ThePleasureDevice (21 page)

“Good, good, that’s what I want to hear. Go along now, son.
She’s waiting for you.”

With a grin on his face and a skip in his step, Nicholas
left the library to ask for his beloved’s hand in marriage.

* * * * *

Joseph watched from the library window as Nicholas met the
two women in the garden. Lady Foxley-Graham retreated deftly, handing Nicholas
a rose, which he promptly gave to a delighted Helena. The besotted couple
walked over to a garden bench and sat, Nicholas speaking rapidly, in earnest,
Helena listening just as ardently.

And then it happened, the moment every daughter’s father
worries about and yet hopes for.

Nicholas got down on bended knee and took out the ring from
his coat pocket. Joseph grinned, knowing Helena let out a little gasp, knowing
there were tears of joy glittering at the corners of her lovely hazel eyes as
the ring was slipped onto her finger. He chortled at her enthusiastic reaction,
looking at her hand as if she had never seen it before.

And then he sighed when Helena stood and pulled her
betrothed into her arms. He had to turn away at the sight of their passionate,
affirming kiss.

Lady Foxley-Graham came in and joined him on the window
seat. “I’ve sent a carriage around for Sophia. And told Sims to retrieve some
champagne. We’ll have a private celebration.”

“Thank you.” He would apologize later for being such a fool.

London, September 1879

Julius turned the page of his afternoon newspaper and
happened upon the society column. He hadn’t been out much since the whole
business with Helena, so his curiosity was piqued. There was much discussion of
who was attending whose hunting party and with whom, but rather than being mere
gossip it was somewhat more like a list of which debutante had been engaged to
which fine gentleman. He recognized several of the names, was surprised by some
of the pairings and found two in particular of utmost interest. It appeared
that, in a ceremony swarming with marquesses and earls, Miss Helena Phillips
had been married to the Earl of St. Albans, previously known by many that
Season as Dr. Nicholas Ramsay.

“The couple will honeymoon in Exeter at the rustic cottage
of the Viscountess Foxley-Graham,” concluded the announcement. Rustic, indeed,
Julius snorted. More like well-appointed and supremely comfortable, albeit
perhaps a little cozy. Perfect for a pair of lovebirds—or a tryst with the
married owner.

He looked up from his paper to watch Grace as she busied
about his study organizing his notebooks, clearing away the tea things and
generally just keeping his space in tip-top shape.

Observing her drove him to a conclusion—Grace Danby was a
marvelous specimen of the female sex.

The more Julius thought about it, the more he realized Helena
just would not have done for him. She might have ended up like her mother—wanton
and willing but with the drawback of being weak and submissive. Besides, she
was still so young and unformed, the possibility existed that she would have
grown to be appalled and disgusted at his desires.

Grace, on the other hand, reveled in his proclivities and
discovered new desires within him he never thought he had. In her he found more
than just an assistant, she was a willing partner, an abettor. They were of
like minds.

It wasn’t as if they were in love or anything so overly sentimental
and saccharine as that. Helena would have insisted on such an arrangement and
he would have eventually had to let her have her romantic affairs to alleviate
that need in her. But Grace was very different. Julius often wondered what sort
of bond it was he and Grace really shared. Truly it did not matter. Whatever
she did with him, for him, or let him do to her, it was with absolute
determination and enthusiasm.

Indeed it was she who had suggested the installation of a
private electro-mechanical vibrating device in his bedroom—really their bedroom
now. It was a stroke of brilliance. And as they became more inventive with the
device, just the sound of the motor could make him hard.

“Julius, it’s time.”

Her soothing tone shook him from his thoughts. “Grace?”

“Dr. Christopher, your patient will be here shortly. I think
you should get ready.”

“Yes, yes, quite.” He followed her downstairs.

It had also been her idea to renovate the little room under
the stairs. They had cleared away some of the ill-used equipment and had made a
comfortable space near the peephole. The latter they enlarged but obscured on
the other side of the wall so as not to be detected even by the most anxious
and cautious patient. An ingenious arrangement of screens amplified the sounds
in the examination room for the listening pleasure of the occupant of the
little chamber.

Julius sat in the easy chair before what was now a small
observation window. He unbuttoned his flies as he watched Grace lead in their
patient.

It had also been her idea to have him be the consulting
doctor nervous women would see first. He would examine them to see the nature
of their anxiety. If they were married, or mothers, or widows, he would teach
them the skills to alleviate their own sufferings. But if they were found to be
virgins, they were asked to return for a series of appointments with the nurse.
Grace, as nurse, would introduce these invariably young women to the wonders of
the vibrating machine.

And Julius would sit in the little room and watch.

The patient for that afternoon happened to be one of Julius’
favorites. She was quite young—she had just turned eighteen when he first
touched her—had the most gorgeous fiery auburn hair and the most alluring
unaffected manner. Grace always made the girls undress down to their chemise
and stockings, and when their ginger-haired patient was finished, Julius saw
before him the most magnificent body he had ever seen in his decades of being a
doctor.

As if to tantalize him further, her chemise was of the
sheerest fabric. Her nipples, hardened by the cool air of the room, puckered
the thin cloth.

Julius grabbed his rampant cock and stroked himself.

Grace was masterful in her direction of patients. In a
moment the ginger-haired girl was on the examination table, her legs spread
wide, secured with the straps, and open to Julius’ view. He watched Grace
gently touch the girl’s sex, separating her labia to find and oil her tender
clitoris. As usual, Grace mollified the patient, explaining what she was about
to experience and to not hold any emotion back. “It is the release of pent-up
feelings that leads to the cure of hysteria,” she would always tell them. “You
must cry out as much as you need.”

Grace certainly knew his letches very well.

He frigged himself more assiduously when she clicked on the
machine and the familiar whirring began.

He almost came when the wand touched the clit fringed with
ginger hair, but he held on. When the girl yelped with a new understanding of
ecstasy, he shivered in expectation again.

But her reaction was simply surprise, not awareness. She
hadn’t yet discovered her climax. She writhed on the table, at times lifting
her hips to further feel the pressure of the wand on her body’s most sensitive
spot, crying out in abandon. Julius licked his lips, fantasizing about the
tightness of the girl’s cunt, his hand firmly gripping his erection to simulate
the sensations of her unused passage surrounding him. Grace had said one day he
could teach such a patient the wonders of penetrative massage. God, could this
be the one?

She was panting now, barking moans with her frantic breaths,
her fingers clutching at the padding on the sides of the table. Julius rubbed
his cock savagely, knowing she was approaching her peak.

And when she thrust her hips up in one final reach for satisfaction
and howled in orgiastic joy, Julius spewed his semen onto the floor, shuddering
as he milked himself dry and listened to the ginger-haired girl exclaim in
wonder at her newfound delight.

* * * * *

Helena inhaled deeply, then let out a sigh, her tremulous
exhale doing nothing to dispel the fluttering in her stomach or the heat
prickling her face.

Ugh
. She hadn’t been so anxious since her wedding
day.

That day had been terribly nerve-racking, mostly because her
mother and Lavinia had fretted over her so much, as well as fretted over the
presence of the Marquess and Marchioness of Richmond. Everything about the day
had to be perfect—her dress, her veil, her flowers, the breakfast. And as she
walked down the aisle, her heart pounding in her ears, her cheeks flushed in
excitement, Nicholas watching with a satisfied grin, everything was perfect.

But the months leading up to the wedding had been somewhat
agitating. While she and Nicholas had spent their engagement sharing a deep
emotional intimacy, they had refrained from—or, rather,
he
had refrained
from—exploring anything physical beyond a few furtive kisses. She felt an
intense freedom when in his presence, giving her leave to be the fiery,
passionate young woman she discovered she truly was, free to touch, to suggest,
to attempt seduction. But Nicholas, out of a sudden sense of chivalry, had
insisted she remain a virgin until their wedding night.

Or, it turned out, the night after their wedding night, as
they spent most of that time traveling to Lavinia’s cottage in the outskirts of
Exeter. Even in the private railway car, Nicholas had kept his hands to
himself, except to fend off Helena’s ardent advances to give herself up to him
on the moving train.

But now in the peace and quiet of the rather luxurious, if
small, house, Helena felt the nervousness she was sure all brides felt. After a
light supper, husband and wife had retreated to the sitting room off the
bedroom. They relaxed in silence on an overstuffed couch before a stone hearth,
Nicholas’ arm draped languidly around her shoulders, the occasional popping of
the dying fire uncomfortably marking the passage of time before Helena would
give herself completely to him.

She no longer felt her usual confidence, her giddy curiosity
to explore. She was no longer an enchanted girl with a dizzying infatuation,
but a new wife with a perfect husband she wanted to be absolutely perfect for,
worrying inexperience would lead her astray, to do something embarrassing, or,
even worse, stupid. As they sat together, his closeness, his heat, his scent
overwhelmed her senses. She nuzzled deeper into the crook of his arm and
reached for his hand, seeking assurance. Wordlessly, they watched the glowing
embers, their bodies melting, until the pop of a log brought her anxieties back
to the fore.

He stroked her fingers, idly tracing the wedding band that
still felt so very present on her fourth finger, his gentle steady caress
sparking a warmth to smolder in her belly.

He leaned in. “Darling, do you know what fire is?” His
breath was hot and moist against her forehead.

She lifted her face. “Fire?” Her lips brushed against his.
The smoldering warmth flared within.

“Fire,” he replied in his deep, sultry baritone. “Combustion
that creates light and heat.” His tongue drew a cooling path down her neck as
his thumb smoothed her ring. “Temperatures so hot, gold becomes molten liquid.”

Like the scorching lava flowing slowly within her. “I think
so,” she choked.

His hand blazed a path from her wedding band to her bodice,
searching for the fastenings constricting her. “The fire needs to be fanned.”
One by one, he loosed the buttons, exposing her burning skin to the chilly
night, then pulled the garment off. “It needs air to live.”

She gulped a breath against her trepidation as his hands
feverishly grabbed her corset, unhooking rapidly, untying her chemise, baring
her, liberating her. She surrendered to his relentless mouth cooling her heated
flesh, his lips pressed against her heart, moving lower to her naked breast.

“A fire needs tending.” He caught a nipple between his
teeth.

Helena yelped with a jolt but Nicholas held her firmly as he
sucked the excited peak, his wet tongue searing her tender skin, tempering her
anxieties.

She let out a shivering exhale. She had so longed for him,
and now that she had him, her body demanded more.

She arched her back, offering herself, willing him to tend
to the other breast, letting him lay her back onto the couch to lick and nip at
her belly. He moved lower, opening the tie of her drawers, loosening the tapes
of her petticoats, laying kisses achingly slowly along the way.

At the hairline of her mound, he tugged down her
underthings, his mouth moving toward a place that was wholly unexpected.

She grabbed his hair and pulled him up to face her. “Nicky,
I’m scared.”

He smiled. “I know, love.” He pecked her heated brow.

He hovered above her, completely dressed, she vulnerable in
her half-nudity.

“I want to see you. All of you.”

He chuckled and stood up. He held her gaze as he removed his
waistcoat and shoes, trousers and drawers. Still covered by his draping linen
shirt, he sat and removed his collar and tie, socks and suspenders.

“All right, my blushing bride, now we’re even.”

“No, we are not, sir!” she exclaimed. “I can’t see a thing!”
Her mouth watered at the tenting at his crotch.

“I feel equally deprived, madam.” In one swift move, he
reached down and jerked off her skirt, petticoat and drawers. She screamed with
giddy glee as he pulled off her shoes and stockings, mercilessly tickling her
amidst her kicks.

Utterly nude, she lay panting on the couch and watched as he
tore off his shirt.

He was magnificent.

Like a Greek god carved from marble, his pale flesh was
exquisitely sculpted, the chiseled ridges and dusky hair forming shadows in the
dancing firelight, his jutting cock and shallow breathing evidence of the
aroused, vibrant man within.

She reached for him, wanting to touch everything at once, to
feel his nakedness against her and hers against him. He squeezed her hand
before extending himself on top of her, nestling between her legs.

She grabbed his hair, slightly damp from his playful
exertions, and tugged down. His mouth devoured hers, his tongue insistent,
forcing her to open fully to his demands.

He pulled back. “Remember that.”

She gazed at him quizzically. He cupped her cheek with a
grin, then once again trailed kisses down her neck. He paused at her breasts,
nipping and licking, before continuing to her belly, his warm, wet tongue
tantalizing the delicate skin above the curls at the apex of her thighs. Helena
rocked beneath him, moaning her approbation, her invitation.

This time he didn’t stop. He proceeded lower, kissing lazily
until he reached the tender flesh between her legs. He bit his lip, watching
with eyes widened in eager wonder as he spread her open at the knees, exposing
her intimately before him. And then he dipped his head and licked her wetness.

“Oh God!” Her hips flinched against him.

She had never imagined such a delight. It was too exquisite.
His hot tongue lapped languidly, teasing her, thrilling her with new
sensations. He tentatively thrust the velvety tip into her virginal passage,
twisting inside, toying with her, offering an idea of what was to come before
tormenting her clit. She writhed, moaning beneath him, exhausting herself in
uncontrollable throes of ecstasy, tensing at the familiar building, reaching
the pinnacle in a new, wondrous way. She cried out for mercy and grabbed his
hair, pulling him up to meet her face.