One Wicked Night

by Noelle Mack

  Ten

  Mrs. Mayhew wrinkled her nose and looked at our disrep­utable clothes when we entered my house, but made no com­ment. I asked her to send up a cold supper for us, as was my routine after an evening out, but I knew I would be unable to eat it. I wanted to vomit; I could not. She nodded and withdrew with a perfunctory curtsey.

  "I expect she knows where we have been," I said. "The air was bad and we smell of the place. Her late husband was de­voted to the sport. I have never seen a match like that, though."

  "Nor have I. And I am sorry, Edward," Richard said. "It was butchery, nothing more."

  "They were evenly matched," I answered wearily. "Either might have killed the other."

  "Yes, that is true."

  "Was that the lesson? Have I learned whatever it was you wanted me to know?"

  "Perhaps," he answered. "Come, let us go into your study and have a whiskey. You need it."

  "I do. I don't know if I can keep it down."

  “Try.”

  He poured himself a double shot and handed me just one. I sipped at it, feeling its reliable warmth erase the chill in my bones.

  "Who was that girl who looked at you, by the way?" Richard asked. "You seemed suddenly afraid."

  The sight of Kitty had been a shock to my system that I wanted to forget. Why she was with Diego was a mystery, per­haps one that Anne could answer for me. My last visit to the house had been only to see my former love. Kitty had been nowhere about.

  "She is a strange one." That was true enough. "You might have guessed that by the look in her eyes."

  "You were the one who was looking into her eyes."

  "For a second. She was right in front of me."

  "Why didn't you acknowledge her? She smiled at you."

  I gritted my teeth.

  "She is only a whore."

  "Oh? And does she ply her trade upon the street?" There was a thin edge to Richard's question.

  "No. She is in a house."

  "And do you and Diego share her as well as his wife?" The edge grew sharper.

  I shook my head.

  "Really, Edward. You cannot expect me to believe that. I thought that—oh, never mind."

  "Go ahead. You never did tell me if I had learned my lesson tonight. Or what it was."

  Edward went to the door to open it when he heard Mrs. Mayhew's knock. He took the supper tray from her capable hands. "Thank you, Mrs. M. We shall make short work of this."

  "Good-night, sir. And sir."

  I nodded in her direction. Edward set the tray on a side table and ignored it.

  "I hoped that seeing Diego's bloodthirstiness might knock some common sense into you. But I see that is impossible. We will have to get Billingsgate Bob to do that, perhaps."

  "Thank you. I look forward to it. Oblivion sounds good." Richard looked down at the tray and picked a crust off a sandwich, chewing it thoughtfully.

  The next day ...

  I was consumed with the need to see Anne. The afternoon was drawing on. She would be up and about in her house, preparing for the clients who would stroll down the quiet side street in Mayfair in another hour or two. I dashed off a note and enfolded it within two envelopes, each one with its own dot of red wax. In case the outer one was accidentally opened, the one inside was also addressed to Mistress Anne, in strictest confidence. If Kitty were there I would have to meet Anne out­side and our discussion would be less private.

  I sent it off with the boy and had a reply in less than an hour.

  "She is not here any more, Edward," Anne said. "The girl left of her own accord."

  I felt relieved. At least Kitty would not know of my pres­ence here today. I wondered if seeing me at the boxing match had startled her, and then I thought of her opium habit. Her unnatural tranquility was in part owing to it.

  "Was there a quarrel?"

  "No. I don't argue with the women as a rule. They know what is expected of them."

  "Then why did she go?"

  Anne gave me a quizzical look. "Kitty never said. I expect she found a protector. Sometimes they do."

  "And you will not run to her rescue."

  "I don't even know where she is."

  She composed her features, looking into the mirror on the wall as she brushed her hair into a thick strand, wrapped it around her hand and pinned it up. The temptation to kiss the silky nape of her neck was something I would have to fight.

  I had not seen Xavi in far too long, and I yearned to bury myself in Anne's sweet flesh and forget everything for an hour.

  But she had given me the information I had come for, and she would soon be attending to her clients.

  "I thank you, Anne. I will be on my way then—"

  "You have not told me why you want to know," she said calmly. She looked at herself in the mirror again, turning her head this way and that.

  "I saw her by chance in public. I was curious. That is all."

  "A very thin reason."

  She had given me an opportunity that I was not going to re­sist. I came to stand behind her and cupped her warm breasts. She took out the pins that held her hair and turned around in my arms.

  An hour later, I left.

  I had other appointments and the day was drawing to a close. A changeable sky hung over London and the vast bulk of St. Paul's showed white and then gray as I hurried past to the Inns of Court some distance away. Sir William Thurlow had granted me a rare hour of his time to discuss the business mat­ters on which I still hoped to build my own fortune.

  Magnaminous of him, considering how much he charged.

  That done, I treated myself to a chop and potatoes and an excellent bottle of wine. I was hungry to the point of starvation after my romp with Anne, but otherwise physically satisfied. When Decimus let me in, I gave him a manly wink and handed him my hat.

  He merely nodded and took it away to be brushed.

  I went up the stairs two at a time, very much in need of a bath, for which I called down to the maid in the hall. She did not hear me.

  Oh well. I would do without. My good dinner had cheered me up and I was feeling rather reckless. It would not do to be eaten alive by worry and fear. The complicated nature of my life seemed somewhat less daunting at the moment. Xavi, the prints, even her sinister husband, receded to the back of my mind.

  The door to my bedroom was ajar but I thought nothing of that. I went in and stopped where I stood.

  Xavi had come to me.

  "Dear God! How did you get in? Did anyone see you? You cannot stay here—"

  She rushed into my arms. "I have not seen you for so long! I had to!"

  "But—but—" She pressed kisses to my mouth and kept me from talking. The danger we were in mingled with a sense of arousal. Damnation. I had just come from Anne's bed—I could not be feeling desire for Xavi. But I was. I pushed her away gently.

  "The servants must have seen you."

  She shook her head. "I sent my maid to the door first and waited where I could see her but I could not be seen. She asked Decimus about Mrs. Mayhew—you mentioned their names— and whether there was work for a new girl. He is kind, Ed­ward."

  "Too kind, perhaps."

  "He abandoned the door to show her the way to the kitchen and I seized my chance and ran in."

  "Where is the maid?" I asked, looking around. "Is she here as well?"

  "No. If work was offered, she had been instructed to say she would ask her mother for permission. I expect Mrs. Mayhew thought well of that. She left after I was upstairs."

  "Xavi..."

  She stretched up to cover my mouth with an even more wanton kiss. I gave in, thanks to the bottle of wine. If she too required a good fucking like Anne, I might very well oblige her. The problem of getting her out remained.

  "You will be missed at your own house."

  "Diego is not there," she said contemptuously. "He seldom comes home. I think he has someone else."

  A fact I could confirm. But I said nothing of seeing him with Kitty.
<
br />   "But what about your servants?"

  She only shrugged. Xavi went to the mirror to take her hair down, just as Anne had done for me.

  "Come, Edward. Run your hands through it."

  I did. She arched like a cat.

  She was in a mood of feverish excitement, and her own reck­lessness was exciting to me. Xavi gave me a heated look in the mirror and picked up a brush, which she handed to me.

  I used it upon her hair with assiduous care, then gave it back to her.

  "May I specify where you will apply it next?"

  "Xavi, we must get you home."

  "I will not go."

  "Then I will make you."

  Apparently that was not what she wanted to hear. She hurled the brush at me with all her strength, hitting me squarely in the middle of the chest.

  "I hate you! You have not written—there were no letters for me in the library cabinet—you were far too calm at the ball— and you were—oh!—polite!" She almost spat the word. "You have someone else, I know it! You are worse than Diego!"

  The blow itself did not hurt, but her final words unlocked a great deal of emotion on both sides—and a surge of hot desire was the greater part of it. My gentle Anne had satisfied me fully but Xavi needed to be put in her place. I would not tolerate the insult of being compared to that filthy bastard.

  "Am I?" I said softly. "We shall see. Take off your clothes!"

  With frantic haste she undressed, not arguing. I locked the door and did the same. She might as well learn now that she was not always in charge—she was making my life ever more complicated and I could not have her bollocks-up my desperate attempt to help her. Coming here as she had was the height of foolishness.

  If the nuns in the convent had not disciplined her, then I would. It was high time . . . and there were many intriguing ways in which to do so. I was in no mood to discuss anything with her. She was soon to find out that obedience can be a very pleasurable virtue.

  Naked, she kneeled upright upon the bed for the punish­ment she wanted.

  "Give it to me, Edward."

  She took the brush which I held out to her. The bristles were short and flat and the other side was smooth wood, a fact she appreciated.

  "I want both. The smooth and the prickly."

  I took it back, caressing the smooth side. It would make an excellent paddle.

  "How many strokes do you want, Xavi?"

  “Ten.”

  "Then you must count them."

  My hand came down for the first, my fingers curled tightly around the handle of the brush.

  "One," she said.

  I clasped her left buttock in my other hand, holding it apart from the other. That received a smack of its own.

  "One-half," she said pertly.

  I let go and clasped her right buttock.

  "One-half again. That makes two in all."

  I grinned. She wanted to make it last.

  "Clench your arse for me."

  She did.

  I angled the brush and gave her another on both buttocks.

  "Three."

  "Does it feel good?" I inquired.

  "Yes—oh yes."

  "Then here is another."

  "Four!"

  Her cunny was wet—I could smell its succulence. Down came the brush again.

  "Five."

  Her bottom was a healthy pink. She grabbed her breasts and rubbed them together.

  "Should I paddle those next?"

  Xavi gasped. "Not yet. My arse! Back to work!"

  "You are a demanding creature."

  "And proud of it."

  I set the brush on the bed.

  "Why are you stopping?" she asked indignantly.

  "Because I think you need something in your arsehole. If you are so interested in discipline, you may try to hold a dildo in it and not let it fall out."

  Her eyes glowed. "Put one in then."

  I had one in my bedroom that a lady love had left some time ago. Sentimental as I was, I had kept it. But the question was where had I put it. I ransacked through several drawers and fi­nally found the thing under my old shirts. It was smooth and thickly rounded, but no more than five inches long.

  Perfect for what I had in mind.

  I returned to the bed and swiftly gave her another one stroke, just to keep her in line.

  "Six. Why such a small dildo?" She was pouting.

  "You shall see."

  "Why does it have the bulb on the end? And why is the bulb flat on one side?"

  "It is an ingenious design, is it not?" I said blandly.

  "Why will you hot tell me what it is for?"

  I made no answer.

  "I suppose it is a handle. The other end looks like a cock and head."

  "It is not a handle, but the cock and head does go first."

  "Well, then. Begin."

  I spread her cheeks apart. "Hold yourself that way."

  Her tiny hole needed cream and I had that too, in a jar. I found that next and swiped my fingertip through, dabbing it upon her arsehole puckers without actually touching them. I imagined that the coolness of the cream would be pleasurable on its own. j

  I was right. She cooed at me, "That feels lovely. What now?"

  "Watch." J

  I applied the thick cream liberally to the small dildo, espe­cially the head.

  Xavi's eyes widened. "The bulb must be a handle. You are not creaming it."

  "Bend over and shut your pretty mouth for five seconds," I said, exasperated. "Please, Xavi."

  "I can't bend over if I must hold open my arse. I will fall."

  "You are impossible. Here it comes."

  I pressed the tip against her tight puckers without being able to see them through the dab of cream. Still, her arsehole opened—it was more obedient than she was—and the dildo went in a little ways.

  "Mmm. But that's not far enough, Edward my love. I won't be able to hold it."

  I paused. "Is this not about your discipline? You need it and you asked for it."

  "Yes." She sighed. "Yes, sir. I must be made to mind. Give me more."

  Such impudence excited me. I did give her more, perhaps an­other inch and a half.

  "And now we resume," I said.

  Assuring myself that the dildo was properly positioned, I took up the brush again. The smooth side of it tapped only once, lightly, against the flat side of the dildo's bulb. It went in another inch.

  "Oh!" Her cry of pleasure was very satisfying to me.

  "You can hold it easily now, my darling."

  Her eyelids lowered over her dreamy gaze. The inside of her thighs was wet and slick, her cunny dripping with the stimula­tion that the part next door to it was receiving.

  "Do you want more?" I asked her.

  "Yes. Oh God yes. Should I be counting? I think that was seven."

  I shook my head, although she could not see it when I was standing behind her. "No. When this rod is snugged all the way in—the bulb on the outside—then your buttocks shall be pad­dled with the brush again."

  "Very well. How many inches are left of the dildo?"

  "Perhaps three."

  She murmured her desire to feel the bulb at its ultimate rest­ing place outside her arsehole when all three remaining inches had gone in.

  "Another tap?"

  "Yes, Edward. It feels so good."

  I grasped the brush and gave the flat side of the bulb another gentle tap, and she took another inch in the arse, groaning with wanton delight.

  "You are beautiful, Xavi. And I alone of all men in London am privileged to see you this way."

  "Tell me what I look like," she whispered.

  Demanding. And vain. That was my Xaviera Anything-But-Innocencia.

  "A lovely woman kneels upon the bed. She demands that her bottom be paddled. Her lover thinks of a new way to amuse her, and she is intrigued."

  "Yes."

  "She spreads her behind and receives a dab of soft cream. But she is puzzled by the object in hi
s hand and wants an ex­planation. He is not quite forthcoming but she is ready. The head of the object goes into her arsehole."

  "Yes. And she—I mean, I—holds it like a good girl."

  "Indeed you are."

  Tap.

  She was not expecting that one but receiving another good inch delighted her. The dildo was slightly thicker in the middle and her arsehole accommodated it nicely, prepared as it had been.

  "There is one more inch left. Keep your cheeks spread."

  "Yes, my love." Her reply was so low it was almost inaudi­ble.

  I put the brush down and caressed her breasts, loving the way they jutted out when she held her arse open for me. I sucked and nipped at each nipple.

  "You must not move," I said when I brought my head up. "And you shall obey."

  "Oh, Edward ..." She moaned and I captured it with a rough kiss.

  "The last tap is going to feel very, very good. You have been waiting for it."

  I squeezed her breasts firmly and repeatedly. She did an ex­cellent job of holding herself completely still. The dildo in her arse did not bob or wiggle.

  Her nipples were erect but bent in my tight grasp. These would be next.

  "Keep your arse open," I instructed her. I took her nipples between my forefingers and thumbs, rolling them. Had I tugged, it would have unbalanced her. I wanted her to feel the sensation completely. I pressed each nipple between finger and thumb, an action that was just short of a pinch. Then I pressed harder, again and again.

  "Would you like another woman to do this to you?" I mur­mured.

  "No," she moaned. "Only you."

  "But women understand each other's bodies so well. Imag­ine that a big, strong young woman has been called into the room. She especially loves nipples."

  I was thinking of Sally, the goddess who paddled men over her lap at Anne's house. She would do very well, although I could not make her image jump from my mind to Xavi's.