Innocence Examined Read online

  “And,” Anne continued, “she has no sweet friend to kiss like this.” Then Anne kissed Charlotte, the way the girls liked to kiss one another—the way Sir Gerald and Mr. Vance had taught them to kiss. They were not allowed to do it, according to the strict rules of Sir Gerald’s house, without their gentlemen watching, but they often did—and much more besides.

  “Oh, Anne,” Charlotte said softly, turning her head away, “you know we mustn’t.”

  “Hush,” Anne said. “What is a fucking piece to do, when her cunny burns between her thighs, and her gentleman is away?”

  “How can you call yourself that? It makes me so ashamed!”

  “But do you not feel that you are one? Truly?” She kissed Charlotte more insistently, and now Charlotte responded. Anne ran her hands over her friend’s flanks, covered still only in her chemise though it was mid-morning now, for Anne and Charlotte generally stayed in their nightclothes until they dressed for dinner, or to go out with Sir Gerald and Mr. Vance to dine with the small number of like-minded gentlemen and mistresses that constituted the girls’ social world. She began to lift the hem of the silk garment.

  “Anne, please…”

  “Why must you obey that silly rule, my love?” Anne remonstrated.

  “If Charles finds out, I shall be whipped, and he punishes me so severely…”

  But Anne had her fingers between Charlotte’s thighs now, and Charlotte sighed at their motions.

  “How could he possibly find out?” Anne whispered.

  “I think Mary spies on us,” Charlotte breathed into Anne’s mouth, as the kissing continued, tenderly—so much more tenderly than Sir Gerald ever kissed, and Anne was sure that Mr. Vance, much the sterner man of the two, kissed Charlotte with even less affection.

  “Perhaps we should teach her the joys of Sappho,” Anne murmured.

  “She would never…”

  “Perhaps our little Mary is envious?”

  “Oh, no…”

  “Lie on your back, my love, spread your legs, and tell me why you cried out so, this morning. What pleasure did your Charles demand of you?”

  “Anne, please… we mustn’t…”

  But when Anne moved down the bed to raise the chemise all the way to Charlotte’s hips and uncover the little cunny that Anne delighted to kiss, and even to thrust her fingers into very wickedly so that Charlotte would cry out for her as she never did with Mr. Vance’s cock inside her, Charlotte spread her thighs. Anne looked at the little treasure, so delicately furred with adorable brown curls, and she put out her tongue and lapped at the spot where she knew the tiny bud of Charlotte’s clitoris lay hidden, until Charlotte moaned and put her hand upon Anne’s head, first pushing the naughty lips of her friend down, as if commanding more pleasure, and then away, as if ashamed.

  Anne withdrew her mouth then, and merely ran her fingers up and down, saying, “Tell me, my love. What terrible thing were you made to do, before your lord arose from his couch this morning?” Anne had been four years at school before Sir Gerald had stolen her virtue and brought her to London in his keeping, and she still loved to show off her learning.

  “My bottom,” Charlotte breathed. “Oh, please kiss again, Anne.”

  “First you tell me we mustn’t, and now you demand my favors,” Anne chided, looking up, over marble belly and silken chemise, at Charlotte’s lovely face, still so innocent and youthful at twenty-five, and into her enchanting green eyes. “No, you naughty thing. You shan’t have my tongue again until you tell me more. How did Mr. Vance arrange you? Was it in the bed?”

  “N-no,” said Charlotte, stuttering a little because Anne, though true to her pledge not to kiss again, now blew very softly, and pressed her thumb into Charlotte’s cunny while with her middle finger she pushed against the little ring that must be so sore from Mr. Vance’s morning ride there.

  “How then?” Anne murmured.

  “He likes—he likes to put me over the arm of the chair.”

  “Why, my love?”

  “He says it lets him fuck me more conveniently, and harder.” Now Anne kissed again, and Charlotte cried out.

  Suddenly, there was a little cry from the wardrobe. Charlotte gave a little scream, and Anne leapt from the bed. “Mary,” she said, “if you are in there, I shall turn you out of the house before you can…”

  But the door of the wardrobe swung open to reveal Miss Caroline Hollins standing there.

  “Miss Caroline!” Anne said. “You sly, spiteful minx! I can assure you your backside will pay an even heavier price for this little trick than it did for your presence in Sir Gerald’s chamber two nights since!”

  Caroline’s blue eyes were wide with fear. Anne took her by her forearm, covered in the silk of her morning gown, and pulled her out of the wardrobe.

  Charlotte had recovered some of her composure, and got out of bed herself to stand next to Anne. “Anne, don’t be so severe with her. See, she’s frightened.”

  “I don’t care if she’s frightened, Charlotte. What was she doing in our room? And what was she doing hiding in our wardrobe?”

  Charlotte’s kind face turned to Caroline. “Why were you here, my dear?”

  “I… I only wanted to hear what you were talking about.”

  “See?” Anne demanded. “She admits that she was spying. Caroline, I am going to have Sir Gerald cane you for this. The birch is much too lenient.”

  “Then I’ll tell him that you were kissing Charlotte’s cunny! And you shall be the one punished! I heard Miss Charlotte say so!” The cast of her visage had gone from fear to spiteful fury in an instant. “It’s wrong to kiss another girl’s cunny, isn’t it? I know it is, or else you wouldn’t get whipped for it.”

  “You little hussy!” Anne said. She took hold of Caroline’s arm again and marched her towards the bed. “I shall spank you right now, until you take it back. You know nothing at all of these things, and if I were not a good girl myself, I should tell you such things about the right and wrong of girls’ cunnies that would make you want to stop your ears forever. You are to have a husband, and your husband will tell you of all these things, and make you do things that you cannot imagine. I can only hope that he teaches you hard enough lessons where your own pretty little maiden cunny is concerned, that you repay in tears all of your mischief in this house!”

  Caroline struggled, but Anne was the stronger, and she pushed the blond girl across the end of the bed.

  “Charlotte,” Anne said. “Lift her skirts, if you please.”

  “Anne, no,” Charlotte pleaded. “Think of all the trouble we shall get into, if you spank her!”

  Anne gave her as disgusted a look as she could muster, and began to pull Caroline’s skirts up herself, while Caroline cried out and squirmed under her restraining hands. Anne finally had both Caroline’s wrists in her own right hand, and she used her left, as Caroline opened her mouth to shriek, to stuff a corner of the counterpane inside.

  “There,” she said. “That is what naughty girls get when they cannot keep silent as they receive their just rewards.” Caroline turned to her with a wild look in her eyes, too astonished, it seemed, to struggle for the moment.

  “Now, Caroline,” Anne said. “If you promise to take your spanking like a good girl, and not to tell Sir Gerald or Mr. Vance what you saw, I shall spank you tenderly and send you on your way. If not, I shall spank you very severely, and then I assure you that the caning you get for your trick, by which you heard things you should never have heard, will be very much harsher than the whippings Charlotte and I get.”

  Charlotte gave a little whimper as she listened, thinking no doubt of the way Mr. Vance delighted in whipping her bottom until scarcely an inch of it was left unmarked. Anne swallowed herself, both at the thought of Sir Gerald’s own punishment strap and at the very arousing mental image of Charlotte’s bottom after the whipping, which, though she had never admitted it to her best friend, excited her most extremely.

  “Nod, Caroline, if you think we can
make a bargain.” Caroline nodded, and Anne removed the corner of the counterpane from her mouth.

  “I promise,” she said miserably. “Truly, I only want to know about these things.”

  Anne found herself unconvinced. “I know you envy me your guardian’s attentions, you minx. Don’t deny it.”

  “I don’t!” Caroline cried. “I only envy that you and Charlotte have men, and I do not!”

  “Oh, darling,” Charlotte said, “there will be time for that! And you do not want a man on our terms, for it is ever so sad what we have come to!”

  “But you do those things with them,” Caroline said. “The things that make you cry out, and it makes me feel so odd… you know, in my cunny.”

  Charlotte looked at Anne beseechingly.

  Anne looked back steadily. “I must still spank her,” she said.

  “Yes,” Caroline said, to Anne’s surprise, “you must. But… tell me things, too?”

  Anne gave her a spank on the middle of her bottom. “You know we may not tell you such things, Caroline!” Another spank on the firm, round right cheek, which bounced delightfully under Anne’s hand and grew pink immediately. “We should be punished ourselves!” A spank to the left cheek. Anne found that she had begun to grow rather warm between her thighs as she punished this charming, innocent woman-child.

  “You must ask Sir Gerald respectfully, child,” Charlotte said. “He is a kind man, really, and he will tell you all you need to know before you have a husband.”

  Caroline gave a little sob. “He said Dr. Brown would come and answer my questions! I don’t want that nasty physician to tell me—he’ll make it… nasty.”

  “Pert!” Anne said, and gave her three spanks in the middle of her bottom.

  “Ow!” Caroline cried, squirming under the hand that held her skirt and petticoats to her waist, and her hips down upon the bed. She kicked her legs.

  Anne spanked her thrice on the right and thrice on the left, and said. “Don’t kick, my pretty little miss, or you shall have a real punishment! You must trust that Sir Gerald knows what is best for you. Truly, you do not want to end up as we have, and Sir Gerald will assure that you do not.”

  “But…”

  “No! Buts!” Anne said, giving Caroline two tremendous spanks that drew piteous cries from the girl.

  “Yes, Miss Anne,” Caroline said miserably.

  “Very well,” Anne said. “You may go. And do not spy again!”

  Chapter Three

  Vance took a puff of his cigar and said to Sir Gerald, “And yet you still think of marrying her to some dolt? You are far too soft-hearted, Carruthers. We must bring Caroline with us to the Hebrides and share her between us. I promise you that Brown will tell you the same. She is ready for fucking, and if you do not pluck that maiden flower, I cannot answer for my own conduct. You cannot tell me that you do not long to have your cock deep in that pretty bottom you birched the other day.”

  They were sitting in the smoking room of their club, after an excellent dinner.

  “Vance,” remonstrated Sir Gerald mildly. “You mustn’t say such things here at the club. Really you mustn’t say them at all.”

  Vance laughed uproariously. “You know you love to hear them, whether here or elsewhere. I find it a positive moral failing in you that you refuse to say them yourself before you are thoroughly drunk, though I know you think them, for I cannot think of a sport I have proposed with the girls that you have not eagerly entered into. A natural man, as Brown calls us, must be able to say sober that which he says drunk, above all if the matter touches the pleasures to be had from his mistress.”

  Sir Gerald colored noticeably at that, his blue eyes flashing, and Vance thanked the heavens, as he often did, that his own darker coloring did not betray his emotions as obviously as Sir Gerald’s fair complexion, despite the bit of envy Vance still held for Sir Gerald’s golden locks. He decided the opportunity lay too fairly in his way to prevent him pursuing it. He said, “When we fucked our pieces side by side over the back of the sofa last week, and made them kiss as we did so, did you balk at the proposal? Or at the deed?”

  “Vance, that is beside the point.”

  “The point,” Vance chuckled. “No, I think the points were beside one another, actually.”

  “I will not listen to any more of this, no matter what that essay of Brown’s says, or you say,” Sir Gerald said, without making the slightest gesture that indicated he might in fact move his compact, wiry frame from the depths of the well-stuffed leather chair.

  “You love to act the prude, Carruthers, but you must remember that you and I are part of the same fraternity: Dr. Brown’s fraternity of natural men. You may require a few more glasses of claret than I do to speak this way, but—to lay another example before your eyes—when I told Charlotte and Anne to suck your prick together, this past Saturday, if I am not mistaken, you said, ‘Yes, you bad girls, come hither and do as Charles says,’ or something very much of that nature.”

  Vance watched Carruthers shift a little uncomfortably, and felt the left side of his mouth curling up in a wry smile. He knew his friend well enough to be sure that Sir Gerald’s cock currently stood as stiff as a guardsman in his trousers. Vance had produced the effect he wanted—the frame of mind in Sir Gerald that would allow him to further his designs.

  Charles Vance was not really a bad man. He merely lived according to his firm conviction that when a gentleman finds himself placed in a situation where he may acquire for himself the means to get those pleasures for which his flesh cries out, he is entitled, as a gentleman, to acquire them. Dr. Reginald Brown’s essay, On the necessity of men’s exercising their masculine rights in erotic matters, and the man himself, had proven quite helpful in persuading Sir Gerald to set up their household in such a way as to maintain Vance’s enjoyment of those pleasures, and as to promise very much more when they removed northward—but really Brown had only confirmed Vance in philosophical ideas about his amorous pursuits that he had developed quite independently.

  Charlotte Dalrymple—lovely, brown-haired, green-eyed Charlotte Dalrymple, seduced at eighteen from the bosom of her family by the sort of stratagem that Vance found ridiculously simple to put into motion—served very well indeed as one of those means. As, truly, her breasts, her mouth, her cunt, and her bottom served, when Vance felt, as he very often felt, the need to relieve himself of some of the voluptuous tension that had characterized his life from as early an age as he could remember.

  He remembered fucking Charlotte for the first time, in the little inn where he had taken her after their escape from her father’s manor the next village over. How she had cried out under him, as he made her a woman! How she had blushed just a few minutes before that, when he told her she must remove her shift so that he could survey her charms!

  “But, Charles,” Charlotte had said, “how can it be right? And we not even married?”

  “I shall marry you next week, my love,” Vance said, “provided I like the way your bottom is made.”

  “What?” Charlotte said. Vance knew then that he had not mistaken his lovely prey: Charlotte Dalrymple was just as much a voluptuary as Vance himself, albeit under a thick veneer of feminine modesty and family honor. There would be no marriage, to be sure, for what voluptuous gentleman would ever marry a girl he might fuck whenever he liked? But they would, Vance knew then, be quite happy together, and if the time should come when Vance decided they should part so that he might pursue another such girl, he would not fail to leave this one a sufficiency of money.

  Charlotte had been the third of them, and by far the most serious. His two previous conquests had found other situations, with his help—one of them a merchant’s wife and the other in service (as the lord of the manor’s ‘favorite’ chambermaid) in Essex. Charlotte, however, seemed to have worked her way into Vance’s heart, somehow, with her never-ceasing blushes and her tears that always gave way to passionate embraces and cries of ecstasy whose like Vance had never called from
another woman.

  Reflecting, as he gave Sir Gerald a few moments to grasp the truth of Vance’s position, and seeing in his mind’s eye Charlotte’s face that morning, when he had told her to get out of bed and go lay herself over the arm of the chair for a bottom-fucking, he realized anew, with a sigh, that he loved Charlotte. It was rather a strange position in which to find himself, though thankfully one ungraced by any moral notion of fidelity.

  Though Sir Gerald did not speak, nor indeed act, with as much freedom as Vance, nevertheless the two were of one mind when it came to matters of amour and social convention: loving one girl did not mean failing to fuck as many others as one found worthy of fucking. Indeed, if one could fuck them all together in the sort of general debauch Vance loved to discuss with Sir Gerald in great detail, and which they had begun to enact in a small way with their two lovely pieces Saturday evenings, at Vance’s urging, all the better. Indeed, the Hebrides scheme was meant to provide the opportunity to keep as many girls as they could persuade to honor their masculine rights, fucking them together or separately just as they pleased.

  One could speak of religion, and of philosophy, if one liked: of Sade, of sodomy among the Cathars, of the Spartans and their propensity for loaning their wives to one another. Vance, well-educated, could discourse for hours on the subject of the morality of their times being the true heresy, the heresy against the essential lust that nature had placed in men, and in women.

  “How,” he had once said to Sir Gerald, sitting in his library in Cadogan Square, “could our human species ever hope to survive, unless a few brave men such as you and I undertook to ensure that the act of love be seen not as a necessary evil to be regulated but as a gift, freely to be given? And if our desires include such so-called perversities as to whip our girls, and to spend in their mouths and in their bottoms, surely that is nature’s provision in order that a man have his natural ascendancy over his girl.”

  Sir Gerald had looked uncomfortable. Not as well educated, nor possessed of a mind as flexible as Vance’s, the strictures of conventional morality still hung about him somewhat. Those strictures, Vance often thought, provided him with the most worthy imaginable challenge.