The stench of horses and manure infiltrated his senses, and the prick of hay through his stockings told him they’d entered a stable. Shivering and seething, he was brought to an abrupt halt, then the sack was yanked away. Benedict blinked against the sudden burst of light from a lantern hanging on a nail. He stood in a—thankfully clean—stall surrounded by mounds of hay.
There was much murmuring and jostling as the other boys fought for a clear view. Benedict’s eyes flared wide at the sight of Jemima Thacker, hands braced on her hips as she stood before him wearing nothing but a thin chemise, stockings, and a pair of worn shoes.
“’Bout time you lot showed up,” she grumbled while hitching up her hem. “I’m freezing my bloody dugs off. But you’ll make me nice an’ warm in no time, won’t you, lad?”
Benedict could only stare, numb with disbelief as she disrobed without a modicum of shame. She was a petite woman, with an unremarkable face and a head of stringy, lifeless hair. However, everything south of her neck made her popular among the young men—her wide hips and heavy breasts, the thick bush of dark hair between her thighs.
Morbid fascination gripped him, as he had never before seen a nude woman in person. His schoolmates traded books and bawdy prints, and Benedict had glanced over them all in a quest to understand the fascination of other boys with the opposite sex. While he could certainly appreciate a pretty face or the efforts of a well-dressed lady, he wasn’t nearly as obsessed with body parts and erotic functions as the others. It seemed yet another thing that wasn’t quite right about him, but the depth and meaning of it escaped him whenever he dwelled on it.
“Well? C’mon then,” she prodded when he failed to act on her indecent display. “Night’s already paid for, an’ time’s waistin’!”
Benedict stumbled when he was pushed farther into the stall, his heart thudding wildly against his breastbone. He had never given much thought to the inevitability of tupping his first woman, but certainly didn’t relish doing away with his virginity in a stable with a gang of other boys looking on. Jemima advanced, but he backed away as if recoiling from the strike of a venomous snake.
“No,” he protested, bumping against the wall of boys blocking his only way out. “Let me go.”
“What’s the matter, Benny-boy?” someone taunted, poking at his spine with a bony finger. “There’s nothing to be frightened of. She doesn’t bite.”
“Not unless he wants me to,” Jemima quipped, prompting more laughter. She grinned, showing a black gap where one of her front teeth ought to be.
“I said no,” Benedict snapped, fighting to keep his voice from wavering as he spun to face the others. “Stand aside.”
Among them stood his most hated foe, Lionel Blackburn. Like Benedict, he was larger than the other boys—tall and wide through the shoulders. His face was composed of arrogant lines and harsh edges, with dark, menacing eyes that showed his disdain for anyone he thought beneath him. Benedict, he had decided upon their first meeting, was perfect prey for teasing, insults, and cruelty.
“Now, now,” Lionel chided with a sneer. “We went through all this trouble for you. The least you could do is say thank you.”
Benedict ground his teeth, fists clenched at his sides as he stared at Lionel. He had never wanted to plant someone a facer as badly as he did Lionel.
“No, thank you,” he growled. “Get out of my way.”
“Here now!” Jemima exclaimed. “You told me the little shit was eager to ’ave me!”
Lionel inclined his head, as the other boys elbowed one another and grinned. “He ought to be … unless there’s some reason our friend Benny doesn’t fancy a willing woman.”
Benedict scoffed. “I’m not putting my prick anywhere yours has been.”
A palm slammed into Benedict’s chest, throwing him off his feet. With the wind knocked from him, he was helpless to avoid the hands of half a dozen boys divesting him of his meager clothing.
“He’s just a little shy,” someone bellowed as he was stripped of first one stocking, then the other.
“Nothing to be afraid of,” another added. “Just lie there. Jemima will do all the work.”
Laughter and ribald jokes floated through the air as Benedict scuttled away from his assailants, stark naked and freezing.
“Sod off, the lot of you,” he snarled.
Lionel grinned, raking Benedict’s nude body with a knowing gaze. “Something the matter? You’re as limp as a dead fish!”
Humiliation washed over him as the other boys took in the evidence of his disinterest. He hadn’t so much as stirred at the sight of Jemima.
“It’s bloody freezing,” he countered. “And I’ve already told you, I’m not interested. Now get out of my way!”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Lionel laughed. “I told you there was something wrong with him. He’s backwards … broken.”
“I’ll break you if you don’t stand aside,” Benedict roared, his face flushing hot. Fingernails digging into his palms, he shook with rage.
“You ungrateful little shit,” the boy to Lionel’s left spat.
Everything happened so fast that it was nearly over before Benedict could make sense of it. Lionel’s fist slammed into his gut, making him double over. Another blow snapped his head back, and he lost his balance.
“The little cunt thinks he’s too good for the likes of Jemima,” one of the boys joked as they all converged on him at once, fists and feet swinging with vicious intent. “It is our duty to defend her honor.”
Benedict curled into himself, gritting his teeth to keep from crying out as he was assaulted from all sides. Back, belly, legs, face … none were safe as the boys went at him with the ferocity of a pack of wolves. He could only cup his hands around his privates to protect them and pray for it to end.
“What’s the matter, Benny?” Lionel taunted, his voice booming over the jeers of the other lads. “If Jemima wasn’t what you wanted, you should have simply said so … I would have happily arranged a renter for you instead.”
Benedict reared to his feet, rage boiling up from his gut to scorch his throat, making him feel as if he could spew fire. His fury lent him strength as he lunged through the phalanx of boys trying to pummel him, sights set on Lionel. He chuckled and kneed Benedict in the groin, throwing him back to the wolves.
“Now, now,” he chided with a click of his tongue. “I am flattered you wish to throw yourself at me, but poor Jemima’s freezing and needs someone to warm her up. Since you aren’t man enough …”
Benedict slumped onto a mound of hay, his attackers’ interest in him waning as Lionel strutted toward the waiting prostitute like a preening rooster. Benedict’s entire body ached, and the trickle of blood into one eye obscured his vision. Swallowing past the urge to vomit, he looked away from the unpalatable sight of Lionel lowering his breeches and sprawling over the waiting Jemima.
Swiping blood out of his eyes and crawling toward his discarded nightshirt, Ben did his best to avoid drawing attention back to himself. He quietly slipped into the garment, wincing at the throbbing in his ribs. Raising his arms caused enough pain to nearly render him unconscious, but Benedict remained on his feet, determined to make his escape.