Regency Rogues Omnibus (88 page)

The inside would be shadowed in stark melancholy, dark with honeycombed passages and a large crypt chamber below ground. Brynmore assumed that the ancient church’s crypt was what they now called, the dungeon.

The person guarding the outside entrance wore a black mask in a characterization of horned Lucifer. The person acting as the greeter, cloak-taker, butler inside, wore nothing but a top hat, a thick black collar around his neck, and knee-high black boots. If this caused Kit any pause, she did not show it, as she continued to slink against him as if she were a cat rubbing and nuzzling against his body. She was in perfect form playing a slinky seductive fem-fatale whose entire interest was shown by her hungering need for him.

Brynmore handed the unclothed butler the invitation that Nia had garnered from a well-known Madame she knew. The lighting in the small entryway seemed to lead straight into an arched corridor lined with fat candles set in wall sconces at intervals that lit the long corridor. Several people could be seen along the way ahead and laughter rose hollowly against the stone walls of the tunnel-like hallway as he reached for the tie on Kit’s cloak.

Kit rubbed her cheek and hair against his upper arm. He knew that she peered at what could be seen of the people down the corridor. Some moving on, several of them gathered in a group talking. Further on, one man crawled naked on a leash beside a woman in a tall elaborate white wig. It was difficult to see the rest of what she wore or did not wear, as she moved in the darker side of the corridor. One man, closer to them was talking with two women scantily dressed in harem attire, he still wore his cloak. This group was all masked with decorative if not macabre designed masks.

Brynmore watched Kit barely raise her eyelids, bathing him with a slithering and seductive look, but within it he could see questions about keeping her cloak on. At the same moment they both came to the decision, as he imperiously started to shake his head, while her fingers reached over his to aid untying her cloak. They needed to be noticed, seen, and bring the panache of intrigue with them.

“Mm, we play hot tonight,” she said with her voice humming low in seduction. Then, at her final word he pulled her cloak away and without turning his gaze from her, handed the cloak to the butler. “Hot and wild,” she cooed, raising her hand to his chest and grazing her ebony nails downward as her nearly nude body undulated lightly.

The urges to carry Kit against the wall and make unrestrained love to her flipped through his prick like a heavy solid punch. He sneered through it in a lubricious way, with the chain to Kit’s waist leash wrapped around his wrist, while his hand groped the under curve of her naked ass cheek peeking out beneath her loin cloth. Kit hummed a sultry moan, leaning her pelvis forward to rub her mound against his upper thigh.

“Blood and cunt tonight, pet,” Brynmore said. Then he said to the butler, “I’ll keep my cape for now.”

“Yes, Sir,” the butler responded. Brynmore saw the butler was stroking his stiff prick, while his gaze was latched onto Kit.

Kit, looking like a voluptuous golden nymph. No one would miss sight of her. No male who preferred women would. “Follow now,” Brynmore commanded abruptly, tugging Kit’s leash and starting to walk down the corridor.

“Yes, Blood Master,” she responded.

Brynmore wrapped his arm around the small of Kit’s back and he pulled her against him, feeling soft breast and a turgid nipple pressed into his rib cage. Lowering his head with his lips near her ear, he said, “Perfect so far. Just keep rubbing against me like you’re in heat.”

Kit nodded and he licked her earlobe receiving another seductive humming from her throat. The sexual purring sounds she made spoke directly to his prick with a returning tenor rumble from him. Suddenly, the stones beneath their feet vibrated and Kit nearly stumbled as he clasped her hip, holding her against his side. The area was reverberating with sound. “Music,” he said into her ear. He urged her forward and they kept walking.

It had to be extremely loud music as it came from the bowels of the crypt where the corridor led, winding downward, until they came to the stairs. The candles were growing dimmer. Looking downward it appeared one would descend into an abyss that was beating with sound. Other attendees of the club were moving down the stairs that started straight, then took a sharp left angle. One of the harem girls glanced at Brynmore, her lips pouting at him before dropping from view around the left angle of the stairway. Then in back of them voices sounded, of people coming up behind them, as he and Kit descended the stairs.

“Like to rape da cunt’s ass there.”

“She’ll
take
your blood,” Brynmore said, low and menacing, as he turned his gaze. Then, Brynmore realized with a flinch, he was able to hide, that he was looking at Cernno. Brynmore curtly turned his gaze forward and away from Cernno with arrogant dismissal. Kit, beside him did not miss a beat as she turned her face on his shoulder peering back and hissing at Cernno, while she rolled her ass. But Brynmore could feel her hand trembling on his waist.

Cernno barked a laugh behind them. Their first hurtle was leaped. Cernno did not recognize them. Not that they thought he would. During the one contact made when both German brothers attacked Kit, she was concealed behind a veil twisted around her head, while he’d come in only in time to see their backs. The further hurtle leaped, was first contact with a member of The Order and more than that, could they draw their interest?

“What is da blood thing?” Cernno demanded, from behind them as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

Before Brynmore could fully react, Kit turned in the arm he held around her waist and she reached back.

“Ouch, bitch!” Cernno exclaimed.

Brynmore realized that Kit had scratched Cernno’s neck with her fingernails. She did not stop there, when Cernno’s reached the same level at the bottom of the stairway, she made a sound he could only describe as sexually induced hunger. Then she broke away from his arm, sliding her body against Cernno, until her tongue lapped over the abrasion.

It was magnificent! Brynmore tugged on the leash attached to Kit’s waist chain. “Pet,” he ordered, pulling her toward him. “She wants your blood,” Brynmore said, giving Cernno the most superiorly wicked look he could manage, which he hoped was fairly barbaric and fierce. Kit undulated and rubbed back against him, as she licked her lips slowly, peering up at the thick German. At least Cernno was clothed. He wore a vest with no shirt beneath and stained brown pants.

Kit had drawn blood and Cernno dabbed the scratch with his fat fingers as he leered at her. “Blood, huh?” he muttered. “She’d bite my dong off!” He grunted and erupted into a crass laugh. Then, he broke away from them without any more comments and he stomped toward the inner entrance to the club.

Chapter Twelve

Brynmore could feel Kit’s body shaking against him, as she exclaimed lowly against his chest. “I ruined that.”

“Nay,” he responded swiftly, cradling her to him. “It was perfect. Magnificent!”

Her irises, reflecting black in the dim light, did not look convinced as she gazed up at him. “Kiss me please. I need...”

Brynmore did not let her finish, as he latched his hand around the back of her head and he dropped his lips to kiss her roughly. He made it look more heavy-handed than it was. The friction of their lips building sexual heat. What they both needed. The rekindling of potent desire.

Kit felt the deep, disjointed bass beating of the music thrumming as though it were penetrating her bones. She felt the primitive music probing deeper with the heat of persuading sexual urges. Urges that tottered on demands to stroke Brynmore, feel every muscular inch of him, undulate against him, and have him consume her. The music compounded her need for him. Lord, she wanted him with new desperation.

Brynmore had warned her about the smoke permeating the smaller chambers and especially the large one. Narcotics, he’d said. The vile mistresses of the mind. Opium, strange mind-altering tobaccos, mystic mushrooms, and herbs or others that could alter her senses. Yet she thought it was Brynmore’s male heat that was her drug as he finished torridly mating her mouth with his tongue, leaving her tottering beneath the onslaught.

She could only reel and slide against him, keeping her hands on his warm flesh as they moved to enter the main chamber of The Satyr Whip Club. It was dark, yet with bursts of light seeming to flare in different areas of the chamber. Outlined figures moved in the smoky dimness, then she would catch sight of a person outlined in the fluctuating light. A naked body, or a hooded robed figure, or a figure where the mask caught the light. She realized that the chamber was very crowded and the shadowed outlines were moving and swaying.

Dancing? Yes, they were dancing in the middle of the chamber with varied erratic movements that were completely unfamiliar to her. This was no ball with structured minuets or waltzes, but individual gyrations and sinuously lewd styles moving to the strange, nearly unearthly music.

Cloth brushed against her, fingertips, bold swatches of naked flesh slid, and then Brynmore had guided them through the heaving throng to the outer edges. Kit clung to Brynmore, moving against him as she watched a woman with tassels on her nipples and a cloth leaf barely covering her mon’s, hold a tray up to them, of long stemmed glasses filled with pale amber liquid. Kit realized that she was The Satyr Whip Club’s version of a serving wench as Brynmore nodded to the sultry woman and he took one of the glasses, handing it to her, then turned back and retrieved one for himself.

The serving woman smiled seductively before she swayed away, buttocks bared, to another customer. Then the crack of a whip sounded behind them making Kit wince, at the same moment she discovered the champagne had bubbles, which tingled her nostrils. Kit lowered her glass, glancing around Brynmore’s shoulder to see where the constant snaps of a whip came from. Instantly, she pressed further into Brynmore, seeking strength, as she saw three naked women prancing like-like ponies with bits in their mouth’s attached to reins and fake tails trailing from... Kit’s gaze jerked forward, back to the darkly undulating mass of dancers, but the image of a man herding the women around in a circle, using the whip to guide them like the animals they portrayed was burned in her mind.

“We’ll move around the perimeter,” Brynmore said against her ear.

Kit nodded numbly. She struggled to regain her character, pushing aside her trepidation. She had to act, not wallow in dumbfounded distaste that left her reeling. She swayed turning and setting her empty glass on a passing tray. Then she began to move around Brynmore as he walked slowly forward. She created a slithering slow dance around him as he walked and she caressed him, while she threw unfocused faces they passed, the most seductive looks she could manage. She thought of Brynmore, his body and wanting him to mate her deeply to help those sexually teasing looks she gave.

She saw there was heavy drapery over broad columns around the room, helping to give the appearance of separate areas. In one area there was a large wooden rack shaped like a wheel with a nude man tied spread-eagle onto it. Chains crossed his chest and an equally nude woman knelt between his stretched thighs with her mouth sucking on his male shaft. A large hooded man stood beside the rack, turning something and Kit saw the man’s body on the rack arch and stretch. They were torturing him, pulling his limbs beyond normal.

Before she could comprehend that, the next area came into view and as she glanced, she slid her tongue across Brynmore’s right nipple, while she swayed around him and against him. The next alcove was filled with naked writhing limbs. At first it looked like a cauldron of snakes, but then she realized it was bodies involved in a crowded orgy. Copulation rampant everywhere. Men on men, women on women and men and women and mated groups. One woman with two men another man with two women.

“Dame Baset,” Brynmore uttered.

Kit broke her dazed fascination with the orgy and gazed up at Brynmore wondering how affected he was by all that they were witnessing. But his features were chiseled and his aura intensely focused. It was not just the focus of an average person, but of a determined and strong male. Kit continued slinking as she followed his gaze with peeking attempts. Through the movement of people she finally saw the one who must be Dame Baset. The woman was petite with a fully rounded figure, especially her breasts, which spilled forward beneath a unique couture corset purposely designed so that it only cupped the bottom of her ample breasts leaving the nipples bare. Copious nipples, with large dark areolas and something else that flashed, catching a ray of light. Lord, Dame Baset had jewels piercing her nipples. Kit could not tell exactly how from the distance, but it looked as if it could be hat pins, with the jewels on each end.

The outer corset cinched Dame Baset’s waist and Kit winced at the smallness achieved on such a voluptuous woman. Beneath the corset was a frilly short skirt that barely covered her sex and unique long stockings tied with ties that came from beneath the skirt. There was a young slender man wearing only a mask and dark pants trying to entice Dame Baset as she stood next to a column watching the dancers. Her wig was elaborately styled for height and probably blond, she was not masked. As they slid a bit closer, Kit thought she saw a bored expression cross Dame Baset’s slightly flaccid and mature face.

Kit wondered what Brynmore intended to do. However, with people trying to talk over the blaring of music, whips, and racks moving, it was impossible to have a detailed discussion. She leaped to the assumptions that because Brynmore wanted to draw Dame Baset’s attention somehow, the fact that he was a man and Dame Baset was a woman would help. It didn’t totally surprise her and more or less confirmed her theory, when Brynmore threw back his cape with a shrug, baring his tightly muscular chest. She took the initiative and began to get out the direct line of perhaps flirtatious scrutiny, by doing her slow undulating dance more behind him.