Victorian Taboo

by Bryn Colvin

  She busied herself wondering if Myles would ever stop being such a gentleman. It was not for a woman to suggest their friendship moved to a more intimate phase. Convention did not allow that, not even for a widow like Louis. She had been married for eight years before her husband kissed her goodbye and left for three months on board ship as a purser, taking the unimaginably wealthy to America in total luxury. She received a telegram from the White Star and the director of personnel had signed it himself.

  Archibald (Archie to Louis) had disappeared, presumed fallen overboard and lost at sea. She had always worried about his drinking habits, evidently with good reason. The silly old fool had probably pitched into the brine after consuming too much of the leftover brandy. Still, not a day passed but she missed him.

  “Sophie, don’t just stand there, young gal, staring at me. Come over here and try to learn something useful, instead of mooning around all day with stars in your eyes. Haven’t got some young man coming-a-calling, have you?”

  “No, Mrs. Thompson.”

  “Good thing, too. How old are you, Sophie?”

  “Nineteen.”

  Mrs. Thompson looked sternly at the maid, but in her thoughts recalled she had met Archie when she was eighteen. She thought she was smart enough not to get caught out, but he managed to get her pregnant where countless others had failed. Well, she thought it had been him, but neither of them had ever been entirely sure. Mrs. Thompson stopped preparing the meat and remembered.

  Poor little mite. Stillborn she was. Had no money for a proper funeral. My tiny Clementine had a pauper’s grave in Islington, North London.

  She shook herself out of these melancholy remembrances.

  “Look, Sophie. You need to know when this venison is good meat. Observe. The fat is clear, bright and of considerable thickness. When I want to know when it’s ready to cook I just plunge a knife into the haunch.”

  Sophie shivered. Mrs. Thompson paid no heed to the girl’s squeamishness.

  “Now smell the meat, Sophie. That’s the way to determine if you should dress and cook now, or keep it hung for a while longer. Are you paying attention?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Thompson.”

  Sophie’s attention was far from the lesson on meat. She hated butchering carcasses and had not wandered into the kitchen to watch this slaughter. In Sophie’s mind was the need to talk to someone. As the only female servant with any life experience worth mentioning, Mrs. Thompson had seemed the obvious choice. Any other girl might have gone home to her mother for a day, or spoken to some other female relative, but Sophie had come to the household from Josiah’s Harrogate property and had not seen her family in nearly five years.

  The young maid was in a considerable dilemma. The mistresses’ companion was taking her deeper into her web of sensuality. Lady Amelia had a magnetic personality. Caressing Sophie in private parts of her body was something the young woman had enjoyed. From the gossip below-stairs, mild flirtation and more between servants and employers in the great houses was rampant throughout London.

  The young man who called once a week to deliver prawns, shrimps, and oysters from his father’s business on the Essex marshes and muddy estuaries always told them lurid stories. That was when Mrs. Thompson and the butler, Mr. Cornwallis, were absent. If the butler came in and they were all gossiping he would soon send them scattering back to their duties.

  The young fellow, Lionel, had told them last week that a parlour maid had been caught in bed with the son of a Viscount who lived over at Hyde Park. The son was packed off to serve with the army in India and the maid dismissed without references. Sophie knew that her position was precarious.

  “Are you still hovering, girl?” Mrs. Thompson scolded Sophie. The maid decided this was not the time, and probably not the person, to share her secret with.

  “I’ll have to start preparing the tea tray, Mrs. Thompson.”

  It was an excuse. Both the mistress and her companion were out. Sophie needed an exit from the domain of the kitchen. Leaving slowly and hoping Mrs. Thompson failed to remember the absence of Mrs. Terrington and Lady Amelia, Sophie crept along the corridor and then up the narrow wooden stairs, which the servants used so as not to disturb or bump into guests in the main part of the house.

  Her bedroom was in the top attic. Just below this level Mr. Cornwallis had his own room and a small office where he kept the accounts for the wine cellar and other matters that she thought were probably beyond her comprehension. As Sophie walked passed his partly open door, the floorboards squeaked.

  “Who’s there?”

  His censorious baritone voice froze Sophie to the spot. She dare not move. Mr. Cornwallis came to the door and glared at the maid.

  “What are you doing at this time of the morning, Sophie? Have you no duties?”

  “The mistress and her companion are out, Mr. Cornwallis.”

  “Idle hands cause nothing but trouble, young woman. If you have nothing better to do than skulk around, you had better help me. Don’t stand there, Sophie, come in.”

  She entered his office.

  “Can you count, Sophie?”

  “Up to a hundred, Mr. Cornwallis,” she said proudly.

  “That’s good enough. See those wine tags. Put them in bundles of ten and then…” he paused, “what about your reading?”

  Sophie lowered her head.

  “I can see my name and I recognize yours, Sir, and some other words, but not many.”

  He pursed his lips, then smiled kindly. Myles was in his mid-thirties and had spent ten years in the Army. His profile was comely, but not outrageously handsome.

  “Well, in that case sort them according to the colours. You can do that, can’t you Sophie? And don’t call me, Sir. Mr. Cornwallis is the correct address.”

  The young maid went about her task. Myles Cornwallis continued to sit by his desk, papers scattered everywhere. It was a proper scene of industry, save for the fact that Sophie kept stealing glances at the butler. Two things were on her mind: He was so debonair and attractive, was the first improper thought. Then, secondly, she wondered if he was the right person to ask for advice concerning her unease at the relationship she had been lured into with Lady Amelia.

  Myles Cornwallis entered the neat copperplate figures in the account ledger. He felt no significant guilt as no one ever checked the totals, and he considered anything that went unnoticed as something less than criminal. It was an easy matter to surreptitiously adjust a few items here and a few ledger payments there. He made a tidy sum at the end of each month, although he was sure it was nothing to worry the mistress. It never amounted to more than a box of her fancy silk handkerchiefs might cost. She would not miss it.

  “Is this all right?”

  He looked up. Sophie sat looking at him, proudly holding up the tags.

  “Very good, Sophie.” Myles was going to lean over and pat her knee. He defrayed the action and gently touched her hand. She had such large eyes and moved with a sensuality of which she was probably totally unaware.

  “Mr. Cornwallis?”

  He smiled, and then realized it was an opening question seeking permission to continue.

  “Yes, Sophie?”

  “You know when I came into service, you told me that I was now part of the household, and if I had any problems I should immediately ask you?”

  “That is quite correct, Sophie. Is there something on your mind?”

  Sophie stood up and walked to where he was sitting. He coughed, not to clear his throat, but his head. The way she leaned on the high back of his chair and stood on one leg was enthralling. He imagined her body, fresh and very pale. His thoughts dwelt on her loins and the way Sophie’s soft, virginal cleft would be moving against moist folds of her petal as the maid slowly and casually swung her leg.

  “I think I need to tell you…ask you.”

  If she went on swaying like that he would be doing more than talking to her, he suspected.

  “Sophie, I think you need to sit down calm
ly and talk. Let’s go into my living room.”

  She followed him through the connecting door of the office. The living room had a small sofa and one easy chair. The far wall had shelves lined with books. Then a long window looked out over the rear of the house, and a curtained area took up the last part. Sophie puzzled over what was behind the drapes.

  “Sit on the sofa,” Myles directed as he sat in the easy chair.

  Sophie perched her rear on the very edge of the sofa, feet arched so her toes delicately touched the bare wooden floor, and her hands held her knees. To Myles discomfort she rocked herself like a doll. Only she was not porcelain. Sophie was flesh and…He stopped the erotic line of his thoughts again.

  “Well, Sophie?”

  “It’s difficult, Mr. Cornwallis.”

  “Would it help if, just for this occasion, I allowed you to call me Myles?”

  She nodded and smiled, but had no idea why.

  “It also concerns a person of the household…Myles.”

  “Then speak the truth, Sophie, and shame the devil.”

  “A person upstairs, Sir…Myles.”

  He tensed and wondered if he should call a halt to this turn of events. Perhaps he should, but then, he wanted this nubile young woman to be here with him.

  “Go on, Sophie.”

  The maid fiddled with the neat stitching on her long apron. Her eyes constantly flickered from the floor to Myles. She tried to start twice, and on the third attempt managed to find her voice and say, “It concerns Lady Amelia.”

  “Mind you, Sophie, I don’t want gossip,” the butler interrupted.

  “No, Myles. This is about her and me.”

  “Then continue.”

  “She touched me.”

  “Lady Amelia hit you, Sophie?”

  “Not hit. Touched.”

  Myles inclined his head in an attitude of questioning.

  “Down here.” Sophie’s hand went down to her lower stomach. She turned red.

  Myles struggled to interpret the gesture, and then realization dawned upon him. He was a man of the world and quickly understood the implications of what the maid was saying. His voice became soft and the words were slow.

  “How often has this happened?”

  “A first it was just gentle as I sat in a chair, probably three times.”

  “And then?” Myles knew there was going to be, and then.

  “Lady Amelia took me to her bed.”

  Myles Cornwallis got up and walked to the window.

  “Are you cross with me, Myles? Have I done wrong? It seemed nice at the time, but I’ve never heard of… with a woman… I don’t even know what to call it.”

  He made no answer. The butler’s mind was overwhelmed with emotions: Disgust at Lady Amelia, yes that was there. Lesbianism was an aberration, and he understood that. It was deviant, vile, and ungodly, and he wished with all his heart that he had been there to see Miss Fontenbrass’ depravity with his own eyes.

  He could just imagine her sliding those delicate long fingers of hers into Sophie’s trembling cunt. He wondered if they had licked each other’s nipples. Standing and contemplating the view down to the gardens of the house was not the reason he continued to look out the window. His long-sleeping, suppressed desire for Sophie had been awoken by this revelation. Sensual thoughts luxuriated in his mind as images of Lady Amelia exploring young Sophie danced wildly in his heated brain. Then his physical response seared his loins. Myles knew his erection betrayed the passion that had been stirred.

  So many values fought in his mind. Lust won rapidly, aided by a hard dick.

  “Sophie, you shouldn’t have done these things.”

  “I’m sorry, Myles.” There was a little weeping in her voice.

  He turned and faced her.

  “Sorry isn’t going to make it better.”

  The maid clasped her hands together in a praying attitude.

  “What is?”

  The butler took a deep breath.

  “You will have to be punished, Sophie.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The modesty and submission in her tone delighted him. The use of the respectful ‘sir’ made Myles’ mood even more erotically charged.

  “Bend over the chair, Sophie.”

  The simple command had been made. If she had screamed and run from the room, the butler would have been dismissed, his life and career in ruins, but Sophie complied. Myles watched the prostrated figure, his lips dry, and his hands sweating. Without speaking he stepped closer to her, took hold of the hems of her skirt and single petticoat and lifted them up to her waist

  “Hold these up.”

  Sophie’s delicate fingers grasped her clothes, her eyes wide with trepidation.

  “Your behaviour is so heinous that you will have to be spanked.”

  Myles stuttered over the next sentence.

  ”…on your bare bottom.”

  Sophie gave a little squeal. She remained prone. Myles took hold of her panties. With trembling hands he revealed the naked roundness of two gorgeous pink cheeks.

  “I don’t expect a brave girl like you, Sophie, to cry. Just accept your punishment.”

  He administered a whack. Her body flinched. Quickly he smacked again. There was the faintest hint of a sob. He raised his arm for the third time and brought it down, stopping inches from that superb rear. He let his fingers fondle her exposed loveliness. Her sobbing stopped at once. Now Myles found himself unable to desist. His palms massaged her ass and his thumbs eased her legs slightly apart.

  “I should go on punishing you, Sophie. But there is another way to bring you back from this abnormal sexual practice Lady Amelia had led you into. Do you want that?”

  Her answer was hardly audible but seemed affirmative. Myles leaned down low and planted a kiss on each of the most adorable cheeks he had ever seen, at the same time spreading her legs further apart. As his head came up he saw the pure tender sweetness of her cunt.

  “This is going to be for the best, Sophie,” Myles tried to sound confident. He unbuttoned his trousers and let them slip to his knees. His underpants followed and the butler’s erection was something to behold. Sophie stole a look, bit her lip and felt him pressing down on her. She looked over at the drapes and realized that behind there was the butler’s bed. She gasped and the only thought that went through her head was to wonder why he was not doing this to her on a soft mattress.

  However delightful Amelia’s fingers had been it was nothing compared to the sensations the butler’s rod gave her. His hot hardness seemed to fill her whole body, and Sophie trembled with pleasure. He pulled out of her suddenly, and she felt something warm trickling over her rump. Myles was breathing heavily and she turned to look at him.

  “That was much better than anything Amelia ever did to me,” she confessed.

  “Good girl,” he said, “you’re a good girl, Sophie.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He stood up, and wriggled his member back into his clothing.

  “Now,” he said, “I want you to tell me everything, exactly what she did to you, when, and where.”

  Sophie flushed as she started to remember. There had been rather a lot of it.

  “And, if anything happens in the future, I want you to come and tell me. If you cannot resist Lady Amelia’s advances, I will be obliged to punish you.”

  Sophie could not help smiling. She rather liked this sort of punishment.

  After her confession, Myles sat alone in his room, fingering his hard shaft and wishing he had delayed his own gratification until after the revelations. The thought of the two of them together was enough to make him mad with lust and he imagined every scene Sophie had described in considerable detail. He was rather hoping Amelia would continue her sexual exploits with the maid, or that he could find other things to punish the girl for.

  Chapter Ten

  “Jenny, this is Gabriel Waterburn.”

  The young artist smiled winningly and put down an armful of pads
and brushes in order to take her hand. She had heard of him, he was one of the bright new darlings of the Pre-Raphaelite scene and his paintings were selling for vast sums of money. She wondered just how much this latest little indulgence was costing Sir Jasper and envied the ease with which he could lavish so much wealth upon his pleasures.

  “Delighted,” she said huskily.

  “So, did you have anything specific in mind?” the artist asked boldly. He was a confident young man who saw little point in titles and other archaic social proprieties.

  “I’ve seen the sort of things you fellows do, all classical mythology and Arthurian romance. What do you think? Might she make a good Persephone?”

  “That is an interesting idea.” Gabriel eyed her thoughtfully.

  “There is a capacity for sorrow in her face, she would make a glorious tragic heroine.”

  “I want a beautiful picture that shows off her… assets. Aside from that, I am happy to leave the detail to you. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other business to attend to.”

  Once they were alone, Jenny waited patiently for the young artist’s instructions.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Me?”

  She had grown so used to being ordered around that it startled her to be asked for her own opinions.

  “How would you like me to depict you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know about all these Greeks and Romans. But I like King Arthur, and I like Shakespeare, I was a bit part in one of his plays a few years ago. I was a maidservant.”

  “Your beauty demands a more famous role.”

  She blushed at his flattery. Jenny always blushed at flattery; she had discovered it was a useful skill that encouraged people to think she was both modest and innocent.