CarnalDevices

by Helena Harker

  The carriage bumps over the cobblestones, jostling the men together. Although the shadows make it difficult to read the expression on Ambrose’s face, something seems to break free within him. Suddenly he goes down on his knees and fumbles with the buttons on Phineas’ trousers. He pulls down the garments, revealing a pair of silk drawers and the outline of Phineas’ bulging cock. It is huge and I smile as I remember how it felt to have the long, thick member inside me.

  And soon I will have him inside me again.

  After a few more tugs at the drawers, Ambrose frees Phineas’ glorious appendage. I wait for Ambrose to seize the cock in his hands, but he balks. Shaking his head, he reaches for his seat and begins to rise. Phineas does nothing to stop him.

  “No!” I place my hand on his shoulder, keeping him on his knees. “Don’t you want to touch it?”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  A war is taking place inside him. His submerged desires are vying for supremacy over the ingrained notion that this type of conduct is perverse.

  “Hold Phineas’ cock.” I guide his hand to the swollen member.

  Phineas strokes Ambrose’s thick hair. “Give in to your desires. Don’t let anyone stop you from doing what you want.”

  I can sense Phineas’ anticipation. The muscles in his thighs are taut, his breathing rapid, his cock ready. If Ambrose’s lips were this close to my cunny I should be a bundle of quivering nerves.

  I guide Ambrose’s hand up and down Phineas’ shaft until he establishes a smooth rhythm and is comfortable continuing without my aid. Ambrose expels a long sigh of satisfaction and with sharp movements of his hips, Phineas thrusts his cock into his partner’s grip.

  Phineas and I look at each other. Thank you,he mouths. His appreciation sends shivers of delight racing over my body.

  Now that Ambrose appears quite comfortable with manual stimulation, it is time to push him further. “Take it in your mouth.”

  A moment of hesitation. But he does not pull away as before. He stares at the cock in mute fascination as Phineas continues to stroke his hair.

  “Have women pleasured you this way?” I ask him.

  “Yes,” Ambrose says.

  “Then you know how a man likes to be stimulated.”

  “Yes,” he says. However, he does not move.

  I must step in. “Like this.” Getting down on my knees, I take hold of Phineas’ cock. I start at the base of the shaft, slide my tongue all the way up to the narrow slit and take the head into my mouth. My jaws open wide, for Phineas’ cock is substantial. Soft moans escape Phineas’ throat as I take him as deep as my throat will allow. After swirling my tongue over the salty tip several times—I thoroughly enjoy stimulating him in this manner—I stop. Enough demonstrating. Time for Ambrose to carry on. “Your turn. Suck.”

  Now I hold Phineas’ cock while gently pressing on the back of Ambrose’s head, moving his mouth ever closer. Closer. And closer. I watch, utterly aroused, as his tongue protrudes from his mouth, makes contact with the veined member and slides from the base of the shaft all the way up to the head.

  “Excellent,” I say.

  Ambrose takes the head in his mouth, working his head up and down in a steady rhythm. With every downward movement, Phineas lets out a sharp groan. After a while, Ambrose stops for breath. I imagine his jaw must be sore.

  “Don’t stop,” Phineas cries out. “Continue! Continue!”

  Immediately Ambrose takes the cock in his mouth, holds the base with both fists and picks up the rhythm. By the look on Phineas’ face, I know he won’t last much longer. The excitement is too great. Phineas grunts and Ambrose moans in response as Phineas orgasms. Ambrose raises his head and thick ropes of milky liquid spill over his hands, which still grip Phineas’ member.

  With astonishing abruptness, Phineas grabs Ambrose by the shoulders and forces him onto the seat. He pulls at Ambrose’s trousers, pushing them down around his ankles, not bothering to remove them completely. Although Ambrose’s cock is not as large as Phineas’ it is still impressive. I barely have time to admire it before Phineas takes it in his mouth. Unlike the architect, he is not the least bit tentative despite his inexperience. His tongue slides up Ambrose’s cock with unbridled enthusiasm. A man knows how to pleasure a man, it seems, because in moments Ambrose plunges both fists into Phineas’ hair and throws his head back. His orgasm is intense, and groans fill the cab. I am certain the driver can hear. I peek out the window and two passersby raise their heads to look in our direction. If only they knew of our wanton behavior. What would they say? Ambrose utters another sharp moan and Phineas greedily swallows his lover’s seed, tenderly licking Ambrose’s cock until every drop is gone.

  Phineas rests his head on Ambrose’s lap as his cock grows flaccid. I hear only the rattle of the carriage, the steady clop-clop-clop of the horses’ hooves. The cathedral is mere moments away and my men are still nude, their chests heaving and shining with perspiration.

  “Are you satisfied?” I ask them.

  “With Ambrose, yes, I am, thoroughly satisfied,” answers Phineas. “However….”

  “It is our turn,” finishes Ambrose as he looks at me with lust in his gaze.

  “The three of us,” adds Phineas.

  “In the cathedral.” Why not sin at St. Paul’s? The idea secretly pleases the hedonist in me.

  The men quickly put on their clothing, and Ambrose anxiously peers from a gap in the curtains as he buttons up his shirt. Seconds later, the cab pulls up in front of the massive structure that is St. Paul’s Cathedral. Twin spires rise above us, and a giant dome looms in the background. While Phineas helps me disembark, Ambrose pays the driver.

  Pride etched on his face, Ambrose introduces us to his architectural masterpiece with a wave of his hand. “Welcome to St. Paul’s Cathedral.” He takes a key from his pocket and opens one of the massive front doors. “It will be the first cathedral in all of England to be wired with electricity.”

  For a moment, Ambrose disappears into the darkness. Phineas remains by my side, his leather case in his hand. I hear a sharp click. Light floods the interior, banishing the darkness. Electricity is truly a marvel! It appears to be daylight!

  “Much work still needs to be done,” Ambrose announces, leading us farther inside.

  The cathedral is bare. No pews. No altar. The finishings are lacking, and the silent grandeur unnerves me. The beauty of the stained glass is riveting. I examine the brilliance of the greens, blues, reds and yellows. Never have I seen such a breathtaking sight.

  According to the Darwinists, a political movement that is rapidly gaining popularity, God does not exist. Just as Christianity supplanted paganism, modern scientific beliefs should supplant religion. In some ways, I agree with them. In my entire life, I have only attended church a few times. I remember one day when my mother was holding my hand and we crossed the threshold of one of Lower London’s small churches. The moment the priest saw us, he came to the door with bold strides. At first I thought he wanted to greet us. After all, my mother said the church was about acceptance and forgiveness. It welcomed every pious soul. The priest, however, glared at me and told us to leave. He castigated my mother for not having a wedding band, for conceiving me in sin. Although I had been baptized in another of Lower London’s churches—by a far more tolerant man of the cloth—this priest doubted my soul could be saved. I was destined to go to hell just like my father, who was undoubtedly a Gypsy, an Indian or a sailor from a foreign land. Never again did I enter a place of worship. Neither did my mother.

  Sinning at St. Paul’s Cathedral seems a most natural thing to do. As I move beneath the domed ceiling, the electric lights play on the gilded edge of my sari and it glitters in a shower of golden starlight.

  “An artist will soon paint a sky and cherubs.” Ambrose looks up at the bare dome.

  I stand between both men, grasping their hands. This time, I plan to share in their passions. Where will we engage in our sexual adventure? I look around and then up. The
re is an area above us with a railing. Is this where the choir will sing? I believe so.

  “Ambrose, would this be a comfortable place for us?”

  “Yes, it is an almost finished area where rugs have been laid.”

  “Show me.” I pull them both toward the narrow stairs. “Phineas, you have the facilitator? The one designed for men?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I am sure Ambrose would like to try it.” I turn to the architect. “If it is anything like the one I tried yesterday, you will wish to have one of your very own.”

  Ambrose’s eyes brighten with curiosity. We hurry up the stairs. How will I share them? Images from the Kama Sutra dance in my mind. It teaches a man the many ways to share a woman.

  No, I do not like this phrasing. It teaches a woman the many ways to enjoy more than one man. Much better.

  Which position will I select? Which one appeals to me most?

  Then again, why limit myself to one? Why not enjoy many?

  A luxurious Persian rug covers the floor. An ideal location for my fantasies. “Disrobe,” I tell them while relieving Phineas of his leather case and pulling out the men’s facilitator.

  This implement is different in shape and purpose. It is a long sheath in which an erect member can be inserted. There is a handle on each side, in addition to knobs and switches. I wonder how they are powered. Energy cells? Placing the fingers of my left hand inside the cylinder, I flip a few of the knobs with my right. The facilitator makes a high-pitched whine before settling into a low moan, and I sense deep vibrations against my fingertips. The interior is as supple as lambskin, but I believe it is a type of resin, something that is easy to clean. I turn another knob, and beads swirl against my fingers.

  “What an imagination you have, Phineas, to conjure these carnal devices.”

  When I look up, my men are nude, their clothing strewn about. Phineas is on his knees before Ambrose, engaging in what the Kama Sutra calls mouth congress, or the sucking of the mango fruit.The book also divides men into three categories according to their size. After a few seconds of comparing, I decide Phineas is definitely a bull and Ambrose a horse.

  In the cab, my men were hidden in the shadows, but now the electrical lights reveal every detail of their bodies, the sculpted muscle, lean bellies, and firm, rounded buttocks. Swiftly I join them.

  “Undress me.” The words no sooner escape my mouth than Phineas springs to his feet, reaching for the buttons on my silk blouse, and Ambrose grasps the part of the sari that drapes over my shoulder. How erotic to be disrobed by two men, to enjoy the touch of four hands, two mouths and two insistent members probing my flesh. Their demeanor is much gentler with me than it is with each other and within moments my sari flutters to the floor and my bare skin is pressed between theirs.

  Their warmth seeps into my skin. My eyes close as fingers flick my nipples and probe my cunny. A foot presses firmly against mine and I eagerly spread my legs. My nubbin is alive with sensation and need. Moans fill my ears and I cannot tell whose throat they are coming from. Delicious fingers twist into the hair on my mound. Whose are they? I cannot tell. I am lost in ecstasy. Hands rove over my body, cup my buttocks, squeeze my breasts, trail along the inside of my thighs. Teeth nip my shoulders, and warm skin rubs against mine.

  Although I could enjoy this for hours, I think of Ambrose and the facilitator. He should enjoy its pleasures, so I open my eyes and struggle to come to my senses. My nubbin cries out for a man’s touch, but I will wait.

  “Lie down,” I tell Ambrose.

  He lies on the rug, face up, his member jutting upward.

  I kneel between his legs. “Phineas, take me from behind while I pleasure Ambrose with the facilitator.”

  Phineas drops to his knees behind me, placing his hands on my hips and gripping me tight. While he drives his cock into my cunny, I massage Ambrose’s bollocks. It is so difficult to focus on Ambrose’s tight sac when Phineas plunges in and out in regular, pounding strokes. My cunny is wet, as slippery as melted butter, and Phineas reaches in front of me to stimulate my pearl.

  “What skilled fingers you have.” My voice is low and throaty.

  He bites my neck and I gasp. It takes all my concentration to position the facilitator over Ambrose’s ready cock, and when his appendage has fully disappeared inside the cylinder, I turn the knob that activates the beads.

  “Ahhhhh!” Ambrose cries out, arching his back, thrusting his cock farther into the carnal device. “Ecstasy!”

  At this rate, he will finish within moments. He writhes and his hips buck. His hands ball into fists and his moans become louder. I cannot believe we are doing this in such a forbidden place, in a cathedral no less. Yet it seems fitting to celebrate our attraction to each other in the place that insists our conduct is immoral, even illegal.

  “Try the switch on the side, the red one,” Phineas recommends, his hands on my hips.

  The moment I flick it, Ambrose shudders and grows still. His face twists, almost as if he is experiencing pain, but I know he is in the throes of ecstasy. He must not finish so soon, not before I get to experience him for myself.

  “Which do you prefer, Ambrose, me or the facilitator?”

  “I want you, India,” he cries out. “You are beautiful beyond imagining. I want to come inside you.”

  I turn off the facilitator, place it on the floor next to me, and lean forward so that Phineas’ cock slips out of me. Positioning myself over Ambrose, I lower myself over his member. While he is not as large as Phineas, the sensation is nonetheless marvelous. I lean forward, my breasts brushing against his chest, and he suddenly wraps his arms around me, turns over and pins me beneath him. Oh yes! The excitement of it! His eyes stare into mine. He begins to pound his cock into me. Over and over, over and over, until I am lost in pleasure so intense I cry out and dig my nails into his back. His voice joins mine and he closes his eyes. His orgasm lasts longer than any I have witnessed a man have in the past. At last, small, ever-diminishing tremors overcome his body. When his wildfire passions are soothed, his eyes flutter open.

  “This has been the sweetest night of all.” Ambrose cups my chin in his hand. He kisses me passionately, his tongue probing deep, and then looks over at Phineas, who is sitting beside us on the rug. “Now pound your cock into her, Phineas. I want to see her climax.”

  * * * * *

  Hand in hand with Phineas, I enter Carnal Pleasures, my sari slightly askew and my hair mussed. After trying more passionate positions, we left St. Paul’s at dawn, stepped into a hansom cab and drove Ambrose to his home in a well-to-do area of Upper London. He took me aside and placed several gold sovereigns in my palm, profusely thanking me for my services and for helping him come to terms with the fact that he was not an aberration after all.

  The coins jingle and clink in my purse. My first excursion to the Steam Society exceeded my expectations and I have Phineas to thank for it. Grateful, I squeeze his arm. He smiles at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling, his blue eyes shining.

  “I have learned much about myself in the past few days,” I say.

  “As have I.”

  Carnal Pleasures is quieter at this early morning hour, but a few clients remain in the entertainment area. The stage is empty. Girls stopped singing and dancing quite some time ago. A few men in various states of intoxication sit at the bar, scantily clad girls draped on their arms. At the far end, Madam Rowena sits on a plush leather chair with the regal bearing of a queen on her throne. When I catch her eye, a wide smile comes over my face and I rush over to her.

  “Success!” I exclaim, sitting next to her and gushing about my escapade. “They let me enter and I met the most handsome architect. I seduced him—the new India seduced him—and I am no longer earning mere shillings!” As stated in my contract, sixty percent of my earnings go to Madam Rowena, so I proceed to empty my purse into her open palms.

  Her eyebrows arch at the sight of so many gold coins. Her painted mouth curves upward. “Oh my, Ind
ia! I knew I chose well when I took you away from Silverton Square.” She pushes the coins back into my purse, her iron rings glittering. “Keep these. All of them. You have earned every one.”

  “Thank you, Madam.” Her generosity is unexpected. Money means everything to Madam Rowena and she never allows girls to keep all their earnings. I am grateful.

  “I take it you have found some measure of joy in your occupation,” she asks.

  “Thanks to Phineas, I have discovered how to include imagination and intellect in my profession. And I have discovered that the mind can indeed rule the body during sexual intercourse.”

  Phineas pulls up a chair and joins us. “India learns quickly. She is as intelligent as she is beautiful.”

  Heat rushes to my cheeks. I ponder my future. A section of the Kama Sutra is devoted to the courtesan, explaining how to obtain clients, how to keep them, even how to be rid of them if the union does not prove fruitful. I must peruse the book in more detail if I am to permanently elevate myself above the status of prostitute. I must also familiarize myself with the sexual positions in order to please my clients—and just as importantly, myself—and keep them entranced, entertained and willing to shower me with gold coins.

  “You were correct, Phineas. There is more freedom at Carnal Pleasures than I ever imagined. I am not trapped. My cage was here.” I tap my temple. “With your help, I set myself free.”

  I clasp his hand in mine. Madam Rowena regards my gesture with interest. Or jealousy? She purses her lips, runs her fingers through the hair loosely piled on her head. Does she disapprove of my familiarity? Does she have feelings for Phineas? Oh dear, I believe she does! She gazes at him with more than deep friendship.

  “Your future need not be confined to my establishment,” she says, placing her hand on Phineas’ thigh. “Five years ago, I employed a very talented girl, so talented with her body and so financially shrewd that in no time at all she saved enough money to buy a small house in Paris. She started her life over again, reinvented herself the way you are reinventing yourself now. Last month, she sent me a letter saying she is to be married soon.”