Good British Steel (Part Two)

Read part one of this story here.

Years later, after I’d just turned eighteen, I returned from university for the summer and found a mustard-colored envelope addressed to me.   It was an invitation to Rupe’s twenty-first birthday party the following weekend.  At the bottom of the invite, Rupe had scrawled:  “It seems a shame that you and I should be torn apart by your brother’s stubbornness.  Come to my party, Julie.  I’ll teach you some serious swordplay.  Running a fingertip across the writing, I felt lightheaded.  I was ready, and I wanted this.

Days passed.  My expectations grew.  All I could think of was being controlled at the tip of Rupe’s sword.  The invite said this was a costume party with a historical theme, so I tried outfit after outfit, eventually settling on a silky, gold dress held up by thin straps that I longed for him to sever.  On the night itself, I donned low heels and also planted tissuey flowers in my hair.  Then I caught a taxi to the old English hotel.  In the half-timbered lobby, I passed two women in Elizabethan ruffs and a wartime butler in a bowler hat, his arm draped round a muscular god.  Helen of Troy was arguing with a nymph, and three Flower Fairy children chased each other, screeching.

Mrs. Linden stopped me in the doorway, dressed as Cleopatra.  “I know you, dear, don’t I?  You’re Ralph and Tina’s girl.  She handed me a glass of wine and began grilling me about the rift between Rupe and Henry.  As I gave vague answers, I felt a hand in the small of my back and smelt a dry cologne that made my pussy flood.   It was Rupe, gently flicking one of the flowers in my hair.  “You’re Ophelia, of course.  Clever girl.  If I see another Helen of Troy I’ll slit someone’s throat.

As Mrs. Linden chided him for saying such a thing, I surveyed her son.  He’d hardly changed since that night in the cellar, though his golden hair was now loosely curled and floppier than it used to be.  His collarless shirt fell open, unbuttoned, exposing his super-smooth chest, and a silver cross hung from a chain against his tanned skin.  His sword, in its sheath, was hanging at his side.  Hell, how I burned for him then!

“Remember this? Rupe asked, pressing my fingers onto the hilt of his sword.  I let myself explore the heavy steel “ a gesture that felt as personal as sliding a hand between his thighs.

“Who are you meant to be? I asked him.

“Romeo in exile.  In my ear, he added, “We have similar literary tastes.

I felt a deep, low burn.

“Rupert, dear, said Mrs. Linden.  “The Worcesters were asking after you.

“Well, said Rupe, weaving an arm through mine.  “Let’s not disappoint them.

Rupe led me through a high-beamed hall, which was filled with clowns, queens, gladiators and fairies.  A long, oak table stretched down the center of the room, laden with voluptuous food:  sumptuous cheeses, deviled eggs, peaches stuffed with ricotta.

“Are we going to talk to the Worcesters? I asked.

He raised an eyebrow.  “We’ve more pressing matters at hand.  When I stared at him, he added, “Darling, I’ve been waiting for you to turn eighteen.  I may be a rogue, but I’m a gentleman first and foremost.

At this moment, we were assailed by a Marilyn Monroe, who purred flirtatiously at Rupe and gave me sour little looks.  “Rupe, here’s a devil, she told me.  “The things he does to a girl.

“Julie’s about to find out, said Rupe.

I nudged him.  How rude!  But Marilyn was marching angrily away.

After that, there was a powdered aunt dressed like an opera singer, asking him why he wasn’t studying Law like his father; and then a Pierrot and Pierrette who were clearly old friends.  Everyone wanted to talk to Rupe.  I was so desperate for a shafting, I almost begged him to take me right there.

When he finally managed to break us away, Rupe gestured towards a door.  “That’s where we’re heading.  Make eye-contact with no one.  He explained that a member of his fencing club worked at this hotel.  “It’s a storeroom, apparently.  I have a key.  I flushed at his directness.  As we strode towards our destination, he ran a hand across my ass, making me tingle and gasp.  “No underwear, he said.  “You *have* grown up.  I’ll teach you a lesson, you Shakespearean whore.

“What if I don’t want to? I asked.

“Then I’m nothing but a fool.

At the approach of a couple of men in tuxedos, Rupe told me, “Here’s how we get rid of them, and with that, he grasped my face and kissed me, long and hard, with his hands grazing my hardening nipples.  He pressed his stiffness against my belly, and I felt myself turning crazily wet as his lips slid hungrily over mine.  Pulling away at last, he took my by the wrist with a roughness that made me giddy, and dragged me through the crowds towards the storeroom door.

The room we entered was shadowy, though the moonlight from outside lent an eerie glow.   As my eyes adjusted I made out a Roman statue, a pile of stacked chairs, an antique tea-set scattered across a table¦  The velvety curtains were tied open with cord, and next to them was a suit of armor, the mottled bronze gleaming in the milky light.  Rupe explained that this was where the staff kept the props for feasts and balls.  We stared at one another.  Slowly, he drew his sword from its sheath until I saw the flash of its steel, and he held its naked metal between us, the blade pointing at the ceiling.  “Beautiful, isn’t it, he said.

I was too aroused to speak.

“If you want me to stop at any time, call me by my full name “ Rupert.


“Shall we play? he asked.

“God, yes.

The smile that sprang to his lips was so sweet and genuine it took my breath away.

With a swipe of the gleaming blade, he cut through a curtain cord, which fell to the floor; this, he used to bind my wrists behind me, before backing me towards the table.  The presence of the sword, now fully sheathed at his side, seemed to electrify the air.  Standing mere feet away from me, he slid the blade free, brandishing it before lowering its point to my throat.  Thirsty and afraid, I arched backwards, but the point moved with me “ a mere inch from my skin.  “I could cut you, he said, on the edge of a snarl.  I didn’t need to look downwards to know his sex would be hard.  He raised my chin with the tip of his sword and I felt the sharp, cool steel “ quivering, I knew that it wouldn’t take much to make me come.

“You’re all mine, he said.

I told him I was, though even as I spoke the words, a part of me wasn’t sure.

Suddenly, cheering rose from outside the room “ “Rupe?  Where’s Rupe?  Time to cut the cake!

The edge of Rupe’s grin twitched as he told me he wouldn’t be long, and I guessed he was enjoying this opportunity to torment me.  Turning towards the door, he slid his sword into its sheath; and as he left the room, the door slamming behind him, I glanced down at my vulnerable flesh and ached with pure arousal.  I had no proof that he’d ever return.

I’d never trusted like this.

To be continued…


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