A countess offers her body to the highest bidder.By LouisaAdler. Listen to the ► Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Chapter 1.
The Marquess of Ravenswood hated dramatics.
He
also loathed crowds, prying eyes, and London. Yet, there he sat, in the
very back row of what was surely the most infamous, crowded event in
the city’s history. Only one thing could pry him to this cesspool.
The Hellfire Club was having an auction.
Even
Ravenswood couldn’t resist that temptation. He shifted in the rickety
wooden chair, his large frame unused to such cramped spaces. A growl of
impatience left him. “For a gathering that’s supposed to be secret,
there are crush of fools here.”
Next to him, Lord Seth Cardew
rolled his eyes. “Only you would call two hundred attendees a crush,
Will. It’s been almost a year since the last auction, you know. Our
membership craves this sort of diversion, even those whose pockets won’t
let them bid.”
Will grumbled. Truth be told, he wouldn’t be
attending this blasted event, if it weren’t for the letter. Even in the
wilds of Yorkshire, he kept up with London’s underbelly. Gossip had
reached him, quietly and with the archest of tones, that suggested he
might find tonight’s auction particularly interesting. He didn’t dare
hope that what he looked for would be on display, however. In the five
years since Violet had left him, no woman had tempted him for long. To
think one of the women here, willingly selling herself to the highest
bidder, would fill that void was ludicrous. He would be a damned,
romantic fool to assume such a thing.
Just in case, though…
Just
in case, here he was. Dressed like a Christmas goose, in his top hat
and tails, and antsy. He’d taken the train down just that morning. “Get
on with it,” he growled.
As if bidden by his thoughts, the
electric lights dimmed. The audience members, or buyers he supposed,
were left in shadows, while the slightly raised stage remained
illuminated by a host of white, glowing tapers. A woman stepped out of
the gloom and onto the stage. Hers was a serious beauty, made more so by
the candlelight. Inky black hair swept back in a chignon, with features
as sharp as a hawk, she reminded Will of a governess.
If
governesses wore men’s clothing, of course. The mistress of ceremonies
was kitted out better than Will. On her tall, slim frame she’d donned
black trousers, a perfectly tailored jacket, and gleaming, emerald silk
waistcoat. The only nod to her femininity was the bright red stain on
her lips.
Will roused a little, intrigued against his will. She
wasn’t for him—too sharp, when he’d been spoiled by curves—but he
appreciated beauty in all forms.
“Welcome, friends, to The
Hellfire Club’s Mistress Auction,” she said in a deep, throaty voice.
The room quieted even further. “I am Madame Valerie, purveyor of fine
mistresses and the ringleader of this particular circus. We’ll start, as
always, with the gold contracts.”
“Bring on the whores!”
She
narrowed her eyes at the audience, skewering the interrupter. “These
are not whores, sir. The women who take part in this auction are of the
highest breeding and class, women who have willingly signed their
contracts and are bestowing their talents onto select, respected
persons. We vet not only our mistresses, but their protectors.” Her tone
suggested the man in question could kiss his luck tonight goodbye.
Madame Valerie straightened and continued her introduction. “As I was
saying, we’ll start with the gold contracts. For those who are new to
our ranks, I will explain.”
“The Hellfire Club color codes our
contract levels, each corresponding to a prescribed set of limitations.
Gold contracts, the rarest, are entered into very carefully. There are
no limits on what you can do, after purchasing a gold contract, aside
from inflicting permanent bodily harm. For whatever amount of time she
signs on for, the mistress will be under the buyer’s complete control,
both sexually and personally.”
“She is, for all intents and
purposes, an indentured sexual servant. Though, one who is paid quite
handsomely for her time. We start the gold contract bidding first, so
that your pockets are filled to her liking. Shall we begin?”
Enthusiastic
applause met her questions. With a flick of her wrist, Madame Valerie
cued someone offstage and three women filed up the stairs, then into the
light. Each was shrouded, from head to toe, in a velvet cloak. Red,
green, and white, they looked like Christmas decorations, The Hellfire
Club’s sadistic nod to holiday merriment. They stopped behind Madame and
bowed their covered heads in unison.
Madame Valerie nodded her
head. She smiled, cold and fast. “Very good, girls. Now, Twenty-Two do
come forward. We begin with your contract.”
The green-cloaked
woman moved forward. Even covered by velvet, her generous body was
evident, hips moving in sensuous rhythm with each step. Will stirred,
aching for a closer look. That walk. It struck a chord in him, unfurled
some long-tamped desire to possess.
His lips twisted in the gloom.
What foolishness. Underneath that cloak, she would be like every other
woman he’d had. Beautiful, surely, but uninspiring.
As if reading
his mind, Madame Valerie reached out one slim hand and untied the other
woman’s robe. It fell to the floor in a puddle of emerald.
The audience gasped. Several people around Will flipped through their programs, searching for her information page.
Will
started. She was completely nude, save an extravagant green half mask.
Tumbling waves of long, dark red hair rioted around her, framing her
body with flame. God, what a body. Twenty-Two was all curves. Generous
breasts, more than a handful each, sat high above lush hips and an
impossibly narrow waist. Will grew hard with just one glance, his cock
insisting that he open his wallet, give her whatever she wanted.
Anything to take her.
Was her skin really so fair, or was she
scattered with light freckles up close, like gold leaf over a canvas?
Suddenly, it seemed the most important thing that he find out.
He’d so loved Violet’s freckles.
The
hand on his shoulder shocked Will out of his daze. He was half out of
his chair, Seth restraining him with a smile. “Patience, Will,” his
friend whispered, with a laugh.
Right. The Hellfire Club would
have its pomp and circumstance. No matter that Will was the richest man
here by a mile, heir to both a dukedom and an American shipping fortune.
This girl was already his, no question. Whatever amount of time she was
contracted for, Will wanted her. Perhaps she, so like his first love in
both coloring and form, would be the one to finally flush that need
from his system.
He would pay millions for such peace.
2 Months Ago..
The Countess of Mulvane shivered.
Despite
the fires raging in the ballroom, Georgiana was chilled through.
Standing naked in a room full of your peers trembled even the most
stalwart body. Given her life lately, she wasn’t feeling particularly
hardy. What foolishness, to think this would be the easy part.
After
agonizing over this decision, the Countess was ready to get on with it.
There would be no more worry, simply pure sensation. Meet the man, fuck
him madly for six months, then spend the rest of her life free. What a
lovely word that was. Free.
Funny, really, that giving in to a
stranger’s every sexual whim was her ticket to true freedom. Not only
would her sisters be safe from scandal, but little Camille would be set
up for life. All for something she enjoyed immensely. Stephen, damn his
treacherous soul, had been a terrible husband, but an adventurous lover.
And yet…
Back to Today’s Nude Mistress Auction.
And
yet nothing had quite prepared her for this feeling. Lascivious eyes
raked over her body. Hundreds of masked and shadowed figures loomed in
the darkness ahead of her, making appreciative murmurs of her form. If
her mask should slip, all would be lost. The utmost secrecy of the
contract was part of what lured her to the Hellfire Club. No one but her
lover need know that the Countess of Mulvane had sunk so low. All of
Stephen’s failures were overturned, in exchange for half a year of
Georgiana’s service.
It wasn’t even a choice. She willed the mask to stay put.
“Please turn around, Twenty-Two,” Madame Valerie ordered.
Georgiana
slowly pivoted to the back, conscious of every inch of her body. The
audience’s gazed tickled over the flare of her hips, down the swell of
her bottom. Only two men had seen her so bare. To think that number was
now multiplied a hundredfold, in less than a minute.
Her eyes
burned into the masked faces of the two women standing robed, at the
back of the stage. The snowy fall of white silk and the bright crimson
velvet shimmered in the light. What circumstances had brought them here?
Were they desperate to right a wrong, like Georgiana, or merely in
search of a few hedonistic thrills? Would that she could see their
faces, find solace in their shared experiences. Madame Valerie had kept
them in separate rooms, until right before the auction began. Time for
one last reflection, the intimidating woman had suggested.
“Our
dear Twenty-Two has a generous figure, to be sure.” A cold, slim hand
traced the line of Georgiana’s spine. Goosebumps raised along her skin.
When she came to her bottom, Madame Valerie squeezed the right cheek in
apparent appreciation. “What a magnificent rump you have, lovely one. A
man like’s something to hold on to.”
The audience whooped. A room
full of aristocrats turned to rowdy schoolboys, with a little nudity and
sexual titillation. Madame Valerie pushed at Georgiana’s side,
indicating she should turn once more. The woman’s throaty voice
continued its examination. “Twenty-Two’s true assets, though, are these
breasts.” At that, the mistress of ceremonies came around to the back of
Georgiana, arms threading through hers like a lover. The woman’s
breath, hot and minty, caressed her neck. Madame Valerie cupped both of
the countess’s generous breasts in her hands. “Rare to have breasts so
large still be so perky. What do you think, lads? Would we call them
melons or grapefruits?”
“Cantaloupes!”
“Honeydews!”
Madame Valerie laughed. “She will certainly do, honey.”
A
flush spread across Georgiana. Would the blasted auction never start?
She raised her head a fraction, responding to the ribald investigation
with hauteur. Her governesses had probably never intended those
comportment lessons to land a peer’s daughter here. Georgiana knew the
ropes, though. The more they lusted after her, the higher the price.
Whatever wicked little tricks Madame Valerie planned, they would drive
the final payment higher. Her family was worth a moment's—a
lifetime's—humiliation. Just as she finished that thought, Madame took
both of her nipples in hand and pinched. Hard.
Georgiana shrieked, taken by surprise more than pain. Sensation flooded her. Heat pooled, low and banked, in her pelvis.
“They’re
sensitive, as well. Think what fun might be had with these darlings. I
bet our prim little lady would love a set of clamps for Christmas.”
The
audience cheered in support. Georgiana shivered, desire ramping up past
her defenses. How did Madame Valerie know? Stephen had a pair of clamps
made especially for her, gold chain with emeralds winking at each tip.
They’d been sold to a discrete buyer, along with everything else of
value in Mulvane House. Just like Georgiana herself would soon be sold.
Resolve wrapped around her heart. No.
This
was a temporary arrangement. She was selling her body willingly,
happily even, but it was hardly the whole of her. Whomever paid for
Georgiana’s contract would receive a fool’s bargain. He could have her
body any way he wanted, but her soul wasn’t up for grabs. She’d given
that away only once and lived to regret it bitterly.
Madame
Valerie raked her hands down Georgiana’s body, narrating for the
audience, as she went. No mole, no patch of skin was left unviewed. The
countess half expected the little majordomo to open her mouth and count
each tooth aloud. For the inspection’s finale, Georgiana was turned
around once again, back facing the audience, and ordered to bend over.
She clasped her ankles and closed her eyes. Cool air wafted over her
nether regions.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Georgiana. Don’t be so missish.
Nether
regions, indeed. Her vagina—her cunny, Stephen had called it—was on
full display for hundreds of people. Surely she could dismiss the
euphemisms now.
Madame Valerie spoke again. “Note the naturally
red hair, gentleman. This one is a true ginger beauty.” An elegant
finger traced the opening of Georgiana’s slit, which was embarrassingly
damp. “See how she glistens? Twenty-Two loves to submit to my whims. A
natural pleasure object, as we proved during her training. You should
see how she responds to the strap.”
Shame, that useless emotion,
flooded through Georgiana. How strange, to have her sexual deviancy
discussed in such a cold, logical manner. She would be banished from
Mayfair, if it got out that Countess Mulvane enjoyed being defiled in
such a way. Yet, it was true. The last few weeks of training for the
Hellfire Club had opened her mind to a world of sexual possibilities.
Stephen had been dominant, yes, but he was the Pope compared to Mistress
Valerie. Worse yet, Georgiana had enjoyed every moment. The darker the
act, the more intense her pleasure.
As if reading her mind, Madame
Valerie began a rhythmic exploration of Georgiana’s folds. The
majordomo stroked up her pussy lips, around her clitoris. Up and down.
Back and forth and—
“Oh, God.” Georgiana couldn’t control the
invocation. Her body was alive with sensation. Nipples pebbled, muscles
twitched, with the glorious motions.
“Such a vocal little thing. Enjoying yourself, Twenty-Two?”
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
Slap. Madame hit her bottom, open-handed. “Yes, what?”
The weeks of training jogged Georgiana’s memory. Her voice was thready with desire. “Yes, Madame Valerie.”
“That’s
better.” The mistress plunged a finger into Georgiana’s opening,
drawing circles with her thumb over the nearby clitoris. A second finger
soon followed.
Georgiana groaned in response. Heavens, that was good. So terribly, horribly good.
“Do you want to come, little one?”
“Y-yes, Madame Valerie.”
“Say
it. Tell these people what your naughty little body wants. Tell them
exactly how bad you can be, despite those angelic curves.”
“I want to come, Madame Valerie. Please keep doing that with your hands.”
Slap. “Doing what exactly?”
“Playing
with my c-cunt, Madame.” The words burned through Georgiana.
Humiliation warred with desire. Desire won, desperate and hot. Just a
little more. “I like it when you fill my cunt with your fingers and
stroke my clitoris. Would you go a little faster, please, Madame?”
Slap.
Slap. Thwack. A flurry of strokes rained down on Georgiana’s upturned
bottom. Pain twined with pleasure, white hot and sharp. Madame obliged
the pleas, though, her hands working furiously at Georgiana’s clit.
Spanks alternated with strokes. Sensation overcame the countess, her
cries dancing in the air.
Oh, it hurt. God, it felt so, so—
Georgiana
climaxed, with a shout. The release washed over her in a storm of
pleasure, twitching her muscles and firing each nerve, like a cannon.
When she finally regained her senses, Georgiana quietly said the final
words of her training. “Thank you, Madame Valerie.”
Another slap to her bottom. “You’re quite welcome, Twenty-Two. Stand up and turn around.”
Doing
as bidden, Georgiana faced the audience once again. A drop of sweat
whisked down her spine. The front row of spectators watched her with
obvious desire on every face, mouths agape. Her humiliation was worth it
in the end, as Madame promised.
The Countess of Mulvane had
orgasmed in front of a room full of people. Next, she would secure her
future. On cue, Madame Valerie gave the last signal. Georgiana fell to
her knees, head bowed. And so the auction began.
“That was quite a
show, wasn’t it? Imagine what a woman like this could become with a bit
more training. We’ll start the bidding at one thousand pounds, my
lords.”
A voice, deep and hideously familiar, rent the silence. “Five hundred thousand pounds.”
“Sold to—” Madame Valerie paused, as if shocked into silence. “My, my. The Marquess of Ravenswood.”
The words fell on Georgiana like an anvil. Oh no.
No, no, no.
Georgiana’s
head snapped up, willing her ears to be malfunctioning. There at the
bottom of the stage, stood a man. He was a little broader than she
remembered—the country exile did wonderful things for his already
muscled physique—but the sandy blond hair and penetrating brown eyes
were achingly familiar. The Marquess of Ravenswood had just purchased
her contract. She was to be Will Thorne’s sexual plaything.
All was lost.
By LouisaAdler for Literotica
