Read Indecent: 15 Erotic Victorian Romance Story Box Set Online
Authors: Lucy Wild
Mrs Downlow alighted from a hackney coach at her own door
and dragged out a naked man behind her. The man was Spunks.
“How dare you do this to me,” said Spunks as they entered
the house. Downlow said nothing, forcing Spunks onto his back and clambering
onto him, teasing him to the edge of orgasm before leaving him frustrated,
standing again and frowning down at the frustrated fellow. “Let me come or let
me go.”
“Feel free to leave,” said Mrs Downlow. “But the instant you
leave, I will have you apprehended on charges of fraud and robbery.”
“And you on kidnap,” replied Spunks.
“I brought you here to strike a bargain.” With that she
again climbed onto Spunks, teasing him once more to the brink of climax before
sitting still on his cock and refusing to let him tip over the edge. “Either
take on my charges publicly or talk to me in private.”
“This is a fine treatment from my father’s oldest friend.”
“It is because I was his friend that I am about to let you
come,” returned Mrs Downlow, “Edward Leeford.”
“What does the name matter? Just let me climax for pity’s
sake.”
“You have a stepsister.”
“I am an only child.”
“Your father separated from your mother and fell amongst new
friends,” said Mrs Downlow, beginning to bounce up and down on his cock once
more. “This you know.”
“Not I.”
“You know of whom I speak. One was a naval officer with two
children, a daughter of nineteen and a mere infant.”
“What is this to me?”
Mrs Downlow began to stroke her clit, slowing her movements
and her speech as she brought herself to orgasm whilst staring at Spunks who
growled in frustration. “They resided together and your father grew to love
them all. He found himself contracted to that daughter and left with a great
sum when the naval officer died. He died shorly after leaving no will so all
property fell to you and her.
Spunks held his breath as his orgasm grew near. Again it was
thwarted and he growled with rage. “Let me come!”
“Not yet. Before your father went abroad he came to me and
left me a portrait of the girl. I went when all was over to the scene of his
guilty love and found her gone. Why or whither, none could tell.”
Spunks drew a gasping breath as he tried to thrust his way
to orgasm.
“When your stepsister, a feeble and neglected child was cast
my way I saw how she resembled that portrait but she was snared away before I
knew her history. Oh my!” Mrs Downlow came again, her pussy contracting around
Spunks’ cock as he begged to be allowed to climax. “I lost the girl,” she
continued when her breathing had returned to normal. “No efforts could find
her. I went to look for you on your estate in the West Indies to find you had
left. And yet since then I have found much more besides. I have found you have
a sister. I have found there was a will which your mother destroyed, leaving
the gain to you at her death. I found it contained a reference to a child which
may be born. You went there. You destroyed the proof of who she was, tossing
them into the river.”
“No!” cried the coward.
“I know every word of what you told Getin. Shadows on the
wall heard you.”
“I know nothing.”
“Will you disclose the whole?”
“Just let me come!”
“Will you set your hand to a statement of truth before
witnesses?”
“Let me come!”
“Will you remain here until the document is drawn up?
“Yes, for God’s sake, yes.”
Mrs Downlow began to ride him at an indecent speed, taking
mere seconds to bring him to orgasm. As he shot spunk into her, he growled and
groaned with satisfaction. As he recovered Mrs Downlow stepped off him and
smiled. “You will make restitution to the innocent girl and then go where you
please.”
The door burst open before another word could be spoken and
a servant strode in. “The man will be taken!”
“The murderer?”
“His dog has been seen lurking and they are on his tail with
the dog leading the way.”
“I’ll give fifty pounds for his capture. What of Getin?”
“She has not been seen but she will be taken soon I have no
doubt.”
Spunks was locked in the room as Mrs Downlow set out to
follow the hue and cry in a fever of excitement.
In the dirtiest region that abuts the Thames, there are a
maze of muddy narrow streets thronged by the poorest people. In such a
neighbourhood lies Jacob’s Island. Here the warehouses are roofless and empty,
the walls crumbling. In an upper room of a broken open house sat three people.
Toni Fucket and another named Kags.
“When was Getin took?” asked Fuckit.
“Two this afternoon.”
“And Bet?”
“She went to see the body and went mad, they took her off to
hospital and there she remains.
“What of Bates?”
“He’ll be here soon no doubt. My concern is Tit.”
“As it is with many men.”
“I mean Tit. If she turns King’s evidence, Getin will
swing.”
“Let’s have no talk of that. Come closer and warm me, the
night is chill.”
Kags shuffled up beside Fuckit and in a minute they were
kissing. Another minute and both were naked, Tit riding Kags and moaning with
pleasure.
Whilst they fucked Sikes’s dog bounded into the room. “He
can’t be coming here?” said Tit, jumping to her feet and scrambling for her
clothes.
There was a knock at the door and in burst a man with the
lower half of his face buried in a handkerchief, another tied over his head
under his hat. It was the very ghost of Sikes. “The papers say Getin’s took,”
said he. “Is it true?”
“True.”
The pair fell silent.
“Have you nothing to say to me?”
Nobody spoke.
“Do you mean to sell me or let me lie here until the hunt is
over?”
“You may stop here,” Fuckit replied.
“Is the body buried?”
They shook their heads as Bates entered the room, falling
back as he saw Sikes.
“Don’t you know me Charley?”
“Stay back you monster!”
They looked at each other until Sikes’ eyes sank to the
ground.
“I’ll not stay here with you. I’ll send you down myself.”
With that Bates leapt on Sikes, landing one blow after another. The contest was
unequal and Sikes had him down in no time. He leapt up in alarm when he heard
the tramp of hurried footsteps outside before a knocking came at the door.
“He’s here!” cried Bates. “Break down the door!”
“Damn you!” cried Sikes, throwing up the sash on the window
and waving his cock at the crowd. “I’ll cheat you yet!” He took up a rope from
the corner of the room and hurried to the top of the house. He tied the rope to
the chimney stack and made a running noose with his hands, hoping to drop down
into the ditch below and run for his life in the confusion. At the moment of
bringing the loop over his head prior to slipping it under his arm he slipped
and fell, tumbling over the parapet. He fell for thirty feet before there was a
jerk, a convulsion of his limbs and there he hung, swinging lifeless against
the wall.
The events of the last chapter were but two days old when
Olivia travelled towards her native town. “See there,” she said to her
travelling companions. “There is the stile I came over. There the hedges I
crept behind. There was the house where I spent my early years.”
As they rode through the town, Olivia took in the sights.
There was Semenbally’s brothel, smaller than she remembered it. There was the
public house and the whorehouse. They drove on to the chief hotel to enjoy
dinner.
After this they entered a side room and there was Spunks.
“This is a painful task,” said Mrs Downlow. “But these declarations must be
repeated for you all.”
“Don’t keep me here,” said Spunks. “Get on with it.”
“This girl,” said Mrs Downlow, setting her arm around
Olivia, “is your stepbrother, illegitimate child of Edwin Leeford to Agnes
Fleming who died in childbirth. She was born in the workhouse here. Speak on
Spunks.”
“Listen then,” returned Spunks. “Her father being ill was
joined by my mother in Rome and found him dying. Once gone she found two papers
addressed to Downlow. In the first was a letter to Agnes and the other was a
will. The letter explained to the girl that she should not hate his memory and reminded
her of the locket and ring he’d sent.”
“And the will?”
“The will talked of you and your mother, each left an
annuity of eight hundred pounds. The rest went between Agnes and her child, but
only if the child were not stained with public dishonour or wrong. My mother
burnt the will and hid the letter.”
Mrs Downlow took up the thread. “Years after this, Spunks’s
mother came to me after he stole her money and fled to London. She wished to
recover him but she died before it could be done. Spunks blamed innocent Olivia
for her death and vowed to vent upon her the hatred he felt by dragging her to
very foot of the gallows. Getin was offered a large reward for keeping Olivia
ensnared. As to the locket and ring?”
“I bought them from those who stole them from the nurse who
stole them from the corpse,” answered Spunks.
In was pushed Mr Bummer and his good lady wife. “Oh is that
little Olivia?” said Mr Bummer. “I’ve been grieving for you my girl.”
“Silence,” snapped Mrs Downlow. “Do you know this man?”
“No,” said the former beadle, echoed by his wife.
“Neither of you sold him anything?”
“No.”
“Not a locket or ring?”
Here were brought in two palsied women. “We heard you the
night Sally died,” said the first.
“We saw you take the paper from her hand and saw you go on
to the pawnbroker’s the next day,” added the second. “We saw you retrieve a
locket and gold ring.”
“Shall we go on?” asked Mrs Downlow.
“If Spunks has spunked,” said Mrs Bummer, “I have nothing to
add. What of it?”
“Nothing,” replied Mrs Downlow,” except you shall never be
employed in a situation of trust again.”
The court was paved from floor to roof as Getin was held in
the dock. Guilty was exclaimed and she was sentenced to death. Her last night was
spent in the condemned cell and here she thought hard in silence, dwelling on
the past.
At length the cell was opened and Olivia walked in beside
Mrs Downlow. “You have some papers given you by Spunks,” said Mrs Downlow.
“I haven’t a one.”
“On the verge of death tell us where they are.”
“I shall not, me who is to die without a final orgasm.”
Mrs Downlow sighed, lowering herself to her knees and
lifting Getin’s prison attire to expose her pussy. She fingered the convict as
the convict had been fingered by her life of crime, hard and long until she
reached an orgasm of great strength. Only then would she whisper into Olivia’s
ear that the papers laid in the chimney breast in his old dwelling place.
After that Getin was left alone until morning, brought out
to observe the waiting crowd and before all the dark cluster of objects, the
black stage, the cross beam, the rope and all the hideous apparatus of death.
What remains will take little time to tell. Olivia was left
with three thousand pounds, Spunks the same amount. The knave took his share to
the New World and soon squandered it, dying at last in prison.
Mrs Downlow adopted Olivia as her common law wife, residing
together in their home in the country.
Tit received a pardon for speaking out against Getin and
became an informer alongside Charlotte.
Mr and Mrs Bummer became paupers in the very workhouse they
once ran.
Charley Bates gave up his life of crime and took to honest
work with a passion, he is now the merriest grazier in the land.
Within the altar of an old village church is a white tablet
which bears only AGNES upon it and so our tale is done.
Chapter
1
Marlene was dead: to begin with.
There can be no doubt about that. Carol Christmas signed the register of her
burial in the presence of the clergyman and the undertaker and Carol’s name was
good upon exchange for anything she might choose to put her hand to. It bears
repeating for emphasis. Marlene was as dead as a batteryless metal dildo.
I don’t mean that I know what is especially dead about a
dildo. I might be inclined to regard a coffin nail as the deadest piece of
ironmongery in the world but I am not an expert in simile, merely in erotic
tales and poor quality puns.
Carol knew she was dead. Of course she did. How could she
not? They had been partners for who knows how many years. Carol was her sole executor,
sole mourner and sole friend. Even she was not so cut up by the death to
prevent herself conducting business acquiring a new whore on the day of the
funeral, solemnising it with an undoubted bargain of the woman joining the
business for less than a shilling.
The mention of Marlene’s funeral brings me to the point
worth repeating, it cannot be in doubt that she was dead. This must be
understood or the story is not worth telling. If Hamlet’s lover were not dead before
the play began, there would be nothing remarkable when she appeared on his
ramparts in the dead of night.
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?”
“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 26
th
.”
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.