The Education of Victoria

by Meadows, Angela

  ‘I was provided with a large bedroom all of my own although I must confess that it was rather cold and smelt musty through not having been used for many years. Uncle allowed me to settle in and that evening entertained me to dinner with wine from his cellar. Next morning after breakfast he called me to join him in his studio. This was a room at the top of the house with a glass roof. There were blinds controlled by a clever mechanism to allow light to fall from one direction or another on the subject of Uncle’s photographs. The servants had set up what appeared to be a stage set of a stable with bales of hay and a crib. There were tripods and boxes of polished wood which I gathered were his machines for the taking of photographs.

  ‘Uncle Pierre told me to go behind a screen and change my clothes for those that he had prepared for me.

  ‘“The first subject of my great work will be the mother of the Christ, Mary herself. You will be a fine Mary, Natalie my dear. You display pure and virginal qualities like no other.”

  ‘I had to smile to myself. Little did he know that only a week had gone by since I had held a hard cock between my lips and caressed a pair of testicles with my fingers. Behind the screen I quickly removed my fine garments and hose and donned the simple blue dress and white apron that Uncle had left for me. The dress had buttons at the front and was, I noted, rather short for the wife of a carpenter, barely reaching my knees when I was standing.

  ‘I emerged in this costume supposedly playing the part of the Virgin Mary and Uncle told me to sit on a milking stool in the middle of the set. He placed in my arms a doll of a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and told me to look down at it with an adoring expression. There was quite a delay while he arranged his camera on its tripod and peered through it, fiddling with the brass rings that held the glass lenses. Then he had to prepare the special glass plates that he uses to record the patterns of light.

  ‘“Now, dear, sit absolutely still while I expose the plate. I shall count to trois. Un, deux, trois.” I heard a click, then there was a delay and at last another click. ‘Perfectement, soon we shall see what a delightful Mary you are. Now, dear, if you would like to undo the buttons at the top of the dress and place the doll to your breast, we shall have a picture of the mother suckling the Christ child.”

  ‘I must confess to being surprised at this turn of events but thanks to a term of Madame Thackeray’s teaching I immediately recognised Uncle’s intentions. His tale of a series of pictures of Bible heroines was nothing more than a ruse to observe my feminine charms. No matter, I was pleased that it appeared that this posing may turn out to be more interesting than I had previously thought. I undid the buttons as instructed and accidentally allowed the dress to flop open not only giving access to my left breast for the artificial baby but also exposing my right breast to the view of Uncle Pierre’s photographic equipment.

  ‘“Ah, excellent,’ Uncle exclaimed, ‘your breast is like a glacé of purest milk and your nipple a deep red cherry.” He set to work with his plates but his words gave me just the smallest thrill. In the course of over an hour he exposed four or five of the glasses, changing the direction of the light for each and asking me to adjust my pose just a little. As I twisted on the stool the dress rode up, exposing my thigh, which seemed to delight him. I became a little stiff holding the pose for so long and was thankful that my bosom is still firm. Even when I am not excited my nipples stick upwards. Eventually Uncle Pierre told me my work for the day was complete and that I could change back to my day clothes. He went off to the room that he keeps dark and said he would spend the rest of the day developing the plates and making prints.

  ‘I spent the afternoon quite happily amusing myself in various ways. After dinner that evening, Uncle Pierre showed me the first fruits of his labours. The paper was still a little damp but the picture of me as the Virgin Mary was perfectly formed. Uncle only showed me a copy of the first of the photographs he had taken and I wondered how my breasts looked when captured for ever on the special paper.’

  I too would have liked to have seen the pictures of Natalie and I wondered what other biblical characters her uncle had in mind. I urged her to continue with the story.

  ‘The next morning followed the same pattern. After breakfast I climbed up to the studio where I found that Uncle Pierre had prepared a new set. This one was again agricultural but showed a field with sheaves of corn.

  ‘“Today, my dear,” he greeted me, “you will be Ruth, the dutiful daughter-in-law fallen into poverty and scouring the fields for ears of corn.” I was quite pleased that I would not be doing the task in reality and just posing for the photograph. I went behind the screen and undressed. The clothes Uncle had left for me were those of a simple peasant, in a burnt orange colour. When I put the dress on I found it was worn and torn and barely covered me at all. I now had a good idea what Uncle’s series of pictures was really about so I decided to play his game to see how much he wanted.

  ‘When I stepped on to the set Uncle Pierre asked me to kneel and look as though I was searching for grains of corn. When I knelt the shreds of the dress fell about me. With a little coaxing my bosom dropped into view and my thighs and bottom were exposed. Uncle showed his pleasure by taking lots of plates. His camera was rather immobile so I had to shuffle round the set, sometimes presenting a side view that gave a good picture of my thighs. At other times I was facing the camera and I could see Uncle’s face becoming red and hot as he peered through his lenses at my breasts. Finally he had me present my bottom to the camera. I could not see his face of course but I could tell he was pleased by the sighs and murmurs that came from under the black sheet with which he covered his head and shoulders. He had me lingering in that position for a considerable time saying that he was having trouble with his lenses becoming clouded.

  ‘The afternoon was again spent on my own while Uncle Pierre worked in his darkroom, and at dinner he presented me with the first fruits of his labours – an attractive and modest picture of the saintly Ruth.’

  ‘Did it excite you posing for your Uncle in such a state of dress?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘A little, but the time went on and on so I was quite beyond excitement when Uncle had finished with me, but, Victoria, I have not finished my story yet.’

  ‘Oh, do go on,’ I said.

  ‘The third morning I found behind my screen just a pile of scarves made of gossamer thin silk. There were seven of them attached to a fine cord. I was unsure what to do with them until Uncle Pierre called out.

  ‘“Today, my dear Natalie, you are Salomé and you will dance the seven veils for John the Baptist’s head.”

  ‘“How do I wear them, Uncle?” I asked.

  ‘“Drape them around you, ma chérie. They will cover all your amazing attributes.” I did as he asked and stepped onto his stage of an Arabian palace. Of course I couldn’t dance while Uncle took the photographs. Instead I had to pose in strange and contorted positions, my arms raised, sometimes with my legs parted, occasionally on one leg. The silk scarves did not remain covering my private parts. They parted and fluttered away, revealing my body to my doting uncle.

  ‘When he emerged from under his sheet he looked flushed and flustered but most of his time was spent peering through the camera directing my movements and telling me to freeze when he found a view that appealed to him.

  ‘“You are most beautiful, my little flower,” he said, “so seductive you are bound to get what you want from a king.” I thought, give me a chance and I will seduce you, you old lecher.

  ‘That evening he presented me with a most fetching picture of me trapped for ever in my dance. Somehow he had contrived to take one photograph when my parts were covered by the fine cloth but there was a hint of my pubic hair visible through the translucent silk.’

  ‘Ooh,’ I cooed, ‘your uncle is a naughty old man. What does he do with the other pictures I wonder?’

  ‘I wondered too, but the answer to the puzzle must wait until the end of my story.’

  ‘Do go on, N
atalie.’

  ‘The following morning I looked behind my screen and there was nothing.’

  ‘Nothing!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘That’s right, nothing, no costume at all. I emerged to speak to Uncle Pierre while he was fiddling with his cameras.

  ‘“Do you wish me to wear my own clothes today, Uncle?” I asked.

  ‘“No, my little sparrow, today you will be Eve, the mother of mankind, before the Fall. You are innocent, without knowledge of any sin, unaware of carnal desires, unaware indeed of your nakedness.”

  ‘“Ah, you want me naked, Uncle.”

  ‘“Yes, my dear. Take your clothes off behind the screen.” I did as I was bidden, not at all nervous of showing myself off. Over the last three days Uncle Pierre had looked long and hard at my charms through his glasses and I knew that was what he really wanted to do, not record these fanciful Bible stories. He had me pose amongst the artificial trees of his Garden of Eden. With an apple in my hand and drooping branches draped over my shoulders, my hand nonchalantly but artfully placed over my mount of Venus, Uncle commenced his photography. In later poses he introduced a snake made of smooth satin that wound around my thighs and breasts. Once again I was moved this way and that, sometimes seen from the side sometimes from the front.

  ‘As before, Uncle spent most of the time under his cloth sighing and moaning. Once, when he emerged there was a definite bulge in the front of his trousers and beads of perspiration formed on his brow.’

  ‘And, what of you, Natalie?’ I asked. ‘Did the posing give you pleasure?’

  ‘I found it amusing, seeing how Uncle Pierre wished me to arrange myself, but really the time dragged and I longed for a hand to caress me or a penis to hold. At dinner, Uncle gave me the day’s first print and despite my obvious nakedness one could not say that the pose with the cascading branches and the entwining snake was at all improper. However that was the last time one could say that.’

  ‘Oh, really, Natalie. What happened next?’

  ‘It was the fifth day of my stay with Uncle Pierre and although nothing had been spoken of the purpose behind his hobby it was clear that he knew that I realised that the stories of biblical women were a subterfuge and that my body was his principal interest. I wondered what could follow Eve, but he had an answer in store.

  ‘When I arrived in the studio there was just a divan covered with furs on the set. There were no clothes behind the screen so I undressed and emerged naked.

  ‘“Are we continuing with Eve today, Uncle?” I asked innocently.

  ‘“No, Natalie. Today you are Mary Magdalene before she found the Christ.’ I confess that my Bible knowledge is not what my mother would wish, Victoria, so at first I had no idea what my uncle was referring to. But it became clear soon after. He had me lie on my back on the divan which was on small wheels to allow it to be turned easily. Uncle Pierre gave me instructions.

  ‘“Now my dear, this may be difficult for you but I want you to imagine that you are in state of excitement. I would like you to stretch out your limbs, arch your back, open your mouth. If it would help, I suggest you moan with pleasure.” I did not inform my darling Uncle that I had quite often been in this state of bliss during my first term at the Venus School for Young Ladies, but instead endeavoured to put myself in the position he described.

  ‘The camera was positioned much more closely so that I imagined that my form filled my uncle’s view. He clicked away using plate after plate as he moved the bed around in a circle capturing me at all angles. He told me to part my legs, lift my knees, throw back my head. Then he paused. The camera was between my feet, the glass eye peering right up my private parts.

  ‘“Oh, such beauty,” Uncle Pierre moaned from beneath his hood, “an exquisite flower, the lips resemble the petals of an orchid, the colour of a red, red rose. But surely we can get closer, the flower can open up. Natalie, darling, please pull your knees up and apart. Use your hands.” I brought my knees up to my ears and my bottom lifted from the fur coverings. I could feel my fanny opening revealing my secret hole.

  ‘“Yes, yes,” Uncle sighed, “but still, more can be done.” He emerged from behind the camera and approached the divan. He knelt on the floor and leant his head forward. From behind my raised legs I could see his face just half a metre from my pubis.

  ‘“I want you swollen with excitement, oozing with pleasure. In your innocence you will be unfamiliar with this state, but I can bring you to it.” He moved closer and now I could feel his breath on the inside of my thighs. The bristles on his chin briefly abraded my skin and then his lips made contact with mine and his tongue pushed into my crack. I think I jumped as if I had been struck by an electric spark but when I relaxed his mouth was there again. His tongue explored the folds of my labia; his lips gripped the rapidly swelling flaps then his tongue delved deep into my hole. Now it was my turn to moan, shivers passed up my legs and I struggled to keep hold of my knees to keep my legs apart for him.

  ‘His tongue slid up and found my little knob. It circled around and then his lips gripped it and sucked. Now his tongue descended again into the depths of my vulva and his nose rubbed against my clit. He gripped my buttocks and pressed against me, rubbing his face against me and digging deeper and deeper inside me with his tongue. And now the shivers became great shudders as the orgasm took me.

  ‘At my moment of ecstasy he was gone. There was an emptiness between my legs. But still the waves of pleasure passed through me. Somewhere in the distance I heard my uncle’s voice.

  ‘“Yes, yes, yes. Now the flesh is swollen and the juices flow. Stay still my dear, mon amour.” As my ardour subsided I remained grasping my knees and became aware of my uncle whirling like a Dervish. He grabbed a glass plate, thrust it into the wooden box, clicked the shutter, then whipped the plate out and repeated the movement. I cannot tell how many plates he exposed as I lost count. Finally, however, he finished.

  ‘“Thank you, my darling,” he sighed, panting with his exertion. By this time, as I had recovered somewhat, I was determined that I should give Uncle a little of his own treatment by return. I rose from the divan as he was busy sealing the last plate into its protective box. I knelt at his feet.

  ‘“I think, Uncle, that you must need some relief from your labour,” I said and raised my hand to touch him between his legs. I could feel his member swollen and hot.

  ‘“What do you mean?” he muttered as I began to undo his buttons. In a moment I had his penis in my hands and he was looking down at me with a look of such amazement on his face. I gripped his shaft in my hand. It was hard and as I pulled back the foreskin his purply red knob appeared. I gripped his testicles in my other hand and squeezed gently, then I lowered my head until my lips met the end of the tip.

  ‘“Oh, Natalie,” he groaned and swayed from side to side. I held his cock and balls firmly in my hands and started to lick his knob. Then, as we have been taught, I encircled it with my lips and began to suck while massaging the shaft. At that moment the urge came upon Uncle Pierre. He grasped my head with his hands and began to thrust his pelvis forcing his penis further into my mouth. I held onto the shaft tightly and now the battle between us was joined. I sucked and rubbed the bottom of his knob with my tongue while he tried to force it down my throat with thrust after thrust. I held on but my arms were tiring and my jaws were aching when he cried out and a gush of semen poured down my throat. He wilted like a plant that has gone without water. As he sank to the floor I released him and ran to pick up my clothes. As I left the studio he was slumped on the floor.

  At dinner that evening, Uncle Pierre sat at the other end of the table from me and was quiet.

  ‘“No photograph for me this evening, Uncle?” He looked at me uncertainly but said nothing. “That is a shame,” I continued, “for I would like to see all the pictures you have taken of me.”

  ‘“All?” he whispered.

  ‘“Yes, every one.” He put down his knife and fork.

  ‘“You little d
evil,” he grinned, “and there was me thinking you were the naïve little girl. Come with me. Now.” He stood up, came to me, took my hand, then almost dragged me from the room and up the stairs to his darkroom. There, hanging from lines stretched across the room like washing in a laundry, were prints of his pictures. He put on a light and I saw image after image of me. There were the chaste pictures that he had already given me but they were but a few amongst many. My breasts, bottom and fanny featured in the rest. To see so many views of myself made me laugh.

  ‘“Why, Uncle? Do these pictures make your cock swell? Does looking at such images help you in your handiwork?” He nodded.

  ‘“But there are so many? Surely you do not need so many pictures to pleasure yourself.” He did not say anything but put the light out and led me back to the dinner table.

  Next day I did not see my uncle. I was not required in the studio. Instead I relaxed in the library. I became aware that there seemed to be an extraordinary number of callers. The doorbell would ring, a servant would answer the door, someone would enter and a short while later they would leave. After the fifth or sixth visitor had been and gone in the space of two hours or so I became curious. When the bell rang again I opened the library door a crack and peeped out. The visitor was a man wrapped up in a cloak. The maid conducted him not to the drawing room but up the stairs. I followed at a discreet distance and saw that the gentleman was shown into my uncle’s darkroom. I hid behind a pillar and waited. A few minutes later the man emerged with a package wrapped in brown paper which he tucked under his cloak before going down the stairs and out the front door. I waited and a short while later another man wrapped up in a greatcoat was shown up the stairs, entered Uncle’s room then emerged with a package. I needed no more evidence to prove to myself that Uncle was giving these men pictures of me. Soon my fanny would be seen all over Paris. I was both annoyed and excited. I burst through the door into the dimly lit room. Uncle was folding brown paper over a pile of photographs.