by Lucy Wild
“You have a maturing body,” he observed. “I believe you will soon be a lady much desired in the world if only you can control that temper of yours. Please stand still and do not protest for it would be tiresome to have to begin your lessons from scratch.”
Approaching her he ran his hands down her arms. “Good skin,” he said. “Well kept fingernails. Excellent. Your breasts?” He cupped his hands under her left boob and hefted it upwards. “Heavy, firm, excellent.” Tracing his finger in a circle around the nipple he frowned. “Arousal is evident, “he muttered. “Take note Miss Fisher.”
“Yes Mr Jenkins.”
He did the same to her right breasts before pressing into her stomach. “No sign of over indulgence, now let’s check those legs shall we?” He squeezed the individual muscles of her calves, moving up shortly afterwards to her thighs. “Has anyone ever touched you higher than this?” he remarked, glancing up at her.
“No sir.”
“Well if you are to be a good wife, you must know how it feels or else your husband may arouse fear in you instead of a more desirous emotion. Tell me how this feels?” With those words he brushed the edge of his hand across her pussy. Amelia shuddered and let out a gasp. “Well come on? How did that feel?”
“I don’t rightly know sir. Good, I think although I also feel tense.”
“Perfectly natural. I can detect a hint of wetness and your lips have become engorged. This is all as it should be. Miss Fisher would you mind lying her on my table?”
“Of course Mr Jenkins.”
Amelia was led to the top table and helped onto it, lying on her back with her chest heaving as she struggled to control her breathing.
“Legs apart please,” said Mr Jenkins and Amelia obeyed, feeling two pairs of eyes staring between her legs. A moment later the hand was on her pussy again, this time the fingers lightly stroking along the length of her. “Have you ever entered yourself?”
“No sir.”
“You should. It is the best way to learn how your body works. Observe.” He pressed the tip of his index finger to her sopping hole, sliding easily into her tightness as she let out a long low moan of satisfaction. “Move this way to ensure the best results,” he added, starting to slide his finger back and forth inside her. After a minute of this he lowered his head to her clit and stuck out his tongue, giving her a slow lick across the hardened nub in a way which sent jolts of sheer pleasure through her body.
“Oh my,” she muttered. “Oh my goodness.”
Mr Jenkins continued to lick her as his finger slid out before pulling her knees so she slid along the table. Her pussy was now at the edge and Mr Jenkins smiled up at her whilst undoing his trousers, lowering them below his shaft which pointed upwards as it came into view. It was the first cock Amelia had ever seen and at the sight of it an intense desire for it passed through her. She had to have him inside her no matter what. “Fuck me,” she muttered, biting her lip as she realised what she’d just said. She winced as she expected to be punished for such language but Mr Jenkins merely smiled again.
“Self control remember. Always self control.” He seemed amused rather than angry though and As Amelia pushed her hips towards him, he took his cock in his hand and began to stroke it gently. “I presume nothing like this has ever been inside you?”
“No sir.”
“That is good to hear. My students do best when I am their first for the nerves of impressing a potential partner are not an issue. Spread her lips please Miss Fisher.”
“Yes Mr Jenkins.”
His colleague moved to Amelia’s side, reaching over to pull her pussy lips apart. Mr Jenkins stared down at her as he approached, moving his cock so the tip brushed over he wetness before easing himself into her. Amelia let out a gasp of pain before the feeling that overwhelmed her became one of intense joy. Mr Jenkins moved incredibly slowly, taking his time until he was finally all the way inside her, filling her to capacity as her eyes widened with arousal, her hands moving to stroke her clit of their own accord.
He rocked back and forth gently, gradually increasing his speed until he was ramming himself into her, no longer giving instruction, lost to the moment.
“Fuck me,” Amelia said again and he did not reply. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she repeated, her voice growing louder with each repetition. Feeling her body begin to tense up, she moved her fingers faster on her clit, a warmth spreading through her. “What’s happening?” she gasped.
“You are about to climax as am I. Enjoy it.”
He slammed home a final time, his cock jerked deep in her as she felt a shooting wetness fire from the end and pour into her. The sensation tipped her over the edge and she came, reaching a screaming orgasm that sent her entire body into paroxysms of bliss. She could see nothing but stars, feel nothing but pleasure as all the while the cock inside her pulsed and thrust back and forth, slowly withdrawing until he was out of her.
Slowly she was helped to her feet, her hands shaking and her legs like jelly. “An excellent lesson,” Mr Jenkins smiled. “I believe you are ready to wear knickers once more.”
Over the remaining days of her time with Mr Jenkins he did not fuck her again, informing her that she must learn self control, always self control. On the final morning she awoke to find her dress waiting on the end of her bed. Stepping into it she breathed a sad farewell to the uniform she’d come to love, climbing into the coach with her shoulders slumped as Miss Fisher told her that Mr Jenkins had left the previous night on business.
The journey home seemed to take an age, made all the worse by her memories of Mr Jenkins, almost weeping at the thought she would never see him again. Arriving at last back home she bid farewell to the coach driver before entering the house and calling out to her parents.
“In here,” Lord Carrington called from the drawing room. She entered to find her parents sat beside each other on a couch, the back of a stranger in an armchair before them. “Come in and sit down,” said Lady Carrington.”
“Yes mother,” she curtseyed, moving around to the fireplace, gasping as she saw who it was in the occupied chair. Mr Jenkins smiled up at her.
“We hear you excelled in your studies,” Lord Carrington said, shaking her firmly by the hand. “Well done my girl.”
“Thank you father,” she replied, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked at her tutor, her gaze met by those dark eyes of his.
“Look at her, a changed girl,” he continued. “We have you to thank for this,” he said to Mr Jenkins. “Name your price for the work you’ve done and it will be nowhere near enough.”
“I do not ask for money,” he replied.
“Jewels then, land, a property in London perhaps?”
“None of those,” he shook his head.
“What then? What on earth do you desire as payment?”
Amelia held her breath, waiting to hear what he said.
“I wish for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Amelia’s heart soared, a beaming grin spreading across her face as she forced herself to resist leaping into Mr Jenkin’s arms.
“What say you my dear?” Lord Carrington turned to his wife.
“A capital match say I. A thousand times yes.”
“Oh father!” Amelia cried. “Mother!”
Mr Jenkins waved a hand in her direction and she was instantly silent.
“We agree wholeheartedly,” said Lord Carrington.
“Excellent,” replied Mr Jenkins. “And as to you Amelia, be warned, your education is only just beginning.”
Olivia Twist
Chapter 1
Amongst other buildings in a town which it would be better not to mention, there is one common to most towns, to wit, a whorehouse beside a workhouse. In this whorehouse lived the item of mortality whose name is affixed to the title of this tale.
The child was born in the workhouse and there was some doubt as to whether the infant would survive to bear any name at all. Being born in the workhouse was the
best possible circumstance for Olivia Twist, there being some difficulty inducing Olivia to breathe, a troublesome practice but one which is necessary to our continued existence. For some time she lay gasping on a mattress poised between this world and the next, the balance in favour of the latter. Now if during this time Olivia had been surrounded by experienced persons she would no doubt have been killed in no time. There being nobody but an old pauper woman and a parish surgeon, Olivia and nature fought out the point and after a few struggles, Olivia breathed, sneezed and proceeded to bawl as loud as could be expected from a female infant alive for less than three minutes.
As Olivia gave proof of the action of her lungs, the covers on the bedstead rustled and a pale woman faintly said, “Let me see the child and die.”
The surgeon had been warming his hands by the fire and as the woman spoke he turned to her: “Oh, you must not talking of dying.” He handed her the infant and nodded for the pauper woman to join him outside the room. In the hall they noticed a door open opposite. “Do you wish?” the surgeon asked.
“I do,” replied the old woman.
He stepped aside and followed the pauper woman into the space used for little other than odds and ends of the workhouse life. In a moment he was upon her, lifting her shawl and tossing it aside before removing what layers of clothing the parish had provided the funding for. Once unencumbered by the accoutrements of modern life and as naked as our ancestors of centuries past, the woman completed a mutual removal of the outfit of the surgeon.
The surgeon looked down at himself. “There is something in this room that needs bringing to life if you please missus.”
“So there is,” she replied, kneeling in the dust and taking hold of the patient with both her hands. Sliding her fingers back and forth, the fevered object was soon in the firmest of health, pointing skywards as bold as brass. “Is that better?” she asked, looking up at the surgeon. “As a medical man, you should give me your professional opinion.”
“It needs warmth I believe,” he replied. “For tis cold as ice.”
“Very well,” she replied, opening her mouth and taking him deep into her throat, running her tongue over the veins to ensure he was thoroughly heated in preparation for the forthcoming operation.
“That is capital my dear,” the surgeon said. “And I believe you wished to be examined for soundness, is that right?”
“That is so,” she replied, letting go of his member and manoeuvring to lean forwards before him, her posterior presented for his inspection.
“I could give a certificate of health,” he replied. “You glisten and glow as the morning dew but I must take your temperature to be certain.”
“As you wish,” she said, looking back over her shoulder as he stepped forwards, took hold of his shaft and guided himself into her waiting hole. “You must delve deep to gauge correctly I believe.”
“I second that,” he replied, thrusting deeply into her whilst taking hold of her buttocks in his hands. “They are as firm as I expected,” he announced, “but how do they take movement?”
“I do not know good sir,” she said, her voice rising in pitch as he began to slide back and forth inside her, all the while staring at himself, the sight of his member vanishing into her helping to enflame his ardour beyond control. “But there is an area upon my body that does itch so painfully. Could you soothe it for me perhaps?”
“I wouldn’t be much of a surgeon if I could not,” he replied, leaning under her and seeking the hardened nub at the edge of her sex. He stroked it firmly as he continued to thrust into her until she let out a gasp and began to shudder.
“That is the prescription for health,” she moaned, her legs shaking as she contracted around his shaft. “I feel as if I were ten years younger.”
“The benefits of modern medicine,” he replied, slamming deep into her and groaning from the back of his throat. With a twitch and a jerk of his shaft, he spurted deep into her the liquid which is so synonymous with health. “I pronounce you cured of your ailments,” he sighed, sliding from her and beginning to dress.
When they walked back into the room containing child and infant, they found only one of the two remaining filled with life, the other cold and still.
“Poor dear,” the pauper woman said, stooping to take up the child.
“She will likely be troublesome,” the surgeon said, putting on his gloves. “Give it gruel if it is.” He put on his hat and paused by the bedside. “She was a good looking girl. Where did she come from?”
“Brought here last night, found in the street. She had walked some distance for her shoes were worn out but where she was from, nobody knows.”
The surgeon lifted her hand. “No wedding ring. Sex out of wedlock, most despicable in my opinion. Good night.”
He left to his dinner as the nurse seemed ever oblivious to the hypocrisy of herself and the surgeon, dressing the infant by the fire. Enveloped in calico, she was badged and proved a parish child, orphan of the workhouse, despised by all and pitied by none.
Olivia let out a cry. If she had known what was later to befall her, perhaps she would have cried all the louder.
Chapter 2
For the next eighteen years, Olivia was a victim of systemic treachery and deception. She was farmed off to a workhouse three miles off and joined other juveniles under the supervision of a buxom female who took sevenpence per head per week alongside her secondary occupation of giving head for sevenpence per client to those of the parish who felt the need.
She knew what was best for the children and appropriated their money alongside her own, not wanting to inconvenience them with too much sustenance lest they get an unfair expectation of the goodness that might be found in the world.
Olivia turned eighteen a pale and thin girl, short in stature and shorter still in circumference. Her spirit was firm as may be attributed the fact that she reached her eighteenth birthday at all. She spent it in the coal cellar with two gentlemen who had been locked in for having the audacity to be hungry.
“I will die of thirst before the night is out,” ventured one, whose name was Finn.
“To die without feeling the touch of another would be the most painful thing of all,” added the other, given the soubriquet Jones.
“Perhaps you could assist us with both our needs,” Finn said, turning to Olivia.
“I know not what you could mean for I have no drink to furnish you with,” she replied.
“I believe you have,” said Jones. “I believe you could furnish us both with a drink if we correctly handle the tap so to speak.”
“Is this a riddle of some kind?” she asked, speaking back as the two gentlemen approached her in the gloom. Stumbling over the coal she fell to her knees and that was the moment they chose to reveal the feast they had planned for her, pulling down their workhouse trousers to expose their hardened foodstuffs of choice.
“Do you wish me to dine on these?” Olivia asked.
“That we do and then we both will gain our drink,” replied Finn.
Olivia took one cock into her mouth and the other in her hand as the men stood over her, enjoying their first encounter with the opposite sex. For her part, Olivia felt the taste of their heat was most pleasurable, moving from one to the other like the starving waif she was. Eventually the men grew too close to climax, lifting her and stripping her clothes before she could protest, not that she wished to.
Finn knelt before her and lapped at her wetness, gulping down the fluid that formed whilst his companion brought her nipples to a stiffness she had never felt before. In the darkness she could see little of either man but she could at least feel a tongue deep inside her which was soon replaced by a burning hot member.
Trapped between the two men, she felt the second shaft sliding between her buttocks, the lubrication of her own saliva assisting its passage into her posterior, stretching and filling her in such a manner that every nerve ending fired joy through her.
Thrust back and forth between the
two of them, it was all she could do to remain on her feet as two pairs of hands slid over her naked body, finding her hardened nub, the core of her pleasure, and manipulating it continually until she tensed up, her fists clenched, as she reached the first, but by no means the last, orgasm of her poverty stricken existence. As she came she let out a gasp, a tongue entering her mouth, the cock in her posterior juddering inside her as Finn reached his own climax, spurting deep inside her. She had barely time to feel it deep in her bottom when the cock the other side of her reached its own orgasm, spraying cum into her pussy a second later.
Whilst the three prisoners continued to pass the time in the coal cellar, Mrs Mann, lady of the house, was startled by the sight of Mr Bummer undoing her garden gate.
“Is that you Mr Bummer sir?” she asked, thrusting her head out fo the window. “Susan, take Olivia, Finn and Jones and wash the coal from them directly.”
Mr Bummer kicked open the gate and walked in. “It was locked on the inside,” he announced. “Is this how you keep parish officers awaiting? Now lead the way in for I have business to attend to.”
Mrs Mann ushered the beadle into her parlour, took his cane and his hat whilst he wiped his forehead. “Will you take a drop of something Mr Bummer?”
“Not a drop,” he replied.
“I think you will,” she said. “A drop of something with a little water and sugar.
“What is it?”
“It’s gin, Mr B. It’s gin.”
He took a proffered glass, stirred in the water and drank down the contents. “Now I have a drink for you,” he replied, standing boldly before the fire.
“Oh yes?” Mrs Mann replied. “Is it a fluid I’ve imbibed before?”
“That it is,” he said, undoing the buttons on the front of his trousers to reveal the organ that produced the beverage he wished to bestow upon her. Mrs Mann sank to her knees and took hold of him as he stiffened before her.
