It's true. I am perspiring. "Is it warm in here, Aunt Meg?"
"Perhaps a bit. Here, let's get you out of this heavy dress."
"No. It's alright..." But already she has turned me over and unbuttoned my dress to the waist. I slip it down over my hips.
"And the rest," she says.
"Aunt Meg, I don't think..."
"Oh come now, we're both of the female persuasion. You're not shy around women too, are you?"
I am but feel that to say so is admitting something unsavory. We each unlace one of my hobnail boots. I pull my petticoat over my head and my bloomers and stockings down.
"My dear, do you not wear a corset?"
"Well, no, not really. We don't need them in the country."
My Aunt tsks at me, her eyes roving to my breasts where the pink nipples stand timidly erect. "Well," she says, "we'll simply add one to our shopping list."
Oddly enough, now that I am stark naked before her, and sure my entire body is blushing, I am hotter than before. "Perhaps I am ill, Aunt Meg."
She puts a palm to my forehead. "I don't think you have a fever. Lie down again," she says. "On your tummy."
I do as she asks. Suddenly her small warm hands are touching my shoulders, kneading them, then the muscles of my back. Although I am still uncomfortably warm, these strange actions feel so relaxing that very soon I give myself over to her ministrations. She rubs and squeezes and kneads down my back and along my sides, including the sides of my breasts, which no one has ever touched, including me. Her fingers squeeze my buttocks, lifting and pressing one cheek, then the other, then the first again. It is stimulating in an unfamiliar manner. Her hands move in a circular motion, massaging, creating friction, and the surface of my buttocks heats. I hear myself moan.
"You have a fine white bottom," she says. "Any sane man would worship such round virginal cheeks and make good use of them. You must learn to flaunt your attributes for your own pleasure," she says, "and the pleasure of others."
"Yes, Auntie," I mumble, feeling dozy. I am as warm as if this were a summer's day. What she is doing to my bottom, and my thighs and the crack between them feels so wonderful. I float into a dream where I stand at the edge of a lake looking down into the water, seeing myself as I am and yet different at the same time. I look older, more mature. I realize I am naked and stare at the reflection of my body. My breasts are high and proud, the nipples hard and ache, but for what I do not know. I feel another ache between my legs, as if I have an itch I need to scratch very badly, but the itch is somehow inside me and I know I cannot reach it alone. My entire body feels sensitive, particularly my derriere, which becomes so very warm as the sun beats down on it. And the heat is increasing by the moment. I hear myself panting, the itch between my legs becoming more pronounced, nearly unbearable. I feel weak, unable to stand. The sun sets my body on fire and I fear I will burn up. I cry out, twisting and turning, yearning for some sort of escape from these flames that lap at me. Suddenly I plunge into the lake and sink beneath the surface. I move as if in slow motion through the cooling waters that engulf me and roll over my body like a million fingers rushing up and down my flesh. My body stretches and twists and turns in complete abandon. This is where I want to be. Forever.
I hear a voice, distorted by the water. It is Aunt Meg's. "Surely one will know what to do with such a bottom."
Chapter Five
As I stand before the Utterson's door, Hyde's surly voice screams in my ears. He tells me in no uncertain terms that the night is his and just what do I think I'm doing, keeping him prisoner in this manner at this hour.
"You will stay in check until I free you!" I whisper, just as the door swings inward.
"Evening, Doctor Jekyll." The maid looks askance at me, then out the door, wondering who on earth I am talking to. Seeing I am alone, she admits me and takes my coat and hat and leads me into the large atrium at the back of the house, a small ballroom really.
I do not wish to be here and were it not that Gabriel has been such a close friend over the years, I would now be at home, mixing my elixir, relieving myself of the burden of suppressing Hyde, for it is a burden. The creature has insatiable passions, darker than the night sky, and yet I am compelled to free him each night. It is my only release.
But this night he must wait. I've promised Utterson to attend, to meet his niece. Surely an hour will not matter to the great Master Hyde!
"Henry! Welcome!" Utterson's beefy hand shakes mine.
"Henry, how well you look. And handsome as ever," says Meg, throwing her arms about my neck and pressing her large breasts against my chest. They are soft, except for her nipples, which seem to be constantly firm. Hyde loves this but I remove her arms simply because I do not want that monster feeding off my experiences.
"You both look grand, as usual." It was true. Utterson wore a finely made coat of broadcloth and a dashing bow tie. Meg was aglow in a pink gown with sequins, the color and style—the neck cut low enough to show a hint of cleavage, a bit young for a married lady in her thirties. Yet, as always, her risqué tastes suit her.
"And where is this niece of yours?" I ask, eager to get the evening over with.
"Oh, she'll be down directly. You know how young women are," Utterson says with a wink.
There are a dozen guests thus far, many familiar to me because we frequent the same social gatherings: the opera, the theater, charity events. Alan Wilcox nods to me from across the room—we have not seen one another since we played polo together at university. He looks fit and I had heard he is now an inspector with Scotland Yard. I make my way towards him.
"Alan, so very good to see you."
He gives my hand a hearty shake. "And you, Jekyll. Do you still ride and swing the polo mallet?"
"Sadly I do neither. I no longer have the leisure I did during university days. My duties as a physician keep me very busy. And you?"
"The same. Now that I'm in charge of all criminal investigations, I can tell you that my new bride seldom finds me in our bed. Connie is powdering her nose. I'll introduce you when she returns." Wilcox was always the great lover in our group, or at least that's what he led us to believe. I'd heard he'd recently married, a ravishing redhead. "Say, isn't that Hastie?"
I turn and see Hastie Lanyon enter the room. He moves stiffly, as though in great pain. After greeting the Uttersons, he joins Wilcox and myself.
We all exchange greetings. I notice his face holds more color than I am used to seeing on it. And, again, that stiffness of walk.
"Hastie, my dear fellow, are you under the weather?"
"No, not at all. I feel fine."
"You look as though you're in pain. Here," I turn a chair towards him, "sit down. We'll all sit," I say, providing two more chairs which Wilcox and I both use. Hastie, though, remains standing.
We look up at him. He is reluctant to sit, that is an understatement, but an explanation appears to be more difficult for him to contemplate. Gingerly he moves in front of the chair and lowers himself slowly. When his bottom reaches the seat, he draws in breath sharply and winces.
"What, have you injured your back?"
He hesitates and looks at me suspiciously, as though he will not trust me with the truth. "Yes, that's it. I fell down the cellar steps. It's nothing."
"Perhaps you should come by and let me have a look. I can assess the extent of the damage and may be able to alleviate your suffering."
Hastie looks at me as if I'm deranged. "And why would I want to do that? Suffering leads to healing."
"If you're lucky." It is Hyde's voice that answers. Hastie's head snaps up. Wilcox is preoccupied and does not notice. I cough to cover my embarrassment. Damn Hyde! Now he's taken to embarrassing me before my friends.
I have no more to say on the subject, and apparently neither does Lanyon nor Wilcox, so we begin talking of other things, mainly catching up on what has transpired since last we saw one another. Constance Wilcox joins us and she is, as rumor has it, a tall, slim woman with fier
y hair and taunting eyes. At least Hyde and I agree on one thing: Alan is a fool to miss opportunities alone at night with her.
Half an hour later conversation in the room noticeably dims. The trio of musicians playing Brahms in the corner is silent. The air feels still, as it does just before a thunderstorm. All eyes move as one.
Standing at the top of the steps to the ballroom is a beguiling creature. Her blonde curls shine as if sunlight reflects off them. Her skin glows with youth and vitality. Each of her features is perfectly placed on her over face—full lips that leave a tiny 'o' open where they come together, smooth high cheekbones, dark brows, and violet eyes that twinkle with life. Her body is corseted nicely, showing a tiny waist, and breasts that swell up and would be revealed except for the tulle carefully guarding the bosom of her yellow satin gown. Her hips flair out, invitingly. My cock is stirred by her beauty and her perfect figure.
I am aware that I am standing but do not recall getting to my feet. Wilcox too is standing. Poor Hastie is struggling to join us, yet his agony draws most of his attention.
She lifts her skirt slightly and walks down the stairs with dainty beslippered feet. I imagine that skirt lifted higher. Much higher. Whose thoughts are these? Hyde's? But I do not hear his voice.
Meg and Gabriel both kiss her cheeks and she blushes prettily, twisting her breasts one way and her hips another.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," Gabriel announces, "our niece,
Miss Ursula Lawrence. You shall all meet her privately, of course."
Applause breaks out from the men in the room. Even the women seem intrigued by her delicate beauty.
I wait impatiently while Gabriel and Meg do the rounds, vaguely aware that something is different and yet I cannot place my finger on it. Finally they bring this vision to our little group and suddenly I realize what is strange—Hyde is silent. Completely silent.
"Ursula, I wish to introduce you to my good friends. Inspector Alan Wilcox, head of Scotland Yard, and his wife Constance Wilcox, Doctor Hastie Lanyon and Doctor Henry Jekyll, both physicians in private practise here in London. Mrs. Wilcox, Gentlemen, my niece, Ursula Lawrence."
Ursula extends one of her pretty gloved hands to each of us in turn. "Miss Lawrence," Wilcox says, nodding his head and shaking her hand in the modern fashion. His attention is riveted to her and Constance is not unaware of this. Hastie takes her hand by the fingertips only, which is his way, caused by his phobia of touch. "A pleasure to meet you," he says, although from his voice I know that his condition precludes complete pleasure. I am not shy, but what possesses me to be so grand, I do not know. She turns to me and smiles, saying "A pleasure, Doctor Jekyll. I have heard your name already."
I grasp her small hand between both of mine and bring it to my lips, European style, and kiss her fingertips, while looking deeply into her eyes. "The pleasure is mine, Miss Lawrence. How is it you know of me, might I ask?"
Her face flushes and she looks away, murmuring, "My Aunt Meg. She mentioned you this afternoon."
"Ursula was felling a bit ill," Meg, who has just joined us says. "Perhaps, Henry or Hastie, one of you would be good enough to give her a complete physical."
"Oh Aunt Meg, there's really no need..." the girl begins.
"Now, Meg, we must not impose on our friends," Gabriel says.
"Certainly," Hastie beats me to it. "Bring her 'round the office."
"I would be happy to examine you as well, Miss Lawrence, although initially you appear to be healthy. But a checkup never hurts. Better safe than sorry."
"It's always good to have a second opinion," Meg says.
"You're both too kind." Ursula's voice is smooth as the rustling satin she wears.
"We'll bring her right back," Meg says, and she and Utterson drag Ursula away to meet other guests. Never have I been so immediately attracted to a woman. It is a magnetic attraction, as though we were made for one another. My cock, so hard and desperate to stay within my trousers, totally agrees. I feel I must have her. I struggle to control the urge to follow her, but of course, that is impossible. There are social norms to conform to. I can only hope that Meg does bring her round that I may see her again in a more intimate setting.
Suddenly, as if I've been struck by lightning, Hyde's voice shouts in my ears. Fancy boy! Fop! Does your cock not propel you to action? Unlike you, I am a man and would ravish her on the spot! The sound of this berating grates on my nerves and lets me know how valuable those moments of his silence were. He is enraged. He calls me a fool, a slave to convention without a will of my own, all manner of disparaging terms. He is out of control and I realize I must leave at once, lest something else slip from between my lips or I engage in some antisocial act that will not only embarrass me further but demean me in Ursula's eyes.
I snatch up my black medical bag I always carry with me, make my excuses and leave the party. At the laboratory I can do nothing but give in to Hyde's demands and mix the potion. As I drink the black liquid, hands trembling, my thoughts are of Ursula. Her beauty. Her sweet virginal sex so well hidden beneath those layers of skirts, calling to me to fulfill her.
The saucer slips from my fingers onto the counter and breaks into three pieces. My skin feels as if it is distorting.
My view darkens. Ursula! My last thought, and Hyde's first!
Chapter Six"Gabriel, I must see you in private immediately."
"But Meg, Ursula needs our support. She knows no one here."
"She is enjoying herself immensely with Doctor Lanyon and Alan Wilcox."
"I must say, Jekyll has left post haste. A trifle rude, don't you think? If you'd like my opinion..."
"Your opinion on Jekyll's departure is neither here nor there and is an obvious attempt at filibuster. Come along, Gabe."
Her husband protests further as she leads him out of the ballroom and upstairs to their bedroom.
"Really Meg, this is inappropriate. What will our guests think?"
"They will think we have a matter of great urgency to attend to."
Once in the room, Meg closes the door. "You know why you're here."
He looks uneasy. His voice is hesitant. "No, not really.”
“I think you do. And I also think you know what is required."
"Meg, really..."
She turns her back on him and walks to the window. A bouquet of fresh pussy willows fills a porcelain vase. They are long young branches and Meg selects three. "When I turn around, Gabriel, I expect your back and bottom to be exposed." She hears clothing rustles. She pulls the furry buds off each branch and swings the three in the air, listening to the satisfying swish they make. Behind her, Meg hears a low groan.
She turns to find Gabriel facing her, his trousers and drawers lowered to his ankles, his shirt and undershirt raised. His thick cock is already hardening and Meg knows she must act quickly else he will expel all his cream now and there will be none left for later, when she has need of it and the time to enjoy it.
From her dresser she selects a long white cotton pouch with a draw string at the top. It is one of many she had specially made with Gabriel and his lack of control in mind.
"Please, there's no need for that," he insists.
Meg holds the willows under her arm and captures his cock and balls in the pouch. Once they are completely covered, she pulls the draw strings tight.
"Ouch! Not so tight!" he says.
She stops to stare directly into his eyes. He looks frightened, aware of his insolence. "For that, Gabriel, you will receive twice as many strokes."
Fear and greed fill his face. There are no such words as 'too much' in her husband's vocabulary.
As she strips three addition switches of their grey buds, he asks her, "Meg, what did I do this time to require your discipline?"
She shakes her head. "You contradicted your wife in public. You know the rules."
Suddenly it dawns on him and out of the corner of her eye Meg sees him nodding his head. "May I lie down to be disciplined?" he asks, his voice eager.
"No, you may not. You will stand, as always."
He prefers to lie down, partly because of the stimulation his writhing causes his member, and he knows she will not tolerate that. That route leads to ejaculation. The other reason to make him stand is that she so enjoys his dancing.
"Alright, Gabe, grip the chair."
He bends at the waist and leans over, his knees against the front of the chair seat, his hands resting on the back of the chair itself. She prefers this position so that she can easily reach his back, for his is a tall man and she a short woman.
She rolls his shirts up higher so that his shoulders are exposed, then takes a position in front of him.
Without another moment's passing, she whips the willow through the air and slashes at his left shoulder. He jolts. She whip the right shoulder. More jolting. At first she alternates but then decide to concentrate on one at a time, whipping the right side until dozens of lines mark his skin and the willow shreds. She uses the second branch to switch his left shoulder. Angry red marks crisscross his well-padded body. "You will not contradict me again, will you?" she yells.
He moans and groans, being elaborate in his replies.
When the second switch is useless, Meg uses the third to flail at his back, but on one side only. His body trembles and he cries out his agony in little sounds: "Awl! Awl! Awl!" She feels wicked and switches thusly, aware that his cock is ever hardening, and before she tosses away the third branch and moves to his other side she tightens the strings around the pouch, making him cry out again, "Meg, have mercy!"
She has at him again. His face is red and creased in agony. Tears drop down his face and fall onto the petit-point chair seat. He twists and turns to avoid her switch but will not move away completely—he's enjoying himself far too much, as always.
The Darker Passions Page 5
