by Shirl Anders
“Should I act more slavish and obedient, or more forward and brazen?” Kit asked.
Brynmore could hear the nervousness in her voice as he watched her ebony painted fingernails, while she twisted the cloth of her cloak between her fingers. “I’m not certain, luscious pet. We will have to adjust as circumstances predict.”
Kit’s gaze lifted to his at the word, luscious. “Yes, Nia and Radford, schooled me on that, when they gave their short course on spying.” Her gaze dipped. “It’s just I think I’m so nervous, I forgot.”
Brynmore rose and moved to sit beside her, as he spoke. “You did not forget. You just wanted me to say it. So there is no assuming between us and that is as it should be.”
“Yes,” she answered, looking up at him with a hint of a nervous smile.
He lifted his arm to put around her and she slid into his embrace. “Will I undo this black on your lips if I kiss you?”
“No, I stained them so well, I fear it might not come off for weeks.”
“Mm,” he murmured as his head dipped. “I’m thinking of the sight of those lips around my cock. Weeks, please...”
Kit gasped her excited pleasure against his mouth at the image he concocted with his words. He might have shocked her, but he did intend to have her succulent lips wrapped around his prick in the near future. And he kissed her as if he meant it, until she was nearly crawling over him. Her hand was squeezing and fondling the ridge of his hard prick, throbbing beneath his tight black britches. He could not disarrange the bizarre carnal costume makeup she wore, so he was left with his hand traveling straight to her wet cleft. Poor him, he nearly laughed.
“Mm, I want to open your britches,” Kit panted against his mouth, pecking lush kisses over his lips.
By all the saints in Scotland, he wanted her too, as he gritted his teeth, lifted his finger from her soused cleft and grasped both her arms. He pushed firmly, setting her back from him, yet her fingertips clung to the hardness of his wooden prick. “The edge,” he hissed. “Stay on the edge, but do not fall over yet.”
Kit’s fingertips left his cock as her forehead pressed to his cheek. “Yes,” she offered breathlessly.
Brynmore wondered if they would always turn each other to flame so quickly. But he’d every intention of finding out. That instantaneous conviction blind-sided him. He’d not realized how deep he was in, but swiftly and with determined effort, he set the realization aside. Stalwart, he told himself, it was just the smell of hot cunty juices on his fingers that were addling his brain and he needed to get his mind back to the job at hand. This was work and he was good at it.
“We need to catch the interest of whichever leaders of The Order are there,” Brynmore said tightly. Kit nodded against his cheek. “I’ve brought something else for us to wear. One for each. It was last minute, but Drummond thought it would help catch their interest.
“What is it?” Kit leaned back looking up at him. She watched as he lifted, to his mind the most ostentatious jewelry he’d ever seen from his cloak pocket. One piece, a blood-red ruby the size of a small plum, the other smaller, yet more astounding in a multifaceted cut diamond, both individually mounted on long silver chains.
“My lord,” Kit exclaimed. “Who on earth could own jewels as large as these?”
And there, his clever lass had hit the question right at its heart. “Drummond advised, alluding to greatness. A patron.”
Kit captured the diamond in her palm. “Kings, queens, princes ... only royalty surely?”
“Aye.”
Kit lifted her gaze to his. “But Drummond did not say?”
“Drummond has his methods. It must be important for us not to know at this stage. He’ll explain, eventually. So for now, when questioned, we’ll be alluding to a rich patron.”
Brynmore thought he knew Drummond’s intended illusion was the Prince of Wales. For what reason he had no idea. However, going into undercover handiwork with only partial knowledge, while being told to allude to certain things, had proved very effective in the past. It was much harder not to say a name, when you did know it and certain finesse was required to dangle bait in prospective suspects’ directions, until their curiosity overwhelmed them and they snatched it. It did have to be the right bait. Brynmore had faith that Drummond knew exactly what he was doing and that Drummond was doing it the best way. Brynmore also knew Drummond had a devilish propensity for grandstanding the final ploys that would gain and capture the results he was after.
“The chain is so long,” Kit said.
“They are to be worn about our waists. Ruby for me, diamond for you, laid underneath what clothing we have there.”
“But they will not be seen until...” Kit exclaimed.
“Some type of devious mind Drummond has,” Brynmore said as he nodded his head curtly in response.
He and Kit would have to have both her loincloth off and his britches off or both pulled aside, for anyone to see the jewels. Their minds jumped to the same conclusion. Sex! They would have to be engaged in some type of sexual intimacy. Bloody hell. That was why they were going tonight was to publicly fuck like rabbits with the rest of the deviants. Only, they needed to do it so uniquely as to catch the attention of a mad man. Brynmore just hoped Hellion was there tonight, because as much as he was torn about doing it, he wanted to get the sick bastard more!
Kit felt the cold ice of the diamond pressing to the slick heat of her sex as Brynmore held her hand, helping her descend from the carriage. The smooth and exposed skin of her slit was much more sensitive now that it was shaved and moments before Brynmore had opened the carriage door, he’d kissed her.
Not just any kiss, but a long and deeply carnal one that flushed her senses and her body, wetting her sex and the diamond. Brynmore’s mouth had ravaged her equally wild lips, until she was left with the urgent craving to have sex with him. Here. Now. Anywhere! It shredded her fear and overrode her nervousness as she melded into arousal. Not fighting it, but letting it live and breathe like heady intoxication. That was what it was, inebriating, as she allowed it to infuse her. It changed priorities and made daring its demands, so as if she were drunk, she purred into it, letting it slide over her body like seduction, moving her figure in new ways.
She’d helped Brynmore attach the ruby, wrapping the chain around his waist and securing it. She knew the blood-red ruby lay against the top portion, of the base of Brynmore’s rigid shaft and she wondered how it felt there? She wondered how it would feel against her hot slit if Brynmore mated her on top. The ruby would press onto the lips of her sex, over and over.
“Mm. Mm.” Kit let the sounds of sexual heat murmur in her throat, while she played her hand over Brynmore’s chest as he stood beside her. She was in character. One that was creating her, nearly more than she was creating it, she thought, as she slid up Brynmore’s body and licked his lips once slowly, before settling at his side. The burn in her belly was for justice and perhaps revenge. The heat in her mind and sex was going to help accomplish that.
Brynmore glanced at the building. It was an ancient medieval styled church, long since given away to other activities. Through the centuries it could have gone through many style changes and uses. During some epoch, perhaps even more recently there had been added high Gothic embellishments with dark malevolence. The building was made from the stone of the medieval period, and it was almost hidden on a side street off a more used thoroughfare. The entrance used to enter the aged church was further down a side alleyway. The speckled, black and gray stone storied high window arches, were banded by wide gnarled tracery ledges that were boarded up. There was grotesque trim under the edges of the arched roofing and black iron bars with spiked corbels that enclosed large snarling Gryphons.
The inside would be shadowed in stark melancholy, dark with honeycombed passages and a large crypt chamber below ground. Brynmore assumed that the ancient church’s crypt was what they now called, the dungeon.
The person guarding the outside entrance wore a black ma
sk in a characterization of horned Lucifer. The person acting as the greeter, cloak-taker, butler inside, wore nothing but a top hat, a thick black collar around his neck, and knee-high black boots. If this caused Kit any pause, she did not show it, as she continued to slink against him as if she were a cat rubbing and nuzzling against his body. She was in perfect form playing a slinky seductive fem-fatale whose entire interest was shown by her hungering need for him.
Brynmore handed the unclothed butler the invitation that Nia had garnered from a well-known Madame she knew. The lighting in the small entryway seemed to lead straight into an arched corridor lined with fat candles set in wall sconces at intervals that lit the long corridor. Several people could be seen along the way ahead and laughter rose hollowly against the stone walls of the tunnel-like hallway as he reached for the tie on Kit’s cloak.
Kit rubbed her cheek and hair against his upper arm. He knew that she peered at what could be seen of the people down the corridor. Some moving on, several of them gathered in a group talking. Further on, one man crawled naked on a leash beside a woman in a tall elaborate white wig. It was difficult to see the rest of what she wore or did not wear, as she moved in the darker side of the corridor. One man, closer to them was talking with two women scantily dressed in harem attire, he still wore his cloak. This group was all masked with decorative if not macabre designed masks.
Brynmore watched Kit barely raise her eyelids, bathing him with a slithering and seductive look, but within it he could see questions about keeping her cloak on. At the same moment they both came to the decision, as he imperiously started to shake his head, while her fingers reached over his to aid untying her cloak. They needed to be noticed, seen, and bring the panache of intrigue with them.
“Mm, we play hot tonight,” she said with her voice humming low in seduction. Then, at her final word he pulled her cloak away and without turning his gaze from her, handed the cloak to the butler. “Hot and wild,” she cooed, raising her hand to his chest and grazing her ebony nails downward as her nearly nude body undulated lightly.
The urges to carry Kit against the wall and make unrestrained love to her flipped through his prick like a heavy solid punch. He sneered through it in a lubricious way, with the chain to Kit’s waist leash wrapped around his wrist, while his hand groped the under curve of her naked ass cheek peeking out beneath her loin cloth. Kit hummed a sultry moan, leaning her pelvis forward to rub her mound against his upper thigh.
“Blood and cunt tonight, pet,” Brynmore said. Then he said to the butler, “I’ll keep my cape for now.”
“Yes, Sir,” the butler responded. Brynmore saw the butler was stroking his stiff prick, while his gaze was latched onto Kit.
Kit, looking like a voluptuous golden nymph. No one would miss sight of her. No male who preferred women would. “Follow now,” Brynmore commanded abruptly, tugging Kit’s leash and starting to walk down the corridor.
“Yes, Blood Master,” she responded.
Brynmore wrapped his arm around the small of Kit’s back and he pulled her against him, feeling soft breast and a turgid nipple pressed into his rib cage. Lowering his head with his lips near her ear, he said, “Perfect so far. Just keep rubbing against me like you’re in heat.”
Kit nodded and he licked her earlobe receiving another seductive humming from her throat. The sexual purring sounds she made spoke directly to his prick with a returning tenor rumble from him. Suddenly, the stones beneath their feet vibrated and Kit nearly stumbled as he clasped her hip, holding her against his side. The area was reverberating with sound. “Music,” he said into her ear. He urged her forward and they kept walking.
It had to be extremely loud music as it came from the bowels of the crypt where the corridor led, winding downward, until they came to the stairs. The candles were growing dimmer. Looking downward it appeared one would descend into an abyss that was beating with sound. Other attendees of the club were moving down the stairs that started straight, then took a sharp left angle. One of the harem girls glanced at Brynmore, her lips pouting at him before dropping from view around the left angle of the stairway. Then in back of them voices sounded, of people coming up behind them, as he and Kit descended the stairs.
“Like to rape da cunt’s ass there.”
“She’ll take your blood,” Brynmore said, low and menacing, as he turned his gaze. Then, Brynmore realized with a flinch, he was able to hide, that he was looking at Cernno. Brynmore curtly turned his gaze forward and away from Cernno with arrogant dismissal. Kit, beside him did not miss a beat as she turned her face on his shoulder peering back and hissing at Cernno, while she rolled her ass. But Brynmore could feel her hand trembling on his waist.
Cernno barked a laugh behind them. Their first hurtle was leaped. Cernno did not recognize them. Not that they thought he would. During the one contact made when both German brothers attacked Kit, she was concealed behind a veil twisted around her head, while he’d come in only in time to see their backs. The further hurtle leaped, was first contact with a member of The Order and more than that, could they draw their interest?
“What is da blood thing?” Cernno demanded, from behind them as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
Before Brynmore could fully react, Kit turned in the arm he held around her waist and she reached back.
“Ouch, bitch!” Cernno exclaimed.
Brynmore realized that Kit had scratched Cernno’s neck with her fingernails. She did not stop there, when Cernno’s reached the same level at the bottom of the stairway, she made a sound he could only describe as sexually induced hunger. Then she broke away from his arm, sliding her body against Cernno, until her tongue lapped over the abrasion.
It was magnificent! Brynmore tugged on the leash attached to Kit’s waist chain. “Pet,” he ordered, pulling her toward him. “She wants your blood,” Brynmore said, giving Cernno the most superiorly wicked look he could manage, which he hoped was fairly barbaric and fierce. Kit undulated and rubbed back against him, as she licked her lips slowly, peering up at the thick German. At least Cernno was clothed. He wore a vest with no shirt beneath and stained brown pants.
Kit had drawn blood and Cernno dabbed the scratch with his fat fingers as he leered at her. “Blood, huh?” he muttered. “She’d bite my dong off!” He grunted and erupted into a crass laugh. Then, he broke away from them without any more comments and he stomped toward the inner entrance to the club.
Chapter Twelve
Brynmore could feel Kit’s body shaking against him, as she exclaimed lowly against his chest. “I ruined that.”
“Nay,” he responded swiftly, cradling her to him. “It was perfect. Magnificent!”
Her irises, reflecting black in the dim light, did not look convinced as she gazed up at him. “Kiss me please. I need...”
Brynmore did not let her finish, as he latched his hand around the back of her head and he dropped his lips to kiss her roughly. He made it look more heavy-handed than it was. The friction of their lips building sexual heat. What they both needed. The rekindling of potent desire.
Kit felt the deep, disjointed bass beating of the music thrumming as though it were penetrating her bones. She felt the primitive music probing deeper with the heat of persuading sexual urges. Urges that tottered on demands to stroke Brynmore, feel every muscular inch of him, undulate against him, and have him consume her. The music compounded her need for him. Lord, she wanted him with new desperation.
Brynmore had warned her about the smoke permeating the smaller chambers and especially the large one. Narcotics, he’d said. The vile mistresses of the mind. Opium, strange mind-altering tobaccos, mystic mushrooms, and herbs or others that could alter her senses. Yet she thought it was Brynmore’s male heat that was her drug as he finished torridly mating her mouth with his tongue, leaving her tottering beneath the onslaught.
She could only reel and slide against him, keeping her hands on his warm flesh as they moved to enter the main chamber of The Satyr Whip Club. It was dark
, yet with bursts of light seeming to flare in different areas of the chamber. Outlined figures moved in the smoky dimness, then she would catch sight of a person outlined in the fluctuating light. A naked body, or a hooded robed figure, or a figure where the mask caught the light. She realized that the chamber was very crowded and the shadowed outlines were moving and swaying.
Dancing? Yes, they were dancing in the middle of the chamber with varied erratic movements that were completely unfamiliar to her. This was no ball with structured minuets or waltzes, but individual gyrations and sinuously lewd styles moving to the strange, nearly unearthly music.
Cloth brushed against her, fingertips, bold swatches of naked flesh slid, and then Brynmore had guided them through the heaving throng to the outer edges. Kit clung to Brynmore, moving against him as she watched a woman with tassels on her nipples and a cloth leaf barely covering her mon’s, hold a tray up to them, of long stemmed glasses filled with pale amber liquid. Kit realized that she was The Satyr Whip Club’s version of a serving wench as Brynmore nodded to the sultry woman and he took one of the glasses, handing it to her, then turned back and retrieved one for himself.
The serving woman smiled seductively before she swayed away, buttocks bared, to another customer. Then the crack of a whip sounded behind them making Kit wince, at the same moment she discovered the champagne had bubbles, which tingled her nostrils. Kit lowered her glass, glancing around Brynmore’s shoulder to see where the constant snaps of a whip came from. Instantly, she pressed further into Brynmore, seeking strength, as she saw three naked women prancing like-like ponies with bits in their mouth’s attached to reins and fake tails trailing from... Kit’s gaze jerked forward, back to the darkly undulating mass of dancers, but the image of a man herding the women around in a circle, using the whip to guide them like the animals they portrayed was burned in her mind.
