The Education of Victoria

THE EDUCATION OF VICTORIA

ANGELA MEADOWS

Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2009
ISBN 9781907726811

Copyright © Angela Meadows 2010

The right of Angela Meadows to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books Ltd 145-157 St John Street, London EC1 4PY

Other Titles from Xcite Books

Prologue
Victoria is Sent Away to School

His mouth pressed against mine, his tongue squeezing between my lips. Something in me resisted his invasion although in truth I wanted to give in to his desires. Bill’s left hand rubbed against my right breast and I could feel my nipple hardening under the pressure of his palm. My back was against the wall of the stable and his horsey smell added to the heady fumes of the straw. Something hard between his legs dug into my abdomen. I was giving in, my lips parting to accept his tongue. His right hand moved up and down against my left thigh, steadily lifting my thin woollen skirt. A shock like an electric spark travelled from my thigh up my back at the first touch of his rough stable-boy’s fingers against my smooth skin. My mouth opened wide and his tongue explored the interior. I felt as if I was drowning in his attention.

‘What is going on here? Get away from my daughter, you scoundrel!’ My father’s voice woke me from my swoon. Bill lifted his hand from my breast to defend himself from the blows of my father’s riding crop that fell on his shoulders and back. He retreated leaving me spreadeagled against the wall watching in horror as my father raised his arm to strike again.

‘No, Father, don’t hit Bill. It was my fault.’

My father paused mid-stroke and turned to look at me. His cheeks were red and he was breathing hard.

‘Get to your room. I’ll see to you in a short while. Go on, off with you.’ I picked up the hem of my skirt and ran from the stables into the big house. Tears filled my eyes as I ran up the stairs to my bedroom overlooking the stable yard.

I stood at the window and watched as Bill emerged from the stables with my father behind him. I couldn’t hear what was said but I could see my father’s mouth working. I turned away from the window and watched the door, waiting fearfully for my father to arrive. It was not long. He flung the door open and stood there in his full hunting clothes, his boots still carrying mud from the yard. He took a few steps into the room and sat on my bed.

‘Come here, Victoria. Bend over.’ I did as I was bidden. I stepped up to him and bent over his knees. He pushed on my shoulders and I almost toppled forward as my feet left the floor. I balanced across his lap. He tugged at my skirt until he had bared my bottom. It had been some years since he had last punished me this way but I knew what was coming next. The full weight of his hand fell on my buttock drawing a gasp and a cry from me. I struggled but his arm held me firm.

‘How dare you let that boy, that guttersnipe, that peasant, touch you.’ Another slap ignited the other side of my rear.

‘Don’t you have any respect for me, for your place in society?’ Another open-handed stroke.

‘Are women so feeble-minded that they give themselves to any and every eager young rogue?’ Yet another smack. A few others followed but they became weaker and weaker. Finally my father rested his hand on my naked buttock. A finger moved in a circle producing a not dislikeable sensation. Father seemed to be musing.

‘Ah, but I see now it is all my fault. For too long I have allowed you to mix with the village folk and the estate workers. I have been blind to your friendships with the young lads and lasses. I have failed to prepare you for your future as a lady.’ He lifted his hands from me and started to rise to his feet. I rolled onto the floor and struggled to get up.

‘Look at you, dressed like one of the gleaners.’ I looked down at my old rough-weave skirt which I wore because it was light and comfortable. ‘Now you are sixteen, my girl, things will have to change.’

‘Oh, Father, please,’ I appealed, against what I was not sure.

‘I must take you away from temptation by that young whelp.’

‘Oh, please don’t dismiss him, Father. I was leading him on.’

‘I don’t believe that for one minute. But no, I won’t dismiss him. I promised his father that I’d give him a job and he is a good stable-hand. He will stay here while you and I return to London.’ I was half relieved and half disappointed; relieved that Bill would not be thrown out of his livelihood but disappointed that I would be leaving my beloved Berkshire and shut up in the city in August.

‘Oh, Father. Must I come to London?’

‘Yes, Victoria, you must. I see now that I must take you away from the influence of these simple country-folk. You are of an age when you must learn to act like a woman, like a lady. You must dress and behave as befits your station in life.’

Two days later I was indeed dressed as a lady in waist-cinching corset, layers of petticoats and a linen dress that scratched at my chin and brushed against the floor. I sat in the hot stuffy drawing room of our town house, flicking over the pages of a novel and already bored. I missed the countryside and my young friends with whom I ran through the fields and played hide-and-seek amongst the barns and haylofts. My father arrived home from his business at supper time and over the meal he talked at me.

‘I have been giving your situation some consideration. While your tutors have done a reasonable job instilling in you the rudiments of education, before you can enter society there is more that you must learn.’

‘Such as, Father?’

‘I don’t know. What women need to know. Cookery, stitchery, that sort of thing.’

‘Oh, I see.’ I didn’t really but I don’t think Father did either.

‘A business acquaintance has mentioned a school on the continent where you can finish your education, Victoria. I have contacted the headmistress of the Venice School for Young Ladies and I await her reply.’

The thought of travelling across the continent to be schooled appalled me. I didn’t want to leave my familiar and comfortable home. Nevertheless the thought of Venice was quite appealing. I had read of the city in the sea with beautiful buildings and waterways for roads. It sounded exciting and romantic. Perhaps if I had to go somewhere to complete my education, then Venice would be one place I would not mind.

Chapter 1
A Lesson for Victoria

My carriage jolted and lurched up the rough alpine track making me uncomfortable as well as angry. I didn’t want to leave home, but I did understand my widowed father’s reasons. Finding me in the arms of his stable-boy was not what he expected of his ‘little girl’. My lips still tingled with the memory of Bill’s kiss and my nipples hardened at the thought of his hand pressed against them with just a thin layer of cotton in between. No, the real reason I was so upset was finding that the Venice School for Young Ladies, as Father had called it, was miles from the city of canals – and up a mountain.

The sun was sinking behind the peaks at the end of a late summer’s day as we drew up to a large granite house with the distinctive steep roof of the Alps. The carriage door was opened immediately and my gaze fell upon a young man. He was wearing traditional Tyrolean leather shorts and his bare knees and strong thighs impressed me. It seemed that a swelling was forming in the tight leather at his crotch. I looked upwards past the loose cotton shirt, and found the blue eyes of the blond, smooth-faced young man looking at me intensely. He smiled and it did not seem a smile of welcome but more one of anticipation. He helped me step down from the carriage. His firm grip on my wrist seemed to be a signal of possession as he guided me up the steps to a heavy wooden door. He returned to the coach to retrieve my trunk. The door was opened by another handsome young man, similarly dressed but with black hair and brown eyes. He also gave me a thorough examination as he invited me to enter.

I stepped into a square hall carpeted with an old but thick Turkish carpet. A short grey-haired lady emerged from a side room and advanced towards me.

‘Ah, you have arrived at last.’ She spoke English with a French accent. ‘It is Victoria, is it not?’ I nodded. ‘Named after your dear Queen, I imagine.’ I nodded again. ‘Come, take off your cloak and join the rest of the girls in the drawing room.’

I felt the doorman remove my cloak from my shoulders. His hands brushed my neck gently and a spark of electricity travelled down my back. The little French lady was scurrying back to the room from which she had come so I hurried after her.

I entered a large, tall room with a window at one end. The setting sun was filling the room with light that reflected off the three huge mirrors that went from floor to ceiling on the other three walls of the room. Apart from cupboards in each corner, the room was quite bare of furniture. There was a large wide couch in the centre of the room, almost the size of a double bed and covered with furs. Some feet away from the couch was a line of six high-backed chairs. Five of the chairs were occupied by young ladies of a similar age to me. They all turned their heads to look at me but there was no sign of emotion on their faces. No doubt like me they were new to the school and wondering what was going to happen.

‘Sit down, Victoria,’ the little French woman pointed to the empty chair. ‘The principal is waiting.’

I took my place and noted that the shape of the seat and the hard straight back forced me to sit upright. I had barely adjusted my posture when a tall woman entered. She appeared to be in her early forties. She wore a green silk dress buttoned up to the neck and had cascading locks of fair hair. The other girls leapt to their feet and I struggled to emulate them.

‘Good evening, girls. Please sit.’ We sat down as one. ‘Welcome to the Venus School for Young Ladies.’ Did she really say Venus I thought, or did she say Venice in a strange way? ‘I am Madame Thackeray, your headmistress, and you have already met Madame Hulot, my assistant.’ She smiled and looked at each one of us girls in turn. ‘Here you will learn the knowledge and skills that will enable you to take your place in society as the wives of gentlemen. You will learn cuisine; you will study arts and music; you will discover the fashions of the day; you will practice the art of conversation and you will be taught how to run a household. These studies will occupy your days. In the evenings, tuition will turn to the art of attracting a husband and how to satisfy him. Lessons will start shortly but first you will be shown to your rooms.’

Madame Thackeray turned to Madame Hulot who opened the door. Six elegant young ladies entered the room. They wore identical silk evening gowns in the fashionable new mauve dye. I gasped at the dresses as they left the girls’ shoulders completely bare and revealed considerable décolletage. Their waists were extremely narrow and the skirts flared out. The six girls lined up in front of us.

‘These are our senior girls,’ Madame continued. ‘They have a year of experience in our ways and will help you in your studies. They will now show you to your rooms.’ The girl facing me stepped forward, smiled broadly and held out her right hand.

‘Hello, I’m your mentor. Come with me.’ She hooked her arm around my left elbow and guided me back into the hall and up a wide stairway. On the second floor we entered a landing with doors on either side. My guide pushed on one door, and we entered a comfortably sized bedroom. ‘Here we are; this is our room.’ It seemed that we were to share a room and a bed as there was just one ample double bed to be seen. I was surprised, but having shared a bed with a cousin, I was not upset by the prospect. My mentor sat on the bed, scooping up the hoops and silk of her dress. ‘I’m Beatrice, who are you?’

‘My name is Victoria,’ I replied.

‘Named after the Queen, were you?’ I nodded resignedly. ‘I expect you are hungry after your journey. You were rather late so missed dinner but a cold buffet has been prepared for you.’ She indicated a tray of bread, cold meats and cheese on a side table. ‘The bath is also ready for you; I’m sure you need one after your journey. I will return shortly to help you dress in your school evening wear.’

Having satisfied my hunger, I was enjoying a lazy hot bath when the bathroom door opened and Beatrice reappeared. She looked somewhat flustered.

‘Good heavens, Victoria, what are you still doing there? You should be getting ready or you will be late.’ I suddenly remembered that I wasn’t on holiday but at a school. I was reluctant to get out of the bath and expose my naked body while Beatrice stood in the doorway glaring at me. ‘Come on, Victoria. Don’t be prudish. I’ll help you dry yourself.’

She entered the room, picked up the bath towel and carried it towards the bath. I realised that she wasn’t going to leave me alone so I decided to stand up and let her see me unclothed. The water cascaded off me. Beatrice examined me closely and I began to blush. Then she nodded with approval and I blushed some more.

‘How old are you, Victoria?’

‘Sixteen last June.’

‘You look quite mature for your age. Your breasts are well formed and firm and your hips are broad but your stomach is suitably flat. The men will take a fancy to you I’m sure.’

I wasn’t sure that I liked this appraisal, which made me seem like one of my father’s horses, but the mention of men made me think of Bill. He had paid my body compliments – the little that he saw of it.

Beatrice wrapped the towel around me and rubbed me vigorously so that I was soon dry. She tossed the towel to the floor and pulled me by the hand back into our bedroom. Clothes had been laid out on the bed, I presumed for me, but I was surprised at what they consisted of.

There was a white satin corset. My own corsets were dull cotton. Beatrice wrapped it around me and began to tighten the laces. I groaned and moaned as she constricted my waist to smaller dimensions than I allowed my maid at home to do.

‘Why do I have to wear this?’ I gasped.

‘Because it is part of the school uniform and because men like the figure it produces.’ I was standing in front of a mirror and noticed that I certainly had more shape. My breasts were pushed together and upwards so that they rested on the top of the garment, my nipples on show. The narrowing of my waist also made my buttocks appear larger and more rounded than they usually did. Beatrice looked at my image and then at me. Her eyes descended and came to rest at my exposed mount of Venus. She passed the palm of her hand over my tuft of hair. There was a tingle inside that was unfamiliar. ‘You have quite a bush down there, haven’t you?’

‘I have?’

‘Yes, we need to trim that. Men don’t like too much hair you know.’ She tugged my underarm hair. ‘This will have to go too. It’s very unsightly. Still, no time now.’

She passed me a pair of white silk knickers which barely covered my bottom and, having made me sit on the bed, pulled white silk stockings up my legs and fastened the tops to clips at the bottom of the corset. She presented me with a pair of white satin slippers. As I put them on my feet she brought a long gossamer-thin gown trimmed in white fur. I put my arms through the wide sleeves. The garment did nothing to cover me but instead seemed to form a frame for my corseted figure.

‘There. You are ready. No time for make-up, but that’s all part of the course anyway. Come, it’s time for your introductory lesson.’ Beatrice tugged on my hand and dragged me out on to the landing. We almost ran down the stairs, my gown flaring out behind me. I felt as if I had no clothes on at all and wondered what sort of school I had come to.

We reached the room where we had first met. Beatrice pushed me in and departed. Like before, my classmates were already sitting there but this time they and I were identically dressed. I took my place in the uncomfortable chair at the end of the row and looked around me. The curtains had been drawn as night had now fallen. Many oil lamps had been lit so that the room was very light. A large candelabrum dangled over the fur-strewn couch.

‘Ah, you have joined us at last, Victoria,’ said Madame Hulot impatiently. ‘Punctuality is a virtue we foster here. Gentlemen do not like to be kept waiting.’ She left and a few moments later Madame Thackeray swept in, beaming at each of us new girls.

‘Wonderful, girls. You now look as though you belong here and are ready for your instruction to begin. This evening you have nothing to do but watch. I want you to concentrate on what you will see and what I have to tell you. You will observe certain techniques which you will be studying during your time here so do not worry if you do not understand tonight.’

I had no idea what she was talking about but as she moved to take up a seat at the side of the room Beatrice reappeared and, without looking at Madame Thackeray, or the six of us, she went to stand by the couch and began to look at herself in the large glass mirror that was behind it. A moment later a young man entered the room. I recognised him as the blond servant who had helped me from the carriage. Now, however, he was wearing evening dress and looked exceptionally smart and aristocratic. I wondered about the meaning of his change of attire but things soon started to happen. He stepped up behind Beatrice, put a hand on her bare shoulder and spun her around. When she faced him he bent his neck and placed his lips on hers.

‘For the purpose of this evening’s demonstration, ladies, you must imagine that Eric is the man that Beatrice wishes to marry and that he desires her as his wife.’ Madame’s words seemed to provide some explanation for the deep kissing that was going on. I presumed that we were watching a theatrical performance with Eric and Beatrice as the actors. However, the manner in which they clung to each other and inserted tongues into each other’s mouths did seem to go beyond the realms of acting that I was familiar with. Bill had only placed his lips on mine for moments, but as I watched I began to wish that I had responded as Beatrice was doing now.

The pair parted and Eric began to undo the buttons on Beatrice’s gown which, conveniently for him, were situated at the front.

‘Men often find the small buttons of a gown difficult to undo, so you must learn to assist discreetly,’ Madame continued. Indeed Beatrice had assisted so quickly that the gown had slipped to the floor and she revealed not the white corset that I and the other girls wore but a blood-red garment with black lacing. Beatrice now turned her attention to Eric. ‘You will also have to acquire the skill of undoing the fastenings of the male vestments.’ Beatrice certainly had the skill because Eric was swiftly divested of his jacket, stiff collar and shirt and trousers. In the same time he had kicked off his shoes and stockings. He wore no underclothes.

For the first time in my life a man stood naked in front of me, but his attention was on Beatrice. His buttocks were white firm globes and he stood with his feet a little apart. He gave Beatrice a gentle push and she fell back on to the couch. Now I could see in the mirror beyond them the front of Eric’s body. He had a strong muscular chest, but my eyes were drawn to his member which was as firm as a broom pole and stood out at a right angle from his body. I never knew that it could be come so large. The tip was a shiny purple and shaped like a massive toadstool.

‘As you can see, it takes little to arouse a man. The skill comes in prolonging the arousal and giving satisfaction.’ Beatrice had by sleight of hand unfastened her stockings so now when Eric took hold of the vivid red knickers he was able to pull them off in one swift, fluid movement. Beatrice spread her legs wide and bent her knees, pulling her feet up onto the couch.

From my position at the end of the row I had a full view of her sex despite Eric standing just a pace from her. I saw that she indeed had far less pubic hair than myself and that it was trimmed into a neat arrowhead pointing at the cleft between her legs. Without thinking my hand moved between my legs and I could feel my outer lips swelling like Beatrice’s and a dampness penetrating my knickers. Her swollen crack glistened with her excitement. Eric knelt between her legs and lowered his head towards her sex. I saw his tongue stick out and lap at the juices oozing from her fanny.

‘Not all men have a liking for cunnilingus, but many do. By offering herself, Beatrice has given Eric the encouragement he needs and for as long as he remains drinking at the trough, so to speak, he will retain his erection and derive great pleasure. It is important that the lady also derive satisfaction from the process as she must retain her own level of arousal and lubrication.’ Beatrice evidently was enjoying the experience because she moaned at each flick of Eric’s tongue and thrust herself at his mouth. He gripped her buttocks, held her firmly and pushed his face hard into her groin. I almost felt as if I were Beatrice and his tongue was exploring deeper and deeper up my love canal.