Indecent: 15 Erotic Victorian Romance Story Box Set (26 page)

Chapter 6

The month’s trial was over and Olivia was formally
apprenticed as a whore. It was a season of good fortune and many had funds to
make use of the brothel. In the course of a few weeks Olivia acquired a great
deal of erotic experience.

As Olivia accompanied her master in most expeditions, she
had many opportunities of observing the variety of shapes and forms that
composed humanity. For months Olivia grew well known in the town, so much so in
fact that Tit Cockpole grew jealous of her, Charlotte treating her ill because
Tit did.

Now comes the event which changed Olivia’s life forever. She
and Tit were in the kitchen when Tit pulled Olivia’s nipple and expressed
opinion that she was a sneak who would be hanged. “How’s your mother,
whorehouse?” said Tit.

“She’s dead so don’t say anything about her to me.”

Olivia’s colour rose and she breathed quickly as Cockpole
continued. “What did she die of?”

“Of a broken heart so I’m told.”

“What’s set you a snivelling now?”

“Don’t you say anything more.”

“Or what? Your mother was a right down bad ‘un.”

“What did you say?”

“A bad ‘un and it’s good she died when she did or she’d have
been transported or hung.”

Crimson with rage, Olivia threw over the chair and table,
seized Tit by the tit and shook her until her teeth chattered in her head.
Olivia was roused at last, her attitude erect, her eye bright, her whole person
changed as she glared at her tormentor crouching at her feet.

“She’ll murder me!” blubbered Tit. “The girl’s a murdering
me.”

Charlotte appeared, grabbing Olivia and spanking her soundly
before Mrs Semenbally took over. When they were wearied of this violent
exercise, they threw Olivia down into the cellar and locked her in.

“Oh what a mercy we weren’t murdered in our beds,” said Tit.

“That’s teach Mr Semenbally to have the whorehouse brats,
all of them born to be murderers and robbers from the cradle,” said Charlotte.

“What’s to be done?” asked Mrs Semenbally. “He’ll kick that
door down in ten minutes.” Olivia’s thuds against the timber in question
rendered the occurrence highly probable. “Run to Mr Bummer Tit and tell him to
come here directly.

Tit started off at full speed, tearing through the streets
with no cap on his head and a knife at his eye.

Chapter 7

Tit reached the whorehouse soon after and called for the
beadle. “Oh Mr Bummer,” cried Tit. “Olivia has turned vicious. He tried to
murder me and Charlotte and missis.”

Mr Bummer followed Tit to the brothel, finding the position
of affairs not improved. The beadle applied his mouth to the keyhole.

“Olivia!”

“Let me out,” replied Olivia from inside.

“Do you know this cock?” Mr Bummer said, thrusting his
member through a knothole in the timber.

“Yes.”

“Ain’t you afraid of it?” said Mr Bummer before letting out
a squeak. “You have hold of it miss.” His squeaks turned into gasps as the
sound of wet squelches filled the air. “You have it inside you,” he moaned. “Oh
my word, you have it inside you. You are gripping me are you not?”

“Let me out and I’ll let you come.”

“She must be mad,” said Mrs Semenbally, “no girl in their
right mind would try to blackmail you so.”

“It’s not madness, it’s meat,” replied Mr Bummer. “She loves
my meat and more.” He fell silent as the door rattled in place for a minute
more before with a groan and a grunt, Mr Bummer reached orgasm, spurting into
Olivia’s pussy through the hole in the door.

“Meat?” said Mrs Semenbally.

“You’ve let her indulge in too much man meat, cock in a
word, Mrs Semenbally, cock. What have paupers to do with too much meat? If
you’d kept her on pussy, none of this would have happened. All that can be done
is to starve her a while and then keep her on pussy for the rest of her
apprenticeship.”

At this point Olivia recommenced kicking the door. “I let
you come, now let me out!” she yelled.

The door was unlocked and she was dragged out by the collar.
“Aren’t you a nice girl?” said Semenbally as he walked in the door and observed
proceedings.

“He called my mother names.”

“So what if he did? She deserved it.”

“It’s a lie!”

Mrs Semenbally burst into tears which could only be assuaged
by the household stripping Olivia and making use of her as Mr Bummer had done.
She was ravenous for sex and none could exhaust her. She brought Charlotte and
Tit to three orgasms before she’d taken a breath or so it seemed, using her
hands to tease their clits without even undressing them. Whilst this was
undertaken Mr Semenbally fucked Olivia heartily, spunking inside her before his
wife took over, grinding her thighs against those of the apprentice until she
reached a climactic orgasm as if she’d never had one before. Still Olivia
demanded more until Semenbally had no alternative but to shut her back in the
cellar without a stitch to wear.

As the household retired that night Olivia wept bitter tears
of anger over her situation, desiring such sex as could not be found in the
simple and bitter brothel she resided within. As such whilst the moon was still
high, she shoved against the cellar door and burst into the shop. Before any
could rise, she dressed herself and was out the door.

She stumbled along the path out of town until the sun slowly
rose and she observed wagons rolling past her into the countryside. Stopping by
the workhouse of her youth to rest she observed some of her former companions
inside.

“Finn,” she said, as she smiled through the gate. “Is anyone
up?”

“None but me.”

“Then pass your cock through the bars for I am away and this
must be my goodbye to you and to this county.”

Finn did as asked, his cock lit by the early morning sun as
Olivia lifted her dress and turned away from him, guiding him into her bottom
as she brought his hand round to her clit. She pressed back against the gate,
the cold metal bars indenting her buttocks as she fucked him as fast as she
could, warming herself and him as they reached a mutual orgasm at last. She
felt his cum spurt into her posterior as her pussy spasmed from her own climax.

“I am off to seek my fortune,” she said as she slid off him
and turned around. “I don’t know where.”

“I am glad to see you but don’t stop.”

“Goodbye to you Finn. You will be well and happy.”

“After I am dead perhaps. God bless you Olivia.”

The blessing was the first Olivia had ever heard invoked
upon her head and through the rest of her life she never forgot it.

Chapter 8

Olivia reached the high road at eight in the morning. She
was five miles from the town and sat on a milestone to rest. The stone bore in
large letters an intimation that it was seventy miles to London.

London! Not even Mr Bummer would find her there. She passed
another four miles before meditating on how exactly to get there. She had a
crust of bread and a blouse. She walked on another twenty miles and all that
time tasted nothing but the crust and water begged from cottage doors. When
night came she slept under a hayrick.

The next morning she was so hungry she exchanged a blowjob
for a penny and the penny for a loaf. She walked on twelve miles and waited
that night at the bottom of a steep hill for a stagecoach to pass. When one did
she begged admittance and the coach rolled to a stop. Out stepped two tall men
who informed her she could join them if they could fit her both into her mouth
at once. This she did with ease whereupon they declared her a spoilsport and
the coach rolled on without her.

A turnpike man gave him bread and cheese and asked for
nothing in return. Olivia was so grateful that she sank onto him and planted
many kisses on his mouth, feeling him stiffen underneath her until he reached
under her skirts and pulled down her panties, guiding himself into her as she
rocked above him, bringing him to orgasm whilst grinding her pelvis on his,
reaching her own climax before his cock had time to soften within her.

On the seventh day since leaving her native place, Olivia
limped into Barnet. She sat with bleeding feet on a doorstep as the town awoke.
Some people stopped to gaze at her before hurrying on, none wanting to indulge
in her offers of sex with one so dusty and filth covered. As she sat there, she
observed a young man who was watching her from across the street. Eventually he
crossed over and addressed Olivia.

“Hullo covey, what’s the row?”

The young man was Olivia’s age, snub nosed, common faced,
short with sharp eyes and a hat stuck so lightly on his head that it threatened
to fall at any moment.

“I am hungry, tired and sexually frustrated,” replied
Olivia. “I have gone without food and sex for many days.”

“You want grub you’ll have it. You want shags, you shall
have them. Come with me.”

Assisting Olivia to rise, the young man took him to a
chandler’s shop and purchased ham and a loaf. Next he took Olivia to a public
house and then on to the tap room in the rear. Here a pot of beer was brought
in and the pair set to their meal.

“As to the shag,” said the man. “We can indulge now if you
wish?”

“What here? In public?”

“None enter the tap room at this time of day. Come quick,
before the landlord returns.”

Olivia watched as the man drew out his cock, pushing
Olivia’s head down towards it. She took it into her mouth and began gulping
upon it.

“My eyes, you are quite the expert,” he exclaimed. “Stop,
quick before I come. Now climb onto me and cover me with your dress.

Olivia sat facing away from her companion, her dress lifted
so she could lower herself onto his cock. From this position none could see that
he was inside her and she rocked slowly on him, squeezing her internal muscles
to grip him as the landlord passed back and forth, oblivious before them.

“I will come if you keep doing that,” the man said.

“Good,” replied Olivia. “I am most filled by you, you have a
handsome specimen of manhood. I am glad it is inside me.” She let out a gasp as
he thrust hard up into her and without another word between them they fucked
heartily until he grunted in her ear and she spent him twitch inside her, spunk
spraying up into her pussy as the landlord frowned at the pair before passing
on his way once more.

“Going to London?” the man asked when Olivia had slid off
him back to her seat.

“Yes.”

“Got any lodgings?”

“No.”

“Money?”

“No.”

“The stranger whistled.

“Do you live in London?” Olivia asked.

“Yes I do. I suppose you want someplace to sleep.”

“I do indeed.”

“I know a respectable old gentleman who’ll give you lodgings
for nothing more than a lick of your pussy and never ask for the change.”

This offer of shelter was so tempting that a more friendly
dialogue ensued during which Olivia discovered her friend’s name was Jack
Dawkins or as he was better known, ‘The Artful Fucker.”

As Dawkins objected to their entering London before
nightfall it was eleven o’clock when they reached the turnpike at Islington
before passing on into the heart of the city and on to a wretched and dirty
area of the cit, the air impregnated with filthy odours.

They reached the bottom of a hill where Dawkins drew Olivia
into a house. “Now then!” cried a voice from above in response to a whistle
from Fucker.

“Cock and balls,” was the reply.

This was some kind of signal and a candle appeared at the
far end of the passage, a man peeping out. “Who’s this?” the man asked.

“A new pal.”

“Where’s she from?”

“Your momma’s house. Is Getin upstairs?”

“Yes. Up with you!”

Olivia groped her way after her companion up dark and broken
stairs before they threw open a door and went in.

The walls and ceiling of the room they entered were black
with age. There was a table before the fire upon which was a candle, a dildo, a
loaf and a plate. By the fire sausages were cooking in a pan and standing over
them was an old woman whose face was obscured by a quantity of red hair. She
was dressed in a flannel gown and seemed to divide her attention between the
sausages and a clothes horse covered in silk handkerchiefs.

Several rough beds of old sacks lay on the floor. Around the
table were four or five girls the same age as the Fucker, smoking pipes and
drinking spirits.

“This is her Getin,” said the Fucker. “My friend Olivia
Twist.”

The old woman grinned and took Olivia’s hand, hoping to have
the honour of her intimate acquaintance. The girls gathered round and obliged
themselves as to search his pockets to save her the trouble of emptying them at
bedtime. Further girls began groping down her top, feeling around her breasts
for what they said were any unseemly lumps. One even reached under her skirt,
the civilities only stopped by the exercise of the old woman’s toasting fork on
the heads and shoulders of the girls around Olivia.

“We are glad to see you my dear,” said the old woman.
“Fucker, take off the sausages, Jill take that dildo out, our guest may wish to
use it. Ah I see you staring at my handkerchiefs. We’ve just taken them out for
the wash, that’s all.”

The girls laughed at this before falling to supper. Olivia
ate her share and then was given gin and water. She drank it down and felt
immediately sleepy. The girls fell on her then like lions on a gazelle. They had
her clothes off her in no time at all, their hand sliding over the body of
their new companion, exploring every inch of her as she sighed, lying back on
the sack bed and just letting them explore her, glad to be passive for once and
not needing to take the lead on this occasion.

She felt the dildo between her buttocks and sighed as it
eased its way into her whilst a mouth clamped on her clit, sucking and licking
her in equal measure. Hands groped and caressed her breasts, someone embraced
her neck, a tongue slid over her ear and even her toes were massaged
thoroughly. She closed her eyes and smiled broadly for the first time in her
life, brought soon after to an orgasm of more strength than any she’d had
before, the result of being the centre of attention of so many people.

The old woman watched in silence as she was caressed and
massaged to a second climax before her breathing grew softer and all around
realised she’d fallen asleep, thus ended her first day in London.