I’ve
been slaving away at The Journeyman’s Trial, the next volume
in my Victorian steam punk series. In general, I don’t like to
share material from my works in progress. However, it occurred to me
that you might enjoy an equally antique interlude from my novel
Miranda’s Masks.
This
book is contemporary romance, but has a Victorian sub-plot. The
heroine, who lives in historic Beacon Hill in Boston and is writing a
dissertation on nineteenth century erotica, discovers an old leather
bound notebook in a local junk shop. At first it appears to be blank,
but when subjected to heat, the previously invisible contents become
readable, revealing the secret diary of a Victorian lady. As Beatrice
recounts her erotic adventures, Miranda engages in her own
surprisingly parallel exporations.
Anyway,
this is from the first diary entry. Beatrice’s encounters become
more outrageous and taboo as the novel develops.
I
chose my costume with care, a rich but somber dress of midnight blue
poult de soie, with a cashmere mantle to match. I wished to appear
proper, remote, and infinitely desirable. My hair shone like spun
gold in contrast with the dark fabric, and my eyes had depths like
the ocean. I donned my hat and veiled my face, then followed Pauline
out the back door and into the alley where the hansom carriage she
had summoned awaited me.
The
address he provided proved to be a small townhouse facing the Common,
with fine leaded glass windows. A sour-faced domestic answered the
bell, took my wrap, and led me to the drawing room, which was
furnished with indifferent taste.
My
fair-haired Charles leapt up as I entered, his face glowing.
“You’ve
come, Madame! I hardly dared hope.”
“I
could scarcely refuse such an enigmatic invitation,” I said,
holding out my gloved hand. He bent to touch it to his lips, then
stopped himself. “If you will permit me,” he said with a shy
smile. Then without waiting for my reply, he stripped the glove off
my fingers and planted a delicate kiss on my bare palm.
This
first exquisite touch sent shivers through my body and left me
slightly faint. Already I was melting in the rising flames of my own
desire. A sigh escaped me. In any case my companion already knew how
he had aroused me. His youthful eyes sparkled as he perceived my
flushed cheeks and the rise and fall of my breath.
“My
apologies for the appointments here,” he said after a long moment,
punctuated by the beat of my heart. “I am renting these lodgings
while I have business in Boston. Can I offer you some tea, Madame? Or
perhaps a glass of wine?”
“A
sip of sherry would be delightful,” I answered, struggling to
control my voice. “I find that my throat is a bit dry.”
“It
will be my privilege,” he said. He went over to the sideboard and
returned after a moment with two crystal goblets brimming with golden
liquid.
“To
chance meetings,” he said, raising his glass to his lips.
“To
pleasure,” I countered boldly, looking deep into his eyes. They
were the same clear blue of today’s sky, and equally full of
promise. Between my thighs I felt the heat of the coming summer.
We
sipped for a moment in silence.
“What
should I call you, Madame?” he asked archly. “‘Madame’ seems
a bit formal under the current circumstances.”
“Angela,”
I told him. I often use that name on my midnight sorties. The irony
somehow pleases me.
“Lady
Angela, you are truly a vision from heaven. I would be honored if you
would allow me to undress you, so that I might better appreciate your
divine form.”
Once
again, he acted without my overt permission. He set aside our
glasses, and his languid, tapered fingers were already undoing the
buttons that fastened my waist. We understood each other; we did not
require speech.
I
stood meek and compliant, watching his face as he removed my
garments. He worked slowly and meticulously, with a skill that
suggested experience. As each article was removed, he would pause and
gaze at me in delight.
The
measured pace aroused me further, as it was intended to do. Charles
managed to completely undress me, while touching me hardly at all. My
neck, my shoulders, my breasts all ached for his caress. With
admirable self-control, he confined his contact with my flesh to the
absolute minimum required for his task.
His
own excitement was evident in the tented bulge in his trousers. I
longed to reach out and test its lovely hardness. However, I
refrained, realizing that this would be out of character, a deviation
from the roles in which we had cast ourselves.
Finally,
I stood before him, naked save for my embroidered silk stockings and
kid boots. The golden curls between my thighs were already damp with
my own fluids. I was ready to sink to my knees before him, to beg him
for his touch.
Thankfully,
he was finished with making me wait. He swept me into his arms and
carried me to a brocaded chaise near the hearth. I gloried in his
strength. He smelled of soap and pipe tobacco. I rubbed my cheek
against his fine woolen coat as he settled me on the shiny
upholstery, my arms cradling my head. “Angela,” he sighed,
kneeling beside me. “Let me feast upon your marvelous flesh.”
He
leaned over and brushed his lips ever so lightly against the
sensitive skin just below my earlobe. Then I felt his tongue, sliding
down my neck, circling the hollow at the base of my throat, tracing
its way down the hollow between my breasts, nibbling, nuzzling,
tasting me. Each touch was careful, deliberate, almost reverent.
There was nothing holy, however, about the way my hips churned in
response. When he sucked my nipple gently into his mouth, I spread my
thighs wide. When he nipped it with his sharp white teeth, I could
not help the lewd way I arched my back, silently crying for him to
invade my most private recesses.
Charles
turned his attention to my lower extremities, bestowing tiny kisses
on the silky skin between my thighs. I moaned and circled my hips,
inviting, pleading. However, my gentleman continued to tease. He
unlaced my boots, then drew my stockings down until my feet were as
bare as the rest of me.
I
felt a shock as his warm mouth closed on my toes. The sensation was
strangely thrilling. He probed between my digits with his agile
tongue, sucked and licked until I thought I would go mad with
pleasure. All the while, my cunny grew wetter and more swollen, until
I could feel myself gaping, open and dripping.
“Oh,
please, Charles!” I gasped, “I cannot bear any more. Please, put
your rod inside me. Take me, Charlie, please!”
My
fair gentleman paused to smile at me. “Madame Angela, I would
dearly love to satisfy your request, but I dare not. If I were to get
you with child, it would be a disaster for both of us.”
“Oh,
please!” My hand flew to my groin, spread my red, glistening folds
for him to see. “See how you have roused me, set me on fire. You
must quench this fire, or I will lose my senses with longing.”
“Alas,
my Angela…”
“Let
me see it, at least; do not be cruel!” I cried, and lunging forward
I tore open his trouser buttons. His erect member sprang free,
engorged and purple with lust. Before he could object, I sank to my
knees and circled his manhood with my lips, sucking and tonguing him
in an abandoned frenzy.
“No,
Angela, wait, please, I will spend too soon…” I ignored his
entreaties, which grew more feeble as I increased the vigor of my
ministrations. I was punishing him for his teasing, and rewarding him
for his technique. The rod in my mouth grew more rigid by the
instant. I sensed a spiraling tension, like a snake gathering itself
to strike. Then he groaned and my mouth was flooded with his bitter
fluid. As always, the taste brought me to full, delicious
appreciation of my own depravity. How I enjoyed the dark, sharp
flavor of a stranger’s spend upon my tongue. The thought, by
itself, brought me to the very edge of climax.
Charles
was panting, his blond curls plastered on his sweating forehead. “Oh,
Angela, you are a wicked one! That was glorious, my dear.” He
raised his shapely eyebrows. “But what can I do for you, now? I
fear that even if you were to convince me, my tool will be of little
use for some time.”
Somehow
I sensed that he was playing with me once again. “Give me your
mouth, then, Charlie,” I said boldly, sitting back on the chaise
and spreading myself wide. “Kiss me, here.”
Buy
Links
Amazon
US
- https://www.amazon.com/dp/B077J37RW6
Amazon
UK
– https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B077J37RW6
Barnes
&
Noble
-
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mirandas-masks-lisabet-sarai/1127499525?ean=2940158774584
Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/760225
Kobo:
https://www.kobo.com/th/en/ebook/miranda-s-masks
Excessica:
http://www.excessica.com/books/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=25&products_id=1339
Add
to
your
Goodreads
TBR
list!
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/36622764-miranda-s-masks
