“Alfred,” I whisper. “Just your name?”
“God, yes.”
“Are you sure that is all? Or should I say more? Should I say, you feel so good, Alfred? What a good boy you are. Fucking me just as I like?”
He emits a sound of impossible agony.
And then he shudders.
His eyes snap closed. He gasps so hard I fear for his life.
He has climaxed.Thatis clear.
From my naughty words alone.
And I have him exactly where I want him.
“You’ve compromised yourself, Mr. Saintsbury,” I say. “Quite horribly.”
His eyes fly open.
“Youaregoing to dismiss me?Now?”
“Oh no, Mr. Saintsbury. I am everything they say I am. A harlot. A slattern. The devil herself. I am sure you have heard the talk. In the village. In London. Everywhere. The Whore of Trescott Abbey, I believe they call me. And theyare right. I am more blackhearted and depraved than any man in England.”
“I don’t understand.”
His eyes still look dreamy from his orgasm. A pretty man. Yes, I will enjoy him.
And I have to ask.
“How did that feel? Your spend?”
He says nothing.
“Honesty, Mr. Saintsbury.”
He shakes his head.
“It is wicked.”
“I don’t care. Tell me.”
“Wonderful. So good. The devil is talented.”
I stifle my own gasp of pleasure. I need to maintain control. No matter how gratifying it is to hear such words.
“Yes,” I smile. “I am.”
“I did not mean you.”
“Well, you should have. Because no one but me was responsible for what you just experienced.”
“It is a sin. I will be punished for it.”
I sigh. Really, such talk is quite tiresome.
“No more of that particular style of tedium, Mr. Saintsbury. Listen to me. If you leave your post, I will tell everyone in Christendom about what you just did in front of me in this carriage. It will be in the papers. That severe father of yours, the one who wants to be a bishop,hewill read of it.”
