The Education of Victoria (18 page)

‘Bertha, put on the double dildo.’ The big girl jumped to her task eagerly. Soon she was equipped with a massive cock. ‘You may choose for yourself which orifice to fill.’

Having seen the enthusiasm with which Bertha had approached the art of discipline I was not surprised to see her position herself to thrust into Natalie’s poor abused rear. I think my dear friend swooned before Bertha finally reached her own orgasm and fell back. The black phallus slid out of Natalie’s arse and Bertha lay on the earth floor with the cock erect.

At that point Madame relented and Natalie was released from her bonds. I carried her to her room and sent her room-mate to sleep with Lydia in my room.

I bathed Natalie’s swollen fanny and arse and rubbed soothing ointment into the marks made by the clamps on her neck, wrists, ankles and nipples. She opened her eyes and smiled at me.

‘Thank you, my friend.’ She slept while I stayed by her side.

Some hours later while it was still dark she awoke.

‘Are you well?’ I asked.

‘Yes. A little sore, but yes, I am fine.’

‘I thought Bertha was going to rip you in two,’ I said.

‘She is certainly vicious,’ Natalie agreed.

‘So are you still attracted to the idea of bondage and forced intercourse?’ I asked, expecting Natalie to reply in the negative. She surprised me.

‘Madame is right, you know. When you are restrained you become detached. My mind seemed to leave my body and I watched while those three men and Bertha used it for their own satisfaction. I had no part to play other than provide the flesh and the holes for them to fill. I have long felt the desire to have intercourse with men of whom I knew nothing and I have wondered what it would feel like to have a cock thrust up my arse. I would never have had the courage to seek out those fantasies but Madame fulfilled them for me tonight. Yes it was painful and uncomfortable, but the feeling of being a machine solely used for the pleasure of others was tremendous.’

‘You amaze me, Natalie.’

‘I amaze myself, Victoria. Your giggly little friend enjoying being the willing victim of wild, violent pleasure seekers. Perhaps I won’t do it again in a hurry, but some time in the future I will willingly partake in the games again. But now, Victoria, please love me.’

Her hands sought my breasts and caressed my nipples, and her lips found mine. Her tongue and mine intertwined. My hands slid down her smooth back to her small round buttocks. She slid down me, her tongue making patterns around my breasts and navel until it reached my crotch. She licked at my quim, exciting such passion within me that I clamped my thighs around her head, holding her while her tongue worked deeper into me. I came with a shuddering suddenness and, flinging the bedclothes off us, leapt astride Natalie and buried my head in her fanny, my nipples rubbing against her stomach. I sucked and chewed at her lips and clitoris and in a short time she too reached her orgasm.

I lay back beside her.

‘There. That was satisfying,’ she whispered and hugged me tight.

Chapter 17
Victoria’s Christmas Dilemma

As the train carried me towards England for the Christmas vacation, I dozed and daydreamed about the term that had passed at the Venus School for Young Ladies. I felt tired and a bit stiff, my nipples, fanny and rear were a little sore and the marks of my most recent beating were still fading from my buttocks and yet I felt more alive than I had ever felt before. Madame Hulot had ensured we experienced as many forms of discipline, restraint and humiliation as she could possibly arrange within the confines of the school and had worked us hard while ensuring that we came to no lasting harm. At first I had been a reluctant participant and was not convinced that pain and discomfort added to my enjoyment of sexual pleasures. On the other hand my friend Natalie had delighted in being bound and restrained, while Bertha had proved to be an enthusiastic and skilful mistress of the whip. Gradually I came to understand the attraction of these unusual pastimes. The ability to hand over responsibility for one’s own body to another and the freedom that gave to respond to every stimulus in an abandoned fashion became attractive. Of course the other point of our training was that we could also become the mistresses and apply the punishments and abuse to those who placed their trust in us. My thoughts lingered on my last lesson.

* * *

We were down in the crypt beneath the school. I was taken and stripped of the few clothes that I was wearing. A mask was placed over my head that prevented me from seeing and also covered my ears so that conversation was muffled. A hard leather bit was placed in my mouth and fastened behind my head so that I could make no complaints. Then leather cuffs were placed around my wrists and joined to a short steel bar that was in turn connected to a steel collar fixed around my neck. My hands and arms were thus rendered immobile and held against my breasts. A chain fixed to a ring in the floor was linked to my collar. The chain was only two or three feet long so while I could kneel I could not rise to my feet. Having been placed in this position I was left. I do not know how much time passed and I strained to hear any sound but the padding in the mask kept me isolated from my surroundings. For all I knew my classmates and Madame Hulot may have been standing close by the whole time and laughing at my predicament.

After an indeterminate time I received a blow to my left buttock. It was such as surprise that I toppled over from my kneeling position and my neck received a painful yank from the chain. The blow left a burning streak and I guessed it had been made by a cane. Another blow caught me on my right side this time and I deduced from the curving stream of fire that it was caused by a whiplash. I tried to cry out but the gag prevented anything more than a gurgle escaping from me. Now the strokes came fast, first to one side and then the other. Tears moistened the mask covering my eyes and saliva dripped from the corners of my mouth. I tried to wriggle and escape but the short chain, my bound hands and my inability to see or hear where my attackers were meant that I was unsuccessful. However I moved, the cane and the whip found my flesh.

At length the beating stopped. Hands lifted me and placed me astride a man. He held my shoulders in his strong hands, preventing me from resting on him. Other hands spread my thighs and lifted my hips and then lowered me onto his erect penis. My fanny slid down his manhood almost as if I was being pierced by a spear. With his whole shaft inside me I could feel his testicles in my groin. He shifted his grip, throwing his arms around me and holding me tight against his chest with my arms and the steel bar crushing my breasts. He bucked a few times and his moving cock stirred my emotions.

And then he paused, holding me motionless. I felt hands parting my buttocks and something pressing against my anus. It was soft with a hard core. I realised it was a second penis trying to achieve entry. Its owner pushed and I felt my arse being forced open and what felt like a huge log driven into me. The second man continued to push until he had buried his full length in my rectum. I could feel both cocks in their respective channels almost touching each other. Now the man under me began to buck in earnest and my rear assailant pulled out and pushed in repeatedly. Nailed by the two cocks I could not move and had to just ride out the pummelling they each gave me. Regardless of the fact that I was playing no part in the intercourse and was merely a receptacle for the two instruments of pleasure, an orgasm began inside me sending my heart into palpitations, my brain swimming and my limbs trembling. It reached a climax as both men ejaculated. Through my deadened hearing I heard them both emit cries of delight. One pulled out of my arse like a cork from a bottle and the other pushed me off him once his flaccid prick had slid out of my fanny. I rolled across the dusty floor until the chain at my neck checked my motion. I remained there for some time until Madame Hulot returned and released me. Somewhat painfully I returned to my room and examined my body in a full length mirror. My buttocks and thighs were covered with red stripes and my crotch was a sticky, gritty mess of dust and semen.

My train neared Waterloo and I looked out for my father come to meet me. But there was no sign of him. When I descended from the carriage he was still not there. I waited for some time then decided to use some of my own coins to take a cab to our home. The house was dark and no servants came to the door. I waited on the doorstep sitting on my trunk, gradually becoming colder and colder. As the church clock struck eleven, my father appeared on foot. He swayed a bit and I could smell drink on his breath. Despite the cold his coat was undone and his clothing dishevelled. I had never seen him in such a state before.

‘Ah, Victoria. You found your own way home then.’

‘Yes, Father. Where have you been? I’m cold and tired after my journey.’ He struggled to place his key in the lock.

He sniffed, ‘You’re cold and tired. No thought for me I suppose, your only father.’ He pushed the door open and staggered inside. I hurried to follow him. The house felt cold and empty.

‘Where are the servants? Why is the house cold? Why are you like this, Father?’ He continued along the hallway and up the stairs.

‘Gone, gone. It’s all gone,’ he said to himself as much as to me.

I dragged my trunk over the doorstep and closed the door. Then I hurried up the stairs, following my father. When I got to his bedroom the door was closed. I turned the handle but the door would not open.

‘Father, let me in. What is the matter?’ There was no reply. I banged on the door a few times and called out again but he would not answer me. Eventually I gave up and went to my room. It was cold but at least the bed was made. Without undressing I crawled under the covers, curled up as much as I was able in my tight-laced corset and eventually fell asleep.

I awoke as the winter sun, filtered through yellow fog, made a half-hearted attempt to banish the night-time shadows. Yawning and stiff from my fitful sleep I made my way down the stairs. There was no sign of my father in the dining room or his study. I went back upstairs to his bedroom but though I found the door open, the room was empty and the bed unmade. Back downstairs I searched the kitchen. There was no sign of my father or food but for a piece of stale bread. The cooking range was cold and there was no coal at hand. I presumed that my father had already left to attend to his business but I was more concerned with how I was to see to my own needs for warmth, food and hot water to wash. While gnawing at the hunk of bread I walked around the whole house. Many rooms were bare, their furniture, furnishings, ornaments and paintings from the walls gone. Even the bookshelves in the library were bare. What had happened? Had father sold his belongings? Why?

It was mid-morning when there was a knock on the back door. I ran to see which tradesman was calling. I opened the door to the coalman. He was a young man dressed in shirt, jacket and trousers, all covered in a film of coal dust.

‘Oh hello. I’m so glad you’ve come. We seem to be out of coal. I don’t know why.’

‘It’s because I haven’t been paid, Miss,’ the coalman said.

‘Haven’t been paid?’ I repeated.

‘No, Miss, not for months. I’m not to deliver any more until the bill has been paid.’ I couldn’t understand. Why hadn’t my father paid the bill? How had he allowed the household to run out of fuel?

‘I’m sorry, I haven’t got any money.’ The coalman turned to leave. I grabbed his black hand, ‘Oh, please don’t go.’

‘If you can’t pay and the master of the house isn’t here, there’s no point me staying, Miss. It’ll be the debt collectors you’ll see next.’

‘No, please. I need coal. The house is cold; I need hot water to wash.’

‘I’m sure you do, Miss, but there’s nothing I can do.’

‘Just one bag.’

‘Only if you can pay.’

How could I pay my father’s bill? I looked at the young man. Beneath the coal dust he had handsome features. I knelt in front of him, looked up into his face and appealed to him to think of a poor woman in the cold. He shook his head. I placed a hand on his groin without thinking and felt a twitch. An idea came into my head. Perhaps one service would deserve another. I undid one of his fly buttons, then another.

‘What are you doing, Miss?’

Another and another came undone. He wasn’t wearing anything beneath the trousers and his penis flopped out. It was white and clean. I caressed it with my middle finger. It trembled and grew. The head lifted up and the purple knob pushed through the foreskin. I gripped it in my hand, squeezing it gently but firmly.

‘Just one small bag?’ I asked. I reached out with my tongue and touched the tip. He staggered but I kept my grip.

‘What do you mean?’ His voice had developed a dreamy, faraway quality. I encircled his knob with my lips and rubbed the ridges beneath it with my tongue. I released my grip on his shaft and cupped his balls, running a finger behind them up the crack between his buttocks. I took hold of his cock with my other hand and leaned back, letting the knob slide out of my mouth.

‘I’m sure you can spare just one small bag.’ He rocked on his feet.

‘Yes, yes. Just do it.’ I smiled and lowered my head again. This time I took his cock deep into my mouth and rubbed my hand up and down the shaft. As I suspected it did not take very long for his climax to arrive. He groaned loudly and his semen gushed into my mouth. I swallowed it hungrily. I made sure every last drop had been licked and sucked from his penis before I released it from my mouth and tucked it and his balls back inside his trousers. I stood up and he hurried to do up his buttons.

‘One small bag,’ I repeated. He turned to run out to the rear yard.

‘Yes, I’ll get it. But the bill still needs to be paid.’ He went to his cart and good as his word returned with a half hundredweight of coal.

‘Perhaps we can repeat our bargain some time,’ I said.

‘Perhaps,’ he replied running off. He mounted his cart and urged the patient horse to get moving.

I managed to get the range lit, which warmed the kitchen. Then I heated some water and undressed in front of the fire to wash myself. I dressed in some looser clothes more suited to working in the kitchen and pondered what to do about food. I did have a small amount of money in my trunk saved from last summer; it seemed that I must go shopping for my victuals. I dressed myself like a housekeeper and went out to the market to buy bread, butter, milk and pies. Back home I was at last able to satisfy my hunger. The rest of the day I spent awaiting the return of my father from whom I hoped to find an explanation for our situation. But he did not return. Late into the night I sat by the small fire in the kitchen keeping myself warm. It was nearly midnight when the front door bell was rung. I ran along the hall and flung the door open expecting to see my father on the step. Instead it was a policeman.

‘Good evening, Miss.’ He took his helmet off and held it in the crook of his arm, ‘I’m afraid I have bad news.’ He informed me that my father had fallen from the platform and had been hit by an underground train entering the station. Some witnesses said that he had jumped while others said he slipped. Either way he was dead and I was required to identify the body. The policeman very kindly escorted me to the mortuary where I confirmed the body as that of my father. I only saw his face. The rest of his body was covered by sheets. His chest had been crushed by the train. He looked peaceful lying there as if he was asleep. I almost wanted to shake him to wake him up. The policeman took me back home, said a few kind words and then I was alone again.

The fire had gone out and the kitchen was cold again. I sobbed then as much for myself as my father. What was I to do? I fell asleep, eventually, in the wooden chair in the cold kitchen.

I was woken by the bell ringing and someone banging on the front door. I stirred and hurried to see who could be making such a racket. On opening the door, a gentleman in a frock coat and bowler hat pushed past me and into the hall. He went into the dining room and looked around.

‘Who are you? What are you doing?’ I demanded. He pushed past me again and went into my father’s study.

‘Bailiff, Miss. You’ve got lots of unpaid bills and the courts have given me the authority to assess what items we can confiscate to meet the sums.’ He went into the drawing room.

‘But you can’t do that,’ I appealed.

‘Oh yes I can.’ Now he was in the kitchen.

‘But my father only died last night.’

‘Sorry to hear that, Miss. Means that I had better work faster before the executors tie everything up for an age.’ He climbed the stairs and reached the library. I followed him into the bare room and watched him gaze at the empty shelves.

‘Seems someone cleaned it out before I got here,’ he went on. He moved on to my father’s bedroom. There was just the unmade bed from the night before last, his last in this world. The bailiff finally arrived at my bedroom. He pushed my door open.

‘Ah, this is better. Some good stuff here.’ He looked at my wardrobe, dressing table, chest of drawers, the pictures on the walls, the full-length mirrors.