The Gentlemen’s Club
Emmanuelle de Maupassant
Victorian London, 1898: by night, Lord McCaulay falls under the enchantment of Mademoiselle Noire, and her theatre of sexual exhibitionism. Humiliated by her before his peers, he becomes intent on revenge, but is drawn only further into her web, entering a dark spiral of erotic obsession. Meanwhile, by day, Lord McCaulay’s path intersects that of young aristocrat Maud, as she struggles to assert her identity against the domination of men.
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He can smell the musk of her skin and see the pulse at her throat. Her décolletage is barely covered by the flimsy chiffon, breasts rising with each breath. He touches the end of the crop to her chest, brushing the silk covering her delicate nipple.
He pulls the ribbon, so that the fabric falls away, revealing bare flesh in earnest: her belly, dark bush and legs.
The blood rises within him and his tongue grows dry in his mouth. His feelings are all confusion, thanks in part to the stirring of lust in his loins.
His hands clench against the stem of the crop, itching to reach out and seize the abundant camber of her breasts, to thrust his mouth at them, to devour them, to wrench his teeth at those ripe nipples, to bite them until she cries for his mercy.
He would graze his mouth down her belly and bury his face in her bush. He imagines its plump wetness and the taste of her juices. His desire to consume her near chokes him.
‘I’m waiting,’ she prompts, her voice silken.
Emmanuelle de Maupassant lives with her husband (maker of fruit cake) and her little scruffy terrier (connoisseur of bacon treats and squeaky toys). She enjoys marzipan and sushi, and wild, windswept walks on Scottish beaches. Gin and tonic, always.
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