A Victorian Dalliance

The Curious Tale of a Victorian Dalliance

Alexi stretched out on the couch next to me as I pecked on my laptop. "What are you working on now, Gordon? Researching the light-bulb kings of 1930s France?" Alexi is a novelist; I write obscure academic texts. She's always making fun of that, but it pays the bills.

"Very funny. No, you're always telling me to try my hand at fiction, so I'm having a go at a little short story."

"Really? Let me see," she said, crawling over to look at my screen.

I made a show of pulling the screen away from her view. "It might be offensive to your delicate sensibilities."

"Yah, right. Give it," she said, pulling the laptop around so she could read. A few awkward minutes later: "Oh, my. We are branching out."

"Victorian erotica. Some people are really into this stuff."

"There is this theory that sexual excitement is heightened by repression, and they certainly had that, although not as much as the stereotype. In fact, they were as randy as anyone. However," she said as she kept scanning the screen, "I think you're going off the rails here."

"What? How?"

"Well, if you're going to have the lady of the house boffed by someone other than her husband, in her own house, she's not going to strip down to her birthday suit. Nor would the man. Do you know how long it took them to dress? And the upper class women wore those corsets. Can't get back in those things easily without a servant. On the brighter side, the whipping part is good. They're really into spankings and whippings, like with riding crops. Bondage, humiliation, all that stuff." She paused. "Or so I've heard."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Go on."

"I have a friend, Amy, who's into Victorian stuff. She might be able to help you with this. Would it be worth a few hundred?"

"I guess so, but she's going to charge a few hundred to talk to me about it?"

"Well, it involves more than talk."

"You interest me strangely, young lady."

"That's the spirit. Here," she said, getting her cell phone and pulling up a name and number. "Call Amy this afternoon. Not before two. I need to call ahead; she doesn't do this stuff for everyone. Well, let me go, dear. I need to get back to my own place. I can't write around here with you distracting me with these dirty stories."

"Don't you want to stay for lunch? You can call her from here."

"Ah. Anxious are we? No worries; she'll be ready for your call at two." She kissed me on the cheek and got up from the couch.

***

I placed the call and talked to Amy that afternoon. I wasn't sure what Alexi had set up, or really what it was all about, so it was a fumbling, awkward sort of conversation:

"I'm Alexi's friend. She called you?"

"Hi, Gordon! Yes she did." She had this matronly, vicar's-wife sort of voice, with an English accent. I swallowed hard before continuing.

"And you can help with my - research?"

"Sure. She told me what it was about. A bit different than our usual fare. We're a bed and breakfast, done up in a bit of a victorian look. But no one will be around tomorrow afternoon. So come on by at two o'clock and I can show you around."

And with that, I had made arrangements. To do what?

***

The following morning, a messenger arrived with a suit of clothes, a bowler hat, and some shoes. It looked like something Sigmund Freud would wear. A note was attached: "Wear this to Amy's. Hopefully I've got your size right. - Alex" A thrill ran through me - apparently there was indeed going to be more to this than a lecture. I began to cast myself as the "hero" of my short story - a bit of a cad who liked to deflower young wives in the parlour, having first punished them for their evil thoughts with a riding crop.

The costume did indeed fit, which was good - if there's anything worse than taking the Metro wearing a costume, it might be taking the Metro wearing an ill-fitting costume. I got a few strange looks, but most people assumed I was doing something related to the many museums and exhibits we have going on in DC at all times. I signed an autograph for one young tourist. - C. Jung.

When I arrived at the place, Amy greeted me at the door. She was wearing a victorian dress, and I immediately saw Alex's point - it would take a long time to get in and out of that completely. "Mr. Wainwright," she said, "I am Mrs. Joseph Browning. Your friend Miss Morgan referred to me as Amy, but as you are here to learn Victorian traditions I trust you will refer to me as 'Mrs. Browning.'"

I tipped my hat to her. "Absolutely, Mrs. Browning." Amy was a bit older than I, and quite attractive, what little I could see of her. The dress made her waist look impossibly small. Her breasts were full. What she might look like below the waist I had no clue, as the skirt was floor-length and flared out immensely. She smiled at me strangely. Had I looked at her chest a bit too long? Alex was always chiding me about that.

Amy took my hat and hung it up on a rack in the foyer. My heart leaped into my throat as I noticed the assortment of riding crops framed and mounted under glass over a couch, but she said nothing about it. She gave me a tour of the place, with its sparse, dark, hard-looking wooden furniture, on the one hand, and fancy, ornate upholstered pieces on the other. She chatted lightly, but in that archaic English dialect with which she met me at the door, as we went through the house. The initial excitement gave way to a general feeling of oppression and nervousness. The place reminded me of my maiden great-aunt's house when I was a child (hardly an erotic thought), and Amy's introduction as "Mrs. Joseph Browning" gave me pause. Was this part of the act? Was there really a "Mr. Browning," and if so was he aware of any special "tours" that "Mrs. Browning" was doing?

I kept waiting for any hint or sign that Amy was going to lead up to the special topic that I was interested in, but the nearest she came to that was giving me a very demure peek at the very bottom of her floor-length underskirts, along with a rather academic lecture about some of the layers there were to her clothing. It was far from being presented as a come-on. Any National Parks docent might have done the same thing, in the same manner.

We arrived at one of the bedrooms, and I thought this might be a good place to broach the subject. I decided to approach it gingerly, in case I had misunderstood what was intended as part of this "tour," or worse, fallen victim to one of Alex's pranks. "Tell me, Mrs. Browning - how did men and women socialize in those days? I hear so much about how regimented everything was; how did they, well, date?"

She let out a little laugh. "Well, Mr. Wainwright, I don't know what you've heard, but it was indeed very regimented, very controlled. If I were your landlady or hostess I might show you to a room, as I am doing now, very briefly, but you will notice the door has been kept open, and we would not be able to stay here very long without exciting remark. Of course, we live in modern times, so I am not telling you that we must leave immediately in actual fact, but those were the values of the time. Unmarried young ladies and gentlemen were not permitted to court without chaperones, and married ladies and gentlemen socialized under very controlled circumstances - either very publicly, or segregated by sex. Ah, here is Mr. Browning," she nodded as a man entered the room wearing modern dress clothes. "Mr. Wainwright, this is Mr. Browning, my husband. Dear, this is Mr. Gordon Wainwright. He's here doing some research about Victorian customs."

"I see," Joseph said, shaking my hand. "I'm sorry I'm not in the correct attire," he said, giving every indication he was not sorry at all. "I'm an attorney, and I'm afraid I have an appointment to keep. But you're in good hands with my wife."

I thought perhaps we were gaining a little ground in the sexual tension department, but on the other hand I was a bit squicked out by the fact that she really did have a husband, who didn't necessarily seem to be aware of what all these "tours" might entail. At any rate, Amy was now moving me out of the bedroom and down the hall. "Ah, here is the parlour. Ladies and Gentlemen would take tea and other refreshments in a room such as this." As we entered the room: "I'm afraid I was mistaken when I spoke to you on the telephone yesterday, Mr. Wainwright; I do have another visitor in the house this afternoon. I believe you are aquainted with Miss Morgan?"

"Indeed," I said, taking Alexi's gloved hand and kissing it. "How do you do, Miss Morgan?"

"Wonderfully, Mr. Wainwright. I trust you are well?"

Alexi was indeed a sight for sore eyes. I've seen her in several states of dress and undress, but the costume she was wearing, which showed only her face and a tantalizing glimpse of wrist and hands, made her breasts look huge, especially compared to her waist. She was naturally slender, but her waist seemed especially narrow now. She also looked a little pale and drawn.

"I will be bringing tea up momentarily," Amy announced, and with that we were alone.

"Alex? Wow, you look incredible, what little I can see of you."

"I'm glad, because I'm suffocating with this corset on. However, Mr. Wainwright, the more we remain in role, the more beneficial it will be to your research."

"Indeed. Well, your presence here gives me some indication of how my research might be furthered. I was somewhat confused about Mrs. Browning's role in it."

"Mr. Wainwright, you are funny. Did you think she was some kind of lady of the evening? I should have told you more about my plans."

"And what are your plans, Miss Morgan?"

"Well," she said, putting one gloved finger between her teeth coquettishly, "I've been rather plagued by evil thoughts about you..." Just then, we heard Amy's hard-soled shoes trod down the hallway.

"Ah, here we are," Amy said, placing a tray on the marble-topped table with a teapot, some cups and saucers, and a few small sandwichs and cookies. We drank tea, and ate, and made small talk as if we were in a Jane Austen novel. Alexi gave me amused looks; she knew the act was beginning to wear thin with me.

"Now, Mr. Wainwright," Amy said as tea-time wound to a close. "Miss Morgan has been up to some mischief, and has been very bad. What do you propose can be done? She is in your power."

"I suppose that depends on what sort of mischief she has been up to."

"It involves the under-gardener."

"Ah. What has he done?"

"I found her earlier this morning with him, and her blouse was most disheveled. Show Mr. Wainwright how your blouse was arranged."

"But surely, Mrs. Browning, you can't expect me to do that!" Alexi cried.

"You did it for the under-gardener."

Alex gave me a pained expression but began to unbutton her blouse - a lengthy undertaking since there seemed to be a tiny button every half-inch down her neckline. Underneath was a bra which restrained her breasts with more fabric, seams, and lace than some of her normal dresses.

"And was that the extent of your shamefulness?"

"No, Mrs. Browning."

"Did you not also have your undergarments disarrayed? Like this?" Amy went over and pushed aside Alex's bra, revealing her breasts, the nipples hardening almost instantly, the breasts pushed up. After she had done so she stood back. "What do you think, Mr. Wainwright? What should be done with her?"

"What do you suggest?"

"Spare the rod, spoil the child, I always say," Amy said, pressing a riding crop into my hand.

"No!" Alex protested. "Not the riding crop!"

"But where will she feel it?" I asked, flicking her left nipple with it, then her right, very gently. "Her backside is covered with so many skirts."

"That can be remedied," Amy said. "Over that chair, you wanton girl!"

Alex complied with a show of regret, but the way she squirmed her hips on the back of the chair belied her true feelings. Amy picked up layers of skirts, finally revealing thigh-high stockings, a long set of knickers and, higher up, the secret of her narrower waist - the bottom of a tightly laced leather corset.

I flicked the riding crop on her bottom with the knickers still on, but Amy protested. "She will feel nothing unless you lash the skin. Come, I will hold her down." I looked in the mirror and saw Alex's breasts, still pulled free of her bra and other restraints, swinging freely over the table as Amy stretched her hands toward her. I lowered her knickers, revealing an incongrous bare bottom: anus and pussy surrounded by yards of various fabrics.

I caressed between her legs with the riding crop, then gave a couple of little slaps to her cunt, which made her jump with surprise. "Dallying with the gardener, aye?" I asked, surprised by my own ferocity. I switched quickly to swatting her ass, afraid of getting carried away and really hurting her. She squirmed, wriggling her bottom as I began to slap it, reddening it with the crop.

"Mr. Wainwright, you appear to be increasingly tumescent," Amy said. I looked at her, a bit dazed.

"She means you've got a hard-on," Alex translated, still wriggling her ass as I took a break to ponder Amy's meaning.

"Miss Morgan might be taught, thereby, the dangers to ladies who lead young men down roads they dare not trod."

The logic was suspect, but I freed my tumescense from the rather confining trousers nevertheless. I stroked Alex's pussy with my finger. It was sopping wet. As I began to push my cock slowly into that warm, wet orifice, Amy said "Mr. Wainwright, surely we must hope that channel has as of yet been kept pure for her future husband."

I saw her point, even though I had experience to the contrary. The answer was right in front of me. I picked up some moisture from her channel, and began to probe her anus gently with a finger. "Mr. Wainwright, please don't invade my dignity in this way," Alex whimpered. I carried on, remorselessly, and her whimpering began to turn to sighs. I kept on, scooping up the juices and working a couple of fingers further and further in. Then I began to invade her dignity in another, more satisfying way, feeding that tumescent tip into her tight, slippery asshole, running my hands along her buttocks, and the exposed parts of her corset as I did so. I felt the laces and the warm leather - the feel contrasted with her soft skin, warmed and reddened by the riding crop. As Amy looked on in rapt fascination, we began to hump. Alex succeeded in pulling a hand away from Amy, and she began to frig herself as I pushed further and further into her, still stroking her bottom. Alex has had some good and bad anal experiences, so I kept going slowly until she started moaning and begging "faster, faster!", all pretenses now gone as she surrendered to an orgasm.

Surprisingly soon, I began to feel that tingling sensation in my balls that meant I was about to come. I came in her ass, both of us thrashing back and forth. I pulled out and there was nothing to wipe with - Amy was too dazed by what she was seeing, which might have gone a bit further than she intended, to pay attention to her duties as a hostess. I finally found a cloth napkin and, hoping I wasn't staining it irreprably, cleaned myself up enough to stuff my cock back in my pants as come dribbled down between Alex's legs. I wiped it away before it got to the stockings, which were presumably borrowed from Amy along with the rest of the outfit.

"Thank you, sir," Alex said, and began to pull her outfit back together. She was right; it didn't take her too long to pull up her knickers and rearrange her bra and blouse, but getting completely dressed would have taken a while. I went to the bathroom to wash my hands, avoiding eye contact with Amy.

I found them again in the hallway where I had entered. "I trust this has been an educational experience, Mr. Wainwright?" Amy asked.

"Indeed it has, Mrs. Browning," I replied, taking my bowler hat from her and tipping it.

"That'll be two hundred dollars," she said, suddenly sounding like Georgetown New Money. Once I gave it to her she closed the door behind her, leaving us on the outside steps.

"May I escort you to the train?" I asked, offering my arm to Alex.

She took it and we began to walk to the Metro. "Mr. Wainwright, having deflowered me in the most provocative fashion, the least you could do is offer me dinner."

"Certainly. May I call on you at 8?"

"I'll check with my girlfriend, but yeah, plan on it."

***

I arrived at her apartment later that evening, wearing my best wool slacks and an oxford shirt. Alex opened the door. Her favorite perfume wafted out, and I looked her over - she was wearing a black suit with a knee-length skirt and a silk blouse underneath. Her long brown hair was curled. "Well, that deserves a rose," I said, holding out the one I was carrying.

"You're not going romantic on me after all this time, Gordo?" she said with a quizzical look, ushering me in.

"Not hardly. Is Marie in?"

"She's back there puttering around. I think she's going somewhere soon," she said, sniffing the rose.

We wound up on the leather couch. Alex tucked in close to me. "So, how was Victorian anal sex for you?" she asked.

"Interesting, but a bit confining. It doesn't lend itself to the slow boil," I said, stroking her leg.

"I think all of Victorian life was a slow boil. You got to your moment of crisis quickly enough," she said, turning around and leaning back on me.

"Here, let me take this jacket off of you. I don't want to drool on it." Having accomplished this, I let her settle back, my hand stroking her silken midriff and eventually finding its way up to one of her breasts. "This is a lot less bra than you were wearing earlier."

"Yes, thank God."

"What are you two up to? I can't leave you alone for a minute," Marie exclaimed, reaching down and tilting my head up. "Hi Gordon," she said, just before kissing me on the mouth. I reached up to her, and the three of us were an awkward tangle for a moment, Marie kneeling by the side of the couch. I put my arm on the small of her muscular back, feeling the muscles ripple through the black t-shirt she was wearing with leather pants. Marie leaned over and started kissing Alex. Alex ran her fingers through Marie's short blonde hair. They kissed like that for a while, then Marie broke it off.

"Have her back by midnight, Gordon," Marie said, straightening up.

"Where are you off to?" Alex asked.

"Off to some clubs. I'll be back, all hot and bothered. Gordon, don't get her too sore for me." The apartment door closed and locked.

"Where were we?"

"I was admiring your bra."

"Ah. Do you like the way it feels?"

"I like how I feel the nipples through it."

"I like how you're feeling my nipples too." Alex leaned back and started kissing my chin and neck.

After a while of this: "Don't you want to take that skirt off before it gets wrinkled?"

"Certainly. And perhaps my panties before they get soaked." Having done this, she stood before me, down to the blouse and bra. She placed the panties on my face.

"Too late for the panties, I'd say," savoring the smell before putting them aside.

"I have another matching pair. It's important that they match the bra, you see."

"I see," I leaned forward and worked my way into position to lick her clit. After a bit of this her legs began to sag.

"I see dinner is going to be a bit later, if it's not just a ruse. Let's go to my bed and be comfortable." We shed clothes on the way to her bedroom and found ourselves in the bed she shared with Marie, naked as the day we were born. "A little 69 action first, or straight to the penis in the vagina thing? I could go either way."

I turned around over her and straddled her face. As I began to suck on her labial lips, her tongue darted around the head of my penis, eventually pulling it into her mouth and sucking on it. She alternated between doing this and sucking my balls, which began to tighten. I put a hand back toward her breasts and found a nipple. When I began to twist it gently, she moaned softly and increased the pace, taking my cock further into her warm, wet mouth.