The Tender Days of May (The Belle House Book 1) Page 6

  “Oh? Do I hear a challenge?” He looked at his companions as if searching for support, and they chuckled.

  “Do you want it to be?” She cocked her head with a smile of a skillful hunter.

  “I’ll be more than pleased to take you up on that. If your lady can do that—I’ll pay double the fee. If not—the whole thing is on the house.”

  “Ah, Count, I didn’t expect anything less from you. Chose your partner,” she said playfully, taking a sip of brandy, and gave the ladies in the room a “take-no-prisoners” stare.

  “I would like to make a bet too,” Sir Dale chimed in eagerly to the oh-la-las of the ladies.

  “Me too, why not,” Sir Willis shouted in excitement, setting his eyes on Miss Kat, who had been throwing suggestive glances at him for the last half an hour.

  The ladies were chosen. The rules—set. The pairs went up to the rooms. And that’s how the statue of Hermes started the “no-touch” challenge. All three ladies succeeded, of course, winning the double fees. They said, Miss Kat had to restrain Sir Willis and tie his hands, then masturbated, a mere palm-distance away from his cock, caressing his thighs. He reached orgasm in just three minutes, right after she reached hers, and she earned another double fee as he kept her till the rest of the night.

  “I wonder how a man would do it to a woman,” Krissy said, concluding the story while May remained speechless. “I bet Lord Ashbee knows,” she looked at May meaningfully, and May shot a surprised glance at her at the mention of the name and blushed.

  She sent Krissy away, glad to get rid of the maid’s tireless mouth, and stood by the window, brushing her hair and deep in her thoughts. Either she was going mad, she thought, or the world was, for it seemed that everywhere she looked, people gave themselves to pleasures and she, May, didn’t know anything about them.

  —————

  It was that same evening that May saw Ada again. The girl entered her room without raising her eyes, set the food tray down, and was at the door when May stopped her.

  “Is everything all right?” May asked, frowning.

  Ada nodded, hiding her eyes.

  “Are you sure, sweets?”

  The little girl didn’t answer.

  “You can tell me, you know. Maybe I can help,” May tried again. Maids’ life was none of her business, but any participation was a way to pass the time.

  Ada shook her head, and her little hands clasped even tighter as if she was trying to inflict pain on herself.

  “Ada?” May insisted.

  A little sob broke out of Ada. “He took your brooch,” she said and sniffled, still not lifting her face.

  “Who did?” May frowned.

  “Papa,” Ada said quieter. “Mama tried to stop him”—she sniffled—“it was your present”—she started sobbing—“but he took it anyway”—another sob—“and s-sold it b-b-because he s-said we need money.”

  Ada broke out into crying, and May’s heart sank.

  “What an evil man!” She came over to the little girl, lowered herself and stroked the girl’s hair. “It’s all right, Ada, it’s going to be alright. Sometimes bad things happen, but they eventually get better.”

  Ada shook her head. “No, they don’t.”

  Oh, how was she supposed to comfort the little girl when she didn’t have any say in this place? She couldn’t even tell Mrs. Sharke. The woman would never understand why the life of the laymen was any of May’s business. And it wasn’t. But back home, people were always taken care of, even the poorest.

  May tried to console the girl, promised to substitute the brooch, and when Ada left, wiping her face with little fists, May thought that life was utterly unfair.

  CHAPTER 7

  “So, what do you think of women?”

  Charles lit up a cigarette and squinted at Walter through the smoke. They had just finished the lunch of chicken fricassee, followed by dessert cakes and now Nalifka, a Russian raspberry-flavored liquor.

  “I like them.” Walter shrugged his shoulders, but a shy smile crawled to his lips.

  Charles laughed. “Ray was hoping you would.” He looked at Lord Ashbee, who sat next to him.

  “But of course, you might never discover other likings until you try them,” Lord Ashbee said.

  “What other likings?” Walter looked at him in suspicion.

  “Men, for instance.”

  “Men?” Walter cried out and looked at his cousin in horror.

  “Calm down, Walter!” Lord Ashbee tried to suppress a laugh. “My God! You act as if I asked you to murder a man. Sometimes you don’t know what your body and mind need until something triggers the curiosity,” he explained.

  “Now, pay attention”—Charles gave the young man a meaningful stare—“This is when you need to be really careful, Walter”—he leaned over as if about to reveal a secret—“when your cousin mentions the word ‘curiosity’—watch out. It’s the most dangerous word!”

  “It’s the most freeing and fulfilling one!” Lord Ashbee argued.

  “Not when it comes out of your mouth, Ashbee.”

  “Well. Life is too marvelous of a thing to be too careful with it.”

  “I would say, too precious not to be.”

  “See, Walter”—Lord Ashbee turned to his cousin—“Charles and I have very different opinions. That’s the basis for true friendship. We remind each other of what not to be like.”

  Charles laughed, and Lord Ashbee chuckled.

  “Curiosity is why you keep me around, Charles,” Lord Ashbee said.

  “Perhaps, some of your adventures are my fantasies that I will never have the courage to fulfill. What do you keep me around for?”

  “Sometimes, you are the only voice of reason that truly cares. I would like to think so,” Lord Ashbee said, looking at Charles with warmth. “Besides, you are the only person that knows how naive and weak I was. Years ago. I’d better be on good terms with you, so you don’t go around telling people sad stories about me and ruin my reputation.”

  “Ha! Ashbee, you are one of the very few people I know that couldn’t care less about his reputation!”

  “True! But that may change! When I am old and weak! I’d better keep you around till then! For who knows what joke life plays on us. You might turn into an old, adventurous rascal with voracious curiosity who will keep my wilting one in check. Life is a curious thing!”

  “That word again!” Charles laughed. “Have you found the pleasure that requires zero curiosity? Think about it. Something so physically intense that it stimulates the senses instead of your mind.”

  “Aren’t the senses the physical manifestation of curiosity?”

  “I don’t know. But is there a possibility? Meditation? You should look into Buddhist techniques. They say a man can reach the highest level of unity with the universe by completely annihilating the senses.”

  “That sounds like death to me.”

  “Ah! Wouldn’t you like to know what that is like?”

  Lord Ashbee gave his friend a puzzled look. “No, Charles. I am not into that. Though I know of places in the East End that can come close.”

  “Ah! The East End!” Charles shook his head.

  “What’s in the East End?” Walter, forgotten, finally cut in.

  “I should take him there,” Lord Ashbee said to Charles.

  “Please, don’t,” Charles pleaded.

  “I want to go!” Walter said without knowing what the place was.

  “No, you don’t,” Charles retorted and turned to his friend. “Ashbee.” He gave him a reproachful stare.

  Lord Ashbee flashed a devilish smile instead. “Bluegate Fields. Whitechapel. What a tour that would be!” he snorted.

  “He is not like you.”

  “He doesn’t have to be. But that would be an experience.”

  “Then, I want to come with you. To make sure the boy doesn’t go further than I would like to go.”

  “Hah!” Lord Ashbee chuckled with surprise. “You? In that part o
f town? I am afraid there is not enough alcohol to keep you calm.”

  “Try me! I will do anything to save this young man’s soul from your claws.”

  “You saved yourself. That’s an accomplishment.”

  Walter Bentley’s eyes darted from one man to another. They discussed him as if he wasn’t there, and he marveled at how different they were, yet, how strong their friendship was. More than anything, he wanted to know about the places in East London and what Bluegate Fields was. Curiosity, indeed, was a powerful thing.

  —————

  Curiosity was getting the best of May. Novelty ceased to be one when a person was exposed to it for a while. Either the conversations with Krissy, or the revelations through the peephole, or simply the every-day business of the House that May got to hear around the clock, or all of the above unlocked some secret chord in her mind. As soon as she gave in, she let go, made peace with the surrounding, and the reality of the Belle House didn’t seem that grim.

  Ah! Curiosity!

  How quickly it could pull a person down the darkest alleys!

  A drug, no less!

  As if every time May succumbed to it, her body craved more. The young mind was a hungry monster waiting to be fed and searching for the master that could tame it.

  Sometimes, she would slowly open the door and look out into the hall. The burgundy carpet that lined its wooden floors. The doors, like the secret passages into the moments of pleasure. The smells that varied at different times—cooking, wine, flowers, colognes, and perfumes. Often, there would be laughter and chatter downstairs. The sounds of someone playing the piano. Ah! How she missed music! More often, there were groans and squeals from the rooms. Random curses. Occasionally, it was quiet. Usually, in the early mornings, when the House was almost like an average lodging place, except the over-the-top décor. In the evenings, when the hallways were dim and dark at the back end of the House, May would venture out and watch the couples come upstairs. Their quiet conversations, kissing, groping. May’s heart would jolt in fright, yet, she wanted to know more, see everything as if for the first time she was let in on the biggest mystery of humankind—the game between women and men.

  —————

  It was the encounter with William Dunn that put May over the edge and her mind on the idea that men were no more than animals in their pleasures.

  Krissy picked the pleasure themes like a connoisseur. Little did May know who was really coaching the maid in her persistent attempts of this dubious education. But after a couple of times, May found more and more courage to venture into the dark corridor behind the rooms and to the peepholes that showed her the world that she didn’t know existed.

  Once again, she pressed her eye to the circle of light from the peephole that opened up into the room where she found a man and a dark-haired girl.

  “William Dunn and Miss Odaley,” Krissy whispered, making an introduction as if it was a formal acquaintance.

  May didn’t like Dunn from the very beginning—neither his bold head and scruffy sideburns, nor his piglet-face, nor his eggplant-shaped body. And what came next, gave her nightmares.

  Dunn didn’t say anything nice but ordered Odaley to undress to the waist, meanwhile taking off everything below his. He then kissed her greedily, squeezing her breasts with his paws, then lowered himself to bite them, which caused her to produce a sharp yelp. He kept biting and squeezing her breasts, shoulders, neck, while she stood obediently and her one hand massaged his member. Suddenly, he pushed her head down, throwing her on her knees, caught the back of her head, and fed himself into her mouth.

  May watched in horror and disgust as he grabbed Odaley’s hair and pushed her head with force onto his cock. He went on like that for a minute, then dragged her closer to the bed, so she was still on the floor with her back against the mattress, and pushed himself into her mouth again. He put his hands on top of the bed for balance, his legs, bent at the knees,—on each side of the girl, and continued to fuck Odaley, driving himself harder and harder into her mouth, her head barely seen out of the linens. He growled with satisfaction to the sounds of moaning and gurgling that came from the poor girl’s throat until he produced a strange continuous bleating sound, like that of a dying sheep, made several violent pushes into the girl’s mouth, and finally stopped, his groin jammed into her face. He stayed like that for a moment, then withdrew and went to relieve himself in the chamber pot while Odaley tried to pull something of a smile, wiping her mouth and face.

  “Take me away from here,” May whispered, her mouth curled in disgust, hands shaking, and started for the door.

  “Odaley agrees to this, you know.” Krissy shrugged her shoulders, following May. “Mr. Dunn pays extra, and Odaley lets him.”

  “He is disgusting,” May hissed, blood pounding in her temples.

  “Some women like it this way,” the maid said quietly. “It takes all kinds. They say, his wife is quite beautiful and nice, too,” she added, but May waved her away.

  “I don’t want to hear about him,” May said and tried to erase the image of the brute from her mind.

  CHAPTER 8

  Covent Garden was a district in the center of London that had a wide variety of establishments—coffee shops, taverns and restaurants, shops, theaters, and the opera house. There were all sorts of entertainment to please any crowd, including street performances, outside orchestras, shops, bear-baiting, and, of course, plenty of women for sale.

  It was late afternoon, the district already crowded, buzzing and humming, as Lord Ashbee and Walter stood amidst the crowd that circled a small arena. The sign read, ‘Sam-the-Bone-Wrecker! Live!’ while two men, as large as bulls, wrestled in the center of the circle. They had only tight underpants on, so their glorious nakedness and bulging muscles were on full display. The two gripped and clutched each other, rolled on the ground, roared and groaned while the public cheered them with the nastiest and most malicious yelps and insults. The referee, a short stumpy man, dressed in a suit, shouted encouraging remarks to the sweaty men inside the circle and delighted cheers to the public that gathered around.

  “It makes you admire the strength of a man’s body, doesn’t it?” Lord Ashbee said loudly amidst the shouts of the crowd as Walter craned his neck, marveling at the bulging muscles of the two men that intertwined in the most peculiar ways.

  “Why would one need such strength except for public display?” he shouted back to his cousin and pushed away several people that pressed at him from behind, trying to get closer to the arena.

  “You are certainly of a different rank to have any use in that. But so can be said about beauty.”

  They watched for another quarter-hour or so when the men were finally separated by a referee and stood, bent, panting and huffing, on the opposite sides of the circle. With a sleazy smile, the referee then challenged the members of the public to knock down one of the wrestlers for a substantial reward.

  Lord Ashbee motioned for Walter to make his way out of the crowd, and as they straightened their clothes, disheveled by the pushing people, Lord Ashbee looked at the young man with curiosity.

  “There are more exciting venues than this if you have a desire to explore this side of entertainment,” he said with a smile as they made their way down Strand Street.

  Walter gave him a curious look.

  “We just have to take a trip to the other side of town,” Lord Ashbee added.

  The East End! Walter remembered and looked at his cousin with a glimpse of hesitation in his eyes.

  Just then, a nice-looking young woman bumped into him and blushed, murmuring apologies, yet, not taking her eyes off him.

  The two men kept walking, and Walter turned his head to look at the girl who, in her turn, stood watching him.

  “I think she likes me,” he said, and Lord Ashbee broke out in laughter.

  “Oh, Walter! Look around! What do you think all these women are here for?”

  Walter’s eyes darted around, and suddenly, he noti
ced an overwhelming number of women that went in and out of the buildings, strolled around, occupied the benches, made small talk with gentlemen. Dressed in pretty elegant dresses or more modest outfits or plain maids’ clothes—they seemed to infest the streets.

  “I don’t understand,” he murmured as another girl openly looked him up and down and flashed an inviting smile.

  “You are in the center of the Red District. During certain times of the day and night, this is where men come to look for pleasure, and women flock the streets to provide it. If a woman is without company, chances are—she is for sale.”

  “All of them?” Walter’s eyes opened wide, and suddenly, he noticed the way women looked around, how eager they were to start conversations with strangers. “How would they… I mean… where do you go once… you know… if one were to make a deal with one of the ladies?” he tried to find the words to phrase his curiosity.

  “Mostly the rooms upstairs, above the businesses. Some are rented, some are charged by the hour. Some women have a deal with the shop owners and use the backrooms.”

  Walter snapped his bewildered eyes at Lord Ashbee. “But…”

  “For a lot of people, sex is a commodity, Walter. It’s a physical necessity that needs to be satisfied without foreplay and complicated arrangements.”

  Suddenly, the East End was of no importance to Walter.

  “Do you think we can postpone the trip?” he said, gaping around as if he found new meaning in things.

  Lord Ashbee observed him with curiosity. “What do you have in mind?”

  Walter didn’t want to explain, but it didn’t escape Lord Ashbee how the young man ogled the women, studied them, and searched for the signs of their true intentions.

  Ah, precious!

  How delightful it was to watch young minds discover new things. Even better—watch them satisfy their curiosity.