Fate's Victim

by Roxane Beaufort

  This was an even more elaborate room, again with an Eastern ambience, the walls hung with yellow silk, the ceiling tented in the same material. The focus was on the bed, wider and longer than usual, piled high with cushions in rich and sombre hues and spread with a coverlet of matched jaguar pelts. The carved head was inlaid with mirrors and the tester above it draped like a Bedouin prince’s tent.

  Valerie and Julian lay beneath it. Her legs were lifted, her feet resting on his shoulders while he pumped away in her depths and she squealed like an alley cat. Angela was gravid with desire, reaching beneath her bath towel for her fulcrum of sensation. Valerie caught her eye and, with a final shriek, reached fulfilment.

  She recovered at once, saying, ‘Come over here, Angela.’

  As if in a trance Angela dropped the towel and lay on the bed. She could smell costly perfume and damp skin, Valerie’s female essence and the strong, musky odour of Julian’s genitals, sweat and spunk. It was an overpoweringly sensual brew.

  Someone pressed her back against the fur quilt and Maude and Viola were working on her nipples, the delight echoed in her eager bud. She closed her eyes and lips, sucking at each eager peak, replaced the fingers, and Angela’s hands clenched as wonderful sensations racked her and she was mewling like a kitten. It was no longer Maude and Viola servicing her, but Valerie and Julian.

  ‘Spread your legs,’ Valerie murmured, lifting her mouth from Angela’s right teat. ‘I want to examine you closely and find out if you are a virgin and how much pleasure you’ve already experienced.’

  She made no protest, peeking through her lashes and seeing Valerie lean over her parted legs, moving her hands along the insides of her thighs and landing unerringly on her exposed delta. Angela shivered and relaxed. Julian was there, holding her lips apart, and Valerie’s middle finger explored the pink cleft and lingered on the pearl-like nodule. Angela moaned her need.

  ‘You know what to expect, don’t you?’ Valerie said softly, increasing the friction on the quivering clitoris. ‘You’ve brought yourself off, and Aidan’s done it for you. Isn’t this true?’

  ‘Yes,’ Angela whispered.

  ‘But you’re still a virgin,’ and Valerie sank a fingertip into her vulva, not enough to break the seal but to ascertain that it was in position. ‘You are indeed a virgin,’ she concluded, ‘and you’re ripe for deflowering… eager and ready for it… so very wet. Your lower lips are swollen with longing, red with desire, and your bud is near to bursting and your shapely arse is crying out for punishment.’

  ‘Then do it, bring me off, don’t tease me any longer,’ Angela begged, willing to accept the cane, the rod, the whip, if only she could be released from such torture.

  Maude was standing by the bed and Viola was kneeling between her legs. She had pushed back the black skirt and lifted it to waist height, and her face was buried in Maude’s dark, hairy fork. The sight of her once-companion being brought to fulfilment increased Angela’s lust, and Julian was paying attention to her nipples, moulding them into peaks, the three-fold pleasure of tits and clit driving her to the edge but not quite sufficient to push her over into bliss.

  Then, as she was about to peak, all touch and movement ceased. She opened her eyes to see them looking down at her and, desperate with disappointment, her clit pulsing, she begged, ‘Why have you stopped?’

  ‘I’m obeying Aidan’s orders. He said you were not to reach a climax until he was with you. I was to prepare you, arouse you, but leave the rest to him. Do you understand?’

  ‘No, I don’t, only that he’s a selfish bastard,’ Angela complained, her eyes flashing angrily. Then her hand dropped to her crotch and her finger started to palpate her love-bud. ‘If you won’t bring me off, then I’ll do it myself.’

  Valerie moved like lightning, bringing her hand down across Angela’s in a vicious smack. ‘You won’t.’

  ‘How will you stop me?’ Angela challenged, but sat without moving, her hand smarting and tears running down her cheeks.

  ‘We shall be with you at all times. And if you persist in this obstinate attitude, then I shall fetch the chastity belt. Don’t fret, my dear, the evening will be here soon enough and you’ll have more cock and orgasms than you can cope with,’ Valerie told her, suddenly an ice queen capable of any cruelty and vice.

  Chapter 5

  Jacob Taylor stood on the arrival platform of Paddington Station and stared around. The crowds, the noise and bustle were astounding and he drank it all in.

  Trains belched forth steam and smoke as they chugged in or departed. The stationmaster waved his flag and blew his whistle. Brawny uniformed men heaved at sack trucks. Passengers, some experienced and cool, others lost and flustered, found their connections or waited, ensconced in the restaurant, reading magazines. Some stared up at the large clock that took pride of place centre stage, or attempted to get hold of porters to take their bags and find them cabs.

  The biggest city Jacob had ever visited was Bristol. To travel to London was a great adventure, one inspired by boredom with being a groom and the chivalric urge to assist Lady Angela, for whom he had long harboured a secret passion.

  A short time had passed since Sir Barnaby’s funeral and the collapse of the known world, in the shape of the Bayswater estate. Rumour had been rife. The very efficient grapevine that existed backstairs had reported that Lady Angela was no longer betrothed to Lord Driscol. He had, however, carried her off to Compton Hall and from there proposed to take her to London and place her in the care of a Mrs Valerie Gail, wife of a politician, to be trained for suitable employment. This had scandalised the servants. Lord Driscol was pronounced a cad for not honouring his promise, but they had problems of their own – the chief of which was finding work.

  After saying goodbye to the mare, Daisy Belle, Jacob had formulated a plan. He obtained his Lordship’s London address from one of the Compton stable lads. This was good enough for him. Packing a few belongings in a holdall he kissed his mother and left the cottage where he had first seen the light of day. He had relatives in the city; an uncle on his father’s side who had tired of rural life and gone there to seek his fortune, setting up his own grocery business. Though Will had never met him, Arthur Taylor had kept communication open and let it be known that if ever his nephew wanted to visit, or find a job and live there, he would be more than welcome.

  This was Jacob’s destination, and he headed across the platform to where a row of cabs stood, and then decided that he’d better take a bus. He had money but knew he must make it stretch. Employment might not be instantaneous, although he was prepared to turn his hand to anything. His uncle was not aware of his imminent arrival. No time to send a letter; he would probably have reached the grocery store before it. He was taking potluck and hoping that the gods were smiling favourably on him.

  Not celestial beings, perhaps, but he was certain he had aroused the interest of at least two of the gaudily dressed woman who were leaning on the barrier near the cab rank. ‘Hello, darlin’,’ one of them called across in a cockney accent. ‘Lookin’ for a good time?’

  ‘Not exactly, miss,’ Jacob replied, doffing his cap and setting his bag on the ground. He did not suffer from shyness, and had never had difficulty in making contact with the opposite sex. He had always found them friendly, so modest himself that he did not realise it was his charm that won them over every time. They wanted to mother him and copulate with him, to take him under their wings and keep him from harm.

  ‘Ooh, a country bumpkin. You’re not from around ’ere, then?’ said the youngest of the pair. Wearing a considerable amount of rouge, her flaming auburn hair was piled high under a wide-brimmed hat that flaunted purple ostrich plumes.

  ‘Somerset, miss,’ Jacob answered promptly and, although his heart was Lady Angela’s, he was a red-blooded male in his prime, and the dress, style and cheap perfume of these streetwalkers appealed to him.

  His cock twitched and he wondered if they might invite him home with them. What would they char
ge? He had heard the footmen talking about prostitutes, but never really thought he might meet one. He tingled with lust and enthusiasm, always the optimist and certain he had done the right thing and that London was paved with gold. He would never forget his goal, that of offering his services to Lady Angela, but could not imagine that she might return his feelings, as far above him as the moon and stars.

  ‘And where are you goin’?’ asked the redhead, tickling him under the chin with the end of her feather boa.

  ‘To a mansion in Mayfair,’ he said, bringing out this prestigious address with as much ease as if he owned it.

  ‘Oh, listen to ’im! What a masher! Ain’t that so, Doreen?’ she teased, addressing her companion who was dark and sultry, with a scarlet gash of a mouth and hooded black eyes.

  ‘Right enough, Tilly,’ she replied, leaning towards Jacob, her full breasts bulging over her low-cut neckline, and the tip of her tongue poking out suggestively while her agile fingers ran down his jacket and waistcoat on their way to his flies.

  His cock was stiff as a board, and he was afraid to move a muscle in case she disappeared like a mirage. He had never seen such alluring creatures, though he had taken his fill of maidservants and the girls who pulled pints behind the bar of the Red Lion, a public house in the village.

  There had been three older women who had treated him to their favours, married women who were tired of their husband’s infidelities and seeking solace in young, virile arms. But in spite of these dalliances he had remained true when it came to Lady Angela. He had envied Lord Driscol, watching him in the woods when he’d been seducing her, whipping her and playing with her cleft, making her moan in delight. Hidden behind the bushes, Jacob had undone his riding breeches and brought himself to a climax, roused beyond endurance and fired by the sight of her curly pubic hair. Ever after, that scene was his favourite masturbation fantasy.

  ‘’Ee’s a fine big chap, ain’t ’ee?’ Tilly agreed, arching her brows at Jacob and letting her hand stray down to his prominent package. ‘Want to come with us, deary?’ she whispered. ‘I’ll bet your dick is burstin’ with spunk. Bet it dribbles all day and all night, don’t it? You got a girlfriend?’

  ‘No,’ Jacob returned, his cheeks reddening under his tan, her words going straight to his loins. ‘But there is someone I admire greatly.’

  ‘Ain’t she the lucky one?’ Doreen sneered, already looking beyond Jacob at several gentlemen in top hats, fur-collared greatcoats and pinstriped trousers who were regarding her and Tilly speculatively, as if they were slaves on the auction block. ‘Come on, Till,’ she added, ‘stop messin’ about. We got punters. Sorry, boy, but there’s a livin’ to be made and we needs the money.’

  ‘You got anywhere to stay?’ Tilly asked, while giving the interested males the eye. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Jacob Taylor, and yes, I’m going to my uncle’s in Soho.’

  ‘I thought you said somethin’ about Mayfair.’

  ‘I’ll go there later. I’m looking for someone.’

  ‘This woman you fancy?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he said cagily. It did not seem proper for Angela’s name to be bandied about.

  ‘Right, I likes you, I really do,’ Tilly said, reaching up to kiss him. Her breath smelt faintly of gin, reminding him of the barmaids and setting his pulse aflutter. ‘You’re a change from the old rams what usually want to tupp me,’ she went on. ‘Wait ’ere while I go round the back with that bearded granddaddy over there. He won’t take long to do. I’ll give ’im an ’and-job.’

  And Tilly swaggered off about her business with such aplomb that Jacob could do nothing but admire her. Doreen disappeared too, and he was left there alone. ‘I feel like a spare prick at a wedding,’ he grumbled to himself, his body on fire. There was no privacy in which he might seize his throbbing cock and give himself relief. He doubted that Tilly and Doreen would come back, though the flame-haired one had seemed keen on him. Could one trust a whore, or was she so used to putting on an act that it came to her automatically? He waited, watching as other harlots went across and propositioned the gentlemen. Some were rejected but others drifted away with their clients, seeking a secluded spot.

  This was torture. He was exceedingly uncomfortable and about to grab up his bag and find a bus that would carry him to his destination, when Tilly returned. She looked remarkably cool and was stuffing coins into her purse. There was no sign of Doreen.

  Her eyes alighted on Jacob. ‘You still ’ere?’ she remarked, while he waited as mesmerised as a rabbit with a snake. She thrust her hand inside his shirt, almond-shaped nails seeking his nipples as she added, ‘You want to fuck, darlin’?’

  ‘I can’t afford to pay you,’ he confessed, as she ferreted about amidst his chest hair and pinched his sensitive flesh.

  ‘We’ll talk about that later,’ she replied softly, her voice no longer waspish and strident.

  She was a common harlot, crude and coarse, selling herself to almost anyone and yet Jacob wanted her, needing the relief that orgasm would bring. His heart was hammering, his cock throbbing painfully and threatening to make him come in his trousers. There was not much they could do on the platform, but she seized his hand and led him through the throng and past the cabs and omnibuses into the wet street. It was drizzling and umbrellas had sprung up like mushrooms everywhere. Tilly did not have one, and her feathers were soon drooping.

  They walked for some time and then she took him through a gate and down a dark alley. It was cobbled and smelt of boiled cabbage and cats’ urine. Rubbish lay thick in the gutter. She opened a door and they went up a steep, rickety staircase and she unlocked the door of a room at the top. Dim light filtered through the grimy windows and she took a match to an oil-lamp, and Jacob looked round at the dingy attic. It was untidy and dirty, littered with articles of clothing, and unwashed plates and empty beer bottles.

  ‘You live here?’ he asked, though none of it mattered compared to the driving urge for release.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered with a careless shrug. ‘Live, sleep an’ work ’ere. I bring punters back sometimes. Don’t always do it in dirty stinking alleys. Depends ’ow much they wants to pay.’

  ‘That’s just it,’ he mumbled, but reached out for her, ‘I haven’t much money.’

  ‘I’m feelin’ generous,’ she said with a smile, then rubbed her body against his. ‘I needs a little fun, you know, and I fancy you, Jacob.’ His hands closed round her behind and he tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away. ‘No, deary. Much as I likes you, we ’ave a rule that we never give kisses, only to close friends and relatives and kiddies.’

  She pulled him down on the double bed, the blankets and pillows sour-smelling from innumerable encounters with clients. His hands closed round the breasts that she bared for him, and he sucked her puckered nipples, set in large brown circles. She hoisted her skirt and dingy white petticoats and displayed the thick bush between her legs. He could smell her sweat and the salty odour of her pussy. He fingered her hot wet sex, and tried to control his lust as he played with her bud, using foreplay he’d learned from one of his married lovers.

  ‘Ah, so you knows ’ow to please a woman, do you?’ she crooned, snuggling into him and working her clit against his hand. ‘I ’ad a feelin’ you might, lover-boy, that’s why I brought you ’ere. Who taught you to finger-fuck? And I’ll bet you can tongue-fuck, too, and take a girl up the back way.’

  It was almost too much responsibility, that of pleasuring this experienced women who had probably had more men than Jacob had had hot dinners, but it gave him a feeling of pride. He would show her what a country lad could do, just as long as he could prevent premature ejaculation. He lowered his head and kissed her mound, then parted her labia with his tongue, finding the hard pink gem hidden within the folds. She started to jerk and moan and dug her nails into his scalp, holding him to his task. He felt her spasm and an extra gush of fluid covered his lips.

  She moved then, sinuous as a snake, and he p
lunged his cock into her, wanting to lose himself in her darkness forever, to breathe in her salty odour, revel in her coarseness and he thrust fiercely, holding her buttocks so he might penetrate deeper and longer and harder. It did not last long. In a few vigorous thrusts he was there, coming in a surge of feeling that tossed him high and then dropped him down. For a second he was aware of nothing else, lost in blissful sensations. It blotted out the memory of the woman he had come to London to find, but this lasted only a moment.

  He slid out of Tilly, who sprawled on her back, eyes closed as she sighed contentedly. Now all Jacob wanted was to leave. He found his clothes but was unwilling to appear churlish. He bent over and placed a kiss on Tilly’s brow, whispering, ‘Look here, I like you, I really do. Can I see you again?’

  She opened her eyes. They were ringed with smudged black kohl. A warm smile curved her lips, and she said, ‘You don’t ’ave to say that, though it’s sweet of you. You’ll find me in the Bunch of Grapes pub most nights. I may be busy with a bloke, but we can work somethin’ out,’ and she turned on her side and burrowed into the pillow, closing her eyes again.

  Jacob let himself out. He looked up at the grey sky and was warmed by the thought that it not only stretched above him, but Lady Angela as well. He was sure he would see her soon.

  There was more titivation before they were ready to drive to Temple Grove where Aidan was holding his party. Angela was relieved at Valerie’s decision to leave her mound unshaved. She prayed that Aidan would not demand this sacrifice, for she was proud of her pubic floss that somehow symbolised her emergence into womanhood. However, it seemed that she had little say in what was to happen to her.

  The theme for the night was Eastern. Valerie was enthusiastic, exclaiming, ‘The costumes are so seductive… transparent and flattering, and there are jewels galore! Come here, Angela, and let me attire you.’