Indecent: 15 Erotic Victorian Romance Story Box Set (13 page)

Kiss
Me

Chapter 1

Clara looked around her as she was
wheeled into the observation room. Three rows of ranked seats looked down at
her, each of them holding a stern looking man, not a single one of them
smiling. She felt more intimidated than ever. “Gentleman,” Doctor Franklin
announced as he brought her chair to a halt. “I give you my newest patient.”

Several of the men stood up, craning over the balcony for a
better look at her. “She does not need your treatment!” a voice shouted from
the back of the room. Clara looked up as a man was forced out of the room,
still shouting even as the door closed behind him. Doctor Franklin held his
hands in the air to quiet the murmurs which had begun to grow.

“It seems as if one person isn’t interested in the science
of progress,” he said.

A ripple of laughter spread through the room.

“I apologise for the interruption. Shall we begin?” Nodding
to an attendant, he stood back as Clara was wheeled into the centre of the
room. “This is Clara Bennett, aged nineteen and quite, quite mad. Childhood
routine, education minimal, parents dead. Caught naked in the street crying for
“papa,” and attempting sexual congress with all and sundry. Brought to the
asylum not long ago and has proved extraordinarily resistant to treatment. She
insists she is an infant who should not be held here. Observe the cranial
features, indicative as they are of a criminal nature. Gentlemen, I propose to
make her well again.”

“Huzzah!” shouted a number of the observing doctors.

Clara stood up, bristling. “I want my bottle!” she whined.
“Where’s my bottle?”

“You see the clear sign of mania,” Doctor Franklin said,
pointing towards her. “She believes herself to be a child, despite multiple
attempts to dissuade her of that belief. How did she come to be this way? Allow
me to explain.”

A month before, Clara had left the workhouse with the dress
on her back and sixpence in her pocket. It had been the most terrifying day of
her life. The workhouse was all she’d known for years. She had no memory of her
parents, being informed by the Beadle that they had both died before she was
born. She knew no love, no care, no compassion. She knew only drudgery and
continual hunger. Despite that there was a sparkle in her eye as she walked
through the streets, a spark that even the most ardent efforts of the English
Poor Laws had been unable to extinguish. It was the spark of hope.

“Any work going?” she asked at the first factory she came
across.

“Experience?” the foreman replied, not bothering to look up
from an enormous ledger.

“None sir but I’m a fast learner.”

He’d merely shaken his head and sent her on her way. She’d
spent the rest of the day trying and failing to find employment, ending it
sitting on a bench as the sun set and her stomach growled with hunger. She
refused to spend the sixpence on food, not knowing how long it needed to last.
Sighing deeply, she looked across at a couple arm in arm, silhouetted against
the dying light.

“You look lost my dear,” a voice said.

Clara looked to her left to see a tall man had sat beside
her on the bench. “Perhaps I am,” she replied.

“Where have you come from?”

“The workhouse sir.”

An expression crossed his face, one she didn’t understand.
“You seek employment? Lodgings?”

“I do sir.”

“I could provide you with both if you’re a hard worker.”

She straightened up on the bench. The spark in her eyes
glowing brightly. “I am sir.”

“Excellent. Would you like to walk with me a while?”

He stood up and held out his hand. Clara took it and
together they walked out of the park. “What line of work are you in?” she
asked.

“It is a delightful evening isn’t it?” he replied. “The city
comes to life at night don’t you think?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know. It is my first night out of the
workhouse.”

“A blot on the reputation of our good country. Every
criminal I know came from the workhouse.”

Clara frowned.

“I’m not for a moment suggesting you are of the criminal
bent my dear. Merely that I wish we lived in a more enlightened age. One which
supported the poor, helped them to help themselves.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“Excellent. I think we’ll get on famously. I’m Edward
Cockburn by the way.”

“Clara Bennett.”

“Well it is a pleasure to meet you Miss Bennett.” He turned
from the main thoroughfare down a smaller, darker street, the buildings sloping
towards each other as if trying to meet above their heads. As they headed
around one corner and then another, Cockburn asked Clara many questions,
seeming most interested in the fact she had no family or friends. Finally he
stopped by a door and pulled out a key.

“Is this where you work?” Clara asked, glancing around at
the figures in the shadows around them, a slight unease building in her mind.

“In a manner of speaking. After you my dear.”

She walked into a pitch black hallway as a candle flared
behind her. The flickering light was enough to make out a frayed carpet and
crumbling plaster walls. She turned to find Cockburn blocking the doorway.
“That way,” he said, pointing past her.

Clara took slow steps forwards, becoming increasingly
uncomfortable as she turned a corner and found an open doorway waiting for her.
“I think I should go,” she said, stopping at the threshold.

“Nonsense. You’ve only just arrived. In there lies your
future prosperity.”

“I thank you for your kind offer but my family will be
wondering where I am. I should return home.”

“Your family? Your attempt at deceit would be insulting if
it weren’t so amusing.” His voice grew colder. “Inside that room, now.”

He took a bold step towards her and she fell back. A moment
later she was in the room and the door was locked, Cockburn turning to her and
blowing out the candle.

Chapter 2

Clara burst out into the street, ignoring the booming voice
behind her. She didn’t stop until the voice and the house were far behind her.
She finally slumped against a wall, panting hard and trying to stop her hands
from trembling.

A tear ran down her cheek as she ran over what had just
happened. He’d attacked her in the darkness and she’d barely escaped with her
life, slamming her shoulder into the locked room door with enough force to send
it flying from its hinges. The house had been a maze and in the darkness she’d
stumbled her way up one flight of stairs after another, all the while with
Cockburn pounding after her, yelling the most obscene insults.

Finally she’d reached an attic and there was nowhere left to
run. Turning she saw him standing in the doorway, candle in one hand, knife in
the other. “Where are you going my dear? We have much work to do if you are to
earn the wage you deserve.”

He took a step towards her and she froze, making a lightning
quick decision as terror filled her mind. “I would like to earn a wage,” she
replied, ignoring her instincts and walking slowly towards him. “How best could
I please you?”

“That’s more like it,” he’d replied before leading her back
downstairs into a gaslit room. Inside was a four poster bed. “That’s how my
employees earn their keep.”

She perched on the edge of the bed and beckoned him over.
“This seems a suitable workplace,” she said quietly.

He leaned down towards her and she let him kiss her, her
skin crawling as he stared hungrily into her eyes. As his tongue slid into her
mouth she brought her knee up hard between his legs. He’d fallen to the floor,
gasping for breath, the knife gone from his hand, the candle on its side. In an
instant she was up and running past him, pelting along the hallway and out of
the front door into the street as he roared after her.

She didn’t sleep that night and by sunrise she was
exhausted, walking the entire time and always glancing over her shoulder in
expectation that he would find her. Finally she sank into the doorway of a
church just as it opened and a clergyman stepped out.

“Good morning my child,” he said. “Are you quite well?”

“Oh father,” she replied, bursting into tears and unable to
say another word.

He led her into the church and sat her on a pew, leaving her
for a moment and returning with a blanket which he wrapped around her
shoulders. “Are you all right?” he asked, his face a picture of concern.

She shook her head, still sobbing.

“I think I recognise you,” he said quietly, sitting beside
her and taking her hand in his. “Are you one of the workhouse orphans?”

“Not anymore,” she replied, jerking the words out between
hitching breaths.

“Cast out into the wilderness,” he said to himself. “As are
so many in this wicked world. I believe I can help you. Wait here. I shall not
be long.”

Clara sat in silence until he returned a few minutes later,
accompanied by a middle aged woman wearing black dress and veil.

“Your name my dear?” the woman asked.

“Clara Bennett miss.”

“Father Thompson informs you are a governess. Is that
correct?”

Behind her the clergyman nodded vehemently. Clara
understood.

“Yes miss.”

“As he recommends you so highly I shall not ask for
references. If you so desire, you can journey with me to meet your potential
charge.”

“I…I would be honoured miss.”

“It’s Mrs actually. I am a widow but I keep my husband’s
name as I keep his memory, in my heart and on my lips for all time. You should
call me Mrs Thaw.”

“Yes Mrs Thaw.”

“If you are ready, my coach awaits.”

Clara followed Mrs Thaw outside, turning to mouth a thank
you to the clergyman who merely nodded and turned away. A quarter of an hour
later, she was rattling along the road beside Mrs Thaw, the driver urging on
the horses until the city was far behind them.

Mrs Thaw spent the journey reading, leaving Clara to stare
out of the window at the unfolding countryside. Having never seen open fields
before, she was entranced by the sense of space, white clouds floating by above
lowing cattle and an occasional drover pushing on towards market.

Eventually they turned off the road through a pair of
enormous gates and then on between a long yew tree avenue. The coach drew up
outside a red brick mansion and Mrs Thaw set down her book, climbing down onto
a gravel drive and waiting for Clara to join her.

“Welcome to Brockton Hall,” she said as Clara stared up at
the enormous house. “Shall we?”

The door was opened by a maid as they walked up the wide
stone steps, the girl staring at Clara intently as she passed by.

“Don’t mind Ella,” Mrs Thaw said. “She stares at everyone
like that.”

They reached a parlour and Clara sat whilst tea was poured.
Sipping at her china cup, she listened as Mrs Thaw spoke.

“In truth, your role will not be that of governess to a
child. Instead it is to become governess to Mr Brockton’s emotions. He is a
somewhat damaged individual. A spell in the army scarred his body and his mind
and he has sought peace in his own way since then. None of the previous
governesses I have hired have had the mental wherewithal to put up with his
mood swings and his unusual demands. But Father Thompson believes in you and
that is enough for me.”

“What is required of me?” Clara asked.

“It is simple enough. You must do whatever Mr Brockton asks
of you and in return you will receive fifty pounds per annum and your own
apartments here. Do you accept?”

Clara’s mind leapt at the words. Fifty pounds! Not only that
but lodgings alongside. “I do,” she said, having no idea how much her life was
about to change.

Chapter 3

“There is a letter here for you,” Mrs Thaw said. “The latest
instructions from Mr Brockton. I shall leave you to read them for he insists on
confidentiality. He is expected home tomorrow morning by which time you should
have familiarised yourself with his demands”

She nodded and left the room, leaving Clara to tear open the
envelope on the table before her. The handwriting inside was bold and well
formed.

To my new governess,

Consider yourself an actress, acting out a part. I have
never been able to have children thanks to the deuced shrapnel within me. I
have been told that my mind may be settled by becoming a parent and as such I
wish you to be my charge in the same way my mental health is yours. You will
find your uniform laid out for you in the third room on the left on the first
floor. Be sure to be wearing it when I arrive and follow each of my
instructions to the letter. That is of vital importance to my recovery so I am
told. I am the authority in this house and if you wish to remain, you must
accept these terms. If not you will be provided with transport to return from
whence you came.

Yours sincerely

Lucius Brockton.

Clara folded the letter and deposited it in her pocket before
standing and leaving the parlour. Mrs Thaw was nowhere to be found but the
stairs were waiting for her. She ascended quickly, reaching a wide landing and
counting the doors until she reached the third room on the left.

At first she felt certain she’d made a mistake. The room was
a nursery laid out for a child. She tried the other doors along the corridor
but they were all firmly locked. Returning to the nursery, she pulled out the
letter and reread it. Never able to have children. Consider yourself an
actress. You will find your uniform. Recovery. Authority. Was she to act as if
she were Mr Brockton’s child?

She bristled at the thought but then she recalled the fifty
pounds and a moment later the image of Cockburn chasing her through a dark
house came to her mind. She had no intention of returning to the city and
acting the part of a child was surely a small price to pay to remain safe, well
fed, and housed in comfort.

She looked around the nursery. There was a cot long enough
for an adult to sleep in, a collection of toy soldiers laid out as if in the
midst of battle, a wooden train and a doll’s tea party spread over a red cloth.
A full length mirror was set into the wall near the fireplace which was itself
ready to light. A pile of nappies were neatly folded on top of a solid wooden
changing table and beside them was a cabinet containing bottles, dummies of a
variety of shapes and sizes, some far too big to fit in any mouth. Turning from
the cabinet she noticed a short white dress laid out over the end of the cot.
She held it to the light, surprised by how soft the fabric felt compared to the
workhouse clothes she had grown used to. She set the dress down again and
closed the room door.

Setting down her shawl, Clara looked at herself in the
mirror. A thin woman looked back at her, black hair down to her shoulders, pale
expression, slightly gaunt features, the result of a not overly generous
workhouse diet. Her dress was second or perhaps even third hand, darned in
several places. As she slid it from her shoulders, she felt a strong sense of
relief, as if casting off her old life and beginning afresh. She wore no
petticoats or Crinoline and her stockings contained several holes. Sliding them
down her legs she looked at herself again, having never had use of a mirror
this size before.

She was surprised most of all by how large her breasts were
compared to her undernourished body, as if all the sustenance she took in went
straight to them. Her stomach was so flat it was almost concave which only
accentuated the swell of her bosom. Running her hands over them, she cupped
them, feeling their weight, smiling at the thought of how unusual she would
look in the dress provided. It would be immediately clear she were an adult,
the shape of her chest ruining any illusion of youth. Her nipples stiffened
under her touch and she tried to ignore their tingling as she looked down at
her knickers. They were a plain white cotton pulled slightly too high which
meant the outline of her pussy lips could be ascertained, another sign of her
age which could not be ignored.

Pulling on the provided dress her eyes widened. It was
almost amusing if it wasn’t so indecent. It barely brushed her thighs and she
realised she could not keep her stockings on, the holes were too visible. The
fabric of the uniform stretched across her chest, the hard nubs of her nipples
visible as she twisted round to look at herself from behind. It did make her
look younger, she had to admit. Turning back she again ran her hands over her
chest, the tingle of her nipples calling to her as they brushed against the
underside of the dress.

She stepped back, examining her legs, changing her posture
every few seconds. She blushed as she realised her knickers would become
visible if she weren’t careful how she sat or how she walked. Think of your
charge, she said to herself. If this assists in his recovery then it will be
worth the lack of modesty.

Lifting the hem slightly she noticed a tiny damp patch had
appeared on her knickers. Frowning she tried to decide what to do about it.
Sliding her hand over her thigh, she pulled the crotch away from her pussy but
as she did so she brushed over her clit and a sigh escaped her lips.

Resisting the growing urge to touch herself she walked over
to the window and looked out just as a coach pulled to a stop outside. The door
opened and a man in a top hat stepped out, wrapped in a great coat despite the
warmth of the day. Unable to see his face, she could only watch as he hurried
up the steps and into the house, servants scurrying to the coach to fetch his
bags and follow him inside.

Unsure how to present herself Clara remained where she was
until the nursery door opened and Mrs Thaw appeared. “You look perfect,” she
beamed. “Now come and meet your stepfather.”

Chapter 4

Clara walked downstairs after Mrs Thaw into a lounge where a
figure faced the fire away from them both. “Mr Brockton, this is your
stepdaughter,” Mrs Thaw said. “She has been waiting for your return to bask in
the glow of your presence.”

The man turned round and Clara was taken aback. He
smouldered with a handsome darkness, his eyes deep blue and piercing, his
expression one of mingled fear and sadness. He took in the sight of her in her
dress and the flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Come and kiss me, my child,”
he said, holding out his hand.

Clara walked over to him and he leaned down to kiss her.
When his lips touched hers, she felt a spark of something pass between them and
her breath caught in her throat. He stood back up whilst she found herself
wishing she could kiss him again. His lips had felt so soft and there was a
scent to him of masculinity that she’d found intoxicating.

“You look upset,” Mr Brockton said. “I will soon improve
your mood.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dummy, pushing it
between Clara’s lips. She blinked in surprise but managed to resist spitting it
out, finding it strangely soothing to be in place as Mr Brockton looked her up
and down before reaching out and lifting the hem of her dress. “Who put you in
knickers instead of a nappy? You will have an accident I am certain of it. Mrs
Thaw, change her immediately.”

“Of course sir,” Mrs Thaw said as Clara found herself
blushing. Why did you allow him to lift your dress like that? Because you
didn’t mind, she thought, answering her own question. You didn’t mind him
seeing your underwear. She shivered as the consequences of that thought entered
her mind. She allowed Mrs Thaw to lead her from the room and back upstairs to
the nursery.

“You are doing wonderfully well,” Mrs Thaw said. “I can see
an improvement in him already.”

“Thank you,” Clara replied.

“We must get you into a nappy though. I should have done so
before he arrived but he came home early.”

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious. Come and lie down here.”

Clara paused before doing as she bid, deciding at last that
to refuse might put an end to her new position before it had barely begun. She
lay on her back as Mrs Thaw knelt before her, pulling her knickers down her
legs and neatly folding them.

Clara put her hands over her pussy but Mrs Thaw shoved them
away. “I should check you are suitable,” she said, leaning forwards and
examining Clara closely. “Are you aroused my dear?”

“No of course not, what on earth makes you think such a
thing?”

“Your lips are engorged and there is a sheen of wetness upon
them. Don’t worry, it is nothing to feel ashamed of, he is a handsome man. If I
were twenty years younger…”

She stopped talking as she pulled Clara’s pussy lips apart,
leaning closer still. “I believe you are perfect,” she said at last, leaning
over to pick up a nappy and placing it under Clara’s legs. She folded it into
place, securing it with a pin before standing up. “Much better,” she smiled.
“Better put the dummy back in and we’ll return to the lounge. Be sure to remain
in character, short simple language and so forth.”

Mr Brockton was waiting for them in an armchair. “That’s
more like it,” he said as Clara walked over to him. “Don’t want any accidents
do we? Now I believe it must be close to your naptime. Would you like a story?”

Clara nodded, sucking at her dummy, trying to ignore the
ache in her pussy which had come from nowhere at the sight of her employer.

“Come and sit on my lap then.”

She did as she was bid, feeling the shape of him through his
trousers on her thighs as he stroked her hair gently.

“Once upon a time there was a man who was very sad because
he had no children. Then one day a girl called Clara came into his life and he
became happy. But sometimes Clara was naughty and this made the man angry. He
was forced to teach her the difference between good and bad, right and wrong.”
He paused and turned to Mrs Thaw. “I think she may need a drink soon.”

“I’ll fetch Ella.” She turned and left the room.

“Now we’re alone,” Mr Brockton continued, “I must confess
something to you. Oh look, your nappy has become twisted. Perhaps you are old
enough to go a while without wearing it. What say you?”

“Papa,” Clara said through her dummy. “Love oo.”

“That’s right. Now stand up a moment.”

She did so and he pulled the pin free from her nappy,
watching it slide to the floor.

“You can come back on my lap,” he said, his voice quieter as
Clara tried to ignore the shame she felt at knowing her pussy was only
concealed from view by the dress. She climbed back onto his lap and felt a
hardness pressing into her bottom as he moved her into the most comfortable
position. He began to rock her on his lap, shifting her hips with his hands as
his body began to move also. Clara quickly realised he was manoeuvring her so
his hardness was sliding between her buttocks and her pussy throbbed more than
ever.

He froze as the door opened and the maid walked in,
curtseying Mr Brockton. “Ah, Ella,” he began. “Clara here is thirsty. Could you
provide her with a drink?”

“Of course sir.”

Ella sat in another armchair as Clara frowned, where was the
drink? She watched as Ella pulled the strap of her dress from her shoulder,
pulling out her breast and bringing the nipple to life with a tweak of her
fingers.

“Come on then,” Ella said, beckoning Clara over.

Clara stood up and walked over, lost in the madness of the
situation and intrigued by what a woman’s nipple might feel like. She pulled
the dummy out as she sat on the maid’s lap, taking the offered nipple into her
mouth. “Suck it in,” Mr Brockton said behind her. “Have a good drink.”

Clara breathed in, feeling a squirt of milk gush onto her
tongue. She blinked with surprise at how warm it felt, continuing to drink
whilst running her tongue over the hard nipple between her lips, glancing up as
Ella’s expression changed, her cheeks flushing.

“That’s enough,” Mr Brockton said. “I think its naptime now.
Off you go.”

He lightly swatted Clara on the bottom as Mrs Thaw led her
from the room. Turning at the last moment, Clara stuck her dummy into her mouth
and said in a muffled voice around it, “Night night papa.”