A Victorian Virgin?

Just a note about this story. It is actually a piece that was cut from a novel I was writing because it got too melodramatic; after all the talking and character establishment it basically comes down to sex, which kind of doesn't fit with the rest. It is set in Victorian London in 1888, I know that it is quite verbose, this was the writing style I took on for this subject to make it contemporary to its times. I hope that somebody enjoys it.

Oh, and starts off in a Psychiatric hospital, that's why Genevieve is a little disturbed. *

Genevieve saw her husband standing in the room beside her bed. His dark hair was carefully cut and brushed back from his smooth and hairless face. His glass-green eyes seemed to glow with love when he gently brushed his large hand over her hair. She saw him unbutton his well-cut jacket and discard it on the floor, next came his waistcoat, tie and shirt. He smiled mischievously at her as he unbuckled his belt. She returned the grin, throwing back the bedcovers and slowly pulling her nightshirt off. She sat up in the bed, now naked, and watched as he unbuttoned his trousers, just as slowly as she had removed her nightshirt. She felt her heart beat like thunder in her chest as he slowly dropped his pants. Her body seemed to slicken with desire as he advanced on her, his manhood standing up proud and erect from inside his drawers.

Her hands tore at the flimsy fabric until she had it unfastened and around his ankles. For a moment she just stared at the great meaty thing, the glans red and blood-swollen, then she touched it, ever so gently, as a virgin might do. She heard William gasp heavily, so she increased the pressure, lightly squeezing and massaging the tip until she felt the organ shiver under her grip. She let him go, bent down and unlaced his shoes. She felt his hands run over her naked shoulders as she did so. He pulled her to her feet and kissed her slowly, pressing his body against hers. His erect organ prodded hotly into her stomach. Suddenly he was kissing her violently, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and biting her lips. She rocked her pelvis against his until she knew he was very close. Then she stopped and pulled away. She smiled at her husband as she lay down upon the bed and waited.

William climbed astride her. He gently licked her scarred breasts. His hands massaged her buttocks. She found herself thrusting against him, wanting to be entered. Suddenly he burst inside her tight slit. She quaked beneath him in rhapsody. His hot body fitted against hers like a lock and key. She pressed against him harder and harder until she heard herself cry out...

Genevieve Gore's eyes suddenly opened. She was alone. When she glanced down her body, she saw the mounds of her scarred breasts, one missing a nipple. She was naked. Her bedcovers were thrown back and her nightshirt was on the floor. She felt a wetness between her legs that corresponded with the hot fingers buried in her slick folds. She heard a rattle of keys outside the door. She could not be caught like this. She pulled her nightshirt quickly over her head and thrust up her hips to pull it below her buttocks. The bedcovers were quickly pulled up to her neck.

The lock clicked unlocked and the door slowly opened. Nurse Buckley, a tall, dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties stood in the doorway. "Mrs. Gore, might I warn you that there are people trying to sleep. I heard you shout and I am sure the rest of the hospital did too. What is the matter?" Her voice sounded cold and irritated.

"I'm sorry, Miss Buckley," Genevieve said. "I had a nightmare."

"Really," Nurse Buckley replied. "It did not sound like a cry of fear to me." She strode across the room to Genevieve's bed and jerked back the bedclothes. She saw that Genevieve was wearing her nightshirt and that it was pulled down respectably. The patient herself smelt like lust, Buckley thought. She pulled up Genevieve's nightshirt and ran one cold finger between the other woman's legs. She felt the hot wetness of self-abuse and she saw the pubic region was enflamed, a small red nub pushing from between the patient's hairy lips. It gave the nurse no pleasure to touch another woman like this. Indeed, it made her feel like vomiting, especially when Genevieve gasped and whimpered, trembling like she was enjoying it.

She extracted her finger in distaste then slapped Genevieve across the face. "Dirty, disgusting, evil woman," Buckley hissed.

Nurse Buckley then leant over the patient and reached for the restraints attached to all of the patient's bed heads. They were nothing but strips of rough fabric, but they were more useful than rope, which could not be tied tightly enough, in Buckley's experience. "Put your hands above your head." The patient complied and Buckley fixed her wrists firmly to the bedstead. The nurse made sure the bonds were so firm that the fabric cut into the skin. The pain would teach the patient a lesson.

"Now lie there and think about what you've done. Keep your legs separated or I'll tie them apart. I'll be by in the morning to remove the bonds. Dr. Hawke will hear of this." Nurse Buckley regarded her patient with interest. She always liked to see them helpless like this. It gave her a feeling of power. As an extra punishment, she turned off the gas-lamps in Genevieve's room, leaving her victim tied to her bed in the dark.

Genevieve felt the darkness descend upon her. Her heart beat with terror. She imagined she saw the man standing beside her bed. His white skin seemed to glow, like the undead from Genevieve's stories. He was born of darkness, he lived in darkness and he waited for her in the darkness. There was always blood spattered across his face and clothing. She smelt it now as he ran a vicious hand over her breasts. She could not get away. She could not make a sound; he had stolen her voice from her throat and now held it in his cold fingers. He laughed at her as she struggled against her bonds. He buried his hands deep into her breasts until she tried to cry with pain, but not a sound came. His teeth clamped to the side of her neck, razoring through her skin.

She tried to struggle but her arms were firmly adhered to the iron bedstead. The skin of her wrists ripped and tore beneath the rough fabric as she frantically fought to release herself. The creature of darkness, with blood dribbling down his chin, watched and laughed. He leant forwards to touch her. She thrashed wildly to get away, her skin shredding like wet newsprint against her bonds. The man only gripped her face in his clawed hands and held her until his lips touched hers. His kiss tasted of her own blood. She bit his tongue in terror as it slid into her mouth and nearly vomited at the flavor of his foul blood.

The creature howled in pain as he hastily extracted the organ. His great fists came thumping down across her face and body. Genevieve strained to escape him but it was impossible, her bonds held her at his mercy. Even though she knew it to be an empty mission, she continued to writhe. She strained herself upwards by thrusting down on the bed with her feet and nearly dislocated her shoulder in doing so. She did not care about the warning jolts of pain that ran down her left arm, all she concentrated upon was freeing herself. She brought her mouth up to her skinned right wrist and gripped the fabric in her teeth, scissoring her molars along the bond. It was to no avail; the man gripped her by the hair and smacked her against the bed head. With a rush of acute pain, she felt the fibers holding her shoulder strain to breaking point and seem to rip.

Tears of agony flooded from Genevieve's eyes as the man climbed astride her, his huge, pointed erection stabbing between her breasts. She tried for a second time to bite through her restraints only to feel her teeth bite into her bloody flesh. It was energetically expensive to keep her mouth against her bonds, requiring the muscle groups of her abdomen and back, her shoulders and breasts, even her neck, to strain and contract, but she fought on oblivious to the dizziness and the pain. She was only aware of the darkness sitting on her pelvis running his hands over her breasts and stomach. She had to escape him, regardless of what damage she did to herself, because remaining with him was infinitely worse.

Genevieve's blood was pounding like the hoof-beats of a thousand horses in her temples. Her breathing was becoming increasing fast and shallow. A cold sweat dripped from every part of her body, especially across her aching forehead, down her straining back and between her breasts. She felt herself slipping out of consciousness with every spasm of her muscles. She was going into the dark realm again. This time she was not sure she would be able to escape.

*

Victoria Buckley sat at the ward-desk for patients forty through to fifty. There were five such desks in Doctor Hawke's Psychiatric Clinic, one for every nine patients. One nurse by night and two nurses by day administered each ward. The wards were a hallway with ten doors off them and a door at either end that was unlocked by day but locked by night. There a rapid turnover in the hospital, generally the gentile ladies that arrived suffering from hysteria or melancholy stayed for less than two weeks.

Nurse Buckley counted herself lucky, she only had five patients to watch over, instead of the normal ten; not that they gave her much trouble, except patient forty-six, Genevieve Gore. The woman was a menace to society. She should have hung eight years earlier for her crimes.

Victoria Buckley had been on duty for four hours, since midnight. She was tired and longed to go up to her bedroom and sleep. As it was, she seemed to keep nodding off as she sat knitting, so that she dropped stitches and lost her place. The knitting was for her nephew, a nice bonny blue jersey for a bonny wee boy. Victoria had no children of her own to knit for; she was unmarried and unattached, forced to work to support herself. The salary she received from Dr Hawke was better than most and she hoped to remain employed there until she got herself a husband.

She was a pretty girl. Her own high standards had prevented earlier marriages. She hoped to make an advantageous match to a man with sufficient funds to support her for life. She would never have to work again. She would be able to keep up with the fashions and not wear the same boring clothing day-in, day-out. Her children would have a good name and would be educated by the best teachers. So far, she had not ensnared Mr. Right, although the bank teller she was courting seemed promising.

Victoria's time was running out. She was twenty-five years of age, too old by most standards to be unmarried. She might be pretty now, with her blue eyes and dark hair, but in a few years she would lose those looks. Much to her dismay, she had already found several white hairs in her black tresses. Her mother had been completely white before thirty. She knew that she needed to find a husband very quickly.

In her opinion, her looks were her only bargaining power. She had little money. She was intelligent, but men did not want wives that were smarter than they were. The sands of the hourglass had nearly run through, leaving only a few grains of time to remain.

Maybe men would like Nurse Buckley better if she were a little more compromising. If she had shown them some warmth, mayhap, she would have a husband now. If she had been ever so slightly more accommodating to affection, somebody might have loved her. Instead, she flinched under a kiss on the forehead, and was disgusted if a man even tried to touch her lips with his. She could not remember a relationship that had gone past a chaste kiss upon the lips. She liked her bank assistant because he never tried to touch her; it seemed that he too was scared of such behavior.

It was four in the morning. Victoria was still knitting intently. Handcrafts were the only thing that would keep her awake on nights like this. As it was, she was very tired. Genevieve Gore had kept her awake the night before with her crying and wailing. Tonight it was ever so much worse.

The solitary vice. What a dirty, evil woman that Gore woman was. Her every action seemed immoral and tainted all those around her. Dr Hawke would not hear a word that the nurses told him about that woman. He was infatuated with her. Maybe he would change his mind after tonight.

Disgraceful, unclean strumpet, polluter of everything kind and good. Things had been so much better before she had arrived. She had stolen the good Doctor's soul, so that his every action was beneficial to her. She alone was allowed art-equipment in her room. She alone went for walks in the gardens and ate dinner with the Doctor. Victoria Buckley hated to think what Mrs. Gore did to him in that time. Her imagination was hardly vast; she would have been shocked if the Doctor had touched his patient's knee.

At four thirty, Nurse Buckley rose from her desk and walked along the ward to check her patients. She was very much aware of sound at this time, mainly because it had been so quiet before she got up. The stout heel of her boots seemed to clatter across the wooden floorboards like the horse's hooves on cobblestones. The whisper of her skirt around her ankles sounded to her like the roar of a waterfall. The keys on her belt jangled like a miner's pickaxe against metal. Even her breathing seemed excessively loud and rasped. She stopped outside door forty and drew aside the bolt that covered a small window in the door. Patient forty was lying on her bed, asleep. Victoria could see her sheets rising and falling with breath.

Nurse Buckley gently slotted the bolt back across the window. She walked on, checking patients forty-one to forty-four. All was well. She bypassed room forty-five, which was unoccupied, and moved on to patient forty-six, Genevieve Gore.

Mrs. Gore was not in her bed. Where was she? Victoria knew that she had firmly restrained the patient. How could she possibly have left the bed? Victoria felt a shiver run over her body. This was an act of evil; it had to be. Praying to the heavens, Nurse Buckley hurriedly unlocked the door. It was dark within. She heard something move and her heart jolted in her chest.

"Mrs. Gore?" Victoria asked in a shaky voice. "Mrs. Gore, where are you?"

She heard a stifled cry and suddenly she knew where Genevieve was. Her fear left her. Quickly she turned up the gas-lamps.

Genevieve sat crouched in a fetal position underneath the un-curtained window. Her hair hung, knotted and tangled, around her bloodied face. Nurse Buckley saw that her eyes were red-rimmed and saturated with tears. Streams of dried blood ran from her nostrils across the lower part of her face. Her lips were split and torn. Most horrific of all, in Buckley's opinion, were the meaty, tattered wrists that held her shaking knees. The patient had fought, squirmed and bitten to remove her bonds, all without a sound.

"Get up," Victoria Buckley told patient forty-six.

Genevieve's face read incomprehension. Her dark eyes seemed to stare right through the nurse to the wall behind. She made no movement to get up.

"Get up," Nurse Buckley said more aggressively. This time, when the patient did not move, she grabbed her by the shoulders. A scream of pain escaped Genevieve's lips. When Nurse Buckley released her grip, Genevieve stopped making the noise.

"I see what you're trying to do," the Nurse hissed. "You want to get me in trouble. You think that by screaming and mutilating yourself, the Doctor will have my pelt. Well, you've got another think coming. Get up, or I will go and find the doctor that is on duty and he will deal with you. Dr Hawke will hear about your behavior in the morning."

The patient neither moved nor spoke. Her eyes continued to focus on or beyond Nurse Buckley's darkly skirted thighs.

"I will count down from three, if you do not get up in that time I will fetch the duty doctor." Victoria Buckley surveyed the pale, bloody face of Genevieve Gore. Her patient's eyes were dull and incomprehensive of a word she had said. They did not flicker from their focus on her skirt. What a brilliant actress that odious Mrs. Gore was; not only had she been able to convince a jury that she was insane but also Doctor Hawke. Now here she was pretending to be unresponsive.

"Three..." Genevieve Gore did not even flinch.

"Two..." Still no movement from her patient.

"One..." Genevieve Gore remained in place.

"Very well," Victoria Buckley snapped. "I will go and fetch the duty doctor." She turned on her heel and swept from the room, locking the door quickly behind her. This time, when she traveled down the hallway, she did not care what sound her clattering boots made. She strode to the door to the "ward" of rooms thirty to thirty-nine. She unlocked the door hastily, not minding the harsh jangling of her metal keys.

Nurse Patricia Ramsey looked up in alarm as the tall, slim form of Nurse Buckley entered her ward. Buckley's usually pale face was flushed with anger, her high cheekbones enflamed as if by rouge. A heavy frown caused her thin eyebrows to meet above her bitter blue eyes. Her cleft chin was thrust forwards aggressively, echoing the proud point of her nose. The full, chiseled lips that never smiled were pursed in indignation.

"What's happened?" Patricia asked. She was a buxom girl in her early twenties. Her hair was a coppery brown, curled like an unruly growth of ivy about her chubby face. As she spoke, one became aware that she had a slight speech impediment that caused her s's to whistle through a gap in her upper front teeth. It had always irritated Victoria Buckley.

Nurse Buckley did not have time to go through the history of the last few minutes. She said sharply, "Where's the duty doctor?" Patricia's brown eyes seemed to boggle at the question. "Come on, I haven't got all night, Miss Ramsey."

Of all the nurses Patricia worked with, Nurse Buckley was the only that did not use a fellow nurse's first name when speaking in private. She was also the one that Patricia disliked the most; even the aged and widowed nurses were not so priggish. Indeed, Patricia took pleasure in telling her, "There ain't one tonight."

Ignoring Patricia's underbred language was difficult, but knowing that she needed immediate medical help to show that dirty, false patient in room forty-six who was boss, drove Victoria Buckley to ignore it. "What do you mean there isn't one tonight? Dr Kerry should be here, or failing that Dr Edwardson. And there are always the interns; I don't know what their names are."

"Doctor Kerry's got a bad cold and Doctor Edwardson, well his wife's mother recently passed on. But yeah, now that you suggest it, there is a couple of interns sleeping in the spare rooms in ward twenty, twenty-nine. One of them's Dr Hawke's nephew and they say the other one wants to marry his daughter." If Victoria Buckley had had any interest in gossip, or conversed a little more frequently with her fellow nurses, she would have known these things. She would have also known that the nurses generally gave the interns a wide berth because both liked to grope a handful of arse or tit. As it was, she was completely in the dark about such matters. One of the reasons she preferred night duties to daytime duties was that lack of contact between herself and the other nurses. She had no interest in what she saw as idle conversation and ill-bred language.

Victoria Buckley swallowed her pride once again. Rather than reprimand her fellow nurse for her poor language, she said, "There's a woman in room forty-six. She has made a horrible mess of herself. Go and sit with her whilst I go and find these doctors." As an after-thought she added, "Please, Miss Ramsey. Your patients should all be fine whilst you're gone and I will only be gone a few minutes."