Created Friday 20 May 2012
It is England in the lusty Regency Era, and for most, private Thief-Takers are the law. But Lord Wingrave is a very special thief-taker. Trusted by the aristocracy, and feared by the underworld, he can demand a most special fee for each case – the unrestricted and sadistic access to a woman of quality.
But when the seductive female secretary of a powerful Lord lures him into taking on a most unusual case, he is immediately drawn into a storm of sex, sadism, treachery and violence. With only his deadly cross-dressing female partner and lover at his side, Wingrave must deal with thieves, blackmailers, assassins, and treason, all the while dallying with every attractive woman he can lay his hands upon.
*Warning. Extreme non-sexual violence.
"Would you like me to lift my skirt for you?" she asked softly. When he nodded, her fingers moved rapidly to gather up the thin fabric, lifting the hem until it passed under his hand and left it resting on her bare skin. A flick of her hand tossed her skirt over his hand and wrist so that she was once more properly covered from the sides, while the table top and cups shielded her lap from view in the front.
Wingrave smiled. "Neatly done." He let his fingers draw suggestive circles above her knee, but did not immediately plunge his hand between her thighs, even though he knew she would have willingly accommodated such an action.
Louisa pressed her breasts against his arm, making them bulge out of her dress and threaten to spill out entirely. However, there were several bare breasted women in the room already, so this would not have been such a shocking event even if it had happened. "You have a delicate touch, Mr Wingrave."
"Suggesting that such delicacy is lacking in other … visitors?" he said, allowing his fingers to move farther up her thigh.
"Suggesting there are those who see no need for delicacy when dealing with fallen women, especially ones who do not shy from receiving the birch."
His right hand moved up from her waist to where the fabric of her gown fashionably gathered just below her breasts as he chuckled. "I have the highest regard for fallen women, provided they are honestly so."
This drew a tinkling laugh from Louisa. "Honestly fallen? What an amusing idea! But I do catch your meaning sir, and the question behind it." Wingrave's hand glided between her thighs, which she parted sufficiently to provide him easy access, before squeezing them together once more, gently holding it just short of the ultimate treasure that it sought. "I was not born in St Giles or any of the other rookeries. My parents were stolidly middle class, as is the case for most of the girls chosen by Mrs Barlow. As soon as I was old enough to realise that I would not inherit, and that my marriage prospects were gloomy, to say the least, I determined that I would find another path."
"And Mrs Barlow offered the best prospects?"
"Precisely. Few have the skills, connections, and good fortune to become a true courtesan. The rest of us must make do with what life has given to us. My father was a merchant, and if I learned anything from him, it was the need to find the most lucrative market for my um … offerings, and the importance of giving value for money to my customers." She looked around the room. "Most of the men come here to be punished. But wielding a birch never truly appealed to me, and gentlemen of the opposite taste are often the most generous." She fluttered her eyelashes at Wingrave. "Are you generous, good sir?"
"I can be – at least to those to are generous towards me." He wriggled his trapped fingers suggestively.
The pressure of her thighs eased just enough that Wingrave's hand could make their way up between them, but without a blatant and immodest parting of her limbs. She felt his hand move decisively upwards towards the join of her thighs, but stopping the moment they detected the tickle of her pubic hair. She laughed lightly. "Then both of us should find that which we desire tonight, for I intend to be very, very, generous."
Wingrave was surprised and pleased when his fingertip detected a trace of moisture on the curly hairs that lined her slit. Most whores were not easily, if ever, truly aroused, and often required copious amounts of spit or grease in order to perform. Although he enjoyed wielding a birch, he had no objection to the woman finding her own pleasure if at all possible. He was enjoying this teasing and dallying, but it also allowed him to observe the men in the room, the ones coming down from the private rooms upstairs, as well as any new arrivals. He kissed Louisa's neck and lightly played with the slickness that issued from her slit.
As if imparting a secret, Louisa whispered, "I have not tasted the birch or cane in over a week, so the skin of all my parts is fresh and smooth."
He pressed his fingers against her cunny. "Do you often suffer the birch here?"
"Most of the gentlemen favour our bottoms, although the occasional stroke may make its way between the thighs. Do you intend to focus your attentions on my little cunny?"
Wingrave nodded. "That is my intention, yes." He pulled back slightly to look at her inquiringly. "Do you have an objection to that?"
Louisa shook her head. "I was merely thinking that it would be an interesting change, and wondering what games would best suit your purpose."