side of Harry.
Polly lay stiff and frozen next to the groom. Suddenly her mistress’s face was over hers, looking down at the frightened girl. “Suck him.” came the soft command. ‘Together we can drive him mad. What a bull he’ll be then.”
Polly scrambled to obey her mistress, no longer afraid. And while she eagerly did her part Constanza’s little tongue darted into and around Harry’s ear. The sleeping man stirred. Polly worked feverishly while Constanza blew softly into the groom’s ear. Harry groaned as his loins were filled with a fierce burning, and he opened his eyes, amazed by the sight that greeted him. His mighty shaft grew until Polly could hold it no longer and fell back. The groom was quickly atop her, ramming fiercely. Constanza watched, her slim fingers playing with herself until suddenly she felt Harry’s eyes upon her and looked up to meet his lascivious grin. He had not spent himself yet, though Polly lay gasping her pleasure beneath him. Rolling off the girl, he pulled Constanza beneath him and teasingly moved himself against her engorged and throbbing sex. Constanza whimpered and strained her body upward. But he denied her. Instead, and with a refinement that shattered her, he rubbed himself over her entire body until she was begging him to take her. With a wink at Polly, Harry jammed himself forcefully into Constanza and moved swiftly back and forth until he finally wrung from her a series of cries.
Afterward, as the three of them lay side by side, Polly ventured shyly, “My friend Claro would never believe this-and her a popular madam with her own place. But if you wasn’t the mistress, I’d introduce you to Claro. She could sure use a girl like you.”
Harry laughed at the outrageous idea, but later, when she had returned to her own bed, Constanza thought the idea over. Perhaps it was the answer to her problem. When the yearning overcame her she could sneak off to the whore’s house and indulge herself. She would be masked, but that would add a certain piquancy to her performance. Suddenly the horror of what she was thinking swept over her and she scrambled from her bed to kneel at her prie-dieu. “Holy Mother,” she fervently prayed, “let me not do this terrible thing. Wipe my mind clean of such thoughts. I beg thee!” Then her eyes strayed to the exquisite leather-bound book that lay on the table by her bed. It had been a gift from her lover, Lord Basingstoke, and had been brought to England by a Portuguese sea captain who had obtained it in India. Constanza rose from her knees and, sitting back on the bed, opened the book. Inside were pages and pages with beautiful and colorful illustrations of men, women, and animals performing a wide range of sexual acts, from the most pristine to the most perverted. Mesmerized, she slowly turned the pages. Her breathing had quickened and, despite her recent activity, she felt her need growing again.
Ringing for her maid, she ordered her bath and asked that her riding clothes be laid out. By the time she approached the stables the fires of her desires were growing again. She stood quietly while Harry saw to the saddling of their mounts, but the impatient tapping of her riding crop against her boot told him that her passions were riding high once more. He sighed. Her fires seemed unquenchable, though God knew he tried. There had never been a woman he couldn’t satisfy but, by Heaven, the mistress was a rare one. They rode sedately from the house along the river road to a secluded thicket where they tethered the horses. He took her on the mossy ground, his excitement heightened by the foul words she whispered breathily in his ear. As always, he was amazed by the capacity for pure lust in this madonna-faced woman. Later, as they rode on, she said in her soft, slightly accented voice, “I want to meet Polly’s friend, Claro.”
“Woman, you’re mad!” he exclaimed. “I’m amazed that your husband hasn’t found out about you cuckolding him with me
“If having a hundred cocks up your hot little cunt will help you, Connie, then I’ll speak to Poll. ‘Tis a sickness with you, I know that. There was a girl in my village in Hereford like you. She just couldn’t get enough.”
“What happened to her, Harry?”
“She died of the pox,” he answered matter-of-factly. “What would you expect?”
Several days later, with Niall Burke off hunting with friends for a week in Hampshire, Constanza Burke and Harry rode into London. She fully expected to be led into a dank slum, so she was pleasantly surprised to find herself before a small well-kept house on the London Bridge itself.
The house was whitewashed and half-timbered, and each of the three stories extended out over the other, making it look a bit like a cake. One side of the house faced the street-the bridge actually was a street-while another side looked down onto the river traffic. This was a source of continuing delight to the bargemen, who enjoyed ogling and joking with the scantily clad women who sat fanning themselves in their windows on hot summer afternoons. “I’ll wait for you,” Harry said, helping her dismount. She drew her hood up and knocked at the door. A little maidservant opened it almost immediately and Constanza quickly entered and followed the girl down a short hallway to a pleasant sunny room with a bay window overlooking the river.
An attractive blonde with sky-blue eyes awaited her, and when the servant girl had left, the woman spoke in a husky voice. “Good afternoon, my lady. I am Claro. Polly said you wished to see me. Now you do, so how may I serve you?”
Constanza felt suddenly shy and, turning away, mumbled, “I have made a mistake in coming here.”
Claro laughed breathily. “No, my dear. Poll has told me
“You don’t even know fully what I look like,” said Constanza.
“How can you be sure I’ll be a success?”
“My dear,” was the devastating reply, “as long as you will give the gentlemen a good jogging, it matters not if you’re as ugly as sin itself. Remember that no one will ever see your face. I’ve half a dozen pretty lasses for those who like beauty with their play.” “What about the money?” asked Constanza.
“We’ll split your earnings fifty-fifty,” came the reply.
“You had a baby?” Constanza’s purple eyes were wide with surprise. “No,” laughed Claro, “I wasn’t so innocent that I didn’t know how to get rid of the brat.”
Constanza felt sick, and swallowed hard. Oblivious, Claro continued. “Your using a mask will certainly be enticing, but I wish you also had a specialty that would set you apart. A mask is not enough.”
Constanza stared at her hostess, her fear suddenly gone. Claro was, she realized with surprise, simply a business woman. The cordial was beginning to work, and now Constanza had a wicked idea. “I have a book,” she said.
“A book?”
“A book from the East, full of beautiful pictures of men and women, and some with animals. What if I offered each man who comes to me the opportunity to chose a page and duplicate that page?”
Claro’s baby-blue eyes widened. “God’s toenail! You’ve a quick mind for this, my dear. It’s perfect! Now, when will you come to us?”
‘Tonight,” answered Constanza. “My lord is away for several days, and the truth is that I bum.”
“Do not bother returning home now, my dear. Send your groom back for your book while you rest here,” purred Claro. She rang a small silver bell and said to the little servant girl, ‘Take Madam to the Rose Room.”
Wordlessly Constanza followed the maid out the door. As the door closed on the two, Claro spun about, hugging herself with glee. “Oh, Dom!” she said softly to the air above her. “Oh, my darling brother, at last I have a means of vengeance on Niall Burke for you! That milk-faced girl is his wife. His wife! And I’ll make the fine Lord Burke’s wife the most infamous whore in London! That, added to the death of your late bitch wife Skye, should destroy him for good!” And Claire O’Flaherty laughed wildly.
So it began. Soon gentlemen of the Court were circulating stories of the “Book Lady” who occasionally entertained at the house of the nobility’s favorite whore, Claro. The Book Lady performed the most unspeakable and delicious of perversions. The Book Lady’s lust was inexhaustible. That she was a lady was evident, but who she was was a favorite guessing game of the men who frequented Claro’s house, and Elizabeth Tudor’s Court.
And Constanza Burke, living her secret life, had never been happier. She had her husband, and Lord
