Page 24 of The Gentleman’s Thief

The acolytes were groaning loudly, the cacophony telling me they were close to their pinnacles. The silver chalice was passed around and some men spent into the cup and others, too far gone to wait for the chalice to reach them, stepped to the table, and spilled over Leopold’s flesh. The boy groaned with ecstasy as he was showered in the warm gush of seed. He rubbed it into his skin and licked the spill from his fingers as if he was devouring the most delicious confiture.

Blake moved to the far end of the table and pulled Leopold closer by gripping his thighs. In reverent tones he declared:

“And I will establish the covenant between me and thee and thy seed.“

And without preparation, he placed his bulbous headed prick at the boy’s entrance and pushed inside the younger man. Leopold cried out and bucked frantically upon Blake’s rod and I could not decide whether it was pain or pleasure he experienced. But Blake grunted with satisfaction as he plundered the willing youth, watched by his greedy-eyed acolytes, several of whom continued to stroke and spill again.

When he was ready to climax Leopold’s semen was also captured in the silver chalice to the sound of Blake’s worshipful praise of,

“Good boy, good boy, that’s it.”

The silver cup was passed to Blake and then I heard the sweet Germanic voice of Leopold von Liebenstein. He said,

“This seed is my soul. Swallow it so I may live on in you forever.”

Blake drank some of the contents, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. The cup was passed around, acolyte to acolyte and they all consumed. Then, as if suddenly receiving a lightning-bolt burst of energy, Blake continued to fuck the boy hard and deep as the other men looked on. A short time later Blake let out a strangled moan of,

“This seed is my soul. Accept it into your body so I may live on in you forever.” Then he shuddered and bucked, spending inside Leopold.

I was overwhelmed by the erotic perversion I witnessed and revolted by my very own arousal at the scene. As the other men moved in and began licking the boy’s cum splattered flesh like starving dogs I could look no longer.

Why was I still here?

What kind of man had I become?

I collected my hat and cane, and with shaky hands and my vision swimming, I felt my way down the passage and found the doorknob. Blessedly the door opened. The panic of discovery was making me perspire and my breathing was ragged. My footsteps echoing, I rushed through the empty hallway as if I were being chased by a pack of hounds. I made my way to the anteroom and from there located a back door. The attendant was not around and the door was not even locked. I pushed at it and stumbled out into an alleyway. It was a relief to be outside, but the fog was rolling like vaporous waves and appeared green to my eyes—as green as the absinthe I’d foolishly consumed. The cold air was cloying in my lungs, ridding me of the smell of sex and sin—replacing it with decay, piss, and horseshit. I ran, not knowing where I ran from or where I ran to.

At the end of the alley, I paused. I heard hooves upon cobbles and milling voices. I rushed around the corner and found I was on The Strand. It was still busy with Hansoms lined-up outside the Savoy Hotel, Vaudeville, and Adelphi Theatres waiting to take patrons from the show to a club. Trying to dodge theatergoers, I rushed agitatedly up and down the road, and then crossed over. The growler in which Sebastian had waited was gone so I hailed the first cab I saw,

“Bedford Square, quick as you can and I’ll pay you double fare!” I hollered to the Hansom driver. He doffed his cap and set off into the line of carriages.

Sitting alone in the cab I hid my face in my hands as the frigid night air chilled me to my bones. I knew that not only had I witnessed the vile corruption of youth, but the additional soiling of my soul. I was revolted that I did not help the boy escape the clutches of that cabal of sin. I’d stood with my prick in my hand and watched the corruption happen. That spineless act sealed the everlasting damnation of my soul.

Confessions of a Thief

I hurried up the steps and into the safety of my home. Mr. Troy had waited up for me and he rushed, bleary-eyed from the lounge, took my hat, cane, and coat, and asked: “I shall assist you to ready for bed, sir.”

My affliction was fervent tonight and the taste of Wormwood and Anise kept coming up in waves to foul my tongue. I felt so distressed and repellant in my own skin that I did not even want Troy to touch my garments, let alone my flesh while helping me undress.

“No, no. I shall tend to myself.” My voice was gruff and raspy. I did not recognize the roughness in it.

I was grubby to my very soul by the remembrance of those men making a debauched mockery of an act I believed sacred—an act that should be shared only with a beloved. I was sullied, inside and out and I needed a scalding bath to scrub the filth away.

“Sir, are you quite well?” Mr. Troy’s insistent knocking pulled me from a swirl of dark thoughts.

“You have been bathing for an hour and we are growing concerned.” Mr. Wilkins added. They both should have been long abed, but between Troy and Wilkins fussing I could not get a breath or a clear thought. I wished to be alone and so I needed to be uncharacteristically adamant.

I agitatedly called back, “I am quite well. Go to bed, both of you, and that is an order!”

When I was sure my servants were not listening at the door I scrubbed at my skin with soap and a loofah sponge. I could see the creeping green stain of sin flowing over my thighs, my arms, and my chest, like ink mottling my skin. By the time I was done my flesh was red raw and it felt as if I’d been scalded.

I lay back in the bath, unable to rid myself of the dark thoughts, the flashes of the orgy, and how those masked acolytes had defiled that wanton young man. In my mind their gold masks became animalistic and they gorged on poor sweet Leopold. I did not want those bestial images to remain in my mind any longer. I had to make them stop. And so, I let my head slip under and allowed the tepid bathwater to envelop me.

For… I don’t know how long I was at peace, suspended in watery silence, the images floating away with the lapping of water—and then—and then my lungs began to burn. Suddenly, hands were on my flesh, and beneath me, and I was dragged out of the bath, spluttering. My wet flesh hit the cold tile floor like a landed fish. Someone was worriedly saying,

“No, no, no, not like this, not like this!”

I curled in on myself, sobbed and coughed, my throat aflame with acidic bile. A warm towel was rubbed over my icy, wet skin and then I was gathered in strong reassuring arms and they, with the towel, wrapped me in safety. I could not open my eyes to reality. I did not know if it was reality. I didn’t have the strength to think at all, and so let go, and darkness took me.