Pearls

"You'll not do better than that," he ended. He paused, looking at her lovely features.

"Say yes," he said.

The girl gave no answer, merely stared up at him.

"Just say yes," he repeated.

"Yes, to what?" Her voice was faint; she already knew.

His eyes blank, he stared back at her.

She looked beyond him, at the display cases, at the iron paneling of the ceiling, at the soft, steady light of the well-trimmed lamps. The room smelled of their flames, sharp, sweet.

Giving up, she nodded. "Yes," she whispered.

His hands reached out, removed the pearls from her wrists. She looked at the rows of dimples still pressed into her flesh, rubbed them. He gave her a minute.

"Now," he said. "The dress."

"What, here?" she protested softly. "In front of the window?"

He raised his eyebrows at this last tremor of resistance, then rose, moved two lamps onto the window shelves.

"There," he said, "their attention should now be drawn to the lamps. It will be harder to see in here from outside."

"'Should?'" she echoed. "Only 'harder'?"

His low chuckle matched his smile now.

"Indeed," he said. "Not impossible. But it is a risk we -- you -- will have to take. In any case, it is my decision, for my pleasure."

The young woman matched eyes with him for a moment, then raised her arms to her collar, felt for the buttons in back. Her eyes shifted to the storefront window reflecting the even flames of the lamps just inside them.

Their eyes 'should' be drawn to the lamps, she thought to herself, but there's no knowing. And the way he's placed the lamps, the window is like a one-way mirror, darker on the other side. Anybody standing outside would be invisible.

She felt his hands gently push hers away from her collar.

"No," he said. "I've changed my mind. I want to do this."

Strong hands on her shoulder turned her to face her image in the window. She felt his fingers on the top button at the nape of her neck, sensed it release, felt her collar become a fraction less tight.

He took a long pause before opening the second button. And again, before the third. Slowly, he unfastened a dozen buttons before reaching her waist.

She inhaled sharply as large hands slid over her silk-covered bottom, squeezed gently.

"Such a beauty!" he whispered. She quivered at his touch, at the longing in his voice.

He pushed the shoulders of the dress to the sides. The fabric slithered down over her arms, her body, water over beach, revealing two silk shifts, one on top of the other. The outer one was of the same blue as her dress, the inner a soft, lemony yellow.

"Which do you like the best?" he asked, plucking at the shoulder straps with thumb and forefinger.

Surprised, she had to think.

"The shifts? The blue one, I think," she said. "Why?"

His eyes locked onto hers. "Amuse me," he replied. "Take it off."

"The top shift? The blue one?"

"Yes. The one you like better. But be quiet now. Just do it."

Slowly, she complied. He wondered if her slowness was intended as a tease. Did she realize how well that would play to his present mood?

Folding it, she put it aside, turned back towards him, the thin yellow shift now clinging to her figure.

One hand came up, traced her jawline gently. Then both hands came to her open neckline, seized its hem. His smile was wolfish now, she thought.

With a sudden strong heave, his hands tore through the hem, ripped down the entire length of the garment, top to bottom. The sound of it was enormous to her ears, thunder and torrential rain on a pond. A look of deep fulfillment on his face, Marks dropped the ruin to the floor.

"I've dreamed of being able to do that, too," he breathed.

Unhurt, but visibly shaken by his sudden move, the woman stood inside a circle of silk around her ankles.

He frowned at the sight of thigh-length knickers, pulled at the bow holding them around her waist and let them too fall, stepped back to better see what mysteries now lay revealed.

"Ahh!" he breathed softly. Her corset was unlike those he knew most women of the era wore. While still reducing her waist substantially, instead of running from the top of her bosom to well down her hips, it was very short, far more revealing. He reached out, touched its fabric, ran a fingertip along a steel stay.

Looking down, he nudged the scraps on the floor with his toe, pushed them to one side. He licked his lips.

Pale yellow knitted silk stockings stretched over her long, shapely legs, clinging to perfect skin from toe to thigh. The tops or welts were heavier, with a checkerboard pattern knitted into them and the hose were supported by a thin fabric belt around her hips, with ribbons running down to clips of some kind on the welts. He found the revealed bareness of her upper thighs, the flow of outer leg into smooth hip, entrancing. He openly stared now, caught a glimpse of pink lips showing through soft curls.

"Lovely!" he exclaimed. "Such pretty hose! I have never heard of such, um, belt affairs."

The woman's face broke into an uncertain half-smile at the compliment.

"They're very new, just in to the shops this year," she said, blushing slightly. "I think a Belgian invented the belt. It is more comfortable than the old-fashioned garters."

For some reason, Marks found the garments extraordinarily erotic. He felt a shift in his groin.

Above the corset, over her bosom, two triangles of silk connected with ribbons served, to some degree at least, to support her heavy breasts. He smiled at the sight of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric.

Less patient now, his hand reached out, seized a ribbon end protruding from a tied bow knot. He smiled as her eyes followed his movement. They shifted to his face. Eyes on hers, he pulled gently until the bow collapsed.

Released, the garment started to slide off her body. Instinctively, her hands came up to catch it, hold it in place. The modest gesture stoked his desire as much, he thought, as if she had not caught it, had let it fall.

He took the end of a dangling ribbon.

"Let go," he said. It was still an order, but his voice had become a great deal gentler, she thought to herself.

The woman took a quick glance at the window, her pale body reflected clearly in it. Taking a deep breath, she dropped her arms. The thin thing fell away, almost drifting to the floor, leaving her proud breasts bare to his eyes. One of his forefingers stretched out, trailed lightly over and around one soft brown nipple. He laughed knowingly as it hardened slightly under his touch.

"So responsive!" he smiled. "How very lucky for both of us."

Her blush deepened as his finger - so gentle!  she thought - glided over the soft skin of her other breast. She felt a tautness in both nipples now, a heaviness in her loins. She tried to smile, succeeded to some degree.

His hand moved tentatively to the belt around her hips, halted.

"No," he mused to himself. "Leave it. It's very pretty. It doesn't hide; it... adds, somehow."

He watched the woman's eyes as he ran his hand lightly over shoulder, breast, corseted waist, hip. His finger traced along the belt, a ribbon running down to a stocking.

"If these aren't Lady Darby's," he smiled, "you have excellent taste."

The girl started to smile, stopped.

"No matter," he said. Taking her by the hand, he led her further into the store, away from the window. He stopped by a full-length mirror on a swivel stand, one used to view long necklaces. He adjusted it to see himself before turning to face her.

"Now me." He stood waiting, his legs slightly apart, his arms hanging by his sides.

She paused, as if uncertain.

"Do it." The words were now less than a command, more than a request.

Her hands came up, pulled loose the belt of his housecoat. Stepping behind him, she lifted the garment from his shoulders, folded it and laid it on a display case. She was surprised to see he was not wearing a jacket to complete his suit. His shirt sleeves were unbuttoned, rolled part-way up his forearms.

As she turned to his vest, she saw her reflection in the mirror; her slim, fair nakedness in stunning contrast to his dark clothing and masculine bulk. Her eyes on the mirror, she watched her hand rise, undo his vest buttons one by one. Her view slipped up to his face in the mirror, his black eyes on her. She trembled at the hunger in them.

She slipped the vest from his shoulders. She was surprised at its weight; its pockets were heavy with... male things of some sort. It gave a muffled thunk  as she laid it on the display case.

His necktie came loose with a gentle tug, but she found his top shirt button difficult. She had to turn from the mirror to look at it directly. When it released, his hands again took her by the hair, pulled her mouth to his.

This time, she opened her lips to his tongue, felt him press his lips down on hers, hard, harder. She felt her body respond as his tongue tip traced the hollow between her teeth and her lips.

He released her, pulled back, a thin smile on his face. She wondered what it foretold, shivered again.

Shirt buttons undone, she tried to remove his shirt, found that his trousers, held up with dull red elastic suspenders, were tight around his waist. Her fingers explored the top of his fly, found a button, fumbled for it. Undone, his trousers sagged, but just a little.

She was bending to look closer when his hand again caught her hair. This time, the man did not kiss her, merely turned her head up to face his.

Puzzled, her fingers ceased their exploration.

He waited a moment, then whispered, "Did I tell you to stop?"

Obediently, keeping her eyes on his, her blind fingers found a second button, then another and another. She could feel his lurking hardness within as she worked. She released the last, lowest button. The trousers now hung loosely from his suspenders.

His hand still kept her face turned up to his. "Keep going."

She hesitated, shifted her thumbs under his suspenders and moved them off his shoulders. The trousers fell around his ankles. Her face still upturned, she sensed his manhood sway in the air between them. He stepped out of the fallen trousers one leg at a time, tossed them aside with a foot, pulled her slightly towards him.

She could feel it now, a light touch against her stomach.

"My shirt," he said, his face barely visible in shadow. He released her hair. Still looking at his face, she slid it off his arms, caught it in one hand. She looked down, was astonished to see that he wore no undergarments, was totally bare except for his stockings.

In the lamplight, his body was utterly masculine -- narrow-waisted, broad-shouldered, muscular. His chest, groin and legs were covered with dark hair. His cock --- there could be no other term for it now -- was pointed almost at the ceiling. As she watched, she saw it twitch slightly.

"My stockings, girl."

She started, paused. To remove those, she would have to kneel...

"Do it." The words were soft enough, but permitted no other option.

Composing herself, she knelt as gracefully as possible in front of him. He lifted one foot towards her. His thick member swayed a little as he moved; she could suddenly smell him, soap and male musk. She felt her body react still more, a further hardening of her bare nipples, still tingling from his touch, a thickening of her lower lips, a slight shortness of breath. Was this how a proper lady was supposed to feel?

She figured out the strange garters holding up his mid-calf stockings, removed one, then the other. Holding them in her hands, she started to rise. His hand descended, gently but firmly, on her shoulder and she fell back to her knees. His stiffness brushed her cheek. She looked from the sides of her eyes at the mirror, saw it waiting an inch from her face.

She looked a moment up at his folded housecoat, the pistol still no doubt in its pocket, almost within reach, thought of the grey, looming mass of Brixton Prison, its high stone walls inside which, she had heard, 'light never falls'.

Thinking again, she remembered his words. I want your cooperation, your full cooperation.

She remembered another word. Yes.

She took a deep breath, lifted face and hands to her promise and his pleasure.

His shaft was warm in her hands, solid, heavy; its head swollen. The weighty wrinkled sac below was dark and pulled tight up against his body. She could feel his pulse in her hands and ran her fingertips over the protruding veins on its length. His aroma was stronger now.

Tentatively, she leaned in, her tongue stroking the hidden slit inside its velvet collar. His hand swept over her head in encouragement. Holding its shaft in both hands, she let her tongue tip explore under his foreskin, several times around.

She shifted her left hand to roll his soft pair, stroke behind them with a fingertip. Her right hand began to shift soft skin back and forth along the oaken core. Her mouth opened for his spongy crown as she leaned forward.

She lowered her head down over it, felt it slide over her tongue, stopped before it hit the back of her mouth. She had its gauge now, began bobbing back and forth over it, sucking on its head, releasing him only to draw him deeper an instant later. Her right hand began to move faster, then faster again while her left teased and fondled the tender balls below. She wrapped her fingers around them, heard him hiss with appreciation as she gently pulled them away from his body.

Looking into the mirror out of the corners of her eyes, she was hardly surprised to see that his eyes were closed with pleasure. Her cheeks in the mirror were hollow with suction. Her nipples were fully hard now, teased and tormented by their movement across the hair of his solid thighs.

What surprised her was how deeply thrilling the image was. That was hardly how a lady should be feeling.

She felt the muscles in his thighs tighten, saw his stomach in the mirror contract, sensed the great meat in her mouth start to quiver, wondered what she would do...

"Stop." Her head was suddenly pushed back by his hand.

Uncertain, kneeling at his feet, she looked up past the man's thick, wet cock, saw the carnal contentment in his eyes.

His hand came down, took one of hers, lifted her to her feet.

"You are good, Guinevere Stockford," he said, a slight smile on his face. "Very good, but I do not wish it to end this quickly."

She almost smiled at the complement, initially. The tall man pulled her into a firm embrace, his solid length pressed between them.

"Now," he smiled, "follow me."

Again leading her by the hand, he took the slender woman towards the back of the shop, to the entrance of an unlit storage room. The heavy door was open, pushed back against the wall on the other side. There was a bead curtain in the door, presumably to block the view while not obstructing the movement of the staff. He lifted that down, put it to one side, leaving the two solid brass hooks which had supported it, one high on either side.

"Wait here," he commanded. She waited; even if she could somehow flee, where could she go now, dressed as she was?

He was back in a moment, carrying the sack of pearls. Extracting a number of long necklaces, he took them by one end, dangled them under his hand, then spun his hand in the air. Obediently, the strands wrapped around each other, forming a rope of pearls as thick as two of her fingers. He took one of her wrists, tied one end around it, the loose ends dangling.

"Up," he directed and she raised her hand toward the top corner of the doorframe. The pearl rope slipped into the brass hook in an instant, holding her in its solid grip.

The man smiled at the look on her face. A minute later, her other arm was stretched to the other corner of the frame. She found she could move, but only slightly.

Looking beyond the man, now bent to fasten her ankle, her breath caught as she saw her pale, naked, X-cross reflection in the shop window.

Marks gave her no time to worry about potential onlookers. Rising to his feet, his hands slipped up the silky inside of her legs, trailed on either side of labia now covered in sweet dew, up further, over her stomach, her ribs. They came to rest just below her breasts, paused momentarily. She closed her eyes; her world filled with sensation as they moved again, softly clutched her orbs, mounded them, squeezed them, his thumbs sliding over her now-welcoming nipples.

He broke away.

"I forgot," he said. She could see his cock was still wet from her mouth.

Reaching into the bag, he searched for a moment, rose.

Five pearls hung in each earring, each pearl larger and darker than the one above it. The last one in each array was black as coal.

"I'm glad you didn't leave these behind," he smiled. Leaning forward, he clutched, kissed and stroked one full breast. She squirmed as he licked and tickled its turgid nipple, squirmed more as he used the earring's screw clamp to hang the jewels from it.

Its twin followed on the other breast. Too tight to fall off, not so tight as to hurt, the heavy earrings swayed on her breasts as he began to gently probe between her legs with his hand, drawing a gentle fingertip over her bud, delicious, arousing. She shuddered in response; in the window, the shimmy of dark pearls on pale breasts fed her growing desire still more.

He stood back, admiring the effect, dipped back into the bag. A minute later, more strings decorated her neck; another strand circled her slender waist. Another pair of earrings hung from her earlobes.

The effect was stunning.

He kissed her again, let go, returned with the floor mirror and swiveled it so she could see.

"You pleasured me, my lady," he said, very softly. "Now you can watch while I return the favour."

The woman felt a tremor run through her entire body at the sight. Never, she thought, had she looked so helpless, never had she looked so alluring, never had she felt so wanton.

The man slid under her arm into the storeroom behind her. The space was narrow and his stiff manhood slid against her hip as he moved by her. A moment later he lit another lantern.

"You are too beautiful for me not to see," he said softly.

She looked at the shadow of her body now thrown on the wall opposite, compared it to her reflection in the mirror, felt pride grow within her at, yes, her beauty, her clear desirability.

Behind her, the man paused for a moment, admiring her form - slim outstretched arms, strong shoulders, a slender waist under the corset, perfect bum and long, sleek legs.

His eyes lingered on her bottom. Reaching down, he traced fingers and palm over one smooth buttock, squeezed gently, then the other. He felt his fire grow at the touch.

His flat palm gave a small blow on her left cheek. She gave a small cry, more in surprise than anything, for the slap was hardly sharp enough to cause pain. The man behind her chuckled, intrigued by the ripples the blow had caused on her firm bottom. He gave another slap on the right side, just slightly harder.

For an instant, the man thought he understood the dark fascination others had spoken of. What would the ripples look like under a crop? No sooner had the thought entered his mind than it was discarded. What a sin it would be to mar such perfection.

His long fingers clasped her bottom, squeezing, playing with her soft flesh. A moment later, his hands shifted, pulled his body against hers. Again, she felt the length of his organ pressed between them. She watched in the mirror, heard her pulse in her ears as long fingers roamed down her arms, over her flanks, again reached around her to clasp her breasts, pearls on the back of his hands. They closed, firmly but gently, stroking them, fondling them, their strength matched only by his tenderness. The sides of his thumbs slid over the exposed tips of her nipples.