lovely cock? Or I have another way. It is important to love a man’s cock, cherie. The woman must adore it with her hands, her lips, her mouth, her tongue, the breath . . . her sex . . . and her bottom.”

“It is called a cock then?” Diversify asked.

“It is called many-many things, the cock, the dick, the penis, prick, or
en bitte
as they say in French,” Madam DeJonge replied.

“A dong,” Sebastian added suddenly, in his deep voice.

“Oui, your favorite, I am certain,” Madam DeJonge said to Sebastian, obviously squeezing his personal, “dong,” to the flattening of Sebastian’s lips. Then, Madam DeJonge’s fingers patted his penis several times, as she said, “Now hand me the satchel and sit beside me, Sebastian. I can see the ladies are not quite ready for the sight of your lovely cock.”

Affinity tried to become alarmed again about the satchel, however, her senses were distracted by the undertow of arousal thrumming through her body. She watched Sebastian hand the satchel to Madam, and then Madam DeJonge’s gloved fingers were opening it.

“Have any of you ladies heard of a
godemiché
before?” Madam DeJonge asked, reaching into the satchel. Affinity’s laden mind tried to place the French phrase without any success as she watched Madam DeJonge pulling a long black object out of the satchel. “This means leather shaped, like the penis, yes?”

They all gasped in varying degrees of wonder as Madam DeJonge stroked the leather padded and rather large penis-shaped object. “I have one of these for each of you at a small extra fee, yes?”

Affinity nodded rather stupidly, agreeing, she imagined. She had no idea anything like this existed, and if she’d not seen Law’s real one, she would say the size and length of the
godemiché
was unbelievable.

“You will each take one of these, then and I will instruct you how to stroke it, yes?” Madam DeJonge said enticingly.

It could have been a comedy, four proper ladies, sitting in a front parlor, with a real Madam, and each stroking
godemichés
. However, they were all quite serious about the need to learn, and then strangely the entire encounter was becoming arousing.

“Circle the base firmly with your fingers snug around.” Madam DeJonge demonstrated with her own example. “Stroke the cock to the top, skimming over the head like so.” All eyes were on her hand. “Now tightened your fingers and slide back down the shaft.” As Madam DeJonge watched their attempts, she kept talking. “Now you must do this many times, and as you stroke your lover, the cock, you will slowly begin to increase your stroking. You will start at the small pace and move faster as your gentleman gets more excited.”

Sebastian shifted and his bent legs opened wider as though he could not hold them closed, with Madam DeJonge glancing sideways at him, patting his thigh. “Yes, Sebastian?” she asked.

“Spit,” he answered in a rather husky-roughened voice.

“Oui,” Madam DeJonge acknowledged, turning her gaze to their industrious stroking methods. “Men love earthy, my ladies, the sweat,
la blanc
, the juices that flow from our bodies, and as Sebastian reminds me, they enjoy the spit.” Madam DeJonge shifted slightly sideways in her seat so everyone had a good view. “You can wet your palm slowly with your tongue, enticing your gentleman as you do, yes. Then, take the liquid back to the cock and lubricate it . . . Another way is to wet the cock with your mouth and tongue and this brings us to another way to stroke a man . . . Male cock sucking, and ladies, I say this here, that your mamas would never tell you. This is a man’s favorite request at my salon and you must always take the seed that is ejaculated into your mouth.”

“Swallow,” Sebastian added, in a near male purring.

Then, suddenly Brevity’s
godemiché
toppled out of her fingers landing with a clatter on the polished wood flooring at her feet.

“Senorita,” Sebastian said, immediately rising to go and pick up the leather penis. However, Brevity was bowing over and reaching forward for it at the same time, so that their heads knocked lightly. Sebastian grasped her hand, steadying her, as he brought the lengthy artificial penis up between them. “Let me help you, sweet,” he said lowly with his brown eyes shining.

“Is this the true s-s-size?” Brevity asked, seemingly caught in the moment with Sebastian kneeling before her.

“For some men, yes. For me, Senorita, it is-,” Sebastian paused, then he added quite by all their surprise, “Longer.”

“Oui, our Sebastian is
un étalon
,” Madam DeJonge, proclaimed.
A stallion
, Affinity translated the French word in her mind as Madam DeJonge continued on. “And most men are not this. Six or seven inches is most common.”

“How on earth do you get that into your mouth?” Diversity, blurted.

Both Madam DeJonge and Sebastian laughed, and it was not an ungenerous sound of ridicule, but true delight. Then, Sebastian settled slowly onto the floor next to Brevity’s skirt-covered feet as he handed the
godemiché
fully into her small hands.

Madam DeJonge waved her gloved hand, “It can be done, cherie, but more often we pretend enthusiastically that we are taking more than we are.” Sebastian cleared his throat, raising a questioning glance at her and Madam DeJonge laughed, saying, “You are learning also, yes, Sebastian?”

“Apparently so,” he said, nodding his dark head slightly.

Madam DeJonge countered, “Well, darling, can you remember any woman taking your full harden cock into their mouths, over and over on each stroke.” Sebastian started to answer, but Madam DeJonge raised her hand to him, and finished saying, “Or did you even care they might not be, because you were in such bliss, darling?”

Instead of looking at Madam DeJonge to answer, Sebastian looked up at Brevity and answered. “Bliss,” he said deeply. “I realize now through the bliss, I never noticed that not one has taken my entire dong into their mouths, stroke after stroke.”

Brevity gasped, of course they all did, each in varying degrees of rising sexual turmoil. Some of them confused that the very thought of taking a man’s cock into their mouth could be arousing in the first place. But not Affinity, she knew the thought was climatically arousing. She just needed to know how!

“Show us please, Madam DeJonge,” Affinity found herself pleading softly.

Madam DeJonge smiled at her. It was a knowing smile, but it had hints of kindness in it. “You have the most need. I already felt this. You have someone in mind, yes?” Affinity nodded. “Then, cherie, take your
godemiché
and lick your tongue slowly over the head in circles, while stroking the base firmly.”

Affinity looked down at her
godemiché
with her mouth suddenly watering. Her need was so great that no perceived shame could over shadow it. She pretended in her mind that she might be alone for a moment to embolden herself. Then, she lapped her tongue outward and over the head.

“Feel for the slit, then feel the rim with your tongue, cherie,” Madam DeJonge encouraged.

“Never have I seen anything more erotic,” Sebastian said suddenly in a husky whisper.

Affinity barely heard Sebastian’s awe. She was too entranced with the feel of the
godemiché
beneath her tongue, with the shape of the wide bullet head and the smooth texture gliding beneath her tongue. Amazingly, the
godemiché
was anatomically correct. There was a slit embedded where she knew it to be and the rim had a notched V underneath. The feel of it stretching her lips and rubbing the tender inner reaches of her mouth, awoke new feelings inside her for more contact, more stretching, feeling and rubbing deep in her mouth.

Madam DeJonge’s instructions, sounded hushed, and seemed to come to her in slow motion. “Lick the rim underneath. Press the head in your mouth slowly. Suckle. Stroke this base. Faster. Deeper. Oui, Oui!” Madam DeJonge exclaimed, and clapped her hands, jolting Affinity out of her mesmerizing endeavor. “You see, and some of this strokes into your mouth you have taken the cock to the base and they never know it is not each time.”

Affinity released the
godemiché
from her mouth, barely able to believe what she’d done . . . and in the presences of others. But bless her friends, and then especially Caprice for her empathy.

“Oh, and can we use the
godemiché
on ourselves?” Caprice asked excitedly, breaking Affinity’s embarrassed tension at her outlandish carnal display with a provocative question that fit the situation.

“Of course,” Madam DeJonge nodded. “But if you are the virgin, you will want to be very careful. You should not take the
godemiché
more than three inches inside, or your mamas will be so very angry if you lose your precious virginity.”

Then, the afternoon wore on with intimate instructions of French kissing, clitoris and pussy licking, fortification and the different positions used. Their knowledge grew as their vocabulary expanded also, so that copulation became, “fucking,” their sex was called, “pussy or cunt,” and a male’s seed was called, “come.” Such heady words, earthy sounding, but now they knew their actions. So much intimacy, so much extraordinary knowledge and frankly so much arousal, left all of them, save perhaps Madam DeJonge and Sebastian, dazed.

Madam DeJonge, who was ever the business woman, sold them the
godemichés
, and a creamy lubricant used for sexual purpose, and tins of French condoms. She also said discreetly, should any of their friends be interested in instructions such as this, she would be available for the same fee. Then, she also suggested that they could see all of Sebastian’s anatomy for a soaring fee and double that, they could practice their newly formed skills upon him . . . in privacy of course!

Affinity declined for all of them. Somehow, it seemed that paying for such intimacy made it feel involuntary, as though taking from Sebastian something he would not freely give. Brevity in particular appeared quite relieved as she caressed a strand of Sebastian’s hair without him realizing it.

Then, the most amazing afternoon was over and Madam DeJonge and Sebastian were taking their leave. “I might not have agreed had you not treated me with this generosity of spirit and respect that you did,” Madam DeJonge said. “The tea was very beautiful.”

Affinity thanked Madam DeJonge, while noticing Sebastian bowing over Brevity’s hand, kissing it, and when he rose he leaned forward to whisper something in her ear. Then, Sebastian and Madam DeJonge were both gone, and the door shut firmly.

“What did he say?” Diversity and Affinity asked Brevity at the same time.

“He s-said,” Brevity answered, clutching her bosom with her skin flushing pink. “Come to me.”

They all gasped, now they all knew the double entendre of the before seemingly innocent word, “come.”

Chapter Eight

Law stood beneath a droopy elm tree in front of Lady Affinity Redgrift’s London abode. It was midnight, one week to the hour of their last encounter. He was angry and it was hard to contain, and he was intrigued and that was even more impossible to control. She’d touched his dick. No lady did such a thing, but Affinity was a lady. A pure bred one. He’d not been idle in learning all he could about Lady Affinity Redgrift in his week of confusion and simmering anger.

Damnation, she had his journal.
The seductive minx had his life in her hands. It was disconcerting to have his private sexual thoughts pried into, but more than that it was devastating that anyone of Affinity’s station learn his secret . . . that he was the Benefactor. One wrong word from her petal soft lips, or one wrong excited tittering of gossip and his mission would be at an end.
Then how could he atone,
he thought, even as he knew there was no possible way he could ever right his wrong doing?

Law settled his shoulder against the roughened bark of the elm tree as he inhaled slowly on a cigarillo. The fog was dense enough that his darkly clothed figure became a shadow in the shifting mists. The fog condensed everything around him, holding the smoke from his cigarillo like a tangible thing, with the scent wafting strongly in his nostrils. The sudden image of Magdalena laughing as she coughed ridiculously after trying a puff of one of his cigarillos’ sprang into his mind. Thoughts of that time always seemed to haunt him more when he could smell the smoke the strongest.

He’d seemed so young then, yet it had only been three years ago that he was a first captain in England’s finest military. Then, he’d been a second son and all second son’s dutifully joined the military. His joining found him immediately embroiled in the Spanish War. A hellish action that no proper English gentleman would have fathomed in their wildest dreams. There was no way a man could prepare for the horror of war and the complete foreignness of a country so far away, and he knew that logically, yet one had to live it to understand the compelling strangeness of it all.

Nonetheless, that was no excuse for his inexperience and for his devastating naiveté. It had cost Magdalena her life. Magdalena, the beautiful whore who had saved his life, just as he’d ended hers. He had berated himself a thousand times and in a thousand different hells for not realizing that an English officer’s presence in a Spanish whore’s adobe hut could get her killed.

But she had to know, Law thought, tilting his head back against the tree, she had to know how dangerous it was. He’d simply thought that if the Spanish found him, they would capture him as a prisoner. A truly naive Englishman’s thinking. But Spain was not England and war was not civilized, it was ugly and dirty.

He’d only been two weeks off the ship, when in a horrible and bloody fight, in a dark, dank, and nearly impassible jungle, he’d been injured and splintered from his main fighting regiment. He had alternately walked and hid for days without water with a piece of shot in his arm. By that time, he supposed he was hallucinating, when he’d stumbled into a fair sized Spanish town. However by then, if they took him as a prisoner, he might have counted it a blessing. But this town was far north of the fighting, and at first glance as he’d stumbled through what appeared to be the main dirt street, none of the people looked like the Mexican military, but like peasants and common folks.

That was where Magdalena found him crumpled against an adobe wall, nearly unconscious. He’d hoarsely begged her for water, then he’d passed out, and when he woke days later he was laying in her scarce adobe hut. She was young and kind, but poor beyond description, and the first thing she’d asked him for was money. He gave her his father’s gold watch, and just that simple action brought such joy to her.

He had healed and basked in her youth, and they’d become lovers. Many times she’d asked about England, and he’d known as one does, that part of her continued interest and kindness in him was with the hope he might take her there. Take her away from the squalor she lived in, and her firm young body, so sexually eager to please him, had thrilled his masculinity, but also obscured the horrors that he’d seen. The ones that he knew it was his duty to return to.

Then, he’d made the fatal mistake. He’d felt so alive and he had seen so much death, the spirit of life inside him was unreasonable. He’d left the adobe hut and wandered the village. He’d been seen. Tragically, he’d even been seen wearing his uniform. How mindless he was not to think that men from his country had killed brothers, husbands, and the loved ones of the people from the village.

He was never certain who it was, which man in the village or perhaps it was someone from the Mexican military. He’d never known. He’d only known that a trap must have been set to kill him, not simply capture him as he would so naively think, if he thought of it at all. And plans set with no thought to Magdalena’s presence beside him. Magdalena must have heard about the plan somewhere, because she’d tried to stop it, and that is when she had been killed in the shots fired on him. She’d died in his arms, broken and bleeding, still begging him to take her to England.

He could still remember the blood, and the joy in Magdalena’s dark eyes when he’d said, “Yes,” he would take her with him. Then she’d died, as he’d known she would in that horrible moment and nothing had ever devastated him as much as having a woman die in his arms. To die because of him. He’d barely made it out alive after leaving Magdalena’s bleeding body behind.

Law winced, grating his head against the tree. They said time healed and the memory did not bleed as badly as it once had. He’d fought the rest of his term of service in a daze, surprised still that he had survived. It had seemed at times that he willed his death. Then, upon his return to England, he’d found his own brother dead of a simple and foolish horse racing accident, leaving him now the Duke of St. Martin. Yet, he’d been too fanatic in his grief. It had suffocated him, until in a drunken motley state he’d come across a street walker being attacked. Her screams had jolted his drunken mind and without a second thought he’d plowed into her attacker. The blackguard had fled, but the prostitute was injured by a knife wound to her chest.

Rosie was her name and she was as plump and pleasant as a tart cherry pie. He’d saved her, and then suddenly he’d found the pain of his existence eased. Rosie had lived and as she did, he found himself speaking to her of a different life. Each word he spoke seemed to heal him and make him more whole, and when she had agreed to finally take his help . . . he’d smiled.

He’d felt guilty about that smile immediately afterwards, yet twenty dozen smiles later in his life, he did not feel guilty any longer. He wondered now, as anger simmered inside him while looking up at Affinity Redgrift’s bedchamber, if the time had not nearly come for him to forgive himself.

Law extinguished his cigarillo, then he turned and climbed the elm tree and followed the largest branch over to the balcony he knew to be outside Affinity Redgrift’s bedchamber. What he was doing was completely out of his nature. He intended to get his journal back, that part was true, but he also intended to find a way to blackmail Affinity into not speaking of his hidden work.