The Secret Sins of Lizzy Barton

Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

French Whores

Capturing Josette’s two big bottom cheeks, he squeezed roughly, listening to her rapturous moans. “Ooo, ma cherie! Oui, oui, oui!” Her hollering resounded off the prettily papered brothel walls.

“You beautiful w***e!” he gasped aloud, as he pulled those sweet cheeks apart and stuffed his turgid member into her slick backdoor, feeling the tight girth of that channel draw him in for his salacious reward.

“Ah! Monsieur!” Josette cried musically. She frantically grabbed for the cushions of the chaise and clenched tightly, preparing herself for the rowdy screw. Her face twisted up painfully, but then relaxed as the young man began to move vigorously.

Bent on depositing his seed inside, he forced himself deeper and deeper into her entrails, lighting the girl up like a candelabra. Oh, how she could work him with her muscles! Unfathomable! Pleasure bounded through his body, until he threw his head back and gasped, coming far too quickly to suit his strong needs. “You little slut!” he yelled, as he pulled out and cast her away in mock disgust.

“Ooo, my darling,” the gasping redhead cooed, while staring up at her handsome lover, from where she lay sprawled against the floor, her green eyes flirtatious as ever. “Too quick for you, cherie?”

The dark-haired Mr. Addison grabbed the harlot from the floor, and sitting himself on the chaise, tossed her over his lap and began spanking her with some fervor. Her bottom cheeks brightened with each successive smack. At first she seemed to enjoy every brisk strike and her cries were those of a s****l gourmand, full of animated delight. But that changed quickly when the handsome brute picked up speed and more vigorously pelted the pretty behind until it was glowing scarlet. Even then, he wasn’t stopping.

“Ow. Ooo! Ouch! You bastard. Ouch!” The bouncing Josette twisted and turned but to no avail; he was a powerful man with a powerful arm and hand, delivering a rousing punishment to the two sumptuously bobbing orbs without restraint, no moderation in the slightest. How heavenly that divine s****l heat. Fantastique! She squirmed, simultaneously miserable and aroused. “Mon, dieu!” she gasped, more frantic than ever. “You very mean, Monsieur!”

Addison laughed, then turned the redhead over and threw her back against the chaise, and standing up, picked up his riding crop, which he liberally used to thrash the expanse of pink-white flesh that trembled before him. He aimed for her thighs and the crevice where her mons and the furrow below gleamed with her copious s****l juices. When she twisted away, the crop caught her on the flank.

“Oh, Mon Dieu!” she shuddered.

“Turn back!” he demanded.

Though nearly driven to pained madness, the fair-skinned coquette turned back, her eyes gleaming with tears—and mischief. She’d put her hand between her legs into the juicy furrow and was frigging herself in ecstatic abandon. Smiling, she threw her head back and let loose with a long list of garbled exclamations. “Ah, oui, mon dieu!! Oui, oui, oui!!”

“You dear w***e,” Will Addison snickered. He kept up the blows, knowing that each one was more fuel for the woman’s passion. She was already making him hard again. He’d have to wash first, of course, but he’d soon be ready to plant himself inside that pretty quim. The blush of reddish hair, so delicate, her skin so fair—perhaps she was his favorite w***e of those the Madame offered for her special guests.

While William Addison enjoyed his Josette’s peculiar assets, his good friend James Harkin seemed smitten with the dark-haired beauty Rosalie. The debonair young heir to the Harkin fortune, who should have been tending to his father’s business—just as Addison should have been attending to his own—was currently employed elsewhere in the bawdy house. And while Addison watched the green-eyed redhead frig herself, the sounds coming from the brothel’s dungeon ten feet below grew noisier by the minute, for very good reason.

Madame Le Conte imported only the finest French whores for her brothel… ones with bounce and sass, equipment that could perform all through a long night of abuse, and bodies that understood how much a man sometimes needs more than a woman’s love hole to satisfy their need. She understood that often times a man’s darker instincts require satisfaction too. Her dungeon was the worst kept secret in London, and one of the best kept parlors for the s****l abuse of submissive females. Mr. Addison and Mr. Harkin had been regular guests for about three years, while the pair waited for the right, proper lady to appear and steal their hearts. Not that they were actively seeking a woman to share their life; they were having too much fun with their loose women, wanton whores and masochistic French maids.

In the cellar of Madame’s grand three story London house, Mr. James Harkin gave his Rosalie a hard workout. At the moment, she was sitting atop a stationery unicycle, with a thick phallus attached to the leather seat and stuffed up her p***y. Her arms were raised above her head where her wrists were cuffed in leather and fastened to a meat hook that dangled from the ceiling. As the brunette beauty pedaled the contraption, the phallus moved in and out of her juicy snatch. On the sidelines, her tormentor Mr. Harkin used his whip, snapping the end against her bare flesh. Should she falter in her labor, he only picked up speed, thrashing her cruelly until she started peddling fast. Her round breasts gleamed with sweat, bouncing madly, up and down, her flesh jolting and jerking with each strike of the whip.

“Monsieur, please!” she pleaded, no differently than Josette upstairs, although Rosalie was obviously in much more distress than that feigning beauty.

When at last Mr. Harkin stopped, it was not because he pitied the poor girl; he was far too aroused to curb his sadistic urges. Just one refinement in the torture and he would be satisfied—perhaps satisfied, he’d have to see.

He quickly loosened Rosalie’s tightly tethered arms so that she could bend over.

“I think something in your ass will complete my plan quite nicely,” he declared.

“Ah, James, you naughty scoundrel!” she spit back impetuously. “I trow you out by your ear!”

Her thick French accent was a pleasure to hear, and he laughed at her threat. “And how do you plan to do that, my love?” he chided.

Her dark eyes fired and she spit in his face, while her bounteous chest heaved with the glorious treasure taunting him for more.

Mr. Harkin stepped back and laced her breasts six times with the whip.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!” Her delirious scream filled the air.

When the pain receded, she took a deep breath and righted herself on the cycle, coming back for more. Her eyes could have turned a beating heart into stone. “You vant to beat me more?” she snapped.

“In time, my love.” He clutched her by the back of the neck, and drew her mouth forward to his lips. They kissed with mouths wide open until their faces were wet and their breath short. Breaking away, her neck still in his grasp, Mr. Harkin bent the poor girl forward so that the phallus nearly slipped from her wet love hole. He’d exposed her ass, which was his plan, and into that he shoved a second phallus. Once she was back upright—and with a bit of carefully maneuvering—he attached the base of that phallus to the ingenious cycle’s leather seat. Impaled in both places, the girl couldn’t have been more filled. Oh, perhaps a phallus in her mouth might complete the scheme, but Mr. Harkin liked to hear her scream.

“Pedal, pedal fast!” He ripped off the order at the exact moment that his whip struck her already striated flank.

“Batard!!” she screamed, but she began to pedal, straining at first with her body adjusting to the new requirements. Both holes were worked simultaneously; when one phallus withdrew, the other pressed its advantage, although the rhythms were intentionally at odds so there could be no way to anticipate the sensations in her body. She whimpered, anguished and despondent, then suddenly overjoyed by the rousing feelings tearing through her heated groin. When the sadist’s whip struck her flesh in random fashion, her entire being jerked like a puppet victim to a drunken puppeteer.

Soon, her body slipped into an altered state of consciousness where she no longer suffered, but instead, a mesmerizing wildness bloomed, starting from deep inside her belly and rising up. Every atom in her quivered, her cries became the sweet sounds of ecstasy; she shook her head delirious. She had been set free even as the pitiless Mr. Harkin marked her fleshy thighs with a cruelty that gave even this masochist some pause. He’d have her mouth when he finally tormented her enough to suit him.

“Mon dieu, mon dieu, mon dieu…” Her body slackened when she finally stopped pedaling and Mr. Harkin put down his whip, removed the restraints and lifted her into his arms.

***

“She is a spitfire!” James declared while thinking back over his eventful evening. It was four o’clock in the morning and the pair finally stumbled out of the brothel and into their waiting carriage. His entire being felt more cleansed than it had in months. “We come here much too infrequently. Never do I feel as invigorated as I do when I’m torturing my Rosalie. You should have seen those succulent thighs. Her flesh reddens so nicely.” He smiled while consumed by his memories. “I may go back tomorrow. You know she tells me that there is no man who takes her to the ecstasy that I do…”

This comment finally brought James’ brooding friend around. William snickered under his breath. “They get paid to say that, James. Don’t be so f*****g naïve.”

“But I do believe it’s true in this case,” James replied. “Even you cannot out do me.”

“I wouldn’t try.”

“What’s this? You sound so glum. Does your Josette need a short course on how to please you?”

“She pleases me just fine,” he sighed. He looked distant, his mind far from the jostling carriage. “Perhaps I’m looking for more than sex.”

“What, a wife?” James jumped on that immediately. “You want that dreary sentence, you can have it.”

“Your mother thinks otherwise.”

“Mothers do. But mothers don’t understand the appetites of their sons, what they breed in men that makes them want to either fight in wars or dive headlong into nihilistic hedonism.”

“You bastard! You’re saying that Nellie Harkin is responsible for your bad behavior?” William cajoled.

“It’s the gender. They are born with the diabolical power to yoke men and make them subservient beasts, which is why we need to come right back and enslave them. I don’t ever plan to be captured by some sweet-smelling thing with a silver tongue and fangs lurking when least expected.”

William laughed again. “You say these things, but once you’re in the company of Miss Sally Wainright you will change your tune.”

“I will not!”

“We’ll see about that.”

“And you? You think you’re immune to a woman’s snare?”

“It might be fun to fall in love. I’ve had s*x just about every way possible, but love? It’s eluded me so far, and I’m still intrigued.”

“I never took you for a romantic.”

“We both are, James. One of those things that our mothers bred into us. If I’m not mistaken, we’ll get another chance to further domesticity. What is it? Saturday?”

“Yes. Yes,” he hissed. “One of mother’s soirees. I wonder who she’ll have picked out for me this time.”

“Don’t be so cynical. If nothing else, it’s fun to tease.”

“You will be there, Will?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. Especially if Miss Wainright attends—just to see you suddenly submitting. ”

“Humph.” He didn’t bother to respond. James did observe an odd look in his friend’s eye, as if his thoughts had been seized by something in particular—of a romantic nature. But he wasn’t likely to admit it, any more than James himself was likely to admit to the same romantic stirrings. Were there no gentlewomen with a nasty bent? he often wondered, but so far he had been thwarted in every attempt to find the right one.