The Dungeon

Chapter One Lady Eleanor sat back in the corner of the carriage and smiled sweetly at James. She was feeling happy, looking forward to an evening of pleasure at the invitation of Lord Darlington, whose fortieth birthday they were celebrating. Eleanor had never met the lord, but he was a friend and business associate of James’s father, and had grown hugely rich through his ownership of coalmines and his investments in the burgeoning railway industry. She knew there would be good food and the choicest wines, and much more exciting, there would be dancing. Eleanor had spent most of the afternoon getting ready. She had taken a long, leisurely bath, then after her maid had dried her and smoothed scented oil over her body she had, with the maid’s assistance, decked herself out in her finery. She had a new dress, in green silk, which suited her dark good looks, her red lips and glossy black hair, coiffed and curled in the latest fashion by the maid. Underneath the dress was a white silk corset, tightly gripping her, perhaps a shade too tight for comfort but the effect was stunning, rendering her supple body into the perfect hour-glass shape. It also pushed out her breasts to what she felt might be considered an immodest degree, but none knew better than Eleanor the effect of a deep décolletage on the male s*x. Around her waist was a perfect snowstorm of white petticoats, and underneath them a pair of the most adorable white silk drawers, the perfect match. Of course none of the gentlemen at the ball would get even a glimpse of such garments (though perhaps if he behaved himself she might offer James the merest flash of her legs, which she knew he admired and which were clad in the best quality stockings from Madame Claire, “purveyor of the prettiest things for the prettiest girls”). But Eleanor well understood that if a girl knew she was wearing beautiful underthings beneath her clothes, she felt good about herself, and that showed in the glow on her face. As the coach rattled along the road, the horses’ hooves beating out a rhythmic clip-clop, she mused on just what liberties she might allow James this evening. He was, after all, more or less her fiancé, if not quite officially so, since he still quailed at the thought of having an interview with Eleanor’s rather fearsome father. Though James was deeply and patently in love with her, she knew that it was as well to keep the pot simmering. There would be other pretty girls there tonight, girls whose fathers were richer than her own. What if James’s own father should persuade him to marry one of those? The rich, in her experience, never thought they had enough, and were always on the lookout for more. But she was sure she knew how to handle James. She had gone almost as far as she dared to keep him keen, but there were still one or two more little titbits she might dangle in front of him. For example, he had never yet been allowed to kiss her the way he wanted, his arms around her waist, her body pressed tight against his, his tongue in her mouth. Goodness knows he had tried often enough, but Eleanor had protested her modesty and virtue, and though their lips had met, not once but often, heretofore she had kept her mouth closed. She moved her legs, crossing them with a rustle of silk and lace. James looked on greedily. So much did he desire this beautiful girl that, fearful of going mad with desire, he had taken to frequenting a brothel in the West End which claimed to have the prettiest French girls, all guaranteed clean. There he had indulged himself on several occasions with a delightful girl who claimed her name was Fifi, though James had discovered she was actually Hattie, from Stepney. Fifi, or Hattie, whatever her name or origin, certainly knew a lot of tricks, and James’s amatory education had been greatly furthered by his encounters with her. In particular she prided herself on her skills at fellatio, or sucking d**k as she commonly called it. It had occurred to James more than once to wonder whether Eleanor might be taught such skills, assuming that at present she had had no opportunity to acquire any. Had Eleanor known of James’s sessions with Hattie, she would have been scandalised to the utmost degree and instantly dismissed him as a suitor. And knowing Eleanor as he did, James did not doubt that all their friends would soon learn of his disgrace. But that was why James had chosen Mrs Bayliss’s establishment, which assured its clients of the utmost discretion. Since its reputation depended on the clients being certain their secrets were safe, James felt confident that Eleanor would never know. But the sessions with Hattie had in no way diminished his appetite for Eleanor. She was the kind of girl, he thought, who was for ever promising just a little more, while not quite delivering, and this kind of teasing drove him crazy. He knew that he must have her, but it had been made very clear to him that though from time to time he might be offered tantalising morsels, the full meal would have to wait until marriage. James must content himself for the moment with Hattie, and with frequent bouts of m**********n, accompanied in his imagination by thoughts of Eleanor doing unspeakable things. Little did James suspect that even now, as the coach trundled along, Eleanor was enjoying thoughts of equal lubricity. Educated at home by a series of strait-laced governesses, as a young girl Eleanor had no sources of information about what passes between men and women. Her thoughts were entirely conditioned by the fairy stories she read as a child, of princes who rescued princesses from the clutches of ogres. But what the ogres might have been doing with the girls in the first place was not something she speculated on. Blameless innocence was the order of the day, until at the age of eighteen her father, concerned that Eleanor might enter the world of society with not a clue about how the world worked, decided she would benefit from the company of other young females. Accordingly she was sent as a day-girl to Miss Pratchett’s finishing school, where he hoped her mind would be expanded. The expansion which took place was not only in those areas of knowledge and behaviour that were advertised. The school offered classes in deportment, drawing, singing and piano playing, French, and general etiquette. But what her father did not allow for was that the school was a seething cauldron of female hormones, fuelling an intense interest in more earthy subjects, almost all of which related to boys. What did boys look like naked? What were their “things” like; how long, how thick? What did they actually do with them? Eleanor was surprised, though not, after the initial revelations, greatly shocked to learn what a boy wanted to do with his p***s, though until now she had never suspected that he would want to insert part of his body into hers. But once she began to think about it, she wondered if it hurt? She was assured it only hurt the first time, after which the act produced the most intense pleasure known to woman. This of course made Eleanor curious to try. But at the same time she had been inculcated with the vital importance to her marriage prospects of not letting a boy anywhere near her. Intimacy of any kind was to be shunned. Fortunately, Eleanor soon learned from the other girls that there were substitutes for what boys might do, substitutes which were freely available at any time, being self-administered. One of the girls, Adelaide, precocious in matters of sexuality, took her in hand, quite literally, and showed her the best way to masturbate, how to obtain maximum pleasure, and what aids were available. Adelaide acquired for her a wooden dildo, though with the strongest admonitions that it was not to be inserted far enough to break her hymen. Moreover, Adelaide showed her other things to do to augment her pleasure. She sucked on Eleanor’s n*****s and she put her hand between Eleanor’s legs and worked the lips of her dainty little cunt and showed her where her clit was and the best way to make it deliver the ultimate pleasure. Thus a year under Miss Pratchett made Eleanor a hardened masturbator, though she still had very little knowledge of how to deal with boys. “Make it clear,” said Adelaide, “that they will never ever breach your defences, however much they plead and however much you might secretly desire it. One slip and you are ruined, my dear. Until that gold band is upon your finger, never let the boy’s c**k within a foot of your tender little cunt, if he is clothed, and never within a yard in the unlikely event that he is naked.” “Why might he be naked?” said Eleanor, curious. “Boys have a habit of surprising you,” Adelaide said mysteriously. “Keep them at bay. On the other hand, if by chance they should insist on showing you their thing, you may venture to touch it, but only for a moment. You must be very experienced indeed before you let him go further, and even then you must not allow him any access to your person. Never let his hands go beneath your clothes.” “What is going further?” Eleanor asked, still curious, and eager to learn as much as possible. The idea of a boy’s hand going underneath her clothes gave her the most delicious thrill. “Well,” said Adelaide conspiratorially, “and you must never tell this, I have let one or two boys do it to themselves while I watched.” “Do it? Do what?” “Oh, Eleanor,” Adelaide sighed, “must I explain everything? Well, just as we give ourselves pleasure by touching in a certain place, so boys, if they stroke themselves, obtain relief. They rub their things until the stuff comes out. Often it spurts a long way.” “Stuff?” said Eleanor, fascinated. Adelaide sighed again. “Thick white stuff. It’s what makes babies, if it gets into you.” “Yuck,” said Eleanor. “I don’t care for it myself,” Adelaide said. “Neither the smell or the taste. But some girls get quite a liking for it. They love to see it come out; ejaculate, as they say. They even like to do it to the boy themselves. With their hand. And I even knew a girl,” Adelaide continued with a grimace, “who would do it with her mouth and swallow it.” “That is truly disgusting,” said Eleanor, shuddering. “Yes, isn’t it,” Adelaide agreed. So far James had been allowed to hold her hand, and to kiss her (chastely) on the mouth. And once, a memory which gave her a thrill each time she thought of it, he had taken her hand and put it on his groin and she had felt the big, hard thing underneath his trousers. She thought about that most nights before she went to sleep, and before she put her hand between her legs. Tonight, however, she had decided, if he was a good boy, that she might let him see a little more of herself, so long as he kept his distance. Being a good boy chiefly consisted of not paying any attention to other girls and not letting his hands stray and not pestering her for things he knew she would not give him, like a hand up inside her skirt. She looked across the carriage to where he sat. She had insisted he did not sit beside her, because she knew it would be a nuisance to have his hands constantly trying to interfere with her clothing. But she thought, because she was in such a good mood and because she felt especially beautiful this evening, he might have a little taste, possibly a hint of the little treat she proposed for him later. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. She loved the feel of the silk dress swishing against her legs. One of her feet appeared below the hem of her dress, a foot but also an ankle. “What do you think of my shoes, James?” she asked innocently. He looked at the shoe, circling slowly beneath the green silk of her dress. The shoe was of green suede, perfectly matched in colour to her dress. “They are divine,” James said gallantly. “I should be honoured to sip champagne from them.”