Riding Crop

Published by Evernight Publishing at
Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2012 Karyn
Gerrard

ISBN:
978-1-77130-033-9

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

Editor: Marie Medina

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or
distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this
book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without
written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied
in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names,
characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual
events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

This short story
is for everyone who has bought and read my books. Especially to
those who took the time to let me know how much they enjoyed my
multi-genre stories.

Also to Evernight
Publishing for giving a raw, unknown writer a chance.

Thank
you~

THE RIDING CROP

Karyn Gerrard

Copyright © 2012

October 1887, London

The night was a typical one in the heart of the
East End of London. A thick, coal-laden fog blanketed the
cobblestone streets of Whitechapel. Laughter and raucous merriment
poured out of the many pubs lining the narrow lanes. A noxious odor
of gas, piss, and stagnant water filled the air.

Lord Gideon Broyles, Viscount Cravenbrook, no
longer paid attention to the sights and sounds he encountered in
his numerous nocturnal journeys. The decadent and depraved
adventures he pursued most nights earned him the name “Lord Craven”
for a good reason. Moving aside the red velvet curtain on his
carriage window, Gideon glanced down the alley where he observed a
couple of men copulating with shilling whores against the brick
walls. Yawning, he sat back in his plush coach, and thought of his
destination for tonight. The club, The Riding Crop, was private and
recently opened.

At age twenty-eight and sexually active for
twelve years, there wasn’t much Gideon hadn’t experienced. Since
the time of the innocent tumble with an under-house parlor maid at
age sixteen, his sexual escapades grew in intensity as the years
passed. Boredom was perhaps the reason he sunk to such debauched
levels. He played the game, attended balls, assemblies, and danced
with the appropriate and eligible daughters of the ton. None had
ever sparked his interest, or more importantly, his lust. In his
more reflective moments he wondered if he even felt anything at all
resembling feelings and emotions.

The carriage came to a halt and Gideon moved
aside the curtain once again. He had arrived. Placing his beaver
hat low over his brow, he clasped his silver-head walking stick and
waited for his man to unfasten the door.

The door opened and the wrought iron steps
snapped into place awaiting Gideon’s departure. With a flick of his
long cloak, he descended the carriage, and with quiet stealth,
slipped into the adjoining alleyway.

His man knew to return in four hours. Gideon
allotted that block of time for himself and his carnal pleasures.
Knocking on the oak door, the small window slid open and a pair of
sinister, blood-shot eyes glared at him in question.

“Ah, Lord Craven. Welcome.”

He cringed. The nickname annoyed him. By no
stretch of the imagination was he a sniveling and pusillanimous
man. The name referred more to his cravings and appetites of the
sexual nature. Still, the moniker grated. The window slid shut and
the door opened. Well over six feet in height and broad of
shoulder, Gideon bent slightly and strode across the
threshold.

The rather brutish looking doorman stepped
aside and Gideon was immediately greeted by Pan, the host. Rumors
abounded Pan was, in fact, a eunuch. He could believe it. Pan was
flamboyant in speech and dress and could very well be a “back
gammon player” if he wasn’t absent any part of his
tackle.

“My lord. And what is your desire
tonight?”

Pan gave him an assessing and admiring gaze,
taking in his form and formal evening dress. Gideon removed his
kid-leather gloves, then his hat. He tossed the gloves inside the
hat and passed them along with the walking stick to Pan.

“I believe I will start with the third floor,”
Gideon answered while removing his cloak.

“A very good choice, my lord. Please, follow
me.”

Pan momentarily ducked into the cloakroom then
rejoined him. He led him through the narrow, darkened halls. The
hiss of gas from the wall sconces intermingled with groans of
ecstasy emitting from the many closed doors. As they climbed the
stairs, Gideon could already feel his cock harden in
anticipation.

The third floor consisted of small rooms with
private alcoves. This was the voyeur floor. Each door leading into
a private alcove had a sign. The red side indicated the alcove was
occupied and the blue side meant the alcove was vacant. The first
door showed blue.

“Do call on me, my lord, when you are ready to
proceed.” Pan bowed elegantly and disappeared into
shadow.

Gideon opened the door and slipped in. The
alcove was covered in darkness. A small shelf held numerous pieces
of flannel and a basket underneath. A porcelain bowl of water sat
nearby. Gideon dipped his fingers in, finding it pleasantly warm.
He would give The Riding Crop their due. The den of sin appeared
well equipped, clean and discrete. Various peepholes were drilled
into the wall next to the shelf at various heights. He peered
through the highest hole. Two men sat on a padded bench. They were
young, well built and quite beautiful. He recognized one of the
men. Two weeks ago he fucked the light-haired youth for over an
hour. He really did prefer women, but he did enjoy anal sex, so to
him, all asses were the same. Being in control in every sexual
situation was paramount. He would never allow any man to “back
door” him. He also didn’t mind a man sucking his cock, and had
indulged in the act a few times as well. The debaucheries were all
part of the adventure, reaching for the next thrill, and willing to
try anything just to have a reaction, a stutter of emotion, and a
hitch in his heartbeat. Alas, he’d been stymied for years. Gideon
watched as the two naked men roved their hands over each other.
Exploring muscled biceps, tightly packed pectorals, and the firm,
muscled band around their midsections, the two young men moaned
with desire. Both were fully aroused, and after indulging in a
little cock play, the dark haired man grabbed the blond and bent
him over the bench. Without any preparation or gentleness, the man
rammed his cock into the other’s ass and pumped wildly. This was
the sex Gideon knew and participated in. A rutting beast only out
for his own gratification. The sex was wild and feral, and his cock
thrummed in his trousers, begging for release. He unbuttoned the
flap, his eyes not leaving the carnal scene. Dark rammed wildly,
grabbed Blond’s hair, and pulled his head back. Blond grimaced from
the awkward angle of his head and the pounding of his ass. Gideon
stroked his cock in time with Dark’s thrusts. While what he
observed titillated to a point, the act of wanking his prick seemed
perfunctory. When his release came, he grabbed a flannel and
quickly cleaned himself. The men too, had finished. Re-buttoning
his trousers and wiping his hands in the water, Gideon tossed the
flannel in the basket and quietly left the alcove.

Entering the next vacant recess, he glanced
through the peephole and was shocked to see the Duke of Glenholm
and his pretty auburn-haired wife, the Duchess Miranda. Gideon
shook his head in disbelief. Now, he had seen everything. Of
course, debauchery ran rampant through the aristocracy. How many
orgies had he attended at various manors and country estates? He
also had a few short-term affairs with the wives of earls and
viscounts with their knowledge. The men were usually off pursuing
their own carnal delights. This seemed surreal, as he had just
attended a ball at His Grace’s London townhouse not one month past
where everything was in strict propriety and proper
society.

What manner of perversity would His Grace and
the duchess perform? He watched as Glenholm slowly and reverently
undressed his wife, laying affectionate kisses on her bared
shoulders. Layers were removed and tossed aside. The duchess looked
rather non-descript and her body adequate for a woman who had three
children and approached forty years of age. The duke was
surprisingly fit.
Good Christ, and hung like a stallion.
Gideon was no slouch himself in length and girth, but His Grace had
him beat by a country mile.

The couple lay on the wide settee and Glenholm
proceeded to make love to his wife. Nothing untoward or sinister in
the act. The duke was very skilled and thorough. He left no part of
his wife’s skin untouched by his hands or lips. The duchess arched
her back in ecstasy as Glenholm’s head disappeared between her
thighs. Gideon was riveted on the scene. Obviously the couple’s
deviant thrill was they liked to perform for an audience. As His
Grace lapped his wife’s quim, Gideon realized he had never
performed oral sex on a woman. He never saw to their needs,
caressing, touching, embracing, and kissing. Far too intimate and
negated his own pleasure.
Selfish bastard.
If a woman
managed to peak while he fucked her, he never gave it further
thought. The duchess cried out, her head back, her long, flowing
sunset hair touching the wood floor. The duke then proceeded to
make a meal out of her breasts. A low, simmering flame grew inside
and slowly spread through Gideon’s whole body. This scene was
exquisitely erotic and damned desirable to observe. By the time
Glenholm mounted his wife, Gideon took a silent bet the duchess
would not be able to accommodate that gargantuan prick. He would
have lost as the duchess took it all. There was no frantic rutting,
no rough, brutal sex. The duke made passionate love to his duchess.
The look on his face as he thrust deeply was akin to awe and what
Gideon supposed could be love. He suddenly felt ashamed for
observing such an emotional and intimate act. Stepping away from
the wall, he was surprised to feel heat flushing his cheeks.
Good God, an emotional response.
He left the room and went
to the next. His hand shook as he reached for the door handle.
Taking a deep breath and exhaling, he walked in.