Fifty Shades of Victorian Desire

by Davina Charleston

  The cunning cleric by the inflection of his voice had sufficiently indicated his meaning, and although the cordial was, so far as interfering with the champagne went, apparently tasteless, its effect upon the company soon began to be noticeable.

  A course of ducklings, removed by Nesselrode pudding and Noyeau jelly, ended the repast, and after one of the shortest graces in Latin I had ever heard in my life, the ladies curtsied themselves out of the apartment, and soon the strains of a piano indicated that they had reached the drawing room, while we rose from the table to give the domestics an opportunity of clearing away.

  My trousers was my chief thought at this moment, but I skilfully concealed the evidences of my passion with a careless pocket handkerchief, and my boot I accounted for by a casual reference to a corn of long standing.

  THE HISTORY OF FLAGELLATION CONDENSED

  ‘Gentlemen,’ said Monsignor, lighting an exquisitely aromatized cigarette, for all priests, through the constant use of the censer, like the perfume of spices, ‘first of all permit me to hope that you have enjoyed your dinner, and now I presume, De Vaux, your friend will not be shocked if we initiate him into some of the mysteries with which we solace the few hours of relaxation our priestly employment permits us to enjoy? Eh, Boniface.’

  The latter, who was coarser than his superior, laughed boisterously.

  ‘I expect, Monsignor, that Mr. Clinton knows just as much about birching as we do ourselves.’

  ‘I know absolutely nothing of it,’ said I, ‘and must even plead ignorance of the merest rudiments.’

  ‘Well, sir,’ said Monsignor,’ leaning back in his chair, ‘the art of birching is one on which I pride myself that I can speak with greater authority than any man in Europe, and you may judge that I do not aver this from any self-conceit when I tell you that I have during the last ten years, assisted by a handsome subsidy from the Holy Consistory at Rome, ransacked the known world for evidence in support of its history. In that escritoire,’ said he, ‘there are sixteen octavo volumes, the compilation of laborious research, in which I have been assisted by brethren of all the holy orders affiliated to Mother Church, and I may mention in passing that worthy Dr. Prince here, and Father Boniface have both contributed largely from their wide store of experience in correcting and annotating many of the chapters which deal with recent discoveries, for, Mr. Clinton, flagellation as an art is not only daily gaining fresh pupils and adherents, but scarcely a month passes without some new feature being added to our already huge stock of information.’

  I lighted a cigar, and said I should like to hear something more about it.

  ‘To begin with,’ began Father Peter, ‘we have indubitable proof from the Canaanitish stones found in the Plain of Shinar, in 1748, and unearthed by Professor Bannister, that the Priests of Baal, more than three thousand years ago, not only practised flagellation in a crude form with hempen cords, but inculcated the practice on those who came to worship at the shrine of their God, and these are the unclean mysteries which are spoken of by Moses and Joshua, but which the Hebrew tongue had no word for, therefore it could not be translated.’

  ‘You astonish me,’ said I, ‘but what proof have you of this?’

  ‘Simply this, it was the age of hieroglyphics, and on the Shinar Stone was found, exquisitely carved, a figure of the God Baal gloating over a young girl whose virgin nakedness was being assailed by several stout priests with rough cords. I have a facsimile in vol. 7, page 343 – hand it to Mr. Clinton, Boniface.’

  Boniface did so, and sure enough there was the Caananitish presentment of a young maiden with her lovely rounded arse turned up to the sky, and her hands tied to the enormous prick of the God Baal, being soundly flogged by two stout-looking men in loose but evidently priestly vestments.

  ‘The fact that the Israelites and Men of Judah were constantly leaving their own worship, enticed away by the allurements of the Baalite priests, is another proof of the superior fascination which flagellation even in those days had over such unholy rites as sodomy, and the bottom-fucking also too frequently the foibles of the priests of Levi.’

  ‘Your deductions interest me as a matter of history,’ I said, ‘but nothing more.’

  ‘Oh, I think I could interest you in another way presently,’ said Dr. Price.

  Monsignor continued: ‘The races all, more or less, have indulged in a love of art, and it is well known that so far as Aryan lore will permit us to dive into the subject, both in Babylon and Nineveh, and even in later times in India also (which is surely something more that a mere coincidence) flagellation has not only thrived, but has been the fashionable recreation of all recorded time.’

  ‘I really cannot see,’ interrupted I, ‘where you get your authorities from.’

  ‘Well, so far as Nineveh goes, I simply ask you to take a walk through the Assyrian Hall of the British Museum, where in several places you will see the monarchs of that vast kingdom sitting on their thrones and watching intently some performance which seems to interest them greatly. In the foreground you will perceive a man with a whip of knotted thongs, as much like our cat-o’-nine-tails as anything, on the point of belabouring something, and – then the stone ends, or, in other words, where the naked-arsed Assyrian damsel would be, is nil. Of course this has been chipped off by the authorities as likely to demoralize young children, who would begin to practise on their own posteriors, and end by fucking themselves into an early grave.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, in unbounded surprise, ‘your research is certainly too much for me.’

  ‘I thought we should teach you something presently,’ laughed Dr. Price.

  ‘I have thousands of examples in those sixteen volumes, from the Aborigines of Australia and the Maoris of New Zealand to the Esquimaux in their icy homes, the latter of whom may be said to have acquired the art by instinct, the cold temperature of the frozen zone suggesting flagellation as a means of warmth, and, indeed, in a lecture read by Mr Wimwam to the Geographical Society, he proved that the frigidity of Greenland prevented the women from procreating unless flagellation, and vigorous flagellation, too, had been previously applied.’

  ‘The patristic Latin in which the books of the Holy Fathers are written,’ went on Monsignor, ‘contain numerous hints and examples, but although Clement of Alexandria quotes some startling theories, and both Lactantius and Tertullian back him to some extent, I cannot help thinking that so far as practical bumtickling is concerned, we are a long way ahead of all the ancients.’

  ‘But,’ mildly observed Dr. Price, Ambrose, and Jerome knew a thing or two.’

  ‘They had studied,’ replied the imperturbable Father Peter, ‘but were not cultured as we moderns are, for example, their birches grew in the hills of Illyria and Styria, and in that part of Austria we now call the Tyrol. Canada, with its glorious forests of birch were unknown. Why, sir,’ said Monsignor, turning to me, his eyes lighted up with the lambent flame of enthusiasm, ‘do you know the King Birch of Manitoba will execute more enchantment on a girl’s backside in five minutes than these old contrivances of our forefathers could have managed in half an hour. My fingers tingle when I think of it. Show him a specimen of our latest consignment, Boniface,’ and the latter worthy rushed off to do his master’s bidding.

  To tell the truth I scarcely appreciated all this, and felt a good deal more inclined to get upstairs to the drawing room, when just at this moment an incident occurred which gave me my opportunity.

  The bonny brunette, Madeline, looked in at the door furtively and apologized, but reminded Monsignor that he was already late for vespers.

  ‘My dear girl,’ said the cleric, ‘run over to the sacristy, and ask Brother Michael to officiate in my absence – the usual headache – and don’t stay quite so long as you generally do, and if you should come back with your hair dishevelled and your dress in disorder, make up a better tale than you did last time.’

  Or else your own may smart, thought I, for at this moment Father Boniface came in to ask Mo
nsignor for another key to get the rods, as it appeared he had given him the wrong one.

  Now is my time, reflected I, so making somewhat ostentatious enquiries as to the exact whereabouts of the lavatory, I quitted the apartment, promising to return in a few minutes.

  I should not omit to mention that from the moment I drunk the sparkling cordial that Father Peter had mixed with the champagne my spirits had received an unwanted exhilaration, which I could not ascribe to natural causes.

  I will not go so far as to assert that the augmentation of force which I found my prick to possess was entirely due to the Pinero Balsam, but this I will confidently maintain against all comers, that never had I felt so equal to any amorous exploit. It may have been the effect of a generous repast, it might have been the result of the toe frigging I had indulged in; but as I stepped into the brilliantly lighted hall, and hastily passed upstairs to the luxurious drawing room, I could not help congratulating myself on the stubborn bar of iron which my unfortunately dismantled trousers could scarcely keep from popping out.

  VENI, VIDI, VICI!

  Fearing to frighten Lucy if I entered suddenly in a state of déshabillé, and feeling certain that a prick exhibition might tend to shock her inexperienced eye, I readjusted my bollocks, and peeped through the crack of the drawing room door, which had been left temptingly half open.

  There was Lucy reclining on the sofa in that dolce far niente condition which is a sure sign that a good dinner has agreed with one, and that digestion is waiting upon appetite like an agreeable and good-tempered handmaid should.

  She looked so arch, and with such a charming pout upon her lips, that I stood there watching and half disinclined to disturb her dream.

  It may be, thought I, that she is given to frigging herself, and being all alone she might possibly – but I speedily banished that thought, for Lucy’s clear healthy complexion and vigorous blue eyes forbade the suggestion.

  At this instant something occurred which for the moment again led me to think that my frigging conjecture was about to be realized, for she reached her hand deliberately under her skirt, and lifting up her petticoats, dragged down the full length of her chemise, which she closely examined.

  I divined it all at a glance, when I toe-frigged her in the dining room she had spent a trifle, and being her first experience of the kind, could not understand it.

  So she really is a maid after all, thought I, and as I saw a pair of shapely lady-like calves encased in lovely pearl silk stockings of a light-blue colour, I could retain myself no longer, but with a couple of bounds was at her side before she could recover herself.

  Oh! Mr. Clinton. Oh! Mr. Clinton; how could you,’ was all she found breath or thought to ejaculate.

  I simply threw my arms around her, and kissed her flushed face, on the cheeks, for I feared to frighten her too much at first.

  At last, finding she lay prone and yielding, I imprinted a kiss upon her mouth, and found it returned with ardour.,

  Allowing my tongue to gently insinuate itself into her half-open mouth and touch hers, I immediately discovered that her excitement, as I fully expected, became doubled, and without saying a word I guided her disengaged hand to my prick, which she clutched with the tenacity of a drowning man catching at a floating spar.

  ‘My own darling,’ said I, and waiting for no further encouragement, I pushed my right hand softly up between her thighs, which mechanically opened to give it a passage.

  To say that I was in the seventh heaven of delight, as my warm fingers found a firm plump cunt with a rosebud hymen as yet unbroken, is but faintly to picture my ecstasy.

  To pull her a little way further down on the couch, so that her rounded arse would rise in the middle, and make the business a more convenient one, was the work of a second; the next I had withdrawn my prick from her grasp and placed it against the lips of her quim, at the same time easing them back with a quick movement of my thumb and forefinger, I gave one desperate lunge, which made Lucy cry out ‘Oh, God’, and the joyful deed was consummated.

  As I have hinted before, my prick was no joke in the matter of size, and upon this occasion so intense was the excitement that had led up to the fuck, it was rather bigger than usual, but thanks to the heat the sweet virgin was in the sperm particles of her vagina were already resolved into grease, which mixing with the few drops of blood caused by the violent separation of the hymeneal cord, resulted in making the friction natural and painless. Not only that, once inside, and I found Lucy’s fanny was internally framed on a very free-and-easy scale, and here permit me to digress and point out the ways of nature.

  Some women she frames with an orifice like an exaggerated horse collar, but with a passage more fitted for a tin whistle than a man’s prick, while in others the opening itself is like the tiddiest tiniest wedding ring, though if you once get inside your prick is in the same condition as the poor devil who floundered up the biggest cunt on record and found another bugger looking for his hat. Others again – but why should I go on in this prosy fashion, when Lucy has only received half-a-dozen strokes, and is on the point of ‘coming’.

  Heavens what a delicious process I went through, even to recall it after all these years, now that Lucy is mother of two youths verging on manhood, is bliss, and will in my most depressed moments always suffice to give me a certain and prolonged erection.

  The beseeching blue eyes that glanced up at Monsignor’s drawing room ceiling, as though in silent adoration and heartfelt praise at the warm stream I seemed to be spurting into her very vitals. The quick nervous shifting of her fleshy buttocks, as she strove to ease herself of her own pent-up store of liquid, and then the heartfelt sigh of joy and relief that escaped her ruby lips as I withdrew my tongue and she discharged the sang de la vie at the same moment.

  Oh! there is no language copious enough to do justice to the acmé of a first fuck, nor is there under God’s sun a nation which has yet invented a term sufficiently comprehensive to picture the emotions of a man’s mind as he mounts a girl he knows from digital proof to be a maid as pure in person, and as innocent of prick, dildo, or candle as arctic snow.

  Scarcely had I dismounted and reassured Lucy with a ‘serious’ kiss that it was all right, and that she need not alarm herself, when Madeline came running in.

  Oh! Lucy,’ cried she, ‘such fun,’ then, seeing me, she abruptly broke of with – ‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Clinton, I did not see you were here.’

  Lucy, who was now in a sitting posture, joined in the conversation, and I saw by the ease of her manner that she had entirely recovered her self-possession, and that I could rejoin the gentlemen downstairs.

  ‘Do tell those stupid men not to stay there over their cigars all day. It is paying us no great compliment,’ was Madeline’s parting shot.

  In another moment I was in my seat again, and prepared for a resumption of Monsignor’s lecture on birch rods.

  ‘Where the Devil have you been to, Clinton?’ said De Vaux.

  ‘Where it would have been quite impossible for you to have acted as my substitute,’ I unhesitatingly replied.

  My answer made them all laugh, for they thought I referred to the water closet, whereas I was of course alluding to Lucy, and I knew I was stating a truism in that case as regarded De Vaux, for he was scarcely yet convalescent from a bad attack of Spanish glanders, which was always his happy method of expressing the clap.

  A VICTIM FOR THE EXPERIMENT

  Now, my dear Mr. Clinton, I wish you particularly to observe the tough fibre of these rods,’ said Monsignor Peter, as he handed me a bundle so perfectly and symmetrically arranged that I could not help remarking on it.

  ‘Ah!’ said Monsignor, ‘that is a further proof of how popular the flagellating art has become. So large a trade is being done, sir, in specially picked birch of the flogging kind, that they are hand sorted by children and put up in bundles by machinery, as they appear here, and my own impression is that if the Canadian Government were to impose an extra duty
on these articles, for they almost come under the heading of manufactures, and not produce, a large revenue would accrue; but enough of this,’ said the reverend gentleman, seeing his audience were becoming somewhat impatient. ‘You saw at the dinner table the young lady I addressed as Lucy.’

  I reflected for a moment to throw them off their guard, and then said, suddenly, ‘Oh, yes, the sweet thing in white.’

  ‘Well,’ continued Monsignor Peter,’ her father is a long time since dead, and her mother is in very straitened circumstances; the young girl herself is a virgin, and I have this morning paid to her mother a hundred pounds to allow her to remain in my house for a month or so with the object of initiating her.’

  ‘Initiating her into the Church?’ enquired I, laughing to myself, for I knew that her initiation in other respects was fairly well accomplished, and my prick wagged a responsive hear, hear, in a most appreciative fashion.

  ‘No,’ smiled Monsignor, touching the rods significantly; ‘this is the initiation to which I refer.’

  ‘What,’ cried I, aghast, ‘are you going to birch her?’

  ‘We are,’ put in Dr. Price, ‘her first flagellation will be tonight, but this is merely an experimental one. A few strokes well administered, and a quick fuck after to determine my work on corpuscular action of the blood particles, tomorrow she will be in better form to receive second class instruction, and we hope by the end of the month –’

  ‘To have a perfect pupil,’ put in Father Peter, who did not relish Dr. Price taking the lead on a flagellation subject, ‘but let us proceed to the drawing room, Boniface, put that bundle in the birch box, and bring it upstairs.’

  So saying, the chief exponent of flagellation in the known world led the way upstairs to the drawing room, and we followed, though I must confess that in my case it was with no little trepidation, for I felt somehow as though I were about to assist at a sacrifice.