‘Warm enough, I think,’ Henry remarked cheerfully, as if her spanking had been a mere idle diversion – pleasurable but of no great consequence.
All she could manage was a sob, which altogether failed to express the depths of her feeling at what he had done to her.
‘Now, before we proceed,’ he continued as he pulled her to her feet and took her hand, ‘perhaps I should explain what I intend so that you may feel the full effect of it. Though I have little doubt that when you penned your letter, your intent was to torment me, I also surmise that the suggestions you made are things that you would in truth delight in. It is clear that you are quite wanton and enjoy playing the whore, yet in most ways you are very much the lady and a few careful questions have revealed that above all things you detest actually doing any work, especially work that involves getting your dainty hands dirty. It was your suggestion that I treat you like a mare that gave me an idea, an idea which I do hope you will appreciate.’
Eloise’s cheeks burned with blushes at his words, from outrage at those parts that were untrue and yet more in reaction to those parts that were true. Allowing Henry to lead her, she stumbled towards the stable door, into which his servant had already disappeared. Reaching it, Eloise’s trepidation rose as she saw the servant standing grinning next to a pile of utterly filthy straw. Both she and Henry glanced at the brazier, where Christian was adding another bundle of notes to the flames with an air of placid indifference.
‘Best not waste time,’ Henry said with a worried glance at the diminishing pile of notes. ‘Come on, you little jade, strip. Gurney, fetch my dog-whip from the cart.’
Henry caught a curious look from Eloise as she began to disrobe. She started with her bonnet, then the buttons of her dress, fumbling them open behind her back and taking her time until he made a threatening gesture with the leather whip. Unable to go faster, she was forced to beg for his assistance, which he gave with a chuckle of amusement for her evident discomfort. With the dress undone, it fell easily to the ground, along with her petticoat, forming a puddle of yellow and cream silk from which she stepped. Her chemise and underpetticoats followed, falling one by one until only her shift remained to cover her modesty. She made to start on her stockings, but Henry stepped forward, grabbed the hem of her shift and whisked it smartly up over her head.
Eloise gasped as her body was exposed, blushing and covering her ample breasts in sudden confusion. Henry merely clicked his fingers and gestured to her stockings and shoes, which she immediately began to peel away with trembling fingers. Each shoe was kicked off and each stocking was peeled down, Eloise standing back and placing her hands on her head to Henry’s order as the second stocking fluttered to the dirty ground.
She was naked, not wearing so much as a stitch, her glorious curves causing Henry’s pulse to quicken. Full, round breasts hung over a trim waist and rounded belly, each tipped with a large, hard nipple of darker flesh. Her sex was covered in thick curls in a tight V between her slightly crossed thighs, each of which was teasingly plump, yet in no way flabby. Henry motioned for her to turn, revealing her fleshy pear-shaped bottom, the cheeks glowing red from her spanking. Her eyes were downcast and her lips set in a sulky pout as she looked back over her shoulder, though Henry was unable to tell how much of her apparent bashfulness was acting.
‘Take the pitchfork and shovel the straw into a stall,’ he ordered, ‘and work fast or I shall give you a taste of my dog-whip across those fine haunches.’
Eloise picked the fork up and bent to her disagreeable task, her big breasts lolling forward as she stooped to lift a fork-load of straw and muck. Henry licked his suddenly dry lips at the sight and unbuttoned his fly to flop his half-stiff member into his hand. She tossed the load into the stall and bent for another load, this time with her back to him so that the full glories of her bottom were revealed. He flicked the dog-whip casually across her rump, drawing a squeak of protest and leaving a redder line on the already flushed skin.
She was soon covered in sweat and grime, her breathing coming heavily from the unaccustomed work. Henry continued to stroke his cock, occasionally glancing at the burning money. Her hair came loose as she worked, falling in a cascade of red-gold that Henry noted with approval as entirely natural.
‘Now kneel in it,’ he commanded when she had shovelled the last fork-load into the stall. ‘Part your knees and push your bottom well up.’
Eloise obeyed, panting as she assumed the blatantly exposed position.
‘Magnificent,’ Henry breathed as he got down behind her and put the head of his cock to her open vagina. ‘You have a backside a man could kill for, wench; now get your face down in the straw.’
Once more, Eloise obeyed, her whole body burning with indignation as she pressed her face into the filthy straw. It was true that the act was perhaps less degrading than that which she had put Natalie through so often, but Natalie was a mere maid. She was the daughter of a count. Yet, for all that, like Natalie, she was unable to suppress her feelings of sexual arousal at the casual power displayed in using her so wickedly.
She sensed him kneel down behind her and then felt his cock bump her cunny. His penis slid into her – slipping inside with an embarrassing ease – and he set off at a frantic pace, evidently mindful of the rapidly expiring time. Eloise began to groan as he took hold of her hair with one hand, the other sliding between her buttocks to find her anus and sinking the ball of his spit-wet thumb into the tight hole. She squealed as her bottom was opened, then groaned once more as he again began to ride her, only now with his thumb stuck well into her anal ring.
For a long while he continued to push into her, making her dizzy with pleasure. Only with difficulty did she fight the urge to reach back between her thighs and find her cunny. Determined not to show her excitement, she clenched her fists in the straw. Yet it was impossible to control her breathing and also stop herself moaning or crying out each time he increased the pace of his cock within her vagina. Half praying he would come quickly and half hoping he would take forever, she knew that her ability to hold back was reaching its end.
He slowed suddenly, and for a moment she thought he had come. Yet his cock remained rigid as he pulled his thumb from her anus. She sighed in resignation as his erection slid free of her vagina and was placed at the entrance to her rectum. He pushed and her bottom-hole opened like a flower under the pressure, Eloise relaxing the muscle to what was by no means her first experience of having a man’s cock put to her bottom. He pushed it in, producing animal grunts from Eloise as her anus was penetrated. With his cock fully up, she sighed deeply, unable to restrain a show of her pleasure at having a thick penis filling out her rectum. Slowly, forcefully, he began to bugger her, making her squeal and then to give little ecstatic moans as his thrusts became harder. His front began to slam against her bottom, making the cheeks bounce and reminding her of her recent spanking. His pace quickened and, for a moment, it hurt, making her gasp and expel her breath in a sudden burst. He grunted and gave a yet harder shove, forcing his cock deeper still up her bottom as she realised that he was coming.
Henry felt his cock jerk in the tight, warm sheath of Eloise’s rectum. Gritting his teeth in self-control, he grabbed the base of his penis and pulled it free. Even as the thrill of orgasm hit him, he had begun to pull her round by her hair. Pushing his penis into her open mouth, he came, filling it as his cock jerked once more. Eloise began to suck; all trace of the haughty lady vanished as she gulped down his sperm. Again and again his penis spasmed in her mouth, his come bursting from around her lips when her mouth could take no more. He put his head back and let out a long moan of utter contentment as his orgasm came to its peak, then blew his breath slowly out as it subsided. For a long moment after coming, he kept his cock in her mouth, still enjoying her gentle sucking motions. Finally, he pulled away, leaving a trail of come and spittle hanging from her lip.
As Henry sank on to his haunches, Eloise rolled on to her back, her legs wide apart as her fingers
sought her vulva. The three men watched as she masturbated herself, rubbing frantically until she reached her climax with a piercing scream, indifferent to the exhibition she was making of her body, naked and soiled on a bed of foul straw. Having come, she rolled to one side and pulled her legs up, keeping her hand between her thighs, but presenting her bottom rather than her belly to the onlookers.
‘A minute or so, yet,’ Henry remarked.
‘More?’ Eloise asked, turning her head to look at him in surprise.
‘Oh, nothing of consequence, but I usually take a glass of brandy at these times. Gurney has a flask; you may serve it.’
Henry congratulated himself as he saw that she was smiling as she moved into a kneeling position and took the flask and glass from Gurney. He sipped warm, fiery fluid as the last few notes burnt to ash, admiring her delicious body as she knelt in submission, her knees open and her hands crossed in her lap, damp hair falling in lank strands across her breasts.
Yet, as the final shred of ash lifted in the heat of the brazier, Eloise made no move to rise, instead remaining kneeling as if awaiting further orders. Henry exchanged a glance with his servant.
‘May I, sir?’ Gurney asked respectfully.
‘Pray do,’ Henry replied with an indulgent gesture.
It was clear that Eloise no longer cared as she lifted her breasts obligingly to make a slide for the servant’s cock. He pulled it free of his breeches, already engorged with blood. Placing it between Eloise’s sweat-slick breasts, he began push it backward and forward. As Gurney’s erection disappeared between the soft pillows of Eloise’s chest, Henry turned to her discarded clothing, which was strewn indiscriminately across the stable floor. A brief search revealed a garter of yellow ribbon, which he appropriated as a trophy. A grunt from behind him signalled Gurney’s climax and he turned to find Eloise kneeling with a coy, satisfied smile on her face and her big breasts now wet with sperm as well as sweat. With a polite inclination of his head he showed her the garter he had taken and slipped it into his pocket.
Half an hour later, Henry had left and Eloise was once more the poised young noblewoman. She laughed to herself as she prodded at the remains of the bundles that had been burnt. Each had been so much paper with a single real note placed on top, exchanged for the real money while Henry had been paying attention to her body rather than to Christian. He had burnt only a few good notes, nothing compared to the ten thousand pounds she now had and which would finally bring an end to her father’s control of her purse. Henry, by contrast, had little chance of paying the debt back and was more than likely to end his days as a pauper. True, he had given her immense pleasure – more by far than he realised, of that she was sure – yet he had truly paid a price.
She reached for the chest in which the real money still lay. Extracting a sheaf, she ran her fingers along the edge in pure bliss.
Two miles away, Henry Truscott took a deep pull from his flask and turned to Gurney.
‘Well, thank you, Todd. I trust that you enjoyed the performance?’
‘Not at all bad, sir,’ the big man replied. ‘It’s I who should be thanking you, in truth; after all, you could have picked any one of a dozen men to do the job.’
‘Ah, but not so well. Who else among your fellows could also act as manservant and bodyguard?’
‘None, I dare say . . .’
‘Precisely; besides, you have connections in the world of art, and there is no art more useful than forgery.’1
Two
As Henry Truscott pushed open the door of the Pheasant, a great gust of noise assailed his senses, along with pipe smoke, strong smells of beer and tallow and a dozen less forceful aromas. The house was crowded, with its usual half rough, half supposedly genteel clientele and the inevitable smattering of lawyers. As he began to push his way in, a gale of drunken laughter came from the smaller of the taprooms, followed by a genial shout.
‘Ho, and here’s the duddering rakehell and no mistake! Harry, are you game for a bet?’
Henry turned, making out the drink-reddened features of his friend Conrad Clive among a group of men he knew more or less well. Greeting them, he pushed between two earnestly conversing students and into the small room.
‘Here’s the game,’ Conrad announced as Henry approached. ‘We dance the college hornpipe and down nips of Pharaoh, man for man. The last to fall takes the pot!’
‘Who’ll match a guinea?’ Henry responded immediately and began to dig in his pockets for the coin.
Several men answered his challenge, few being willing to appear mean by failing to match the stake. With the pot standing at nine guineas, Henry moved to the counter and signalled the landlord, a heavy-set man who greeted him with a familiar grin.
‘Nine nips of stingo and a cup of milk in a blackstrap bottle,’ Henry demanded, lowering the tone of his voice for the later part of his order.
The landlord ducked into the back room to tap the beer, quickly returning with the order on a tray. Henry raised the port bottle to his lips and drained it in full view of the company, then set it back down on the bar with a thump.
‘As I say,’ Conrad Clive called out, ‘Harry’s a buck of the first head. Who else would down a pint of port to keep fair with his fellows?’
A space had already been cleared in the centre of the room, barely adequate for the nine of them to attempt a hornpipe. As Henry placed the tray on a table, a tune was struck up, to be met with a roar of eagerness as the company attempted to manage the dance. Henry joined in, yelling and kicking out with the best of them.
As he had anticipated, his fellow sportsmen quickly began to fall by the wayside, three collapsing in gales of drunken laughter before managing to down their first nip. With the floor awash with spillage, the second round was called up and distributed, the dance continuing to the manic piping of the flute and the laughter of the assembly. Two more men collapsed before reaching the end of the second nip, one slipping in the beer and one simply slumping to the floor in a drunken stupor.
The remaining four stayed upright for their third, fourth and fifth nips, each now dancing proudly and attempting evolutions of increasing complexity as their confidence rose with their intake of alcohol. Conrad Clive finally resigned as the sixth nip was handed out, sinking back on to a bench with his boisterous laughter broken by urgent pants. Henry downed his nip and called out for more, forcing his remaining competitors to follow suit. One – a lank fellow who Henry knew only as Long William – shook his head and sat down, turning his half-empty pot upside down over his head in the ritual gesture of defeat. The other – the stout, fleshy legged Squire Robson – downed his nip with every evidence of gusto and held out his hand for more.
For three more rounds Henry danced opposite the squire, those others who remained conscious clapping and calling out encouragement. Finally, instead of downing his tenth nip, Robson sank puffing to his knees, admitting defeat with an exhausted hand gesture. Victorious, Henry downed his last beer, scooped the pot up and called for port all round. His generosity was answered with a chorus of claps and cheers, Conrad Clive seizing up the first of the black bottles to be placed on the counter and raising it in a toast to Henry.
An hour later, Henry drained the last of his third pint of port. Conrad had been singing the praises of a new brothel in Clerkenwell, and Henry had been becoming increasingly tempted to sample its merchandise. The pleasures of the inn had begun to pale as his drunkenness had risen and Conrad’s boasts had become more vivid. Henry’s need for a girl had risen in counterpoint, until he had determined to make the best of his winnings and decided to leave.
‘Well, I’m for this bawd’s house, then,’ he announced, rising unsteadily to his feet. ‘Who’s for drink and who’s for cunt?’
Only three of his companions took sensible notice of his question, and their response was only to laugh and pass an incoherent but evidently crude jest.
‘Think on this, you greenhorn crew,’ Henry responded jovially. ‘You can swill till y
ou’re under the table, but while you’re lying in the gutter with your breeches bewrayed, I’ll be up to my elbows in some sweet-cunted young doxy. Now, who’s with me?’
Again the response was nothing more than drunken nonsense, so he turned his back and made for the door.
Henry staggered out into the night. A cold fog had blown in from the river, dampening the pervading smell of horse dung but adding a yet more fetid tint. Sight was also difficult, with the flickering oil lamps barely able to penetrate the fog. Clasping his handkerchief over his face, he steadied himself, his senses reeling from the drink he had taken aboard. Within the Pheasant, the sounds of drunken revelry continued unabated, providing a strangely distant background noise in contrast to the quiet of the street. With somewhat over six guineas remaining in his pocket, he was in a position to pick and choose, and so set off in the direction of Clerkenwell with vague, lustful ideas of trying three wenches at once, or possibly four.
As he made an unsteady progress down the lane, a muffled noise and a swirl in the mist ahead alerted him to the approach of a stranger. Drawing to the left of the way, he loosened the grip of his swordstick, ready to respond as circumstances dictated. For a fleeting instant, he wished he had drunk rather less, only for the thought to dissolve in the face of overwhelming lust as a quite evidently female figure stepped towards him.
She was of moderate height – little over five feet – and blessed with curves that her heavy cloak did little to conceal. Dull, uneven light from an oil lamp and yet dimmer light from nearby windows showed an upturned nose and freckles beneath large bright eyes, while he could make out suggestions of a pale neck and ample chest within the shadows of her cloak.
The Rake Page 3
