The Telltale Heart Read online

  THE TELLTALE HEART

  by

  Melanie Thompson

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  Published by

  TORRID BOOKS

  www.torridbooks.com

  An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

  Copyright © 2016 by Melanie Thompson

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  ISBN 978-1-68146-483-1

  Credits

  Cover Artist: Kris Norris

  Editor: Fran Mathieson

  Printed in the United States of America

  Other Books by Author Available at Torrid Books:

  www.torridbooks.com

  and

  Whiskey Creek Press

  www.whiskeycreekpress.com

  Torrid Books

  Erotic Flights of Fantasy Books I and II

  Cupcake Boys

  The Cowboys and the Cupcakes

  Werewolf for Hire Series

  Book I: Pushing Up Daisies

  Book II: The Princess and the Sabra

  Secrets Series

  Book I: The Secret, the Shifter, and the Sex-Slave Shanghai

  Book II: The Secret of the Bloodstones

  Chapter 1

  Drexel Rayne, the Eighth Duke of Severn, reclined on his mound of pillows and opened his brocade dressing gown. The young lady hired for his pleasure knelt between his legs and took his flaccid cock into her mouth. As soon as her tongue began circling the sensitive tip, he moaned with pleasure. It had been so long. His doctor had expressly forbidden any kind of sexual activity. His heart had been judged too weak for the excitement.

  But Lord Rayne had gone long enough without release. He was desperate. The young woman’s red hair spread across his thighs as she licked his engorged organ and drew its entire length into her mouth. Drex’s heart pounded as his cock throbbed. He was close to exploding but put off the moment by grabbing the girl’s hair and lifting her head. “Show me your teats, girl.”

  With a coy smile on her swollen lips, she slid her full breasts out of the tight top of her corset. She held them in her hands, so white, so perfect, the tips erect, full and pink. The sight of them made his heart pound even harder. He reached down and pulled one turgid point and then groaned. “Suck.”

  “Whatever you say, guvenor,” she said with a smirk as she dropped her head to finish her task.

  He was almost there, his blood pounding through his body, every nerve ending in his cock screaming with excitement, when the pain hit. He sat up at once, pushed the girl away and grabbed his chest. “Call Marston,” he gasped.

  “Who?”

  “My valet. Call him now.”

  Frightened, the girl leaped to her feet and ran out of the room screaming for his valet. Marston flew into the room, cordial ready in hand. He held his master’s head tenderly and helped Drex sip the revivifying drink.

  The cordial was a concoction brewed from foxglove, dog bane and willow bark prescribed by his physician. As he drank it, his heart stopped its erratic palpitations and steadied. “I’m done for, Marston. If I don’t find some kind of miracle cure, your master is going to die.”

  “There must be something we can do, Master Drexel. Too many of us depend on you. What would we do if that nodcock Sir Nugent inherited? Why if he was to fall into your shoes, all of us would be out in the cold in the wink of a lamb’s tail.”

  Drex leaned back against the bank of pillows. “I’ll think of something. You’re right. Nugent Templecombe can never be the Duke of Severn.”

  Marston fingered his chin. “Mayhap, I heard about someone who might have a cure for a bad ticker, my lord. I’ll look into it for you.”

  “Better hurry,” Drex gasped. “I don’t think I have long.”

  * * * *

  Deep in the Old Nichol, the most notorious slum in the city of London, Camille Torrington tightened the last screw in a special vest she was constructing. Her laboratory was deep under the slum in three cellars she leased from a disreputable old crook name Jeremy Scrooby. Scrooby owned two blocks on Boundary Street, renting them out to families of Irish immigrants and anyone else who was desperate enough to want to live in the poorly-maintained, falling-down, brick buildings. As yet, Cam had only set fire to the three-cellar lab once.

  Her assistant was her cousin, Edmund. The Torringtons were a good family, an old family who had fallen on hard times. Her mother, now sadly deceased, had married a soldier who died in a war far from home, leaving them destitute. Edmund was the family’s last surviving son of her father’s younger brother. His family was from Northumberland. Her mother had told Cam before she died to go to them, but there was no way Cam was going that far from London, the hub of the scientific universe. Besides, she was all that remained of her mother’s family who were from Hertfordshire. London was her home. It was the center of the civilized world. All she cared about were her experiments and being independent. There was no way she’d allow herself to become subservient to anyone, much less an unknown bunch of relatives from the north of nowhere.

  She and Edmund took care of themselves. He had his own friends and was a very talented cutpurse. She, on the other hand, was a second-story thief. Nimble as a goat, she could scamper up the side of any building quiet as a mouse and dub any lock. Between them, they managed to pay the rent on their roomy cellar digs, buy all the tools and equipment she needed for her experiments, and Cam had even managed to put away quite a nest egg just in case they had to pike on the bean.

  “I say, Cam, do you think this thing will actually work?” Edmund held up her invention. It looked like a chain mail vest, but under it wires and leads sprouted from a device that was cunningly fit into the inside of the vest.

  “It’s hard to say. It should work, but so far, I’ve had no subjects to experiment upon. Find me someone dying of heart failure, and we’ll give it a go.”

  Edmund fit the vest over a dress form in the corner of the lab, shoved a pile of papers off a high stool and sat down. “I could ask around.”

  Cam shoved the special goggles she wore when she worked onto the top of her head. Her hair, a mass of golden curls, was tightly contained in a leather cap. She wore a man’s white linen shirt, the finest of linen because whenever she cracked the house of a particularly rich pigeon, she always checked for shirts that would fit her along with breeches and boots. Why buy clothing when it could be had for free? Most of the nobs living in Grosvenor Square or west of Charing Cross were out in the evenings at parties or gaming hells. It was a simple matter for someone with her skills to enter their mansions through third story windows.

  Cam preferred to dress like a man. Dresses were cumbersome and got in her way. Dressing as a male kept her safe from the procurers who were always trolling the Nichol for any unwary girls or women. Brothels and houses of ill repute were constantly in need of new recruits and she vowed she would never be one.

  “Find me someone, Edmund. Any drunken bum will do. Check the street tonight. Maybe we shall get lucky and so shall ou
r victim.” She grinned as Edmund pulled on his coat of superfine fabric tailored at one of the best shops. It fit him like a glove. “Your neck cloth is askew.”

  He tugged at it with a crooked smiled. “Working for you is hell on my wardrobe which I need to be successful.”

  “Where are you going this evening?” Every night, Edmund trolled the expensive clubs in the wealthy sections of town, prigging wasted gamblers of their purses. He was so slick they seldom even noticed he was there, much less that their purses were missing.

  “I’m going to give the Hellfire Club a try. I’ve been invited by the abbot himself, Sir Nugent Templecombe, the honorable Marquis of Barrasford. I met him at White’s last evening. We shared a rubber or two of whist and I refrained from removing his very fat purse, guessing, I hope correctly, that a trip into the Hellfire Club would prove the more profitable enterprise. He gave me a card which is supposed to be the only way of gaining entry.”

  “Well, be careful. I have heard very disturbing stories of that club on the street and the honorable Sir Nugent’s reputation is black to say the least.”

  “Yes, so too have I heard; however I also heard only the wealthiest of the young bloods of the city are invited and while they are all partaking of the pleasures of the flesh, I shall be relieving them of their purses.”

  “No entertainment there to your taste?”

  “I should think not. Mostly whores hired off the street to play games and submit to any torture Sir Nugent’s sick mind can devise.”

  “No toothsome young men for you to play with?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. If I chance to find a bird of my feather, I would rather play at home.”

  He fit his curly beaver hat carefully on his artfully disheveled locks, picked up his Malacca cane and climbed out of the cellar.

  Cam watched him go, wondering if he had bitten off more than he could chew. The Hellfire Club was filled with dandies and wild young men, but was reputed to have quite a crew of bruisers guarding it.

  * * * *

  Edmund Torrington twirled his cane and whistled as he sauntered through the darkest part of town. None of the filthy residents or the toughs who frequented the streets bothered him. Edmund was an excellent swordsman, his cane held a poniard inside of it, but he was also an expert fighter, having learned the art of stick fighting as a child from Cam’s father, Robert Torrington, a soldier who traveled widely. Cam’s father brought home a manservant from faraway China. The servant, Jinqua, was very loyal to Robert Torrington who had saved his life when he found him working in the coal mines of Behar, India. Jinqua, now an old man, lived in Cam’s small flat above the cellars. He protected them still and had taught Edmund and Cam hand-to-hand combat techniques as children who would confound the most brutal of attackers. Many of Cam’s crazy ideas for medical treatments and inventions had originated in Jinqua’s fertile mind.

  When Edmund reached Madam Fouchet’s, a gaming house on Bennet Street, St. James, he did not knock on the front door or enter the Madam’s establishment. Instead, he opened a gate, followed a stone path to the rear of the house and descended a steep flight of stairs. At the bottom, a red door—particularly appropriate in this instance—awaited him. The knocker hung under a bronze mask of a satyr complete with horns. He rapped once and the door was opened by a liveried servant dressed all in black. He presented the footman with the card he’d received from the Marquis and was immediately ushered inside.

  The footman took his hat and cane and led him through a maze of corridors to another series of stairs. It seemed to Edmund they were descending straight into the bowels of hell itself. When they finally reached the bottom of four flights of stairs, the footman opened a door and stood back to allow Edmund to enter. Screaming echoed from deep inside what could only be a subterranean cave system. Edmund shot the footman a questioning glance which was received with a cold stare. Apparently, he was on his own. He entered the stone corridor, and with a great deal of hesitation, walked down it.

  The corridor—the floor as well as the ceiling—was cut from solid rock. It gave Edmund the feeling of being entombed. What, he wondered, have I gotten myself into this time?

  Another red door greeted him at the end of the corridor. He opened it and was shocked at the opulence that greeted him. From bare stone, he entered a cave hung with brocade, silk and velvet hangings, all of the deepest crimson. Thick, blood-red carpets covered the rock floor. A large group of gentlemen wearing black loo masks—Edmund counted eight—sipped drinks and watched as a naked woman shackled to the wall was whipped by a man wearing a black hood.

  Naked or nearly naked women walked through the room carrying trays with more drinks. A curvaceous blond stopped in front of Edmund and offered him a drink. He took it without glancing at her luscious breasts or exposed mons. All of his attention was on a young man also waiting on the gentlemen. He wore only a cloth bag which held his genitals. Edmund saw one gentleman stroke the young man’s naked buttocks with a caressing hand and was immediately aroused. As though in a trance, sipping his drink, he walked toward the handsome young man whose glowing blond locks, classic profile and muscular body made him appear a Greek god.

  One of the masked gentlemen pulled a woman onto his lap and fondled her teats as he watched the shackled woman squirm and writhe beneath the expertly applied lashing. Her skin was never broken, the lashes more of a slap than a true whipping. Her screaming had ceased and now she moaned like a woman on fire with desire. It barely held his interest. All of his attention was focused on the nearly-naked young man.

  He sat in a winged, red-velvet chair and stared. The young man must have felt his burning gaze because he turned and their eyes met. The young man’s smile held a wealth of understanding and a promise. He knew what Edmund wanted. All thoughts of cutting purses or prigging the gentlemen of the club fled as Edmund watched the young man sashay across the red carpet.

  He stopped in front of Edmund, his cloth-covered cock thrust inches from Edmund’s face. “See something you like, guvner?” He asked in a Cockney accent.

  Since the other men were pawing the women, Edmund did not hesitate. He took the young man’s cock and balls in his hand and gently squeezed.

  “So it’s like that, it is?”

  “Yes,” Edmund breathed. “It is just like that.”

  The young man held out his hand. “Would you be likin’ a little privacy?”

  Edmund nodded and took his hand. “What’s your name?”

  “Thomas, but you can call me Tommy.”

  “Lead on, Tommy.”

  Tommy took him through a doorway covered by a red hanging. It led to another stone corridor. There were many closed doors on this corridor. Tommy opened one and they went inside. Two candelabras blazed from the top of a dresser. An enormous bed beckoned. Tommy pushed Edmund down on it and pulled off his boots. “Won’t be wanting these now, will you?”

  Edmund whispered. “No, guess not.”

  His breeches followed and his small clothes. Tommy stood in front of Edmund and untied the cloth bag holding his genitals. Edmund drew in a breath. His blood pounded through his veins and his cock leaped to attention. Tommy laughed. “I guess you be likin’ what you see, eh guvner?”

  “Yes.” Edmund’s voice was raspy and thick with desire. He sat up and pulled Tommy’s head down. The kiss they exchanged heated Edmund’s already blazing blood. Their tongues entwined. Tommy’s lips were soft, and then hard and demanding. Edmund stroked Tommy’s cock, now thick and engorged. When Tommy stepped closer, Edmund closed his eyes for one moment, his rapture complete. He took Tommy’s cock in his hand and guided the red tip to his mouth. Edmund licked the head and tongued the tiny hole at the end. Unable to put off the moment any longer, he sucked the entire cock deep into his mouth and throat. Tommy grabbed the back of Edmund’s head and groaned. “That’s the way of it.”

  He held Edmund’s head hard and pumped his cock in and out of Edmund’s open mouth as Edmund trembled with excitement. Tommy suddenly p
opped his cock out of Edmund’s mouth. “That’s quite enough. You’ll have me shooting me load in your mouth if you keeps that up.”

  He knelt in front of Edmund and grabbed Edmund’s stiff cock. “Looks like you be ready. Want to fuck me, my lord?”

  He climbed onto the bed, bent over and pulled his butt cheeks open. His anus was slightly open and a little red. Edmund felt like his cock was going to explode. He grabbed Tommy’s ass and squeezed both cheeks.

  “First let’s grease you up, guvner. The jar, there on the night table. Don’t want to hurt little Tommy now, do ya?”

  Edmund opened the jar and liberally applied some slippery unguent to his cock, and then he push a lubed finger full into his butt.

  “Ah, yeah. Now you be ready.” Tommy said, holding his ass open. “But don’t you be forgettin’ to give me a reach around.”

  This all felt like a dream to Edmund. He’d come here expecting to associate with rich, drunken nobs, and here he was in a luxurious room with a beautiful young man. It was like a dream come true. All his previous encounters had been quick gropings done in a back alley or in the dark of his room. It was wrong to desire men. He knew that, but he’d never been interested in women. Apparently, here in the Hellfire Club, anything was possible.

  He pressed the tip of his inflamed cock into the open mouth of Tommy’s anus. It slid in about an inch and he moaned aloud. The feeling was indescribably pleasureable. He grabbed the round, firm, smooth globes of Tommy’s ass, squeezed hard and shoved his cock in deep.

  Lost in lust, he stroked in and out aided by the sucking of Tommy’s talented body. When he forgot, Tommy reached back and grabbed his hand, pulling it around his body to shove his cock into it. Edmund stroked Tommy’s cock as he fucked his ass. It was a totally new and wonderful sexual experience.

  Edmund forgot everything he’d planned, his entire attention on the immense pleasure coursing through his body.

  When he erupted into Tommy’s back passage, he gave Tommy’s cock two quick strokes and felt it buck in his hand. Warm, thick fluid ran through his fingers as both of them fell to the bed moaning with euphoria.