Darker Than Love
The circle of spectators had broken up. They were strewn about the salon, draped on couches or sprawled across divans. Some watched her avidly, while others partook of their own lewd pleasures. Some did both. A woman with clothing crumpled high toyed with the wet pink folds between her spread legs. She grinned obscenely at Clarissa. Another lay bent over a huge malachite table, her body jolting with the lunges of the rangy creature behind her. Subdued gasps whispered on the air.
Clarissa averted her gaze. ‘Take me away from here,’ she pleaded softly, hoping her voice would not carry to any ears but his.
‘Away?’ scoffed Marldon. ‘But Clarissa, I fear you are not quite ready for me.’
Clarissa whimpered. She couldn’t fight both herself and him. ‘My lord, I am,’ she said humbly.
The earl gave a wry smile. He pulled an object from his pocket, a handle of tortoiseshell, and flicked it open. It was a shaving blade. He turned it ponderously, finding angles where its sharp steel edge caught glancing stars of candlelight.
‘You misunderstand me,’ he said, moving to stand behind her.
Dryness choked Clarissa’s throat and she swallowed hard, her heart drumming furiously. Was her surrender insufficient? Did he intend forcing her into wickedness and depravity? Relief sank into her when she realised he was merely cutting the ropes from her. He had seen the truth of her desire; he knew she would not retaliate. Perhaps now he would take her elsewhere.
‘Truly, I do not doubt your willingness to offer me your body,’ Marldon said smoothly. ‘I expected nothing less. But it does not follow, Clarissa, that you are now ready. You must understand, I require more than a mere orifice for my pleasure.’
He signalled across the room. The valet sauntered over, a leering curl on his thin lips, and stood before Clarissa. His crotch, level with her face, bulged against pearl grey trousers. Clarissa turned away, rubbing at her sore, reddened wrists.
‘No, no,’ said Marldon, lowering himself to one knee. He squeezed a hand to Clarissa’s jaw and twisted her head, forcing her to confront the valet’s swollen groin.
‘At your service, my lord,’ said Brinley, opening the buttons of his fly.
Clarissa squealed in horror and Marldon’s grip tightened. The valet reached into the vent of fabric and withdrew his penis. Stiff and unfurled, it jerked from his clasp and its thick purplish head brushed over Clarissa’s lips. She pulled back, pressing her lips together and murmuring fervent protests in her throat.
‘I cannot abide an untutored mouth on my cock,’ said Marldon. ‘Yet, this is a skill you must acquire for me. Shall we see how quickly you learn, Clarissa? There are, let’s see, thirteen men in this room – excluding myself, of course. Do you think that will be sufficient practice? Or will I be rousing the grooms and bootboys at dawn?’