The Ruin of Us

by Keira Michelle Telford

  “Oh, please!” She wrapped her legs around Camille’s hips, assuming the position she’d read about in so many books. “I do so want you!”

  As the friction began to have an undeniable effect, their flushed sexes weeping with their combined passion, something Camille once said during dance instruction struck her: Your movements must be sympathetic to mine. Feel the motion of my body.

  With that in mind, she matched Camille’s rhythm as best she could and met each thrust with a corresponding shove of her pelvis, so ensuring that their parts came fully together, their pearls kissing with every stroke.

  “That’s it!” Camille encouraged her. “You’re a natural!” She clutched Maddie’s rump hard, her manicured fingernails digging into the teen’s flesh. “You must have your pleasure with me.” Her exertions became strained as her crisis neared. “Spend! Spend! Spend!”

  “It’s happening.” Maddie wailed, beginning to shudder. “Oh, you’re doing it to me!”

  Her bum jerked and twitched as Camille bore down on her, their lust-slickened articles gliding together as they came, their bodies seized with contractions.

  12

  The train ride back to the house was filled with furtive glances, stolen kisses, and subtle touches. They hadn’t washed since they rubbed each other into delirium in the hotel bed, and Maddie’s drawers dampened with fresh excitement to know that the residue of Camille’s amatory fluid was smeared all over her aching, impatient sex.

  Her passions were far from sated, and she pawed on Camille at every opportunity. Upon their arrival at the house, she hoped to make one more desperate bid for intimacy before returning to the mundanity and formality of everyday life, but her plans were thwarted by the presence of a curvaceous brunette who saw their carriage draw up and met them in the entrance hall.

  “Ah, there you are at last! I was getting worried.” The woman greeted Camille with outstretched arms. “Wherever have you been?”

  Camille dropped Maddie’s hand like a hot coal and welcomed the brunette into a hug. “I’m afraid we did such a silly thing and missed the last train yesterday.” She accepted a peck on the lips. “We had to remain in London for the night.”

  “How frightfully dull for you.” The woman laughed. “I hope this little chit was good company at least.” She waved a dismissive hand in Maddie’s direction.

  At being called a chit—an immature young girl—Maddie clenched her jaw. She may have been a mere girl when she left the house yesterday afternoon, but thanks to Camille, she had most certainly returned a woman.

  “Off you go now and clean yourself up.” The brunette proceeded to shoo her away like she were some bothersome pest. “You’ll be needing a wash, I expect.”

  Before complying, Maddie flashed Camille a look. Why was this stranger issuing such orders? And why ought she follow them? She wanted answers, but Camille neither explained nor belayed the command. She merely put on a weak smile, nodded, and confirmed the instruction, giving Maddie no choice but to obey it.

  “Enjoy the rest of the day. Lessons will resume in the morning.”

  Defeated, Maddie slunk upstairs, but she had no intention of washing. En route to her bedroom, her mind reeling with questions, she discovered a group of the older girls gossiping together in one of the other rooms and stopped by the open door to listen.

  “How long is she back for this time?” one asked. “I do hope it goes by quickly. Miss Camille is always so vexed by her presence.”

  Needing answers, Maddie butted in. “Who is she? Who is the woman downstairs?”

  “We are to call her Miss Hannah,” the girl replied. “Camille’s friend.”

  “Ha! What do you know of it?” Sarah, the eldest of the bunch, laughed. “They are far more to each other than that.”

  Maddie clung to the doorframe. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Once, when I had a dreadful sickness, I rose from my bed to ask if I might be given a drop of medicine to help me sleep. It was past midnight, but Miss Camille was not to be found in her room—she was in Miss Hannah’s. And the noises coming from within! Lor’!”

  “What noises?” Maddie scarcely dared to ask.

  “The absolute naughtiest kind.” Sarah giggled, then performed a perfect rendition of the soft whimpers and whines Maddie had relished hearing from Camille’s lips that very morning.

  “Were they flat-cocking?” the first girl asked with a frown.

  “I daresay.” Sarah shrugged. “I peeped through the keyhole and saw Miss Hannah on her back like this.” She flung herself onto the bed, crooked her knees to the ceiling, and wiggled her fleshy bum.

  “I’ve heard of such a thing, but fail to see what pleasure it can bring without the proper organ.” The frowning girl looked thoroughly perplexed. “How is it done?”

  “Quite like this!” Another girl dived on top of Sarah and played the part of Camille, rutting on her and humping the air between her legs.

  “Oh, Camille!” Sarah immediately assumed the role of Hannah and writhed beneath her. “Rub our things together! Do!”

  Maddie felt sick. The girls kept their performance going until hearty laughter erupted, then Sarah flung a pillow in Maddie’s direction.

  “I bet Maddie knows all about flat-cocking anyway.” She smirked. “You do, don’t you, Maddie? Isn’t that what you were doing with Miss Camille all night in London?”

  That was too much. Tears pricking her eyes, Maddie ran to her room, slammed the door, and fell upon the bed, smothering her sobs in the counterpane.

  13

  Within days, all pleasantness came undone. As the other girls predicted, there was a change in Camille when Hannah was about, as if her mere presence stifled Camille’s spirit. The house fell quiet, void of laughter. Lessons took on a more serious tone. A heavy air of gloom hung over everything Camille said and did, and there were no more trips to the lake. Worse still, she grew distant.

  There was no prolonged eye contact, no shared smiles, and absolutely no precious touches—nor anything that could be construed as such. When Maddie reached for her hand, she withdrew. Was the measure of her devotion being tested? Or her patience?

  Unable to sleep one night, Maddie rose and snuck down to the library. She intended to pick out a book and read until her sight blurred and consciousness petered out, but on her way back to bed, a light in the parlor stopped her. Book in hand, she changed course and found Camille reading by candlelight in her armchair beside the fireplace.

  “May I join you?”

  Camille hesitated before she looked up. “Of course.” She dropped a hand toward Maddie’s usual spot beside her. “Please.”

  They hadn’t been alone since London—Camille had made sure of that—and Maddie’s heart pounded as she crossed the room to sit at her feet. She felt like she was breaking some unwritten law, and violated it further when, several minutes later, she dared to speak.

  “Does Miss Hannah displease you?” She knew she had no business questioning their private affairs, but did so anyway.

  “Whatever makes you ask such a thing?”

  “There’s a sadness in you when she’s around. A coldness, too.” Maddie lost all desire to read. “You aren’t the same with me, and I fear that you’re casting me adrift.”

  “It’s a complicated business.” Camille laid a hand on Maddie’s shoulder. “Please don’t let it trouble you, or think that I’ve grown dull on you.” The hand stayed. “I am restrained with you only because I must be, and you must be patient. All will resume in due course.”

  All? What was ‘all’? The occasional illicit rub in a London hotel? Chaste admiration from a distance? Stolen kisses in the house’s private carriage? Maddie was confused. Until the sudden appearance of Hannah, she thought they were embarking upon a romance. A dangerous romance with high stakes and much secrecy, but a romance nonetheless. In reality, she feared, it wasn’t anything more than a fleeting amour: a sordid affair.

  While continuing to read, Camille’s hand wandered. She
ran her fingers under Maddie’s hair and tickled the nape of her neck, unwittingly stirring the teen into a passion.

  “Oh, I cannot bear it!” Maddie tossed her book aside and swept her hands under Camille’s skirts, throwing them up and crumpling them in her lap. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” She brought her lips to Camille’s ankle, shin, knee, and above.

  “Stop,” Camille pled weakly, her heavy book tumbling from her grasp and hitting the floor with a clattering thud.

  “I don’t want to.” Maddie kept kissing, professing her love at every interval until she reached the top of Camille’s stockings. There, she faltered.

  The red ribbon around Camille’s garter was gone.

  “I’m sorry.” Camille saw her distress. “It has to be this way.”

  Maddie wasn’t interested in hearing that. Her fervor dampened—but not entirely extinguished—by the disappointing discovery, she lowered her face into Camille’s lap and burrowed her nose between the older woman’s tightly-crossed thighs, drowning herself in the scent of her peachy skin and the natural perfume of her femininity.

  “Let me kiss it just this once.” She pushed Camille’s skirts up higher, baring the blanket of blonde curls ornamenting her mound, her pearl—and everything below it—infuriatingly hidden from view. “Let me see how it weeps.”

  She drove forward, targeting that moss with her lips, and the tension in Camille’s thighs dissipated. Her limbs loosened, allowing them to be pried apart, and she eased her hips forward, spreading her legs around Maddie’s shoulders.

  “Oh, dear God, forgive me.” She buried her fingers in Maddie’s hair and coaxed her toward the pink furrow. “Put your mouth to me, my love. I need it.”

  As Maddie’s tongue found the seat of her pleasure and engulfed it, she bit her lower lip and smothered a moan. Lost to passion, she hooked one leg over Maddie’s shoulder and raised her hips, straining to give the enthusiastic teen full access to her womanhood. In doing so, her head lolled against the chair back, facing the door.

  The open door.

  Where the maid was standing.

  Thoroughly mortified, Camille shrieked and wrenched Maddie’s head away from her loins. “Enough!” She lashed out and struck Maddie across the cheek with her open palm, the hit knocking her to the fireplace rug like a paper doll.

  “Begging your pardon, Miss, but I came in when I heard a noise.” The maid dipped her head. “Miss Hannah is asking for you.”

  Camille straightened her skirts and rose, wiping tears from her eyes. “I must go to her.”

  “Don’t!” Maddie lunged for her ankles, clutching a fistful of her skirts.

  “I must.” Camille brushed her hands away and strode from the room, leaving her in a sobbing heap upon the floor.

  14

  Camille took a moment to gather herself before entering Hannah’s bedroom. She didn’t want to look as though she’d been upset, so she dabbed away the residual moisture clinging to her eyelashes and fixed her blotchy eye paint, hoping that would suffice.

  Inside, Hannah awaited her on the bed. She was naked beneath a chiffon peignoir, her ruddy-brown hair let loose, and she smelt like lavender and chamomile. She’d just had a bath.

  “Tend to me.” She opened the peignoir. “My body hungers for your touch.”

  She was a beautiful woman. No-one could deny that. A life free from hardship and childbirth had allowed her to retain a fashionable figure, despite exceeding forty years of age. The color of her hair was aided by henna, obscuring the encroaching gray, and the lines on her face were easily concealed with a little powder. Tending to her physical needs was certainly no hardship, but Camille remained less than amenable to the prospect.

  “Must we tonight?” She lingered by the vanity. “I’m not feeling at my best.”

  “Are you ill?” Hannah sat up, showing concern for her only in as much as a cat is concerned for its human slave when dinner fails to arrive on time. “Come here.” She patted the counterpane. “Let me look at you.”

  Camille obeyed, sitting meekly as Hannah felt her reddened cheeks and her temple, seeking evidence of a fever.

  “You’re so flushed.” Hannah unbuttoned her clothing, finding that the heat had spread to her upper chest. “But perhaps it’s not an illness that plagues you.” She thrust a hand up Camille’s skirts and plunged two fingers between her plump labia, directly into her lubricious slit.

  Camille yowled.

  “It appears I’ve found the source of the problem.” Hannah rubbed her thumb over Camille’s swollen clit, her probing fingers working harder and deeper. “Whatever have you been doing?”

  “Nothing.” Camille whined pitifully, but made no attempt to stop her. “If I am in a state of passion, then it is only anticipation for you that has me so.”

  “Liar!” Hannah withdrew from her. “Which one is it? The new girl? That dear little foundling you took to London.” She shoved Camille onto her back and straddled her. “Are you fucking her?”

  Camille shook her head, but the fib was met with a sharp slap.

  “How dare you!” Hannah slapped her again. “When I am away from this house, you may do as you please—you may have your little amusements, for no woman should be made to live without affection—but do not forget that it is me who allows you your dalliances at the house in London. It is my credit upon which you rely.”

  “What have they said to you?” Camille held her stinging cheek.

  “Only that you brought another woman to the place. She was a very much younger woman, by all accounts—certainly no harlot—and you spent the better part of the evening with your wicked tongue in her mouth.”

  “This is the reason for your sudden return?” Camille speculated.

  “You need to be reined in.” Hannah pinned Camille’s wrists above her head. “Are the whores I pay for not good enough for you anymore? You’ve become so lewd and desperate that you must bed a child of this house?”

  “They’re not children.” Camille had the audacity to defend herself. “They’re young women, and Maddie is not inclined toward the love of a man.”

  Another slap came. “You will not cavort with that little temptress anymore. Do you understand? You’ll not touch her again. Ever. It’s an embarrassment.”

  “What do you truly care?” Fresh tears welled in Camille’s eyes. “You’re too busy spending your father’s money to give any thought for what goes on in this house.”

  “This house has my name above the door,” Hannah snarled. “If you bring disgrace upon it, you bring disgrace upon my family.” One more slap. “From now on, you will behave.”

  15

  Camille sat in a chair beside the window, nursing an empty glass of brandy and fidgeting with a length of red satin ribbon fastened around her wrist: Maddie’s hair ribbon. Behind her, Hannah slept soundly in the bed, sprawled nude under the covers, worn out from their couplings.

  When seized in the grip of a wild passion, Hannah always became particularly demanding. She wanted pleasure in every conceivable attitude, and Camille was sore, her sex throbbing.

  It was often Hannah’s letch to possess her as a man would. For the purpose, she had a rigid rubber contrivance with leather straps which she tied around her hips and thighs, securing the makeshift priapic appendage to her core. With it in place, she could do much of a man’s work, thrusting up and into Camille, rutting on her with unrelenting force, the tip of the hard phallus battering the gateway to her womb. All the while, she’d remind Camille of her place.

  “You belong to me.”

  “This cunt is mine.”

  Miserable, and having depleted the supply of brandy kept in a decanter on the vanity, Camille got dressed and stole downstairs to her study. There was more booze locked in her sideboard. Lots more booze.

  Well past bedtime, Maddie jolted awake on the parlor floor, startled into consciousness by the sound of smashing glass. After being rejected by Camille, she hadn’t mustered the energy to move and so cried herself to
sleep on the rug, remaining there long after Camille’s reading candle guttered and died. There was still a wet spot made by her tears.

  Groggy and disoriented, she got up, rubbed her puffy, crusty eyes, and listened for more noise, hearing only Camille’s faint voice slurring a coarse oath. What was she doing up? Ought she not be in bed with Hannah? Curious, Maddie padded to Camille’s study and peeked in, finding her slumped on the floor, picking clumsily at the remains of a shattered brandy glass, her unsteady hands visibly trembling.

  “Leave it.” Maddie pushed open the door and entered. “You’ll cause yourself an injury.”

  Bleary-eyed, Camille squinted in her direction. “You shouldn’t be in here.” She backhanded moisture from her clammy cheeks, her rouge streaked and smudged. “It’s late.”

  “I wanted to make sure you were all right.” Maddie knelt beside her. “I upset you earlier.” She clasped her hands together in her lap and kept her head down. “I was disobedient.”

  “My sweet darling, you did nothing wrong and I … I struck you.” Camille winced. “I’m so sorry.” She reached a hand to Maddie’s cheek, cupped it, and leant forward to kiss the chastised skin. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have, but I will if we keep on.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Maddie nuzzled Camille’s palm, glad of any physical contact.

  “It’s all well and good when the amusement is simply that, but when it isn’t … when the dalliance becomes more …” Camille shook her head and withdrew. “She cannot abide that.”

  “I don’t understand.” A frown creased Maddie’s brow.

  “It’s of no importance.” Camille returned to work on the glass.

  “Enough!” Maddie scooped up her hands, forcing her to stop picking at the shards for fear that she might prick herself. “How much have you had to drink? You’re in such a dreadful state.”