Read Parlor Games for Free Online Page B

escaped him. “Turn around for me. I want to see you from every side.”
    Obediently she turned in a circle for him, her body burning under the heat of his gaze.
    “Now your corset.”
    Her eyes fixed on his beseechingly. “Do you have no pity?”
    “Not a whit,” he replied cheerfully. “Take it off.”
    One by one he handed over his chips as she unhooked every last busk on her corset.
    With shaking hands she cast her corset aside. Her breasts swung freely under her fine linen chemise, the dark outline of her nipples clear beneath the thin fabric. Her nipples were peaked into tight buds at the unaccustomed sensation of freedom, and the unsettling knowledge that his gaze was fixed on them. Her seminakedness was decadence itself—instead of being ashamed, her wickedness excited and inflamed her senses.
    One chip was left on the table. He picked it up, tossed it into the air, and caught it again with an air of utter unconcern. “Take off your shift.”
    And allow the entire room to see her naked breasts? That was taking decadence too far. She crossed her hands over her chest, wanting to obey him but unwilling to violate her modesty to such an extent. “I cannot do that.”
    He was inexorable. “You lost the hand. You owe me a debt, and I want to see your breasts.”
    “Will you not take another forfeit?”
    Her words piqued his interest. “What are you offering?”
    She looked wildly around the room for inspiration, her gaze finding only half-naked couples in unchaste embraces. “A kiss?” she offered in desperation. There could be no great harm in a kiss. It was better than showing off her naked breasts to a room full of gentlemen, and to Tom in particular. One kiss did not make her a whore.
    “Sit on my knee and give me a kiss and we will have a deal.”
    She had not kissed any man before—she had never had a follower to ask her to kiss him, or to steal kisses from her on the sly in a dark corner. The prospect of kissing Tom frightened her a little, but not as much as exposing her naked breasts in mixed company did.
    Her heart beating fast in her chest, she perched herself on the edge of his knee and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek. “Now give me the chip,” she demanded, hopping off his knee again. “I have paid the last of my forfeits.”
    “That was no kiss.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him so she was sitting on his lap, her head resting against his shoulder and her breasts jammed against his chest.
    She gasped half in horror and half in pleasure as her drawers gaped open, plastering her naked pussy tantalizingly against his rock-hard member. Only the thin cloth layer of his trousers separated her bare skin from his. Her brain felt thick and heavy, as if it were covered in a thick London fog—all her sensations were bound up in her pussy, hot and tingling at the nearness of his member.
    She moved tentatively against him and was rewarded with a quiver of pleasure that shot right through her body. Did all women experience this delight when a man kissed and fondled them? Was this wondrous feeling why women gave themselves over so willingly to be whores? No wonder Polly danced around with a smile on her face if she was made to feel like this every evening.
    He bent his head to hers, kissing her roughly on the lips, forcing her to open her mouth under his onslaught. With one hand he held her tightly against him, while the other crept under her chemise to fondle her naked breasts.
    His mouth was hot against hers, as he forced her to respond to him. She had no breath left to protest, and no will either. His hands were like fire on her breasts and his kiss was more intoxicating than port wine.
    She squirmed against him, thrusting her breasts into his hands, her nipples begging him to fondle, to touch, to taste. He obeyed her wordless commands, cupping her breasts in his hands, flicking his fingernails over her sensitive nipples and rolling them gently between his fingers.
    Her pussy