The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series

by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

  In the summer months, the bridleway would have been crowded with hundreds of equestrians, creating a scene of brilliance, pomp and splendour; now, it appeared only dank and gloomy. When winter’s frost brought its bite, the Park would glitter once more, skaters taking to the frozen Serpentine, illuminated by torchlight. Many a love affair had been nursed in its acres, fair young men seeking out a certain rosy cheek, approaching nervously, to be greeted by blushes and downcast lashes. A lady might drop a glove and bestow a smile. Often, such assignations were obliged to remain furtive, ultimately foiled by a match-making mamma, caring not for the secret wishes of youthful hearts.

  He had thought to make Mademoiselle Noire his sometime mistress, but he realized now that it would never be sufficient. He must possess her completely. She would be his torch in the darkness: no other existed for him. His amour would not be thwarted.

  A ginger tom shot past: the domestic quadruped clearly no more eager to remain in the damp than he. MacCaulay clutched his coat more tightly and made towards the elaborate iron gates of the Park. He hurried past Apsley House: one time residence of the ‘hero of a hundred fights’ – the Duke of Wellington. His monument to his own great deeds stood yet in front of the drawing-room windows. If he had, in modesty, forgotten his own greatness, he might have looked upon it, and been reminded.

  MacCaulay passed out onto Grosvenor Place and through Belgravia. As he entered Eaton Square, fog was rolling in from the direction of the Thames. The interior of his residence appeared darker than usual, although the fires and lamps had been lit some hour previously. He made towards his room, to dress for dinner, but stopped rather at his sister’s door, knocking gently.

  She called for him to enter, and he found her at her dressing table, her maid placing the finishing touches to her hair. Cecile would never think to question him, but he felt compelled to explain his hasty removal from the carriage earlier. Sensing that he had something heartfelt to impart, she dismissed Alice from the room and turned to give him her full attention.

  “What would you say sister were I to tell you that I may have fallen in love?”

  Seeing the earnest look upon his face – a combination of anxiety and incomprehension - her reaction was to succumb to amusement. Then, clapping her hands in delight, she exclaimed her joy, proclaiming that nothing would bring her greater satisfaction than to see her darling brother happily settled. She had doubted that the day would ever come, since he had already courted several of the most beautiful and eligible debutants of past seasons, without any inclination to formalize a union. That he had taken his time to choose wisely was only to his credit, and she yearned with all her heart to meet the object of his affections, that she might call her sister.

  Her words were as he expected, she being so generous of nature. He doubted not that she would receive any bride he brought into the house with all deference, treating her at once as her closest friend and confidante.

  “And what if the woman I chose were not born into a notable family Cecile?” he asked.

  She raised her eyebrows but gave him the simplest of answers. “Regardless of her birth dearest, if she is the other half of your soul then she will be a lady indeed. Your good taste and discernment could only bring about your preference for a woman of substance, refinement and intelligence. I cannot believe it would be otherwise.”

  Her words were a comfort. Certainly, whatever her name or status in society, Mademoiselle Noire lacked neither wits nor imagination. Her conversation was eloquent, her spirit admirable and her bearing noble. Perhaps all could be well. However, MacCaulay remained doubtful that she had any notion of marriage: much less, that she might wish to accept an overture from him.

  MacCaulay took leave of Cecile with his customary kiss upon her forehead and promised to join her downstairs in good time.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Many Hands Make Light Work

  MacCaulay returned to the Club the following evening, his mind now set that he must speak to Mademoiselle Noire alone and apprise her of his feelings. He would expect her refusal but entreat her to consider his proposal. That she would have terms of her own, he fully expected. These he would consider, although her continued exhibition of herself at the Club he felt he could not countenance. He would relinquish his own membership if necessary.

  He found a place upon a side sofa, away from the main throng.

  Mademoiselle’s entrance to the salon was heralded by the swish of her skirts, as she made her way to the centre of the assembly. She had never looked more regal, wearing a dress of crimson red velvet, cut low, so that her porcelain shoulders were fully exposed. Her corset was laced tightly, supporting her cleavage to utmost advantage, the orbs of her breasts as two ripe peaches. Her coiffure was pinned with diamante stones, which caught the light, so that her auburn hair appeared set with stars.

  She began her address.

  “Gentlemen, you are familiar with the delight of watching a fair bottom wriggle upon a manly piston – your own or that of another!”

  Merry agreement rippled through the room.

  “What joy it is to witness such coupling, spurring on the efforts of others and offering murmurs of encouragement as you watch appreciatively, waiting your turn.”

  She paused, allowing the rosy image to permeate.

  “Some might say that lusts are best inflamed by watching ladies coax one another, with gentle fondles or harsher play. Others prefer a girl to be coy, since shy modesty has its own appeal and men like to hunt. A woman too willing is perhaps no sport. Who among you has not thrilled to the act of overcoming seeming resistance? To the lifting of a reluctant girl’s skirts? The ladies of our harem know you well Gentlemen, acting the virgin or the whore, as suits the occasion.”

  Her voice, low and seductive, continued.

  “Tonight, we bid farewell to Evaline, who has been your sporting companion these last 12 months. Her fields have been watered most liberally, and in every manner, by our honourable host. Sadly, this is her last night with us, since she is soon to enter the sacred union of marriage and plans to put aside, with much reluctance, her life of adventure within these walls.”

  Mademoiselle here allowed the Gentlemen to conjure forth their own recollections of the majestic Evaline.

  “To mark her departure, she has requested the honour of your participation in a special performance: no less than the reenactment of Messalina’s orgy. Being learned gentlemen, I am sure you know the story well: the Roman Emperor Claudius’ wife, being insatiable of appetite and immensely competitive, challenged the well known prostitute Scylla to a contest, to see who might fulfill the desires and lusts of the most men. Of course, Messalina demonstrated herself to be the greater whore, fulfilling the most perverse demands by the greater number of suitors. This evening, Evaline will be without challenge, since we humbly acknowledge her as the foremost lady of this establishment.”

  Having received such an introduction, guaranteed to whet the appetite, the lady herself entered, dressed fittingly in a Roman toga, her chestnut hair braided and looped in the style made famous by Messalina of old.

  She took a sedate promenade about the room, so that her figure might be admired, and that she might appraise her suitors. Satisfied at last that all attention was hers, she lay back upon the cushioned day bed in the centre of the room, and summoned forth her first lover with a crook of her finger. The gentleman remained fully clothed, taking out only those parts of himself essential to the act, and lifted the skirts of his Messalina, running his hands slowly up her milky thighs, until her forest was revealed.

  She tilted her hips upwards towards him, so that his angle of entry was facilitated, and his organ gained the first toast of the night, drawn slowly back and forth, so that all could admire his fluidity of action and control. Evaline closed her eyes, allowing the sensation to wash through her: the delight of opening her legs and receiving whatever offering was placed between them.

  Their coupling was sedate, a performance of sensual l
anguor, although every man there knew that the night could end in only one fashion: a feast of hard ramming in which every one of them would enjoy entry of her body.

  For her next suitor, she knelt upon the divan, offering her buttocks. He poured champagne down the cleft, as another bent his head to drink, rubbing his bearded face against the full length of her valley, from one orifice to the other, stimulating her with his hairy chin, his nose and, of course, his tongue. The sucking of the liquid from her secret folds inspired much wriggling from the lady, who was soon ready to welcome the stricter ministrations of the two men.

  They shared her with utmost decorum, enjoying several strokes to her velvet passage before withdrawing and making way for their rival. In this manner, they kept her pleasure simmering for nigh ten minutes, delivering ever fiercer strokes until, at last, they submitted her to a hammering which shook the lady’s breasts free of her draping costume.

  Her face flushed and radiant, she removed her simple garb, reclining now naked upon the divan, placing her hands upon her own body: her generous breasts, her rounded belly and the mount of her Venus, She encouraged four to gather about her, requesting that they pleasure themselves as she touched her own places most erogenous.

  The lady’s undulations as she brought herself to a peak of enjoyment were most enchanting to behold, and soon summoned forth joyous eruptions from her admirers. Their devotional juices created a work of art upon her beautiful curves, which she rubbed provocatively into her thighs, breasts and stomach, kneading her flesh with their gift to her.

  In various states of undress, those about her joined in her fondling, lowering their mouths not only to her nipples but to her arms and legs, so that each limb was held captive about the wrist or ankle, and smothered in kisses and gentle nibbles. In this way, perhaps eight of the assembly joined in pleasuring the young lady, taking care to only deliver the sweetest of sensations.

  A cushion was placed then under her dainty buttocks, so that her cunny was best able to invite the attention of her suitors. One after another they took their turn in delighting her there in the most agreeable manner, licking and sucking at her sweet jewel. Hands and lips continued to rove about her body in a tender fashion, her snowy breasts squeezed and softly pinched, teeth grazing her skin. Her nipples ached for those tweaks and bites, just as her inner chamber throbbed for the probing of tongue after tongue.

  Her ecstasy came upon her repeatedly and MacCaulay wondered at the girl’s ability to continue, but Evaline’s enthusiasm was far from spent. Just like Messalina, she presented herself for the use of every man, enjoying the knowledge of their eyes and hands upon her. Their unrelenting attentions she received with indefatigable delight.

  Mademoiselle had stood unnoticed to one side: unnoticed to all but one. MacCaulay, like the others present, could not help but be drawn into the scene playing out before him, but his eyes continued to seek out she who occupied his thoughts.

  Seeing his glances, she made her way towards him, coming to sit at his side, so that she could speak quietly in his ear, their conversation unheeded.

  She began by asking him the question which played much on her mind.

  “Gentle sir, do you understand the desire for pleasurable oblivion at the hands of many others, not knowing who is clasped to you, or whose lips embrace your flesh?”

  He hesitated before answering that he thought he could appreciate the thrill of such sensations, having enjoyed the touch of more than one woman at a time on occasions past.

  She continued, “Among my greatest loves is the act of being pinned and invaded – not by one, or two or three, but by many, one after the other. What it is to lose yourself among many, so that your identity exists only as ‘woman’: a goddess of flesh and desire. No names, no promises, no social niceties, no conversational conventions: only lust and fulfillment.”

  The thought of her placed now as Evaline had not crossed his mind. It both aroused him and repulsed him.

  “On many nights I have availed myself of these very gentlemen, in the adjoining room. Each time, I wondered if you might arrive and see me, as I took my pleasure, allowing their hands to explore my body. There is no part of me that has not been kissed and enjoyed. I opened myself in welcome, encouraging my suitors to bury themselves deep and hard, to obliterate all reserve and find the heart of me.”

  He looked at her now, seeing that her eyes had grown dark with desire speaking of these matters.

  She continued, “I love being watched, love knowing that every man in the room is waiting for me, desiring me. At those moments, I control them, through their eagerness to take possession of my flesh. I satisfy their desires and my own. A whole evening is barely enough for me to sate myself, relishing that which others would consider barbarous.”

  MacCaulay knew not what to reply. His adoration of her was unshaken by her revelations. The ardour with which she spoke was unexpected, but her sexual preferences did not surprise him. The openness with which she described her needs only aroused his admiration.

  Evaline now moved herself into a seated position, upon her knees, breathless with having reached her crisis. She took some sips of champagne and rested for a moment, before calling forth another.

  The gentleman’s phallus she removed from his trousers, rolling and pressing it between her ample breasts, fondling its length effectively in this way, so that it was soon quite erect, juices quivering at the tip. As she did so, another of her admirers approached from behind, since her buttocks were easily accessible, to delve his fingers into the forest of her cunny. Thus she received an intimate massage from the rear while delivering pleasure before her, soon bringing her recipient to his ultimate destination.

  MacCaulay turned to Mademoiselle Noire, who sat composed beside him, her hands calmly in her lap, as if listening to a chamber orchestra rather than the grunts and moans of men engaged in sexual labour.

  His desire to convey his feelings overcame all else.

  “Do you never yearn as other women do for the haven of marriage? The security of a husband in your bed? Status in society as a wedded woman? And a family of your own, with rosy-cheeked children in the nursery?”

  Her voice was almost weary in its reply.

  “There is enough conformity in the world Lord MacCaulay. I doubt that mine, or lack of it, will send the planet from its axis. Meanwhile, my heart does not soar for the riches you set before me. Perhaps one day, I may feel differently. For now, I wish to taste that which most women do not.”

  Evaline’s suitor spurted generously over her magnificent orbs, to cheers of approval by the assembly, and another took his place, so that her breasts were put to work once more in delivering a man to Paradise, the juices of the first creating a more lubricated motion.

  Mademoiselle turned fully to face Lord MacCaulay, enquiring of him, “What is it that you desire my Lord? A gentle wife in your parlour, to pour your coffee and soothe your brow? What are you made of? Do your roots hold you fast; or is your spirit free? Perhaps you are no more than a feather, tossed on the breath of others’ winds, with no direction of your own?”

  “I know that I want you,” he answered. “I think of you every waking moment, through the night and through the day. You haunt my dreams, so that there is no escape. You are all and everything.”

  His reply struck her as honest.

  “For that, I am not displeased, since there is something in you that sings to me and it would pain me were you to leave this place and never return. You have come to love me; that I know. It is the most dangerous game, posing the greatest risk and challenge. It is a game I have ever been loathe to entertain.”

  The fingers devoted to Evaline’s garden were no longer two in number but three and then four, plunging back and forth with steady rhythm, so that her cleft opened greedily to accept more. Several hands worked in unison, so that she knew not how many gentlemen were behind her, their fingers playing their part in freeing the flow of her juices.

  Mademoiselle chose her words ca
refully. “If I am capable of loving you Lord MacCaulay, of devoting myself to you, it will never be under the terms to which other women submit, for I am battle-born – a female warrior sworn to defy the bonds which enslave those of my sex. I will not, purely to follow common ideas of decency and femininity, give up my enjoyment of other men.”

  The fingers exploring Evaline had now progressed to rubbing about the rosette of her anus, inching within. Entry of those fingers at both her pretty passages was soon underway, and the young woman cried out most piercingly at the pleasure this afforded her. There was nothing but delight in her cries.

  Evaline took the engorged member from her breasts and placed it in her eager mouth, relishing the sensation of each orifice now being satisfied.

  Mademoiselle urged MacCaulay, “Observe my Lord; I am not the only woman to feel this way. How dull would it be to consume my meat with only one variety of sauce? My body and spirit would whither, being fed on such limited fare. To sample the delights of a great many women is considered right and healthy for a man, yet the opposite is held true for those of our sex. Where we display undue interest in sexual matters, even within marriage, we are thought immoral. For myself, I can only conceive of such limitation with horror: a torture for which I have no taste.”