Clockwork Captive by Anh Leod

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER ONE
     
     
    He liked her exposed throat, was enticed by the way the tender column arched.
    Her eyes, half-closed under thick brows, challenged him. The shiny brass medallion at her throat heightened the lush texture of her skin, the glossy golden tone.
    Her breasts drew his interest, perfect globes forming into pert rosy nipples at the tips. He imagined sucking them, laving them, biting them. How would she taste?
    Mrs. Teagarden’s Gentlemen’s Club featured many girls on the walls, captured by a photographer. No smiles were in evidence since the exposures took so long but this particular girl encouraged him with the promise of ecstasy to come. His cock, in agreement with his brain, hardened to half-mast beneath his trousers.
    “You like ‘er, Mr. ‘owell?” The proprietress slithered up next to him, her scarlet hoop skirt brushing against his legs. Her accent indicated Cockney origins, though she worked in this better part of London now.
    Instinctively, he stepped back, repulsed by the painted former whore. Compared to the fresh young beauty depicted on the wall, Mrs. Teagarden was a crone.
    “I’d like to meet her,” Brace said. He’d meant to spend the night drinking and gambling in the lower rooms, but the portrait had caught his eye. His friends were late and he’d decided to wait for them in the hall instead of entering the raucous game room, full of strangers and cigar smoke. Something about this girl dared him to change his plans.
    “Six shillings for the ‘our, sir,” she said, holding out her hand avariciously.
    Her open greed did not say much for the class of this establishment. Nonetheless, he found himself fishing in his pocket for the exorbitant fee, then followed her up crimson-carpeted stairs to the second level. All the while, he berated himself for foolishness. He’d never paid for a woman’s favors before. What was it about the portrait that made him lose all sense?
    Mrs. Teagarden knocked firmly on one of the thin doors on the left side. “Liza! Gentleman caller.”
    Brace heard soft footfalls, and then the door opened. Liza, if that was indeed her name and not a whore’s moniker, appeared, her dark face floating above a thin white gown. She enchanted him instantly.
    Her black hair twisted into a braid that looped over one shoulder, curled around the curious medallion at her throat. The portrait downstairs had not flattered this young woman, no, it hadn’t done her justice. Her lips, for one thing, were impossibly puffy and glossy, reflecting the gas light hissing from the corridor wall.
    Something about her slight welcoming smile set him at ease, assuring him that his shillings were well spent. He felt his shoulders relax.
    “He paid for an ‘our, dearie,” Mrs. Teagarden said with satisfaction, as she pulled a slender, intricate silver key from her cleavage.
    When she put it to Liza’s ornament, he realized the medallion was a clock. The proprietress poked at it for a moment with her key, then tucked it back into her dress.
    From the girl’s raised eyebrows, Brace knew their trade didn’t normally extend to an hour. But, he could easily last that long, even if he didn’t have additional delights in mind. His cock pressed eagerly against his smallclothes, reminding him of how long it had been denied female comforts. He’d spent the summer working long hours and walking with friends the rest of the time, attempting to get out of London as much as possible. No time had been spared for women. But now autumn weather turned his associates to indoor delights. They could gamble without him for one night.
    The proprietress pushed him into the small chamber with a none-too-gentle hand at his back. The room smelled fresh at least, free of those body odors that steamed from the very walls in some brothels after so many years in service to human pleasures. He stumbled and reached out to gain his balance, but Liza stood right in front of him. His hands landed on the