Red Cloak of Abandon (5 page)

of it spoke of being more special that. And yet, she fully intended to look

at his bedchamber. She could not come so far and not see the most

intriguing part. That was
very
personal . . . a person’s bedchamber, and

if she could do that?

“Of course I’m
fooling
myself,” Affinity muttered, suddenly snatch-

ing up the journal. “I certainly intend to look!” The solace in the back of

her mind was that no one would ever know of this event—and that made

it better. Didn’t it? “Well, of course,” she muttered, opening the journal

to the first page.

It was prefaced by a short prologue.

. . .
All that I do now, I do in memory of Magdalena. Please forgive

my human frailties before a true courageous heart . . .

Affinity found herself sincerely hoping that Magdalena was a rela-

tive of the Duke of St. Martin, as she turned to the next page.

. . . The one named Molly with her red hair and a buxom build

confided the sensitive nature of her breasts to me. The nipples to be exact.

21

I never requested these confessions, they came unbidden in the language

of the streets that few of my station have ever entertained, I understand.

I wonder often if the confessions are pride on the ladies part or

perhaps a cleansing to the new life that I beg them to consider. Yet oft

times, I fear they simply see the need in my gaze. I must let it through to

convince them. To show them my demons also and therefore our com-

monality.

Then I wonder also, if my nipples could be as sensitive if touched.

They have risen and hardened upon occasion. Occasions of cold . . . or

perhaps arousal. I wonder why women never conceive to touch a manly

nipple. To perhaps take it to their lips and suckle upon it. I have never

considered requesting a woman to do so. I imagine that I fear her

repulsion or confusion at such a request. Yet in the same consideration,

I have never been asked expressly from a woman to caress her nipples. I

have simply yearned to do so and therefore have done it. I ponder in my

masculinity, whether I would be brave enough to touch my own nipples

and see what reaction I would find.

Molly of the delicate nipples has found herself as a grand cook at a

modest household and married now to the huntsman there with one

sweetly faced daughter to their credit. Whenever I chance by to sample a

cobbler, Molly always praises her blessing in being found by the Bene-

factor . . .

“Oh
my God.” Affinity fumbled for the chair behind the desk and

sat down, nearly falling into it with a hard plop. The intimacy and the

honesty of Law’s words overwhelmed her, heaped immediately upon the

discovery that
he
was the elusive and compassionate “Benefactor.” “Oh

my God,” she muttered senselessly again.

No one thought that the Benefactor was a nobleman by any means.

Also this meant that it was
he
that would help Anne. She had the proof

of it in her hand, and she’d had the proof of it that day Law was in the

park. He
had
set Beauty to help them, then he had privately given Anne

the card. The Benefactor’s secrecy now made so much more sense. The

nobles across the breath of England would be aghast should it be known

that one within their ranks helped common street prostitutes. Law could

never keep doing what he was doing if this were known.

But why did he do it? Were there others that helped him? It was

obvious this Molly he wrote of was a prostitute that he had helped—

sponsored to a better life as his moniker suggested. Yet all the unan-

swered questions and revelations seemed to become muted beneath

Affinity’s thoughts about the discovery of a man’s sexual yearnings. It

was so tangible, so raw, it drew her like a child to the seductive sweetness

of candy.

. . . Young Nell with her black mop of hair and wide nearly toothless

grin, has claimed to be the best knob sucker in all of London. I note that

22

she started out being the best in the lower east end of the city and

expanded with her slightly gaping grin. As with any great craftsman the

details that Nell gives are prided in the finer points of her craft. And, I

must admit here to myself, that upon hearing the accounting, I was

unable to keep my own cock from responding with more than simple

interest. Duly noted by Nell of course, and I gather she enjoyed the

response as though she had snuck a part of me, therefore, allowing me to

sponsor her from the squaller life that she had been driven to.

But, I must admit that I was stunned to hear the verbal description

of this art. It served to excite me beyond anything I have yet to feel. I have

never had a woman’s mouth pressed to my cock before and have to

believe that it would be everyman’s dream. Of course I had heard rumors

of such a thing. Vague names called out that left much to the imagination

and less to knowledge. Names such as cock sucking, mouth fucking,

pecker blowing, cob sucking, or the delightful gobble the sausage. Yet

any man knows these nearly forbidden sexual acts will only be enter-

tained by a woman paid for the effort. And, somehow in my mind before,

I envisioned performed by the lowliest of creatures driven to such pur-

suits by poverty, like a slave.

Nonetheless, after listening to Nell, my perspective has changed

tenfold and my yearning has increased as much. Would that I could set

my own mouth to the project to relieve my enticement, curiosity, and

anxieties. The wonders of the descriptions Nell revealed are not to be

denied. Her tongue laid upon the cockhead lovingly, then caressed

through the slit with vigor. Then, her soft lips pressed tightly to the rim,

encasing the knobbed head compactly in her mouth and against the

caress of her tongue. The wetness that she gives from her mouth to the

cock that she proclaims most important. How she would grip the shaft

firmly with one hand pumping the base of the shaft as her lips clench

around the head while vigorously sucking.

. . . Even writing this, I am heated beyond what I could ever before

imagine.

Then, Nell describes the art of mouth fucking and taking as much of

the cock into her mouth as she is able. Rapid movements of her mouth up

and down the shaft. In one mouth suction taking the cock deeper, and on

the next taking it shallowly. But, always and I quote here, “Sucking that

fine stiff pud with all yer heart.”

Ah, my heart beats rapidly at such a wonder, yet then Nell paid me

back for what little I will offer her in help, by telling me of the swallowing

of a man’s seed. One of the most intimate pursuits I could imagine to this

date.

And while I blessed Nell for the fantastical knowledge I now possess.

Knowledge that I took freely. I also find myself silently cursing the

knowledge, because I am set as the Benefactor and as such completely

honor-bound never to take advantage.

23

Therefore, from the ladies of the night that I seek to help, I must

always remain respectable and above reproach, leaving me with the

certainty that I will never have a chance to feel such delights.

But Magdalena’s suffering and death, caused by me, was so much

worse. I am lowly to even envision regrets. Oh but if there was one lady

out there that would consider freely pressing her lips to my cock . . .

Affinity felt her heart palpitating as though she were running, as her

fingers curled over the worn pages within Law’s journal. She vaguely

realized that each of the pages worn appearance meant that it had been

read many times over. Yet, she was senseless, she had to admit, com-

pletely stunned. Never in her life had she heard or conceived of such a

thing between a man and a woman. However, more amazing than this

was that she was completely and thoroughly aroused.

She was shivering and flushed all at the same moment over what

must be a pagan act. Why even her mouth watered strangely,
and
her sex.

Affinity glanced down at the pocketed front of her breeches where her

sex insistently ached more strongly than she had ever felt before. A

heated vapor seemed to rise from between her legs with a clinging scent

filling her nostrils that instantly enlivened the aching thrum in her sex to

new heights. Abruptly, she clamped her legs together with her body

shuddering.

“Nell,”
she stated, stubbornly trying to turn her thoughts from the

overpowering images dancing in her mind. She needed a little more space

to breathe or surely she would faint.
“This
Nell is my
Nell!” she mut-

tered, still breathless.

Creak . . .
Slam

Affinity nearly fell out of the chair as the sounds of the front door

opening and closing walloped her hearing.
Thank God
, she did not cry

out as she moved with more speed than she
ever
knew she possessed.

24

How in the world could a boxing match be erotic, Law pondered,

setting his top hat and evening jacket to the coat rack in the entryway?

He loved women, not men. He desired women,
never
men
.
Yet tonight

he found eroticism in boxing. Two men stripped to their breeches, one

with a dark hairy chest and arms and the other with a smooth chest. Both

men were intent upon winning and were strong of limbs with pronounced

muscular definition. It was not arousing at first, yet as they fought more

and the sweat began to glisten upon their straining bodies, it became

riveting.

Law strode to his study for a brandy and contemplation. Warrior, his

faithful dog greeted him as he entered the study and he stopped to pet the

russet colored setter as he continued to contemplate his feelings. Truth-

fully, it had been as though the dark-complected boxer was the hunter

and the smooth-chested boxer was the prey. The prey had held his own

for longer than the crowd had thought possible, yet in the end he had

succumbed to the hunter. No matter where the prey turned the hunter was

there. And somewhere during the middle to the end of the fight, visions

of a veiled woman with long flowing brown hair had come to Law.
A

woman that asked after him.

“Really, I am writing
too
deeply in my journal,” Law muttered

beneath his breath as he lifted his hand from Warrior and went in search

of that fortifying brandy. Still, he found himself unbuttoning his shirt

before he grasped the glass of brandy and went to sprawl nearly disgust-

edly in a chair by the fire.

Law knew what was going to happen at the same time he wondered

why he dreaded it.
Why dread?
He was in his own home. No one could

see him. Damnation, he had needs, didn’t he? He was a healthy man. A

young healthy man, who had made one tragic mistake, one inexperienced

miscalculation,
damn he would not think of that now!

Law shook his head, throwing off his memories to attack him

relentlessly later as they always did. But now he would relieve himself,

or exorcize a vision, or just be a man. He did not know which, but he did

25

know he would not use his willpower to stop it and he wondered why he

would want to.

Then, he purposely tilted his head back and set his mind to a vision.

The woman was faceless, but her gown was split open with her large

flowing bare breasts exposed. They were pale fleshed, dripping with

sweat as they bounced heavily with her movements around the inner

sanctum of the boxing ring. Her long chestnut colored hair with strands

of deeper red and honey colors swayed and flowed around her petite

height as she moved, while her nipples jutted outward like small defying

lances. This was not a boxing fight with fists raised. This was a sexual

dance where she challenged him to see all that she was and capture it,

seduce it, and claim it.

Affinity clutched Law’s journal to her breasts, standing nearly on her

tiptoes as she peered around the open doorway into the almost com-

pletely dark study. Her heart was hammering in her chest at nearly being

caught sneaking around Law’s house like a thief by his unexpected swift