"No one. Touches. Hyde."

Lucy bounded up the stairs as the man's deathly growl echoed through the Red Rat. She could not see what followed, only hear the cries of one man after another finding more than their match in the stranger who had come to seek her company – and been denied. The sound of breaking – chairs, floorboards, bones – drove her onward, but she could not help but turn before reaching the door. What of her friends? What might this Hyde brute do to them?

She had little chance to assure herself of their safety, for when she looked down from the balcony, there was only him. Black eyes bore into her own, smouldering with a hatred which bespoke pure carnage. They were empty of all else but this, gleaming with a cold inner light, as if they lacked a soul. As she stood transfixed with fear, she thought that they – that he – could scarcely be human. They were the eyes of a predator; as he had made all too clear, tonight, she was his prey.

His arm raised to point directly at her, marking her as his destination, but she would not stay to see him reach it. With the blind panic of one facing certain death, she spun and ran out the door, hitching up her already-indecent skirts to allow freedom of movement, though where she might go, she had not even a thought. The girls' house, she avoided out of instinct; even without a conscious notion toward it, she knew she could be found there were he but to enquire of his defeated assailants where his target took her customers to bed. Neither home nor work were refuge, and the only safety lay in getting elsewhere, fast.

Her short boot heels struck the cobblestones with a sharp, resounding clack, and not more than a few seconds later, the pounding of footsteps followed, already gaining. The alleyways twisted this way and that; though she knew them well, there was no sure path, and reason abandoned her. There was between an alehouse and a seller of corsets a split: one way led back to the Red Rat – the other, she had not had occasion to explore.

In the faint moonlight beyond a haze of fog, she found her way to the left, darker path, where she might be more easily hidden. Turning the corner, she ran toward her escape – and into a dead end.

No. Careless in her frustration, she cried out, beating her fist against the rough brick as the footfalls behind her slowed. With the ease of absolute certainty, they began to close in, and Lucy spun to face the man she so feared. Though she panted with exertion, he hardly seemed affected by the chase; it was almost as though he had prolonged it for his own enjoyment. The glint of his silver-knobbed walking stick caught her eye, the weapon slowly rising to point at her face.

"You will pay dearly for that."

Lucy winced at the threat, his low, rumbling growl thundering through her heart. Her gaze flitting between man and weapon, she pressed her back to the wall, watching for signs that she was about to be struck as she choked back her sobs.

"Wait!" she whimpered, further lifting her skirts as a tear fell down her cheek. "You can 'ave me, sir. You can 'ave me."

Still, the weapon extended farther, smooth, cold metal coming to rest beneath her chin, pressing upward to tilt her head toward him as he neared. To better seek her eyes in the darkness, or to ensure a blow would find its mark? She could see but little of his face, certain only that his gaze was fixed upon her. Could he sense her fear? Her desperation? He was so close now that the heat of his body warmed her, and she shuddered with the sensation as the breath from his lips warmed her own.

"Please."

The whisper escaped before she had even thought to utter it. There was nothing else left to say, for her offer had been met with silence, and she could not guess what kind of entreaty might move him to mercy. Clutching her raised skirts, she closed her eyes, preparing for a blow – and instead, received a kiss.

The brush of his lips was tender, taking her by surprise, and she moaned at the sudden warmth. His unexpected kiss began with a slow, burning hunger, a deliberate exploration, and she gave in with ease, parting her lips at the caress of his tongue seeking her own. He tasted of the champagne they had drunk, sweet and intoxicating; beneath it, there was something else, strange and bitter, but not so off-putting as to be unpleasant, and she didn't bother to think on it.

Before long, desire turned into passion, and she melted under the tantalizing strokes of his tongue. The weapon was set against the wall beside her as he pressed closer still, bending to rub his growing arousal between her legs. It was more than generous, she could tell, and although she had seldom found pleasure in the act, the thought of him sheathing himself inside her inspired a longing unlike any she'd ever known.

Lucy moaned at the thrust of his erection, caressing the folds of her sex through their clothing, and a rush of heat warned of the blossoming wetness where she ached. They had hardly stopped for air when he drew her back in, the movements of his tongue matching those below, an erotic promise of what was to follow.

He reached between them, not to unfasten his trousers, but to slip his hand underneath her skirts. All of the girls were forced to wear the thinnest and most accessible of undergarments in case a patron demanded such a convenience as this, and so with a tug of linen, she was bare beneath his hand. With skilled precision, his fingers delved into her wet folds, finding the throbbing nub at their crest.

She whimpered into his mouth at the first hard swipe against the aching bit of flesh, a blissful heat rushing through her veins. This was a pleasure she had only ever known by her own hand; now, under his control, its intensity was increased a thousand fold, indescribably sweet and oh, so maddening. Warm lust dripped from the sensitive lips of her sex, and he used it to wet the swollen peak, easing the shock of his relentless strokes.

Her knees weakened, her body trembling as it fought to contain the pure pleasure building deep inside, and just when it seemed she would scream with it, his fingers left her to unfasten his trousers. She swallowed between shuddering breaths, her cheeks hot and the ache within her sex even hotter, a prickle of fear piercing through the haze of lust. Her climax had been so close; was all of that now to be lost to the carelessness of a man's selfish desire?

The cold brick wall scraped her skin as he pinned her wrists over her head with one hand, and she spread her thighs in readiness, a pleading look in her gaze as their eyes locked and the hot tip of his manhood at last parted her aching entrance.

"Sir!"

Lucy's cry of shock rang through the alley as his rigid cock rammed into her, impaling her completely with a single thrust. As she had guessed, he was of great girth and length, the hot flesh reaching deeper, deeper until it seemed her sex would break. There was a thrill, a strange pleasure to it even as her body struggled to cope, but oh, how it burned.

At once, his lips clamped over hers, his tongue capturing her own to quiet her, and his grip on her wrists tightened. He thrust again, hitting the very end of her sex, but the curve of him stroked her in such a way that a sudden, overwhelming heat sent fiery shivers of pleasure racing along her tight walls. Again, and her mind spun, her senses reeling as his tip rubbed against a spot that shuddered with bliss, the very source of her lust. Moaning into his kiss, she felt her nipples ache, yearning for the caress of his hands, and the slick pearl of her sex throbbed with the need for his touch.

This last was all too close, the force of his punishing thrusts vibrating through the hardened bud in tandem with the blissful strokes of his cock, bringing her closer, closer, so close to climax she felt she may die without it. All the while, his tongue entangled with hers, attempting to silence her helpless cries, until the ravenous lovers broke apart for a desperate breath.

"Please, sir!" she panted, her sex quivering around his thick shaft. "Please!"

His response was a rolling of his hips, and a silent scream caught in her throat as she clung to the very edge of orgasm. Her head fell back against the wall, her mouth hanging open, unable to beg for more lest any movement bring climax beyond her reach. It was pure agony, her body pleading for the mercy of release, and when he brought his mouth to her neck, ravishing it with kisses, she began to cry.

An arm wrapped about her back, holding her tightly against him, and his lips brushed her ear.

"Your cunt is mine."

At the lustful growl, he withdrew, and with a furious passion, rammed into her again. Lucy's cries echoed alongside the wild crash of their bodies with each savage thrust, faster and faster, his cock finding that one miraculous spot and mercilessly pounding it until at last her pleasure reached its peak.

She screamed in ecstasy, a climax beyond anything she had ever known seizing her body with indescribable bliss. The hot, wet shock exploded within her, wave after wave of incredible joy flooding her senses, cresting higher and higher with each violent pounding of his cock deep inside her. His own pleasure followed, his roar of release almost deafening as it resounded next to her ear.

"Sir!" she cried, screaming in delight as his orgasm only drove him deeper, faster, harder, impaling her over and over and over again. "Yes! Yes!"

Her sex clenched, desperate for more even as her body convulsed with pleasure, shuddering helplessly upon him. He didn't stop for even a moment, thrusting relentlessly until the last, sweet aftershocks had faded, and she went limp against the wall.

Weak and completely spent, Lucy closed her eyes, her chest heaving. Only his touch – the grip of his hand upon her wrists, his manhood still buried deep inside her – kept her from falling asleep where she stood.

As she regained her breath, fear cut through the haze of her fleeting pleasure. He had gotten what he had wanted of her; what might he do now?

The fifty pounds she had refused had, no doubt, been taken, and she would not be surprised if they had found their way to the Spider. Whether he would admit that he had received payment remained to be seen. For herself, she would demand nothing; her life having been spared was all she dared ask.

It was with dread that she realized just how little assurance she had of her safety. In her panic, she hadn't even thought to ensure his approval of their implied bargain – her body for her life – and now that he had no more use for her...

Thinking to entreat his favour, she gathered her courage to ask if he had found her pleasing, but no sooner had she opened her mouth than his lips were upon hers again. Only when his hunger seemed at last satisfied with a long, deep kiss did he finally let go of her wrists and withdraw from her. Lucy winced at the sharp pain of his absence; though used to discomfort, rarely had she been taken so roughly, or by men of such size. Her limbs, too, were weak with strain, and she wished for nothing more than to retire to her bed – alone.

"Where is your room?" he whispered, and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief.

If he were to kill her, surely he would do so here. The truth would lead him back to her should he wish to see her again, bringing with it the danger of his violent temperament, but the risk if he should discover her lie was simply too great.

"Behind the Rat, sir."

She held his gaze only a moment before closing her eyes, sleep beckoning. Perhaps he would visit her again, perhaps not; in the meantime, she would go there once he departed, and rest. Distantly, she heard him button his trousers, and her eyes snapped open as he pulled her from the wall.

"Let's go."

Was he to accompany her, then? Did he not believe her? Her heart skipped a beat, thankful she'd chosen to tell the truth. Nodding as he moved aside, she stepped forward – only to have the walking stick lower over her chest from behind.

"And if you're thinking of running," he said, twisting the ornate silver knob to reveal a blade within. "Don't."

An icy shiver coursed through her. He'd gotten what he wanted – why must he threaten her so?

"I understand, sir."

He sheathed and lowered the weapon, his arm wrapping about her waist to keep her close as they made their way back to the Red Rat, diverging from the path and circling around the back to the building where the whores made their wretched home.

All the while, Lucy wondered at his purpose, but dared not speak; his own silence made it clear that he wished to hear no more until it was asked of her. Her hand, which had taken hold of his arm around her without thought, clung to him as tightly as she dared, grateful for the embrace that meant she was, for the moment at least, safe.

He let go only so that they might climb the stairs to the second floor, and she tread carefully, taking the key to her room from a hidden fold of her skirt. Her free hand, he captured at the wrist, his firm grip a warning as they approached her door. She unlocked it and pushed it open, only to be shoved inside herself, stumbling forward into her meager abode.

The room wasn't much: a bed large enough to fit two, for her customers' comfort rather than her own; a standing wardrobe that doubled as a vanity; and two wooden chairs, one by the door and the other by the moonlit window. It was sparse, but altogether pleasing compared to the squalor common in the area, and a place that she had been reminded so many times was not truly her own. It belonged to whoever paid to seek entrance, and tonight, it was this frightening gentleman – this Mr. Hyde, as he had called himself.

"On your knees," he commanded, and she obeyed at once, falling to the worn wooden floor.

Behind her, the door closed. Another chill swept through her. Whatever happened in this room, she could be certain that no one would dare interfere; if he should wish to harm her, she had only her body and her wits to persuade him otherwise. Closing her eyes, she recalled the wonderful pleasure of only minutes ago, praying that her fears would once again prove unfounded. When she opened them again, he stood before her, his cock free and erect in his hand.

He took her chin between pinching fingers, tilting it up toward him.

"Open."

She parted her lips wide, but never could have prepared for his cock's invasion of her mouth, thick and demanding, filling her entirely with only half his length. He tasted of their lust, of musk and heady spice, but she didn't have the chance to put her tongue to much use; his hand tangled in her hair as he pushed deeper still, forcing himself all the way to the back of her throat. Struggling to breathe through her nose, she braced herself against his thighs.

"Hands behind your back!" he growled.

She complied, whimpering around the hard flesh, the sound eliciting from him a pleased groan. Drawing back, he thrust downward again, and her muscles clenched. She tried to block out the discomfort as he pumped deep into her throat, his fingers gripping her hair. Her sobs were silenced by the choking pressure of his cock, any sound she might make overpowered by the wet slide of him into her mouth over and over again. Tears fell down her flushed cheeks as she watched his face become wild with lust, moans of passion foretelling an impending climax.

Suddenly, he stilled, his cock straining so deep inside her that her lips pressed against his loins. With a grunt, he withdrew, and she fell forward, gasping and coughing violently at the sweet intake of air.

"Stand and undress."

He stepped away, ridding himself of his coat, and Lucy slowly rose onto unsteady feet, loosening her skirts. So, he hadn't finished with her yet; what else might he have in mind? The ache between her legs had become a soreness with the passing minutes, and she wiped the tears from her face, wishing he had contented himself with her mouth. It had only been by some miracle that her own pleasure had dulled the pain of his roughness before; how was she to endure him again so soon?

Her skirts fell about her feet, but she hadn't the chance to move them aside; warm hands grasped her waist, pulling her back against his naked body. He swept her hair from her shoulder, and his lips traced a warm path up and down her neck as he deftly unlaced her corset, pausing only a moment to remove it and the chemise beneath. The sweetness of his hot kisses along her throat was almost unbearable, and heat spread between her thighs, a helpless moan escaping her lips at the brush of his cock against her back. Maybe a second time wouldn't be so terrible…

"I meant what I said, Lucy," he whispered against her ear. "I'm going to make you scream."

Lucy trembled with fright as his hand closed around her neck. What could he be talking about? When had he said-

"In pain." He squeezed her throat, and she started to beg, but he released her to cover her mouth. His other hand slid beneath her knickers, finding the aching nub. "Or in pleasure."

She whimpered in bliss as his thumb massaged her in fast, hard circles, bringing her once more so close to climax that she could cry with the need for release. His strokes stilled, fingers lightly pinching the quivering flesh, and his hand fell from her mouth.

"It's your choice."

Careless with lust, she turned her head toward him, seeking his lips.

"Please," she begged, arching into his hand.

Her answer accepted, he kissed her, rough and demanding; she returned his ardour as passionately as she dared, the maddening pleasure of his strokes stealing her breath. He stopped to strip off her knickers, tossing them aside, and his hands roamed her torso, teasing at her sensitive nipples. She relaxed into his embrace, beyond fear or reason; there was only him, and the promise of pleasure.

He parted her trembling folds, two fingers plunging inside her. The soreness had abated under his skillful caresses, once more becoming a desperate ache. His fingertips rubbed hard and deep within her sex, hitting that wonderful spot, and she screamed.

"You like that, don't you, Lucy?"

"Yes, sir! Very much, sir!" she cried between ragged breaths, bracing for the climax just beyond her reach.

Laughing softly in her ear, he pulsed his fingers, and his other hand groped her breast, the pad of his thumb beating fast against her nipple. Lucy quivered, suffering in silence as he held her suspended over the edge of pleasure, her face contorted in unimaginable bliss.

"I know what you need," he growled, and thrust his rigid cock against her buttocks.

In shock, she arched, his fingers inside her curving to send her into absolute pleasure. Just as her sex began to spasm in joy, he withdrew, denying her. He pushed her toward the bed, and she stumbled, catching herself on the railing at the head.

"Lie face-down."

Shaking, she hastened to obey, her tears of desperation soaking the blanket. The mattress shifted under his weight as he climbed onto it, straddling her. He crossed her arms behind her back, pinning them there with one hand; with the other, he pulled upon her hair.

"On your knees," he said.

As she lifted her hips, her backside rubbed against his cock, and she whimpered, a rush of hot lust dripping from her opening, spread wide for him to see. The massive length settled there, his tip resting on her trembling folds. He pushed her head back down, turning it so that she could look up at him, and gripped his thick base.

Her mouth gaped open as he thrust slowly into her, filling her at an agonizing pace, and her sex clenched hard around him, hungry for more. All at once, he impaled her, burying himself to the hilt, and his tip rammed into the very place where she craved him most.

"Yes!"

With a dark laugh, he ground his hips against her, and she cried out, begging him to take her again. He obliged her, his cock perfectly angled to hit that ecstatic spot as he slammed into her hard enough to bruise, but she wanted it, all of it. Just as he had said, he knew exactly what she needed, and he gave it to her, pounding, pounding, pounding-

Lucy screamed as her climax tore through her, exploding deep within, the pleasure so intense that it was blinding, and yet she swore that she could see his face, his long dark hair wild and thrashing with each brutal thrust. The bed crashed into the wall again and again, matching the harsh impact of his furious pounding, but neither could compete with the sound of his rapturous release, bellowing like thunder as he spilled inside her.

The pleasure was just too much, and Lucy turned her face toward the mattress, her screaming muffled by the blanket, but he yanked her head up by her hair, a cry of pain ending her last, shaking throes of orgasm.

She moved with him to lessen the discomfort, and he held her there for a long moment as they caught their breath. His lips pressed against her ear.

"Always look to me."

"Y-yes, sir," she said, the tremor in her voice equal parts exhaustion and fear. She had been punished for breaking a rule she hadn't known existed; please, let it be left at that.

He withdrew and left the bed, but Lucy dared not move, frozen in place. Only when she heard him dressing did she lower herself to the mattress, and slowly. Her body was sore, and tired – yet, as she relaxed, she found that she was, for the first time, completely satisfied.

She glanced over when she heard him approach, going limp as he turned her onto her back. Again, he straddled her, and she looked up at him in fearful expectation. His fingers brushed her cheek, and she closed her eyes at the tender gesture, relieved. Always, he had said; he meant to come back to her. It was of small comfort, but at least it meant that he would not-

The back of his hand smashed into her face.

Hot tears streamed from her tightly-shut eyelids, the blow dizzying. Was it because she had ceased to look at him? What if that strike would not be the last? She opened her eyes, ready to beg forgiveness for her offense, but he gripped her chin, quieting her.

"That was for denying me," he said. "You won't make that mistake again, will you, Lucy?"

"No, sir."

If only she had known then what exquisite pleasures awaited, she might have been spared the pain and the fear, but there was no changing the past; all she could do was hope that amends could be made.

"And then there is the matter of your running away…"

He reached into his coat pocket and produced something that caught a flash of moonlight. A knife.

"No, sir, please-!"

His hand covered her mouth, the blade drawing nearer.

"Shh," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Despite his assurance, he brought the knife to her neck, its sharp edge scraping across her skin; one flick of his wrist, and her throat would be slit. This gruesome truth was the only thing that kept her from whimpering, her tortured eyes begging for the mercy her lips could not.

At last, he returned the weapon to its place and removed his hand from her mouth, but she knew better than to speak just now.

"Let that be a warning to you." He sneered down at her. "I could end your life in a moment. If I ever draw a blade on you again, it will be to kill. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she sobbed.

His hands cupped her breasts, playing with the nipples that hardened at his touch. Pleasure mingled with the pain as her head throbbed, her battered body beyond its limit, and she fought not to drift into sleep, and, remembering his warning, focused on his gaze. She began to relax under his soothing caress, warm and almost gentle; how could so violent a man take such care of her? His fingers explored her bare skin, from the tops of her shoulders to her knees, and began to close in on her aching centre, his thumbs moving in teasing circles as they drew near the lips of her sex.

By the time a fingertip settled on her swollen peak, she was gasping, new, hot lust dripping from her entrance. He taunted her, alternately rubbing the hardened nub and lightly patting her sex until she begged for more, for his touch, for release, but he denied her. His index finger traced her folds, soft and wet in readiness for him, and she shut her eyes against the beautiful torture.

As soon as she did, two fingers thrust deep inside her, different than before. Not to provide pleasure, but to invade, to claim, and she looked at him in fear. His eyes were dark and dangerous – the eyes of a killer.

"This cunt belongs to me now."

Unsure what to say, Lucy nodded, but his merciless fingers pushed deeper, and she winced at the pressure, anticipating pain.

"From this night on, you will see no one else," he said. "You are my whore, Lucy, and mine alone."

His fingertips curved, skillfully rubbing where she needed him, and a shock of pleasure raced through her.

"Say it."

"I'm your whore, sir," she moaned. "Only yours."

At her answer, his fingers fucked her in hard, relentless thrusts. He grasped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye as the fiery bliss overtook her. Ecstatic, desperate pleas fell from her lips, and with one last stroke, her orgasm crested in a scream of joy.

She whimpered as he teased the pleasure out of her, prolonging it until she was left shaking and utterly helpless. His lips claimed hers in the final moments, and he withdrew his fingers only to unfasten his trousers again. He sat up, his cock in his hand, and his lust-slicked fist pumped up and down his thick shaft with furious, rapid strokes. Lucy gasped as he pushed her head up toward him, just far enough that he could thrust into her mouth. She swirled her tongue wildly over his tip, desperate to please him, but he pushed deeper, deeper, fucking her throat as she choked around him. That was all he needed, and he climaxed with a shout, erupting in a hot spurt inside her.

Coughing as he withdrew, she swallowed with difficulty, her voice too hoarse to speak even if she dared. He rubbed the head of his cock against her lips, grinning as he did so, and Lucy found there an oddly familiar smile. She watched with curiosity as he adjusted himself and went to her water basin, proceeding to carefully wash his hands.

He was peculiar, this Mr. Hyde. While the men she had known before smelled of trades – meat, smoke, sweat – he smelled of new linen, clean wool, and a musky cologne. Though his tone was often harsh, his speech itself was refined and clever, accented with an education far from the East End. The very hands she saw now were strong, but smooth, and she'd felt no marks of labour upon them; if she were to glimpse more of his body beyond what lay beneath his trousers, she expected she'd find the same of the rest of him. And then, of course, there was the money.

It was not uncommon for rich men to slum about in disguise, but most were far more discrete, lest they become targets. It was even sometimes the case that such men took on a new name, and in the dim moonlight, the outline of Mr. Hyde's face reminded her so very much of-

"I'll return in a few days," he said. "You're not to leave this room until then. In the meantime, I'll see that you're provided for."

"Thank you, sir," she whispered.

He kissed her before leaving, hard and rough, and any illusions Lucy may have had about her mysterious benefactor were shattered.

Except for a passing resemblance, there was nothing at all the same about this brute and the kind gentleman whose card was even now in the pocket of her skirt. To think that they should have anything in common beyond fortune and a handsome face would be to lose a friend and gain an impossible enemy.

The lingering pain fought with the memory of pleasure, and as darkness closed in, of one fact, Lucy was absolutely certain:

There was no connection between Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.