Fifty Shades of Victorian Desire

by Davina Charleston

  These clumsy performances often went on, but at last the old story, a child appeared, and Jack married her, and I suppose now performs in bed, for I can never find them in the barn.

  I had now no one in the next room, and nobody to excite me, but I was very restless and slept very badly, and when I did get to sleep it was only to have the most vivid dreams of some unrecognizable man doing to me at last what I longed for, and just as the happy moment arrived I would awake, only to find that I had come, alas without a partner.

  At last I began to look so ill that I was sent to my aunt’s house near the sea, for a change, and there I remained for nearly six months, and regained my health.

  During my absence from home my mother had become a great invalid, and could rarely leave her bed, and a nurse had to be kept for her.

  Susan, the nurse, who was about five and twenty, and a very pretty, jolly looking girl, was more a lady help than a sick nurse, and used to assist me in the farm and house work, and very great friends did we become, but I never confided to her the secrets of my bedroom ventilator, or the old barn, and glad I was that I had not, for a Mr. Robson turned up one day to learn farming, a strong healthy looking man, standing about six foot in his socks, and was put into the next room to mine.

  He was about thirty, and I needn’t say I watched his movements in his bedroom most carefully, and with interest, and was rather surprised and disappointed never to see him play with himself like Mr. Charles, yet when he jumped out of bed and into his cold bath his staff was always stiff and erect, or on the lob, in a sort of ‘half cock’, but the cold water soon reduced it to its uninteresting condition.

  Henry, for that was Mr. Robson’s Christian name, never got down to breakfast till nine, and as Susan did the morning work I used to get down about the same time, my father always leaving the house punctually at five during these summer months.

  Well, matters went on most virtuously for a month or two, except perhaps that I once or twice caught Susan and Henry having what looked like a harmless flirtation, until one morning just after my father had gone out and slammed the door after him, I heard a whispering in the next room, and looking through the ventilator, there was my Susan in a dressing gown, seated on Henry’s bed, and he pulling her head towards him and kissing her wildly.

  He then got up, pulled off her dressing gown, and there she was in a pretty night-dress. He kissed her on her mouth till I thought he meant eating her, then he undid her night-dress at the collar, and pulling it down left her shoulders and breasts bare, and even I was obliged to admit their beauty. He covered them with kisses, and when he seized her nipple between his lips, Susan’s eyes sparkled, and I could see she meant going the ‘whole hog’.

  He then lay her on her back as she was sitting on the side of the bed, putting a pillow under her head, and kneeling on the floor with one of her white thighs on each of his shoulders, he, to my surprise, began kissing her pussy.

  Susan at first struggled faintly against this operation, and tried to keep her thighs closed, but he began tickling her thighs with his tongue just above her knee, and at last forcing his way to the flat of her thigh, her muscles seemed to lose their power, and he slowly kissed his way to the soft point.

  Her little ‘don’ts’ got fainter, her eyes shut, and her hands, which had been feebly pushing Henry’s head from her, now seemed to be involuntarily pressing it to her body.

  What a sigh she gave to be sure when at last H had reached the point, her eyes half opened, a flush came over her pretty face, and her thighs slowly opened and closed.

  Then how she heaved her body up and down, how she struggled, and her breathing came short and heavily, and the final struggle and sighs surpassed anything I had ever yet seen.

  After it she seemed to lay back in a faint, and H putting her feet on a chair, left her a few moments, and then returning he slipped off his night-dress, exposing his grand machine in all its pride, and then standing between her thighs he placed one of her feet on each of his shoulders, and while she lay on her back on the bed, he standing on the floor, he began his entry, not a difficult one after the late encounter, which had well prepared Miss Susan for the next.

  He drove it in slowly but surely, and I could see that at last it was buried to the roots, and their hairs were touching.

  How he did poke her to be sure, she came again very soon, I could tell by her struggles and sighs, and he stopped for a time, I suppose to prolong his pleasure, then he began again, and after a time the encounter got warm.

  His strokes became shorter, their breathing deeper, she tried to get her legs free in her struggles, and at last they came, he falling forward on her, and kissing her almost lifeless little face. Then they put on their gowns, and off tripped Susan, appearing at breakfast with a pretty flush, and all the better for her exercise, which is more than I did.

  Susan now became a constant morning visitor, and many were the gambols and positions they went through.

  They were very fond of the old family way, which is described as – ‘She on her back layeth. He on her belly falleth,’ – but to a spectator this was not so answering as a Saint George, and how well I recollect did she ride Master Henry one morning.

  They had been larking about the bed, when just as he had his head towards me, and lay on his back, she jumped on him, and he, nothing loth, lay still. Then slipping off her night-dress and pulling his up to his neck, she got hold of his machine with her hand, drew the lips slowly back, and directed the red head to her warm spot. It was soon buried, and then slowly sitting down as it were, it disappeared until nothing but the hilt was to be seen.

  She was now sitting on him in a kneeling position, one knee on each side, and leaning forward a little, supported herself with her outstretched arms, and between her bonny breasts I had full view of what was taking place, as her face being towards me, I could watch her change of feature.

  Having driven it well home, she let it remain quiet for a few moments, then slowly raising herself she exposed his majesty once more, and he looked as if he had swollen to twice the size, then moving herself up and down, as Henry lay quiet with his legs at full stretch, she was mistress of the position, and now it was up to the hilt, and then she was playing with the head just between the lips of that soft spot, but she could not control herself, and her rubs became most energetic, and at last she fell on Henry’s breast with a sigh, and there lay.

  At length he got from under her, and I was surprised to see that he had not yet come, and having laid her on her back, he paid Miss Susan off in her own coin for the audacity of getting on him, and she was late coming downstairs that morning.

  I only once caught them in the barn, and that was one Sunday when we three had been out, and it came on to rain, we took shelter there, and I left them saying I would look after my rabbits till tea-time, when I would come back to them.

  I at once went to my spy-hole, and saw Henry closing the door, and then after a short whispering to each other, he made her lean forward on some trusses of hay, and he lifted her clothes up from behind, and entered her that way, at the same time putting his hands round her soft belly, and in that way, while his machine was driven home, he could tickle her with his fingers, the result being apparently most satisfactory.

  Poor Susan moved her legs and sighed deeper and oftener than I had ever known before, and her face, when she turned it round to implore Henry to finish which she frequently did, was very flushed. It seemed as if this double attack on her tender part had the effect of giving her acute pleasure the whole time, and that she was spending at very short intervals. At last she fell forward, apparently from sheer exhaustion, and Henry had then enough to do to hold her on her legs, while her body lay heavily on the truss. Then working with a will he too came, and fell forward on her, and both appeared to have fainted.

  A quarter of an hour afterwards, I went to them, Susan was then sitting on a truss, looking very weary, though her eyes sparkled, and she could hardly walk to the house.


  When she arrived she went to her room, saying she did not feel well, so I took her her tea, and I thought she looked prettier than ever as she lay back in her chair, but she always did look prettier after a bout I noticed, and have noticed that all women do.

  Six months later Susan left us, owing to a death in her family, and a few months after, I don’t know how it came about, Henry slipped into my room one night and into my bed.

  I often think I should not have allowed him to get his own way so easily, but at the time I was thirsting for it, and could not help myself.

  We soon had gone through every posture I had seen, and how he laughed when I confessed how I watched Susan and him. He left before I met my husband, and now I shall not tell you any more, being of opinion that what passes in the privacy of the conjugal chamber should not be revealed to the world, whereas the youthful escapades here narrated fall under quite another category, and serve to amuse an idle half-hour.

  Extract from

  FLOSSIE:

  A VENUS OF FIFTEEN*

  ‘MY LOVE, SHE’S BUT A LASSIE YET’

  TOWARDS THE END of a bright sunny afternoon in June, I was walking in one of the quieter streets off Piccadilly, when my eye was caught by two figures coming in my direction. One was that of a tall, finely made woman about 27, who would, under other circumstances, have received something more than an approving glance. But it was her companion that riveted my gaze of almost breathless admiration. This was a young girl of fifteen, of such astounding beauty of face and figure as I had never seen or dreamt of. Masses of bright, wavy, brown hair fell to her waist. Deep violet eyes looked out from under long curling lashes, and seemed to laugh in unison with the humorous curves of the full red lips. These and a thousand other charms I was to know by heart later on, but what struck me most at this first view, was the extraordinary size and beauty of the girl’s bust, shown to all possible advantage by her dress which, in the true artistic French style, crept in between her breasts, outlining their full and perfect form with loving fidelity. Tall and lithe, she moved like a young goddess, her short skirt showing the action of a pair of exquisitely moulded legs, to which the tan-coloured openwork silk stockings were plainly designed to invite attention. Unable to take my eyes from this enchanting vision I was approaching the pair, when to my astonishment the elder lady suddenly spoke my name.

  ‘You do not remember me, Captain Archer.’ For a moment I was at a loss, but the voice gave me the clue.

  ‘But I do,’ I answered, ‘you are Miss Letchford, who used to teach my sisters.’

  ‘Quite right. But I have given up teaching, for which fortunately there is no longer any necessity. I am living in a flat with my dear little friend here. Let me introduce you, – Flossie Eversley – Captain Archer.’

  The violet eyes laughed up at me, and the red lips parted in a merry smile. A dimple appeared at the corner of the mouth. I was done for! Yes; at thirty-five years of age, with more than my share of experiences in every phase of love, I went down before this lovely girl with her childish face smiling at me above the budding womanhood of her rounded breasts, and confessed myself defeated!

  A moment or two later I had passed from them with the address of the flat in my pocket, and under promise to go down to tea on the next day.

  At midday I received the following letter:

  Dear Captain Archer,

  ‘I am sorry to be obliged to be out when you come; and yet not altogether sorry, because I should like you to know Flossie very well. She is an orphan, without a relation in the world. She is just back from a Paris school. In years she is of course a child, but in tact and knowledge she is a woman; also in figure, as you can see for yourself! She is of an exceedingly warm and passionate nature, and a look that you gave her yesterday was not lost upon her. In fact, to be quite frank, she has fallen in love with you! You will find her a delightful companion. Use her very tenderly, and she will do anything in the world for you. Speak to her about her life in the French school: she loves to talk of it. I want her to be happy, and I think you can help. Remember she is only just fifteen.

  ‘Yours sincerely,

  ‘EVA LETCHFORD.’

  I must decline any attempt to describe my feelings on receiving this remarkable communication. My first impulse was to give up the promised call at the flat. But the flower-like face, the soft red lips and the laughing eyes passed before my mind’s eye, followed by an instant vision of the marvellous breasts and the delicate shapely legs in their brown silk stockings, and I knew that fate was too strong for me. For it was of course impossible to misunderstand the meaning of Eva Letchford’s letter, and indeed when I reached the flat she herself opened the door to me, whispering as she passed out, ‘Flossie is in there, waiting for you. You two can have the place to yourselves. One last word. You have been much in Paris, have you not? So has Flossie. She is very young – and there are ways – Goodbye.’

  I passed into the next room. Flossie was curled up in a long chair, reading. Twisting her legs from under her petticoats with a sudden movement that brought into full view her delicately embroidered drawers she rose and came towards me, a rosy flush upon her cheeks, her eyes shining, her whole bearing instinct with an enchanting mixture of girlish coyness and anticipated pleasure. Her short white skirt swayed as she moved across the room, her breasts stood out firm and round under the close-fitting woven silk jersey; what man of mortal flesh and blood could withstand such allurements as these! Not I, for one! In a moment she was folded in my arms. I rained kisses on her hair, her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, and then grasping her body closer and always closer to me, I glued my lips upon the scarlet mouth and revelled in a long and maddeningly delicious kiss – a kiss to be ever remembered – so well remembered now, indeed, that I must make some attempt to describe it. My hands were behind Flossie’s head, buried in her long brown hair. Her arms were round my body, locked and clinging. At the first impact her lips were closed, but a moment later they parted, and slowly, gently, almost as if in the performance of some solemn duty, the rosy tongue crept into my mouth, and bringing with it a flood of the scented juices from her throat, curled amorously round my own, whilst her hands dropped to my buttocks, and standing on tiptoe she drew me to her with such extraordinary force and vigour that our lower parts seemed to be already in conjunction. Not a word was spoken on either side – indeed under the circumstances speech was impossible, for our tongues had twined together in a caress of unspeakable sweetness, which neither would be the first to forego. At last the blood was coursing through my veins at a pace that became unbearable and I was compelled to unglue my mouth from hers. Still silent, but with love and longing in her eyes, she pressed me into a low chair, and seating herself on the arm passed her hand behind my head, and looking full into my eyes whispered my flame in accents that were like the sound of a running stream. I kissed her open mouth again and again, and then feeling that the time had come for some little explanation:

  ‘How long will it be before your friend Eva comes back?’ I asked.

  ‘She has gone down into the country, and won’t be here till late this evening.’

  ‘Then I may stay with you, may I?’

  ‘Yes, do, do, do, Jack. Do you know, I have got seats for an Ibsen play to-night. I was wondering … if … you would … take me!’

  ‘Take you – to an Ibsen play – with your short frocks, and all that hair down your back! Why, I don’t believe they’d let us in?’

  ‘Oh, if that’s all, wait a minute.’

  She skipped out of the room with a whisk of her petticoats and a free display of brown silk legs. Almost before I had time to wonder what she was up to, she was back again. She had put on a long skirt of Eva’s, her hair was coiled on the top of her head, she wore my ‘billycock’ hat and a pair of blue pince-nez, and carrying a crutchhandled stick, she advanced upon me with a defiant air, and glaring down over the top of her glasses she said in a deep masculine voice: ‘Now, sir, if, you’re ready for Ibsen, I am. Or
if your tastes are so low that you can’t care about a play, I’ll give you a skirt-dance.’

  As she said this she tore off the long dress, threw my hat on to a sofa, let down her hair with a turn of the wrist, and motioning me to the piano picked up her skirts and began to dance.

  Enchanted as I was by the humour of her quick change to the ‘Ibsen woman’, words are vain to describe my feelings as I feebly tinkled a few bars on the piano and watched the dancer.

  Every motion was the perfection of grace and yet no Indian Nautch-girl could have more skilfully expressed the idea of sexual allurement. Gazing at her in speechless admiration, I saw the violet eyes glow with passion, the full red lips part, the filmy petticoats were lifted higher and higher; the loose frilled drawers gleamed white. At last breathless and panting, she fell back upon a chair, her eyes closed, her legs parted, her breasts heaving. A mingled perfume came to my nostrils – half ‘odor di foemina’, half the scent of white rose from her hair and clothes.

  I flung myself upon her. ‘Tell me, Flossie darling, what shall I do first?

  The answer came, quick and short. ‘Kiss me – between my legs!’

  In an instant I was kneeling before her. Her legs fell widely apart. Sinking to a sitting posture, I plunged my head between her thighs. The petticoats incommoded me a little, but I soon managed to arrive at the desired spot. Somewhat to my surprise instead of finding the lips closed and barricaded as is usual in the case of young girls, they were ripe, red and pouting, and as my mouth closed eagerly upon the delicious orifice and my tongue found and pressed upon the trembling clitoris I knew that my qualms of conscience had been vain. My utmost powers were now called into play and I sought by every means I possessed to let Flossie know that I was no halfbaked lover. Passing my arms behind her I extended my tongue to its utmost length and with rapid agile movements penetrated the scented recesses. Her hands locked themselves under my head, soft gasps of pleasure came from her lips, and as I delivered a last and effective attack upon the erect clitoris, her fingers clutched my neck, and with a sob of delight she crossed her legs over my back, and pressing my head towards her held me with a convulsive grasp, whilst the aromatic essence of her being flowed softly into my enchanted mouth.