Damon Snow and the Nocturnal Lessons (10 page)

“Of course not,” I said. “I thought you wished me to be a journalist, so I made everything up.”

A chuckle escaped him. “Journalists do not make up things.”

I waved my hand. “All gossip and their misguided positions. Did you read Colt and his latest position on the state of morality? Do not blame us, I say. Blame the upper classes who pay us and lead by example.”

“They editorialise a bit,” Byrne said, “but that’s not the purpose of this exercise.”

“Isn’t it?” I asked. “Go on, read it. I wrote more than a page this time.”

“Along the same lines as last time?” Byrne looked slightly nauseated, as if he couldn’t stomach it.

“Well, that’s nice,” I said. “If you didn’t want to read it, you shouldn’t have asked me to write it.”

“I wanted you to apply yourself,” Byrne said. “Not flit through a dozen words and think yourself clever.”

My upper lip rose. “I’m always clever, as you will find out by reading.”

Byrne scowled down at the book.

“Never fear,” I said. I leaned forward to whisper to him, “I even capitalised every noun I could think of. It’s completely nonsensical that way.”

This time, Byrne did laugh until he wheezed. I rose a little, in case he started to choke, but he waved me off and picked up the book, wiping off the egg.

“’There once was a man from Yorkshire who seemed very proper. He properly married a lady of appropriate stature, he properly gained employment at the Bank of England, he properly bred said wife and sired proper children, and then he properly buried them all when they properly died before their time,’” Byrne said.

“You’re not reading the capitalisations,” I complained. “I worked very hard on that.”

Byrne have me a weak smile. “I’m sure you did. More than on the assignment.”

“Oh, just keep reading,” I said.

“’And then, very properly, all that he wanted, like most proper men, was a warm young man to stick it into.’” Byrne looked up at me. I nodded, urging him to continue. “’Not just any boy, but a very specific boy, who is sweet and kind and utterly obsessed with him. Mainly the latter, dear reader.’ Oh, very nice. You could be a novelist.”

“Yes, I’m sure that many a man would wish to read this,” I said. “I know at least one.”

“Although, a good novel includes a good match,” Byrne said. “Romance.”

“Does it?” I asked. “Vanity Fair doesn’t. Although really, I suppose marrying the ugly ambassador was the good match.”

“Perhaps you should try again,” Byrne said.

“Perhaps you should finish reading,” I said.

What was Byrne’s hesitation? The man would never show that kind of weakness, and not toward a piece of scribbling by a half-literate molly. Byrne hadn’t even reached the good bit yet. Perhaps I should have provided less of an introduction.

“’So when this man stumbled across a handsome young lad in the gutter, thinking himself kind, he fed the young lad brandy from his own hand and cared for his wounds. The young lad, being too much like a lady’s lap dog without the lady, would follow him anywhere for more pets and more food. So the man led him to his favourite molly house, where he attended upon weekly, although not on Sundays. That turned out into a good arrangement, and so the man visited him weekly until the boy said something unthinkable. Impossible. Completely, stark raving mad.’ Really, Damon—”

“Just keep reading,” I said.

Byrne sighed. “’The young lad, thinking that the man must hate him for saying such a thing, ran from him, even though that was exactly the thing the man wanted to hear. The man longed to return the words to him, but the lad didn’t know it.’ And what, pray tell, were the words?”

“I think you know,” I said. “But this is the point where I come in to save them.”

“Save them?” Byrne said, chuckling. He was regaining the colour in his face. “My, how heroic.”

“I thought so,” I said. “Although neither thanked me.”

“Ungrateful wretches,” Byrne said. “But really, what did he say?”

“Well, I can’t say them,” I said. “Didn’t I write how they were unthinkable, impossible, completely stark raving mad?”

Byrne shook his head again, although more in amusement this time. Oh yes, I think he gleaned what those words were. “’So the two came to a very unhappy impasse. Like most of life, really, but unhappier.’ Really, Damon. You grasped the whole point of all this?”

“Which point?” I asked. “You don’t even know of whom I speak.”

“The point of — oh, never mind. ’Until a very annoying man made an arrangement with his own clever molly. The clever molly was forced to converse with the man, discovered the whole affair and was pressed into helping the man — even at the expense out of his own pocket.’ Which expense?”

“Hiring a room for the night,” I said. “I had to trick them into meeting, didn’t I. Oh, and the loss of the great coat you gave me.”

“Trick?”

Oh sure, ignore the coat. Until I replaced it, I was likely to die of cold. “Well, the beautiful young lad knew that I knew and knew where the man lived,” I said. “So I had to make arrangements. Cost me a shilling for the night, by the way, so I hope you’re enjoying it.”

“I am, actually,” Byrne said. “Well, unless the reason you’re so gleeful now is… well, I should keep reading, shan’t I? ‘The clever molly trapped them in a tavern room, where they were forced to speak and the man finally had the chance to return those impossible words. The young lad, not being as dim as everyone thought he was, wouldn’t believe him until the man did another impossible act.’ Now there’s an impossible act?”

“Of course,” I said. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Your own eyes?” Byrne asked.

“Well, in trapping them, I managed to trap myself as well, although they never knew that I was there,” I said.

“That was a bit sloppy,” he said.

“Yes, but you did want a naughty story, didn’t you?”

“That wasn’t the… entire point,” Byrne said. “But may I presume for a moment?”

“You may,” I said, although I didn’t know why he needed my permission. I supposed it was just one of those things that gentlemen said.

“I believe that you discovered that this man possessed affection for this lad, and this lad returned it,” Byrne said. “Affection, even love. And you didn’t dispute it.”

“I did,” I said. “I told the man that the lad must have lied for extra coin.” Well, almost.

Byrne’s jaw dropped. He ignored the name. “You can be so cruel.”

“He was cruel first,” I said.

“How so?” Byrne asked. I shrugged my shoulder. “I’m sure that whatever you said struck harder.”

“And then I gave him his love,” I said, “so we’re even. No, I think the man even owes me.” Especially for the coat.

“His love?” Byrne asked. “Isn’t he just out to get his cock rubbed?”

“Except I seem to have stumbled onto the one bloke — I mean, the one man who actually seems to care who rubs it,” I said. “I offered my body to him without charge and he turned me down because he thought I didn’t like him. I didn’t, but that was beside the point.”

“Yes, the point,” Byrne said. “Hmm, perhaps this other lad is just prettier than you are.”

I scoffed. Pretty had nothing to do with it. “I saw them,” I leaned forward, “make love.”

“Make love? You mean, frig?”

“No, I mean it,” I said. “He did the impossible!”

“And what is this impossible act, hmm?”

Oh, Byrne was enjoying this. It was better than reading shoddy books by half-literate, half pretentious authors. I smirked at him. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

“Oh, then it must be too impossible for words,” Byrne said. “Yes, go ahead and demonstrate.”

I hadn’t touched him in this way for at least six weeks now, before his skin became so yellow and his side cramped so hard he needed opium to ease it. He had offered it to me once, and I had taken it, thinking he meant it as an aphrodisiac and that he’d tip me better. Opium was no aphrodisiac, and regardless, Byrne hadn’t the mind to use my full abilities.

I drew myself out of my chair, pulled his chair out enough so that I could slide between his knees. “The lad was lying on a bed, mind, but this will do,” I said. Byrne wasn’t dressed, so all I had to do was slip his gown upward until it revealed his prize.

His cock wasn’t as stiff as Kendall’s had been by this point, but it was stiffer than it had been of late. It lagged to the right. I brushed my lips against the tip. His cock responded, jerking upward.

Byrne hissed. “And how is this unspeakable? You’ve done this many times.”

“So has the lad,” I whispered, letting my breath slide over his cock. It jerked again, gaining length and width. “Many clients pay us to do this. But it wasn’t him who did it. It was the man.”

“And that…” Byrne broke off as I brushed lips along his length.

“I’ve never known a client to do this,” I said. “And I’ve never known this act to be so… gentle. Almost like the soft patter of rain.”

“I’ve never enjoyed rain as much as this,” Byrne said.

I chuckled, then took the head of his cock between my lips and ran my tongue along until it nudged the little knot between his head and shaft. I brought my hands to his bare thighs to hold him still, to hold myself up, and Byrne liked that even better.

Slowly, slowly, even as my own cock began to notice my activities, I took his cock into my mouth. Not as deeply as I was capable, for this wasn’t the same thing. He wasn’t fucking my mouth. I was… oh, who knew what I was doing. So when I had gone far enough, I slowly, slowly, achingly slowly drew my mouth back up.

Byrne hissed, his thigh quivering. He wasn’t flagging anymore. I ran my tongue along that long shaft of his. While no one quite compared to what I had hanging between my legs, Byrne was respectable in size. I had seen enough cocks to know that.

I repeated the action, all while I sensed Byrne trying not to moan. I felt him push against my hands as he struggled not to speed me up. I remained agonisingly slow, as much punishing him as pleasuring him.

I slowly took him into my mouth again and again and again, all while Byrne quivered under me. My mouth filled, I chuckled, and he thrilled at the sensation of my voice. I had never known such power with a client. He was like butter in my hands, melting through my fingers.

I could have kept this pace for hours, ignoring the demands of my own cock. Hours and hours, slowly but ever so steadily building him up until he exploded into my mouth. And I would easily swallow it down, or let it cover my face…

My gut tightened at the thought, and my cock said what a good idea. Some men preferred that, although this didn’t seem to be quite that moment. Perhaps another time.

“Oh,” I said, leaving his cock for a moment. Byrne whimpered. His foot slid on the floor. “He also did this.”

I removed my hand from his thigh and traced the wrinkles in his ball sac. Byrne gasped, and his hips thrust forward, which brought the whole chair screeching forward.

I gave him a firm tap with my other hand. “Stop that,” I said. “I’m afraid you’re in my thrall, and there will be none of that. You will only receive what I choose to do, do you understand?”

“Everything that man of yours did?” Byrne asked.

“Something like,” I said. “And you’ll have to sit there and take it, for you are my boy and you are here at my pleasure.”

Byrne laughed, then gasped, as I took his head again. Something harder now. I sped up my rhythm, and between my lips and tongue and hand on his balls, gave him no breath in which to protest.

As if he would.

But, and with this my cock agreed, one of the few things we agreed on, it was very gratifying to hear Byrne’s moans cut off again and again as if I poured so much pleasure into him that each second brought a new gasp.

That purring lust I felt inside of Price and Kendall, now it rolled in Byrne’s belly. Perhaps mine as well, although I couldn’t feel it as keenly. Byrne’s lust positively ached to touch me, as if it might die if I stopped touching Byrne for even a moment. It needed me, and I needed it, and… and…

“You know what they did then?” I asked.

Byrne made a keening sound. His hands went to my hair, but he didn’t push me back down.

I pulled away, while Byrne made another longing sound. “You can’t leave me here,” Byrne said.

I went to his night stand, pulled open the drawer and smiled. Of course, it would still be there. Hopeful minx. I glanced back at Byrne, considering, before removing the bottle. It would be awkward, but I didn’t have the patience to haul him onto the bed. The chair would work. Fortunately, it had no arms.

I tugged off my pantaloons and shoes, but left on my stockings and everything else. Byrne watched me, his eyes misty and the corner of his mouth kindly smiling as he observed my cock. He saw me pick up the bottle and his mouth opened in a gasp. I held up his hand to pour the oil in and then set the bottle next to his breakfast plate.

I straddled his thighs and pressed my chest against his. I brought his fingers to my arse, and whispered to him, “The man took the oil onto his fingers, onto his cock, and then he pressed them into the boy, stretched him as slowly as one would a virgin on her wedding night. If her husband were particularly kind.”