Under the surface

[Sweet_Denna]

This thread is now closed for gagonthis and me. Enjoy!


London, 1862

While Victoria Ashbee was a fervent lover of Purcell, tonight she had trouble concentrating on the story that unfolded on the opera stage. Again and again, her gaze strayed, only to cling to nothing in particular, lost in thought. Her husband, sitting next to her, softly touched her hand – to hold it would not have been proper – and gave her an admiring smile. Too preoccupied with his happiness to call such a stunning woman his, he was unaware of her confusion and simply enjoyed this rare opportunity to spend an evening with his wife Victoria.

Her husband, Dr. Arthur Charles Ashbee, was a successful surgeon and, despite his youth, a renowned lecturer of medicine. His latest research had even gotten him attention from Her Majesty the Queen. Victoria truly was a lucky woman; all the things she could have ever wished for were indeed her own: a handsome, successful husband who loved and cherished her with all his heart, a comfortable home and, not unimportantly, both a sharp intellect and radiant beauty.

As they stepped into the foyer of the opera after the end of the performance, a young man approached them hastily: “Dr. Ashbee! Dr. Ashbee! What a lucky coincidence that I should meet you here, I bear amazing news, the serum we….” There was a short moment of embarrassed silence, before Victoria smiled and offered the intruder her hand to kiss. “It is quite alright, Mr. Butler.” Her husband squeezed her arm in gratitude, before his curiosity took over. “The serum, yes, I had wanted to see the…”

Victoria stood next to them, smiling politely, without being able to listen what the young man so feverishly explained. There was something on her mind that pulled her thoughts in a different direction and it was her husband’s soft touch on her arm that pulled her out of her musings. “….tonight. Is that alright, my dear Victoria?”

She looked up, confused. “Tonight?” Her husband smiled apologetically, he had not noticed her absent-mindedness at all. “It is a crucial stage of the experiment, my love. But I promise that I’ll be back in time to take the breakfast tea with you.” Victoria did not need to ask, she had gotten used to this. The blonde woman smiled and nodded, then gave her husband a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Of course you should go, Arthur. I can find my way home just fine, dear. I will see you in the morning.” His grateful expression confirmed her assumption, and without another word, she let him take her to the carriage waiting outside. “I love you, Victoria”, he whispered. His young wife blushed at this remark that he had uttered so outrageously in public. “Good luck, Arthur”, she replied.

Once inside the carriage, she took a deep breath. She did not mind the fact that he went, leaving her to spend the night by herself yet again. But Victoria was jealous. She was jealous that her husband had something in life that he was truly passionate about, that he could forget everything else over, even his lovely, obedient wife. With shaking fingers, she rummaged in her silken purse, and finally procured a small glass bottle, inside which a dark red liquid faintly glittered in the light of the lanterns.

Absent-mindedly, she looked at it: Of course, it did anger Victoria that the doors to academic knowledge were tightly closed for her. She knew that she could easily surpass most of her husband’s spoiled students in medicine, most of whom spent their monthly allowance on whores and ale. If she would have been given the chance, she knew she would excel. Arthur knew it, too, and gladly shared the progress of his research with her, relishing the fact that his stunningly beautiful wife easily matched the intellect of his colleagues.

But the most worrisome thought was not that she was not allowed to give in to selfish passions, that it was forbidden for her, as a woman, to let one desire overrule her rational behavior.

It was the fact that she did not know how.

Victoria Ashbee was always moderate, always perfectly composed. She abhorred the loss of control in any form, and had nothing but contempt for those that let their emotions rule their judgment. And yet. And yet…

And maybe this thought would have occurred to her and passed, had she not realized that underneath the surface lurked depths that made her shiver: There had been moments when her husband made love to her that she had wanted him to simply drop the rituals of love and courtship and use her like a common whore. That she had wanted to give in, to surrender to her lower instincts and be nothing but a body he enjoyed in the most obscene ways possible. That he abused, subdued, and used as he saw fit. Raw desire.

It had been this tiniest of cracks in her façade of homely perfection, this almost invisible fissure in her flawless presentation of a good wife and honorable woman that had driven her to muse on what dark urges she might be nursing without being fully aware of them. The thought that one day they might surface filled her with horror – what if they would spring up on her, and take control of her actions? Victoria knew about the deformities that could befall a human mind, in the hospital she had seen the most abhorrent and perverse mutations of what one could call ‘a person’.

That very day she had started her research. For days on end she had locked herself in Arthur’s laboratory, determined to find what it was that separated the civilized mind from the lowly urges of an animal. What would she find, with all these heavy layers of morality, norms and rules peeled away? What would remain? Her eyes caressed the crimson liquid that softly glowed inside the glass flacon. What would surface, if there were no restraints of conscience and shame that would hold her back?

While she had worked on the formula she had silently sworn so many times to interrupt her research - with every step that seemed to lead towards progress she had decided not to take the next. When she had been done, she had vowed to destroy everything, to pour the potion in the gutter, to burn all her notes, and to never waste another thought on them again. Yet here she sat, the polished glass cold and promising in her delicate hands, the answer to her musings contained in this small inconspicuous bottle.

She put it to her lips and drank, in one fast sip, as if the haste would wash away the feeling of guilt that tightened in around her chest. Arthur would not have approved. He would not have liked any of this. The potion tasted bitter, she coughed as it rolled down her throat, coating her stomach with stinging warmth that faintly reminded her of absinthe.

With a sigh, she sank back into the padding of the carriage. It was now time to bring her experiment to an enlightening conclusion.

“To Whitechapel”, she informed the driver.

***

Victoria’s heels clattered on the pavement, her steps, while without haste, were clearly with aim. She knew what she was looking for. This was an area of London she rarely ever frequented, and never frequented alone. Her expensive-looking crimson dress, her white silken gloves and the slim diamond needles that held her golden locks in place did not suit these streets at all: like an exotic bird that had by accident escaped her cage she hurried through the puddles of dirty yellow light that the lanterns threw on the sidewalk.

A young man stood against the corner of a run-down building, a cigarette loosely screwed between his lips. She stopped. Her ruby lips curled into a satisfied smile, her breathing quickened – but it was not shame or fear that urged her pulse to accelerate. With firm steps, she walked up to him, amused by his surprise. “You’re a lucky lad”, she whispered as her face was close enough to distinguish the colour of his eyes. “For you, there is no charge.” If he still had doubts about her purpose, they quickly dissipated when he felt her hand upon his crotch, her palm rubbing his cock through his trousers.

“I want you to fuck me.”

 

[gagonthis]

The fog hung like a heavy blanket over London, hiding the streets and back alleys of Whitechapel like a funeral shroud. The sounds of bawdy laughter and rambunctious night life could be heard coming from somewhere close by. A woman crying, a constables whistle blowing. All ordinary sounds in this neighborhood.

In the darker alleys the poor slumbered, grabbing what sleep they could in the squalor they existed in, ignoring the sounds and smells the permeated their very existence. Tomorrow their struggles would again resume, but at least for a few blissful moments they could dream. Dreams of happiness, of luxury, of being able to do more each day than just get by.

They lay with their backs pressed against the cold flagstones of the streets, leaning against the hardened bricks of the buildings of Whitechapel. Overpopulation and poverty ran rampant in the area, common lodging houses run by slum lords were past capacity, and though you would sleep with a roof over your head the conditions were nearly the same as those who were forced to sleep on the streets.

Ramshackle and run down these constructs to neglect housed seedy organizations frequented by an even seedier clientele. Ale houses, gambling parlors, houses of ill repute. All designed to suck away the money from those who had almost none to give.

From out one of these buildings a young Irish man stumbled. He was drunk the way only the truly destitute could be. This was a man who had no idea who Purcell was, let alone have an appreciation for the man's work. All he cared about was finding more drink to drown himself in.

He turned back towards the brothel he had just been ejected from, swearing loudly for the better part of two minutes before stumbling into the fog ahead. Of course he had not the money to buy the services of any of the ladies within. He had gone in simply to look, to ogle the girls in their petticoats and bared legs. But they had thrown him out. Smelled the booze on him before he even made it past the entryway. Now he was broke, and alone on the streets of Whitechapel. Not an uncommon tale.

Leaning up against the side of a building he smiled thankfully when his fingers in his pocket brushed up against his last remaining cigarette. Not so alone after all. As he fished it out he tried to remember through the haze his brain was covered in, how he had ended up in the situation that he was in.

There had been a boat... aye that was it, he'd been a sailor out of Ireland... Derry in fact. But he'd never been much for the water. He was seasick the entire trip and when they arrived up the Thames the captain had kicked him off his ship, telling him to find his own way back home. A small purse was all that the young Irishmen had had and he'd drunk his way through that quite quickly.

The cigarette finally lit and the Irishman let out a heavy sigh of relief as he practically slumped against the wall, letting the cold night fog wash over him, cooling him as he puffed the sweet smoke. His shaggy dark hair hung down almost past his shoulders. When was the last time he had been able to get it cut? His frame was lean but still wiry with muscle. Malnutrition had not yet begun to take a negative effect upon his body. CLICK CLACK CLICK CLACK

He took another pull on his cigarette as his ears perked up at that sound, coming from around the corner on Whitechapel street. Sounded like the click of heels, but wandering Whitechapel street alone? Even most of the nightwalkers wouldn't be out wandering on a night such as this. CLICK CLACK CLICK CL... The sound stopped and The Irishman turned his gaze up the alleyway, his green eyes going wide at what he saw. He could barely process the ruby lips, smiling at him seductively, or the richness of her dress before she was right next to him, her eyes gazing into his, amused smile heavy on her lips.

"You're a lucky lad, for you there is no charge." Even her voice sounded rich, dripping with seduction. The Irishman felt sure he was dreaming, a hallucination brought on by too much drink. But those thoughts fled out the window as her hand fell on his crotch, an involuntary moan sliding out from between his lips as her gloved hand rubbed at his member from beneath his trousers. “I want you to fuck me.”

His eyes widened, his mouth dropping open in surprise as he stared at this vision before him. Then that little voice in the back of his head, the one every person who has lived on the street had started jabbering at him. He'd heard of cons like this before, never this brazen. But a man disappears with a girl he thinks is fancying him, only to be robbed, killed and have his body deposited in the bottom of the Thames. But who would rob him? He had nothing... and this woman... she might just be worth dying for.

His manhood had grown quite erect under her short attentions and with a heavy gulp he looked at the woman before him, perfect form, not a hair out of place, she screamed wealth and class. What would she be doing in a place like this. Looking to get fucked that's what his drunkenness told him. "Right... right here?" He managed to finally croak out as he writhed in pleasure against the wall.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Victoria took in his face, the curve of his lips, the glazed shimmer of his eyes. His breath, heavy with cheap booze, hung between them. As her hand was still gently, yet demandingly rubbing his crotch, she mused on her behavior for a moment. It did not feel wrong, and she was far from being horrified by her actions. It was as if Victoria had simply forgotten why she had not acted on her innermost desires before.

His member grew hard under her fingers, and she increased the pressure of her touch.

"Right... right here?" An Irishman then. His surprise – his fear? – enhanced his faint accent. Her ruby lips curled into a smile as her eyes were fixed on his, relishing his perplexity as much as his obvious arousal. Yes, why not here? Why not right the fuck here? A dog was barking in the distance and from somewhere sounds of drunken song trickled through the thick fog. The cool night breeze blew goose bumps on her skin.

In her mind, she imagined herself pinned against the wall, this very wall, her bodice unlaced, her corset ripped open, and his hand roughly cupping one of her bare breasts. The red silken skirt hiked up, the shreds of her white lace undergarments uselessly scattered on the pavement, and him...him driving his hard cock into her, again and again, without hesitation. Without...mercy. Her teeth buried in his shoulder, not in shame, not to muffle her moans, but because she was so lust-driven, so ecstatic, that she could not find any other outlet but to scar his flesh in appreciation...

With her free hand, she took the cigarette from his lips to place it between her own. Inhaling deeply, she let the taste of the cheap, bitter tobacco roll down her throat, before she blew the smoke from her lips without turning away. Why not...

He was writhing under her touch already. “No, dear, not right here.” Her voice dropped to a daring whisper. Not here. It was too dangerous, and counterproductive to her experiment. If the constabulary would not arrest them, the danger of other unwanted spectators interrupting was simply too great. With astonishment, Victoria realized that the potion did not slur her thoughts in the slightest. A soft tickle in her throat was all that reminded her of the liquid she had just consumed, her mind was sharp, her head crystal clear. Good. She did not want to miss anything. Close and attentive observation was the basis of science, was it not? To draw this to a satisfactory conclusion, they would need a bit more...privacy. A darker side alley would do.

Hesitatingly, her hand left the front of his trousers, her eyes never leaving his, her smile never fading. “Let’s find a more suitable spot then...we don’t want my husband to disturb us now, do we?” Victoria was not sure why she had said that. To taunt the poor lad? To provoke him? To her surprise, she realized that it did not trouble her in the slightest that she was openly admitting to adultery. Interesting. Again she found that none of this seemed outrageous to her. Which husband would not wish for his beloved wife to be fully satisfied at all times?

Her fingers curled around his belt, she pulled him with her into a perpendicular side street, narrow enough to allow only a few trickles of lantern light to enter. The sound of her silk dress, the clatter of her heels cut through the silent night almost aggressively. Perfect: A wooden shack, desperately clinging to the wall and apparently abandoned would block them from curious eyes of passers-by.

“This might well be your only chance in life to get your hands on a woman like me. Don’t pass it up.”
There was mocking in her voice. A hint of ridicule, perhaps? Victoria, who was usually so tender, so kind-hearted, she did not feel any compassion for the young man, this poor, hopelessly drunk Irish lad who still looked terrified by his own good fortune.

She leant against the wooden planks that creaked softly in protest, her arms lazily dropping to both sides of her body. “Well...?”

 

[gagonthis]

Good sense and the crafty street smarts that had kept the man alive while existing on the rough streets of inner London were quickly flying out the window as the woman pressed herself against him. The drink clouded his thoughts as well, and he found whatever protestations he might have made to the debauchery she wished him to partake in quickly disappearing.
She was the most beautiful woman to have ever spoken to the drunken lout. Part of him wanted to do nothing more than just take her in the alleyway right there, not to give her a chance to reconsider her obviously crazy decision. But another part of him still spoke for propriety. He should not take advantage of her hysterical state. Escorting her safely out of this seedy neighborhood would be the proper thing to do. Sending her home to whatever rich estate or fancy townhome she inhabited. That part of him was being overruled quite thoroughly by the hand rubbing at his now rock hard manhood.

“No, dear, not right here.” She said between puffs on his cigarette. He was too busy imagining what those lips could do to other parts of his body to have been paying complete attention and it took him a moment to process what she had said. “Let’s find a more suitable spot then...we don’t want my husband to disturb us now, do we?” Those words The Irishman heard with crystal clarity. She had a husband. Of course she had a husband. I woman didn’t wander around with diamonds in her hair and fancy gloves without someone fronting the bill for it. Sultry little wench was hopping around on her man then, looking for a cheap thrill in Whitechapel. Definitely the place to go for trysts and other unmentionable rendezvous.

If she had a husband he could be making quite a huge mistake here. What if the man came after him? A rich fellow like that could do a lot of evil to a poor drunken lout like him. But that was the future. He wanted what the present had to offer. “Well then…. Lead on ye lovely lass..” His words were slurred a little and he vowed to try to do as little talking as necessary from that point on. Her hand wrapped itself in his belt, tugging him off the main street and into a darkened alley.

Again the bit of him with any common sense began ringing alarm bells at the alley ahead of them. It was shrouded in darkness. Who knew what lay within? A gang of bully boys with clubs could set upon him. The woman herself might pull a dagger from beneath that dress. He was in no position to defend himself from any assailant. Yet he kept letting her drag him onwards.
No shadowy blows unleashed themselves as the lantern light faded to a soft glow. As the Irishman’s eyes adjusted to the dim illumination in the alleyway he saw a small wooden shanty home ahead. The woman drew him to a stop right before one, looking at him with amusement and a small hint of contempt in her eyes.

“This might well be your only chance in life to get your hands on a woman like me. Don’t pass it up.” Her voice was mocking him, reminding him of the difference in their position. She was privileged, one of the upper crust. He hadn’t slept on a real bed in longer than he cared to remember. She was right though. He had better make the most of this wealthy little tart. “Well...?” She said simply, waiting for him to make the next move.

“Aye love… I don’t think I shall be passing it up.” He said as he closed on her, booze heavy on his breath. His arms clumsily wrapped around her, a soft kiss planted on her ruby lips quickly turning into a sloppy drunken invasion of her mouth, his whiskey soaked tongue slipping past her lips. Meanwhile his hands, shaking with need and inebriation, attempted to reveal her undergarments, working in as careful a manner as possible to keep from tearing the material. Finally her bodice was open and wasting no time he forced the corset open, revealing the pale skin of her marvelous bosom. His hand quickly grasped one, squeezing it roughly as he let out a hungry little moan.

Pushing her up against the dilapidated shed he let his cock poke her in the thigh through his trousers as his lips moved down her neck and across her throat as he began to slowly rub his entire body against hers.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

“Aye love… I don’t think I shall be passing it up.” Victoria smiled, one eyebrow still mockingly raised. Not losing any time, he made good on his claim, shoving her up against the wall of the shack. The whiff of sharp whiskey on his breath hit her like a fist, and when his lips crushed hers hungrily in a kiss, anger flared up in her eyes.

“Not on the lips!” she whispered breathlessly, turning her head to the side. No, none of this, not now. She did not want this proximity, and not even the faintest hint of tenderness. But his mouth had already left hers, travelled down the front of her throat, causing her to sigh with pleasure. Her fingers were roughly enlaced in his hair as he clumsily tried to unlace her bodice.

His rough touch on her bare breast forced a moan from her throat. “Yes...” His initial doubts had vanished, his fears were gone. The young Irishman now pressed her against the wood, not longer trying to control his hunger. Yes, this was exactly what she had come to Whitechapel for. It crossed her mind that the potion she had just drunk would probably unleash something much darker in a lad like this one; the poor could not afford all the morals and mannerisms that the wealthy surrounded themselves with, and yet, even they certainly secretly nurtured their beasts.

With both hands, she hastily tore the loose shirt from his belt before her fingers slid underneath the rough fabric. For the length of a few heartbeats, her hands rested against his stomach. The warmth of his skin, the wiry muscles underneath...how unfamiliar all of it felt. It was in that moment that it dawned on Victoria that she had never touched any other man’s body than that of her husband. That her fingertips had only ever rested against Arthur’s naked skin. How odd! How very... forced. And how much more exciting this was! The barely restrained, tense strength that she so clearly sensed against her palms, his need, growing with every moment that passed. Her own desire. Life. Nature. Everything else was obviously just a charade.

Ever so slowly, the pressure of her body against his never ceasing, Victoria sank to her knees, until she looked up at him from a sea of crimson silk and lace, one of her breasts fully bared, the other still half hidden by the torn corset. She smiled, before she leant forward to kiss his hard member through the fabric of his pants, the warm touch urgent, almost impatient now.

Once, only once had she let Arthur ask this from her, she had been slightly tipsy then, enough to overcome her shame and disgust. And even then she had not done more than softly kiss the tip of his member, nervously and without pleasure, and Arthur cherished his wife far too much as to indulge in selfish delights. Now, this very second, Victoria did not desire anything more than to wrap her soft lips around this stranger’s cock.

Her nails trailed down his chest, leaving ten faint red lines on his skin, before reaching the waistband of his trousers. With skill that surprised her, she freed his hard member and gently wrapped one hand around it before her lips followed, diligently swallowing inch after inch of his manhood. Closing her eyes, she relished the wild, slightly salty taste of his arousal. His cock throbbed against her tongue, almost demandingly. The hand that was still wrapped around the base of his member mimicked the movement of her mouth, letting is cock, now wet with saliva, slide back and forth.

For a brief moment, she stopped, as if alerted by something. Had there been a sound coming from inside the shack? Had she heard something – or someone – stir? Victoria cared not, and the shiver of fear only urged her on, sent delicious, almost electrical shocks through her body.

Another image flashed before her mind: a band of robbers, bursting forth from the hut, determined to collect the prize for themselves that had so miraculously turned up on their turf. The young Irish lad would flee, if he was lucky, with the brigand’s attention set only on her. Hands in her hair, fingers greedily touching her flesh, bruising her skin, one cock immediately shoved up her cunt, another forced down her throat, and she, Victoria, would be their whore for the night...

With a loud clatter, a cat leaped forward and vanished between the shabby houses. Her eyes found his; had he been afraid? For a moment, she wondered how far he would go to see his needs fully satisfied. Another mocking smile appeared on her face. Did he realize, in the drunken haze of his mind, that she was as much at his mercy as he thought to be at hers?

 

[gagonthis]

The Irishman barely noticed her hissed protestation at his attempted kiss on her ruby lips. His mouth hungrily found her neck instead, kissing, nipping, letting his tongue run across her throat as his hands continued their rough work on her breast. He had never felt skin as smooth as her's before, and knew he likely never would again. Part of him still shuddered in fear at the consequences of his tryst with an women of such obvious wealth and influence. But the primal part of him was done with such concerns.

He longed to take her breast in his mouth, but before he could act upon the impulse her hands were moving under his shirt, fingers resting against his hard chest, he could feel her nails pressing into his skin ever so slightly and for a moment he felt a flash of shame at not being freshly bathed or perfumed as a man befitting a woman of her stature ought to. He refused to fully acknowledge the feelings of inadequacy she brought up within him though, instead focusing on the physical urges pulsating through his body. For a heartbeat her movements stopped, as though she was lost in thought. He could feel the torture of his arousal begging for attention.

He was just about to move, whether to disengage himself or force himself more fully upon her he did not know, when she began sliding slowly down his body. His hand lost the grasp it had on her breast as her entire form cascaded downwards, rubbing against his skin, sending tingles of lightning shooting through him. Looking down at her he felt a groan of need slip passed his teeth as he took in the sight of her golden locks and ruby lips a mere breath from his crotch. Then she leaned forward and kissed his manhood through the trousers, an almost romantic gesture, one that set the Irishman's knees to wobbling. "Fook..." He muttered softly under his breath as she trailed her nails down his skin. Everything she did was causing him to quiver with raw primal need now.

Then his member was coming free, throbbing with weight as it escaped his trousers. His eyes widened as he watched the curled blond hair bounce as her gloved hand found his cock, wrapping around it before letting her lips encircle his engorged member. Biting back a cry of pleasure the Irishman forced a heavy breath out of his mouth, doing his best to hold back a quickly rising orgasm from deep within his body. His member twitched with need. He'd had the attentions of many a woman, mostly whores, before, but none had inspired the same raw lust he was feeling watching her slowly work the shaft and head of his cock with her mouth and hand.

His own hands moved to tangle themselves in her hair, wanting to feel the softness of it, and to pull her further on his cock before he unloaded himself into her mouth when she suddenly stopped. The Irishman bit off an angry curse at the woman as he perked his ears up. Something had startled her. Was the watch out tonight? Cutthroats looking for easy prey? Or worse still... a vengeful husband come with a company of the Guard to take him away? His mind was racing with so many terrifying possibilities he nearly screamed as the cat bounded up out of the fog and dashed away from them once more. His heart was pounding a mile a minute. Looking back down at the woman he saw the same challenging mocking smile from before. Even now she was making fun of him.

Grabbing her hair roughly he pulled her face back towards his crotch, clumsily sliding his cock back between her lips. Not even waiting to see if she would argue he began working his cock back and forth in her throat, pressing his hands roughly on the back of her head, forcing himself deeper and deeper into her mouth. He could feel his orgasm quickly rushing on again and his breath became labored and heavy. "Fook me... fooook...." He breathed out, forcing himself out of her mouth. He didn't want to finish yet. Not until he got to taste her other delights.

His pretense at gentleness almost all but gone he stepped forward, pushing her backwards as he collapsed on top of her, his mouth now fulfilling his wish from before, lips sucking heavily on her nipple as his hands maneuvered themselves under her skirt, forcing her undergarments out of the way as he tried to position his cock to penetrate her wet, waiting folds.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

He cracked. A shock of fear and pain shot through her as he roughly grabbed the back of her head to force his cock back into her mouth, and down her throat. Victoria gagged, and the panic of not being able to breathe made her head spin momentarily. For a split second, she felt her face crushed against his hard stomach, her eyes open wide as she struggled to escape his iron grip, to no avail. When he roughly withdrew his member, its veins throbbing against her tongue and lips, she gasped, and almost bit down on the sensitive flesh.

It was quite exhilarating.

Victoria closed her eyes, better prepared now as he started to fuck her mouth, her throat, relentlessly and without paying attention to her own comfort. Single locks her hair had come undone as his fingers greedily directed the movement of her head. His moans urged her on, and made her blood rush to her crotch.

A strand of saliva connected her swollen lips obscenely to his cockhead as he forced his throbbing member out of her mouth. Why did he stop? Victoria greedily licked her lips. Panting, her eyes shining with pending tears of arousal and excitement, she looked up at him. Another playful smile formed on her lips, she was not upset, or hurt, or even angry. How delightful it was to be used in such a fashion, how much she enjoyed that he simply took what he wanted. It satisfied both of their needs.

Victoria gasped. Without warning, he pushed her backwards into the alley, her fall only slowed down by his demanding grip on her dress and body. With a small cry, she hit the hard ground of the street, before her collapsed on top of her. She felt the water of a puddle immediately soak the back of her dress, and soft mud was squished by her naked shoulders. The usual Mrs. Victoria Ashbee abhorred even the thought of sullying herself, she hated the dirt and mud that stained so many of London’s streets, and she obsessively observed that her dress was without even a speck of dust. But now none of this mattered. Crushed under his weight, she struggled to breathe, and a few stray pebbles dug into her back and shoulders.

After she had managed to free first one, then the other hand from underneath him, she feverishly ripped the shirt off his shoulders. Tugging at the tips of her gloves with her teeth – a gesture she normally found horribly vulgar – she stripped her fingers of the silken fabric and tossed the expensive pair carelessly into the dark. Immediately, her hands found his naked skin again, caressing the muscles of his arms almost as if in awe. Her husband, while a very handsome man in every aspect, was a doctor, an academic, somebody who spent most of his time in lecture rooms and at a desk or surgery table. He was well-built, and trim. But this lad...there something wild, something raw about him. It was beautiful, because it was so unknown to her.

Her fingers dug roughly into his arms; while one hand grabbed handfuls of his hair, urging him on to continue his attentions to her breast and nipple. Victoria sharply drew in her breath as his teeth caught on to the sensitive flesh, and threw her head back, scattering her golden locks like a halo around her. Arthur, in all the time of their young marriage, had never, not once, given in to such primal hunger for his wife. Did he find the necessary consolation in his work; did that quench his thirst enough to hold back? For one short, angry second, Victoria felt a sting of betrayal. Did he not want her as badly as this destitute young Irishman, a man who would, without a doubt, devour any whore from Whitechapel with the same abandon as her?

The young lad had tugged at her undergarments, enough to access her wet sex, with the soft linen lowered to her knees, somewhat limiting her movements. Impatiently, she arched her back and managed to slide the pants further down her smooth legs, until they were crumpled around her laced boots. It felt deliciously obscene. She could feel the head of his cock between her cunt lips, and sighed with delight. Arching her back, she put both of her hands flat against his buttcheeks, tugging, pulling him in forcing his rock-hard member to enter her all the way to the hilt. A loud moan escaped Victoria’s ruby lips. He was larger than Arthur, and touched spots that had never been touched before. It would take her a few moments to adjust to his size, but the hint of pain seemed to even heighten the pleasure.

“Fuck me. Fuck me as if it was the last thing you do on this earth.” Her eyes glittered with cold mischief. “Because who knows? Maybe it is.” To keep the faint feeling of fear lingering between them, Victoria found, added to her own pleasure in the most exquisite way. The fear of pain and of possible retaliation.

 

[gagonthis]

The young Irishman had not paid much mind at her gasping and choking on his manhood. Truthfully he had hardly noticed it between his fervent need to have her lips wrapped back around him and her mocking eyes. He did however hear her cry as he drove her to the ground and he took a certain satisfaction in finally finding a way to unbalance the infuriating beauty before him.

She held no fear in her eyes as he ravaged her breast with his teeth and tongue however. Hands tangled in his hair he felt his erection swell even larger as his mouth tasted her skin. A rosy scent filled his nostrils even as he pulled more of the soft white of her breast into his mouth. It was like ambrosia to the young Irishman. He knew he would never find himself with a woman of such high class again in his life so he savored all that he could of her form. Though anyone watching would not assume this to be the case at the fervent pace he was attempting to mount her.

As she tugged his shirt off the cold fog hit his back, slick with sweat from his arousal, sending a sharp chill through his body. Shaking momentarily he watched, eyes hungry, as she pulled off her gloves, carelessly tossing them aside. The Irishman wondered for a moment how much those gloves had cost her husband, whether he had bought them for her as a way to stymie his own perceived impotence with this sexual predator he kept as his wife.

All other thoughts disappeared from his head the moment his cock head passed the velvety folds of her cunt. A warm tight wetness immediately greeted him and he bit down on his lip roughly to keep from letting out a loud moan of pleasure. She was nearly dripping, and as she grabbed his buttocks, guiding him inside his member slid through, like a boat across a canal.

Now he did let out a loud moan, one that matched her own sultry moan that sent goosebumps down his back as his manhood buried itself as deep into her as he could press himself. The young man was blessed with a rather sizable member, in length as well as girth, and the woman's hard nails digging into his skin told him that she had been longing for something larger than she had experienced before. A nasty grin threatened to spring up on the lad's mouth as he pulled himself nearly all the way back out of her soaking mound, the head once more barely piercing her lips.

“Fuck me. Fuck me as if it was the last thing you do on this earth. Because who knows? Maybe it is.” Another cold chill passed across his back again, this one having nothing to do with the fog. The rational part of him again screamed that she was a threat, that she would bring him nothing but trouble.

The sexual part of him just growled and slammed his cock deep inside her sex once more.

"You talk a fooking lot for a lass out looking to get stuck.." He snarled at her as he began working himself quickly in and out of her, his slick cock sliding easily through her tightness, each stroke causing a heavy breath to escape from his lips. Looking down at the angelic form in front of him, hair splayed out on the dirty ground, bared skin dimly illuminated by the flickering lights of the Whitechapel walls, the Irishman felt like a conquering warrior, taking what was rightfully his.

One hand reached out and gripped her breast, squeezing the whole of it roughly at first, fondling it before his fingers moved to pinch roughly at her nipple, working the tender tip back to hardness. His other hand reached to her leg. grabbing her right above the knee on her inner thigh, driving it to the ground to keep her in place as his manhood began driving itself into her with increased force, a power he could not control as he held the woman down and fucked her like a common whore.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

"You talk a fooking lot for a lass out looking to get stuck.."
Victoria’s eyes lit up in amusement at his impatient comment. She also knew that her teasing words had not failed to rouse his suspicion, and doubt, again. But at this point, she felt it, he was unable to turn back.

As if to underline his self-assurance, he started fucking her in earnest, driving his cock into her folds with abandon. Never had she felt anything similar to something like this. To something this good. Had she been a virgin before this, her astonishment could not have been any greater. How could it be that her husband had never been able to stir similar emotions in her? To just take, just fuck her?

She wondered if he had ever strayed, if with whores he ever acted out fantasies that he thought were too extravagant for his wife. The image of Arthur ruthlessly fucking a prostitute aroused her beyond measure, even though it was not very likely that he even found time for any of this. But who could be sure? Maybe right this instant he used a little harlot the same way this skilled Irishman used her? Victoria closed her eyes, imagining the scene. Her black lashes fluttered nervously against her creamy skin, her soft lips parted to form a perfect little o. Arthur must have such needs and Victoria decided that she would finish with her young husband’s shy hesitation to voice them.

How well this lad knew how to use his cock! The young woman did not hold back her cries of pleasure, every time that his impressive instrument pierced her flesh, her clear voice rang out into the night, unconcerned by the curiosity this would surely arouse in any passers-by. While he fucked her, the Irishman held her firmly pinned to the ground, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thigh while the other hand fondled her breast, teasing her with skill. Fuck yes. Yes! Yes! Victoria did not know if these screams had formed only in her head, or if they had actually slipped over her lips. This was what she wanted, and had wanted for so long – even if she had been to prude to admit it to herself.

Victoria wanted to be nothing but a whore to fuck for an anonymous stream of men who would use her, over and over, one after the other, without any regard for her pleasure. Who would use all of her orifices, who would hurt her, who would enjoy her body in any way possible. If her body was capable of such emotions, did that not mean it had been designed to do exactly this? And was it not her duty to search for the perfection of physical, of sexual pleasure?

As if in a haze, Victoria rid herself of the obstructing undergarment that was still bundled up around her ankles and hindered her movements. Under the force of his thrusts, this was far from easy, but finally, the soft linen fabric gave in and she tore it apart with her kicks. Now, freed from her foot binding, Victoria wrapped her free leg, the one he did not hold pushed to the ground, around him, urging him on, writhing underneath him. Fuck yes.

His thrusts seemed to drive her towards some kind of vague pinnacle, all her nerve endings seemed alert and on fire, and an entirely unfamiliar tickle crawled over her skin. Arching her back, heightening the delicious friction between her thighs, she now moved with him, furiously fucking him, too. She did not need much more, a slight pinch of her nipple maybe, to fly screaming over the cliff of pleasure. Yes. Yes. Yes!

Her eyes flew open, and a few tears rolled down her cheeks. In disbelief, trembling, her gaze found that of the Irishman. Had he felt this? What happened to her? Was this…this electrical shock that shook her body an effect of the potion? Victoria had always deemed the shy rutting she had experienced with her husband as pleasant, but never had she come close to a sensation as intense as this. Never. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a roused little bird, she was panting as if she just climbed a high mountain. But had she not done just exactly that? Only now did she realize that her fingernails had dug deep into his back, leaving deep red marks on his skin.

But something else happened. When she had recovered from her climax, when she finally found her breath again, another, all too familiar emotion crossed her mind. Shame. Was it shame? Fear. Yes, there definitely was fear. Did the potion wear off this quickly? Did the intense nerve stimulation trigger this? Whatever it was, it was bad, of course, and somehow a failure of her experiment. No, this should not have happened, it jeopardized everything. But there was nothing she could do to ignore it, the familiar thoughts of proper behaviour and morality rushed back, filling her head, making it impossible for her to ignore them.

It was not as if she had lost all memory of what had happened previously, no. Every image was clear as day in her mind, and worse, filled her with utter shame and ice-cold fear. Her whole body stiffened underneath him, suddenly unable to give in to her lust. While he fucked her with the same skill, while his cock still filled her, while his hands still teased her flesh so wonderfully, Victoria was now unable to enjoy any of it.

“Stop. No. Get off me.” Her trembling lips barely formed the words, and Victoria was not sure if he had heard them at all. And would he care? Had she not pushed him to treat her like this, had she not urged him to fuck her? After all of her mocking, after her threats, why would he even listen?

 

[gagonthis]

Sweat beaded heavily on the brow of the Irishman as he continued to thrust himself in and out of the unbelievable woman beneath him. His entire body was shivering with a combination of lust, fear and the chill from the damp London air hitting his sweaty form. He could feel his teeth nearly chattering as his nerves and want jangled his body.

Mostly though he felt only the throbbing and growing pleasure pulsating out from his manhood to the rest of his body, causing ragged breaths to come from deep within his throat. He had never experienced a woman so willing, so wanting, so wanton, as the one writhing beneath him right now. Everything about her, the expensive evening gown, the silk gloves, the way her hair was done, even her soft pale skin, screamed high class. Everything that is except the way she screamed and moaned at the fucking of a no class drunk like him.

Her cries of pleasure made him ram himself harder and harder into her cunt. He still couldn't believe how wet she was, couldn't believe a woman could actually feel like this as he glided in and out, small grunts of pleasure coming from between his clenched teeth as he continued to fuck her. His fingers pinched the flesh of her thighs, nearly hard enough to bruise as he continued flicking her nipple, rolling it between his calloused thumb and forefinger. As her cries grew louder and more vocal the Irishman looked around quickly, fear momentarily distracting him once more. Being hauled off to the hangman for attempted rape would not be a pleasant end to this rendezvous.

But her screams of pleasure fell on deaf or uninterested ears, and the fear in him was quickly consumed by the raging need for her body once more. As she wrapped her leg about him, squirming underneath his touch, he could see her breasts rising and falling more rapidly. He pulled his member nearly all the way out of her, head quivering against her warm folds, before driving himself deep into her to the hilt. Her piercing gasp told him that she was nearing her orgasm, just as his quickly built from within.

Her nails drove into his back, causing a deliciously painful sensation to cascade through his body as she arched her back, screaming loudly as her orgasm came gushing through her, flooding her cunt as her entire body writhed beneath him. Her eyes gazed at him in wonder and a small satisfied smile touched his lips as her climax overtook her body like an avalanche. His was very close and he continued pushing himself deep inside her, trying to milk as much from her orgasm as he could. He saw the tears of pure pleasure rolling down her cheeks and it hastened his own release, a slow powerful build he felt from deep within him.

Suddenly she stiffened up beneath him, a look of fear crossing her face. The Irishman barely noticed though, furiously pumping into her as his cock bucked and throbbed inside. He barely heard her whispered protests, telling him to stop. Was this woman crazy? It seemed quite likely, but at this exact moment he just didn't care. "Almost there love..." He said with a teasing grin, imagining this was all some stupid mind game she was playing. The hand that was on her breast now moved to put weight on her chest, holding her down despite her protests as he let out a long heavy groan.

He would not be denied his own release, not after all the teasing and veiled threats. His cock bucked once more as he plunged into her, heavy load rising up as he pulled out once more, white pearl like streams gushing from the head, landing heavily upon her swollen mound and thighs as he dug his fingers back into her thigh, still pinning her down easily with his one free hand.

As he collected himself he noted with some confusion but also satisfaction the look of disgust and fear upon the woman's face. Rising off her he stared down at the creature before him, lying covered in his seed and the filth from Whitechapel. She seemed to have just realized what she had done and it disturbed her beyond any measure. "Little trollop didn't want to get dirty after all." He said mockingly as he moved away from her, pulling up his trousers before collecting the silk gloves she had tossed aside, the pristine white now soiled with a mixture of dirt and moisture about them. He tossed them carelessly towards the woman on the ground, a gesture of dismissal. "Better be careful next time you come to Whitechapel lass. Not everyone will be as gentlemanly as I." And with a heavy laugh he began to stumble out of the alley, broad smile upon his face.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Did she only now realize how chilly it was, laying in the damp dirt of Whitechapel? Had she not noticed the damp and cold wind before? She did not dare to look at him as he withdrew from her and got up, and a few tears of shame rolled over her cheeks. His seed clung to her white thighs, as she pressed her skirt down to cover her nudity, as pointless as this gesture was at this point. Oh, what had she done? His mocking laughter cut through her core like a cold blade. What on earth had she done?

Victoria waited, until the sound of his footsteps had vanished, and only the sound of a barking dog echoed through the alley. Slowly, her knees trembling, she got to her feet, staying as calm and composed as she could possible muster. Carefully and meticulously, as it was her habit, she straightened the crumpled skirt of her dress, shook out her sullied gloves and tried to rearrange her locks as not to look too horribly roughed up. How she finally found her way out of Whitechapel, into a carriage, and home, she would later not be able to even remember.

***

Victoria stumbled up the stairs to their expensive townhouse in Kensington. As her butler opened the door, his eyes bulged and for the length of a few seconds, he stood there with his mouth opening and closing like a carp on the sand. “Miss Ashbee...!” was all the poor man could say as he finally led her inside and called for the maid to pour the young lady a bath. Incoherent explanations of how she had slipped and fallen, that she was fine and simply very tired were met by disbelief. Victoria’s dress was dirty and torn, her lips swollen and her eyes red. None of this looked like it could indeed stem from a fall. The servants exchanged worried glances, but did not contradict their mistress; all of them loved Victoria, she had never said a single harsh word to them and treated them well. Only Stephen, the old butler, dared to ask if she wished for him to call for the inspector in the morning, a question which Victoria countered with an almost violent shaking of her head. “That will not be necessary, Stephen”, she said in an icy tone. He bowed and left, leaving her with Anne who was obediently waiting to assist Victoria with her dress and her bath.

But with unusual impatience, she chased out the maid and undressed herself, before lowering herself into the copper bathtub. She scrubbed her alabaster skin frantically to an angry red, decided to wash off any trace of the young sailor. With horror, she saw that the soft blue marks on her thighs could not be cleaned, that the Irishman had indeed marked the conquest he had so unexpectedly made.

Her body ached, and a certain spot between her legs still throbbed, and not only in pain. When her fingers brushed over her sex, she sighed, almost against her own will. What had she unleashed? What had he unleashed? When she closed her eyes, she could still see him above her, the pleasure so clearly written on his face.

***

The young woman tossed and turned in the empty bed, unable to find rest, despite her exhaustion.
The sleep she finally found was shallow and filled with disturbing dreams. The emotions she had experienced this night were still too fresh, her skin still too sensible, her senses still too alert. More than once, she woke up, her heart racing and her sex moist with arousal.

The next morning when she was silently sipping a cup of tea, Stephen gave her a little note that had been delivered from the hospital. Arthur sent her his affection, and begged her to forgive him not to be able to join her for breakfast. The group of researchers were on the threshold of completing the task, impossible to interrupt the work now, but he would make it up to her, he promised.

Quietly, she put the note down next to her still empty porcelain plate; she had no appetite and the even the smell of buttered toast made her stomach churn dangerously. While a similar message would have upset her terribly under normal circumstances, she was almost glad that she did not have to face her husband this morning. How could she even look him in the eyes anymore? The mental images of the previous night made her wince in shame and disgust. The words she had spoken! The things she had done! The respectable Victoria Ashbee, giving herself to an anonymous drunkard in the mud of Whitechapel! Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered how much she had enjoyed every second of it.

All day, she did anything in her power to try and forget what had happened. With almost aggressive enthusiasm, she chased the personnel around, found ever new chores to indulge in, and then had them done twice or three times. But no matter how hard she tried, she was unable to forget what her original objective had been - to learn how it felt when her mind was stripped of all socially acquired mores and conventions. The experiment was not yet complete then – she had failed, and failed miserably. Therefore, the potion still needed perfection.

Frowning, she opened the small wooden cassette that held the remaining twenty flacons. Throw them away! Destroy them and not a word about the devilish liquid to anyone! But why seemed the usually strong voice of her conscience suddenly so muffled and weak? It would have been easy to pour all of it into the gutter, and yet, she could not bring herself to do it. A good scientist simply did not give up this easily. Arthur wouldn’t. A good scientist would try until he reached the desired results, or until finding concrete prove for his failure.

The effect of the potion had vanished the moment that she had reached the pinnacle of sexual pleasure – there surely was a remedy to this flaw? Increasing the dose, maybe? A slight change in the formula? She took one of the small glass bottles out of its silk bedding, and looked at it questioningly, as if she hoped that the secret would reveal itself to her. But guessing and hoping were not the most reliable methods in science; if she still wanted to know, she would have to change the parameters of the experiment and – try again.

***

The young woman looked out of the window of the carriage, unsure where she wanted to go. The anxiety of this morning was gone, she felt refreshed and yes, happy. The wheels rattled over the black cobblestones, and in the distance she saw the fog rise over the Thames. This time, no burning in her throat, no knots in her stomach, just a feeling of excitement and curiosity. When they reached the embankment, she decided to walk, enjoying the brisk evening air.

Her hair shimmered golden in the light of the setting sun; and her cheeks wore the rosy blush of dusk. Victoria wore a well-tailored yet much simpler dress than the previous night, and her hair was only loosely pinned up, giving her an almost innocent, girlish air. Her arms were naked under a thin linen scarf that she tied closer around herself to keep warm. Normally, she would have found this attire quite scandalous and beneath her, because it gave her a peculiar, carefree look that could just as easily have been mistaken for naiveté as it could have been seen for a way to attract the attention of the male citizenry.

She was very aware that night was falling, that a woman dressed like her should not be walking these streets alone lest she would be mistaken for a shameless little harlot. But she also knew that this was area of London where, she knew, men of all standings and classes came to look for more exotic distractions, for illegal pleasures and other ways to spend a nice evening. One of them, she hoped, would help in advancing her daring experiment.

 

[gagonthis]

The Irish sailor stumbled off into the heavy damp fog of the the London night. His entire body shook from the ecstasy and fear he had just experienced, the adrenaline playing hell on his already frayed nerves. He knew still that he could find himself in hot water for the scene that had just played itself out, but some voice of logic deep inside him said that he just might be safe.

He never saw the beautiful creature who had come like a common bawdy whore under his ministrations again. None of the other drunkards and low life denizens of Whitechapel ever believed the young man's story about that particular evening, accusing the Irish sailor of grandiose illusions brought upon by too much liquor. As the months passed he began to question his own memory of that night, wondering if perhaps the blond haired woman had been just a drunkard's gutter dream, or perhaps another urchin his addled mind had made into a woman of station.

These doubts followed him out to sea once more upon a merchant vessel. Despite the captain's order the young sailor drank heavily and when a great squall struck the vessel two weeks out from port the Irishman was in no shape to be above decks and he was swept overboard into the icy depths of the ocean. His last thought as he floundered was of a red silk dress.

_____________

Chester Addersly pulled the pocket watch out of his trouser pocket, flipping it open to check the time. With a small sigh of frustration he snapped it close after observing the late hour. He had expected to get away from his laboratory a bit earlier than he actually had, and now his business this evening would run over into dinner time with his wife and children. Still there would be no helping it. He had other appetites to whet.

For Chester was a man of many passions. His applied medical work in the treatment of the crippling pox had been lauded as the most promising hope for the future generations of Her Majesty's citizens. He was one of the most fervent supporters of the progressive movement within the royal scientific societies, a button and envelope pusher in his relentless pursuit of new methods to catapult Great Britannia's medical understanding into the coming new century.

His passion for sporting was almost as great as his love of his work. He kept himself in incredibly fit shape playing all manner of football, though recently he had found the new version being played mostly at the Rugby school most exhilarating of all. Chester was also a fair study of the fencing arts and kept upon him a sword cane of exquisite balance, especially when traveling in these more seedier areas of London. His swordsmanship was second to none.

Chester's life was the envy of many of his colleagues. Married to a wealthy heiress at a young age Chester never found himself wanting for material happiness, and the two shared a large town home in one of the more affluent districts, summering in the country when the need to escape the crush of the city pressed around them. She had born him three wonderful children, two strapping young lads to carry on his legacy and name and one beautiful young girl, the apple of his eye, who would one day provide a marriage to another strong family.

Yes, Chester Addersly was a man blessed. But he was also a man consumed by his passions. Since the third child had been born Chester's lovely wife had grown more distant, not emotionally, but certainly physically. Her body had lost its youthful exuberance, and though Chester still loved the mother of his children he found no pleasure to be had from her body anymore. This troubled him greatly.

For many nights he had tossed and turned in the single bed he shared next to his wife, worrying that something was seriously wrong with him. Finally, in a moment of weakness uncharacteristic for the young lad, he had brought the problem up with a colleague over scotch. The man had advised him to stay a loving husband and father, but to find his pleasure elsewhere. After all, the stress of their work had to be released somehow.

So Chester Addersly found himself wandering the embankment, a place where shady business was the norm, night after night. He had developed a ravenous appetite for the pleasures of the place, and though his wife may have suspected him of some unfaithfulness, she said nothing to him.

His usual practice was to partake of some opium before allowing himself to ravage one of the whores that wandered the street. Tonight however he would have time for only one pleasure, late as the sun setting told him it was, and Chester could not return to his home high on the poppy seed. Besides, he thought with a rueful smile, he enjoyed the second pleasure a little bit more.

He doffed his cap as he passed a few of the ladies of the evening, none of them quite catching his fancy. One, a raven haired matronly type, bared her leg to him and made a leering gesture with her face. Chester passed her by with an amused smile upon his lips. He was not sure where his tastes would run this evening. As late he had been preoccupied with the Oriental whores, though perhaps it was time to break that chain as well.

He was brought out of his revelry by the sight of a woman walking towards him. She had a look of innocence about her, but one that appeared to be carefully cultivated, to draw arousal from whoever observed her. She was well proportioned and carried herself with a dignity that most of the woman of this part of town had long forgotten if they in fact ever possessed it at all.

Something about her looked familiar to Chester as well, though he could not figure out from where else he would know a lady wandering the embankment. Still, he thought with a roguish grin, he had found his distraction for the evening. Stepping into her path before she could pass him by Chester doffed his hat to her as well. "Good evening my lady, tis a cold night for such.... revealing garb." He said with a soft chuckle, his eyes moving up and down her body.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Victoria enjoyed her walk down the embankment. The women that were about now were clearly in search of company that would pay. Secretly she wondered if her husband, her brilliant and proper Arthur, had ever come here. After a pint with his colleagues maybe? To celebrate an extraordinary success? To find relief from the constant stress that he was under? The thought did not trouble her in the slightest. Arthur...Could it really be that his virtuous wife satisfied all of his needs? That a man so consumed by his passion for medicine had no energy or hunger for other distractions? They were not married for long, and yes, they loved each other dearly, but Victoria knew now that there was something that lay beneath all of this, beneath all these layers of decency and loving care, something strong.

Something under the surface.

For a while, she indulged in the pleasure of watching the whores fish for attention; the roles of hunter and prey constantly changing – an exciting choreography of desire and raw lust. A young gentleman shamelessly slapped the ass of a young woman; she turned and put her hand over his, urging his fingers to explore her ample form further.

Unbidden, the image of Arthur appeared in her mind. Arthur, strolling along the embankment, choosing a woman to truly indulge in sexual pleasures; much like one would choose a particularly appetizing apple in the market, or an elaborate treat in a store. For a short moment, Victoria wondered if she should not simply let him in on her secret; tell him what she had found. Would he take her without the fearful inhibitions that he had thus far displayed in their marital bedroom? A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of him fucking her hard, his fingers roughly grabbing her hair, concerned about nothing but pleasure...

She caught sight of a slender girl with Oriental features, a pretty thing whose vulnerability had infallibly attracted someone who wished to exploit it; a man who – had she seen this correctly? –effortlessly held her dainty wrists with one hand, only to bind them with...was it black silk? Then he led her away to his waiting carriage, like an obedient pet. Nobody around them even glanced at the curious scene twice. Victoria’s mouth went dry at the sight of it. The Irish lad had been exciting; he had been a catalyst of her innermost urges, he had opened the door of possibilities – and served his purpose in that. Quite literally an appetizer, not more.

Her pace quickened. The fire that the potion had again kindled burnt with less sudden urge than the last time, but it was stronger, seeping through every fibre of her. A man. A woman. No matter. What she now needed was to be claimed, to be taken....to be fucked. The outrageousness of that thought even...it made her smile inwardly.

"Good evening my lady, tis a cold night for such.... revealing garb."

She stopped in her steps, just short of a hand holding a hat. Drawing her shawl closer around her shoulders, she raised her glance to the face of the man who had just interrupted her thoughts. A young, beautiful face. A twinkle in his eyes, malicious almost, and definitely hungry. He looked like he was quite handsomely built underneath his expensive clothes, and his hands looked strong, despite the delicacy of his fingers. Victoria’s lips curled into a smile. He would do. Oh yes. He would do just fine.

He looked somehow familiar, somehow...her eyes widened when she recognized where she had seen him before. The ball! The Royal Society! For a split second, her eyes widened in shock and surprise. What was his name again? She now clearly recalled having been introduced to him, him being one of the few men at the Institute of Medicine who could rival her husband, she remembered secretly admiring his wits, and his looks and...his wife. Chester Addersly.

He, however, did not seem to recall that they had met before. And how could he have? The last time they had met, Victoria had been dressed in rich silk and lace, expensively coiffed and adorned with delicate jewellery and most importantly, an extremely handsome and successful husband. His brain simply did not allow him to make the connection. Her heart beat a little faster. At least not yet.

She smiled coyly and gave him a playfully innocent look, her lashes fluttering against her blushed cheeks. “Sir?” Victoria could feel her core melt in arousal. With him, she would not only betray her husband by committing adultery, no. With him, she would risk more, much more than that. Chester Addersly was not only Arthur’s successful colleague; he was also his rival and opponent at the Royal Society. He might well be the only serious obstacle to Arthur’s final step on the ladder of fame and fortune. Never would the old Victoria even have considered such a horrendous crime against the man who loved and trusted her. But now...she could not imagine anything more exciting.

Putting her arm into his, she said softly: “Maybe you should help me warm up then? A gentleman such as yourself should not leave a young lady out in the cold.”

 

[gagonthis]

Chester noted with a small amount of amusement the suddenness in her movements as she drew to a stop. A measure of nervousness perhaps? Though whether it was deliberate to add to the innocent look she had constructed for herself or rather borne of the natural wariness a woman in her profession needed to survive was up for debate.

Still her mask quickly reasserted itself despite her surprise at being intercepted. He could not shake the feeling that he recognized this young tart from somewhere. Perhaps he had tumbled her before during one of his dalliances, though he felt he would remember a woman as lovely and coy as the one before him. No she put him in mind of somewhere else, a more formal setting. Perhaps that was her intent though. She played her part quite well he thought with a sly grin as she settled into her role for temptress. Chester had to keep from licking his licks in anticipation as he looked upon the whore before him. Instead he simply offered his arm to her.

“Maybe you should help me warm up then? A gentleman such as yourself should not leave a young lady out in the cold.” The girl said, a luscious note in her tone as her arm slipped into his. Shifting his cane into the other hand he began to walk with her along the embankment.

"Perish the thought! I am sure we can find ample warmth within my carriage, and perhaps a bit of entertainment to help chase the dreariness of the coming nightfall..." He said coyly as his free hand coming across his body to brush a strand of hair out of her face. "And I promise... we will have all measure of fun before the night has lifted."

He led her back to his carriage, where his man stood attentively waiting, eyes glancing everywhere but towards his employer. It was not the first time the young driver had awaited the return of his master with another woman in tow. Opening the carriage door he shot the young woman a knowing smile as Chester held his hand to help her into the carriage. A glower from Chester sent the young man rushing back to the front of the carriage. "Take us through the streets Reginald." Chester commanded with a rap of his cane against the worn wood ceiling of the carriage. "I do apologize for my boy's rudeness. He can be a bit uncouth at times. " Chester smiled at his statement, mischief already heavily in his eyes. Now that he had the young whore away from the prying eyes of the streets he wanted nothing more than to taste her fruits.

Grabbing her with a roughness brought upon by urgency he pulled the slightly lass into his lap. "Now let's see what we can do about warming you up and stoking my fire even hotter..." He groaned out as his hands began roughly pawing at her form.

 

[Sweet_Denna]

Had her husband seen her like this! Dressed like this, and on the arm of this man, in this part of London! Victoria – the new, the transformed Victoria – could not imagine a more delicious scene. He seemed a pleasant young gentleman, and very much decided to enjoy what life offered to a man as lucky as him.

"I am sure we can find ample warmth within my carriage, and perhaps a bit of entertainment to help chase the dreariness of the coming nightfall...And I promise... we will have all measure of fun before the night has lifted." Yes, she was sure of that. Something told her that Chester was not only a master of science.

Again, a rush of excitement sent shivers down her spine. His carriage? Only a thin wall of wood would shield them from the public; that thought pleased her. Were there many of these outrageous activities going on in the carriages of London? Never had she suspected anything like this. How very naive the former Victoria Ashbee had been! The thought now amused her.

Finally, they reached his carriage. She raised an eyebrow at the boy’s knowing grin, and smiled inwardly. So this was by far not the first time that Dr. Addersly picked up a street walker. Once inside the carriage, she folded her hands in her lap, glancing out into the falling darkness. What if this outstanding young man, this veritable hero of science had other secrets still? Dangerous, forbidden secrets? Victoria smiled. Theoretically, he could now take her wherever he wanted, and do with her whatever he pleased.

She was now completely at his mercy.

The tap against the ceiling of the carriage drew her out of her thoughts once again, and she focussed on her gracious host. "I do apologize for my boy's rudeness. He can be a bit uncouth at times." A shy blush coloured her cheeks at his words, and she nodded quietly. But the thought of the boy being a knowing party of this secret carriage ride excited her beyond all measure. Victoria wondered if his master ever let him have...a little something for himself. For his loyal services. Did Mrs. Chester Addersly know how her husband spent his evenings? How did she slake her own sexual appetite, if the man who was supposed to satisfy it spent all his energies on harlots and whores? Or was she not even aware that she had a dark side herself, much like Victoria before taking the potion? So many questions. So many unanswered riddles. Victoria suddenly felt that she needed to find the answers to all of them, each and every one.

But her thoughts were interrupted by the start of the carriage, and the sudden change of his manners. "Now let's see what we can do about warming you up and stoking my fire even hotter..."

She yelped in surprise as he pulled her roughly onto his lap, and started to grope at her breasts. “Sir...!” Victoria pretended outrage and shame, simply because she felt that he enjoyed this charade as much as she did. While she wanted nothing more than to feel his hard cock inside her, she held back. Victoria found the role she was playing deliciously arousing. Her, wife of Dr. Arthur Charles Ashbee, starring as the naive harlot: a private show for her husband’s most fierce rival alone. He still did not seem to recall that they had met before – this gave her an enjoyable little head start in this game.

The pace of the horses and the wheels of the carriage jumping over the cobblestones ground her into his lap, and she could feel his arousal against the cheeks of her backside. Now...with the young sailor, she had simply taken what she wanted, but this time, her role was to please, and to serve. Was this not what men paid for when they picked up a whore from the street? To slake appetites that were not catered to by their wives? To obey? The young woman shivered with excitement at the thought.

Unsure of how to proceed, she decided to let him lead the way. It sure looked as if Dr. Chester Addersly had quite some experience with whores; was it then not best to let him teach her? She heightened the pressure of her ass against his crotch, subtly only, almost playfully. ‘My dear Dr. Addersly’, she thought. ‘You are about to become part of a scientific experiment of outrageous proportions.’

Victoria put one hand around his neck, and leant in to whisper into his ear: “Sir, what is it you would have me do?” Her lips brushed against the skin of his neck as she spoke. “Tell me. What kind of entertainment did you have in mind?”

 

[gagonthis]

Chester let out a deep chuckle at her feigned protests over his manhandling of her form. He'd played this dance out countless times with an equally abundant number of morsels from the street. Propriety really had no place amongst those of this whore's station, but the short lived cat and mouse game of it served as a playful appetizer to the sexual meal forthcoming.

Something about this whore was different to the young doctor, though he still could not put his finger on exactly what the difference was. A touch of uncertainty flashed through his mind, quickly tossed aside as his hands continued to roughly explore her warm soft skin. Seeking his way under the thin material of her dress his hands groped at the warm flesh of her thighs, fingers roughly, but not yet painfully, pawing at her.

His other hand deftly removed the thin shawl that covered her shoulders, tossing it carelessly to the other side of the carriage, revealing her ample cleavage to his lustful eyes. He wasted no time, snaking a hand underneath her armpit, pushing down her dress slightly on one side to expose one of her breasts to the chill night air as the carriage continued its rumbling journey through the streets of London, the sound of a city ending a bustling day washing over the hidden scene within.

He grasped her nipple roughly as she wrapped her arm around his neck, the bumps along the street serving to heighten his arousal as the young whore's backside ground itself against his hardening manhood. Her lips came close to his ear and he could feel the arousal in her heavy breathing as she whispered to him. "Sir, what is it you would have me do? Tell me. What kind of entertainment did you have in mind?” Her words nearly brought a groan from the young doctors throat, but instead another deep chuckle issued forth from his mouth.

"My dear... certainly there is no need to rush into things rashly. The night is quite young and I'm sure we both have many wonderful pleasures to visit upon each other." His eyes lit up as he rolled her nipple between his fingers, his other hand exploring up between her silken thighs, brushing at the growing warmth and moistness between her legs.

Like a bolt of lightning sudden realization entered Chester's mind. Her skin was too pale, her hands too soft and well maintained for a woman who made her living walking the harsh streets of London's underbelly. She was too well groomed for being a simple whore, and suddenly the tickle of recognition in the back of Chester's mind became a full itch as he frowned behind her.

The explanation could be an easy one he supposed, perhaps she was a merchant's wife, fallen on hard times, or a higher class escort who had fallen from grace... fresh to the streets. Neither were rare stories in this town, but Chester still couldn't shake the uncanny feeling of knowing this woman from somewhere.

"I think perhaps we should acquaint ourselves a little closer my sweet.." He whipsered playfully as he wrestled her playfully into a position bent over his lap, face towards the carriage floor. His hand rubbed at the back of her thighs, pushing her dress up to expose the soft skin of her ass to him, his palm brushing over it softly.

His other free hand continued to feel her exposed breast, the weight of it resting firmly in his strong grasp as he continued to rub at her backside. Softly he whispered down to her. "Tell me your name love...."

 

[Sweet_Denna]

The evening air caressed her naked breast and she shuddered – but it was not the cold that kissed goosebumps onto her alabaster white skin. "My dear... certainly there is no need to rush into things rashly. The night is quite young and I'm sure we both have many wonderful pleasures to visit upon each other." Victoria’s heartbeat quickened at his words. The lust was so clearly discernible in his eyes! How wonderfully self-assured he was about his craving for her body! The young woman playfully brushed over his lips – his beautiful lips – with two fingers and nodded. Yes. She was sure that there were many things she could learn from him. Many pleasures that dear Dr. Addersly could visit upon her.

A bolt of electricity shot through her as he pinched her nipple, and a throaty sigh was forced from her lips as his fingers possessively explored parts of her body still hidden under her skirt. As he brushed against her moistening sex, she parted her legs just a little bit wider without being aware of such an indecent movement. Meeting his gaze, her eyes sparkling with need, her lips curled into an inviting smile. A London street whore did not have to worry about decency now, did she? Victoria had to force herself not to grab his wandering hand and hold in the place where she most desired it to be. This time, she wanted to be entirely and completely at the service of the man who would fuck her.

Her slender legs trembled in anticipation. She wondered how many whores this successful young doctor had taken like this; how many women had enjoyed the touch of his experienced hands? The thought excited her: she would only be one of many, for him just another anonymous body to relish and gain pleasure from. It was then that he stopped in his movements as if something, a thought maybe, had startled him. Victoria carefully monitored his changing behaviour – was there suspicion? Did he start to remember after all? Did Chester Addersly know…?

"I think perhaps we should acquaint ourselves a little closer my sweet…" No, he did not. While he most certainly sensed that something was not as it should been, as it probably had been with other whores whose skills he had sampled, he apparently did not yet know what it was. Victoria wondered if she did not play her role convincingly enough, if there were things she was supposed to do without him asking her for them. Maybe…but this train of thought was interrupted when he pushed her over his knee, much like one would with a disobedient child.

The young woman gasped, but found that this position was highly enjoyable. The cool evening breeze caressed her now exposed thighs as he hiked up her skirt. This time, Victoria did not wear any undergarments – what use would a whore have for them? She shivered and drew in her breath as his fingers travelled up the back of her leg, as if suggesting something. There was a playful, underlying threat in this gesture; as if he had caught her on a lie, and now intended to punish her for it. Victoria squirmed. It was not that she wanted to escape his corrections, no. The reason for her restlessness was that she could not wait to receive them.

She felt the warm air of his breath brush against her neck as he bent down to whisper in her ear.

"Tell me your name love...."

A soft moan escaped her lips. Oh, she wanted to. Victoria wanted to tell him who it was that he had bent over his knee, whose white breast he felt in his palm. The only reason that she hesitated was that she feared he might get angry, or scared, and throw her out of carriage, unsatisfied.

“Call me by a name of your choosing, doctor. I can be whomever – and whatever – you would like me to be.”

Too late she realized that she had called him by a title she had no way of knowing if she really was nothing but a street whore. Victoria smiled without him being able to see it. Now, this would spice things up a little…