The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series Read Online Free PDF

waiting good sir,” she
prompted, her voice silken. “You see me before you. I’m unprotected against
your wrath. Remember, ten strokes.”
    Clearly, she desired him to act,
to vent his anger upon her.

 
    His eyes searched her face,
seeking there some softness. If her lips had been upward cast and parted, he
would have flung aside the crop and crushed his own upon them, taking her kiss
at whatever cost, even were she to suck forth his soul.

 
    However, her mouth, though
full and sensual, betrayed its usual subtle sneer. He saw only derision and
disdain, which steeled his heart to put aside thoughts of ravishment and raise
the cruel whip against her.

 
    The first stroke caught the
soft skin of her stomach with a light flick, such as would sting, but not
greatly hurt her.   Her face remained
still.

 
    He paused, moving her again
to encourage him.
    “I believe you can do better
sir.”

 
    Irritated by her tone, which
seemed ever to mock him, he raised the crop higher this time and brought it to
bear against her upper thigh with a sharp crack, the tail end stippling the
silk and leaving a tear through the fabric.   Her breath caught in her throat this
time and she exhaled slowly, languorously.

 
    “Again.”

 
    At once, he realized that he
was no more than a pawn in her game: she in control. The knowledge brought a
flood of fury, making him brandish the crop with more force, sending its tail
across her bare breasts, leaving a livid welt against their bounteous
flesh.  

 
    She gasped audibly now, and threw
back her head, an auburn curl escaping, touching her cheek. Her body seemed to
stretch and unfurl under the pain of the stroke, resonating with new vibrancy.  

 
    The sight of her stirred his
blood and his thoughts were again distracted. His tongue might trace the line
of the weal, warm saliva removing some of the bite of the lash. The bulge of
his phallus within his trousers grew more uncomfortable.

 
    However, anger won out, and
he twirled her round so that her back was to him. He sent three swift strokes
to her buttocks, the whip making light work of her robe, so that the silk there
shredded at its touch.

 
    She moaned in obvious
pleasure, and let the gown fall from her shoulders, so that nothing stood
between her and the lashes that remained.

 
    MacCaulay hesitated again, observing the stripes rising on her
tender flesh. Her skin was faultless, but for the injury he had inflicted.

 
    She looked coquettishly over
her shoulder. Her pleasure in the ‘punishment’ was beyond the delight of a
simple spanking. The pain brought pure carnal satisfaction.   Yet again, he was merely her instrument.
He raised the crop and flourished it severely against the underside of her
cheeks, knowing it would be felt most keenly there. This he followed with
another, and two more to the middle of those lush fruits. The flesh of her
peach-soft buttocks quivered under the blows.

 
    He went to raise the whip
again but a deeper voice from the shadows interrupted, commanding, “ No more!”

 
    It was the African, all the
while hidden from view.

 
    MacCaulay stepped back, then froze in horror, reminded immediately
of their last encounter. He dropped the whip and turned to flee, but
Mademoiselle Noire stayed his arm, her face without rebuke.

 
    “You have nothing to fear,”
she assured him. “Our noble savage will not harm you. He is here for me: not
for you.”

 
    Resplendent in her nakedness,
her flesh golden in the glimmer of the lamp, she beckoned Lord MacCaulay to the chaise longue upon which she had been
sitting, and bid him make himself comfortable.

 
    The flame’s illumination
flickered across her body, so that her curves were thrown alternately into
light and shadow. MacCaulay noted that some bruising rose
already to the skin.

 
    She lowered herself over the
taller end of the seat and, extending her arms, bid MacCaulay take her bare hands. She stretched taut through her