Evil's Niece

by Melissa MacNeal

  Antoinette sucked in his breath, and then stuck out his butt. His tawny eyes looked anything but penitent. ‘Not unless I respect the person cracking the whip. Some mistresses set behaviour traps for us, to satisfy their spanking habit. If you don’t mind my saying so, I think it’s a crock. A way for superiors to pick on those who have no choice but to take it.’

  I gently smoothed the lotion over his pert, rounded backside, fascinated by the hard muscle beneath skin that radiated such heat…the give of the flesh at the fullest phase of his moons. ‘And your family perished in a fire? You went into service when you were orphaned?’

  The weight of that stare made me glance up, into a face that looked hardened despite a feminine hairstyle and carefully applied cosmetics. ‘The authorities believed I set that fire, Miss Eve,’ he stated. ‘Miss Delacroix’s school provided me the cover to get on with my life, even if I’d rather not parade around like a lady.’

  My hand stopped, cupping his warm, slippery underside. A surge of adrenaline, shot from his eyes to mine, made my pulse race. ‘And did you? Set that fire?’

  Lord, the last thing I needed was an arsonist in my house! The kitchen felt airless for a few interminable seconds, as Antoinette challenged me with a taut-jawed gaze: it was the look of a hoodlum or a harlot, which no amount of powder or rouge could disguise.

  ‘No, Mrs Proffit, I did not.’

  His whisper sounded strangely seductive, coming from a servant confessing a checkered past. ‘I was thirteen. Had gotten crosswise with the local constable, so I was the first person he suspected — despite the fact that I lost my mother and three sisters when that ratty old tenement went up like wildfire. So I ran — smack into Honore Delacroix when I rounded a corner.’

  ‘And she took you in?’ I began to rub the other half of his ass with the bag balm, filing away these fascinating details for later. Toinette sounded quite sincere, yet I sensed an undercurrent of defiance and rebellion against authority.

  ‘She cut me a deal. Honore never fails to see the dollar signs in any situation.’ He sighed, letting his eyes go half shut. ‘Rub lower, please…yes, right there.’

  My ploy was beginning to backfire — for what woman in her right mind fondled the help, expecting to maintain the proper decorum? ‘She’s taken advantage of your hardship then? Profited from your misfortune?’

  ‘Who hasn’t?’ Antoinette replied acidly. “When you’re born on the wrong side of the tracks — wrong side of the sheets — it’s a way of life. But I’ll warn you before you rub that stuff any lower.’

  I looked up, my face unsettlingly close to one that could be my double.

  ‘The fire never goes out, Miss Eve.’

  With a flick of the fork he was polishing, Antoinette drew my attention to the apron tented against the table. He was long and hard, leaving no doubt that in the right circumstances, he’d be hefting me up there and spreading my legs, and there’d be nothing of the sissy maid or Marie Antoinette in the way he claimed me.

  I was flattered, yet flustered, and reminded myself to remain firm. ‘See that you never singe either of us,’ I replied, loudly smacking his slick backside with my hand.

  The servants on either side of us were trying not to snicker as they studiously polished their silverware. ‘And you two — as accomplices — shall be held accountable as well,’ I added brusquely. ‘Monique may have procured your services, but I won’t hesitate to notify the authorities of what’s going on here, and at that school.’

  I had no intention of following through on that threat, for it would only get me into deeper trouble with my husband. But they should know that Miss Eve would remain in control, no matter what their black-clad whipping mistress had implied. No special favours for Antoinette, simply because he’d opened his soul and flashed his manhood at me.

  I stepped behind Cleopatra then, who still bore kohled circles around her obsidian eyes. ‘And you went into Miss Delacroix’s service when? Because your mother gave you up?’

  Again I scooped up a gob of the balm, to spread over the olive cheeks sticking out beneath his apron strings. And again my gesture was met with a slight sigh and an air of cooperation I found heartening.

  ‘I sugar-coated the truth, if you must know,’ the dusky young man replied. The voice I heard was more masculine than when we’d met, yet it retained a timbre and pitch I would’ve attributed to a female, were I not witnessing the rise of his erection. ‘My mother sold me into service because, yes, there were too many mouths to feed. But I was prettier than my sisters, so I brought the nicest price when she put us on display at the French Market.’

  My eyes widened. ‘Your mother sold you to —?’

  ‘It’s more common than you might think, among the poor,’ he sighed. ‘And since it was the illustrious Miss Delacroix checking my teeth and face, and then fingering my…privates, Mama drove a harder bargain. Honore represented a future for me, and her money fed the rest of them for quite awhile.’

  My brow furrowed as I smoothed salve across Cleopatra’s stripes. He was taller than the other two, with glossy black hair pulled back at the crown, to hang past his shoulders. His skin was soft and hairless; his sinews more evident, now that he wore only an apron. With a male haircut and clothing, he would cut a striking figure even among the crowd Chapin associated with.

  What a shame that he’d had no better choice as a child! Yet I sensed he was — like my husband — a man who would always revere and respect his mama. Even though he was living as a woman because of her, he would never stop longing for the mother who sold him.

  ‘How long are you required to remain with Miss Delacroix?’ I ventured, rhythmically rubbing circles around his firm young buttocks. He was leaning into it now, craving the contact of my hand as much as I enjoyed applying the ointment. ‘Surely there’s a limit to —’

  ‘We may leave when we’re twenty-one,’ Cinderella piped up. ‘But few of Miss Delacroix’s students really want to. Her methods are harsh, but her reputation and high fees assure us of work in the finest homes. On our own, we’d be hard-pressed to land such prestigious positions.’

  Cleopatra and Antoinette nodded, picking up new spoons to polish. What didn’t fit, in this picture? Had life with a wealthy man made me forget the stigma of falling on hard times?

  My own circumstances weren’t terribly different from theirs, since my marriage to Chapin had offset my parents’ debts. But I had agreed to this arrangement as an adult; I’d bartered myself into Southern society because eligible suitors in St. Louis weren’t pounding my door down, and because it seemed the prudent thing to do. These three had entered into some dubious relationship with Honore Delacroix as children and, by the sound of it, they’d become her…whipping boys. Maybe even her slaves.

  When I glanced over at the fair features of my third servant — the one who’d mewed so pitifully when Monique whipped him — I sensed a different story, however. Cinderella had an air of high breeding the other two lacked; a poise and carriage and deportment denoting good lineage.

  ‘And what of you, Princess?’ I asked as I stepped closer, spreading the first dollop of balm on her pitifully crisscrossed backside.

  Cinderella flinched, more from emotional pain than the fire in her stripes. She picked up a knife and began to polish it with sudden fervour.

  ‘My father declared early on that I would never meet his expectations as an heir,’ he replied in a high, tight voice. ‘I was an embarrassment to him, and a source of disgust to my mother, when they caught me wearing my sister’s shoes. “Why did Lucy get pretty kid slippers while I had to stumble around in clunky old boots?” I asked them.’

  The blonde’s breath caught in her throat, from the moment’s emotion but also because she loved the caress of my lotioned hand on her backside. ‘I wasn’t yet seven when they took me to Miss Delacroix’s, on the advice of a family friend,’ Cinderella went on in a fragile drawl. ‘I suspect they made a large donation, for the privilege of sweeping me under her rug.’
>
  My God, could I ever look at these three again without feeling sorry for them? I’d unwittingly opened a Pandora’s box that infuriated me, and incensed me, and insulted me. I knew them for the cross-gendered men they were now, as well as for the helpless boys they’d been before coming into Honore Delacroix’s School for Domestic Endeavor and, as I quickly completed massaging Cinderella’s balm, my thoughts collided.

  I was ready to rail at Monique for getting me into this situation. Ready to lash out at Mrs Frike for the way her avid gaze followed my hands over those three attractive asses: she was old enough to be their grandmother, after all, and had all the allure of a lumpy mattress. And I was determined to meet with Miss Delacroix for an explanation of just what went on at her esteemed school, for it appeared Domestic Endeavor was her least concern when she accepted applicants.

  I was also unspeakably horny. That was my own fault, so I left my new maids to their work before I succumbed to the temptation of grasping Antoinette’s randy shaft with my lotioned hand.

  ‘Thank you for your candour, and for the conscientious work I know you’ll do,’ I murmured, and then I went up to my room.

  I’d had an eventful morning, and I needed to prepare myself for whatever the evening might bring. With Monique, I never knew. And if that handsome rebel lover of hers had a gift for me, the possibilities for pleasure would wag their finger in a come-hither gesture I couldn’t ignore.

  My own fingers, slick with bag balm and still hot from massaging my male maids, found their way to my desperately wet sex, and I let imagination have its way. Thank goodness Chapin was out of town. He would never understand any of this!

  * * *

  The evening found me gazing expectantly into the moonlit gardens, from the railed gallery that spanned the back of the house. The maids had settled into their large dormitory room above mine, on the third floor, and Mrs Frike might well have slipped up from her quarters alongside the kitchen to tuck them in. Nothing would surprise me at this point.

  The house was quiet. Not unusual, since Chapin was often out this late. Yet my pulse thrummed with the awareness that three young men now lived here. Perhaps I should check on them…just to be sure Fanny wasn’t harassing them, of course. But then a pebble clanged against the wrought iron and bounced on to the smooth porch floor by my bare feet.

  I looked down, into the shadows of magnolia trees and manicured boxwood hedges, and saw two grinning faces framed by hair the colour of the night. Monique’s laughter reached me with her wave, filling me with her contagious sense of joy. My maid and her tall, muscular man stood naked and ready to play! Right out there in my garden!

  I trotted down from the gallery, my feet barely touching the iron stairs. What would they do if Chapin had come home — or if Fanny saw them cavorting out here in the altogether? I was ready to demand. But Tommy Jon caught me around the waist to toss me against his chest while his other hand muffled my squeal.

  ‘You thought we forgot about you, oui?’

  Monique was whirling like a dervish, her hands outstretched to catch moonbeams while her hair rippled in a black cascade behind her. Her breasts bobbed and her body flexed with each step, providing a breathtaking vision of young loveliness — which my captor couldn’t ignore.

  ‘She’s talked about you all night.’ As Tommy Jon set me on the ground, he stole a hungry kiss while keeping his eye on the woman he loved. ‘She told me what happened in your bathroom this morning — about feeling your juice through that black lace…how it whispered against your tight, red curls. She told me how you stared at those boys’ bare asses, watching their balls jiggle above their white silk panties when she spanked them.’

  I swallowed hard. I should’ve realised Monique and her T-Jon would have no secrets — even if they were supposed to be my secrets.

  ‘She tells me you want my cock, Miss Eve.’

  And there it was, rising to greet my pointed stare. I’d never seen anyone so well endowed as Tommy Jon Beaumont.

  He knew this, of course. So he stood with his arms akimbo, his lean hips easing forward and a devilish grin on his face. His erection swayed to its full length as though it loved putting on such a show. Maybe it was the interplay between shadows dancing on the breeze and the light of that big moon above us, but I swore that cock bobbed its head, bowing to me. A drop of dew glistened at its tip, and then ran down the thick, rounded crown until it dropped off.

  I sucked air, and my insides got hot.

  ‘So — here it is, lady. Take it.’

  Had there ever been such a blatant invitation? While I could envision earlier Proffits trysting here in the garden, where the fountain burbled and the azaleas and crepe myrtle provided nooks made for such nesting, I doubted any of them held a candle to this naked pair. My hand extended, as though pulled by a magnet from within the alluring man who’d challenged me. Tommy Jon Beaumont stood like a statue of a Greek god, with the planes and curves and cords of his body carved into the moonlit night.

  But the museum statues I’d seen didn’t have such a shaft sticking out! I was getting up my nerve, taking that first fateful step, when Monique sideswiped me as she whirled to the music of the cicadas.

  ‘Strip, Auntie Evil!’ she ordered. ‘Then maybe I’ll share him. And then maybe you’ll get your gift.’

  10 A Taste of Wild Honey

  I sent my silk dressing gown drifting down my bare body, for I’d suspected this wild pair might stage such an outrageous rendezvous. How gratifying, to watch Tommy Jon’s eyes focus so intently as my breasts, and then my midsection, and then my sex were revealed. He had his own diversion, after all — she crouched before him, steadying herself between his sturdy legs as she kissed the tip of his cock.

  I held my breath as she took him into her mouth. Did women do this? Did men enjoy it as much…as much as I enjoyed such attention from Monique?

  His quiet moan told me. His fingers speared into her glossy, unfettered hair, moving her head at the tempo he wanted. Monique’s lips remained in an O that followed his shaft forward and back — pushing and then pulling to make him longer — while she cupped his sac. She was an impish little thing, so where all of that piston went, inside her mouth, remained a mystery. A mystery I longed to taste and feel for myself.

  Feeling bold, I bumped her out of the way. My maid, however, merely bumped me back with a swing of her hips that sent me sprawling in the grass. Then she laughed and grabbed Tommy Jon’s hand.

  ‘It’s in the fountain, Auntie,’ she teased, leading her lover in that direction. ‘You must find it before we let you play.’

  Who could resist her playful challenge, or her squeal of delight when Tommy Jon scooped her into his arms? I followed them, laughing when the agile Tommy threw her in. With a scream and a splash she landed in the fountain’s basin, popping up like a porpoise to blow water from her mouth.

  ‘Look what I found!’ she crowed, waving it above her head. ‘Let’s play catch, T-Jon. Keep-away — from Auntie Eve!’

  The object she tossed him was dark and long and…as it tumbled through the air into his outstretched palms, another giddy jolt passed through me. Tommy Jon Beaumont had made me a leather cock! He looked my way, and then lobbed it into an arc above the fountain’s spray.

  ‘Maybe, Monique, she can use two of them?’ he teased. ‘Hot and hungry as her pussy gets, she might need this extra one. But I made this toy especially for her pretty Aunt Eve…the lady with the lovely cunny. I want to push it up inside you myself —’

  I could stand no more. Sprinting towards the fountain to join them, I revelled in their dark, sleek wetness as they stood nude in the moonlight, with rivulets of water running down their bodies. T-Jon caught the dildo and waggled it just beyond my reach before tossing it back to his lover. As it sailed over my head I sprang up, my arm fully extended, but Monique gave me a playful push and caught the leather cock herself.

  I splashed to the bottom of the fountain and then found my feet; shot upward, sputtering in mock protes
t. How many years since I’d frolicked in water? Never nude in a fountain, to be sure! And although my hair was sagging in soggy lumps hung up on hair pins, I felt like a child. What freedom, to splash in the water without clothes — to shiver with the chill of it until my nipples went hard and goose bumps covered me. And then to look at the two other wet bodies cavorting on either side of me, and feel their absolute approval that I’d joined them — not as the lady of the estate, but as a friend.

  And how long had it been since that happened?

  Monique tossed the leather prick to me and I caught it — but I was then drawn backwards against Tommy Jon’s hard, male body.

  ‘And now I’ll show Miss Eve how this feels…how hot she’ll get from rubbing herself in all the right places, like I want to do with my cock,’ he murmured against my wet ear. ‘I moulded this over my own prick, you know. Fashioned the soft, wet leather over my hardness, and sewed the folds with special ridges, to excite you.’

  He ran little kisses down my face then, holding me against himself with that arm beneath my breasts. Driving me insane, the way he undulated against my backside to further excite us both. ‘Open for me, pretty woman,’ came his whispered command. ‘T-Jon Beaumont’s gonna show you what you’ve been missing.’

  Had he, too, guessed that Chapin was a less-than-attentive lover? Or was it his Cajun ego, touting his proportions and stamina, as every male was wont to do?

  Not that it mattered. With his knee spreading my legs from behind and that dark, hard shaft of leather gliding down my stomach towards my wet curls, I was too spellbound to care. Monique watched us, wiping the wet hair back from her face.

  ‘This is going to be so good,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘Rub the tip around her clit, T-Jon. Let it glide between her lips…up and down in her dew — ah, oui, cheri! — and then press in with it…ooh-la-la. You’ve got her squirming now!’

  I let out a shameless moan, falling back against his body, succumbing to the magic of both his wands. Raising a foot to the rim of the fountain, I opened myself — gasping when that slick leather tip found its way below my aching clit, to tease at the rim of my hole.