Flesh: Alpha Males and Taboo Tales

by Raminar Dixon

  His face darkened and he shook his head. "You know that cannot be. This was but a moment in both our lives. And once you have regained your breath, I shall put you atop my horse again and return you to the hall."

  "But – "

  Eliza gathered her skirts around herself and watched as Kit stood up. He wouldn't meet her eyes. Brusquely, he dressed quickly and straightened himself out. He slid into his coat and picked Eliza's cloak from the floor, holding it out to her impatiently. "Won't they be worrying about you?"

  "Kit, I meant no harm. What's the matter?" Eliza rose unsteadily to her feet, and wrestled her bodice back into position. "Please, will you re-tie my laces?"

  Kit flung her cloak over his arm and nodded. She turned to the wall and he began to tighten the bodice. "Look Eliza, this was just fun. You asked for adventure before marriage, and that's what I've given you. You mustn't expect more. I gave you no cause, did I?"

  "No, you didn't. I am sorry. I understand, and I don't hold you to anything." As she spoke she felt dull and sad. "It's all right. Just take me home."

  He tied the knot and spun her around to face him. "Hey, don't cry. You've just done something incredible, you know. Take it with you, these memories."

  "Yes. I know."

  Eliza wanted, more than anything, to sleep in her own wide bed. "Back to the hall, then."

  It was an uncomfortable ride back to the edges of the grounds of the big house. Physically she was sore, and mentally she was exhausted. And she felt small and silly for asking him to take her with him. How gauche! They barely spoke. At the low stone wall that marked the boundary, she slid off, and Kit dismounted to kiss her hand and make a low bow.

  "Miss Eliza. Truly, it was a pleasure."

  "The pleasure was all mine."

  "Oh no, I must protest," Kit winked. "I certainly had a moment of pleasure myself. You may have noticed." Cheekily he moved from bowing like a gentleman to patting her on the rump like the doxy in the tavern, tapping her where his seed had marked her. His grin was infectious.

  "Mr Fletcher sir! I am glad the moment was... shared."

  "Me too." He spoke with sudden seriousness, kissed her hand once more, and leapt back up onto his hunter. "Now, back to your sister with you! And no more walking abroad at night. Who knows what unsavoury sorts you may meet! Go on."

  He didn't ride off. He waited, watching until she was safely at a side door of the house, under a lamp, and she paused to look back at his silhouette. He raised a hand in farewell and she slipped into the house, feeling tired and dirty and alive and newly clean, all at the same time.

  Rebecca was waiting in her bedroom in the guest wing, as Eliza had suspected she might.

  "Thank god!" she exclaimed as Eliza crept in. "I saw your boots and cloak gone, and knew you were out walking... but I had expected you back a good deal sooner than this!"

  "Did you tell the Lady Jacqueline I was ill?"

  "Of course. It was like being children again, with me having to lie to the governess. But you're grown now, Eliza, and we're guests here. You can't run around in the dark! Where in heavens did you get to?"

  Eliza sighed. "I'm tired." She folded her cloak and placed it on an ottoman, and shook out her skirts.

  "Eliza!" Rebecca heaved herself out of the padded chair she was sitting in. "Why is there straw in your clothes and your hair?" She peered at her sister. "You look... turn around, Eliza."

  With deep misgiving, Eliza turned around, and Rebecca hissed.

  "Who re-tied your bodice?"

  Eliza hung her head. "I cannot say."

  "You do not know?"

  "No, but I simply cannot say. Let me wash and go to bed, sister."

  Rebecca grabbed Eliza's arm and hauled her around to face her. "Tell me what has happened! A man? Men? Forced upon you? Where? We can raise a hunt and find them – it's not too late. And hanging them, we can salvage some of your honour. If in nine months..."

  "Oh don't worry about that!" Eliza had to laugh at Rebecca's horrified face. She was too tired to watch her tongue, and with a spiteful tone she said, "I'm not so innocent, you know. We took care there would be no babies."

  A cacophony of emotions spiralled over Rebecca's face. Horror, disbelief, shock.

  The final one was sad disappointment, and she left the room without another word, and tears sprang to Eliza's eyes. She could endure her older sister's anger. But not her shame. Oh, her wild tongue! She walked slowly to the jug of water on the dresser and mechanically undressed to wash herself, before rolling into bed and into a deep, confused sleep.

  Eliza kept to herself the following day. She was stiff and sore, and a new excitement was running in her veins. It made the day to day humdrum of her expected life even harder to bear, and she could scarcely make polite conversation with her hosts. The day flowed as slow as porridge, and as tasteless.

  Rebecca sought her out as she sat in a sunroom, flicking through chapbooks.

  "Eliza. We must talk." Rebecca closed the door firmly behind her and sat on a couch opposite where Eliza was lounging. "We won't be disturbed. Tell me about last night. And why so sad today?"

  Eliza gripped the chapbook in her hands and fixed her eyes on her whitening knuckles. "I tasted freedom last night," she said in a small voice. "A wild ride, and a tavern, and a man. And today – I am different, but everything else is the same. And I face tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, each the same."

  "No, not the same! One day you'll be married!"

  Eliza flung back her head and spat, "You say that as if it were a good thing!"

  Rebecca compressed her lips into a tight line and faced down Eliza's stare for a long minute. Eventually Eliza looked away, and Rebecca huffed in triumph. "Now listen to me, miss. I am married. Am I unhappy?"

  "No, but you're a different kind of person to me."

  "How so?"

  There was a dangerous edge to her sister's voice, and Eliza answered with care for once. "You are made happy by homes and comfortable things. You like organising a household and the idea of children. But I want to see places and meet people and have fun!"

  "That's what you get wrong. See places and have fun... I, too, have fun. You just don't recognise it. Fun isn't just dances and alcohol. To be with a man who becomes your soul mate, as my husband has become, that's a new kind of fun. We have worked hard at being the best wife and husband to each other. Our private faces are very different to our social, public ones."

  Eliza thought back to the moments she'd shared with Kit. They had been private moments. Not to be shared. She tried to imagine her sister and the Baron in a similar situation, and balked.

  But she looked up at Rebecca, and saw her face was shining with love and genuine desire even as she spoke about her husband. "Rebecca, I am sorry. I think now I do understand perhaps a little more..."

  "I hope so. One day you'll have that with your husband. But you'll miss out if you ruin yourself... promise me you'll stay a maid."

  It was out before Eliza could stop herself. "That is too late."

  Rebecca drew a deep and ragged breath in. "Listen to me. You are a maid. Whatever happened last night... it didn't happen. Forget it. On your wedding night, you are a maid. Behave as one to your husband. One thing you will learn as a wife – and that's how to deceive."

  Eliza's eyebrows shot up. Rebecca rose to her feet and gathered her rose-pink skirts around her. "Now I am going to talk with the Lady Jacqueline about things that would no doubt bore you. I suggest you take to your bed and return to polite company tomorrow, when you can present a more acceptable face and civil tongue to your hosts."

  Stiff-backed, Rebecca left the room, and Eliza couldn't resist poking her tongue out at her retreating figure. She felt closer to Rebecca now. And she had to acknowledge she spoke with sense. She took her advice, and retired to her room, closing the curtains and laying back on the bed to daydream and perhaps sleep.

  Confused dreams and half-imagined figures chased through her slumber. Half asleep, half awak
e, she rode horses and leapt through clouds; there were shadowy men and legs and arms and eyes in the darkness, and panting breath and warmth and her thighs being parted.

  Eliza struggled out of a not-quite-dream to find she was sprawled over her bed with her hand resting between her legs. She had stripped down to her shift, that long undergarment that covered her from neck to ankles in soft creamy linen, but it had ridden up around her waist and her fingers were nestled into her secret place.

  Her pussy, she reminded herself with a thrill.

  Her wet pussy.

  Idly, she began to stroke and explore her folds, remembering how Kit had touched a strange sweet spot that had made her ache and crave more. She stroked up and down the long folds of flesh either side of her pussy hole, and began to dip her slender fingers inside herself.

  This is wrong, she thought, and then, how can it be? For what is more my own, than my own body? Who else has more right than me to do this?

  Bolder, she parted her thighs and probed deeper into her pussy then swept out again to rub that sensitive nub.

  Her free hand crept to her breasts and she cupped her flesh, pressing down and pulling her nipple as Kit had done.

  That strange snake uncoiled once more in her belly and she felt her pulse quicken. She wondered if she were able to make that climax crash over her, as Kit had done, or did it take the touch of a man – and his cock – to cause the reaction?

  The memories of Kit aroused her even more as she imagined his body above hers, his weight pressing down, the touch of his lips. She twisted her nipple harder and pushed three fingers hard into her pussy, but she couldn't bend her wrist enough. She wanted filling. In frustration, she withdrew her hand and raised herself onto one elbow to look about the room.

  Aha! Her eyes lighted up an ivory-handled hairbrush. She padded across to the table and picked it up. It was cool and heavy in her hands. She returned to the bed and placed it between her closed thighs to impart some of her body's warmth to it, before letting her knees fall open and pressing it slowly into her wet, needy cunt.

  As soon as it slipped inside a wave of delirious pleasure washed through her. She felt her pussy clamp around it as she rubbed her sensitive spot and gripped her tits. Kit was in her mind as she bucked her hips on the bed, alternating between ramming the hairbrush handle home into her pussy and rubbing her fingers furiously over the tiny but inflamed nub at the top of her cunt. Whatever that part of her was, it was clearly built for nothing but pleasure, and soon pleasure was riding her as she tried to muffle her moans and a climax took her, warm and sticky and shuddering with the peak of her need.

  "Aahhh!"

  Eliza kept her eyes closed, wanting the moment to last, and not wanting to open her eyes to see that the room was empty. Kit was not there. He should be the one with her, sharing this joy, bringing her to crisis and spilling his own seed upon her.

  With the delight of a climax, there was also sadness.

  She lingered, letting her breathing slow and the sweat dry on her skin, before finally climbing to her feet and washing the hairbrush and herself clean.

  And she returned to bed, to sleep a dreamless sleep this time.

  The next day, she dressed carefully and properly, and attended breakfast as a decent young woman would. She spoke quietly and listened attentively. She made polite conversation with the Lady Jacqueline and her husband, and endured his boorish comments about servants. Rebecca glared at her but Eliza ignored it. She was doing what was expected of her.

  Later she moped into the library, and happened upon the Lady Jacqueline. She apologised and began her retreat, but the Lady stopped her. "Come on in, Miss Eliza. I have wanted to speak with you."

  The library was dark and cold, with the weight of centuries lining the walls. Eliza wrapped her arms around her body and approached the window where the Lady was looking past the heavy red curtains, out across the lawns. "Some light has gone out in you today. What has happened?"

  Eliza opened, then closed her mouth. She stared blankly at Jacqueline.

  The Lady cocked her head to one side, like a bird with a spindly neck and piercing dark eyes. Atop her fat round body, she was like a duck or a goose. "I see it. Something. You are a lively one, a girl of character and strong will. But yesterday you took to your room, and today you walk like someone's stolen your soul. All I can think is that an understanding with a gentleman has come to nothing. Is that the case?"

  Eliza shook her head. "No, my Lady, nothing of the sort." She could answer with all honesty – after all, they had never had an understanding the way Jacqueline meant it.

  The silence lengthened between them. Jacqueline waited. It grew so thick between them that Eliza found she couldn't stand it any longer and she blurted out, "I think it's because I finally accept that I have to get married, and give up my life as I know it. I have no freedoms now, and I'll have less as a wife. It's ... hard for me. But everyone does it, and everyone copes. It's just the way of things."

  To Eliza's surprise, Jacqueline barked out a laugh, deep and at odds with her spiky appearance. "You, the youngest daughter? The world is at your feet, girl! Buck up. Rebecca had no choices but she's done her duty for the family. You'll see the proof in six months or so. As for you – ha! Get yourself back to London and dance until your feet fall off."

  Too many new ideas tumbled in Eliza's mind. She seized on one: "How can I return to London? Papa commanded me home."

  "I have not met a youngest daughter yet who couldn't persuade their papa to give them exactly what they wanted. Even I managed three ponies and a maid of my own before I was thirteen. Use what you've got!"

  Feminine wiles and power, Eliza realised with a jolt, weren't just to attract highwaymen. It was like a curtain was drawn back in a darkened room. "Oh."

  "Well then," Jacqueline said smugly. "Get to your papa, and tell him you have a place at court."

  "But I don't..."

  "You will have if I write a few letters. Do you want it?"

  "I don't know!"

  "Tush! First you say you have no choices, and now you do, you cannot decide! Think on it. You're freer than you realise. You're just scared." Jacqueline clapped her fat hands together, making her rings rattle. "And now. Go and congratulate your sister."

  "What – oh. Oh yes." She felt genuine happiness and smiled warmly. "Yes. Thank you." She scurried off to find her sister, thinking, I'm going to be an Auntie!

  The coach rattled south. Letters had been sent, waiting had been endured. Papa had seemed relieved that his youngest daughter was off into the world to make her way at court – for a moment, Eliza sulked, feeling abandoned.

  But then the knowledge of what awaited her in her new life shook her silly petulance away, and she skipped off to supervise the packing of her dresses.

  And now she settled into the plush cushions of Lord Du Marron's second-best carriage, with her feet resting up on the opposite seat and no-one to tell her otherwise. She had dressed carefully in her finest silk, not her brown travelling garb, as she knew she'd have but one chance to descend from the coach and impress the watching eyes. Her jewels were rolled in a leather case and hidden beneath the seat though. She'd learned her lesson; you couldn't be too careful.

  Dusk fell as they were still an hour from London. Excitement stirred deep within Eliza. She sat forward and peered out of the window at the passing hills, now just dark humps against the pale grey sky. There'd been talk of a strange figure watching her home, and the servants had been told to patrol at night. Her mama had been hysterical with fear as reports of robberies came in, but they were unsubstantiated and her papa brushed them off. But Eliza knew Kit was near, and he had been watching, and she longed to see him one more time.

  If they had shared anything, anything at all, she wanted him to know she was going away and seeking her own adventures now. He would have seen the preparations for her departure. But as the coach rolled on, hope died. He would have come by now.

  She fell back onto the cushions
again, putting him out of her mind. She dozed, letting dance steps run through her mind, and music play her to sleep.

  And yet, even though she'd convinced herself that Kit wouldn't come, when she heard his familiar, polite request for the coach to halt, she sat up, wide awake, heart hammering with relief. I knew it.

  There was a pistol shot and she squeaked. The coach rocked as the coachman leapt to the ground. She thrust her head through the window and saw he was running away as fast as he could. In other circumstances, she'd have yelled "Coward!" after him. But not tonight. She opened the carriage door, and welcomed Kit in.

  "You took your time," she said as coolly as she might.

  He sat on the seat opposite her and casually placed his booted feet up on the seat she was sitting on, one either side of her. She snatched her silk dress out of the way with a fake huff of annoyance. He grinned. "I had to wait until it was dark, and until I knew we were far enough away from houses that your coachman had a long run ahead of him."

  "Did you actually shoot him?"

  "No, of course not. Nothing but powder in my pistol."

  She raised an eyebrow at him and he snorted with laughter. "So, you're going to London, I hear."

  "How did you hear?"

  "Your servants. I can be very persuasive. You may have noticed. Off to the court! I'm glad."

  "Thank you." Her eyes dropped to his groin, brashly displayed as he sat with his legs akimbo. "And I'm grateful, too, for everything you've taught me."

  "Everything? We had barely got started."

  "What else is there to learn?"

  He cocked his head to one side and licked his lips. "A lifetime of exploration, Eliza."

  "I'd better waste no time, then." Slowly, she stripped off her gloves. "How long before the coachman finds other people?"

  "A good twenty minutes of stumbling, if he's lucky from the start."

  She unhooked her cloak to reveal her best silk dress was a rather low-cut silk dress, and her ample breasts spilled above her tight bodice. Kit unbuckled his belt. "Let me teach you another important skill, then. Not as the beasts do… this is as the French do."