Assured that there was no reason to hurry, Maddie’s exploratory fingers continued their timid ministrations a while longer. “If we are not to be rushed, will you do to me what I saw you do to her? You were using your mouth upon her as I used mine upon you, and I should like to know the pleasure it brings.”
Emboldened by Camille’s unabashed nudity, she took a deep breath and whisked off her chemise. Naked but for Camille’s garter around her thigh, she presented herself for touching, and Camille responded with gusto.
In an instant, the covers were flung away and Camille’s lips were all over her, kissing every inch from neck to breasts to belly … and lower. Delightfully lower.
“Lie down, my darling.” Camille laid her supine, limbs spread. “Let me taste you.”
A moment later, she brought her eager, hungry mouth to Maddie’s sex, moaning into her drenched flesh.
The sensations were overwhelming. Maddie expected to feel the sweet caress of Camille’s tongue on her southern parts, but not the accompaniment of fingers. As Camille kissed her pearl, two probing digits eased their way through her obstructed slit and she yowled. It was almost too much, but Camille applied such tender pressures that her crisis came with little resistance. In fact, it came too soon and was over too fast, leaving her in a fervor.
“You’ve made it hot.” She writhed on the bed. “Do it to me now.”
“If you’re ready, my love.” Camille backed off the bed and fastened the priapus around her waist and thighs so that it projected from her groin.
It was a perfect replica of the male member, just as Maddie had imagined.
“Are you quite certain of yourself?” Camille slathered the rigid piercer in cold cream and knelt in position between Maddie’s legs. “There will be no denying what has occurred.”
“I want you to have all of me.” Maddie closed her eyes and braced herself. “Please.”
Camille responded to her wish, and she felt the penetrating head of the priapus pushing at her opening. There was a slight stretching, a faint twinge of discomfort, then Camille gave a frightful shove. A sharp sting of pain shot through her core as her maidenhead gave way to the intrusion, and she suppressed a wail.
“There.” Camille slid up her. “It has been done.” She hilted herself. “How does it feel?”
Maddie made no sound.
“Darling, does it cause you pain? Do you not like it?” Camille kissed a tear away from the corner of her eye. “Do you wish for me to stop? Say the word and I—”
“No.” Maddie gripped her buttocks, preventing her withdrawal. “Keep in.” She slid both hands up Camille’s back and pulled her into an embrace, their bodies locked tightly together. “Make me come.”
18
Throughout the night, Maddie had her pleasure thrice more. After each exquisite orgasm, Camille declared that she must return to Hannah’s room, lest her absence be discovered, but she never once made any effort to decamp. The candles guttered and died, yet she remained entwined with Maddie until sunlight started to bleed through the curtains.
“I have to go.” She sighed, disentangling herself from Maddie’s clinging limbs. “Hannah will soon wake.”
“So what if she does?” Maddie challenged her to make a stand. “Do you truly love me?”
“More than you’ll ever know.”
“Then leave this place.” She swung a leg over Camille’s lap, straddled her, and pushed her shoulders down, keeping her in the bed. “Run away with me.”
“And go where?” Camille tucked Maddie’s unkempt mop of dark hair behind her ears, preventing it from falling forward and obscuring her face. “I have nothing to offer you. What would we do for money? A return to my former employment would not be practical. I’ve not many good years left in me, and—”
“I wouldn’t want that.” Maddie cut her off. “Not ever.”
“What, then?” Camille brought Maddie to her bosom with a sharp tug, seized her by the waist, and flipped them both over. “Tell me. What would you have me do without her?”
Tap, tap, tap.
The knocking on the door was barely perceptible, then it swung open.
“Young miss, there’s a doctor here to see you. Shall I …” The maid’s voice trailed off. She stood in the doorway, gawping at the bed, soaking up the visual information.
Camille and Maddie were naked, hair in disarray. Camille’s clothes were heaped at the foot of the bed. There was a dildo on the floor, abandoned on the rug, the light staining of defloration visible on the shaft. On the bedside table, there was the brandy—two glasses with it.
“What is it that you wish me to do?” She bowed her head as she spoke to Camille.
“Make him comfortable in the parlor.” Camille’s cheeks burned. “I shall be down directly.”
As soon as the maid departed, she leapt out of bed and hurried into her clothes.
“Will she tell Hannah?” Maddie wasn’t sure that would be a bad thing.
“I don’t know, but we have more pressing concerns at the minute.” Camille hid the phallus and all evidence of the brandy in the bedside table cupboard. “You must bear this indignity first.” She found Maddie’s chemise dangling from the foot of the bed and urged her into it. “Wash yourself, then I will bring him to you.” She turned to leave, but Maddie grabbed her hand.
“Kiss me.” She pulled Camille back to the bedside. “Tell me you love me.”
Camille softened, smiled, and sank onto the edge of the bed. “I love you.” She kissed Maddie deeply. “Everything will be all right.”
That was wishful thinking, but Maddie liked hearing it anyway.
Five minutes later, Camille—her blonde mane hastily introduced to a brush and swept into an up-do—knocked on her door as if she were a stranger to the room and led in a short white-haired man with a leather medical case.
“Present yourself,” she instructed Maddie, affecting an austere tone. “This good doctor needs to inspect you.” She hesitated then and addressed the white-haired man. “Ought I leave?”
From the bed, Maddie shook her head furiously.
“If the child wishes you to stay, you may stay.” The doctor set his bag on the bedside table, next to an open jar of cold cream. “Now, my dear”—he patted Maddie on the head, as one would a dog—“this won’t take long.”
Before he could begin, the maid returned, unable to look Camille in the eye as she spoke.
“Miss Hannah’s not yet arisen, and there’s a telegram for her.”
“Then wake her.” Camille made no attempt to disguise the annoyance in her voice. “What do you bother me for?” She shooed the maid out and ushered the doctor on. “Hurry and do what you must.”
“Covers down, knees up.” The doctor donned a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. “Quick as you please now.”
As Maddie obeyed, a telltale pink wetness caught his eye on the sheets. He halted, glanced first at it, then at Maddie, then at Camille.
“What has been done here?” He gave a cursory glance up Maddie’s chemise, reaching an instant and damning conclusion. “This girl has been breached.”
Camille shrugged. “I am not a prison guard. I cannot keep these girls in at all times. They are adolescents; they will do what they will.” She clasped her hands together so as not to fidget. “There’s a local boy who delivers here once a week. Many of the girls have taken a fancy to him, and I presume it is he who is to blame.”
The doctor caught a small smile on Maddie’s lips. “Do you not even have the modesty left to feign any shame?”
He was about to turn his moral judgment upon Camille again, but was interrupted by the return of the maid. She burst in, breathing hard and in full panic.
“It’s Miss Hannah.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I cannot wake her!”
Those words changed everything. In short order, the doctor pronounced Miss Hannah quite dead, Camille collapsed, and the police were sent for. When revived and questioned at length, Camille confessed—for she had no choic
e—that Hannah took a sleeping draught, and from there, things took a decidedly sour turn.
Was it chloral hydrate? Yes.
Was she in the habit of it? No.
So why last night? Camille pled ignorance.
By mid-morning, the police had everyone gathered in the parlor. All were subjected to private interviews, but none were interrogated so hard or so cruelly as Camille. No answer she gave seemed good enough, and since she was the only one with a key to the medicine chest, suspicion had only one direction in which to fall. And then it got worse.
“Where did you sleep last night?” the inspector asked.
“What business is that of yours?” Camille glared indignantly at him from her armchair. “I was in my bed, of course.”
“Are you quite certain of that?”
Camille’s gaze darted to the sheepish-looking maid who no doubt told all of what she saw, then back to the inspector. “What difference might it make where I slept?”
“Well, that depends.” The inspector loomed over her. “Did you spend last night in the company of one of your girls?” He signaled for one of the uniformed policemen to bring a whimpering, sniffling Maddie forward.
Gasps echoed around the room.
“Yes.” Camille winced. “But it’s not what you imagine it to be.” She began to wilt. “I’ve committed no crime. Maddie is of age, and I’ve done nothing against her will.”
At that moment, one of the uniformed policemen returned from conducting a search of the bedrooms. He strode in bearing the fruits of his investigation: a half-empty bottle of brandy, two glasses, and a rubber priapus attached to two leather straps.
“What is this instrument of destruction?” The doctor homed in on the phallus, quick to spot the dried blood crusted around the crown. “This is how the damage was done!” Triumphant, he dragged Maddie to the center of the room and pointed a finger at Camille. “She has plied this young girl with alcohol and ruined the poor creature. What’s gone on in this house is an abomination! I must insist that all the girls have their virtue checked at once.”
He embarked on his crusade, and Camille put up no resistance. Why ought she? She had nothing to hide, and proved as much when his thorough inspections found no trace of any further wrongdoing.
When all was said and done—when Hannah’s cold, stiff body had been removed to the mortuary, and the police departed to mull over their findings—Camille retired to her room with the remainder of the brandy and asked not to be disturbed. She refused lunch and dinner, and even Maddie’s knock went unanswered. Not a sound was heard.
As evening turned into night, the frazzled matron ushered all the girls to their beds, but Maddie found decent sleep elusive. She tossed and turned for several hours before finally drifting into a fitful slumber, and when she woke at daybreak, it was to the distant echoes of a departing carriage and the faint but distinct scent of Camille’s French perfume.
A familiar red satin ribbon was coiled on the bedside table, displayed on its side facing the bed, the words ‘I love you’ skillfully embroidered along it in pink silk thread. It was Camille’s handiwork—she had no doubt of that—yet Camille was nowhere to be seen.
Consumed by a feeling of unease, she took the ribbon in her hand, slipped out of bed, and tiptoed down the hall. There was no light in Camille’s room, but she rapped on the door anyway.
No answer.
She tried the handle, it opened freely, and she called out Camille’s name.
Still nothing.
She pushed the door wide and cast her eyes upon the bed—the pristine, undisturbed bed—looking for any trace of Camille’s existence.
There was none.
The armoire was open, nothing but bare hangers inside. There was no perfume on the vanity. No hairbrush, no hairpins, and no face powder, and her toothbrush was missing from the washstand.
Maddie clutched the ribbon in her fist and stormed over to the dresser, yanking drawers open at random, searching for evidence of Camille’s intimates.
Empty.
Empty.
Empty.
Camille was gone.
Epilogue
A weak heart was the cause. Camille couldn’t possibly have known—she bore no blame—but until the postmortem on Hannah was completed, much unflattering speculation and gossip circulated among the girls and the police. Had Camille dosed her too much? Had Camille sought to be rid of her? Had Camille done so because of her infatuation with Maddie? Is that why she ran away? Was she guilty?
In due course, parents and guardians were informed of events at the house and Maddie was among the first to be sent home. The doctor traveled with her and explained to her adoptive family at great length how she’d been robbed of her innocence, through no fault of her own. She was the victim. She was blameless. She was freed from all present marital obligations, for she was in no fit state to become a wife, and she happily played along.
There were tears aplenty. Much to her parents’ dismay, she declared that she would never be able to give herself to any man after being violated in such a frightful manner. She’d been defiled. The trauma was unbearable. Entirely on account of the improper doings she was subjected to at Miss Harper’s House of Etiquette, she was destined to be a spinster. Of course, to keep loneliness at bay, she surely needed to find herself a companion …
Maddie made three laps around Leicester Square before summoning enough courage to enter the bawdyhouse she visited with Camille over a month ago. Worrying the ruffles in her silk dress, she ascended the back stairs and stepped into the sapphic haven. Some of the faces she remembered, others not. Many flashed her smiles, a few winked, but none caught her interest. She had a very specific taste.
Further into the main room, she spotted an older blonde sitting with an even older redhead and her heart leapt. The blonde’s faultless figure was squeezed into a red silk evening gown, her décolletage bared. A pair of teardrop earrings dangled from her pierced ears, but she wore no other ornament. Her hair was pinned up too loosely to be respectable, and she crossed her legs at the knee.
“May I buy you a drink?” Maddie hovered over the blonde’s shoulder.
“She’s occupied,” the redhead answered on her behalf. “Find yourself another.”
“No other will do.”
The blonde stopped breathing then. Her breath was trapped in her lungs, exhaled with a whisper when she turned to face the voice. “Maddie …”
Camille’s radiance was noticeably dulled. Her eyes had lost their luster, the dark circles beneath them barely obscured by the powder on her face. She was tired. In an attempt to bring life into her ashen cheeks, she’d applied her rouge too liberally. It would never pass for a natural blush, and her lips were no longer subtly pinkened with tinted beeswax, but daubed with bright crimson lip paste—a statement of her trade.
“Whatever she’s paying you, I shall pay more.” Maddie withdrew a crisp five pound note from her pocket, unsure of the proper etiquette. “Come home with me tonight, not a stranger.”
Outbid and unwilling to compete, the redhead huffed and vacated the sofa while Camille stared at the note, one eyebrow arched, her jaw slack.
“I’m afraid you’re overestimating my worth by some considerable degree.” She clasped her hands around Maddie’s to conceal the money, her nails chipped and cracked, the pearly coloring faded and neglected. “And I will not take so much as a penny from you in any case.”
Maddie slid into the vacated spot beside her. “I both feared and hoped I’d find you here.” She sat close. “Are you keeping well?”
“This life is not as easy for me as it once was.” Camille adjusted her skirts, hiding a small ladder in her stockings above her ankle. “But I get by.”
“Where’ve you been staying since you left the house?”
“Here and there.” She hesitated to expound. “With whoever will take me.”
“I will take you.” Maddie pulled Camille’s hands into her lap. “Not just for a night, but away from
all of this rottenness for good.” She peppered Camille’s fingers with kisses. “I’ve recently become the recipient of a generous annuity. It will more than cover our expenses, and my parents need never know who you really are. You will be my companion. I shall say that I placed an advertisement in the newspaper, and that you were the most qualified applicant.”
“An annuity?” Camille’s brow creased. “From whom?”
“The Harper family.” Maddie trailed her kisses up Camille’s arm. “It appears they’re rather keen for me to remain quiet about what went on when I was under their daughter’s care, so I have enough money to keep you.” Her kisses moved to Camille’s neck. “If you’ll let me.”
Camille’s face fell at the mention of Hannah. “I never meant to hurt her.”
“You didn’t,” Maddie assured her. “Her heart gave out.”
“Because I broke it.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Maddie pressed her lips to Camille’s cheek. “We cannot help who we love, and I do love you so, so much.”
“Your feelings haven’t changed?”
“Not a bit.”
“And what of the future?” Tears welled in Camille’s eyes. “When I’m old and infirm?”
“I will love you still,” Maddie swore. “I shall tend to your every need and sit by your bedside, reading you the bawdiest literature you like.”
Camille chuckled, sending a few escaping tears tumbling down her cheeks. “You will make me a randy old woman.”
“Randy and happy, I promise.” Maddie pulled a hanky from her pocket. “Now dry your eyes and wipe off your lips. We have a train to catch.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Keira Michelle Telford is a multi-award-winning author with a love for the gruesome, the macabre, and the downright filthy. She writes dystopian science fiction, erotic lesbian romance, and other lesbian fiction.
Website: www.keiramichelle.com
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