In a complete daze, Clarissa was led from the room and up the same darkened, carpeted stairwell.
“We must hurry. Your man will be getting impatient.”
Escorted into the adjoining room, she nearly called everything to a stop at the sight of her supposed partner in this debauchery. He was naked, just slipping into a black silk robe. She’d seen enough to know that his organ looked dangerously out of portion to his stature.
“Henri, a word.” Madame pulled him aside and whispered in his ear. Clarissa had every confidence she’d instructed him to keep his filthy cock to himself. She hoped.
Alice then turned to Clarissa and chucked her under the chin, forcing her eyes to meet the determined gaze of her conspirator. “Remember. It is not you in that room. You are not Dunnaway’s countess. Do not act like her in any way, from your kisses to your touch. You must become that woman he sees.”
Madame snapped her fingers. Henri clasped Clarissa’s hand and they walked hand in hand to the next room to service the Earl of Dunnaway.
* * * * *
Michael reflected on his decision as he slouched in the familiar chair with his drink in hand. Even now, he tried to think of Clarissa in the hopes he’d get a rise out of his half-dead cock. He pictured her in her frilly white flannel nightgowns, smiling so sweetly at him from the downy cushions of her bed. Beautiful, yes.
It left him cold and unmoved, not to mention fearful and frustrated.
He swallowed down his second drink. Only one more before he called it quits and before the entertainment arrived. Closing his eyes, he envisioned what was to come. He fisted his cock in one hand and squeezed. The near painful pleasure built.
He revisited other episodes in which he’d participated. His erection sprang at the idea of putting his cock into the ass of the French whore that Madame was bringing to his room tonight. Madame said it had taken some persuasion, but she’d agreed to be part of his entertainment. True, he wasn’t going to fuck her, but he was damn tempted.
In the midst of stroking himself, the door slowly opened. Michael’s cock swelled painfully. He was in a dangerous mood tonight—wanting Clarissa like he did, the temptation of the French whore and the recent memory of Clarissa’s tight, clenching ass over his finger.
He’d waded in perilous waters for months now, eventually he was going to drown in them. Even now, he had trouble breathing.
Air lodged in his chest as the French woman strolled into the room on the arm of the male oddity.
Glued to his chair, he could only stare at the temptation as she lowered the robe, letting it fall to the carpeted floor in a soft swish of material. Michael cast a singular glance in the man’s direction to note that he was the usual odd specimen Alice employed, one meant to dazzle the adventurous female clientele.
The woman passed by him, her perfume strong but the scent of her cunt stronger. Aroused, displayed and ready for fucking. Michael yearned to take a bite out of her lush white ass. He couldn’t decide where to begin. Her full breasts jiggled as she walked. The tempting exhibit was mouthwatering.
He lived vicariously through the other man.
A fine morality, indeed
, he thought. Maybe he was just a coward. Maybe losing the ability to fuck one’s own wife made a man unwilling to face his other inadequacies. If he’d swallowed his pride and told Clarissa the problem, she would have been understanding.
Which, in his mind, only made the problem worse. He did not want his wife’s sympathy, he wanted her respect.
Another voice chimed in, one he recognized as his conscience.
Yes, Michael, and she will definitely respect you for this.
When the couple stopped at the side of the bed, Michael hauled himself up from the chair and fastened one button of his trousers to keep them in place.
Madame had convinced the French whore to participate, but he still needed to progress slowly. Looking at the well-hung freak, he knew he wouldn’t let that penetrate this small woman. He glanced down at his own cock, wondering if his wouldn’t hurt as much. Still, he had to question the madam’s judgment in sending this particular male.
He would only use the dildos tonight. And possibly the satin cords. They were always enough to ignite his fuse. Her breasts were magnificent. He contemplated how he could both see her impaled and watch those tits harden in pleasure.
Of course, the easiest way would have been for him to do everything himself.
No.
No.
He shook his head and blinked his eyes a couple of times. She was a whore.
“Madame DuPuis explained what will happen this evening?” he questioned in French, keeping his voice unthreatening. Not that French was ever threatening.
“
Oui.
” Her voice was delicate and feminine.
He wagged a finger at the male prostitute, indicating he could proceed and stared as the other man stepped in behind the French woman. The sight of the staggering phallus sliding along the cleft cheeks of her ass had his heart racing and his cock straining. She stiffened and bit at her lips, turning her head away.
“He won’t hurt you,
chérie
.”
The man’s large hands cupped her waist and slid upward. Michael’s palms itched and burned with want. He pulled air through his nose, trying to capture the scent of her a second time. Strong male hands cupped her breasts, covering and then kneading. His own hand slid into the placket of his trousers and palmed his aching cods.
She gasped and took a small step away before placing one delicately boned foot on top of the other.
Madame was right. The girl was new, a little frightened, and based on the lush body she displayed, entirely suitable for her profession, once she became accustomed to a man’s needs.
“Kneel on the bed,” he commanded her in French, his voice catching.
She stepped up on the wooden box, lifted one knee, then the other. Her bottom jutted out, poised and ready for penetration. Her legs quivered.
Michael’s cock throbbed with need and he wasn’t even stroking himself to encourage his excitement, only squeezing, fearful that her innocent allure and the wicked longing to see her—not hurt exactly but overpowered, taken—caused thrilling, guilty pleasure. He reached for the large dildo on the bedside stand and handed it to the other man.
“Anal first,” he ordered the man. Then he spoke in a more coaxing, pleasant tone to the girl, sticking to the French since he didn’t know her command of English. “Relax,
chérie
. It will be momentarily uncomfortable.”
He’d been fixated on this act since he’d started this dark journey, and now, after his encounter with Clarissa, he could think of nothing but the tight penetration and the consuming pleasure it would bring. The act was all the more forbidden since he had never requested it of Clarissa. Only from his paid whores.
Swiping the dildo through the wetness of her body, the man reached for the girl’s ass, spread one cheek and rammed the thick head in a few inches. The girl flinched and gasped, going down on her forearms, her head hanging down.
Michael grabbed the man’s wrist to prevent further penetration. “You fucking clumsy ox. Do you plan on killing her? Get out.”
Mumbling some apology, the other man left, latching the door behind him.
Michael touched her hip, stroking for a few minutes, trying to soothe the sting and burn of the forceful entry while whispering soft, calming words in French. He did not remove the dildo. The jerky motion as she clenched it inside her body nearly had semen shooting from his overexcited shaft—his gaze, his body fascinated by the sexual display.
He touched the protruding piece, keeping it firmly embedded in her asshole. She shook in response and he leered when the phallus moved as she puckered. “Arch your back, c
hérie
.”
He stood behind her, imagining his own cock twitching as he entered the tight passage. Instead, his erection bulged painfully, the skin tight and sensitive. “Easy,
chérie
. Here it comes.”
Michael dropped his hand to the perfect globes of her ass, his fingers dipping into the cleft and spreading her cheeks wide while he stared in desperate fascination.
He probed further, slowly. The whore gasped, arching further, but he knew and welcomed the sound of pleasure. “That’s my girl. Is it good?” Every inch that penetrated her flesh brought Michael feverish pleasure. He wiped at his brow. He slipped the only button holding his trousers up and his cock sprang out. Alive, pulsing, harder and longer than he’d been in years. He was ready to fuck a room full of whores.
Leaning forward, he propped one knee on the bed beside her. He pressed his cock against the firm flesh of her thigh. Beside her, he could see everything.
He cast a glance at her breasts. The one he could see dangled like a ripe fruit ready for plucking.
He’d already touched her. He swallowed back the last of his guilt and reached for a handful of her fleshy tits, the softly rounded orb something he’d denied himself until now. The nipple burned into his palm. His desire to pull those nipples into his mouth—one after the other—nearly irresistible.
The dildo lurched as she clenched and unclenched. “Tell me if you like this.” He started a slow, shallow movement, penetrating her, mimicking the act of sex.
She moaned and then uttered a small word, “
Oui.
”
He steadied himself. He’d taken another step down the slippery slope of betrayal. He wasn’t going to fuck her. He wasn’t.
Rolling and tugging at her nipple, he heard the shallow gasp of excitement again. Her body rocked back against the intrusion.
She turned her head and screamed into the sheets, just as every muscle in her body clenched. The dildo shot back and would have left her body entirely if Michael hadn’t been prepared. He stuffed it back in and as he did so, he felt his own climax burst.
His balls tightened. He groaned and then leaned over her back, squeezing his cock against her body, while flumes of hot cum shot over her ass and his stomach. He rocked in time with the gentle assault he still kept up in her.
Gasping, he nearly collapsed over her. He braced one hand on the bed, his own arms trembling.
He’d always questioned whores when they said they climaxed. He thought it was just part of the purchase. You paid, you got a woman who serviced you and who said you satisfied her.
That
was a climax. He’d dream for the next week about plugging her with his cock while he rode her to an orgasm that strong.
“Please,
monsieur
,” she whispered.
Please what?
he wondered.
Fuck me again?
Because he had every intention of doing so. Madame had underestimated his ability to control himself with the girl. He’d underestimated his own ability to resist such splendid temptation.
“It is too much,” she whispered.
He withdrew the dildo and she collapsed onto the bed, her masked face looking away. Her breath rasped in her throat while she gulped and shuddered from the aftereffects.
“Did I hurt you,
chérie
?”
“No.”
He headed to the washstand. He rinsed and toweled off before he returned to the girl, who still lay quietly on the bed. The gentle rise and fall of her chest confirmed that she had relaxed. His semen glistened across her back. He wiped her clean, enjoying the domestic intimacy.
“Do you wish me to leave,
monsieur
?” Her low, husky voice sent shivers through him. He’d always appreciated the beauty of the French. Until now, he hadn’t realized that it had played such a role in his attraction to Clarissa.
She rolled over and glanced at him. Her stockinged legs were splayed just enough to reveal her gleaming cunt and the black thatch of hair. Propped on her elbow, her breasts stood proud and the nipples erect and inviting. Her hair tumbled in wild disarray over one shoulder and pooled behind her on the bed. The corset was nothing more than ornamentation to perfect the display of her lush body.
Sexual need still pounded through him. Madame knew how to pick her girls and how to dress them.
His groin tightened and his cock started a gentle swell.
He threw aside the towel. “Stay just like you are,” he ordered. He clasped her ankles and spread her legs, crooking her knees. Every inch of her pink flesh gleamed.
She arched slightly.
“You’re an eager little puss, aren’t you?”
He glanced at the array of dildos and selected a wide-based model with an equally bulbous tip. He handed it to her. “Use this, while I watch.”
* * * * *
Clarissa calmed the moment that naked behemoth left the room. That
thing
had touched her. Trying to forget that small fact would depend greatly on whether she succeeded in this charade.
She hadn’t forgotten where she was and what she was about. She couldn’t completely relax, but her fear of the unknown seemed less monstrous and more dreamlike.
Alone with her husband—anywhere—was better than what had been happening in their marriage for the last year.
She was here to entertain Michael, not a crude beast who would use her and discard her. She could handle the embarrassment of her endeavors. She could not handle the shame and degradation of being used by another man. Especially not after accusing her own husband of perfidy.