Indecent: 15 Erotic Victorian Romance Story Box Set

by Lucy Wild

  Carol never removed Marlene’s name from their whorehouse. Marlene and Carol the legend ran. Some people new to the brothel called Carol Marlene and sometimes Carol but she answered to both names. It was all the same to her. She refused to ever countenance indulging in any kind of sexual congress herself of course.

  Oh but what a tight pussied woman was Carol. A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, clutching pussy she had, the old sinner. Hard as flint she was no matter who begged her to indulge them. The prude within her had twisted her features, her breasts bound tightly to prevent her natural voluptuousness coming to the fore, she spoke in a grating voice to turn off visiting clients. She carried icicles between her legs into the office and did not thaw a single degree even at Christmas, forsaking her name as a pointless affectation. Christmas she may have been but Christmas held no temptations for her.

  Sights of clients and her whores together had no influence on her. No cock could warm her, no cumshot make her glad to be alive. Nobody ever stopped her in the street to tell her to get her tits out for the lads, no luckless virgins attempted to persuade her to admit them into the halls of sexual experience. In short, she had no interest in fucking. But what did she care? This was the way she liked things, to edge her way along the crowded walks of life, scowling and glaring at all.

  Once upon a time on Christmas Eve, Carol sat in her whorehouse counting house. It was cold and bleak outside. The city cocks had gone at three and it was already quite dark. Candles flared in neighbouring offices, hardly visible through the fog which poured in at every keyhole, the houses opposite mere phantoms.

  The door to the counting house was open that she might keep her eye on her clerk who in a dismal cell beyond was copying erotic letters. Carol had a small fire but the clerk’s was so much smaller it looked like a single coal. But he could not replenish it for Carol kept the coal and if he were to enter with the shovel, he would leave with it shoved inside him to look for a new position moments later. So the clerk sat trying to warm himself at the candle and not being of strong imagination, he failed.

  “A white Christmas to my aunt Christmas!” cried a cheerful voice, that of Carol’s step nephew entirely unrelated by blood who came upon her face so quickly that this was the first intimation of her approach.

  “Bah! Said Carol, wiping the spunk from her cheeks with barely an inch of cloth. “Cumbug!”

  The step-nephew had heated himself so much with masturbation in preparation for the white Christmas that he was all in a glow, his face ruddy and handsome, his eyes sparkling with post orgasmic bliss.

  “White Christmas is not a cumbug,” said he. “You must enjoy a facial at this time of year surely?”

  “I do not,” said Carol. “White Christmas indeed. What right have you to spunk on my face? You’re getting enough with your wife.”

  “Come then,” returned the step-nephew. “What right have you to wipe it from your face instead of gulping it down? You’re horny enough aren’t you?”

  Having no better answer on the spur of the moment Carol said, “Cumbug!” again.

  “Oh don’t be cross. I meant only to bring festive erotic cheer into your office.”

  “What else can I be?” returned Carol. “I live in a world of lust filled fools. White Christmas! What’s Christmas to you but a time for fucking whores without the money to pay for them, finding your first white pubic hair but being no richer for it, spunking on your step-aunt without saving any for those who care for it. If I could work my will, every idiot that comes on my face whilst espousing the benefits of a White Christmas should be boiled with his own balls and buried with a dildo through his heart.”

  “Aunt!”

  “Step aunt remember, we are not related by blood, I wish to make that very clear for reasons that should be obvious. You keep Christmas your way and I’ll keep it in mine.”

  “Keep it? But you don’t keep it.”

  “Let me leave it alone then. Much good may it do you.”

  “There are many things which are good but not profitable in this world, Christmas is but one. I did not spunk on your face for my benefit but for yours, to force you into a smile and to do some good for your skin. Christmas is a time for being forgiving, charitable and pleasant, of helping those less fortunate than yourself. Therefore though it has not added a single notch to my bedpost, I believe it has done me and you good.”

  The clerk involuntarily came, masturbating furiously throughout this speech. His cum flew through the air and hit the single coal in the fire, extinguishing the last spark forever.

  “Let me hear you do that again,” said Carol,” and your Christmas will consist of finding a new post.” She turned to her step-nephew. “You think me less fortunate than you? Do you know how much my whores made me this year?”

  “Don’t be angry with me. Come with us tomorrow and afterwards we’ll dine.”

  Carol said she would see him in hell before she saw him spunk again.

  “But why?”

  “Why did you fuck your wife this morning?”

  “Because I was in love with her.”

  “Love? The only thing more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. Good day sir!”

  “But love does not stop you from letting people bring you to orgasm.”

  “Good day sir.”

  “I want nothing from you. Why can’t we occasionally tie people down and taste their sex?”

  “Good day sir.”

  “I am sorry to find you so resolute but you shall not take away my desire to bring cheer with a White Christmas. So White Christmas to you.” As he spoke he began jerking his cock once more, firing a second load of spunk onto Carol’s face in a minute as she worked at her ledger.

  “Good day sir,” said Carol without looking up, cum dripping onto the desk below her.

  “And a Spunky New Year!”

  “Good day sir.”

  Her step-nephew left the room without an angry word. He stopped to greet the clerk and they discussed the benefits of coming on people’s faces.

  “There’s another fellow,” muttered Carol, who overheard them, “my clerk with fifteen shillings a week to provide for his wife and family, talking about a White Christmas. I’ll retire to Bedlam.”

  The lunatic in letting Carol’s step-nephew out, let two other gentlemen in. They were a portly pair, pleasant to behold, and now stood with their clothes off in Carol’s office. They had a collection of sextoys in their hands which looked with them in Carol’s direction.

  “Carol and Marlene’s brothel I believe,” said the gentlemen, taking his cock in his hand. “Have I the pleasure of being about to fuck Carol or Marlene?”

  “Marlene has been dead seven years this very night.”

  “Well we have no doubt her rapacious sexual desire is well represented by her surviving partner,” said the gentleman, holding out his cock for Carol to suck.

  Carol frowned, refusing the offer to give head with a shake of hers.

  “At this sexy time of year Miss Christmas,” said the second gentleman, “women like yourself are more than usually desirable. Now as we represent the poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time, we wondered if you would like to sponsor a sex toy for a pauper to use.”

  “Are there no prisons?”

  “Plenty of prisons.”

  “And the whorehouses are still in operation?”

  “They are.”

  “Manual flicking the bean with the finger is still possible, wanking with the wrist?”

  “Both are busily used, miss.”

  “Oh. I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop the poor from masturbating using their hands. I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Nonetheless a few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the poor some triple speed vibrators and love eggs to help keep them warm. We chose this time because it is a time for others, when wanking is wanted most of all. Can I pull your dress down and demonstrate some of the wares available for sale?”
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  “You cannot.”

  “You wish to pay without trying?”

  “I wish to be left alone. Since you ask me my wish, that is my answer. I don’t fuck myself at Christmas and I can’t afford to fuck idle people. I support the prisons and the whorehouses, I invest in the sex toy factories. That costs money. Those who need orgasms can go there.”

  “Many can’t afford to. Many might die without enjoying the wonderful climax brought on by a fleshlike cock with genuine spunking ability.”

  “If they would rather die, they had better do it and decrease the surplus population, not to mention saving the wanton waste of tissue used to dispose of the mess after intercourse or onanism. Besides I’m sure lack of wanking never killed anyone.”

  “But it might.”

  “It has never killed me. I haven’t come for years and I’m still here. It’s enough for a woman to understand her own body and not interfere with other people’s. Mine occupies me, that is enough. Good day sirs.”

  Seeing that it would be useless to try and tempt her into a threeway, the gentlemen dressed once more and withdrew. Carol resumed her labours with an improved opinion of herself. Meanwhile the fog and darkness thickened so that people ran about with flaring lips offering their bodies to those in need of festive cheer.

  In the main street the cold was so intense that icicles were used in place of dildos by the paupers on the corners. The brightness of the shop where Holly pushed berries into herself in the lamplight made pussies wet and cocks tumescent as people passed by. The Lord Mayor in the Mansion House gave orders for women to be found for fifty cocks for his Christmas orgy and even the little tiddler whom all knew as the smallest man in the country, stirred himself to life as his wife opened her lips with her fingers ready for him.

  Foggier it became and colder yet. At length the hour of shutting the whorehouse arrived. With an ill will, Carol dismounted from her stool and dismissed the whores, tacitly admitting to her clerk that the time to finish work had come. The clerk snuffed out his candle and put on his hat.

  “You’ll want all day tomorrow to fuck I suppose?” said Carol.

  “If quite convenient miss.”

  “It’s not convenient and it’s not fair. If I was to stop half a crown for it you’d think yourself ill used no doubt.”

  The clerk smiled faintly, thinking of his wife waiting at home bent over and ready for him.

  “And yet you don’t think me ill used for paying a day’s wage for you to get your rocks off.”

  The clerk observed that it was only once a year.

  “A poor excuse for picking my pocket whilst you enjoy shoving yourself into her ass, oh yes, don’t think I can’t tell your thoughts as you stand there with a smug look on your face and a smug bulge in your trousers. But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier on the 26th.”

  The clerk promised he would and Carol walked out with a growl. The office was closed and the clerk went down on a woman on Cornhill at the end of a line of young men. He licked her twenty times in honour of it being Christmas Eve and then she came and he ran on home as hard as he could pelt to play at Blind Girl’s Buff Pussy.

  Carol took her usual dinner in her usual tavern of abstinence. Having read all the latest pamphlets on the sins of sex she went home to bed. She lived in chambers which once belonged to Marlene, a gloomy suite of rooms in a building up a yard where none lived but Carol, all the other rooms let as offices. The yard was so dark that even Carol who knew its every stone was fain to grope with her hands. The fog and frost hung about the black gateway of the house as if the Gods of weather had sprayed their malevolent spunk all over the threshold.

  There was nothing particular about the knocker on the door except that it was very large, as large as one of Marlene’s in fact. Carol had not thought of her old partner since her last mention of that afternoon and yet how then can it be explained that Carol, having her key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker without any process of change, not any knocker but Marlene’s knocker.

  Marlene’s boob was not an impenetrable shadow as the other objects in the yard but had a light about it. It was not angry but looked aroused, the nipple sticking out hard and firm into the cold air. As Carol looked at it, it became a lifeless knocker again.

  To say that she was not startled would be untrue but she put her hand on the key, turned it, walked in and lighted her candle. She did pause before shutting the door to look behind it, as if half expecting to see the back of Marlene’s naked bottom sticking out into the hall. But there was nothing there so she said, “Pooh!” and closed it with a fart.

  The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room seemed to have a separate peel of echoes. Carol was not a woman to be frightened by echoing rectal gas. She fastened the door, walked across the wall and up the stairs, trimming her pussy hair with scissors as she went.

  Darkness is cheap and Carol liked it. But before she shut her heavy door, she walked through her rooms to see that all was right, she recalled the boob long enough to do that.

  All were as they should be. Nobody fucking under the table, nobody masturbating under the sofa. A small fire in the grate was ready as was a saucepan of gruel on the hob. Quite satisfied, Carol closed her door, locked herself in to secure against surprise, took off her dress and put on her night shirt and dressing gown and then sat down, gruel in her hands.

  It was a low fire she sat before and she was obliged to sit close and brood over it. The tiles around the fireplace were illustrated with quaint designs and yet the pussy of Marlene appeared on each one in the throes of orgasm, the contraction of the muscles visible as if each tile had been blank and she were in the midst of a powerful climax, a rivulet of spunk dribbling out of her hole.

  “Cumbug,” said Carol and walked across the room. After several turns, she sat down again. As she threw her head back she happened to glance at a disused bellended vibrator that sat gathering dust on top of a cupboard. It was with great astonishment and inexplicable dread that as she looked ,the vibrator began to move, buzzing louder and louder until it fell from the top of the cupboard and onto the floor, spinning wildly in circles for half a minute that seemed like an hour.

  The vibrator fell still, succeeded by a clanking noise deep below as if some person were dragging heavy chains over casks in the wine merchant’s cellar. Carol remembered that Marlene used to like being tied in chains.

  The cellar door flew open and then she heard the noise much louder, coming up the stairs, someone coming on the stairs in a loud moan and then coming straight towards her door.

  “It’s cumbug,” said Carol. “I won’t believe it.”

  Her colour changed when without pause it came on through the door and into the room before her eyes. The dying flame leapt up and the vibrator buzzed loudly.

  The same pussy, the same knocker. It was Marlene, naked, bound in chains and ropes around her middle. The chains were made of bent and curved sextoys, vibrators and more. The ropes were of peephole bras and crotchless panties, silk stockings, leather boots, all tied tightly together.

  Though Carol looked the phantom up and down and through and through, she fought against her senses. “What do you want with me?” Carol asked, as cold as ever.

  “Much!” Marlene’s voice, no doubt about that.

  “Who are you?”

  “Ask me who I was.”

  “Who were you?”

  “In life I was your partner, Marlene.”

  “Can you sit down?”

  “I can on that vibrator.”

  Carol placed the sex toy on the seat of a chair and Marlene lowered herself onto it. Translucent as only a spirit can be, Carol watched the sex toy both go into Marlene’s pussy but also remain visible through her body.

  “You don’t believe in me,” observed the ghost.

  “I don’t.”

  “What evidence would you have of my reality beyond the fact that I’m so clearly here being fucked by this delightful dev
ice? Do you doubt your senses?”

  “A little thing may affect them. A disorder of the pussy cheats the mind. You might be a thwarted orgasm, a bit of spunk in my eye. There’s more of love gravy than of grave about you.”

  Carol didn’t often crack jokes but had done so to distract her attention and keep down her arousal for the sight of the spectre’s naked body was making her pussy throb with desire for the first time in years. To sit staring at those enormous boobs would play the deuce with her. There was something arousing about the spectre’s whole being as her skin moved as if invisible hands were toying with her whilst she sat.

  “You see this carrot,” said Carol, picking up a scrawny specimen of the vegetable kingdom.

  “I do.”

  “I have but to fuck myself with this and not reach climax to be persecuted for the rest of my days by fantasies of group sex with an entire cricket team. The illness brought on by thinking of spunk. In short, cumbug I say. Cumbug.”

  At this the spirit began to bounce on the vibrator, her clit moving as if teased by unseen tongues. She shook her chains and made such a loud cry of orgasmic pleasure that Carol held on tight to her chair to save herself from spontaneously climaxing at the sight. “Why do you trouble me dreadful apparition?”

  “Do you believe in me coming before you or not?”

  “I do. I must. But why come in front of me?”

  “It is required of every adult that they fuck far and wide and if not done in life, they are condemned to do so after death. Oh woe is me for not sleeping with more people when alive.”

  Again the spectre moaned, shook its chains and reached a shuddering climax.

  “You are fettered in chains,” said Carol, trembling with desire. “Tell me why?”

  “I wear the chain I forged in life,” replied the ghost. “I made it link by link, girded it of my own free will. Is its pattern strange to you?”

  Carol trembled more and more, her clit aching for attention as Marlene fingered a length of maid’s uniform tied around her ankle.

  “Or would you know the weight and length of coils you bear yourself. Each time you turn down sex, another length is added and your chains were this long and heavy seven years ago. You have ignored your pussy a long time since.”