Fifty Shades of Victorian Desire

by Davina Charleston

  As we entered the room we found Lucy in tears, and Madeline solacing her, but she no sooner saw us than, breaking from her friend, she threw herself at Monsignor’s feet, and clinging to his knees, sobbed out, Oh, Father Peter, you have always been a kind friend to my mother and myself, do say that the odious tale of shame that girl has poured into my ears is not true.’

  ‘Good God!’ muttered I, ‘they have actually chosen Madeline as the instrument to explain what they are about to do.’

  ‘Rise, my child,’ said Monsignor, ‘do not distress yourself, but listen to me,’ half bearing the form of the really terrified young thing to the couch, we gathered round in a circle and listened.

  ‘You, doubtless, know, my sweet daughter,’ began the wily and accomplished priest, ‘that the votaries of science spare neither friends nor selves in their efforts to unravel the secrets of nature. Time and pains are of no object to them, so that the end be accomplished.’

  To this ominous introduction Lucy made no response.

  ‘You have read much, daughter of mine,’ said Monsignor, stroking her silken hair, ‘and when I tell you that your dead father devoted you to the fold of Mother Church, and that your mother and I both think you will best be serving her ends and purposes by submitting yourself to those tests which will be skilfully carried out without pain, but, on the contrary, with an amount of pleasure such as you cannot even guess at, you will probably acquiesce.’

  Lucy’s eyes here caught mine, and although I strove to reassure her with a look that plainly intimated no harm should come to her, she was some time before she at last put her hand in the cleric’s, and said, ‘Holy Father, I do not think you would allow any thing very dreadful, I will submit, for my mother, when I left her this morning, told me above all things to be obedient to you in everything, and to trust you implicitly.’

  ‘That is my own trump of a girl,’ said Monsignor, surprised for the first time during the entire evening into a slang expression, but I saw his large round orbs gloating over his victim, and his whole frame trembled with excitement, as he led Lucy into the adjoining apartment, and left her alone with Madeline.

  ‘Now, gentlemen,’ said Monsignor, ‘the moment approaches, and you will forgive me, Mr. Clinton, if I have to indulge in a slight coarseness of language, but time presses, and plain Saxon is the quickest method of expression. Personally, I do not feel inclined to fuck Lucy myself. As a matter of fact I had connection with her mother the night previous to her marriage, and as Lucy was born exactly nine months afterwards, I am rather in doubt as to the paternity.’

  ‘In other words,’ said I, astounded, ‘you think it possible that you may be her father.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Monsignor. ‘You see that the instant the flagellation is ended, somebody must necessarily fuck her, and personally my objection prevents me. Boniface, here, prefers boys to women, and Dr. Price will be too busy taking notes, so that it rests between you and De Vaux, who had better toss up.’

  De Vaux, who was stark mad to think that his little gonorhoeic disturbance was an insuperable obstacle, pleaded an engagement later on, which he was bound to fulfil, and, therefore, Monsignor Peter told me to be sure to be ready the instant I was wanted.

  Madeline entered at this moment, and informed us that all was ready, but gave us to understand that she had experienced the greatest difficulty in overcoming poor Lucy’s natural scruples at being exposed in all her virgin nakedness to the gaze of so many of the male sex.

  ‘She made a very strange observation too,’ continued Madeline, looking at me with a drollery I could not understand, ‘she said, if it had been only Mr. Clinton, I don’t think I should have minded quite so much.’

  ‘Oh! all the better,’ said Father Peter, ‘for it is Mr. Clinton who will have to relieve her at the finish.’

  With these words we proceeded to the birching room, which it appears had been furnished by these professors of flagellation with a nicety of detail, and an eye to everything accessory to the art that was calculated to inspire a neophyte like myself with the utmost astonishment.

  On a framework of green velvet was a soft down bed, and reclined on this full length was the blushing Lucy.

  Large bands of velvet, securely buckled at the sides held her in position, while her legs, brought well together and fastened in the same way, slightly elevated her soft shapely arse.

  The elevation being further aided by an extra cushion, which had been judiciously placed under the lower portion of her belly.

  Monsignor bent over her and whispered a few soothing words into her ear, but she only buried her delicate head deeper into the down of the bed, while the reverend Father proceeded to analyse the points of her arse.

  THE EXPERIMENT PROCEEDS

  Having all of them felt her arse in turn, pinching it as though to test its condition, much as a connoisseur in horseflesh would walk round an animal he was about to buy, Monsignor at length said, ‘What a superb picture,’ his eyes nearly bursting from their sockets, ‘you must really excuse me, gentlemen, but my feelings overcome me,’ and taking his comely prick out of his breeches, he deliberately walked up to Madeline, and before that fair damsel had guessed his intentions, he had thrown her down on the companion couch to Lucy’s, and had fucked her heart out in a shorter space of time than it takes me to write it.

  To witness this was unutterably maddening, I scarcely knew what to be at, my heart beat wildly, and I should then and there have put it into Lucy myself, had I not been restrained by Father Boniface, who, arch vagabond that he was, took the whole business as a matter of course, and merely observed to Monsignor that it would be as well to get it over as soon as possible, since Mr. Clinton was in a devil of a hurry.

  Poor Lucy was deriving some consolation from Dr. Price in the shape of a few drops of Pinero Balsam in champagne, while as for De Vaux he was groaning audibly, and when the worthy Father Peter came to the short strokes De Vaux’s chordee became so unbearable that he ran violently out into Monsignor’s bedroom, as he afterwards informed me, to bath his balls in ice water.

  To me there was something rather low and shocking in a fuck before witnesses, but that is a squeamishness that I have long since got the better of.

  Madeline having wiped Monsignor’s prick with a piece of mousseline delaine, a secret only known to the sybarite in love’s perfect secrets, retired, presumably to syringe her fanny, and Monsignor buttoned up and approached his self-imposed task.

  Taking off his coat he turned up his shirt cuffs, and Boniface handing him the birchrods, the bum warming began.

  At the first keen swish poor Lucy shrieked out, but before half a dozen had descended with that quick tearing sound which betokens that there is no lack of elbow grease in the application, her groans subsided, and she spoke in a quick strained voice, begging for mercy.

  ‘For the love of God,’ said she, ‘do not, pray do not lay it on so strong.’

  By this time her lovely arse had assumed a flushed, vermillion tinge, which appeared to darken with every stroke, and at this point Dr. Price interposed.

  ‘Enough, Monsignor, now my duty begins,’ and quick as thought he placed upon her bottom a piece of linen, which was smeared with an unguent, and stuck it at the sides with a small modicum of tar plaster for to prevent it from coming off.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Lucy, ‘I feel so funny. Oh! Mr. Clinton, if you are there, pray relieve me, and make haste.’

  In an instant my trousers were down, the straps were unbuckled, and Lucy was gently turned over on her back.

  I saw a delicate bush of curly hair, a pair of glorious thighs, and the sight impelled me to thrust my prick into that divine Eden I had visited but a short time before with an ardour that for a man who had lived a fairly knockabout life was inexplicable.

  I had scarcely got it thoroughly planted, and had certainly not made a dozen well-sustained though rapid strokes before the gush of sperm which she emitted drew me at the same instant, and I must own that I actually thought
the end of the world had come.

  ‘Now,’ said Dr. Price, rapidly writing in his pocket book, ‘you see that my theory was correct. Here is a maid who has never known a man and she spends within ten seconds of the entrance being effected. Do you suppose that without the birching she could have performed such a miracle?’

  ‘Yes,’ said I, instanter, ‘I do, and I can prove that all your surmises are but conjecture, and that even your conjecture is based upon a fallacy.’

  ‘Bravo,’ said Father Peter, ‘I like to see Price fairly collared. Nothing flabbergasts him like facts. Once get him in a corner and he’s completely coopered. Dear me, how damnation slangy I am getting tonight. Lucy, dear, don’t stand shivering there, slip on your things, and join Madeline in my snuggery, we shall all be there presently. Go on, Clinton.’

  ‘Well,’ said I, ‘it is easy enough to refute the learned Doctor. In the first place Lucy was not a maid.’

  ‘That be damned for a tale,’ said Father Boniface, ‘I got her mother to let me examine her myself last night while she was asleep, and previous to handing over the hundred pounds.’

  ‘Yes, that I can verify,’ said Monsignor, ‘though I must admit that you have a prick like a kitchen poker, for you got into her as easy as though she’d been on a Regent-street round for twenty years.’

  ‘I will bet anyone here £50,’ said I, quietly taking out my pocket book, ‘that she was not a maid before I poked her just now.’

  ‘Done,’ said the Doctor, who upon receiving a knowing wink from Father Peter, felt sure he was going to bag two ponies, ‘and now how are we to prove it?’

  ‘Ah, that will be difficult,’ said Monsignor.

  ‘Not at all,’ I observed, ‘let the young lady be sent for, and questioned on the spot, where you assume she was first deflowered of her virginity.’

  ‘Yes, that’s fair,’ said De Vaux, and accordingly he called her in.

  ‘My dear Lucy,’ said Monsignor, ‘I wish you to tell me the truth in answer to a particular question I am about to put to you.’

  ‘I certainly will,’ said Lucy, ‘for God knows I have literally nothing now to conceal from you.’

  ‘Well, that’s not bad for a double entendre,’ said the Father, laughing,’ but now tell us candidly, before Mr. Clinton was intimate with you in our presence just now, had you ever before had a similar experience?’

  ‘Once,’ said Lucy, simpering, and examining the pattern of the carpet.

  ‘Good God,’ said the astonished Churchman, as with deathlike silence he waited for an answer to his next question.

  ‘When was it and with whom?’

  ‘With Mr. Clinton himself, in the drawing-room here, about an hour ago.’

  I refused the money of course, but had the laugh at all of them, and as we rolled home to De Vaux’s chambers in a hansom about an hour later I could not help admitting to him that I considered the evening we had passed through was the most agreeable I had ever known.

  ‘You will soon forget it in the midst of other pleasures.’

  ‘Never,’ said I. ‘If Calais was graven on Mary’s heart I am quite sure that this date will be found inscribed on mine if ever they should hold an inquest upon my remains.’

  A BACHELOR’S SUPPER PARTY

  Becoming after this a frequent visitor at ‘The Priory’, the name Monsignor’s hospitable mansion was generally known by, and had numberless opportunities of fucking Lucy, Madeline, and two of the domestics, but somehow I never properly took to flagellation in its true sense.

  There certainly was a housemaid of Monsignor’s, a pretty and intelligent girl called Martha, the sight of whose large, fleshy bum, with an outline which would have crushed Hogarth’s line of beauty out of time, used to excite me beyond measure, but I was not an enthusiast, and when Monsignor saw this, and found that as a birch performer I laid it on far too sparingly, his invitations were less pressing, and gradually my visits became few and far between.

  De Vaux, on the other hand, had become a qualified practitioner, and would dilate for hours on the celestial pleasures to be derived from skilful bum scoring. In fact so perfect a disciple of Monsignor’s did he get to be in time that the pupil in some peculiar phases has outstripped the master, and his work now in the press, entitled ‘Bumtickling, or Heaven on Earth’, may fairly claim, from an original point of view, to be catalogued with the more abstruse volumes penned by the Fathers, and collated and enlarged by Messrs. Peter, Price, and Boniface upon the same subject.

  As, however, I stated before, I could not enter so thoroughly into the felicity of birching. I saw that, physically speaking, it was productive of a forced emission, but I preferred cunt more au naturel The easy transition from a kiss to a feel, from a feel to a finger frig, and eventually to a more natural sequence of a gentle insertion of the jock, were a series of gradations more suited to my unimaginative temperament, and I, therefore, to quote the regretful valediction of De Vaux, relapsed into that condition of paphlan barbarism in which he found me.

  But I was by no means idle, my income, which was nearly £7000 per annum, was utilized in one direction only, and as you shall hear, I employed it judiciously in the gratification of my taste.

  In the next suite of chambers to mine lived a young barrister, Sidney Mitchell, a dare devil dog, and one whose penchant for the fair was only equalled by his impecuniosity, for he was one of that many-headed legion who are known as briefless.

  I had occasionally, when he had been pounced upon by a bailiff, which occurred on an average about once a month, rescued him by a small advance, which he had gratefully repaid by keeping me company in my lonely rooms, drinking my claret and smoking my best havanas.

  But this was to me repayment sufficient, for Sydney had an inexhaustible store of comic anecdotes, and his smartly told stories were always so happily related that they never offended the ear, while they did not fail to tickle the erective organs.

  One morning Sydney came to me in a devil of a stew.

  ‘My very dear Clinton,’ said he, ‘I’m in a hell of a scrape again; can you help me out of it?’

  ‘Is it much?’ said I, remembering that I had paid £25 for him a few days before.

  ‘Listen, and you may judge for yourself. I was at my Buffalo lodge last night, got drunk, and invited about half a dozen fellows to my chambers this evening to dinner.’

  ‘Well,’ I remarked, ‘there’s nothing very dreadful about that.’

  ‘Yes, there is, for I have to appear as substitute for a chum in the Queen’s Bench in an hour, and my wig is at the dresser’s who won’t part with it until I’ve paid up what I owe, which will swallow up every penny I had intended for the dinner.’

  ‘Oh, that’s easily got over,’ said I, ask them to dine here instead, say you quite forgot you were engaged to me, and that I won’t let you off, but desire they will accompany you.’

  ‘I’m your eternal debtor once more,’ cried Sydney, who really was fathoms deep in gratitude, and he rushed off to plead as happy as a butterfly.

  I ordered a slap-up dinner for eight from the neighbouring restaurant, and as my ‘Inn dinners’ were well known by repute, not one of the invités were missing.

  We had a capital dinner, and as Sydney’s companions were a jolly set, I made up my mind for a glorious evening. Little did I know then how much more glorious it was to wind up than ever I had anticipated.

  When the cigars and the O.P. came on, and the meeting was beginning to assume a rather uproarious character, Sydney proposed that his friend Wheeler should oblige with a song, and after that gentleman had enquired whether my fastidiousness would be shocked at anything ultra drawing room, and had been assured that nothing would give me greater pleasure, he began in a rich clear voice the following:

  As Mary, dear Mary, one day was a lying,

  As Mary, sweet Mary, one day was a lying,

  She spotted her John, at the door he was spying,

  With his tol de riddle, tol de riddle, lol de rol lay.<
br />
  And then came the chorus, rolled out by the whole company, for the refrain was so catching that I found myself unconsciously joined in with –

  His tol de riddle, tol de riddle, lol de rol lay.

  Oh Johnny, dear Johnny, now do not come to me,

  Oh Johnny, pray Johnny, oh do not come to me,

  Or else I’m quite certain that you will undo me,

  With your tol de riddle, tol de riddle, lol de rol lay.

  Chorus – With your tol de riddle, &c.

  But Johnny, dear Johnny, not liking to look shady,

  But Johnny, sweet Johnny, not liking to seem shady,

  Why he downed with his breeches and treated his lady,

  To his tol de riddle, tol de riddle, lol de rol lay.

  Chorus – To his tol de riddle, &c.

  Oh, Johnny, dear Johnny, you’ll make me cry murther,

  Oh, Johnny, pray cease this, you’ll make me scream murther,

  But she soon changed her note, and she murmnred ‘in further’

  With your tol de riddle, del de riddle, lol de rol lay.

  Chorus – With your tol de riddle, &c.

  Now, Mary, dear Mary, grew fatter and fatter,

  Now Mary’s, sweet Mary’s, plump belly grew fatter,

  Which plainly did prove that her John had been at her,

  With his tol de riddle, tol de riddle, lol de rol lay.

  Chorus – With his tol de riddle, &c.

  Moral

  Now all you young ladies take warning had better,

  Now amorous damsels take warning you’d better,

  When you treat a John make him wear a French letter,

  On his tol de riddle, tol de riddle, lol de rol lay.

  Chorus – On his tol de riddle, &c.

  The singing of this song, which I was assured was quite original, was greeted with loud plaudits, then one of the young gentlemen volunteered a recitation, which ran as follows: