Victorian Taboo

by Bryn Colvin

  How long she stood there she did not know; gazing into space, keeping her face still, and leaning her weight upon a chest of drawers in order to keep her balance. The room began to swim before her, forms of furniture melting into a blur, and she stumbled.

  “Jenny?”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “just a moment of light-headedness, nothing.”

  “I am terrible, you’ve been standing there an age; you must be exhausted.”

  She nodded.

  “Come and sit. I have some bread, ham, cheese and wine. Eat with me; revive yourself.”

  The food helped to steady her and the wine made her happily giddy. She laughed and allowed Gabriel to play with her hair and feed her fragments of cheese. Without warning, his expression changed and he became terribly serious.

  “Would you stay with me tonight, Jenny?”

  His voice was husky with passion and she knew that, if she refused, he would accept it. It was so rare in her life that she felt she had any right to choose. She reached out and touched his cheek, running her thumb across his sensuous lips.

  “Yes.”

  He kissed her, slowly at first, gently parting her lips with his tongue and penetrating her mouth. His hands were in her hair, trailing over her neck and breasts. She could feel the roughness of dried paint on his fingers and taste the wine on his breath. He lifted her, carrying her to his bed and laying her down carefully, brushing her hair out around her and planting kisses along the length of her body. She sighed deeply, revelling in his tenderness.

  He treated her with reverence, lavishing kisses and caresses upon her, pausing from time to time to enquire if she liked this or that, asking for nothing in return. It was a novelty not to be ordered about, to love without demand or command. She touched him searchingly, relishing this slow seduction, feeling her body unwind and open in readiness for him.

  Eventually, he lay out beside her, having lost his clothes gradually during the course of their play. He rolled her onto him and she gazed down into his large brown eyes.

  “I am yours,” he said simply.

  She could feel the force of his erection pressing against her stomach. She straddled him, guiding him into the waiting wetness of her cunt. She bent to kiss him and began to rock slowly against him. Gabriel reached up his hands to hold her breasts, caressing them and stimulating her nipples with a knowing touch. After a little while, he slid one hand down, playing with the soft hairs between her thighs and then seeking out her clitoris. Rubbing her in slow circles, he soon made her swelter with pleasure and sensation.

  Jenny took her time, realizing that he wanted to please her and that she could indulge her own sensual needs in his company. Usually she was the one who dutifully provided and found what enjoyment she could in her trysts. Sir Jasper was not so bad a lover, he was well endowed and had considerable stamina, but he never enquired what she wanted, and even when he pleasured her, it seemed to be more for his amusement as her satisfaction.

  It took all of her concentration not to simply come, but she knew that in delaying, she could find more profound satisfaction. She bit her lips and clenched her hands, fighting off the wild trembling that threatened to overtake her. Only when she felt those telltale signs that meant he would not be able to restrain for long did she allow herself to fully surrender to their lovemaking. She felt him explode into her, his body convulsing beneath her as she clenched tightly around him, overwhelmed with feeling. They kissed and she slipped down to rest her head against his chest, conscious of the receding warmth of his cock as it shrank away to more modest proportions.

  “I’m falling in love with you, Jenny.”

  She felt a stab of feeling then, as sweet as it was painful; a true pang. She looked at his boyishly handsome face, his eyes shining in the candlelight. When Gabriel stroked her hair back from her face, she kissed the palm of his hand.

  “Oh, Gabriel,” she murmured. He was all that she truly wanted: passionate, romantic and truly appreciative of her as a fellow artist.

  “Don’t you love me just a little bit, Jenny?” he asked plaintively.

  “Of course I do.”

  She nestled down at his side, wrapping her arms around his waist and sighing contentedly. How could she fall in love with him? He probably could not afford to keep her and she could not live by love alone. Like it or not, she needed Sir Jasper’s support and she suspected he was not the man to tolerate her having another lover. Everything she knew about him told her he was a jealous, possessive individual. Gabriel knew she was another man’s mistress, and he evidently did not care in the slightest.

  Chapter Twelve

  The folly stood on a wooded hill overlooking Clare House. Both were built by Viscount Mainwaring in 1725. The house had twenty bedrooms and many of them were in frequent use. The folly, fashioned in the manner of a Greek Temple for Delphic deities, was pure eccentricity in the best English tradition.

  Colville Mainwaring was twenty-five. One day, when his father decided to do the decent thing and leave this world, he would become the owner of house, land, money, and title. On a cold evening he and three of the members of the Temple of Ecstasy poured more wine, rubbed their hands over the open burning brazier and waited for the moon to dissect an exact point between two old oak trees at the end of the great sweep of lawn. Alfred, Lord Bellingham hurriedly made notes.

  It was going to be his first opportunity to talk about his exploits and he wanted to impress his fellow initiates, as he had only just been accepted into their group. Clarence Rhinegeld stretched out his long legs as he sat sipping the mulled wine, his cruel eyes surveying everything in view with disdain, save for one of his fellows. Nobody held Charles Cadwell in contempt.

  He was a founding member of the dissolute group, which held pleasure to be the highest form of life. Vitally, it was their pleasure alone that was to be celebrated: All else, even human life, could be sacrificed to achieve hedonistic heaven.

  “Shall you lead tonight, Charles?” Clarence casually asked.

  “Let young Bellingham have the honour. He has much to prove. Our mistress and revered goddess, Ishtar, is anxious to receive our offerings.” Cadwell laughed. The sound echoed around the circular stone folly.

  “Come, Alfred, tell us what you propose and have even accomplished since you were inducted into the Temple of Ecstasy?”

  The immaculately dressed, young noble again looked at his notes.

  “My fellow worshippers of Ishtar, I put before you my deeds. May the Goddess judge me fairly and favourably.”

  Standing at a raised dais he took out a silver snuffbox, expensively chased at one side and with the family crest etched into the lid. Carefully opening it he let the contents flutter down onto the black cloth covering a small table by his side.

  “See the purity of the golden down, gentlemen. Not two nights ago I took a virgin from out of her village home, tied her arms and legs as she spread over a low stall and then, taking my razor, delicately shaved her pubic hair. When she was shorn of her golden curls, my tongue licked her maiden petal and sucked the juices of her delight. This is my gift to Ishtar.”

  He waved his hands in a flourish and nervously looked at his companions, waiting for their approbation.

  “Bravo, Alfred! You have made a fine start!” Charles shouted and slapped the young lord on the back.

  “Now, you, Colville; you have much to beat after that.”

  Sir Colville Mainwaring had the face of an angel and the heart of Satan.

  “I do not need to play tricks,” he began arrogantly, and stood by the side of the brazier. “I have seen the Goddess!” His eyes were glazed and the pupils dilated.

  “The mysteries are being revealed. There is mayhem in the air. Tonight I will ride across the fields, and when you read of death in the villages, think of me.”

  Cadwell eyed him guardedly. This was probably not the wine or other substances talking. Colville had gone beyond laudanum. His drugs were far more exotic. Cadwell thought him a danger
to them and wondered whether he should attempt to rein their colleague in before something unpleasant happened. Mainwaring’s delirious ramblings were bound to attract attention sooner or later and the man simply had no idea when to stop.

  Deflowering the peasantry was one thing, a killing spree another entirely. They had made their mark on wider society–a secret company that liked to hear its name whispered at select gatherings. Colville could bring the authorities down on them. His habit had given him an addiction to the stench of death and he lacked the wisdom to be discrete in his dealings.

  Dismissing him as not bad, but mad, Cadwell signalled for Clarence Rhinegeld to take the stage. Languidly, the tall man stepped to the dais.

  “Only through pain can we attain knowledge.” It was a familiar theme from Rhinegeld. Most of the club were there for the hell of it. Fun and more fucking fun, they had roared the other evening as they went on a drunken gallop from the public house to rouse every house in the district. Rhinegeld had a messianic look about him. Without warning, he turned his back on his companions and ripped his shirt off.

  “See the scars of the lash.”

  Fresh whip wounds, red raw and oozing pus presented themselves. He turned to face them again.

  “Inflicted by my lover.”

  They knew what his predilections were.

  “Then I held him down when it was his turn to feel agony. For the best part of an hour he felt my cock in his gorgeous rear.”

  Now Rhinegeld warmed to the memory. His face was illuminated by his passion and Cadwell remembered exactly why this particular fellow had been drawn into their number. While others played at debauchery he had mastered it as an art.

  “When my seeds penetrated his body, I prayed to Ishtar that she would look favourably on me. Though she is Goddess of Fecundity and I am a self confessed sodomite, I know all acts of passion are blessed by her.”

  “Well said…and performed,” Cadwell applauded and held his hand out to Rhinegeld. When the commotion had died down, Cadwell rose, and went to the dais. He had decided against revealing his latest exploits, wanting to wait until his triumph was complete and not inclined to give the others a chance to get ahead of him in his scheme.

  “Friends, tonight I have nothing to tell you, my exploits have been too modest for your ears.” He paused for effect. “That said, I have arranged something for your entertainment, to the glory of our great cause.”

  He clapped his hands in the air. A servant, dressed in full military uniform marched in, leading a young woman swathed in a purple cloak, the colour of the club. Cadwell beckoned for her to approach him.

  “It is well known that Ishtar is a full breasted, womanly proportioned Goddess. Gentlemen…” a theatrical pull at the woman’s cloak… “I give you the image of Ishtar.”

  The woman was naked and ravishingly beautiful.

  “I have searched high and low to find this creature for you this evening. Now we will give thanks to Ishtar in the only way we know how.” As he declaimed, he took hold of the woman and swirled her around so all her assets could be admired by the whole company.

  “Alfred, as a newcomer, it shall be your first award. Lay here and show the wench your shaft.”

  As the young noble stretched out on the table and liberated his cock, there was ribald laughter.

  “Now, image of Ishtar, earn your slut’s gold in honour of the whores’ Goddess, and mount the beast.”

  The woman showed no discernable emotions. Cadwell had tutored her in the requirements of the evening. She straddled Lord Alfred and came down on his cock. The master of ceremonies bade Colville come to the feast.

  “Kneel at Alfred’s head and present your manhood to our Goddess’ mouth.”

  The delighted, bawdy laughter rang around the folly as the woman took Mainwaring’s erection. Cadwell pushed her down flat on Bellingham and, with masterly panache, said to Rhinegeld, “Normally, Clarence, this would be your orifice; but I wager you prefer your lovers to have balls and a cock to play with. So I think this is my honour.”

  He quickly slipped his hard cock out and as he knelt over the woman, shouted, “Thrice we have entered our goddess. Let us make sure she knows we are here.”

  He had seen to preparing the woman himself and knew that her tight and tantalizing posterior would be pleasingly slick and receptive to his ministrations. He plunged in, relishing the watchful eyes of others upon him and the wild energy orgies always produced.

  Their mock-goddess was willing and all would enjoy her favours before the night was over.

  * * * *

  The drawing room was decorated with considerable style and elegance, its theme fashionably oriental, with eastern rugs, great, ornate vases and strange, delicate paintings; a fire blazed in the hearth. Amelia’s attention wandered from one beautiful object to another, relishing the fine quality of everything on display and easily able to guess what kind of wealth it represented.

  She had missed this opulence and splendour–Caroline might have money, but like most of the upper middle classes, she had limited sense of how a person might spend it well and hoarded it against worse times. Amelia’s family had never known how not to spend, which had its consequences, she reflected bitterly.

  The meal had been a delight–some half a dozen courses presented as though they were works of art and tasting equally excellent. Better yet, the conversation, like the fine wine, had flown freely, full of wit and sparkling brilliance. Freddy was a woman with her fingers on the pulse of every fad and fashion, aware of the arts and sciences, of politics, history and countless other things. She had very strong opinions about female suffrage and women’s rights. As she began on this subject, Charles rolled his eyes theatrically.

  “Charles doesn’t much care for politics,” Frederica observed.

  “Nor for anything else drab and tedious, I must confess. There is not an earnest bone in my body.”

  “He is a rogue, I am afraid.”

  There was something about Charles that unsettled Amelia, although she could not have said quite what. He was superb company, and very good looking if you happened to like that sort of thing, but he had an irresponsible quality that troubled her. Caroline seemed a little in awe of him, but Amelia’s attention had been largely focused on her hostess.

  They sat in the drawing room, waiting for Charles to finish his brandy and cigar.

  “Do you have any particular hobbies, Caroline?” Frederica asked.

  “I do sing a little and, of course, I play the piano.”

  “Of course. There is nothing unusual in that. What of you, Amelia?”

  “I had something of a passion for languages, when I was a girl, and for travelling in Europe. I have always rather liked theatre.”

  “Do you? I saw a delightful girl in Drury Lane the other week, although I could not tell you what the play was called, but she was a real gem.”

  Amelia nodded. It was becoming increasingly apparent that Freddy shared her preference for female company and there was an undeniable frisson of tension developing between them–nothing too obvious, but little moments when they would catch each other’s eye or their hands would accidentally brush when passing something.

  “Do you care for books at all?” Frederica asked.

  Amelia nodded, while Caroline said, “I’m afraid I have never been a great reader of anything other than news.”

  “A shame. Amelia, would you like to see the library? I am told that it is quite a wonder. Caroline, might I impose upon you by whisking your friend away for a few moments? I am sure Charles will be along shortly to entertain you.”

  “I would be quite happy to remain here, it is such a beautiful room that I am sure I could spend many hours looking at it and not lack for new things to discover.”

  “If you will excuse us, then…?”

  Amelia felt like a schoolgirl as they slipped from the room and walked hurriedly along the corridor. The library was a vast place, stocked from floor to ceiling with many leather-bound volumes�
��some of obvious antiquity.

  “Most impressive,” she said, “might I browse a little?”

  “By all means.”

  Amelia trailed her fingers along a shelf, looking at titles and realizing that a fair number of them had an occult element, while many of the others pertained to ancient history and classical literature. She pulled out a few tomes, leafing through them, startled by much of what she saw. Knowing nothing at all about matters occult, the material was beyond anything she had ever considered.

  “What has caught your eye?”

  Amelia held up a book on sex magic and Frederica smiled.

  “Ah, a woman with an open mind then.”

  “You will find I am very open-minded,” Amelia said.

  “Are you now?”

  Frederica was behind her, her fingers straying over the bare skin exposed at the top of Amelia’s dress. Soft lips pressed against her and Amelia turned, wrapping her arms around Frederica’s neck and offering up her mouth. It was a long, sweet kiss, testing and teasing.

  “I’m not the first woman you’ve kissed,” Frederica observed.

  “Phoebe was my first, but that was a long time ago. There have been others since.”

  “And there was I thinking I might be going to lead you astray.”

  “I was born astray.”

  They kissed again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Not a good house, this evening,” Sir Jasper said to Linklater as he handed him his cloak, cane and top hat, “too cold for society to turn out and enjoy itself at Drury Lane.”

  “I couldn’t rightly say, sir.”

  The cloakroom attendant at the theatre had once been a leading actor. That was his version of history. In reality he had never gone further than third billing, but he had been popular in his day. Now, at eighty-one and cursed with a croaking voice there were no parts for him. The boisterous, rowdy audience at Drury Lane wanted youth, not decrepit old has-beens who boasted of grander days. The vogue was for comedy and vitality, especially of the female type.