Indecent: 15 Erotic Victorian Romance Story Box Set

by Lucy Wild

  “What is taking the piss we keep providing?” I asked.

  Van Pissing looked across at me. “That is the question my dear Seward.”

  Letter from Mina to Lucy

  17 September

  My dearest Lucy,

  I have my wife back. We are in Exeter with Mr Hawkins. Jennifer is putting flesh on her bones. But when are you to be married?

  Yours,

  Mina

  Letter from Mina to Lucy

  18 September

  My dearest Lucy,

  Mr Hawkins has died. Jennifer is to be chief mourner. Forgive me for troubling you.

  Yours,

  Mina

  Dr Seward’s Diary

  20 September - Lucy is dead. I took Anthea away from the body when Van Pissing discovered it and she sobbed in a way that brought me to tears.

  I returned to find Van Pissing standing over her. “Peace at last,” I said to him.

  “Not so. This is only the beginning,” he replied. I asked what he meant but he only answered, “We can do nothing yet. Wait and pee.”

  Mina Harker’s Journal

  22 September – I took Jennifer to the zoo in London. We sat watching the animals when Jennifer seemed to notice something and clutched my arm far too tightly. He was staring at a tall woman who was observing a pretty girl. She had big white teeth and very red lips.

  “It is the woman herself,” Jennifer said. “It is the Countess but she has grown young. If only I knew.”

  Later I received a sad telegram from Van Pissing telling me Lucy had died, to be buried on the same day as her mother. Oh what a wealth of sorrow in so few words.

  The Westminster Gazette 25 September

  Hampstead has undergone a series of events which have been given the name The Pissing Woman. During the past few days people have been seen to go missing only to return home soaked in urine and unable to say anything other than the pissing woman did it to them. The only thing each has in common is a smear of red lipstick was found upon each of their thighs.

  Letter from Van Pissing to Mina Harker

  25 September – Thank you for allowing me to read your wife’s diary. Strange and terrible are the contents but it is all true. I also note the events in Hampstead recently which I believe to be connected. If my theory is correct I believe there is a figure who moved from contact with your wife to Whitby to London and is now responsible, gaining continual life from the urine of her victims. I visited the crypt of Lucy Wetenra and found her coffin empty. I believe she may have been corrupted by the one I seek and is even now beginning her journey to imbibe of the urine of her victims to sustain her unholy life. I theorised what would defeat her and when I observed her return to her coffin in the early morning I ate as much garlic as I could find before once more entering the crypt. I pulled open the lid to her bed and pissed garlic smelling urine upon her body whereupon she began to smoke and hiss evil imprecations towards me before the urine soaked into her skin and the life of the undead was over and she came to as if she had been healthy all her life. I took her home and she rests there under the care of Sister Agatha of Budapest whom I implored to travel purely for this purpose to make use of her piss therapy with my garlic addition to her armoury. I am hopeful Lucy will yet make a full recovery. She remembers nothing of her time in the crypt which is probably a blessing. In addition Dr Seward has informed me of a patient of his who intrigues me and I intend to make use of this man. I will inform you how I progress.

  Yours

  Van Pissing

  Mina Harker’s Journal

  30 September – Van Pissing met with me and Dr Seward and others to discuss our course of action in his asylum office. He told us of his belief in wet vampires who derive sustenance from the piss of their victims. The only way to deal with them is by pouring garlic infused urine upon them and the best time is during the day when their power is at its weakest. We agreed to seek out this Wetula who resided perhaps still in the house Jennifer had provided for her beside the asylum as Renfield has hinted is the case with his insane actions.

  Dr Seward’s Journal

  30 September – After the meeting adjourned we contrived to allow Renfield to escape once more. He travelled in moments to the abandoned bathroom in the grounds of the old house and this time the door swung open. As it did so I stepped forward from my hiding place and wedged a slip of wood in the jamb so the door would not close fully.

  We waited, Mina, Jennifer, Van Pissing and I until the mutterings of Renfield faded away in the distance. Whilst we stood in silence, we each undressed ourselves, now wearing nothing but garlic wreathes around our necks, Jennifer holding an object in her hand that I could not identify. At last we slipped into the bathroom and looked around us in the darkness. At the far end we heard the hissing sound of urinating and edging forwards we saw Wetula in the end stall which was lit by candles and beautiful to observe. She was laid upon her back with her mouth open and Renfield was pissing directly onto her face. At the sight of her visage Jennifer let out a howl of rage and strode forwards before we could stop her. Renfield turned to run but stumbled over Wetula’s legs and fell to the floor, banging his head upon the wall and slumping into unconsciousness.

  Wetula opened her mouth and revealed her long white teeth as her eyes flashed evil towards us, seeming to be only too aware of the danger she was in.

  “You think you can ever defeat me?” she snarled, making to run for the door. She bowled into us but the sight of the garlic around each of our necks made her fall back until she was pressed against the wall of the toilet stall, holding her hand before her eyes as if the bulbs might blind her.

  “Your reign of terror is over,” Van Pissing said, “and now we shall rain down upon you.”

  “No!” Wetula cried as Van Pissing pulled on garlic infused medical gloves.

  The Countess was pushed onto her back and her clothes torn from her as she fought to free herself, the air filling with the strong smell of garlic. Once she was naked we all found ourselves staring at her beautiful and flawless naked body, her high breasts with large rounded pink nipples, her taut stomach, the v of her pussy with not a hair in sight as Mina pulled one leg to a side and Jennifer the other. I squatted over Wetula’s screaming face and pulled apart the lips of my pussy, taunting her with one droplet at a time of pee, shaking them onto her face as she snarled and moaned in what could be mistaken for pain but was surely arousal.

  I pushed down on my bladder with one hand and then a gushing waterfall of pee fell onto Wetula’s face, smearing her lipstick as she tried to wipe it from her skin before it injured her. Steam rose from her face as I peed until I could produce no more. I stood aside and Mina swapped with me, pissing onto Wetula’s clit and making her moan and writhe on the floor of the stall. Mina played with her own pussy as she peed, masturbating whilst tormenting Wetula until Van Pissing aimed his cock at the Countess’s hair, peeing onto her head whilst Mina continued her own emissions.

  Jennifer spread her legs as she stood beside the Countess and began to pee on her with a look of delight at finally getting revenge on the evil denizen of the night before her.

  Every inch of Wetula was soon coated in pee and her whole body steamed and stank of garlic as she fought to rise and escape once more. She opened her mouth to scream and Van Pissing shoved his cock into it, avoiding her sharp teeth on his way to the back of her throat. I held her legs in place as Jennifer revealed the glass dildo previously hidden behind her back. She shoved it straight into Wetula’s gaping pussy and the Countess screamed all the louder but the noise faded into a deep sigh of satisfaction as Jennifer began to fuck her in earnest.

  Mina reached between Wetula’s legs and found her bottom, pushing one finger and then a second into her bottom, pushing as deeply as she could manage. Van Pissing thrust as hard as he could until he grunted a garlic flavoured spunk into her mouth and made her swallow every drop.

  I felt a hand on my bottom and realised it was Mina, leaning round to tease my
pussy as she played with Wetula’s bottom further. My own climax hit me moments later and I turned to Mina and panted my gratitude before finding her clit and teasing it into an ardour that led Mina to scream in bliss as she came.

  Wetula’s whole body rose into the air as she looked up at us all in sheer panic and then she sank down again and began to shake as the earth around us seemed to quiver alongside her. She let out a torrent of piss that sprayed over us all as she came over and over again, one orgasm after another washing over her in a wave whilst she peed like a fountain into the air.

  The bathroom echoed with her noises of pleasure before at last she fell still, her eyes closing and looking for all the world as if she were dead. At last she blinked and began to breathe, the colour returning to her cheeks. She blinked again as if seeing the world for the first time, looking around at the four of us but not recognising who we were.

  “Where am I?” she said, sitting up in a daze. “Why are you all naked? Oh my, why am I in a state of undress also? And why can I taste garlic in my mouth?”

  Van Pissing did his best to explain in simple terms that she had been ill for a long time but was now going to get better because of some unique treatment she had undergone. Wetula nodded in response, letting him help her to her feet and then we walked her slowly outside, none of us caring to dress, the heat of our indulgence keeping us warm as we walked to the asylum and into my office. Here I sat Wetula on a couch where she slumped back and closed her eyes, asleep within moments.

  “What happens now?” Mina asked, looking across at Van Pissing.

  “She should be as well as Lucy from now on. The insanity of the last weeks is over.”

  “And Renfield?”

  “I believe his madness will itself ebb away as he awakens as if from a dream. As for myself I must return to Amsterdam to continue my work. I bid you all good night.”

  It was an odd sight to see a naked man leave my office as if he were fully dressed, caring not for who saw his body exposed in such a way. After he had gone we three talked long into the night until Wetula began to stir from her slumber at last.

  When she woke I allowed Mina to take her home to join that happy household, feeling certain all danger had now passed. I sent attendants to retrieve their clothes and then they did away in a coach, leaving me alone. I shall check in on them tomorrow but for now I feel I will sleep the sleep of the dead for I am exhausted by recent events. I am happy for something whispers in my mind that from this day forth, all will be well once more and from here on pissing in the mouths of others will only be for pleasure and never as a method to artificially sustain life of a wet vampire.

  My Story

  I would like, if I may, to recount some of the many erotic adventures I have been fortunate enough to enjoy. I have kept a diligent record of my encounters and will begin by taking you back to my very first, back when I still lived in the countryside, what seems a lifetime ago now.

  I was eighteen and not the woman you see before you now. I was a pauper. It shames me to admit it now but we cannot alter the past and I may as well admit it rather than pretend to be someone I was not. I was born in what was little more than a hut, a tiny crumbling cottage high on a hill surrounded by moor, sheep, a few gorse bushes and very little else. I was brought up surrounded by siblings and troublesome animals, my father running a smallholding as best he could, my mother trying to maintain some semblance of order within our home.

  For it was a home, despite the mould, the leaking roof and the beaten earth floor. She ensured we were fed as best we could, sometimes going hungry herself so we did not lack for sustenance. The winter when the traveller came had been one of the coldest I’d known. Our glassless windows had been shuttered for two weeks solid and it felt as if the snow had been falling the entire time. Each day the skin on my hands would become more happed and blistered as I shovelled a path from the house to the ramshackle stable so our single horse could be fed.

  But I did not complain for what good would it have done? I had many thoughts and fantasies though, brought on by reading the only book in the house, a battered and torn edition of Robinson Crusoe. I taught myself to read using that book, a laborious process but one I thoroughly enjoyed. Many was the time I wished to be cast adrift as Robinson was, to explore the world, to discover new things, to feel the tropical sun on my back, to encounter my own Man Friday.

  I would read by the light of a candle once the work of the day was done until my eyes closed against my will and I drifted off to a dream filled sleep. By the time I was eighteen I knew the book word for word and yearned for other works to enjoy. This was unlikely to happen, the nearest village being nine miles away and I had yet to travel there, my world consisting of merely my home and the few acres that surrounded it.

  I was outside shovelling snow when she came. At first I certain it was a man. An enormous black steed had forced its way through the deeply lain snow towards our home and came to a steaming halt beside me, the rider enveloped in a thick cloak of scarlet red that looked luxurious and warm especially compared to the threadbare blanket wrapped around my own shoulders.

  The hood of the rider was thrown back and I was taken aback by the sight of the woman who emerged. She was stunningly beautiful, her cheeks red with the cold, blonde hair cascading down her shoulders as she climbed down from the horse.

  “Thank goodness I have found someone,” she said, her voice soft and lilting. “I have been lost upon the moor this last three days. I have a hunger that I thought would destroy me. Can you tell me where I am?”

  “This is Blackwood Farm,” I replied, taken aback by her beauty which was all the more apparent now she stood closer to me. “Nine miles from Charred Oak.”

  “Charred Oak? Then I truly have not wandered far from my path. I must continue on.”

  “You can’t,” I said. “The snow is too deep. You’ll never find the way without a guide.”

  “Do you know the way?”

  “Yes,” I lied, the word out of my mouth before I even knew what had happened.

  “Very well,” she nodded. “You must take me there.”

  “I…I can’t leave here,” I said, doubt creeping into my mind. What if I got us both lost? I knew the direction the path took, despite having not travelled it before. But if I failed we might both die, lost forever in the icy cold of the midwinter.

  “I must reach Charred Oak. I have something urgent to which I must attend. Come, no more delay. Climb up here. You will be back home presently.”

  She took my arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and lifted me onto the waiting horse. She climbed gracefully up behind me and wrapped her arms around me, taking hold of the reins. “Which way?” she asked, turning the horse away from my home. Little did I know that it was the last time I would see that place for many a year.

  “This way,” I replied and we trotted out into the snow.

  “What’s your name girl?” the woman asked as we made our way up the gentle slope of the moor, the horse surefooted despite snow so deep it brushed my feet as we rode onwards.

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Well Elizabeth, I am Lady Amelia Swann of Frost Hall.”

  “My lady!” I exclaimed, reeling in shock.

  “You’ve heard of me then?”

  “Of course my lady. My father spoke often of Frost Hall, of Lord Swann and the Napoleonic wars.”

  “Your father fought alongside mine?”

  “I believe so my lady. He was only a private of course but he fondly recalled Lord Swann and the way he handled the men.”

  We reached the top of the moor and began our descent, the snow thinning the further we went. By the time we reached the bottom of the hill, the track to Charred Oak was visible in places and I began more confident we would at least reach our destination alive. Lady Swann was quiet for some time before speaking again.

  “Do you like living on a farm?” she asked.

  “Not especially,” I replied.

  “What would you prefer?�
��

  “I do not know my lady. A life where I could read books. A life of adventure and excitement. A life where I am constantly surprised instead of one where every day is repetition of drudgery and endless work without a hope for the future.”

  “It cannot be all bad. At least you do not have endless suitors chasing after you, servants who steal from you, eyes constantly upon you, judging everything you do. I often wish I was somewhere anonymous as in your situation.”

  “Oh no my lady. You would not want a life like mine.”

  “It can’t be that bad surely?”

  “The work is endless, my brothers and sisters constantly bicker. My parents regularly go hungry, we have little enough to live on and nothing is certain for the future. I worry for us all.”

  “I am sorry my dear.” She was silent for a moment. “Perhaps I may be able to help.”

  “My lady?”

  “We will talk of that later but come, we must hurry, I do not like the look of that cloud.”

  I looked up. Above us the snow continued to swirl but ahead the horizon was black almost as the night, a blizzard was coming. It tore towards us and we were caught in its thrall in minutes. The track vanished, snow now falling so thickly I could barely see the head of the horse before me. To my left I caught glimpse of a shadow and had to yell to make myself heard.

  “There is a barn,” I screamed above the howling wind. “We must shelter or we shall surely perish.”

  I felt the reins move around my waist and then the horse turned and the barn came into view. I jumped down and pulled open the heavy wooden door, my hands turning blue as the snow coated them in icy wetness. Lady Swann nudged the horse inside and tied it to an overhead beam as I dragged the door closed to shut out the worst of the wind. It still whistled through the gaps in the stone and I shivered from the cold, feeling soaked to the skin and certain I had doomed us both to the worst of fates.