Awakened by a Lord: Victorian Nights

by Victoria Whitlock

  I took another step closer to the large mirror, to take in my face properly for the very first time. My eyes sparkled a deep chestnut brown, and my skin seemed almost unnaturally, otherworldly pale – almost translucent in nature. But my real curiosity lay beneath my dress.

  Out of habit, I looked all around the room to check that I was alone. And then, slowly, almost solemnly, I began to unbutton the dress that I had been married in, just that morning.

  Once free of my clothes and petticoats, I stood nervously before the mirror, in front of my naked form for the very first time in all my nineteen years. The body that I had been instructed to cover modestly at all times, now so brazenly on display. For I had even bathed in a white petticoat, at my Aunt’s behest, so that I would not succumb to immodesty.

  So here I stood, for the first time in my life, appraising my naked form. My skin held the same milk-white complexion as my face. Many times I had begged to be allowed out to play in the sun, but now I had to admit that in actual fact, the effect of my pale skin was indeed quite ravishing.

  My breasts were small and round, and my nipples were like two pink rosebuds, laid upon my flesh. I was pleased to note that my breasts were somewhat shapely in nature, for the rest of my figure still retained a slim, girlish silhouette. My hips were slender and there was no curve at all upon my belly.

  Turning to look over my shoulder, I next examined my rear, even lightly brushing my fingers over the smooth pale skin, tracing the curve of my buttock towards the very centre of me. But there I stopped myself, for I would not give in here, in this beautiful room, to the dark sinful urges that lay dormant inside me.

  To put temptation out of the way, I picked up the negligee and quickly put it upon myself. It truly was beautiful, yet I hardly felt less naked than I had just a few moments ago. Rummaging once more through the trunk I discovered a matching pink silk dressing gown and drew that tightly around my body, too.

  Then, finally, I walked through to our shared living room and sat upon the chaise longue, to await my new husband.

  It seemed as if time itself spooled out infinitely before me as I waited for Lord Hartford on that plush red sofa. But eventually the door opened and there he stood in front of me – my Lord and husband, fully clothed in the same beautifully tailored black morning suit he had married me in, his black hair shining, his dark eyes burning, his features so strong and handsome, his shoulders so broad and manly.

  Even adorned in the extra dressing gown, I still felt so naked compared to him, and a hot blush of modesty rose sharply to my cheeks.

  Lord Hartford remained in the doorway for a long moment, his eyes fixed upon me and I wondered nervously why he did not move, nor speak.

  It must be me, I thought. He must be waiting for me to make conversation. And so once more, I wracked my whirling brains for some suitable item of conversation, the kind of proper topic a lady might discuss with her husband, such as Miss Reeve had instructed me, back in the schoolroom.

  “I trust you had a good day attending to your business, darling?” I ventured. But the words didn’t seem to come from my mouth correctly; instead they felt so stilted and wrong, so silly and girlish, as if it were clear I was simply playing the part of a wife, the way a child might play at ‘grown-ups’ with her dolls.

  And still Lord Hartford did not reply. Instead he simply walked over to me and lifted me by my arms, drawing me urgently to my feet, so that the two of us stood facing each other, just as we did during the marriage ceremony.

  “I know you have lived a sheltered life, Amelia,” he began, his voice low and stern, “but you are my wife now, and I will not treat you like a child. You may sometimes think me distant and cruel, but I promise I will endeavour to be a just and good husband to you.”

  I nodded, feeling sudden shaken by the realisation that we were truly alone here in this chamber for the first time – realising all over again just how little I was wearing, feeling my body respond so brazenly, so improperly to the simple touch of his hands against the bare flesh of my arms, my nipples stiffening of their own accord beneath the flimsy fabric of my petticoat, as if they were trying to give away the dark thoughts that seemed to have awoken within the deepest parts of me.

  “We understand each other then?” he said, fixing his burning eyes upon my own, his gaze so intense, so intimate that I had to turn my face to the floor.

  I nodded timidly, feeling my heart pounding now, a soft tremor running right the way through me.

  He pulled my face once more towards his own, his strong hand beneath my chin, holding me in place, then leant his face towards mine, kissing me softly upon the lips.

  And as he did so, it was as if some dam broke inside me, a wellspring of emotions rising up inside me, my whole body suddenly crying out to this strong stern man. I moaned softly as he kissed me, my whole body trembling, feeling every part of me aflame now, my nipples tightening into two hard little buds, and that secret place between my legs flushing powerfully with heat, the sensation so strong it was almost like a kind of pain.

  Before I even knew what was happening, he had swept me easily into his arms and carried me through to his own bedchamber, connected to mine by a small door.

  He put me down gently so that we were once more standing, facing one another, directly beside the large, four-poster bed which stood in the centre of his bedchamber, and I could tell by his actions that he was being especially delicate with me, as if there were another force within him – a more primal and urgent one – which he was struggling to keep at bay.

  I shivered as he stood there before me, taking in my body so hungrily with his gaze, knowing that the outlines of my naked form were so clear to him beneath my flimsy garments. And as he slowly began to undress me, first tugging free the cord of my dressing gown, I felt myself give in to him – knowing that he was my husband and I was his property now, for him to examine and handle however he so pleased.

  He let the gown fall to the floor around my feet, and then began to tug the straps of my petticoat down over my shoulders.

  I held my breath, my whole body trembling as, a moment later, I felt him slowly slide my slip and bloomers right around around my ankles, and then I was fully naked there before him.

  He took a deep breath, as if taken aback by something, and I felt his eyes travel down my form, first taking in my breasts, my nipples so swollen that they were standing up in two prominent points, and then moving down over my belly to the fuzz of raven hair that grew upon my womanhood, beneath which I could feel the heat and yearning of my most secret and shameful desires.

  As he reached out his hand and tenderly stroked his fingertips over my skin, tracing from my shoulder and then over my collarbone and down towards my right breast, it was all I could do not to let out a soft cry. And as his hand gently cupped my breast, the heat of his thumb now tracing slow delicate circles around the puckered flesh of my nipple I could finally take it no more; I closed my eyes and let out a soft low moan, which felt as if it came right from the very centre of me.

  “Dear Lord, your body is as perfect as an angel’s, Amelia,” he murmured, the warmth of his breath now dancing across the bare skin of my neck.

  I dared not speak in reply, lest I somehow break the spell – for it felt as if the whole world had ground to a halt around us for a moment. And I sucked my breath once more deep into my lungs and held it there, I felt his other hand now slip right between my legs, parting me, the rough heat of his fingertips pressing right against that most secret and tender place, causing such a strange shock and shiver through me that I couldn’t help but reach out and grip his wrist, stopping him, my eyes flashing open in terror, my face crumpled in a mixture of surprise and shame.

  For why in the world did he need to touch me there, in that, my most private and shameful place, the very source of all my wickedness and sinfulness?

  “Come now, do not worry, girl,” he murmured. “I want only to bring you pleasure.”

  “But why, sir,” I managed
to say, my voice trembling, “would that give me any pleasure?”

  At this he smiled, and again began the soft ministrations of his fingers, right there between my legs, each stroke of his hot rough fingertips causing another great shiver to run right through me, a flush of blood rising to my breast – my body betraying me.

  “Oh my sweet Amelia, can you not see how well your body responds to my touch?” he replied, his hot breath once more dancing upon my neck, his fingers moving gently back and forth, back and forth, forcing that odd heat and slick wetness to seep out from the very centre of me, driving me slowly towards a state of shivering light-headedness, culminating in the strange gasping shuddering sensation I had only before that night known in private, ministered by my own hand in the punishment room. And as the strange and powerful sensation swept over me, it was all I could to do to remain standing, and so to keep my balance, I threw my slender arms around Lord Hartford’s neck and drew myself close to him, moaning softly, my whole body atremble, until eventually the sensations had passed.

  Once I had returned fully to my body, Lord Hartford once more lifted me easily off the floor and this time carried me to the bed, placing me gently upon its edge so that I was sitting facing into the room.

  And to my surprise and growing curiosity, he too began to disrobe, starting at his top, undoing his cravat, then slipping off his jacket, and then unbuttoning his crisp white shirt, uncovering a body lean and muscular beneath, so broad and strong compared to my own tiny frame. It was as if I could not tear my eyes from him, and I could tell that he did not mind me watching either, as he slowly uncovered even more of himself. I held my breath clutched tightly in my lungs as he next undid his boots, and then, finally, began to unbuckle his belt.

  As he bent down to slip his trousers around his ankles, I saw that the long white cotton bloomers he wore were so different to the sort that I dressed in, hewn of a rougher and more simple design. And then, as he slipped those around his ankles too, I was unable to contain the gasp of surprise that flew from my lips when I saw the strange thing that seemed to spring up from between his legs, large and slick and purple, so thick and long, jutting out and upwards, as if it wanted to leap right off his body and attack me ...

  He smiled when he noticed my confusion, then calmly and confidently nodded down towards that thing sprouting between his legs, nestled in its fuzzy crop of jet black hair, and said, “Oh my dear Amelia, were you not educated at all in relations between men and women?”

  At this, I knew there was no point in pretending otherwise and so, with a blush, I shook my head.

  “Your aunt was remiss in your education,” he replied. “But never mind. For I shall be your new teacher. What this is for, my darling innocent,” and again he nodded down at that strange swollen object jutting up at me from between his legs, “is for pleasure. Come, let me show you.”

  And so began, dear readers, the finest and most important lesson of my life, one that was not learnt from a school room or from a book but from my new teacher – Lord Hartford.

  “Well my darling pupil ...” he began, taking a seat beside me on the soft sheets. “Have you not touched yourself where I touched you just a moment ago and felt the same pleasures?”

  My blush increased, as my mind cast back to the many times that I had indeed touched myself in such a way. But how could he know about that? For I never told a soul about my private and shameful actions there in the punishment room, and I was sure that I alone in all the world did such disgusting things. And pleasure? Was that really the word for the odd sensations I’d felt?

  As if able to see right into my whirling mind, Lord Hartford said, “Now Amelia, please know that there is nothing shameful about what we are doing. Now that we are married, our bodies belong to each other, you know, and if I choose to touch you here ...”

  At this, his hand once more slipped gently between my thighs, softly cupping the place that had now grown so hot and wet, and in response to his touch I let out another soft moan despite myself.

  “... Or you choose to touch me here ...”

  And at this, he took my hand and guided it between his legs, curling my slender fingers around the strange object that stood so proudly between his legs.

  “... then there is nothing shameful about that. For our marriage has made these actions perfectly normal and healthy, and in time you shall grow to enjoy them.”

  I sat there, frozen in terror upon the bed, my fingers curled around the hot thick object, feeling a soft pulse throb within it, as if in time to his heartbeat.

  “There, like this,” Lord Hartford murmured, guiding my hand so that it began to slide up and downwards, and as I slowly grew comfortable performing the action on my own, I felt that strange object grow even larger and harder in my grip. And in response, Lord Hartford too began to move his fingers once more between my legs, this time pushing them right up inside me, then withdrawing them again, and I found myself spreading my legs wider to allow him easier access to me, once more feeling that strange and shivery sensation growing in my tummy and flashing out all around my body in tingling waves of heat, all the while stroking him, sensing that my actions were causing him just as much pleasure (all the while, my mind wrestling with the idea that this was not some sinful, shameful thing as I had first thought), hearing him sigh and groan as my fingers stroked up and down his thick and throbbing hardness.

  “Now lie back, Amelia,” he said, taking his hand from between my legs, and stopping my motions on him too.

  I did just as he instructed, wondering what he would do to me next, my whole body still shivering and trembling with the sensations that coursed through it, my little heart pounding and my nipples so tight and swollen upon my chest now that they actually hurt, as if some invisible hand were pinching them.

  I lay back upon the bed, and a moment later Lord Hartford had climbed right over me, covering me with his broadness, the heat of his skin and the spicy musk of his scent filling my senses, causing my poor head to whirl afresh.

  “Now this may hurt a little at first,” he said gently, guiding that thick hot beast of his right between my legs, touching the throbbing tip of it to my secret opening, “but just relax as much as you are able, and I promise you that soon it will bring you great pleasure, even greater than that which you have experienced up until now.”

  I froze in panic – for did he really expect to try and push something as long and thick as that inside me?

  But I did not voice my fears aloud, instead simply biting my lip and parting my legs as wide as they would go, bracing myself as, sure enough, I felt him push his thick hotness a little way inside me, stretching me so wide at my centre that I feared I might tear right in two.

  I gasped as he pushed himself even further within me, and he paused then, his mouth now moving to my neck, covering it with a flurry of such soft and delicious kisses that I felt myself softening and relaxing, shivering and trembling beneath him, his hand now moving to my bosom, once more thumbing the taught little bud of my nipple, sending fresh sensations of pleasure rippling right through me before he again pushed a little further inside me, causing me to cry out. But this time, my cry was half in pain and half in pleasure, as if the two sensations seemingly mixed together to create a third.

  And slowly but surely, my new husband began to slide that thick hot rod of his in and out of me, each slow thrust that he made with his hips causing the sensation to build and grow within me, half pleasure, half pain, sending me squirming and shivering, as I sighed and moaned beneath him, my body so small and frail beneath his strong hot mass, my very senses filled with him, his heat and musk, my fingers dancing over the rippling broadness of his back as he increased his thrusts, driving himself harder into me now, harder, harder, my moans growing louder, the flashing sensations building within me until they bubbled forth in a great rush, my whole body shuddering and trembling, so much more powerfully before.

  And at that moment, he closed his lips over my own, his tongue pushing as d
eep into my mouth as his manhood seemed to drive within my body, and with a final shudder, I felt his whole body tense, and then, deep within me, I felt him pulse: flooding my insides with a curious warm liquid, my own shivers and trembles mixing with his, as if our two bodies, so deliciously intertwined upon the sheets, now wished to become one.

  I must have fallen asleep in his arms, our bodies still wrapped together upon the sheets, for I do not remember him carrying me back to my own chamber, only that I awoke there the next morning, the memories of our night together rushing back into my head, as heady yet unreal as a potent dream.

  But it had really happened, and to prove this, I discovered a handwritten note lying upon the pillow next to me:

  To my beautiful wife. I have business to attend to and I must leave for a few days. However you shall not be lonely while I am gone, as I have arranged for some distinguished ladies to visit you today. They are all very excited about meeting my new bride. I shall be kept warm while I am away from you by the memory of our time together last night.

  Yours,

  James

  I lay in bed, smiling, wrapped in the soft sheets, replaying each moment of the previous night over and over again – the feel of his fingertips between my legs, his own throbbing thickness in my hand, and then of course the way he had drove himself deep inside me.

  Oh, how I wished he were there with me again, to again teach me new things about the world of pleasure and pain – the secret world which, I was now growing to understand, existed between married men and women.

  But just then, my thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door – it was Emily again, carrying a breakfast tray, upon which was a steaming cup of chocolate and a delicate pastry.

  “I hope you slept well, madam,” she said with a smile, and at this simple question I found myself blushing despite myself, realising that no other creature was as isolated as I had been growing up. Emily may well have been a simple girl but she had surely lived amongst people in a way that I had not, and so she would know just what kinds of things had passed between James and I last night.