Saturday, April 17, 2021

Sizzling Sunday: A Victorian Interlude – #VictorianErotica #AmWriting #SizzlingSunday

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I’ve been slaving away at The Journeyman’s Trial, the next volume in my Victorian steam punk series. In general, I don’t like to share material from my works in progress. However, it occurred to me that you might enjoy an equally antique interlude from my novel Miranda’s Masks.

This book is contemporary romance, but has a Victorian sub-plot. The heroine, who lives in historic Beacon Hill in Boston and is writing a dissertation on nineteenth century erotica, discovers an old leather bound notebook in a local junk shop. At first it appears to be blank, but when subjected to heat, the previously invisible contents become readable, revealing the secret diary of a Victorian lady. As Beatrice recounts her erotic adventures, Miranda engages in her own surprisingly parallel exporations.

Anyway, this is from the first diary entry. Beatrice’s encounters become more outrageous and taboo as the novel develops. 


I chose my costume with care, a rich but somber dress of midnight blue poult de soie, with a cashmere mantle to match. I wished to appear proper, remote, and infinitely desirable. My hair shone like spun gold in contrast with the dark fabric, and my eyes had depths like the ocean. I donned my hat and veiled my face, then followed Pauline out the back door and into the alley where the hansom carriage she had summoned awaited me.

The address he provided proved to be a small townhouse facing the Common, with fine leaded glass windows. A sour-faced domestic answered the bell, took my wrap, and led me to the drawing room, which was furnished with indifferent taste.

My fair-haired Charles leapt up as I entered, his face glowing.

You’ve come, Madame! I hardly dared hope.”

I could scarcely refuse such an enigmatic invitation,” I said, holding out my gloved hand. He bent to touch it to his lips, then stopped himself. “If you will permit me,” he said with a shy smile. Then without waiting for my reply, he stripped the glove off my fingers and planted a delicate kiss on my bare palm.

This first exquisite touch sent shivers through my body and left me slightly faint. Already I was melting in the rising flames of my own desire. A sigh escaped me. In any case my companion already knew how he had aroused me. His youthful eyes sparkled as he perceived my flushed cheeks and the rise and fall of my breath.

My apologies for the appointments here,” he said after a long moment, punctuated by the beat of my heart. “I am renting these lodgings while I have business in Boston. Can I offer you some tea, Madame? Or perhaps a glass of wine?”

A sip of sherry would be delightful,” I answered, struggling to control my voice. “I find that my throat is a bit dry.”

It will be my privilege,” he said. He went over to the sideboard and returned after a moment with two crystal goblets brimming with golden liquid.

To chance meetings,” he said, raising his glass to his lips.

To pleasure,” I countered boldly, looking deep into his eyes. They were the same clear blue of today’s sky, and equally full of promise. Between my thighs I felt the heat of the coming summer.

We sipped for a moment in silence.

What should I call you, Madame?” he asked archly. “‘Madame’ seems a bit formal under the current circumstances.”

Angela,” I told him. I often use that name on my midnight sorties. The irony somehow pleases me.

Lady Angela, you are truly a vision from heaven. I would be honored if you would allow me to undress you, so that I might better appreciate your divine form.”

Once again, he acted without my overt permission. He set aside our glasses, and his languid, tapered fingers were already undoing the buttons that fastened my waist. We understood each other; we did not require speech.

I stood meek and compliant, watching his face as he removed my garments. He worked slowly and meticulously, with a skill that suggested experience. As each article was removed, he would pause and gaze at me in delight.

The measured pace aroused me further, as it was intended to do. Charles managed to completely undress me, while touching me hardly at all. My neck, my shoulders, my breasts all ached for his caress. With admirable self-control, he confined his contact with my flesh to the absolute minimum required for his task.

His own excitement was evident in the tented bulge in his trousers. I longed to reach out and test its lovely hardness. However, I refrained, realizing that this would be out of character, a deviation from the roles in which we had cast ourselves.

Finally, I stood before him, naked save for my embroidered silk stockings and kid boots. The golden curls between my thighs were already damp with my own fluids. I was ready to sink to my knees before him, to beg him for his touch.

Thankfully, he was finished with making me wait. He swept me into his arms and carried me to a brocaded chaise near the hearth. I gloried in his strength. He smelled of soap and pipe tobacco. I rubbed my cheek against his fine woolen coat as he settled me on the shiny upholstery, my arms cradling my head. “Angela,” he sighed, kneeling beside me. “Let me feast upon your marvelous flesh.”

He leaned over and brushed his lips ever so lightly against the sensitive skin just below my earlobe. Then I felt his tongue, sliding down my neck, circling the hollow at the base of my throat, tracing its way down the hollow between my breasts, nibbling, nuzzling, tasting me. Each touch was careful, deliberate, almost reverent. There was nothing holy, however, about the way my hips churned in response. When he sucked my nipple gently into his mouth, I spread my thighs wide. When he nipped it with his sharp white teeth, I could not help the lewd way I arched my back, silently crying for him to invade my most private recesses.

Charles turned his attention to my lower extremities, bestowing tiny kisses on the silky skin between my thighs. I moaned and circled my hips, inviting, pleading. However, my gentleman continued to tease. He unlaced my boots, then drew my stockings down until my feet were as bare as the rest of me.

I felt a shock as his warm mouth closed on my toes. The sensation was strangely thrilling. He probed between my digits with his agile tongue, sucked and licked until I thought I would go mad with pleasure. All the while, my cunny grew wetter and more swollen, until I could feel myself gaping, open and dripping.

Oh, please, Charles!” I gasped, “I cannot bear any more. Please, put your rod inside me. Take me, Charlie, please!”

My fair gentleman paused to smile at me. “Madame Angela, I would dearly love to satisfy your request, but I dare not. If I were to get you with child, it would be a disaster for both of us.”

Oh, please!” My hand flew to my groin, spread my red, glistening folds for him to see. “See how you have roused me, set me on fire. You must quench this fire, or I will lose my senses with longing.”

Alas, my Angela…”

Let me see it, at least; do not be cruel!” I cried, and lunging forward I tore open his trouser buttons. His erect member sprang free, engorged and purple with lust. Before he could object, I sank to my knees and circled his manhood with my lips, sucking and tonguing him in an abandoned frenzy.

No, Angela, wait, please, I will spend too soon…” I ignored his entreaties, which grew more feeble as I increased the vigor of my ministrations. I was punishing him for his teasing, and rewarding him for his technique. The rod in my mouth grew more rigid by the instant. I sensed a spiraling tension, like a snake gathering itself to strike. Then he groaned and my mouth was flooded with his bitter fluid. As always, the taste brought me to full, delicious appreciation of my own depravity. How I enjoyed the dark, sharp flavor of a stranger’s spend upon my tongue. The thought, by itself, brought me to the very edge of climax.

Charles was panting, his blond curls plastered on his sweating forehead. “Oh, Angela, you are a wicked one! That was glorious, my dear.” He raised his shapely eyebrows. “But what can I do for you, now? I fear that even if you were to convince me, my tool will be of little use for some time.”

Somehow I sensed that he was playing with me once again. “Give me your mouth, then, Charlie,” I said boldly, sitting back on the chaise and spreading myself wide. “Kiss me, here.”

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1 comment:

Fiona McGier said...

Yeah, that whole lack-of-birth-control is why I write contemporary romance. This is a very hot scene, though the heroine is bound to not be satisfied in the way she desires. Glad to be alive now!

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