Fifty Shades of Victorian Desire Read online

  After a most prolonged kiss, in which Mrs. M must have rolled all over the bed, and tried its bearing powers to the utmost, she exclaimed.

  ‘Fred, darling, do stop now, or I will faint.’

  Fred laughed and said, ‘Girls only faint for want of it, never when they are having it, so I will revive you.’

  Mrs M laughed and said, ‘Oh! don’t hurt me, will you? and be very gentle.’

  After some rustling, and ‘Oh! do be gentle – that hurts me. Oh! oh! darling. Oh! oh-h-h-h,’ and the regular creak from the bed, I knew Master F, was in ‘the very lists of love’, and that his kissing had somewhat excited him, for the exclamations came quicker and deeper from Mrs. M and very soon after, with almost a shriek, and a very deep sigh, and some involuntary exclamations from Fred I knew the fiery liquid had darted forth, and set the young blood in their veins tingling.

  In about half an hour the latter part of this scene was again enacted, and after a prolonged and most exciting encounter, all was still for the night, but little sleep could I get.

  At last I did, and in the morning found that the young lovers must have heard me cough or move in bed, and so discovered the thin wall, for they never spoke out of a very low whisper.

  They also must have found out who their neighbour was, for Mrs. M could not look me in the face again, and Captain M was so very anxious to find out what time I really did go to bed.

  In the cabin with Mrs. M was a Mrs Stuart, an aged lady, whose husband was on board, and who was a merchant at Port Said, and a Mrs. Jenkins, whose husband was a Bengal civilian, and who was to meet her on arrival at Bombay.

  Mrs. Jenkins was about thirty; she was a good-looking woman, and was decidedly plump, though she declared she was very thin when she had left Bombay with her only child not a year ago.

  She had had only one child, she told me, since her marriage, and the child was now nine years old, and, being a boy, she did not mind leaving him at school.

  And I did not think she did take it much to heart, as she was of the ‘frisky’ sort. We two had become great chums on the voyage to Malta, and had got to the stage of ‘calling a spade a spade’, but no further.

  The night after we left Malta, when sitting on the deck after dinner, she said, ‘I notice that something peculiar has happened between you and Mrs M.’

  ‘There has,’ said I, laughing, ‘and she won’t tell you what it is, I bet?’

  ‘Well, dear boy, you will I am sure?’ says she.

  In the end I did, and most graphically described what I had heard, and before the end of my yarn, which I told her as she lay in a long bamboo chair under the darkness of a double awning, and I in a short deck chair with my feet resting upon the edge of hers, found our bloods so fired that I scarcely realized that I had at last broken the ice, and that my hand, though in hers, and on her lap, was rubbing her thighs, and at last, that sacred spot.

  I dare not put my hand under her clothes, as so many passengers were continually perambulating the deck, but being no novice, I was able to give her some satisfaction, and when she lay back with closed eyes, compressed lips, and an upheaving of the body, combined with unsuccessfully suppressed sighs, I knew she had had some satisfaction, but I had none.

  However, the next morning about noon, when we were sitting on deck together, I told her that her pocket should be like, ‘the widow’s cruse,’ and to it there should be no bottom.

  She looked at me for a minute with a twinkle in her eye and said, ‘Well, now, after lunch to-day I shall think of what you have said, and see if I can make out what you mean.’

  I did not see her again until dinner-time, and after dinner we settled down on our chairs in the shade with our rugs over us.

  After a few idle remarks I said, ‘I shall now proceed to pick your pocket,’ and after a little chaff and hesitation on her part, she let me find the pocket, and I quickly found she had taken my hint, and made a way through her petticoats by which I could, without observation of passers-by, put my hands on her bare thighs, and need I say more?

  I was delighted at this discovery, and while drawing my hand just to moisten my fingers, I whispered to her, ‘Now, be a good girl, and let us have all the pleasure that can be got under these difficult circumstances.’

  ‘You are a dear boy,’ said she, and laying a little more on her back, she opened her thighs, and I was able to get my hand conveniently on her warm spot, and a warm spot it was, for though she had not yet spent, there was the warm dew on it which always foretells a randy woman.

  My finger was quickly on the opening, and then running it upwards I had no difficulty in finding the clitoris, and that hard firm cord which with her was very well developed, and felt more like a cable than the thin whip-cord size that most women boast of.

  How I toyed with it, and how it delighted me to feel it now hard, now soft, now disappearing, now thicker than ever, my fingers roaming along it, now across it, and she with closed eyes, her fingers clutching the basket work of the chair, her feet outstretched, her hips heaving, and with difficulty suppressing her sighs, would at last with a few short convulsive struggles proclaim to me my victory and her defeat, by a warm flow.

  As she lay heavily back in the chair in a sort of stupor, I could tell her pleasure had indeed been acute.

  Before we parted for the night, and when most of the passengers had gone below, she would turn on her side, steal her hand under my rug, and clasp that staff she would have loved to bury elsewhere.

  All women’s hands are soft, but hers were the softest I ever knew, and her touch most electrifying. She knew so well how to tantalizingly bring on that feeling that I felt as though its poor head must burst, and then without its doing so, the sensation pleasantly died away; the palm of her hand as it pressed the already overheated point felt like that indescribable grip that alone can be given by a truly well-formed pussy.

  If darkness favoured us our lips were glued together, and after a sharp struggle the end came, alas only too soon, and with a faint goodnight we struggled below to our berths.

  About this time an amusing incident took place on board. A Mrs. A had accidentally left her sponge in the ladies’ bathroom, and about twelve o’clock one morning she hastened to the bath room to get it for fear one of the stewards would appropriate it, but no sooner had she pushed open the door than a sight met her eyes that made her hastily and quickly close it, and pale and breathless with excitement, she rushed upstairs to tell the other ladies what she had seen, and these were her words.

  Why, when I opened the bathroom door I saw on the floor a pair of electrified pink silk stockings, and a strange bottom in convulsions.’

  Need I tell you the ladies hurried down and concealed themselves to see who the owners of these articles might be, and enjoyed as only women would, the discomforted appearance of one of the poor little brides and her husband, and as the poor little thing ever afterwards went by the name of the ‘red-legged partridge’, and was well chaffed, I hope it will be a lesson to her through life to lock the door herself in future.

  My dear friend, Mrs. Jenkins, had struck up the greatest friendship with Mrs. M who had even confided to her how I must have overheard her and her husband at Malta, but Mrs. J told her she knew I could be trusted, and never to think of it again, so I was once more in Mrs. M’s good graces.

  The old lady, Mrs. Stuart was greatly in the way of these two friends, and Mrs. J, who slept in the adjoining berth to Mrs. M used to excite me by her accounts of Mrs. M’s lewdness, and how the young bride never missed a morning without tossing herself off, which she could plainly see by the heaving of the clothes, and short quick breathing; but one morning Mrs. Stuart took it into her head to go first to the bathroom, and by her movements in the cabin had temporarily stopped Mrs. M’s selfish game.

  Dear Mrs. Jenkins, unable to resist it, jumped out of bed as Mrs. Stuart shut the door, bolted it, and rushing to Mrs. M who was lying on her back with a flushed face, with only a sheet over her, as the weather was
very warm said, ‘You little darling, I can stand it no longer, I will be your husband,’ and taking no refusal, nor waiting for one, she leapt into bed, and laying on her, made her clasp her feet round her back, and the tender spots meeting, with very little rubbing the already heated Mrs. M was soon in a pleasant faint. But this was not enough for Mrs. J who was a real artiste, and having tired of the true lovers’ kisses, with which she had nearly choked Mrs. M she rapidly transferred them to that still warm corner, and after a fierce encounter, in which Mrs. M. struggled as it were for life, she expired with deep sighs, and then had to beg Mrs J to desist, and only in time, for Mrs Stuart shortly after appeared.

  But Mrs. J confided to me, that in all her experience of women, she had never come across one with so very large a clitoris, and that the cord when inflamed was fully the size of many men’s pegoes, making it one of the easiest and most delightful to kiss. How I longed for an opportunity.

  In a few days we arrived at Port Said, where Mrs. Stuart left us, and now these two friends had the cabin to themselves.

  One afternoon Mrs. J confided to me that she had arranged to leave Mrs. M and her husband in undisputed possession of the cabin every afternoon, but that of course it was a profound secret, and Captain M would have to go in and out without discovery.

  ‘Why should not you and I have the cabin to ourselves sometimes,’ said I.

  ‘Oh! it would never do, suppose you were seen entering, how dreadful!’

  ‘But why not at night?’ said I.

  ‘Tell Mrs. M to sleep very sound, and that I will promise never to disturb her slumbers, and all will be well.’

  ‘This is an idea,’ said Mrs. J ‘but I am sure it is impossible.’ However to make a long story short, it had only to be hinted to Mrs. M and she jumped at the idea, and so delighted was she at the thought of being so close to Mrs. J when a man was really having her, and perhaps in the dull light to be able even to distinguish the forms, that she made Mrs. J arrange for my visit that very night.

  About midnight I crept into the cabin, and it having been carefully explained where to find Mrs. J’s berth, I was soon alongside her, and noticed that Mrs. M’s pillows were at the foot of Mrs. J’s berth, however, what cared I.

  On lifting the sheet and finding myself at last in bed with Mrs. J who had only a thin nightdress on, my feelings were indescribable.

  How I choked her with kisses, played with her firms breasts, and finally with a few lover’s bites on her plump thighs, I made her open her legs, and the kiss that I gave her caused such a sigh to escape that it made Mrs. M move in her bed.

  Need I describe her wild struggles, how she ground her teeth, and clenched her hands; but I was no novice, and with a lovely woman I was not likely to let her off very easily, but at last that strong cord showed signs of softening, so I gave her a little rest preparatory to her undergoing another ordeal.

  While we rested she gave me a nudge, and drew my attention to poor Mrs. M who I could see was sadly in want of a bedfellow, and was doing the best she could to make up for one, and Mrs. J whispered to me, she will never be able to get through the night, you have no idea what a hot woman she is.

  However, I was not going to let Mrs. J off so easily the first night, as I told her, and being able to wait no longer, I laid her across the berth, and putting one of her pretty feet on each of my shoulders as I stood on the floor, I was soon into her, and found her to be one of the most perfectly made women, and a perfect artiste at that internal and most fetching of nipping that comes natural to some, and if not natural can never be acquired.

  With the previous excitement I was not long coming to the point, but sea-air, little exercise, and the good living on board, was all in my favour, and without drawing I was able to wait till the new erection was almost stiffer than the last.

  I now played the royal game of push-pin in real earnest, and she joined me heart and soul. Fearing I might come before her, she stole down her hand and with her finger was actively whittling her strong cord, so between us she was soon heaving, sighing and struggling, but though she flooded me I had not yet joined her, and now she saw her mistake, and took her hand away leaving me to do the work alone. I drove it home in her to her very vitals, and soon she flooded me once more, so much so that I had to draw and wipe my weapon so that he might have a better grip, and now we really fought tooth and nail for the end; she quite lost her head, bit and scratched in her excitement, and I was more like a brute beast in the roughness I used to prevent her in her struggles from dislodging me. After a desperate finish nature came to our assistance, and simultaneously we lay helpless on the bed.

  We were at last brought to our senses by a long drawn sigh, and kind-hearted Mrs. J said, ‘Oh! how selfish of me to forget that poor girl, this night will kill her.’

  With that she slipped out of bed, telling me to lay quiet, and with a little whispering soon got under Mrs. M’s sheet, but I knew Mrs. J was not now good for much, so was not surprised when I heard her say, ‘Charlie, you may come and kiss us if you like, but, mind, nothing else.’

  I was quickly with them, and it was then for the first time I felt the swollen cord that had startled Mrs. J. It was quite as large as many pegoes, very firm, and longer than anything I ever knew; in fact I felt for its end, fearing it might be a man in disguise, but I quickly found it was not, and so after some gentle kisses and soft strokings, which made the little woman move, I seized the firm cord between my lips, and between mumbling it, biting it, and soft caresses, she soon came to a climax, and this extraordinary woman now again surprised me by sending her first tribute of love from her with the force of a man.

  At her desire, I, nothing loath, continued my kisses, but at last she said to Mrs. J.

  ‘Oh! darling Nina, do let him finish properly, I cannot go on like this.’

  ‘Yes, do,’ said Mrs. J to me, and while Mrs. J continued toying with poor M’s breasts, I drove my staff home, and it had now been erect so long it seemed quite numbed, and without any feeling, which bode ill for poor Mrs. M who I now knew was in for a long bout, but she bore up well, in fact was a perfect glutton, and though I kept her spending at frequent intervals, I was at last able to reward her with a plenteous tribute of love, after a violent and noisy encounter, during which Mrs. Jenkins kept telling us we would wake all the crew, but it was of no use, we were wound up, and for days I carried the marks of the bites and scratches I received, and I fear in turn left some ugly bruises.

  As we at last lay exhausted, Mrs. J said, ‘Well, I did think you two would never have enough of it.’

  I stole back to my cabin, but before the voyage was over we had many pleasant nights, and Mrs. J who was not looking forward to meeting her old husband at Bombay, as he was such an old fumbler, confided to me her great ambition was to have one other child, and she was sure her husband never could get one.

  However, a short time after landing, I got a letter from her to say the old fumbler was as proud as a peacock, but you naughty boy, I am sure I ought to have told you that I did not want twins.

  Extract from

  THE NEW EPICUREAN*

  GENTLE READER,

  Before transcribing my correspondence with my fair friends, it is necessary to describe the scene of the amours alluded to in the letters, and also to say a few words regarding the chief actor, myself.

  I am a man who, having passed the Rubicon of youth, has arrived at that age when the passions require a more stimulating diet than is to be found in the arms of every painted courtezan.

  That I might the better carry out my philosophical design of pleasure without riot, and refined voluptuous enjoyment without alloy, and with safety, I became the purchaser of a suburban villa situate in extensive grounds, embosomed in lofty trees, and surrounded with high walls. This villa I altered to suit my taste, and had it so contrived, that all the windows faced towards the road, except the French ones, which opened on the lawn from a charming room, to which I had ingress from the grounds at the back, an
d which was quite cut off from the rest of the house. To render these grounds more private, high walls extended like wings from either side of the house and joined the outer walls. I thus secured an area of some five acres of woodland which was not overlooked from any quarter, and where everything that took place would be a secret unknown to the servants in the villa.

  The grounds I had laid out in the true English style, with umbrageous walks, alcoves, grottoes, fountains, and every adjunct that could add to their rustic beauty. In the open space, facing the secret apartment before alluded to, was spread out a fine lawn embossed with beds of the choicest flowers, and in the centre, from a bouquet of maiden’s blush roses, appeared a statue of Venus, in white marble. At the end of every shady valley was a terminal figure of the god of gardens in his various forms; either bearded like the antique head of the Indian Bacchus; or soft and feminine, as we see the lovely Antinous; or Hermaphroditic – the form of a lovely girl, with puerile attributes. In the fountains swam gold and silver fish, whilst rare crystals and spars glittered amidst mother o’pearl at the bottom of the basins.

  The gardeners who kept this happy valley in order were only admitted on Mondays and Tuesdays, which days were devoted by me entirely to study; the remaining five being sacred to Venus and love.

  This garden had three massive doors in its walls, each fitted with a small lock made for the purpose, and all opened with a gold key, which never left my watch guard.

  Such were the external arrangements of my Caproe. Now, with a few words on the internal economy of my private salle d’amour, and I have done.

  This apartment, which was large and lofty, was in its fittings and furniture entirely en Louis Quinze, that is to say, in the latest French mode; the walls were panelled, and painted in pale French grey, white and gold, and were rendered less formal by being hung with exquisite paintings by Watteau. Cabinets of buhl and marqueterie lined the sides, each filled with erotic works by the best authors, illustrated with exquisite and exciting prints, and charmingly bound. The couches and chairs were of ormolu, covered en suite with grey satin, and stuffed with down. The legs of the tables were also gilt, the tops were slabs of marble, which, when not in use for the delicious collations (which were from time to time served up, through a trap door in the floor) were covered with rich tapestries. The window curtains were of grey silk, and Venetian blinds, painted a pale rose colour, cast a voluptuous shade over the room.