The Darker Passions

by Nancy Kilpatrick

  The girl shifts uncomfortably. "When I told him I preferred Hyde, he grew angry with me. I stood to leave but before I could move he pulled me across his lap."

  "How intriguing!" Connie says.

  "I could not stop him, Aunt. He raised my skirts and lowered my drawers and spanked me severely until I was limp and helpless from the pain."

  "Delightful!" Connie shrieked.

  "A spanking is nothing in itself, likely you deserved it, but what follows may have importance. Go on," Meg says.

  "Well..." Ursula looks decidedly uncomfortable.

  "If I do not hear the full story in short order, young lady, you will be across my knee and learn a new meaning for the word severe!"

  This startles the girl. Meg supposes the idea of another paddling so soon after the first is a bit much for her to contemplate. She speaks up readily now.

  "Aunt Meg, I did not know what was happening, I swear to you. After what seemed an eternity, Henry finished his chastisement and lay me across the divan. I could only sob, feeling the fire on my bare skin, awaiting his pleasure. And pleasure himself he did."

  "How?"

  "He pierced my..."

  "Go on!"

  "My...oh, I cannot say it!"

  "Your womanhood?"

  "No, the other."

  Meg sighs in relief. "Thank god. Should he have broken your maidenhead, all would be lost. Over the footstool and raise your skirts!"

  Ursula looks shocked. "But why, Aunt Meg? I've told you all. Surely you wouldn't punish me for being truthful?"

  "I want to investigate."

  "Oh, goody!" Connie says.

  "Don't you believe me?" Ursula asks, her large eyes misting with tears.

  "I believe you, yes, but you are so naive you may not even know what was breached and what not. Now, onto your tummy, and raise those skirts and be quick about it. Connie, put down your glass and help me."

  They kneel behind the girl and lower her frilly bloomers. Eight hours later her pretty rounds cheeks are still touched with a bloom. Henry did a fine job, Meg thinks. Perhaps he has the goods after all. With Connie peering intently over her shoulder, she parts those pink cheeks. Ursula's labia glistens from the moisture covering it. Clearly her experience with Henry has left her eager for more. Her tiny pink hole at the back is like a bud. Meg uses her thumbs to press the skin beside it so that it opens a bit like a flower. "What do you think?" she asks Connie, who is more of an expert now on such matters than she.

  "I wonder how she held him."

  "Not that, you fool, do you think she was truly pierced there?"

  "Well, it's possible. There's only one way to determine if the other is intact."

  "Proceed," Meg says.

  Connie takes her place behind Ursula who is moaning, no doubt in embarrassment. She slips a finger between Ursula's labia. The girl jumps a little, her delicious bottom rising into the air to ease the insertion. Connie slides in further. "I've met a barrier," she announces.

  Ursula groans in earnest now. "Oh, this is so painful! Will it be like this when I am taken for the first time?"

  "More so, but you will enjoy it," Meg tells her, and the girl's bottom shivers in anticipation of the painful delights to come.

  Connie removes her fingers. The scent of Ursula is all over them, as well as clear juices. Connie puts them into her mouth and licks. She closes her eyes and savors.

  Meg catches a drop of the clear liquid sliding down from Ursula's cunny with her fingertip and brings it to her nostril. The scent is musky violet. She touches just the tip of her finger to the tip of her tongue. The slippery fluid tastes sweet, a honey that slips easily down her throat.

  "Come," she says to Connie, who stands. Meg gives Ursula's bottom a quick little swat and the girl jumps. Perhaps not so little, Meg thinks, because her hand print lingers in red on that pink bottom.

  "Up with you, Ursula."

  The girl raises her bloomers and stands, letting her skirts fall. She looks awfully contrite. "Auntie, you must forgive me. I meant well."

  "How did it end? Your visit with the good doctor?"

  Suddenly her face shifts to a look of blissful joy. "Oh, once Henry took me in so masterful a manner, he won my heart, of course. I promised to marry him soon."

  "Well, you can't marry them both!" Meg advises her, "at least not in England. And you've now promised both."

  "Oh, not exactly, Aunt Meg. I never did answer Mr. Hyde."

  Meg sighs. The girl is so unworldly in some ways. And yet sweet. Would that Meg had the time to fully train her in the ways of the world and prepare her but Meg realizes Ursula's actions and words have altered all schedules; clearly her pretty niece seems determined to hurtle towards marriage.

  "Alright, Ursula, this is how it will be from now on. You will see neither Jekyll nor Hyde unaccompanied and you must first obtain my permission. Do you understand me?"

  "Yes, Aunt Meg," she says contritely.

  "Once you are married you will undergo training by your husband, if he has any sense. Until that time, you are under my guidance and I shall see that things follow in their proper order. I hope I have made myself crystal clear."

  "Oh, you have Auntie. And I promise to do as you say from now on."

  "Good girl. Well, Connie," Meg turns to her guest, "I suggest we need a diversion about now, after this shock. What do you say?"

  Connie lifts her nearly empty wine glass and downs the contents. "What is your pleasure, Meg?" She stares at Ursula.

  "Come, I have something to show you."

  From a wooden chest in the corner, Meg pulls out her newest toy. "This gadget was manufactured in the United States. They call it a stereoscope, and it's all the rage in Boston, at least my friend Mattie says so, and she is the one who sent it to me."

  She picks up the postcard divided into two halves that came with this contraption and slides it into the frame at the front.

  "Look through these," she instructs Connie.

  Connie peers through the lenses at the postcard. The picture on the right is blocked, the one on the left visible. While Connie looks, Meg slides the bar before the card across. The bar now blocks out the picture on the left and exposes the one on the right. Meg clicks the bar back and forth rapidly.

  "Oh my!" Connie cries, delighted. "But, this is priceless!"

  She takes her time with it and soon Meg needs to wrench it from her grasp.

  "Aunt Meg," Ursula asks tentatively, "May I look?"

  "I don't see why not."

  Meg passes the machine to her. As the girl flips the bar back and forth, her cheeks color instantly, and yet she gazes through the lenses like Connie, completely fascinated.

  Eventually Meg takes the object from her and peers in again herself. Since she received this gift a fortnight ago, it has given her much pleasure. Within, the picture on the left shows a scene involving two women and a man. One woman clothed in a black corset is on her hands and knees, legs spread wide. The man, also on his knees, breeches down, kneels behind her, penetrating her. The second woman stands behind him, a fistful of switches in hand, raised high in the air. Meg flips the bar. That scene is blocked and another exposed. Now the man's derriere is high in the air and the bundle of switches makes contact. The magic of this machine is that by flipping the bar rapidly, this ménage à trois is in motion. It is a delightful toy and has entertained her greatly.

  "Would that there were more cards," she sighed. "Maggie assures me the French have created a veritable library of naughty cards."

  "Meg, let's get our husbands to take us to Paris soon. Then we may purchase more!"

  "Connie, you are a genius."

  They each view the switching several times more, laughing as they are titillated, Ursula as much as Connie and Meg. Still, this past-time wears thin and cannot be substituted for the real thing, and soon Meg feels they all require more stimulation.

  "Now what?" Connie wants to know. She pours herself another glass of wine.

  "Perhaps someth
ing involving the men, if you are so inclined. I'm certain the stereoscope will be inspirational."

  "Well, you know I'm now on the other end of the switch, as it were, at least for the moment, but tell me your plan."

  "Ursula, you may stay if you like."

  "Thank you, Aunt Meg," she says, a sorrowful look on her face.

  Meg sighs. The girl is so pleasing to gaze upon that Meg cannot be angry with her for long. "Oh, Ursula, your rash act is forgiven."

  Ursula glances up and sunlight seems to glow from her now smiling face.

  "You must promise me, though, that you will go no further without discussing it with me."

  "Oh, I do promise."

  "I hope you can keep that promise, else I shall be forced to drastic measures."

  She shivers slightly but says, "You have my word."

  Meg turns the gas lamps off. "You must both be very quiet," she advises.

  Once they are in darkness, Meg walks to the wall on which hangs a large tapestry, six by twelve feet. By feel, she grasps one side of the hanging and unpins it from the wall. Once that is accomplished, she pulls it to the left so that the top, which is hanging from a rod, slides across the runner.

  Behind the tapestry is a small window and on the other side an eyelet curtain. The window permits the women to see into the drawing room.

  "My God!" cries Connie, moving towards it. "So this is what the men do in the drawing room!"

  Ursula gasps, and moves forward as well.

  "Shush!" Meg warns them as they press their faces to the glass and peer through the eyelets.

  The sight greeting them is fascinating. Lanyon is taking both Gabriel and Alan in, one from the rear, one from the front. All three men are bare assed as they perform.

  "My darling," Connie says, waving automatically at her husband, who is looking right at her, but he does not return the greeting.

  "He cannot see you, Constance," Meg whispers, "nor hear you, unless you call out, for this glass is disguised as a window on the other side. We are in darkness, hence they cannot see in."

  "I've never seen the like..." Connie begins.

  "But you have. Remember the farce we viewed at the Lyceum last year? The one about the ghost? Well, this is how we saw the apparition."

  Ursula is in a state. In the minimal light, Meg realizes that already the girl is breathing heavily and her face is flushed again. She is dangerously close to losing control of herself.

  "Enough!" Meg says sternly. "Off to your room, Miss, immediately! You will tie your ankles and one wrist and see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. You are getting far too excited and it does not become a virgin. Lie on your stomach, as before, your ass in the air, and contemplate your life. I shall be up in short order to secure your other wrist."

  Ursula turns with a frustrated whine and hurries from the room, leaving Connie and Meg to watch the performance in the drawing room. "Connie, are you game for some fun?"

  "Certainly," she says, always the good sport.

  "Come along, then."

  Out in the vestibule, from a rarely used closet beneath the stairs Meg remove two cloaks, one black, the other dark brown, of a light-weight wool, with enormous hoods and long sleeves. The women don them, doing up the front. The hoods obscure most of their faces.

  "Hurry," Meg says, "or they shall finish and we will not surprise them."

  Down the hall a flat basket lies on a stand. Just this afternoon Meg gathered several dozen green switches from the faithful old birch down the road. She picks up a handful and gives them to Connie, then helps herself to a similar quantity.

  Quietly, she point to the door leading into the back of the drawing room, just behind Alan. "I will enter from the other side," she whispers. The clock begins striking five. "On the fifth strike?" Connie nods, grinning.

  In seconds Meg is in position and the final bell tolls. She throws open the door as across the room Constance has opened the French doors. The scent of absinthe rises through the tobacco laced with a sweet ingredient. Before Meg is Gabe's bottom, tensing and releasing with his efforts. "My, but you've been having a jolly time," she cackles, and Connie across the room, cackles too.

  "What the!..." Alan begins.

  "We are the furies, here for punitive purposes. I'd say a good birching is in order!"

  "Agreed!" Connie announces, in an equally eerie voice.

  Gabe, kneeling as he is, is just turning his head when Meg raises the bundle of switches and catches him smartly across the behind. "Oh! Oh, oh!" he cries, as she switches him twice more on the rump.

  Connie begins the practise from the opposite side of the room, whipping Alan fiercely. His face is shocked from the instant pain. Meg is not certain how he will take this receptive role, though, but she suspects that it being a woman's hand, Alan will not find it a comedown. In fact, the switches inspire him as they seems to inspire Gabriel. Both men begin pumping harder, in time to the laying on of the branches.

  Meg looks to Constance and they synchronize their actions so that the birches land at the same moment. Dr. Lanyon has now become still, a receptacle for throbbing manhood.

  Connie and Meg are having a wonderful time keeping rhythm, only hindered when a switch shatters and must needs be removed. The men howl like wolves but they seem to enjoy the mixed sensations, at least neither asks the women to cease.

  Gabe's bottom is alive with poppy red lines, crisscrossing elegantly. He begins his little dance that Meg so loves, although on his knees this time. He is agile enough to keep the rhythm while he hops from knee to knee and thrusts. It is time to quicken the pace.

  With a nod to her accomplice, each freshens her bouquets by ridding them of the shattered branches. The green ones are so flexible and tend not to snap like the older dryer branches, and Meg prefers birches to willows, the latter a softer tree and hence it cannot deliver the impact. The bundle she is left with is composed of the thicker branches, a good half dozen, and she suspects they will last the duration.

  When she begins again, she switches from side to side and Connie follows her lead. The green on red reminds Meg of Holly at Christmas time, a very cheery image.

  Alan, facing Meg, on his knees, has his legs spread far apart and they quiver with the strain. He thrusts his groin energetically, as does Gabe, who throws back his head to howl.

  Doctor Lanyon, it appears, has ejaculated several times already, from the stains on Meg's Persian carpet. She suspects if his voice were available to him, he, too, would be bellowing.

  She switches with complete abandon now, enjoying the motion, the smell of sex in the air, the feel of the birches slashing chubby flesh. The sounds of swishing, panting and crying and grunting are a symphony to her ears. She gives herself over to this divine pleasure, feeling the moisture from her throbbing cunny seep down her legs, and her nipples ache.

  With a shudder, her pussy contracts fiercely. Gabe has thrust his final thrust with a deep bellow. Alan follows him shortly. From the look on Connie's face, she appears to be completely satisfied.

  The men fall over onto the floor and Doctor Lanyon collapses. Indeed, Connie and Meg join them, rolling on the carpet like cats. One by one they begin to laugh until the room virtually shakes with their sounds.

  Doctor Lanyon, Meg believes, is the most affected, for his torturous demeanour of late has altered. Through his tears of mirth he looks from one to all. "A finer collection of good friends has no man!" he shouts.

  "Here, here!" Gabriel says. He stretches across the room for the bottle of absinthe and Meg playfully swipes at his burning derriere with the remnants of her bouquet as he passes by.

  "We are five and it is but five o'clock, Gabe," Meg says. "Pour some of your heady brew for the ladies as well, and Alan, a pipe of that sweet-smelling blend so that we, too, may see visions."

  Chapter Eighteen

  I lay on my bed sobbing. I have done as my aunt ordered.

  My ankles are tied securely. Melted wax blocks sound from my ears. My eyes are blind.
My mouth is stopped with cloth. I managed to secure my left wrist. My right arm, though, is free, and this does not help me relax. It is the complete immobility of the enforced isolation that leads me inwards, and I wish my aunt would arrive to secure me firmly that I may meditate on what it is I do want.

  At the moment, my mind is set on Jekyll. He is a good man. Well enough off that I shall live in comfort. I find him more than handsome and virile. His firmness, both physical and in terms of his iron will appeals to me. My aunt is correct. I need reigning in. I must admit this to myself, even as I detest the notion. I have many passions and need to sate them, but with a fellow who will take me in hand, else my head shall be turned by any and all, that is clear. Look what just happened. When Aunt Meg and Constance Wilcox examined me, I felt a strong need to be entered by these ladies. And then, gazing through the stereoscope, my bottom cried out for such attention. And moments later, on seeing the men so engaged in play, I felt overwhelmed by a need to be entered thusly, in all orifices at once. And I cannot alone control these passions. Since I have been here in London, since meeting Henry, and Master Hyde, I seem able to control myself less and less. Marriage will do me good, that is for certain, and I struggle to assure myself I have made the correct choice.

  Suddenly the loose cord around my right wrist is being tightened. I sigh. Thank god Aunt Meg remembered to come up. Even that minor freedom is unbearable. Just knowing I could release myself at any moment did not inspire me to clarify my thoughts. Too much freedom can be a dangerous thing, I now realize. A warm glow spreads through me from the waist down at the idea of giving over my freedom to a man who will know how to challenge me.

  Now that I am bound tightly—for she checks each of the other bindings as well—I wonder if she has left the room. Perhaps it is my imagination—what else can it be—but I sense I am not alone. And, strangely enough, I smell roses.

  Within moments hands explore my flesh, beginning at my ankles and moving up the inside of my legs. Aunt Meg has a firm and sure touch; her skin is peculiar, though, very tight and smooth, and one hand seems to bulge a bit. Her fingers ripple up my cunny hole and then the other that now belongs to Henry. Fingers kneed my bottom, rubbing and squeezing the tender cheeks. She moves up my back, stroking my long hair and moving it aside in order to massage there as well, and my shoulders. This is so relaxing. It suddenly occurs to me that she is wearing gloves and has a handkerchief stuffed into one, which is the way with fashionable women. Her leather gloves are warm on my skin, which is exposed to the cool air. She really is a good woman.