The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series Read online

  The Gentleman’s Club

  By Emmanuelle de Maupassant

  LONDON

  1898

  An erotic tale of lust and romance

  Volume One in the ‘Noire’ series

  Contents

  Title Page

  About the Book

  Copyright Page

  Foreword – Victorian London

  Prologue – The Club

  Chapter One – Mademoiselle Noire

  Chapter Two – A Flower Not Yet in Bloom

  Chapter Three – Debasement

  Chapter Four – Thoughts of Revenge

  Chapter Five – Fit for Royalty

  Chapter Six – Punishment

  Chapter Seven – Torment

  Chapter Eight – Divine Couplings

  Chapter Nine – The Bath

  Chapter Ten – A Close Shave

  Chapter Eleven – Obsession

  Chapter Twelve – Achilles’ Heel

  Chapter Thirteen – Many Hands Make Light Work

  Chapter Fourteen – A Mirror to the Soul

  Chapter Fifteen – At the Mercy of Love

  Chapter Sixteen – Breakfast Surprise

  Chapter Seventeen – Proposal

  Further Works

  Reviews

  About the book

  On passing through a certain curtain and a certain door, pleasure, pain, humiliation and titillation could be enjoyed in the company of ladies who returned the virile salute of desire with the same enthusiasm in which it was given. They wielded power over men, whether in domination or submission, and embraced the exquisite surrender of being watched by many eyes.

  Lord MacCaulay becomes obsessed with the mysterious Mademoiselle Noire, despite suffering the ultimate humiliation at her hands. His pursuit of her brings about a descent from which there may be no escape.

  Extracts from this book, and other works by the author, may be sampled at www.emmanuelledemauspassant.com

  Feedback and reviews are always welcome.

  You can also find the author on Twitter, Pinterest and Facebook

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  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and incidents are either used fictitiously or are the product of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  This publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted with prior permission in writing from the author, or in accordance with the terms of licenses issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  The right of Emmanuelle de Maupassant to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in the UK in 2014

  www.emmanuelledemaupassant.com

  Foreword

  Victorian London

  The 19th century was perhaps the time of greatest prudery and hypocrisy regarding women’s sexual identity. Those who strayed from the path of purity, indulging in sex outside of marriage, were referred to as ‘fallen women’. While it was expected that men would indulge their sexual impulses widely, regardless of wedlock, it was unthinkable for a ‘genteel’ woman to even admit to enjoyment of her marriage bed. For her to express undue interest was a sign of wantonness. In extreme cases, she might be referred to an asylum for treatment of this perversion.

  By the turn of the century, it was estimated that London alone boasted at least 100,000 women working in prostitution. Meanwhile, the use of rubber caps (womb veils) allowed women to gain some control over pregnancy.

  Prologue

  The Club

  The Club was exclusive: its true nature so secret that few but those in the upper echelons of society knew what lay beyond certain doors. Its membership was elite, the fees reassuringly high, and the rules strict without exception. Every member was to arrive and leave without drawing undue attention. They would never speak of the true nature of the club and avoid discussion of the identity of other members.

  To all intents and purposes, it was a modest Gentlemen’s club, offering quiet refuge from the bustle of business: a place where a chap might read the papers in peace, over coffee or brandy. A fair steak, pea soup and apricot tart could be had.

  However, on passing through a certain curtain and a certain door, all wore half-masks of velvet. Pleasure, pain, humiliation and titillation could be enjoyed in the company of ladies who returned the virile salute of the lusty penis with the same enthusiasm in which it was given. They welcomed the bounteous gifts bestowed upon them and, of course, in catering to such whims, were well enumerated. Nevertheless, financial reward was far from their only incentive. Without exception, the ladies of the Club’s harem remained at the establishment longer than was necessary to amass a goodly amount of capital (such as would be sufficient to open their own hat shop). In most cases, personal cravings kept them in continued service. They satisfied their own carnal thirst and took delight in wielding power over men, whether in domination or submission. Theirs was the sweet surrender to the lust of others. They thrilled to each assailant’s finger, tongue or member, and the knowledge of being watched by many eyes only enhanced their fervor.

  Chapter One

  Mademoiselle Noire

  One night, when London sat damp under autumn drizzle and all respectable gentlefolk were either before their fires or in their beds, Lord MacCaulay, handsome in full evening dress, took his carriage from his fashionable residence on Eaton Square, Belgravia, for the five minute journey to his Club. He’d endured a dull few hours in the company of the great and the good, including his uncle, the Duke of Mornemouth. MacCaulay enjoyed a good income and his responsibilities were few, but humoring relatives remained necessary. Duty done, it was now his time: time to indulge himself.

  The luxurious salon on the second floor of the Club, furnished in plush velvets and damasks, and the floor spread with thick Persian rugs, was lit by a chandelier of black glass and by the dim glimmer of lamplight. A dozen men were seated in armchairs placed in a semi-circle; despite their half-moon masks, he recognized them all.

  Lord MacCaulay ordered a large whisky and settled himself comfortably. The Master of Ceremonies entered and bowed, bidding the Gentlemen welcome and assuring them that tonight would be particularly memorable, as they were honoured to present Mademoiselle Noire. She would be gracing their Club over coming weeks, orchestrating a variety of entertainments for their amusement.

  The lady in question entered, sweeping around the outer circumference of the room, where the shadows clung thickest, so that her visage was not immediately apparent. Her skirts brushed the back of chairs and she paused behind each gentleman, as if to stroke the nape of a neck with her gloved hand; yet, she did not. Her scent trailed behind: something woody and musky, with a hint of bergamot. It was an unusual choice for a woman.

  Her circuit complete, she stepped forward, and MacCaulay saw that her costume was that of evening dress, a black taffeta gown, revealing shoulders and a little décolleté but otherwise modest. Her waist was cinched tightly, as was the fashion, and her skirts were full. Black evening gloves covered most of her arm, and, in one hand, she carried a riding crop. The swell of her breasts and the form of her hips beneath the silk indicated a fuller figure.

  Her skin was luminous in the lamplight, ivory pale. An abundance of auburn hair was pinned high, every lock placed precisely. Her eyes, f
ramed in a guipure lace mask, glittered darkly.

  Imperiously, she clapped her hands: at which a statuesque African, black as night, entered from behind the drapes, clad only in a leather hood. He took his place beside her, standing entirely naked. His muscular body showed every sinew straining beneath taut, well-oiled skin. His upper arms were the width of most men’s thighs and his torso and abdomen were well-defined: he was the epitome of physical accomplishment. Moreover, every hair had been removed from his body, so that the muscles in his chest stood boldly and his member proud, unveiled of pubic hair. Its full length was visible: perhaps 10-11 inches, and greater in girth than any woman’s hand could encompass. It hung heavily between his thighs.

  Mademoiselle Noire let her eyes wander over this godlike creature, her ebony savage. She flicked her crop lightly at the dark giant’s phallus, a small smile playing on her lips. The tail end, with its various fringes of leather, made contact with the tender skin but his face betrayed no discomfort. She wielded the crop again, a little harder this time, catching him full along the length of the shaft. He stood firm, unmoving.

  His dark truncheon began to engorge, growing in girth and length. The crop struck again and, this time, brought the beast between his legs to full maturity: a python easily 12 inches in length and larger than even a man’s hand might encircle.

  Mademoiselle Noire now bade him turn so that his tight buttocks were displayed to her - each sculpted to perfection: a midnight shadow of Michelangelo’s David. She commanded him to bend over and part his legs, so that his dark testicles hung huge and low. It was a view at once familiar yet disturbing, thought MacCaulay. She reached down and grasped them gently in her silk-gloved hand, stroking and caressing them, kneading them like the dough of bread rolls ready for the oven. Having uttered no sound until this moment, the mighty creature now let forth a low groan: one of undoubted pleasure. The men about the room shifted a little in their seats.

  Her hand stayed its motion, holding still those hefty globes, and then she squeezed: gently at first, then harder. Another moan escaped the giant’s lips. Her eyes scanned the faces about the room, seeking out their eyes, ensuring that she had their full attention before she proceeded.

  Lord MacCaulay lit a cigar, reclined within his armchair and inhaled deeply, returning her stare, which had settled upon him. He doubted not that she was admiring the strong plane of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders and his thick, dark hair. He was used to the admiring gaze of women, drinking him in, flirting. Resolutely, her eyes remained on his and she squeezed the African’s treasures harder, until the effort showed in the small sliver of flesh at the top of her glove.

  The recipient’s moan grew more audible. She kept her hand clenched for what seemed an eternity, every man in the room now squirming.

  At last, she removed her hand, letting those ripe and heavy plums swing free. Keeping MacCaulay fixed in her vision, she flexed her crop, switching it once through the air before bringing it across the tight flesh of black buttocks. Twice more she delivered her whip to its target, the air vibrating. The dark creature’s muscles contracted in response but he offered no cry of pain: not until the next strike caught him full on the testicles.

  Her eyes still on MacCaulay, Mademoiselle Noire flicked her crop gently against the man’s inner thighs, so that he might open his legs still further, leaving his most tender parts vulnerable to her ministrations. Another sharp crack of exquisite torture conjured a collective intake of breath. She raised the crop high, and delivered the most vigorous blow yet. The African’s knees bent but then resumed their stance.

  Lord MacCaulay swallowed uncomfortably. His interest was piqued but he admitted that this particular manner of flirtation diverged greatly from what he was used to.

  Mademoiselle Noire laughed, the sound twisting and curving lightly about the room. She clicked her fingers, and the hulk of a man stood upright, assuming a position to one side, where he waited.

  Chapter Two

  A Flower Not Yet in Bloom

  From between the curtains now emerged a slight young girl, obviously a servant in the establishment. Mademoiselle Noire led her to the centre of the room before speaking, her voice low and sensual: a distillation of seduction.

  “Gentlemen. This is Daisy, a chambermaid from the upper floors.”

  “Daisy, you are blindfolded at present, but I will reveal to you that you are standing in the salon. About you are gathered some Gentlemen.”

  Daisy turned her head towards Mademoiselle Noire’s voice.

  “I don’t understand ma’am.”

  “I’ve brought you here because your behaviour upstairs has been inappropriate. Accordingly, we must reach an understanding if you are to stay in service here. Do you understand?”

  Daisy nodded silently.

  “I think you must know to what I’m referring. The offence occurred yesterday evening, at around 6pm. I would like you to tell the Gentlemen in this room what happened.”

  The girl’s voice was soft and trembling.

  “I approached a guest in his bedroom ma’am.”

  “And…” prompted Mademoiselle Noire.

  “I…I asked him if he’d like me to pleasure him ma’am, in return for a small payment.”

  “I see,” smiled Mademoiselle. “And what did you have in mind Daisy? Are you a woman of the world? Do you understand such matters?”

  A blush began to suffuse the poor girl’s cheek.

  “Come now. You must be honest with us.”

  “I thought perhaps that I might rub the Gentleman ma’am, and that he might like to touch me. I know that men like to touch ladies and to have themselves touched too. I have some knowledge ma’am, as I have my own young man. We’re set to be married in the spring. He says it’s a long time to wait, so I let him take some liberties …but I’m still a maid. ”

  “I see. Thank you for being so candid. I think we understand now, don’t we Gentlemen. Daisy, you’ve behaved inappropriately. Our Gentlemen may do as they please in their rooms, but not with chambermaids.” She added curtly, “Unless by prior appointment with the management.”

  “There are rules Daisy. If you want to sport with our Gentlemen rather than make beds that can be arranged. You might find such new duties preferable to your work as a chambermaid, and it will pay a great deal more: a very great deal. It would, no doubt, make a handsome purse to bring to your marriage, and your young man need never know, of course.”

  She paused again.

  “Is that what you’d like Daisy?”

  The girl whispered her reply.

  “We can’t hear you.”

  “I think I might ma’am.”

  “I’m sure all the Gentlemen gathered here tonight are delighted to hear that,” Mademoiselle Noire purred.

  “That being the case, I think it best that we discover if you are truly suited for such an occupation. The Gentlemen who come to this Club are discerning and expect something ... special in return for their generous membership fees.”

  “Of course ma’am,” mumbled the poor girl.

  “Let’s waste no time,” continued Mademoiselle. You must do just as I say. Your hands are free. Please use them to lift your skirt and remove your bloomers.”

  The girl hesitated.

  “Remove them Daisy,” repeated Mademoiselle Noire, her voice soft yet imperious: that of a monstrous goddess.

  With shaking hands, the girl bent, raised her skirt and petticoat to just above her knees and, fumbling, reached upwards to untie the ribbon at the top of her undergarment. Her movements were such as intended to conceal any flash of leg. The bloomers dropped to her ankles and the girl carefully maneuvered them over her feet, placing them beside her.

  “Raise your skirts Daisy. Our Gentlemen would like to see more of you.”

  Mademoiselle’s voice was now no more than a lascivious murmur.

  The girl took the hem of her skirts and raised them to her knee, then higher, until the top of her thick worsted stockings was v
isible and a small section of pale thigh above.

  Someone coughed. There was an atmosphere of impatience. Mademoiselle Noire was really taking her time with the girl and several of those gathered rather wished she would speed up proceedings.

  “I think the Gentlemen would like to see more of your leg Daisy. Take off your stockings, and then raise your skirts fully, so that they are about your waist.”

  Her voice dripped like honey through fur.

  “Oh ma’am,” mumbled Daisy, her lips quivering now, close to tears. “Must I?”

  “Indeed you must my dear. It is quite essential,” Mademoiselle Noire replied, her voice seductive: irresistible.

  So it was that the poor girl, quite flustered, did as she was directed. She held the rough fabric of her costume as high as necessary, so that the cleft between her legs was revealed to all: two slithers of pink protruding from an abundant bush of hair. The darkness of her triangle highlighted all the more the paleness of her flesh.