The Education of Victoria (20 page)

I burst out of my cupboard, flew across the room and tried to drag Lydia off the bed.

‘No, that’s my duty,’ I screamed. ‘Only I can give Madame pleasure.’ I had Lydia by the arms, tugging her, but she was fighting back and kicking out. Madame fell on me with her arms around my waist and dragged me off. She held me up as I shouted and kicked and waved my arms.

‘Get, Madame Hulot, now! Go, girl,’ Madame cried.

Lydia ran out of the room naked. I continued to lash out but gradually I subsided into sobs.

Madame Hulot rushed in, red in the face.

‘What is the matter, Grace?’ I had never heard Madame Hulot, or anyone, refer to Madame by her Christian name. Now hearing it, I sagged in Madame’s arms.

‘The girl has gone mad. I think she feels that only she can answer my needs. Foolish girl. Take her away and punish her.’ Madame Hulot grabbed my arms and twisted them behind my back. Madame Thackeray released me and Madame Hulot marched me out of the study, across the hall to the small door beneath the stairs. All the girls had come out to see what the commotion was and they watched as Madame Hulot pushed me down the stairs to the cellar.

She led me to a small room, a dungeon. She flung me onto the dusty floor and went out, locking the door behind her. I lay on the floor and sobbed. A short while later Madame Hulot returned carrying chains and manacles.

‘Take off your clothes, girl.’ I did as I was told and stood naked in front of her with my head hanging.

‘Give me your hands.’ I held out my arms. Madame Hulot locked steel cuffs around my wrists, linked together by a few links of chain.

‘Kneel!’ I knelt and Madame tugged the chain until she could fasten it to a ring fixed in the middle of the floor of the cell. The chain was just a few inches long so I had very restricted movement. I could kneel, I could crouch, I could stand so long as I bent double, but I could not get away.

Madame Hulot stepped back from me and unrolled her long black leather whip. I tried to retreat from her but I was well within her range. She cracked the whip and the lash fell across my buttocks and thighs. Again, and my back felt the fire of her stroke. She used all her skill to land blow upon blow on my body no matter how I wriggled and strained against my bonds. She circled around me seeking her target. Eventually, I could no longer move and lay on the floor while she lashed me from my soles to my neck. I fainted.

I awoke in the dark. My wrists were still bound and my body was still aflame from the whipping. A long time passed before someone entered and laid a bowl of water beside my head. I stirred myself and lapped at it like a dog. The cold water on my cheeks was refreshing. I returned to lying flat on my stomach so that there was no pressure on my wounds. Later still I began to feel less sore and so twisted myself into a sitting position with my legs apart and the ring to which I was attached between my thighs. I passed the time sitting there in the darkness fingering my quim, the pleasure that I gave myself overcoming the pain of my beating and the fear of what was to become of me.

Someone, I could not tell who in the dark, came in and left a plate of bread and cold meat. I knelt and, holding the food in my bound hands, lowered my head to eat. Days passed in this way. A chamber pot was provided for my toilet which was removed from time to time, and food and water were brought to me. I had no way of tracking time other than the muffled sounds from beyond my locked prison of Madame Hulot’s lessons. I forgot what the day was.

Madame Thackeray came into my cell carrying an oil lamp. She leant down and held it close to me. The light dazzled me and I squinted at her.

‘Victoria,’ she said, ‘I have found you a position. An acquaintance of mine runs an establishment in Vienna. We’ll get you tidied up and pack you off. But if you do not behave you will stay here. Do you understand?’

I nodded. There was nothing I wanted more than to escape from this cold, damp, smelly dungeon. I knew now that I was not Madame Thackeray’s first love. In fact in my days of solitude I had realised that Madame Hulot and Madame Thackeray were a couple. Although Madame Thackeray was the principal, it was Madame Hulot, the elder of the two, who was the dominant mistress in their relationship. I had just been a passing fancy and even if I had not reacted to her session with Lydia when I had, Madame would soon have tired of me.

Madame Hulot came in and unlocked my handcuffs. Stiffly and unsteadily I got to my feet and stretched my back. Madame Thackeray threw a blanket over my shoulders and guided me out of my prison and out of the cellar.

I was bathed, powdered, given clean underwear and a simple dress to wear. A rather threadbare cloak and hood were put over my shoulders. I stood in the hallway awaiting my transport.

Natalie ran down the stairs. She threw her arms around me, hugged me and kissed my cheek.

‘Oh, Victoria. It has been dreadful what has happened to you.’ I returned her hugs, welcoming the comfort of her warm body against mine.

‘I’m all right,’ I said, ‘but you shouldn’t be with me.’

‘No, Madame has given me permission to say goodbye to you. But it is not goodbye but
au revoir
. I will keep in touch with you, Victoria. I shall not let you come to harm.’

‘Thank you, Natalie. I long to be free to hold you in my arms again. Perhaps that time will come after I have spent a while in Vienna.’

The door opened and Ludwig the carter appeared. ‘Are you ready, fraulein?’ he asked.

I kissed Natalie on her lips and replied, ‘Yes.’ I let my arms drop from my friend’s waist and pulled her arms from around my neck.

‘Till we meet again, Natalie.’

‘It won’t be long, I promise.’

I turned and stepped through the doors, walked down the steps and mounted the cart. Natalie waved from the doorway as I began my journey to Vienna and a new life.

Chapter 19
Victoria, For Sale

I arrived at my new place of work in late afternoon. It was a former hotel in the style of the Hapsburgs but no longer in one of the fashionable areas of Vienna. I tugged the bell pull and after a few minutes the door was opened by a middle-aged woman in a maid’s uniform.

‘Who are you?’ she asked in the Austrian dialect of German.

‘I am Victoria. Madame Thackeray of the Venus School for Young Ladies has sent me. I have a letter of introduction.’ I proffered the letter and it was taken from my hand.

‘You had better come in.’ I was shown into what had been the foyer of the hotel. The maid went into a side room and emerged a few moments later following another woman in a blouse and long brown woollen skirt. She circled around me, examining me. ‘So, you are Victoria. I was expecting you. I am Frau Muller. Follow me.’

I followed her into the office. Frau Muller closed the door and sat behind a large desk. I remained standing, unsure what was expected of me.

‘Undress please.’

I took off my cloak and laid it over a chair and then unbuttoned my dress. I pulled it over my head and let my slip fall to the floor. I stood in my drawers, my arms folded across my breasts.

‘I said undress. I mean completely.’ I lowered my drawers and then stood feeling self-conscious about my nudity for one of the only times in my life.

‘Drop your arms. I want to see what you have.’ I let my hands fall beside my hips. Frau Muller got up and approached me. She grasped a nipple and rubbed it between her fingers. Her hand was cold and I flinched.

‘Stand still, girl! Hmm, satisfactory bosom.’ She went behind me.

‘These marks on your buttocks and back. Have you been beaten?’

‘Yes, Frau Muller.’

‘Well, you’d better behave yourself or you will get another. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Bend over and spread your legs.’ I touched my toes with my hands. Through my legs I could see Frau Muller bending to examine my fanny and arse. With the finger and thumb of each hand she parted my lips and looked closely into my crack. ‘Hmm. Not a virgin, but it looks healthy.’ She returned to her seat.

‘Stand up, Victoria, and put your clothes on. We’ll start you on the second floor.’ As I re-clothed she explained that the first floor rooms were for the top quality free-lance girls while the second floor was for the house girls. She escorted me up the broad staircase, past the fading glories of the first floor and up to the lower-ceilinged second floor. She opened a door to a room and ushered me in. The room was small with just room for a bed, a small upright chair, a little wardrobe, a dressing table and a washstand with a bowl, a jug of water and a chamber pot beneath it. There was a clock on the wall facing the bed.

‘This will be your room, Victoria. You will stay here unless told otherwise. A maid will bring you more suitable clothes. When I bring a client you will do what he says. Do you understand me?’

‘Yes, Frau Muller.’

‘Good. I am sure you will fit in well here, Victoria. Now undress, wash and prepare yourself.’ Frau Muller withdrew, turning the key in the door as she left, and leaving me to contemplate my future. I had become the insults that Johann had flung at me – a whore, a common prostitute. I undressed and hung my poor clothes in the wardrobe and then gave myself a thorough wash using the tepid water in the jug and the bar of gritty hard soap that was provided. The maid entered without knocking and dropped an armful of clothes on the bed.

‘You had better get ready quick. The men will start arriving soon,’ she said. I sorted through the clothes and dressed myself in a front fastening corset in bright pink with matching bloomers. Over these I put a white petticoat and a bright red dress of poor-quality silk such as may be worn by dancers on stage. It barely came down to my ankles and left much of my bosom exposed. Thus dressed, I sat on the bed and waited.

Not long passed before there were footsteps and voices outside my room. A small window in my door that I had not noticed before slid open and Frau Muller’s face appeared.

‘Stand, Victoria.’ I stood.

‘There you are, sir, a fresh young Englisher.’ Frau’s face was replaced by that of a middle-aged gentleman with a trimmed beard and wide moustache. He looked for a moment and then went away. The window was slid shut.

‘She’ll do,’ I heard him say. ‘One hour, you say?’ I glanced at the clock which showed twenty minutes past eight.

‘That’s right, sir. In you go, sir,’ Frau Muller replied. The lock clicked and Frau Muller flung the door open. The gentleman, in a formal coat and carrying a top hat, entered. Frau Muller closed the door behind her as she left.

Little was said between us. He removed his coat and gloves and then he sat on the chair and told me to undress. For the third time in a little over an hour I stripped off my clothes. This was where I made my first mistake I discovered later. I should have made the act of disrobing a major part of my act and so taken up a considerable fraction of the hour that the gentleman had paid for. Instead I undressed as quickly and carelessly as I usually did. He was not impressed, but when I was naked he showed a degree of interest.

‘Sit on my lap,’ he said. I did so and with his free hand he caressed my legs and thighs and then cupped my breasts, feeling each nipple. He lost interest after a few minutes and pushed me off his knees. He stood up.

‘Undress me.’ This was a task at which I seemed to have some expertise. I helped him remove his jacket and waistcoat and then knelt to undo his garters and trouser buttons. I pulled off his heavy shoes and removed his hosiery. He pushed his trousers down to his ankles and stood before me in his shirt and long cotton drawers. His body, when revealed, showed signs of age. His body hair, like that on his head, was flecked with grey and the muscles in his arms and legs showed wastage. Nevertheless his heart beat strongly and his body carried little excess weight.

I pulled his drawers down slowly, gently releasing his manhood. His testicles flopped out but his penis was lost among the folds of skin. I realised that I was going to have to work hard to satisfy this gentleman. Kneeling in front of him I began to rub my hands up and down his thighs. Then I moved to cup his balls and massaged them gently. There was a flicker of movement and the small pink head of his cock appeared. I bent my head and touched my lips to it. It stirred and swelled and grew a little. Now there was enough of a shaft for me to hold. I gripped it in my hand and I felt it respond, stiffening as the blood rushed into it. The circumcised head was now a healthy mauve and had lost its dull, wrinkled appearance. I encircled it with my lips, caressed it with my tongue and sucked. I drew a gasp of pleasure from its owner and his legs wobbled. I continued to massage his balls with one hand, grip the shaft with my other and suck on his knob. All the time his penis grew and became harder.

The gentleman muttered something and sat down on the bed pulling his cock from my grasp. He lay back and beckoned to me. I climbed astride him and lowered myself slowly and carefully onto his now quite considerable manhood. He sighed as he entered me. Although he was nothing like as large as Eric, Hermann or Albert, he filled me and I rejoiced at the feel of a cock pressed deep in my fanny and his balls between my buttocks.

I began to ride him, bouncing up and down, hindered somewhat by the springiness of the old bedstead and mattress. The oscillations of the bed did not quite match my movements as sometimes as I raised myself up his penis almost dropped out and at others we bounced together with his cock locked into my channel. He was breathing deeply now and flexing his legs to provide extra impetus to the thrusts. He came quite suddenly with a little whimper and subsided immediately. There was just a little trickle of semen from his penis which quickly retired to its nest within his scrotum.

I stretched myself out alongside his prostrate form, wondering what to do next. Soft snores indicated that I would possibly not be called on for much. He slept on until it was gone nine of the clock. I wondered what I should do as his hour was nearly up. At ten past I nudged him and he stirred.

‘I think perhaps you had better get dressed,’ I suggested. He looked at the clock and was not at all pleased to find his time had nearly passed. He began to dress, muttering and accusing me.

‘I didn’t pay for an hour of your company for you to let me sleep, young woman.’

I apologised but suggested perhaps he did need the rest since he had fallen into slumber so readily after our intercourse. He had the grace to admit that the lovemaking had been pleasurable and relaxing, then placing his top hat on his head, he left.

I got up washed myself and dressed yet again. I hoped that I might have the opportunity to look around outside since my door was now unlocked but almost as soon as I was fully clothed Frau Muller arrived with my second client. I had learnt some important lessons from my first customer and so took longer to introduce myself to the gentleman and to remove my clothes with more of a flourish. This man was shorter and stout with a bald head. He was more aggressive and once we were naked he threw me onto the bed and fell on me, forcing his cock into me with little attempt at foreplay. He did not fall asleep after his first orgasm and ordered me to feel and suck him into readiness for a second round.

After his departure there were three more guests to entertain until, shortly before dawn, I was at last able to fall into a deep sleep myself.

And so my life as a whore began. It continued day after day with sometimes three or four, sometimes eight or nine, clients a night. Some old, some young, all reasonably wealthy; some clean and considerate, others smelly, grubby and unpleasant to bed. The routine of handling and sucking cocks, of being fucked in both channels, being on top or underneath or approached from the rear became tedious and a chore. Only occasionally did a gentleman trouble to make my experience a pleasurable one. I never saw a single coin from my clients and never knew how much they paid for my services. That was always handled by Frau Muller. I rarely saw any of my colleagues because if we weren’t working we slept and when we weren’t working the door to my room was locked. Plain but wholesome food was delivered to my room three times a day and the elderly maids emptied the wash bowl and chamber pot and refilled the jug with hot water. Once a week I was allowed to the bathroom for a bath. That was the highlight of the week when I was allowed half an hour to wallow in hot water and to soap myself all over. But each week after my bath, Frau Muller would examine my body and approve me for another week of hard labour. I reflected on the turn of events that had brought me to this life, but with no money and no apparent prospects I could see no reason for trying to escape.

I had been working at Frau Muller’s establishment for three to four months when late one afternoon she sent a maid to escort me from my room to her office. There was a large window in Frau Muller’s room and I looked out on sunshine and flowers and people walking by in summer dress. I felt tired and bored with the endless coupling. Frau Muller sat at her desk and ignored the summer scene.

‘I’ve had some complaints, Victoria.’

‘Complaints, Frau Muller?’ I couldn’t understand who could be complaining about me.

‘Some of your clients have said you are listless, not energetic in bed and not giving them enough attention.’

I was horrified. ‘But Frau Muller, I always try my best.’

‘That may not be enough. You have looked a little, what shall we say, uninterested, lately. That’s the trouble with you girls born with everything. You don’t have the determination to improve yourself like some of my girls have. I think you need some sense knocked into you to wake you up and realise what you are here for. It’s not cheap keeping you fed and clothed and there is the upkeep of this building to consider.’ I couldn’t respond because as far as I could see every pfennig that I earned went into Frau Muller’s pocket. ‘So, you’ll spend a few days in the basement. See if that galvanises you into action.’

‘The basement? What is that, Frau Muller?’

‘You’ll see.’ She rang a small bell on her desk and very quickly a maid entered.

‘Take Victoria to the basement.’ She looked down at some papers, leaving the maid to urge me to follow her.

We crossed the foyer but instead of taking the broad stairs up to the bedrooms we descended a narrow set of concrete steps and entered a narrow corridor. Small gas lights at widely spaced intervals did little to disperse the darkness. On each side of the corridor there were doors. I tried to glance inside as we passed but they were dark. At length the maid stopped and pushed a door open. It swung slowly as if it was very heavy. I stepped inside. It was small, barely four feet square, with bare concrete walls and floor. There was no light.

‘Take your clothes off,’ the maid instructed.

‘What? Here? Now? This is no more than a closet.’

‘Do as I say.’ Her voice sounded threatening and despite her being older I was not sure I could fight my way past her. I undressed. She gathered up my clothes, stepped outside and closed the door. A heavy bolt was rammed through. I was left in the utter darkness with barely enough space to crouch down. There was nothing to do but wait.

I don’t know how long it was, it may have been one hour or five, but eventually I heard sounds of people in the corridor and rooms. The bolt was pushed back and the door opened. I got to my feet. Two maids filled the doorway.

‘Turn around,’ one ordered. I turned and my arms were grabbed and pinioned behind me. A rope was passed around my wrists and tied tightly. Then a leather blindfold was placed over my eyes and secured behind my head. Hands pulled me out of the closet and pushed me along the corridor and then to the right into some other space.

‘She’s yours,’ the maid said and then I heard her steps and those of the other maid moving away. A door slammed. I stood, straining to listen. As my ears became attuned I picked out three or four sources of sound – breathing, soles of shoes on the concrete floor, a match being lit.