The Education of Victoria (7 page)

The following day, being St Stephens Day, saw the gathering for the hunt. Father dressed in his best hunting gear and set off with the other riders. I stayed behind with the other ladies, feeling somewhat tired after my sleepless night. Some commented on my demeanour, which I attributed to over-indulgence on the previous day, but in truth I was in no mood for the public pleasures.

The following morning we travelled back to our London residence as Father was keen to get back to business. I resumed my lonely existence with my fingers providing my only solace. We entertained guests on one or two evenings and attended gatherings at Father’s friends’ houses, but no event gave me occasion for the sport I now sought.

At last the time arrived for me to return to school. I made a show of reluctance to leave the comforts of home and the tender loving care of my father but in truth I was eager to leave. Father travelled with me to Dover and saw me on to the Channel ferry in the company of some acquaintances he had made, but at last I was able to bid him farewell.

The crossing was thankfully calm and swiftly completed, and I boarded the train that would carry me almost to my destination. There was just one other person in my carriage, a gentleman who appeared to be in early middle age. He was smartly and expensively dressed but having greeted me and helped me get settled he sat down with a magazine and said not one word further.

I was intrigued as to what publication could absorb a man to so great an extent. It appeared to be one of the regular cheap booklets that carried serialised novels such as those by Mr Conan Doyle but I could not see its title page clearly as we were sitting at opposite ends of the compartment. I gave the appearance of being deeply interested in my own book, an improving novel by George Elliot, but in truth I was watching this quiet reader. From time to time his breathing became a little more rapid and I noticed a small swelling in the crotch of his trousers. What reading matter, I wondered, could so arouse a man? I desperately wanted to find out what was absorbing his whole attention.

Thankfully, despite the obviously exciting nature of his pastime, the rhythmic swaying of the train encouraged him to nod off to sleep. Shortly he began to snore gently and the magazine fell from his hand. As quietly as I could I moved to pick it up from the floor of the carriage and at once settled back to read. The title of the publication was
The Pearl
and I quickly discovered the nature of its works of fiction. Each told the tale of a young man and handsome young lady forced, against her will and her upbringing, to service the man, the hero of the story. It turned out that despite her coercion the girl was soon an enthusiastic convert to the pleasures of the flesh and cheerfully engaged in all manner of activities at the behest of her master. In truth I did find some of the descriptions of their amorous engagements somewhat exciting. I was conscious of my nipples hardening and a heat between my legs but I was disappointed that it was the men who determined the course of the adventures. My companion appeared to be a pleasant and well-bred gentleman and not unattractive given his years. I resolved to play a game with him.

I moved as silently as possible to where he sat and then slid onto the floor to kneel at his feet. I reached up to the buttons of his trousers and started to undo them. I had barely got one undone before he stirred. I hurried to undo another before he became fully awake. He opened his eyes and started when he saw me at his feet. I put a finger to my lips and hushed him.

‘Be still; imagine that you are asleep and dreaming of the situations of which you have read.’ I nodded at the magazine which I had placed on the seat but out of his reach. He looked at it and the widening of his eyes showed that he realised that I had been reading it. As I expected he was not an unwilling participant in my little sport. He rested back on the couch and allowed me to continue to undo the buttons. Inside I found more buttons belonging to his undergarments. These buttons were smaller and easier to unfasten. At last my way was clear. I reached inside and found his manhood, crushed and sad, but as I released it from its confinement it began to grow. It unfolded like a flower of the tropics pushing out its pistil to attract a pollinating insect.

To be truthful it did not match in length or girth the magnificent tools of Eric or Hermann or especially Albert, but it was satisfactory for its purpose. Held in my warm hands it soon stood erect and the gentleman looked both astounded and proud of his achievement. Unlike the other penises that I had been witness to there was no foreskin for me to pull back from the livid red knob. I lightly caressed the shaft and the head with my fingers, drawing moans of delight from my subject. Holding the shaft between a finger and thumb and raising it to point to the ceiling of the carriage, I bent my head and nibbled at the testicles in their crinkled bag. Then I licked up the shaft.

He had begun to breathe in short gasps and I realised that despite my skills he may come all too suddenly and I did not want white stains on my clothes. I took the head into my mouth while playing the shaft like an oboe. My fingers danced a merry jig and as I suspected it was not long before he shot a load of creamy spunk into my mouth. I savoured it and licked the circumcised knob clean. He let out a long strangled moan and sank into the seat like a boneless sea creature.

I returned to my seat licking my lips and took a handkerchief from my handbag to dab my cheeks and mouth. Then I sat up and resumed the appearance of reading my book. That my suspicions had been correct gave me significant satisfaction. Given the chance, the subject of my attentions had willingly adhered to my plan and given himself up to my administrations with resulting pleasure for me and himself. I watched the object of my experiment surreptitiously over the top of the pages. It took a few moments for him to recover and then he looked at me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He hurriedly fiddled with the fastenings at his crotch and got into a tremendous muddle with the buttons. At that moment the engine’s whistle blew and we began to slow as the train reached a station. The gentleman got to his feet and collected his bags. As soon as the train was stationary he opened the door and leapt out. I never saw him again but he left his book of erotic tales behind. I put it into my bag before my carriage filled with a family of travellers.

Chapter 7
Victoria Hears Natalie’s Story

It was my first night back at the Venus School for Young Ladies after our long Christmas vacation. Despite being tired after my long journey through a number of the kingdoms, republics and principalities of Europe, I was delighted to see my friend Natalie again. It was snowing, adding to the deep drifts around the school, and it was cold. To keep warm we snuggled up under the blankets of the bed Natalie shared with her room-mate.

After so many weeks alone in my bed at home it was wonderful to feel the warmth of another person close to me and to feel her sweet breath on my neck. Our hands wandered under our night dresses. Each touch of Natalie’s fingers on my thighs, stomach, bosom and buttocks were reassuringly familiar but gave me a thrill as if it were the first time that I had been touched. Her caresses circled the core of my being and when at last she touched me between my legs I trembled and let out a sigh of excitement.

I too fondled Natalie’s slight but delicious body. I played with the prominent nipples in the centre of her small but pert breasts and slid my hands down her side, over her hips and along her thighs before heading for the thicket of pubic hair. Natalie giggled.

While we touched each other and kissed cheeks and necks we recounted the events of our Christmas vacations. I told of my exploits, disappointments and discoveries and then listened as Natalie gave her account of surprising events.

‘I was so pleased to get home to see my
mère
et
père
and my five brothers and their wives. They were delighted to see me and showered me with kisses and hugs and presents of fruits and sweetmeats. But, oh, ze house was mad. Full of people, all, how do you say, on top of each other. I did not have a single minute to myself. My bed I shared with my little sister and every time I thought I was alone, the door would fly open and there would be Emilie, Ricard or Michel or someone. After a few days I was feeling quite frustrated not having had a chance to give my fanny a good rubbing. So when my Uncle Pierre invited me to his house on the other side of Paris I jumped at the chance.

‘Uncle Pierre is an old man. He must be at least fifty years of his age and since his wife died lives alone in his big house, except for a few servants. He spends his time making, what is the word? Light pictures? Ah,
photographs
, you know, Monsieur Daguerre invented the process. Uncle Pierre proposed that I join him for a few days, as his model. He told me in the company of my mother that he was planning a series of pictures on the theme of women of the Bible. My parents agreed to Uncle’s suggestion so, next day, we took a coach to his house.

‘I was provided with a large bedroom all of my own although I must confess that it was rather cold and smelt musty through not having been used for many years. Uncle allowed me to settle in and that evening entertained me to dinner with wine from his cellar. Next morning after breakfast he called me to join him in his studio. This was a room at the top of the house with a glass roof. There were blinds controlled by a clever mechanism to allow light to fall from one direction or another on the subject of Uncle’s photographs. The servants had set up what appeared to be a stage set of a stable with bales of hay and a crib. There were tripods and boxes of polished wood which I gathered were his machines for the taking of photographs.

‘Uncle Pierre told me to go behind a screen and change my clothes for those that he had prepared for me.

‘“The first subject of my great work will be the mother of the Christ, Mary herself. You will be a fine Mary, Natalie my dear. You display pure and virginal qualities like no other.”

‘I had to smile to myself. Little did he know that only a week had gone by since I had held a hard cock between my lips and caressed a pair of testicles with my fingers. Behind the screen I quickly removed my fine garments and hose and donned the simple blue dress and white apron that Uncle had left for me. The dress had buttons at the front and was, I noted, rather short for the wife of a carpenter, barely reaching my knees when I was standing.

‘I emerged in this costume supposedly playing the part of the Virgin Mary and Uncle told me to sit on a milking stool in the middle of the set. He placed in my arms a doll of a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and told me to look down at it with an adoring expression. There was quite a delay while he arranged his camera on its tripod and peered through it, fiddling with the brass rings that held the glass lenses. Then he had to prepare the special glass plates that he uses to record the patterns of light.

‘“Now, dear, sit absolutely still while I expose the plate. I shall count to
trois
.
Un
,
deux
,
trois
.” I heard a click, then there was a delay and at last another click. ‘
Perfectement
, soon we shall see what a delightful Mary you are. Now, dear, if you would like to undo the buttons at the top of the dress and place the doll to your breast, we shall have a picture of the mother suckling the Christ child.”

‘I must confess to being surprised at this turn of events but thanks to a term of Madame Thackeray’s teaching I immediately recognised Uncle’s intentions. His tale of a series of pictures of Bible heroines was nothing more than a ruse to observe my feminine charms. No matter, I was pleased that it appeared that this posing may turn out to be more interesting than I had previously thought. I undid the buttons as instructed and accidentally allowed the dress to flop open not only giving access to my left breast for the artificial baby but also exposing my right breast to the view of Uncle Pierre’s photographic equipment.

‘“Ah, excellent,’ Uncle exclaimed, ‘your breast is like a
glacé
of purest milk and your nipple a deep red cherry.” He set to work with his plates but his words gave me just the smallest thrill. In the course of over an hour he exposed four or five of the glasses, changing the direction of the light for each and asking me to adjust my pose just a little. As I twisted on the stool the dress rode up, exposing my thigh, which seemed to delight him. I became a little stiff holding the pose for so long and was thankful that my bosom is still firm. Even when I am not excited my nipples stick upwards. Eventually Uncle Pierre told me my work for the day was complete and that I could change back to my day clothes. He went off to the room that he keeps dark and said he would spend the rest of the day developing the plates and making prints.

‘I spent the afternoon quite happily amusing myself in various ways. After dinner that evening, Uncle Pierre showed me the first fruits of his labours. The paper was still a little damp but the picture of me as the Virgin Mary was perfectly formed. Uncle only showed me a copy of the first of the photographs he had taken and I wondered how my breasts looked when captured for ever on the special paper.’

I too would have liked to have seen the pictures of Natalie and I wondered what other biblical characters her uncle had in mind. I urged her to continue with the story.

‘The next morning followed the same pattern. After breakfast I climbed up to the studio where I found that Uncle Pierre had prepared a new set. This one was again agricultural but showed a field with sheaves of corn.

‘“Today, my dear,” he greeted me, “you will be Ruth, the dutiful daughter-in-law fallen into poverty and scouring the fields for ears of corn.” I was quite pleased that I would not be doing the task in reality and just posing for the photograph. I went behind the screen and undressed. The clothes Uncle had left for me were those of a simple peasant, in a burnt orange colour. When I put the dress on I found it was worn and torn and barely covered me at all. I now had a good idea what Uncle’s series of pictures was really about so I decided to play his game to see how much he wanted.

‘When I stepped on to the set Uncle Pierre asked me to kneel and look as though I was searching for grains of corn. When I knelt the shreds of the dress fell about me. With a little coaxing my bosom dropped into view and my thighs and bottom were exposed. Uncle showed his pleasure by taking lots of plates. His camera was rather immobile so I had to shuffle round the set, sometimes presenting a side view that gave a good picture of my thighs. At other times I was facing the camera and I could see Uncle’s face becoming red and hot as he peered through his lenses at my breasts. Finally he had me present my bottom to the camera. I could not see his face of course but I could tell he was pleased by the sighs and murmurs that came from under the black sheet with which he covered his head and shoulders. He had me lingering in that position for a considerable time saying that he was having trouble with his lenses becoming clouded.

‘The afternoon was again spent on my own while Uncle Pierre worked in his darkroom, and at dinner he presented me with the first fruits of his labours – an attractive and modest picture of the saintly Ruth.’

‘Did it excite you posing for your Uncle in such a state of dress?’ I asked eagerly.

‘A little, but the time went on and on so I was quite beyond excitement when Uncle had finished with me, but, Victoria, I have not finished my story yet.’

‘Oh, do go on,’ I said.

‘The third morning I found behind my screen just a pile of scarves made of gossamer thin silk. There were seven of them attached to a fine cord. I was unsure what to do with them until Uncle Pierre called out.

‘“Today, my dear Natalie, you are Salomé and you will dance the seven veils for John the Baptist’s head.”

‘“How do I wear them, Uncle?” I asked.

‘“Drape them around you,
ma chérie
. They will cover all your amazing attributes.” I did as he asked and stepped onto his stage of an Arabian palace. Of course I couldn’t dance while Uncle took the photographs. Instead I had to pose in strange and contorted positions, my arms raised, sometimes with my legs parted, occasionally on one leg. The silk scarves did not remain covering my private parts. They parted and fluttered away, revealing my body to my doting uncle.

‘When he emerged from under his sheet he looked flushed and flustered but most of his time was spent peering through the camera directing my movements and telling me to freeze when he found a view that appealed to him.

‘“You are most beautiful, my little flower,” he said, “so seductive you are bound to get what you want from a king.” I thought, give me a chance and I will seduce you, you old lecher.

‘That evening he presented me with a most fetching picture of me trapped for ever in my dance. Somehow he had contrived to take one photograph when my parts were covered by the fine cloth but there was a hint of my pubic hair visible through the translucent silk.’

‘Ooh,’ I cooed, ‘your uncle is a naughty old man. What does he do with the other pictures I wonder?’

‘I wondered too, but the answer to the puzzle must wait until the end of my story.’

‘Do go on, Natalie.’

‘The following morning I looked behind my screen and there was nothing.’

‘Nothing!’ I exclaimed.

‘That’s right, nothing, no costume at all. I emerged to speak to Uncle Pierre while he was fiddling with his cameras.

‘“Do you wish me to wear my own clothes today, Uncle?” I asked.

‘“No, my little sparrow, today you will be Eve, the mother of mankind, before the Fall. You are innocent, without knowledge of any sin, unaware of carnal desires, unaware indeed of your nakedness.”

‘“Ah, you want me naked, Uncle.”

‘“Yes, my dear. Take your clothes off behind the screen.” I did as I was bidden, not at all nervous of showing myself off. Over the last three days Uncle Pierre had looked long and hard at my charms through his glasses and I knew that was what he really wanted to do, not record these fanciful Bible stories. He had me pose amongst the artificial trees of his Garden of Eden. With an apple in my hand and drooping branches draped over my shoulders, my hand nonchalantly but artfully placed over my mount of Venus, Uncle commenced his photography. In later poses he introduced a snake made of smooth satin that wound around my thighs and breasts. Once again I was moved this way and that, sometimes seen from the side sometimes from the front.

‘As before, Uncle spent most of the time under his cloth sighing and moaning. Once, when he emerged there was a definite bulge in the front of his trousers and beads of perspiration formed on his brow.’

‘And, what of you, Natalie?’ I asked. ‘Did the posing give you pleasure?’

‘I found it amusing, seeing how Uncle Pierre wished me to arrange myself, but really the time dragged and I longed for a hand to caress me or a penis to hold. At dinner, Uncle gave me the day’s first print and despite my obvious nakedness one could not say that the pose with the cascading branches and the entwining snake was at all improper. However that was the last time one could say that.’

‘Oh, really, Natalie. What happened next?’

‘It was the fifth day of my stay with Uncle Pierre and although nothing had been spoken of the purpose behind his hobby it was clear that he knew that I realised that the stories of biblical women were a subterfuge and that my body was his principal interest. I wondered what could follow Eve, but he had an answer in store.

‘When I arrived in the studio there was just a divan covered with furs on the set. There were no clothes behind the screen so I undressed and emerged naked.

‘“Are we continuing with Eve today, Uncle?” I asked innocently.

‘“No, Natalie. Today you are Mary Magdalene before she found the Christ.’ I confess that my Bible knowledge is not what my mother would wish, Victoria, so at first I had no idea what my uncle was referring to. But it became clear soon after. He had me lie on my back on the divan which was on small wheels to allow it to be turned easily. Uncle Pierre gave me instructions.

‘“Now my dear, this may be difficult for you but I want you to imagine that you are in state of excitement. I would like you to stretch out your limbs, arch your back, open your mouth. If it would help, I suggest you moan with pleasure.” I did not inform my darling Uncle that I had quite often been in this state of bliss during my first term at the Venus School for Young Ladies, but instead endeavoured to put myself in the position he described.