“Your guest, young Lord George Rowlandson, is here for you Lady Olivia Blake,” the butler announced.
That smile on Olivia’s face; it was so cheerful! It shined even brighter than the sun at day or the moon at night. It was blinding. So warm and inviting and yet it left my body, spirit, and my soul so cold, empty and hurt. It was never more evident that Olivia had her heart set on that boy. When I saw the two together from afar, I couldn’t help but wonder to myself if this Lord George Rowlandson felt the same way? It was hard to tell, Madame. She ran to him and embraced him; it was plain to see that he did not embrace her in return. He just stood there, rubbing her back, not really embracing her as any boy would and should. I couldn’t hear what the two were saying after Olivia parted from him. They were giggling a little, that was loud enough to be heard from anywhere. Then, she grabbed his hand and I saw them both run off into the study. I crept to that area, noticing how they were leaving the door open. Checking on them once I saw they were indeed stuck into their literature for school. They seemed serious and quiet, being such a good lad and lass. Yet I was only gone five minutes when on returning , I gawked and stared. I couldn’t move. I was in disbelief by what I saw, left wondering if what was happening before my eyes was real. Neither of them cared or bothered that anyone - me - could look right into the room. Olivia had her back turned to him, her drawers pulled down. As I watched Lord George lifted up her dress, taking a peak at what I could imagine was her bare bottom and her pussy. He stood up and said to her, “Is it still sore?” Lifting up her skirt, exposing her bottom once more he rubbed it all over with his bare hands.
“Yes!” Olivia squeaked. “And the inside of my arse is still throbbing from your monster cock.”
“I will give your bottom a break then.”
“How sweet you are, my Georgie.”
“But you know what that means?”
“What?”
“That all attention will be on Kitten.”
Like the bête that he was, he viciously threw Olivia’s books on the floor, picked her up from the ground, and laid her on her back against the table, pouncing on her, straddling her like a mare.
“Here Kitty, Kitty,” he clicked his tongue, lifting up her skirts and thrusting his head up there.
The jealousy in my body suddenly had turned into that of pleasure as I watched that boy having a go with my Olivia. Her long curly blonde hair of hers was cascading like a waterfall over the ledge of the table, touching the floor. Her mouth was agape in ecstasy as she moaned, “Oh Georgie, deeper! Slide your tongue in Kitten deeper!” He must have obeyed, for her pleasure-crying increased in volume. I played with myself, covering my mouth so not a single breath of me could be heard or detected. I doubt that they could hear me - Olivia’s panting and moaning was quite loud and noisy.
“If you don’t quiet down, my slut, Kitten won’t get her milk.”said George pulling back for a moment.
She instantly silenced herself.
“That’s better.” George untied and loosened his breeches, removing her drawers completely.
My eyes widened as if scared when I saw it. His penis was massive. Thick. Long.
Olivia looked at it, and groaned, “Oh Georgie, my love!” as he held her legs up high, his hands gripped around her ankles. He pressed her knees against her shoulder. I could imagine the lust in his eyes intensifying even more. Olivia let out a terribly wicked shout when George penetrated her, every single inch of him. That I could see oh so clearly. His entire dick hidden inside of her in the blink of my eye. He covered her mouth with such harsh kisses, keeping it shut and quiet as he devoured her lips, his hips bouncing up and down, back and forth, his entire long member pushing inside of her. I could hear it - the way his meaty bone was making her juicy, how with every thrust, I could hear her Kitten mewing and purring, clicking the same way that George did when he was “talking” to the kitty. He did not grant Kitten any mercy. He wasn’t making love to Olivia. He was fucking her. Ploughing inside of her faster than a runaway chariot, wet at the mouth, I imagined too, and growling like a wolf, I could hear in reality, his hands gripped at her wide hips, his fingers sinking so deep into her flesh.
“I love you Georgie!” she whimpered. “I love you, my Lord.”
It broke my heart to hear her say it. It was obvious. That boy didn’t love her. What pet name did George give to her? Her pussy had one - Kitten. Why didn’t she?
“Is Kitten ready for her milk?” he panted.
“Yes! Yes!”
He kicked his head back and groaned. He was coming inside of her, I knew it by the sound of his breathless moan and heavy panting. He quickly pulled out and had his head between her legs again, tonguing her gaping hole, I gathered, sucking his semen out of it from what I could tell by the slurping sounds I heard.
“I love you,” Olivia repeated, closing her eyes. I could see that smile from miles away.
Her Georgie did not respond back. The greedy thing only cared for one: himself. He wanted to only ravage that poor fucked pussy until - I could imagine - it was sore too, like her bottom.
I hurried away from the door before they’d realise I had been there the whole time. I went to the nearest toilet, pulled down my drawers, and feverishly masturbated my pussy, with four fingers this time, stretching myself as I fucked it in the same fast, quick, and speedy manner that George fucked Olivia. I came so many times Madame - four times. After I was spent, I asked myself, not in my head, but out loud, in a murmur, “What is Olivia doing to me?” When I came for the last time, I said this out loud too: “Oh Olivia, I love you! If only you know how much I love you.”
Not too loud, of course. Nobody could possibly hear me. I wouldn’t dare be that brave and bold. When I left the bathroom, and returned back to the study, I was surprised to find the naughty two gone. Where had they gone? Olivia did not leave a note, a word, nothing. Not that she needed to, but I was awfully curious as to where she and her bête had gone off to. I looked outside of the window and saw that George’s car was gone from the driveway. He had taken her off somewhere. I didn’t need to imagine what the two were going to do next. Olivia would reveal all in her diary. That was when I thought about her Diary. What other indecent entries were contained in it since the last time I read into it? It really had been so long, but it was impossible for me to forget everything that she wrote. I had every word and every illustration branded into my brain. Even more so now. The memory of what I had just witnessed, it was a tattoo in my skull. So for that reason, I did not look into her diary that day. Yet I didn’t make any promises to myself that I would not look at it the next day. I tried a little, but I couldn’t resist the awful temptation.
The next day, I returned back to that forbidden place: her diary.
Chapter 4
Edinburgh, Scotland. 23 September 1847
Dear Marquise Francis Blake,
To read Olivia’s diary again, what a thrill! How I missed it, looking into a secret dimension of Olivia’s world. There were many a narrative about the usual romps between her and Lord George. The public bum-fucking in woods and forests. Her cock-sucking in the public parks. The many constant fuck-sessions in Olivia’s room, in your Madame’s bed, and in the study hall. None of these entries shocked me, for as you already know, I very well knew how much and how often the two were copulating. The boy corrupted that girl in the most rotten way - I hated him for it, for I wished I was him! Having my way with Lady Olivia however I wanted, whenever I wanted, anywhere I wanted. I didn’t want to be exactly like his Lordship, though. I wouldn’t only fuck Olivia - I’d make love to her. I’d never stop telling her how much I love her. She’d be my lady and my slut. I’d worship all of her, not only her pussy and her bottom, but her shoulders, her feet, her neck, everywhere! I’d see her as more than just the provider of my pleasure. She’d be my Goddess, my beacon of Light, my Heaven, and my Hell. Every day o
f my life while we were together, she’d be my World. There was only one entry that had me flabbergasted, having my eyes widen in shock, which for me is very rare indeed. I had to read the lines over again, in case I was imagining things or hallucinating. I wasn’t. She wrote:
Dear Diary,
Though you contain all my secrets, there is one that I keep the most private and that I will share only with you, not with anyone else outside of these pages. I will do my best to explain.
I’ve always had an attraction to girls even before I knew I liked boys.
Girls are just so pretty to look at, aren’t they? I think they are God’s way of reminding us that He does exist. Not in Nature, Science, or Religion, but in women. It’s in a woman’s eyes that he makes His presence known, flaunting the beauty and majesty of his great gift to mankind. Though they are at times silly, catty, rude, and vile creatures, they are also indeed so warm, charming, lovely, pleasant, fun, mysterious, and adventurous. The first time I kissed a girl was with a friend (who shall not be named, that will only be my secret) when I just turned eighteen, so it was recent. She fondled my breasts as our lips meshed and our tongues were touching. She put a spell on me Diary, and on my body! My nipples perked immediately and my pussy moistened. I was afraid to touch her bosom, but I wanted to Diary, I certainly did! We only shared this intimacy only once. I did not see her ever again. I guess what we did spooked her, ruining our friendship. Though that was a tragic loss, I did not regret what she and I did. The memory of it has never left my mind. As you know, of course, I do like men, and cock is wonderful, another one of God’s gifts to the world. But I often wonder to myself if I like women more than men. I can see myself courting a woman, like George’s sister, Emily, for instance. We are the same age. We get along swimmingly. We share a lot in common - she likes to read, we like the same books, she loves shopping, and she loves flying on airships too. And you know what? At night she sneaks out to ride her brother’s airship, wearing a sparkling pair of aviator goggles of her own. Isn’t that hot or what? How it turned me on. I was envious, for what I would give to ride an airship on my own one day, but I was also too turned on to let it bother me. She’s so opposite of Georgie in that she’s far prettier than her handsome brother. Her hair is as black as a raven, and as shiny as the bird’s feathers. When it’s not in a tight bun, it hangs down long, down to her waist even. I wish she would have her hair like that more often, but no lady would dare flaunt such an odd and ridiculous fashion like that, not even me. Her face is charming; her smile, teeth so white, and her eyes, bright blue like Georgie’s, whilst her lips are as thick and supple as his. Her breasts are magnificent. In her clockwork corset they are bigger and rounder than mine; they bounce so gay in her enchanting evening dress, singing for attention while being shy and modest. Emily is not rude, outspoken, and mean with me like her brother is . She is shy, coy, and demure. I don’t think she’s as innocent as she seems though, but I hope one day I can find out if that’s true or not. I know it is unrealistic of me to say this, Diary, but I must say, I have a real crush on Emily.
Do you think it awkward, and outright ridiculous, that of all women I’d want, it would be my Georgie’s sister? I’m somewhat embarrassed by it actually. I would never let Georgie know about it, that I like girls. I would never let anyone know, that deep inside, I think I am a lesbian.
I will one day marry a man. Mother is making sure of it that I will have a proper suitor that will ask my hand in marriage one day, most likely soon, before I turn twenty-one. So that might be this year, I gather. She makes hints to it, but I still don’t know if she’s seeking for a husband for me. When that does happen, I won’t have much of a choice. Whoever that suitor will be, he’ll most likely be the husband that I’ll have to wed and bare children with. I will have children - hopefully, two girls and two boys. I will raise them in our palace, with the help of servants, nannies, sitters, lady’s maids, and all the other necessities that I have now with Mother, except that I will be a Mother too. I’ll live my proper rich life as the Marquise Olivia while also leading a double one with my secret female lover, my lady-friend, my woman. Who that will be? Ideally, Emily. Wishful thinking, I know, but oh, what a lovely wife she’d be, and what lovelier wives we’d be towards each other. More than just casual acquaintances and friends. We’ll be lovers for life, united by faith, eternally together by God. But if Fate cannot grant me that wish of wanting Emily and I to be together as lovers and wives, any other as fine a woman as her would do. Though, of course, I will be realistic, no other woman can come close to Emily. She’s perfect. A lady can dream, right?
Sincerely,
Olivia
My eyes were clouded by tears by the time I was through reading that diary entry. I’m hardly ever sentimental and it is not often that I cry. Yet those words on the page had me weeping silently. I had to close the book so my tear drops would not stain on the paper and make the ink bleed. My Olivia, a lesbian? Why hadn’t I ever seen that coming? My Olivia, wanting a female lover? I had no idea that she ever had such infatuations and desires for the same sex. I did not know that she once kissed a girl and really lavished in its magnificent pleasures. That awakening that she had, I once had, when I was about her age too. How I remember it still as vividly as the day it occurred. I’m not afraid to reveal the lady’s name. My first kiss was with my friend, Bernadette, in my place of birth, Calais, France. Bernadette was the first woman I made love to while I was working for my Baroness in Paris before I ventured off to Scotland. It was short-lived. My Baroness caught Bernadette and me doing something so innocent: kissing. That was all. I was kicked out soon after, being spared my life by being shut out from her palace, never to help raise her children - three beautiful boys and one charming little girl - ever again. As heartbreaking and tragic that was, my love for female nobility has never disappeared. Hence is why I worship, love, and adore you Marquise Francis Blake. Your nobility moves me - romantically, physically, and sexually - in every cell, vessel, and fibre of my being. Never did I think, my Highness, that it would be one of your offspring that I’d have a lust and romantic desire for. To make myself clear, it was only after she was of legal age, never before then. Olivia’s diary entry - the most scandalous of them all - solidified it once and for all. I love Olivia. Why, you might ask yourself? Well, sometimes, love has no explanation. It just happens.
I want her, all to myself, alone, to hold her, kiss her, and make love to her, if only for one night.
But again, as Lady Olivia wrote, a lady, especially one like me, can only dream.
Chapter 5
Edinburgh, Scotland. 30 September 1847
Dear Marquise Francis Blake,
I can understand why lately you’ve voiced your concern and worry for Lady Olivia. For the past five days, she has hardly touched her meals, has suddenly lost interest in reading, and spends more time in her room weeping rather than studying and socialising. She is isolating herself from everyone, even from you. And from all her leisure afternoon and evening activities - she’s not even in the mood for shopping. That was the red flag that truly hit all of us that Olivia was not alright. I’ve taken her temperature every day; she is not physically ill and has no fever. I’ve had to feed her with a golden fork and spoon as if I were tending to a baby again. The food settles in her stomach; and she has not once vomited. She appears awfully tired but still gets her beauty rest - it revives her. Every time anyone asks her what troubles her, her hot temper burns. She goes from sad and mopey to having the most violent temper tantrums, throwing books, plates, and silver ware at the cooks and servants. Her moods keep swinging back and forth - it has driven everyone mad. Except for me. I know Olivia better than all your staff, Madame. Olivia may be a sometimes strange and stubborn child, but with Patience, she softens like a rose petal with less, if any, thorns to prick and sting you. I have patiently suffered through the storm, not once expressing a complaint about Lady Olivia’s brutal tempe
r. While you and the children were away to attend an afternoon tea party, I looked into Olivia’s diary once more, full well knowing that if there was anyone that she confided in about her woes, it would be that diary.
I hurried to her last entry, reading it with eyes wide open, my body so still as I read. She wrote:
Dear Diary,
I’ve never been so stuck in the dark. It’s dreadful. I am lost. How do I get out? I don’t know who to talk to about what has happened. I can’t go to my mother; she won’t listen and would much rather focus on the jewels around her neck and on her fingers than on my speech. I can’t go to my brother and sister, they are too young, innocent, and naïve to know such adult matters that I’d be speaking of. I could come to Angelique, but would she really understand what I’ve went through? She’s only a lady’s maid! She can’t possibly know what it’s like to have a broken heart like mine. Or to know how it feels to be so humiliated by not only one that you liked, but loved.
So I just have you, Diary, to explain all that transpired today.
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