The Education of Victoria (21 page)

‘Well, my fellows. Think she will do?’ The voice was that of a young man, English perhaps. There were calls of agreement from three other locations.

‘Well, let’s set to it,’ the first voice said. I was immediately aware of the four men closer to me, their breath on my neck, my back, my breast and thigh. A hand caressed my left breast going round and round in a spiral until it reached my nipple. It was squeezed, hard, and I yelped.

‘Oh, so she is real and not a mannequin,’ an American voice said. The others laughed. There were other hands sliding up and down the inside of my right thigh, circling my buttocks and untying the rope that bound my wrists. I thought I was to be freed but instead my hands were lifted up above my head and encircled by tight leather cuffs.

‘They’re fastened,’ the first voice called and I was yanked up by my arms. I cried at the sudden tearing of my limbs. The lifting stopped with me standing on tiptoes. If I lost my balance I swung with all my weight taken by my wrists.

‘Let’s warm her up, guys,’ said the American. There was a pause while I swung and struggled to keep my weight on my toes, then a fiery slash down my left thigh. Another caught me across my right buttock, another across my stomach and another on my right shoulder. Despite the pain and strain in my wrists I wriggled and swung, trying to avoid the blows that were coming at me, but they were on all sides. All my actions did were to make them laugh and compete to land a blow. At first I was able to make out crop burns, cane strokes and whiplash, but after several blows they all felt the same. My whole body became a bonfire of pain.

At last it stopped and I was left swinging from my wrists. Through my pain I could hear the men breathing heavily.

‘Best get her down,’ said another voice, with a French accent. The tension on my wrists was released and I fell into a crumpled heap, but I was not left to recover myself. Two men lifted me and moved me forward until my knees made contact with a padded stool. I was made to kneel on it and while two men held my body, another pulled my ankles apart and locked them into some device that prevented me from moving my legs. Then I was bent down, my hands drawn back and my wrists fastened next to my ankles. I was now completely immobile, unable even to rise. My flesh still burned from the beating but at least my arms were no longer being stretched and my knees were cushioned.

I was left untouched for some time but I could hear men around me drinking, smoking and chatting. I imagine they were also looking at me and deciding which portion to take, which cut of meat would give the most pleasure. The pain in my flesh passed down through several levels from unbearable to smouldering, but my back and shoulders began to ache from the unnatural position in which I was crouched. And then the touches began again. A finger traced a line across my back, obviously following the weals of my whipping. Another smoothed the inside of my legs. Then a finger traced along the crack between my buttocks. It paused at my anus and tentatively prospected the force necessary to gain entry. It travelled on, entering the moist fastness of my fanny. Despite my pain and indignity I found myself trembling at this intimate touch. I felt my lips swelling and the finger moved more slickly up and down.

‘Look at that,’ the English voice said, ‘she likes it.’

‘Well, she is a hooker, of course she likes it,’ the American said.

‘Surely all women would be excited by a finger in their quim,’ the Frenchman commented.

‘Not my wife,’ the Englishman retorted.

‘Have you ever touched her?’ chortled the American.

‘I wouldn’t dare,’ the Englishman responded and all broke into laughter. The finger, however, didn’t stop and now began to push deeper into my vagina. I so wanted my clitoris to be rubbed or sucked but it was ignored. I tried to speak but only a gurgle came out of my mouth.

‘She’s trying to say something,’ another English voice said, younger and lighter in tone.

‘Well, you’d better stuff something in her mouth and stop her,’ said the first Englishman.

‘What?’

‘Do I need to tell you?’ The men laughed. A hand grabbed the hair on top of my head and pulled it up. As he did so, the head of an erect penis pressed at my mouth. I resisted at first but the hand pulled my hair harder and involuntarily my mouth opened. It was filled by the plum-sized tip of a cock. The man rammed it in and unusually I began to gag. I struggled to breathe through my nose but he kept his manhood pushed deep to the back of my throat. While my attention was focused on breathing and coping with a mouth full of cock I felt another penis driving into my fanny. He didn’t approach gently but thrust in his full length in one powerful movement. The force pushed me forward driving the cock in my mouth further down my throat. I tried to free myself but my hands and feet were too tightly secured to allow any movement. The two men fucking me timed their thrusts almost as if they were watching each other over my back. The one in my mouth ejaculated first. The semen trickled out of my mouth and down my chin. As his erection subsided I gasped for breath. Then with one final brutal thrust the second man came, filling my cunt with his juice.

No sooner had he withdrawn than his place was taken by the third man who rubbed his swollen cock head up and down my crack before aiming for my arsehole. This time I screamed as he achieved entry and got a slap across my face for my trouble. The cock stretched my arse taut and his vicious movements felt as though I was being torn apart. He achieved his orgasm and was in turn replaced by another, presumably the fourth man. He entered my vagina still slick with semen from the first entry. With the extra lubrication he took longer to come, riding me like a buck until, with a gasp, he shot his load.

And so it went on. By the time all four had had their pleasure of me the first was ready to resume. There was barely a pause when I did not have one or other of them in arse, fanny or mouth and sometimes two at once. As each one took his turn the others laughed and commented and clashed their glasses. Each of my orifices was as sore as my beaten flesh when they finally desisted.

I think the four men left but I still remained bound on my podium, the muscles in my arms and legs and shoulders steadily becoming stiffer and filling me with excruciating pain. I don’t know how long it was before someone, a maid I presume, finally came and undid my bonds. She helped me off the stool but I was shaking and unsteady after being in such an awkward position for so long. She said no word of sympathy and offered no other assistance but retied my hands behind my back. Then she supported me walking down the corridor to the tiny closet where I had been kept earlier. I curled up on the floor and slept fitfully.

I was awoken by the door opening. I was dragged out and carried to another room where I was flung over a waist-high stool not unlike the elephant in Madame Thackeray’s room. My ankles were pulled apart and fastened.

‘There, she’s not in much of a state to respond,’ said a female voice, ‘but you can have what fun you like with her.’ There were a variety of mumbled comments. The door slammed shut and a few moments later a cock forced its way into my sore fanny. I cried as I was fucked but no one seemed to pay any attention to me. One after the other came and had their pleasure, although what pleasure it can have been fucking what was almost a slab of dead meat, I don’t know. My awareness of what was happening broke up into stabs of pain and rhythmic thrusts and periods where I lost any sense of my own body at all.

Eventually everything stopped. There was silence and I wondered whether I had died.

Chapter 20
Victoria Finds Her Goal

‘Victoria, is it really you?’ The voice sounded familiar but came as if in a dream in my semi-conscious state. I woke up enough to realise that I was still flung over the stool like a sack of turnips, my ankles bound to the legs, my wrists tied behind my back and my fanny open and exposed like a gaping wound. Every part of my body was sore or ached from the beating and fucking I had received.

‘It is. Oh, please, please, release her, quickly.’ The French accent finally triggered my memory – it was my dear friend Natalie from the Venus School for Young Ladies. Fingers pulled at the bindings and at last my ankles and wrists were freed. Arms pulled me from the stool and laid me on the cold concrete floor. I opened my eyes to see Natalie looking down at me.

‘What have they done to you, Victoria? Where do you hurt?’

‘Everywhere,’ I muttered and fainted.

I awoke to the delicious feel of clean, smooth cotton sheets caressing my breasts and buttocks, my head resting on a soft down pillow and my body supported by a feather mattress. Mentally, I examined myself. Parts of my skin still tingled, there was a lingering soreness in my bottom and my arms felt a little stiff, but otherwise I seemed to be approaching my normal self. I opened my eyes. Natalie was looking down at me. Her worried frown turned into a broad smile.

‘Oh, you are awake. You have been sleeping for a whole day. How are you, my love?’ she said.

‘I think I am quite recovered. Where am I?’ I looked around the room at plush decorations but anonymous works of art.

‘The Imperial Hotel,’ Natalie replied.

‘In Vienna?’ I was not sure if I had been transported from the city during my state of unconsciousness.

‘
Oui
, we’re staying here until you are fit to accompany us to Paris.’

‘Paris? Us?’

‘My Uncle Pierre and I. We would like you to come to his home for as long as you wish.’

‘That’s very kind, but I do not want to be a burden …’

‘
Non
, my love, you will not. Uncle Pierre has a proposition. He would like to commission you to be his model for a set of photographs.’ I recalled Natalie’s tale of when she had been the subject of her uncle’s photographic hobby.

‘You mean his
special
photographs which he sells.’

‘That’s right, but this time I shall organise it properly and you will be paid.’

‘Well, I don’t seem to have any other offers of employment and I presume my position at Frau Muller’s emporium has been terminated.’

‘That dreadful woman. Uncle Pierre had to get very firm with her to make her release you. But, come, let me help you take a bath.’

She held my arm as I took shaky steps to the bathroom. I sank gratefully into the hot water. While Natalie soaped my body she talked about her Easter vacation and the summer term at the Venus School for Young Ladies; how Madame Thackeray refused to say where I had gone until the day of my eighteenth birthday just before the end of term. Strangely my birthday had passed without me noticing. Natalie and my classmates had been worried and determined to find me. How horrified she was when she had discovered what had happened to me.

When I was towelled dry and lying on the bed, Natalie rubbed soothing creams into my abused skin. Her gentle fingers circled my breasts, my stomach and, by instinct, slipped between my legs. Lightly, she caressed my lips and carefully opened them up. Her creamed finger slid up and down my crack. She found my clitoris. I sighed.

‘That is not hurting, is it?’ she asked.

‘No, my dear, it is wonderful. So few of the men paid any attention to my desires. You are re-kindling my attraction to pleasure.’

Very softly she rubbed my little knob and gradually feelings that I had almost forgotten began to run through me; a little tremble in my stomach, a knot of desire in my breast, a growing and delicious tingle in my fanny. I came to orgasm with a gasp of joy. Natalie planted a kiss on each of my nipples.

‘There now. Sleep again and you will recover fully.’ I did indeed drift into a pleasant slumber.

Over the next few days, I recovered quickly and the marks of the crop and cane and whip faded from my body. I ate well, dressed in the fine clothes that Uncle Pierre had bought for me and we even went outside the hotel and looked at the famous palaces of Vienna. Uncle Pierre decided that I was fit to travel so we took the train to Paris and arrived at his house.

We soon got down to the business of the photographs. Uncle Pierre imagined me in the role of Greek goddesses. There was no subterfuge. I knew exactly what Uncle Pierre wanted and he agreed to say what he wanted in each picture. We began with me as an imperious Hera, with a bared breast. Then I was Ariadne, the hunter, with the fur of a small animal barely covering my body. Next I was the newborn Aphrodite, emerging fully grown and naked from the clam shell. For each set of photographs, Uncle Pierre was most concerned for my comfort but had me adopt a variety of poses. Not once did he attempt to touch me although he came very close with his cameras on many occasions. Afterwards I looked at his prints. Some pictures were chaste, but most, designed for his male clientele, showed my private parts from one angle or another.

After each day’s posing Natalie and I played and chatted. Having completed her two-year course at the Venus School for Young Ladies, I wondered what she would do in the future.

‘Get married, I suppose,’ Natalie replied.

‘After what you have learned, will that satisfy you?’

‘Oh, I shall be very careful in my choice of a husband and make sure that he is willing to learn how to pleasure me.’

‘Will one husband be enough? Beatrice has a number of patrons to ensure she gets what she wants.’

‘Hmm. That is a thought. Perhaps I shall take lovers. But what about you, Victoria? What will you do?’ I had thought about that question a lot but had found no answers. Perhaps Uncle Pierre’s photographs would open a career in that direction.

The next day I was playing the part of Europa, seduced by Zeus. This involved my adopting various postures to indicate the ecstasy of lovemaking with a god. I lay on my back on a couch with my head bent back over the edge, arms hanging down by my side, knees raised and thighs wide apart. Uncle Pierre moved around with his camera tripod, taking photographs from this angle and that. He approached my side to take a close-up of my breasts. Then he moved to the foot of the couch and photographed my quim.

‘Are you going to do to me what you did to Natalie?’ I asked.

He flustered. ‘What has Natalie told you?’

‘Everything. If you want me excited for this last picture then I need some preparation.’ He did not need any more encouragement but crawled onto the couch and placed his head between my legs. To be honest, I did not need much stimulation as the thought of photographs of my sex being sold in the streets of Paris excited me enough already. Nevertheless the touch of his tongue on my clitoris and in my vagina soon had me rocking and bucking. At the peak of my orgasm he withdrew and flashed his magnesium lamp. As he replaced the glass plate in its black envelope I got off the couch and approached him.

‘Now for your reward,’ I said.

‘Pardon?’

‘My thanks for taking me in and looking after me.’

‘It is nothing.’

I knelt in front of him, my nipples rubbing against his trousers. I unbuttoned his flies and helped his expanding penis escape. I licked along its length, top and bottom, leaned underneath and sucked his balls, then licked back along the shaft to the purple knob. I ran my tongue around it and rubbed against the little hole. Uncle Pierre was already gasping and his legs were shaking. I opened my mouth wide and engulfed his head. I pressed my lips around it and sucked. He was throbbing and I could feel his semen starting to flow. I sucked hard just as the flood gushed into my mouth. I chewed and swallowed. There was the sound of running feet on the marble floor.

‘Victoria, you have a … oh!’ I released Uncle Pierre’s penis and turned to see Natalie standing by my side. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’ Uncle Pierre had gone bright pink and was hurriedly doing up his buttons. ‘Don’t be embarrassed, Uncle, I knew that Victoria would pleasure you when she felt the time was right.’

‘You girls. You never cease to surprise me,’ he mumbled.

‘What was it that made you run?’ I asked.

‘Oh. A letter just came for you.’

‘A letter?’ Who could be sending me a letter? I took the envelope from Natalie and noted that it had travelled to Austria before finding its way to Paris. I tore it open and pulled out the letter. The letterhead said Blenkinsop, Blenkinsop and Blenkinsop, Solicitors. I started to read, gasped in amazement, sank to the floor and read it all again.

‘What does it say, Victoria? What is the matter?’ Natalie was worried.

‘It is amazing,’ I said.

‘What is amazing? Tell us,’ Natalie demanded.

I got up and sat on the edge of the couch.

‘It is from Samuel Blenkinsop, my father’s solicitor and executor of his will. When I last saw him at the New Year he thought that all my father’s fortune was gone but it seems he was wrong. Apparently the Berkshire estate was put into a trust for me before he made his losses. The estate is mine. Of course a lot of the furniture and paintings and other things were sold, but the house is still there for me to use.’

‘That is wonderful news,’ Uncle Pierre said. ‘You are a woman of substance after all.’

‘What will you do?’ Natalie asked.

‘I’m not sure but I am going to give it a lot of thought in the next few days and write some letters if I may.’

Indeed a germ of an idea had entered my head as I read Samuel’s letter through a second time. I thought about it, then discussed my plan with Natalie and Uncle Pierre. I wrote my letters and received encouraging replies. So, some ten days after receiving my news, I returned to London, staying in a smart hotel, with Natalie as my companion and Uncle Pierre as escort. We met Samuel Blenkinsop and set various arrangements in motion. A couple of weeks passed in a fever of activity as my plans developed, until at last we were able to take the train to Reading. We hired a coach to travel the last few miles to what was now my country estate. The first view of the rose-pink stone of the house made my spirits lift with joy.

For over a year the house had been closed up, empty and musty, but in the last few weeks a team of workers had opened it up, let in the summer air, made essential repairs and begun simple re-decoration. Not all of it was as yet habitable but now it was time to take on a permanent staff and prepare the building for its new use. While the tenanted farms would provide a little income, considerably more was needed to maintain the estate and enable me to live the life that I desired.

I decided to carry out interviews in the library. The shelves were still empty but with the blinds raised, the room was light and comfortable. I sat at a desk trying to feel as mature and authoritarian as possible. I called for the first interviewee to enter. He entered carrying his cap in his hands but stopped mid-step when he saw me.

‘Victoria!’

‘Hello, Bill. It’s Lady Victoria now, or ma’am, if you please.’

He flustered, and bowed his head, ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, we did not know who was taking over the estate.’

‘That was the intention. Now, I know of your ability with the fillies, both equine and human, but do you think you could perform another job for me?’

‘Anything, Vic … my Lady. It has been a difficult time since your father closed up the house and disposed of his horses.’

‘I’m sure it has. So will you be my head footman?’

‘Head footman? I’m not sure what the job involves, ma’am.’

‘Let me explain. Drop your trousers.’

‘I beg your pardon, Miss.’

‘I said, drop your trousers.’ I got up from my seat and walked around the desk while he fumbled with the string that held up his battered and threadbare trousers. They slid to the floor. I stood in front of him.

‘And your drawers.’ He complied, his hands shaking. His penis was small and shrivelled but his testicles hung low, garlanded in hair. I touched the buried tip of his cock.

‘Are you still seeing that scullery maid?’ I asked.

‘Which maid? Ah …’ The memory of our last meeting came to him. ‘Well, not her, no.’ He looked worried.

‘I’m sure there are others. Don’t worry, Bill, I have forgiven you. But I remember how much you like this.’ I caressed his cock and it quickly grew, rising to attention. I pulled on the foreskin and his wonderful plum of a knob appeared. I rubbed the tip gently with the finger and thumb while massaging the shaft up and down with my other. Bill rocked on his heels and whimpered quietly. He came in my hand. I held it up and in front of his face licked the semen from my palm.

‘There. That was good, wasn’t it?’ I explained my plans to him and the part he had to play.

Soon we had maids cleaning and preparing rooms, cooks in the kitchen and gardeners clearing the grounds. Natalie ran from room to room ensuring that the new furniture and furnishings were arranged correctly. Uncle Pierre instructed Bill and the other young men that I had selected in how to perform their duties and I supervised and worried that things would not be ready in time. At last, the day that I had planned for arrived. By mid-afternoon most of the servants had returned to their homes and Natalie and I were clothed in our fine dresses.

A carriage drew up and Bill did a good job of escorting the three guests into the drawing room. I rose from my chair to welcome them.

‘Beatrice, it’s so lovely to see you again. Theophilus, you look most handsome. And Amelia, that dress suits you so well.’ The four of us, together with Natalie and Uncle Pierre, embraced and began chatting. Bea related that trade in Brighton was good and that all her rooms were now occupied; Theophilus confessed to making regular visits to Bea’s establishment but his career in the bank was on the rise; and Amelia announced that she was now living all the time as a woman while managing her inheritance.

Soon, a cab delivered Samuel Blenkinsop. He was introduced to everyone. I made sure that he and Amelia sat together and got to know one another. I was made to recount my story of the last year, my trials after my father’s sudden death and my recent reinstatement as a lady.