Taming Maria (9 page)

'Nothing of
the sort, sir. But I tell you plain, you did invite me.'

'Are you
calling me a liar?'

'I wouldn't
dream of it, but my horse has better manners than you, even if he
does piss in the street.' Charles's sarcasm coiled round the
conservatory. He turned to bow to Maria. 'It has been a pleasure
meeting you. Now I'll take my leave.'

'You're not
welcome here at any time.' Damien stepped to her side, glaring at
Charles.

'That is
patently obvious. I bid you farewell.' With that he walked away,
head high.

Damien rounded
on Maria. His hand shot out, gripping her arm painfully. 'As for
you, hussy!' he stormed. 'How dare you linger about with him?'

'Lady Arabella
introduced us,' she protested, tugging herself free.

'Then I shall
take her to task. And as for you, it is high time I taught you a
few more lessons.'

Charles left
Strafford Hall without a backward glance. He clapped on his
low-crowned topper and shrugged his shoulders into a triple-capped
overcoat, then addressed his manservant, 'Bates, fetch the
horses.'

Riding from
Hampstead across the heath to his own lodgings, he brooded on
everything that had happened that night, dwelling particularly on
Maria. That such a desirable beauty should be in the care of
Viscount Damien stuck in his craw.

Reaching his
house he dismounted and entered, Bates taking the horses to the
stables at the rear. Charles lived alone, creature comforts
provided by his housekeeper, Mrs Pritchard, and his sexual
requirements met by a number of whores from Madame Flora's brothel
and, more recently, by his new mistress, Sally Wyatt. He had an
estate in the country, though visited it rarely, leaving the
management in the capable hands of his agent. He had come to the
capital to study art, frustrated because students could no longer
attend the academies in Paris.

Having been an
officer in the army, he now served his country in a less
conspicuous manner, working underground in order to apprehend spies
working for the French Government. On the surface he appeared to be
a dabbler in painting who caroused with other young bucks, living a
carefree existence. In reality he met informers and double agents,
using taverns and bawdy houses in order to carry out his
investigations. One of his principal suspects was Damien. In his
role as a dandy whose only apparent interest was in gambling,
drinking and rogering the artists' models who posed nude for him,
he had attempted to socialise with him, but the antipathy between
them made this impossible. As yet there was not a shred of
evidence, but Charles was certain the viscount was up to
something.

He lit a
candle and made his way to the main bedroom. Mrs Pritchard occupied
a more humble apartment in the attic. Bates slept across the
corridor to his master, doubling as valet and sidekick. Cleaners
came in daily and soiled linen was farmed out to washerwomen. Food
was delivered from the pie shops, bakers and dairies. London
abounded in eating houses, all within a stone's throw of dwellings.
Only the wealthy kept well-maintained kitchens and employed cooks
when residing in town.

'Ah, there you
are, Charlie. I thought you'd be later than this.' Sally Wyatt
spoke from the depths of the tester-bed. 'Old Mother Pritchard let
me in. You'll have to give me a key, you know. Can't keep knocking
her up, though I think she had a fellow with her. Dirty slut!'

The
housekeeper's love-life was of no interest to Charles, but jumping
into bed with the delectable Sally was. He placed his candle next
to the one already burning on the nightstand, unbuttoned his shirt
and took it off. She lazily walked her fingers down his chest,
tracing round the wine-dark nipples and following the scrawl of
hair that spread to his navel and disappeared into the waistband of
his breeches.

'Did I ask you
here tonight?' he asked, feigning annoyance. 'Supposing I'd met the
love-of-my-life at the soiree and wanted to bring her back?'

'Charlie, you
wouldn't have done that, would you? Don't I satisfy you... like
this?' She unbuttoned his fly. 'And this?' Her hand reached in and
withdrew his already swollen cock.

He responded,
accustomed to the attention of women be they commoners or
duchesses. They had always found him attractive. Although Maria
filled his mind's eye Sally was there in the flesh, with her
knowing hands and those luscious lips eager to suckle his helm and
her mouth hungry to take the length and girth of him.

She sat him
down on the bed, backed towards him, whipped up her kirtle and
straddled one of his legs. She tugged off his boot and then did the
same to the other. Her buttocks were rounded and generous, the
darkness between inviting exploration. She was a shop assistant and
he had met her whilst visiting his tailor at The Royal Exchange.
She had made no secret of the fact that she was looking for a
gentleman to keep her. Charles did not want such an arrangement,
but he was generous, helping her out financially. He knew she was
keen to better herself and did not expect her to hang around for
long.

His boots were
removed, but he remained seated on the side of the bed, legs open
and penis erect. She backed up against him. He reached round and
fondled her breasts, the nipples hard as cherry stones as she
arched her spine and moaned her pleasure. Now her cleft was
brushing his cock. She was very wet and he spread some of that
moisture around her anus and over his weapon, readying it for
penetration. He was poised to enter her darkest, most secret place.
He had taken his pleasure there many times. It was a safe haven for
his sperm with no likelihood of conception. The sensation was
intense, that tight channel offering extreme delight.

Sally was
ready, willing and able and there was no earthly reason why Charles
should not enjoy her. Though Maria's lovely face floated in his
memory he was a realist, accepting the fact that wooing her would
be fraught with difficulties and dangers. At the precise moment
when he was poised to thrust his dick past Sally's anal ring, every
sensible thought fled and he was fired with primordial desire. Her
spread buttocks were the gateway to paradise and she wriggled as
the tip of his cock nudged into her.

She squealed,
and his hand slipped round to cradle her mound, his middle digit
stroking her clitoris. She cried out again, body in rippling motion
against that tantalising finger, pressing back to receive more of
his shaft within her. Her rectum muscles were tighter than those of
her vagina, making him work. He pressed harder, guiding his prick
until it was sufficiently buried. Then he started a pumping
movement, the extreme narrowness of her passage causing discomfort
as well as pleasure. It added to the enjoyment of this way of
taking.

Sally was
moaning and rubbing her bud on his finger, while her hips strained
up to meet his embedded cock. Charles was lost in a world of
sensation when nothing mattered but release. Her inner muscles
clenched round his penis and chafed the helm. She was as desperate
for relief as he, forgetting discomfort in the drive towards
ecstasy. The solid bed shook with their efforts. Both were sweating
and panting. Then Charles felt the overwhelming sensation that
raced through his whole body, concentrating in his genitals and
bursting forth in a torrent of semen. Sally gasped and shuddered,
her contractions gripping his cock and wringing out the last drops
of spunk.

'Oh, Charlie,
I love you,' she whispered.

Maria did not
give Damien the satisfaction of knowing that she was weak-kneed
with fear. He marched her through the saloon where couples were
dancing, and across the floor of the gaming room. Those engrossed
in cards did not even look up. There was no sign of Arabella, and
the crowd appeared to have thinned out, those that remained still
eating and drinking, gambling and flirting. She looked for Jane,
but she was engaged with her chaperone and Maria could only hope
that Emily and Tranter had carried out their instructions.

Without pause
Damien propelled her into the library and through a low doorway
leading to a staircase that wound down. She pulled back. 'Where are
you taking me? You have no right. I was talking with Sir Charles
Bradley...'

'That in
itself deserves punishment.' His face was grim in the light of
lamps reflected on white-washed walls. 'The man's an upstart, an
opportunist who cares for naught but his own advancement.'

'What's he
done? Lady Arabella seems friendly towards him.'

'I've told you
that she will be reprimanded. Keep your nose out of business
concerning your elders and betters.'

He walked her
briskly along a passage until they reached a sturdy oak door. He
opened it, and Maria found herself in a long low vault built into
the foundations of the house. Light from flambeaux and glowing
braziers shone on some of the guests from the soiree, dressed in
outlandish costumes and performing weird practices, most of which
were concentrated on the genitalia. Maria stared at the racks of
implements. Bull whips jostled paddles, tawses nudged floggers,
manacles gleamed menacingly, handcuffs and ankle chains had a
burnished sheen.

A whipping
post stood close to a vaulting horse where a person could be
stretched, facedown, vulnerable backside presented to whoever
desired to abuse it. Next to it was a bench complete with straps,
and having holes at strategic places so that breasts and cunts,
pricks and arseholes were available for touching while the victim
was tethered helplessly.

There was a
stage to the rear with a backdrop representing a landscape. It was
bordered by crimson velvet curtains and had footlights consisting
of candles floating in metal holders in a long trough of water, as
in a real theatre. Arabella occupied a throne-like chair in the
centre, her legs hooked over the arms. A naked man with glistening
dark skin knelt before her, slurping at her crotch. Two others of
magnificent physique stood on either side, playing with her
breasts. She held their cocks, eyes closed in ecstasy as she
approached her crisis. Nude and voluptuous, she represented Venus
taking her pleasure. The crowd who had gathered to watch applauded
as she suddenly yelped, caught up in a sexual paroxysm.

'What a
woman!' Damien exclaimed, dragging Maria forward.

'I thought you
were angry with her.' She was acutely embarrassed.

'Of course I
am, but this makes it all the more exciting. I'll punish her and
she will revel in it.'

'I don't
understand.'

'I should hope
not! I am the one to educate you.' His arm was around her
shoulders, clamping her to his side, and his fingers were in
constant motion, caressing her skin. It made her melt with desire,
yet resembled bondage from which she could not break free.

'Where's Jane?
I want to go home.'

'Jane has
already departed with her duenna. You will return when I give
permission. Do you understand?'

'No, I don't.
Why are you treating me thus? And where is Sarah?'

'Your
chaperone is neglecting her duty, otherwise engaged with one of my
footmen.'

Maria hoped
that Emily and Tranter had been able to contact Jane and pass on
information concerning Robin. To that end she was willing to yield
to her guardian's wishes, providing they were within the bounds of
reason.

What these
were she was not quite sure. Though unable to trust him, he was a
fascinating unknown quantity, and all that was wild within her
responded to his challenge.

Her aunt
displaying herself so wantonly was a revelation. She had guessed
her to be immoral, but was astonished that, married to an earl and
the mother of his heir, she was behaving like a harlot. This was a
strange world in which she now found herself, where things
generally unspoken of existed. Members of the higher echelon
Damien's guests might be, but their mating habits were those of the
farmyard.

He urged Maria
forward, his fingers circling her wrist in an iron grip. The crowd
parted to let him through, then returned to their pursuit of
pleasure. He stood before the stage, looking up at Arabella.
Disconcerted by his steely gaze she grabbed a crop, using it
mercilessly on her three lovers, then rose, pulling a cloak about
her nakedness.

'Well, Damien,
did you enjoy the show?' she challenged, returning his stare
imperiously.

He mounted the
steps at one side of the stage, hauling Maria with him. 'I always
like to watch you degrading yourself,' he said, in a voice hard
enough to cut through steel. 'It might even make my prick rise to
see Charles Bradley arse-fucking you.'

She did not
flinch, outfacing him. 'What has that to do with anything?'

'Did you
invite him?'

Maria could
feel the rage burning through him. What had Charles done to anger
him so much? Arabella tossed her curling hair and looked down her
aristocratic nose. 'No, Damien, you did. Take more water with it
when you're out on the town. He said you were drunk.'

'He lies! You
lust after him, and for that you deserve to be flogged.'

Damien
propelled Maria towards a post on the left. It was equipped with
rings and chains. Before she realised his intention she felt the
coldness of manacles around both wrists and the pinch as he snapped
them shut. She was fastened to the post like a prize heifer on sale
at market. Unable to break free she watched as people shifted
towards the stage. Damien seized Arabella and made her bend from
the waist and grip her ankles, her cloak flung aside, her hair
streaming over her face, her buttocks and cleft exposed, shaven
pudenda pierced by glittering gold rings.

'Damn you!'
she spluttered. 'I'll have you for this!'