Indecent: 15 Erotic Victorian Romance Story Box Set (14 page)

Chapter 5

Clara sat in Mrs Thaw’s private room sipping tea. “Is he
mad?” she asked.

“Not entirely.”

“Does he genuinely believe I’m napping at this moment?”

“I don’t rightly know. Ever since his wife died, he
changed.”

“His wife died?”

“Whilst he was deployed. He never forgave himself for not
being here to say goodbye. The best physicians in the country have tried all
manner of treatments to help him and nothing has worked. But when he set eyes
on you I saw a glimpse of the old him for the first time in years.”

So you think I should continue with the charade?”

“I do. I understand it is asking a lot of you but you’ve
already proven yourself far more accommodating than anyone else I’ve brought
here before.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

Even as she said the words, Clara found herself disagreeing
with them. Something about being on his lap had sparked emotions long held
dormant within her and she realised she wanted nothing more than to please him,
to help him recover, no matter what the personal toll might be.

She was not called upon for the rest of the day and as she
lay in her cot that night, she thought only of Mr Brockton, hoping he would
come and say goodnight. She went to sleep disappointed and woke up the next
morning unsure of her next move. Mrs Thaw walked in as she sat up, carrying a
fresh nappy for her to wear and another short dress.

“Mr Brockton is waiting to give you breakfast. He asked that
you attend alone.”

Clara wore a fresh nappy under her dress and sucked on her
dummy as she entered the dining room. Mr Brockton was standing by the window
looking out onto the grounds. “Aren’t you a grown up making your own way here?”
he said as she entered. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes papa.”

“Good girl. Are you hungry?”

She nodded and he pointed to a vacant chair. As she sat he
walked across to her and stood before her.

“I have a special breakfast for you if you would like to try
something different.”

“Special?” she asked, frowning as if the word confused her.

“Can I have a morning kiss?”

Clara’s heart soared as he leaned down. He pulled out her
dummy and tossed it onto the table, planting his lips on hers. She threw her
arms around him, not letting him pull away. He stared into her eyes as she slid
her tongue into his mouth. Her hands began to shake as she felt certain she’d
made a mistake, twisting her head away from his. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

“Do not apologise for affection,” he replied, his eyes wide.
“Would you like to eat now?”

She nodded and he reached down to the button at the top of
his trousers, undoing it rapidly as if awakening from a long sleep, his
movements firm and sure. As his boxer shorts came into view a clear bulge was
visible, making Clara ache deep inside herself. She reached forwards with both
hands. “For me?” she asked innocently as she could.

“For you,” he replied, easing down his underwear, his cock
springing into view, pointing into the air. Clara felt nothing but desire as
she took it in her hands and automatically began stroking it, allowing her
fingers to trace lines over the bumps of his veins and up to the head, pulling
him towards her. She took him into her mouth and relished the sensation of heat
on her tongue, sucking him towards the back of her throat until she almost
gagged, her jaws wide apart.

She clamped down with her lips, tightening her grip as she
continued to stroke him with her hands, enjoying the sounds he made above her.
“You’re a natural,” he said, his voice low.

Clara’s pussy grew so wet she felt sure her nappy would be
soaking as he lifted her to her feet and kissed her again. “I cannot resist
you,” he muttered, tugging her nappy loose and lifting her dress, reaching
under it, seeking out her breasts, toying roughly them as they continued
kissing. Her nipples stiffened under his touch, her skin tingled with desire
and she closed her eyes, feeling his lips move down to flick between her
breasts.

His hand moved to her pussy, stroking it slowly. “You’re so
wet,” he said. “Have you been touched like this before?”

No,” she sighed. “Never.”

He smiled as he stroked her lips, gathering up wetness
before pushing a finger deep into her, hooking it upwards and stroking the
aching walls inside her. She rocked against him, wanting more, the finger not
being enough for long.

“Fuck me,” she mouthed, blushing as the words fell out.

“Naughty girl,” he said. “Such language is unseemly.”

“I’m sorry. I just…”

“I forgive you as you’ve been such a good girl lately.” He kissed
her again, twisting her round so she was bent over the table. He pushed the
dummy back into her mouth as his cock slid between her buttocks, rubbing along
the length of her bottom whilst he kissed her back.

Clara pulled the dress over her head and reached back,
searching for his hips. When she reached them she drew him towards her, trying
to hint at her desires. He teased her for a minute longer before shifting his
body so the tip of his cock eased its way inside her, making her wince as he
stretched her entrance before lust numbed everything, making her desperate only
for him to delve deeper.

“Fuck me,” she said again and this time he didn’t reply,
instead pressing his hips to her bottom, burying himself inside her. She
remained perfectly still as he began to thrust, his movements growing faster
with every motion until he was slamming into her, making her moan around her
dummy.

“You are such a good girl,” he groaned, reaching down to
stroke her clit, making her whole body tingle.

He pulled out of her and twisted her round. “Sit on my lap
again my angel,” he said, drawing her down to the floor and lying on his back.

Clara positioned herself above him, lowering her body until
she felt the heat of his cock on her thigh. Reaching down she pulled him into
her, grinding down onto his pelvis as he groped her breasts, making her feel
more alive than she ever had before.

She balanced herself on his body, bouncing up and down as
his shaft drove deep into her, filling her completely until her clit screamed
for attention. Stroking it with her fingers she continued to ride him until he
let out a grunt, exhaled loudly and grabbed her hips, holding her in place with
his cock buried in her. She felt it twitch inside and then the delicious
sensation of wet warmth filled her pussy.

“You made me come,” he said, sounding shocked. “I haven’t
come since Maggie died.”

Clara barely heard him, her fingers were a blur on her clit
as she brought herself to an intense orgasm, her whole body soaring as waves of
pleasure washed over her. She could still feel him pulsing inside her as she
came down slowly, her mind awash with desire and tiredness.

Leaning down she spat out her dummy and kissed him, loving
the feel of his body against hers as they lay together until long after he’d
softened and slid from her.

“I can’t believe you made me come,” he said, sitting up
slowly as if in a daze.

The door opened and Mrs Thaw walked in, a smile spread
across her face. “The treatment worked,” she said.

“Were you eavesdropping?” Mr Brockton said.

“No, I promise. I was just passing when I happened to
overhear.”

“A likely story. The two of you have conspired to tempt me
into this obscene act have you not?”

“Oh no sir,” Clara protested. “I swear…”

He held up his hand. “Enough. Get out and I never want to
see either of you in this house again. You have defiled the memory of my Maggie
and I will not stand for it.”

Clara’s face fell as she stumbled from the room, finding
herself piled into a coach shortly afterwards with a crestfallen Mrs Thaw by
her side. “What happened?” she asked as the horses began to move forwards.
“What did we do wrong?”

“Nothing my girl,” Mrs Thaw replied. “Nothing at all.”

Clara’s life seemed to crumble around her ears that day.
She’d gone from a secure position with a man she felt she might one day love,
to alone and homeless. Mrs Thaw had left the coach when the horses were changed
and hadn’t returned by the time the driver set off. Clara’s mind seemed to
crack as the city came into view, her desire twisting in her mind to play on her
emotions until she no longer had any idea who she was. All she knew was that
she needed looking after, she needed a dummy, a bottle and a cot and she needed
love most of all and love and sex amounted to the same thing.

She stole a bottle of gin within an hour of stepping off the
coach and by the next morning she was blind drunk, stumbling around the streets
and crying out for her papa. Vultures crept from the shadows when they saw her
pass, offering her more drink and inviting her to join them at their homes. A
memory of Brockton broke through the fug of alcohol and she felt sure if she
only revealed her body he would come and take her away. Every face seemed that
of her erstwhile employer and when someone attempted to remove her clothes in
an alleyway, she let them, crying out for papa and a dummy as she grabbed
anyone passing by, seeing Brockton’s face in every shadowy figure.

In a short time she found herself in an asylum, the alcohol
long worn off but the trauma of her experiences remaining, blocking her ability
to think clearly. At last she found herself in a wheelchair, brought into an
observation room with a doctor who insisted he knew what would cure her.

“She does not need your treatment,” a man called from the
back of the room. As he was bustled out he continued to protest and Clara
frowned. Something about his voice brought back a memory. She stood up in the
wheelchair and looked up but the protester had gone. Turning to Doctor
Franklin, she spoke for the first time in days. “Bring me my papa,” she
whispered, pointing up at the vacant chair. “I want my papa.”

By the end of the lecture Clara was frantic. Her protests
and complaints had seemed only to prove her madness to the doctors around her
but as she was wheeled out someone stopped her chair, spinning it and shoving
Doctor Franklin away.

“Do you mind sir? Who on earth are you?” he asked.

“I,” the figure replied. “Am her papa.”

Chapter 6

Clara leapt into Brockton’s arms. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“I should not have treated you that way.”

“I forgive you,” she replied, kissing me and holding him
tight as if afraid he would slip away again.

“You know this girl?” Doctor Franklin asked.

“I do sir.”

“Are you responsible for the mania she is currently
experiencing?”

“I am afraid so but I also know the cure.”

“And that is?”

“A bottle and a dummy.”

Within a day Clara was back at Brockton Hall, Ella waiting
on the doorstep as if not a moment had passed since last time she’d walked up
the stone steps and through the enormous front door.

Together in the parlour, Brockton and Clara held hands
whilst he apologised again. “It is as if a fog that spread through my mind has
lifted,” he said. “It only vanished after you left and by the time I had the
wherewithal to travel you had vanished. I searched high and low for you on the
streets before finally hearing that you had been so unfortunately committed.
The asylum would not let me enter as I was not related to you.”

“How did you get into the lecture?”

“Being an army doctor has its benefits at times. But let the
past be past. I wish to think of the future. Of our future.”

“I have a lot of growing up to do,” Clara said, standing up.
“I will be in short dresses and nappies for a long time I believe.”

Mr Brockton smiled. “I shall be in my bedroom. Third door on
the right upstairs if you wish to kiss your papa goodnight.”

Clara rushed to the nursery, quickly changing into the by
now familiar white dress, shaking off the memories of her mania as she
frantically grabbed a nappy and tied it in place, sucking on a dummy and
carrying a bottle as she made her way to Brockton’s room. She knocked and
waited to be told to enter, walking in nervous but excited.

Brockton was in bed, his blankets around his waist, his
muscular chest exposed, a number of scars dotted about on his skin. “I kiss
better,” she said, tossing the dummy aside and climbing onto the bed. She set
the bottle aside.

“What’s that for?”

“You’ll see,” she replied, kissing her way down his chest,
kicking the blankets aside until she reached his cock. She took him into her
mouth, sighing as she felt sane at last, loving the feeling of him at the back
of her throat. Her pussy grew so wet she felt sure she would begin to drip on
him as she rolled onto her back and drew him onto her.

Brockton took control, shoving her legs apart and thrusting
straight into her, making her gasp as he filled her completely. He ground
against her as they kissed, his pelvis rubbing her clit in just the right place
and bringing her to a screaming orgasm in minutes, her body thrashing under him
until she fell still once more.

He began to thrust again, moving ever faster until he
groaned, “I’m going to come.”

At that moment, Clara pushed him back and grabbed the
bottle, unscrewing the top and pressing the tip of his cock to it. As he came,
she watched the spunk pour inside, trickling down the glass whilst he groaned
loudly, spurting out another load.

He fell back as she screwed the top back on and smiled at
him. “I need my bottle,” she said, pressing it to her lips and sucking at the
teat, drawing the salty taste of him into her mouth as he stroked her side,
sighing happily.

She kept sucking until she’d swallowed the last of his cum
and only then did she set the bottle down and lie beside him, curling up with
his arm around her, her body still tingling with pleasure.

“Welcome home,” he said, kissing her forehead. “If you’re
good, you might even get to sleep in my bed tonight instead of the nursery.”

“And what if I’m bad?” she asked, bringing his hand to her
bottom. “What if I’m very, very bad?”

“Then I might have to punish you,” he replied, spanking her
lightly.

“Oh no. Then I suppose I have no choice but to always be a
wickedly bad girl.”