Sinful Seduction (23 page)

With trembling fingers Maggie did as she was told. Deprived of even the small relief the brandy might have brought, the thought of what was to come terrified her almost beyond endurance - but endure it she must. She had no choice.

She had barely finished smoothing the tangles from her hair when the door opened again, and Lord Anston stood on the threshold, a look of casual arrogance on his face. A cigar hung from the corner of his mouth and the curling smoke from its tip wreathed lazily around his cruel features. To Maggie's frightened eyes he looked like a devil come from hell to torment her.

He dropped his cigar on the carpet and ground it out with his heel, and Mrs Wilkes didn't blink an eyelid.

‘I do hope everything has been to your satisfaction, Lord Anston,' she gushed, bobbing a curtsey. ‘The brandy? The cigars? The food?' It terrified Maggie even more to realise that the man made even a hard-faced old harridan like Mrs Wilkes nervous. The woman was practically gibbering. ‘Is there anything else I can bring you?' she gabbled. ‘Anything, anything at all, just say the word your lordship, and I'll have it fetched immediately.'

‘Get out,' he growled.

‘Yes, my lord,' she simpered, bobbing a last curtsey, ‘certainly, my lord.' Holding her breath she sidled past, careful not to touch him, then fled with unseemly haste, closing the door behind her.

Maggie waited for him to pounce on her, but he seemed to be in no hurry. Instead he took out another cigar, lit it and stood in front of her, contemplating her for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he reached out, gripped her chin and forced her head up so that her eyes met his.

‘So you're a virgin, are you girl?' he grated.

Mindful of her instructions, Maggie lowered her eyes modestly. ‘Yes, sir,' she quavered.

The blow took her by surprise, stunning her with its force. She gasped with shock as much as pain, her hands flying to her face where the marks of his fingers were already beginning to form.

‘Lying little trull,' he snarled. ‘Do you think I'm one of those simpletons downstairs to be gulled by whatever fairytale you care to tell?' She shook her head dumbly. ‘Good. Now we understand one another. You're a whore, like any other in this house.' He smiled. ‘The only difference is that you're a fresh whore and I haven't had you yet.' The smile widened. ‘A situation I intend to remedy as soon as possible.' He waved an imperious hand. ‘Now get those ridiculous clothes off and let me see what I've bought.' Fighting back the tears, Maggie stumbled to her feet while he seated himself on the end of the bed and watched as she began to fumble at her clothing. The sash went first, drifting to her feet, and then she tugged the frilly dress over her head and dropped it too. The petticoat and chemise followed, revealing the tight binding round her breasts.

She closed her eyes and waited for the explosion as he discovered the deception Mrs Wilkes had practised on him, but instead he let out a sharp bark of laughter. ‘So,' he chuckled. ‘More for my money than I bargained for, eh?'

Relieved, she began to unwind the binding, sighing with relief as her breasts sprang free from their confinement. They swung softly as she bent to roll down her white stockings, but he stopped her. ‘No,' he ordered. ‘Leave the stockings on. They add a little...' he raised an eyebrow, ‘...piquancy.'

Maggie straightened up again and stood before him, scarlet with shame and humiliation as he feasted his eyes on her body. His gaze lingered on the proud tilt of her breasts, then drifted lower to the narrow curve of waist and the soft swell of her hips and thighs. Her shaven sex was shocking in its nakedness, the sweet cleft exposed without the soft down of pubic hair to hide the pouting lips.

Then her humiliation turned to discomfort as he casually stubbed out his cigar, leaned forward and thrust his hand between her thighs. She gasped as he parted those lips and fondled her roughly, his bitten nails scratching her soft flesh as he forced a finger inside her - yet at the same time, a horrible excitement began to pulse through her lower belly. He laughed coarsely as he felt her moisten beneath his touch.

‘Like that, do you, my little virgin whore?' he chuckled, never taking his eyes from her face as he forced another finger into her and began to move his hand.

She swayed, her legs beginning to weaken as the unwelcome feelings of pleasure began to mount, but it came to an abrupt end as he withdrew his hand and smacked her sharply on the hip, his hand leaving a scarlet print on her white skin. She opened her eyes and stared at him in shock as he slapped her hip again.

‘We're not here for your pleasure, are we?' he gloated. ‘We're here for mine.' He stood up and dragged the expensive clothes from his body, casting them to the floor as if they were rags. Naked, he stood in front of her, and she gasped with shock. If he'd looked thin when dressed, naked he was skeletal. She could see every rib standing out, stark beneath the paper-white skin. His belly was concave and his muscles stringy. He looked as if he was suffering from some dreadful wasting disease.

Her eyes dropped lower and her heart sank as Millie's words came back to her. His male member lay nestled in his coarse pubic hair, soft and asleep. He sat back down again, feet parted, and it dangled uselessly between his scrawny thighs.

‘Well, whore,' he said. ‘Don't just stand there. Be about your business.' She stared at him with incomprehension. What did he want her to do?

She soon found out. Reaching forward he jerked her legs so that she stumbled and fell to her knees. Then seizing her shoulders he dragged her close until she was kneeling between his parted thighs, gripped the back of her neck and pulled her face towards his flaccid cock. ‘Suck it,' he ordered brusquely. ‘Give me an erection.'

Gingerly Maggie leaned forward and took the wilted flesh between her lips, running her tongue around the soft gristle and sucking diligently, hoping to end the ordeal quickly. But it was hopeless; she might as well have tried to raise the dead. Desperately she tried harder, cradling his balls in her hand and fondling them as she sucked, but still there was no response at all.

Desperate to please him for her own sake, she remembered a tip Millie had given her, so she took her mouth from his prick, licked a finger, then once it was wet, slid it beneath him till she found the hairy pucker of his arse. Anxiously biting her lip, she forced herself to press her finger inside, then turned her attentions back to his cock with renewed vigour, her head bobbing in time with her thrusting finger. Nothing! Not even a flicker of life.

‘Useless bitch,' he growled, pushing her away so that she sprawled on the floor in front of him. ‘Call yourself a whore? You're as much use as the virgin you pretend to be.' He got up, bent over her, and grabbed the top of her arm. ‘Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat, you little bitch. Just you wait and see.'

‘No... please no,' she whimpered as he hauled her to her feet and flung her on the bed, but her pleas fell on deaf ears as he flung himself on her, his hands mauling her breasts, pinching the nipples until they rose hard and tight against his fingers. Taking them in his mouth he suckled them frantically, his teeth grazing the sensitive tips as his hand thrust between her thighs again. She moaned in a mixture of pain and pleasure as his fingers moved inside her.

‘Want a cock, do you, you little bitch?' he gasped as he felt her unwilling response. ‘Well, I'll give you one,' and holding her down with one hand he fumbled in the drawer beside the bed with the other, and her eyes widened in dismay as she saw what he was holding. It was a huge carved ivory dildo, at least ten inches long, the bulbous tip enormous. She gasped; surely he couldn't intend using that on her! She struggled to break free, but it was useless. Those wasted muscles were deceptively strong.

Grinning wolfishly he nudged her legs apart, parted her vulva and ran the tip of the dildo against the hot wet cleft of her sex until it gleamed with her juices. She whimpered as she felt its coldness against her, and then groaned in resignation as he began to push against her. Slowly, inch by awful inch he urged it deeper until Maggie felt she was being utterly filled.

The villainous man then paused for a moment, gloating over her helplessness, then pressed again and Maggie shuddered as it sank even further. He drew back, and then thrust it home again. Slippery now it slid more easily and she felt heat radiate through her belly. He began to move it faster and she whimpered again, this time with pleasure. Against her will her hips began to writhe as she raised them to meet each thrust. Above her in the mirror she could see each movement reflected; see him hunched over her; see the glistening dildo as it appeared and disappeared, each stroke bringing her closer to fulfilment.

‘By, you're a hot one,' he grunted. ‘You could raise the cock on a dead man.'

Maggie realised his words were true, and gasped as she saw his cock was no longer flaccid, but speared from his groin like a rod of iron, its swollen purple tip thrusting towards her. With a groan he pulled the dildo from her sex, cast it aside and threw himself on her, grunting with satisfaction as he plunged into her hot succulence. His hands gripped her buttocks, leaving red marks as he thrust and strained. Instinctively her legs wrapped around his hips to draw him closer and she squirmed beneath him, revelling in the roughness of their coupling, and at last she flung her head back and held her breath as she felt him swell and explode, his scalding seed erupting deep inside her - then she sank back exhausted as he collapsed onto her, panting against her smooth pale shoulder.

For a long moment they lay there, still entwined, his cock shrinking, then he rolled off her, sat up and calmly began to dress. She stared dumbly at the mirror in the ceiling. Reflected mercilessly was the proof of her depravity. She lay there, thighs lolling apart, the sticky residue of a strange man's seed glistening on her inner thighs. Bitter shame washed over her. There was no use pretending any longer. He'd been right; there was no difference between her and any other whore in the house.

Her bitter thoughts were interrupted by a discreet tap at the door and she hastily dragged the coverlet up to hide her nakedness as he barked, ‘Come!'

Mrs Wilkes tiptoed in, glancing apprehensively at him as he stood there, pulling his embroidered waistcoat straight. ‘I trust your purchase was satisfactory, Lord Anston,' she enquired, with an oily smile.

‘Excellent, I must say,' he admitted brusquely. ‘Now see that her things are gathered and have her ready to leave in half an hour.'

Mrs Wilkes' jaw dropped. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord?'

‘You heard me, woman,' he snapped. ‘Collect her things. I'm taking her with me.'

She stared at him, nonplussed for a moment, before collecting her wits again. ‘I don't think you quite understand, my lord,' she said carefully. ‘You merely paid for the taking of her maidenhead - not the girl herself.'

‘Do you take me for a fool?' he demanded. ‘Maidenhead, my arse! And for the five hundred guineas I paid you I could buy half the trollops in Piccadilly!' He paused. ‘Still, I am not an unreasonable man. Name your price - within reason - and I shall pay it.'

A calculating expression crossed Mrs Wilkes' face as she weighed the advantages of pleasing Lord Anston against future profits, and her eyes glinted with greed. If the girl could please their most notorious client, what else could she not do? And no sensible woman gave up her capital when she could live on the profit. She made up her mind.

‘I'm sorry, my lord,' she said. ‘It's quite out of the question.' She drew herself up to her full height and the calculating expression was replaced by one of outraged morality. ‘This is not a butcher shop to sell meat by the pound.'

‘Isn't it?' he sneered, raising a cynical eyebrow. ‘I'd have thought that's exactly what it was. And by the way, madam, I was not asking you, I was telling you. Now get her ready.'

‘Out of the question, Lord Anston,' Mrs Wilkes repeated stubbornly. ‘The girl stays here.'

The smile that crossed his face was not a pretty sight, and Mrs Wilkes visibly faltered. ‘You have the temerity to defy me, madam?' he asked with menacing softness. ‘For all your airs and graces, you run nothing but a common bawdyhouse. A glorified knocking shop.'

His evil smile widened. ‘And how long do you think that would last if the magistrates no longer turned a blind eye?' He stroked his chin. ‘Or even worse,' he went on conversationally, ‘what if a gang of East End bullyboys were to break in, wreck the house and scar all your pretty young ladies?' He shook his head. ‘It doesn't bear thinking about, does it? Now, would you care to reconsider my offer? What shall we say? Another five hundred guineas?'

Mrs Wilkes blenched as she envisioned her tiny empire crumbling to dust. ‘Um, well, as you put it like that, of course, my lord,' she said, forcing herself to smile back. ‘An extremely generous offer.' The smile became one of mock regret; he could have the girl, but she'd be damned if he'd have anything else. ‘But you'll have to take her naked, I'm afraid,' she continued. ‘She has no things of her own.'

With a curse he fumbled in his pocket and flung another twenty guineas at her feet. ‘There, woman, will that cover the cost of the things she has now? I shall send round a banker's draft for the five hundred, first thing tomorrow morning.'