Young Bess Part Eight
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Young Bess - Part Seven free porn video
With apologies to all devotees of Bess for the long delay, I will try
to do better in the future. Shannon Q unintentionally made me feel
guilty into submitting this part, after I spent months puttering
around with it. I want you to know Shannon that I actually cried after
I read your review of Part Six. Fans don't deserve to be kept waiting
this long. It's not fair. And, no, I will never abandon this project.
Thank you, Shannon.
As always, YOUNG BESS is fully copyrighted and may not be reproduced
anywhere, for any reason, either in whole or in part, without the
express permission of the author.
YOUNG BESS - PART SEVEN
By Jane Howard
I discovered that it isn't so easy to end one's own life, no matter
how one chooses to do it. Having made the decision to starve myself
into the next world, I now actually had to endure the consequences of
my decision. I had not counted on the fact that I would be hungry all
of the time. Hungry? I was positively ravenous!
Once one has chosen to deny oneself anything, even to deny oneself
those things for which one has never had much desire, the perversity
of our nature begins to work its malignant magic, turning the object
of our disdain into an obsession.
Thus, keeping true to my pledge, I refused myself all nourishment.
Although I swear that before I had embarked upon my enterprise, food
had meant nothing very much to me, I developed a positive lust for it.
In any of its forms: pastries, sweetmeats, stews or puddings, pottage
or a simple crust of bread, all seemed equally desirable to me.
I even suffered recurring dreams in which I gorged myself on a variety
of dishes heaped upon a long table groaning with comestibles. So great
was my appetite in these dreams that I would awake in the middle of
the night with the chomping sounds I'd made in my sleep.
The easy part consisted of thorough and frequent review of my
appearance. A primary reason for selecting the mode of suicide I had
chosen was connected to the posthumous appearance I would make to the
world, and especially to John Villiers.
How pale and angelic I would look after my demise! A poor little waif
too pure of heart to remain on this sordid planet, plucked away to a
heavenly repose before my life had scarce begun! How they would weep
with regret! How John would weep as he threw himself across my coffin
calling out my name in bitter regret at his folly! Driven mad by grief
and longing he would stick a dirk in his heart and die with my name on
his blue lips.
But in order to bring this about I would have to look quite different
from the way I looked now. Indeed, as I studied myself in the several
mirrors in my room at Maidenhead House, I assessed myself as entirely
too ample in the bosom, the hips and the rear.
My lips were hopelessly sensual and my breasts were the focus of
everyone's attention. While even my critical eye conceded that my
waist was perfect, my thighs were positively Dutch in their fullness!
I was a far cry from the ethereal creature I yearned to be, and seemed
more a toy best suited for the complete fulfillment of man's basest
desires.
True, there were no flaws in the pink and ivory of my complexion, no
freckles or dimpling of the skin, not a single blemish, and I took
great comfort in that. But the real pleasure came in the picture I
formed in my mind of the way in which I would come to look. After a
diet of water and the small amount of bread I took to sustain myself,
it could not be very long before I would be reduced to the mere wisp
of other-worldly beauty that I so longed to project.
Ginny the maid had become my constant companion. (I was certain that
she was charged with the duty of keeping an eye on me for Philip, but
she was a comfort to me nonetheless.) She told me that she knew of
other maidens who, scrutinizing themselves in the looking glass, saw a
false image, saw themselves as positively obese when such was not the
case at all. She had heard that some had even died in a self-deluded
quest for a trim figure and general delicacy that they already
possessed would they but see it. This happened despite all that their
families would do to try and stop them.
I complained to her that I was not to be compared to such unstable
girls, because my goal was entirely different from theirs.
"Oh, fie on your stories, Ginny!" I exclaimed. "My situation is
entirely unlike theirs! All I am seeking to do is to cut a presentable
figure in society and not to look like a heifer!"
I had never confided my real reason for my fasting to her because she
would report it to Mrs. Pearson if I did, and who could know what
would happen then? As far as Ginny knew, I was merely dieting,
although I found it odd that she had brought up the subject in the
first place. Ginny was a clever one. If she was probing about for my
true intention, I had hopes that I could fool her into believing that
I was merely a champion of my own vanity.
In order to assuage the constant hunger, I took to sampling the
fragrances of the many bottles of scent adorning the vanity that sat
beside my bed.
I assailed my senses with deep inhalations of colognes and perfumes
from France, Belgium, and Italy until I was quite giddy, and lost all
thought of food.
I read the books that lined a shelf near the window. Ovid was my pet
because there was a part in his poetry about the nymph Daphne who,
like me, sought escape from the lusts and powers of men until she was
all but lost, crying out, "Gape Earth, and this unhappy wretch
entomb!" I loved that line and wept whenever I read it, and found that
whispering it to myself when I was quite alone, encouraged me in my
resolve.
Eventually, through self-deprivation, and the after effects of the
perfumes, I lost the ability to concentrate for any length of time and
had to abandon my reading.
I slept a great deal, dreaming of all manner of victuals, as I have
said.
When I was not sleeping or reading I bathed.
The girls of Maidenhead House seemed to bathe frequently. So no one
thought it odd that I requested to bathe several times a day. Ginny
was more than happy to oblige my apparent obsession with cleanliness.
She would help to fill and empty the tub, and gaily pour water over my
shoulders and breasts whenever I requested her to do so.
Ginny loved to take the softest of cloths and gently lave my legs and
arms. She hummed happily as she expended a great deal of time
massaging my breasts. This practice of massage, she claimed, released
nervous tension and pacified the mind. I found it to have quite the
opposite effect in that it inflamed my imagination with all sorts of
fantasies, and sent my emotions into a state of high excitement. I
implored her to find other tasks with which to occupy herself, but my
requests were all in vain. For while she would do it for a little
while, inevitably she would turn her attention back to my bosom with
even greater dedication than before. She was quite wearing me out.
On one such occasion, Ginny was attending to my breasts and
particularly the pinkest parts of them, with such exceptional alacrity
that I was fairly swooning and I begged her to desist.
"You must stop your ministrations at once, Ginny!" I cried. "I am so
distracted that I can barely recall my name! If you must be so
dedicated to my ablutions, then I pray you, take the cloth and wash my
back instead!"
In this she complied, and I had peace for a few minutes while Ginny
stood behind me and applied her cloth to my back and shoulders in a
most soothing manner.
I leaned backwards to encourage more massage to the area around my
neck. I had awoke that morning with a mild discomfort in it, and I
knew that Ginny's gifted hands would soon set it right.
"My neck please, Ginny," I murmured.
So excellent was her touch that within moments, the discomfort in my
neck was so much relieved that I was inclined to close my eyes, let my
head fall back further and thoroughly relax myself. The water was of
such a perfect temperature and Ginny so able in her task that I might
very likely have gone into a dream were it not for one disturbing
element in the mix.
As I reclined my head, I encountered a sensation that felt rather like
a thumb was being pressed against my scalp. However, both of Ginny's
thumbs were engaged in the application of gentle pressure to an area
just below my ears, and this thumb-like object was intermittently
pushing against the top of the back of my head. What could it be?
I turned my face to see.
And what I saw was the outline of a protuberance of some kind
extending from beneath her skirts.
"Ginny?"
"Yes?" she replied.
"What is the cause of the bulge that I see in your skirts?" I asked.
Ginny's cheeks, already high in color (which I had noticed during my
bath times before, but had ascribe to be the result of the combination
of the warmth of the room, and the energy she was expending in her
exertions) turned even rosier. She spluttered an explanation.
"Oh, this? Oh, that is easily explained...," she began.
I did not want to hear her explanations. Instead, I turned myself
fully around in the tub and lifted her hem. It took but a second. She
was not expecting me to do anything so bold, and so, stunned, she took
no action to prevent it.
I stared. The organ that stared back at me through its single eye, was
something I had myself once owned, although I had never viewed it from
the same perspective as I did now. I screamed and leapt from the tub
to cover myself with my dressing gown.
"Oh, dear heaven! Am I to be deceived by everyone and everything
around me?" I pleaded, looking skyward as I fastened the sash of my
gown.
Ginny said a flood of words to me, but I did not listen.
"Get out!" I commanded, pointing to the door in an attempt to maintain
some level of dignity and control.
"I will do no such thing," replied Ginny.
"You will not?" I exclaimed in utter disbelief.
Ginny stared me up and down, and I realized that the wetness of my
skin underneath the gown had turned it quite translucent and that my
charms were nearly as visible to her now as they had been before I
clothed myself. I trembled in frustration and embarrassment.
Then Ginny made an accusation to me that took me quite by surprise.
"I may be no woman, but neither are you," said Ginny.
I was thoroughly taken aback at her words. Indeed, it was true that I
was no more a woman that she was, even if I looked and felt like one,
but how had she penetrated my deception? Suddenly on the defensive, I
collected myself. Innocently, and in a much calmer voice, I asked her
what she meant by her statement. As she responded to me, I began to
see a much different Ginny from the one I thought I had known.
"You are but a lass. Hardly more than a child! You know nothing of the
goings on around here, or what is being planned for you," she replied.
"You would do well to hold your tongue and hear me out before you go
expelling me from your chamber."
I nodded my agreement.
"'Miss Haughty Bess!' Lad or lass I may be, I hardly know what I am
myself at times, but I am the only friend you have in this house, so
stifle that indignation, be still and listen and you will be the wiser
for it," she continued and then she explained in lurid detail all that
was to befall me at Maidenhead House.
"The first thing you must know," Ginny informed me, "is that
Maidenhead House is a brothel catering to only the best quality men
and women and their diverse tastes."
"A brothel?" I exclaimed.
"You know very little of what goes on in this world," Ginny told me
with bitterness in her voice. "There are things..." Here she stopped,
as if she was afraid that her own emotions would overcome her. But no,
she took a breath and then proceeded.
"There are men who love women. This you understand, I think. But there
are also men who love men, and women who love women, and men and women
who love both."
Such thoughts had never occurred to me, and I could not understand how
such things could be, or, purely as a matter of simple mechanics, how
those of the same gender could fit their parts together. Perhaps they
merely kissed, or embraced? But I had no time to pursue my
speculations because Ginny was already continuing her lecture on the
subject of sexual diversity.
"There are also those men who love other men, but only if they appear
to be women!" She added.
"How entertaining! It is like theater!" I exclaimed, deciding to play
the scene out as one as though I took such things lightly.
"In some ways it is, I suppose," she agreed, after taking a moment to
answer me, during which she looked very thoughtful. At last she
smiled, having been rather grim to this point, but then she turned
serious again. "And now, as for you and your fate..." She stopped
herself yet again and stared at me.
In all innocence, I had been so riveted by what Ginny was saying, that
I was unaware that my gown had quite come undone. It was my fault, the
sash being likely to fail unless it were to be tied ever so tightly,
and in my hurry, I had had no time to properly secure it.
Thus, following the path of her eye, I saw that I was exposed once
again, my impertinent breasts were parting the sides of my gown and
revealing much of what was below them, all the way down to my toes.
It was very plain to me that remaining exposed in that fashion would
likely encourage her to be generous with the information I needed. And
so I pretended to be oblivious to the fact that I was on exhibition.
"Do go on, Ginny!" I implored, fluttering my eyelashes ingenuously and
smiling at her as brightly as I could. Underneath my coquetry all that
I felt was the cold steel of fear.
"It is this last group, those who favor the attentions of a boy in
girl's clothing, that I am here to serve," said Ginny. "Of course,
Mrs. Pearson being the skinflint that she is, has commanded that I
make myself useful in other ways. I do the laundry, of which there is
aplenty, and I see to the needs of our occasional guests, such as
yourself."
I nodded my understanding and wished she would continue.
"Waiting on the guests is a duty which I do not mind as much as the
insufferable heat from boiling wash water, or the stink that comes
from applying the hot iron to bedlinens recently purified of the
stains left on them by the exertions of our many patrons!"
"You need not be so descriptive," I complained. "But do go on. What is
to happen to me?"
"Oh, they will be coming for you in a very short time," she warned.
"Who will?"
"Lord Philip and his friends, of course. They have grown tired of
waiting for their answer from your father, and they want to entertain
themselves at your expense."
"Am I to fear the worst?" I asked.
"What else but that and more," replied Ginny. With a strange glint in
her eye she added, "After that you won't be any better than I am."
I did not ask her if John Villiers was among Philip's friends who
wished to ravish me. It hardly mattered anymore. Thoughts of suicide
left my head, and were immediately replaced with thoughts of escape.
"Will you help me to get away from here, Ginny?" I asked.
Her reaction took me by surprise.
"I will and gladly, if you will be my love!" she gushed. Approaching
me so eagerly that I stumbled backwards and drew my gown around me,
Ginny said, "There is something about you, Bess. Something I cannot
explain in any ordinary way."
"Perhaps you could sing it," I suggested rather stupidly, still
retreating in the face of her intense ardor, until my back was to the
wall and Ginny's lips were exploring mine with such passion that I
could say nothing more.
It was not unpleasant. The kissing, I mean. As for the rest of it, I
will confess that I was not ready for such intimacies. During Ginny's
assault, I learned a few things about my body and how it responds to
the stimulation of expert hands, but my greatest desire, the desire
for intimacy with the true object of my love and affection, remained
loyal to itself, and caused me to forebear. That my concentration was
divided was soon apparent to her and she broke off her attentions and
looked at me with wondering eyes.
At last she said, "Usually I am only attracted to boys, not girls. My
fascination with you is a mystery to me...." Here her words trailed
off. But the look of puzzlement on her face cleared away as soon as
she said, "I know what we'll do! We'll disguise you as a boy, and fly
away from here!"
Indeed.
Before Ginny dashed out of the room she admonished that I should ready
myself for her return.
I had scarce enough time to gather my few belongings in a little silk
scarf and tie it tight by the ends so that it formed a small bag
before Ginny reappeared carrying a pair of boots, pantaloons, a shirt
and a coarse jacket.
"Put these on and be quick about it," she snapped, making it quite
clear that she was all business now, and the business was my escape.
The stakes were high, and I'm sure that she was thinking that her life
would be forfeit if we failed.
It was evident to me at once that she had stolen the clothes all at
random, for while the boots fit well enough, I was barely able to
close the pantaloons around my waist and the shirt could not contain
my bosom at all.
As I struggled with the buttons, Ginny busied herself tearing the bed
linens into strips and knotting them together. Spying my predicament
with the shirt, she muttered a very bad word indeed, one I cannot
repeat, and came to my aid.
She pulled the shirt off my shoulders and told me to raise my arms
above my head. Then she wrapped me tight around the chest area with
some of the linen so that I could scarcely breath.
"Try the shirt now," she ordered.
It worked. And the jacket was so full, that it presented no problem.
However, the looking glass told me that I presented a very odd figure
to the world, because my clothes were so mismatched. I related my
concerns to Ginny. I'm afraid I whined a bit in doing so.
With an oath even more vulgar than the first one, she replied that no
one in the street would give a farthing how I looked, most people only
being concerned with how they themselves looked. But she conceded that
I very much needed a hat to conceal my long golden locks, and a bit of
dirt applied to hide my pretty face. Those were her words, not mine.
"Blast and damn," cried Ginny in exasperation. "There were no hats
about the place to steal!"
Silence reigned as we both considered the problem.
"We could cut my hair," I suggested at last, feeling myself growing
pale at the thought.
"Never!" Ginny swore.
More silence.
During the second silence we heard the sound of boots treading up the
stairs.
"Hide behind the door," Ginny whispered. "And take that foot stool
with you. If anyone should enter, strike them over the head with it as
hard as you can!"
Praying with all my heart that the door would never open, I did as I
was told.
But wise providence had other plans for me. Despite my willing it
otherwise, the door opened. What happened after came about so quickly
that I cannot guess but that it took only a few seconds of time to
play out, far less time than it will take to describe it.
As the door opened, creaking slightly on its hinges someone entered.
Who it was, I could not yet tell, although I could see Ginny standing
boldly in front of the door with a broad smile on her face.
I raised the foot stool as high over my head as ever I could, fairly
bending over backwards in anticipation of the blow.
"Good evening, Mr. Louis!" Ginny cried with an astounding warmth and
enthusiasm in her voice, as if he were a close friend who had returned
to see her after being away for a very long time.
I struck! To be completely honest, I had my eyes closed when I did it,
but I struck him hard as I could.
The blow glanced off the side of his head and stunned him, but the
odious Louis did not fall. He only wobbled.
Had not Ginny been a real boy, all would have been lost. I'm sure
Louis would have recovered himself in a moment, and begun stabbing at
us with that terrible knife he always carried. But true to her male
sex, Ginny, seeing that I had failed, proceeded to put her fist in his
face with such conviction that his eyes rolled up in his head and he
went face down on the carpet.
Because Louis was such a slender man, the sound of his fall was not
nearly loud enough to alarm anyone else who might be in the house.
"Here's a hat for you, then!" cried Ginny, flinging his hat at me.
"Violence makes me ill," I said, leaning against the wall, and making
no effort to retrieve the hat. What I had said was perfectly true. I
felt faint.
"There's no time for that nonsense," cautioned Ginny. "Help me move
this blackguard over to the bed...."
On her specific instructions, we laid Louis face down on the bed.
Ginny then pulled his breeches down and, taking a small container out
of her apron pocket began to apply a sort of ointment very liberally
to a specific area on his nether parts.
"What were you doing?" I asked in complete bewilderment when she was
done.
"There is always the chance," explained Ginny, as she washed her hands
in a basin of water on the night stand, "there is always the chance
that some arse fancier might come in here and have a go with someone
looking as ready for it as he does. In fact, I'll make sure of it."
"But that is horrible!" I protested, although, na?ve as I was I still
didn't fully understand what Ginny was saying.
"Bess! Can you think of anyone who deserves a good reaming more than
him?" Ginny asked.
"You mean that another man would put his--?"
"Yes."
"But it couldn't possibly fit!"
"You have much to learn, girl. But for now, it's you out the window!"
"What about you?" I asked.
"I don't need to do it. You're a fugitive and I'm a servant. I can
walk out of this house without anyone taking note of it at all.
Besides which, I've promised myself that I'd find our lonely Mr. Louis
here a dedicated sodomite to enjoy himself with. I'm quite sure I saw
one in the parlor when I went down before, to look for the clothes
you're wearing, and I intend to invite him up on my way out. All the
better reason for you to leave, lest you risk getting the same as Mr.
Louis does."
"Ginny, how could you?" I exclaimed, aghast at her insensitivity.
"It's an easy enough thing to do, Bess. I've already tied the linens
off for you, and you'll be safe as houses. Hold on to the top knot
with your hands and the one below it with your feet. Slide from one
knot to the other. Six knots down, you'll be in the street where I'll
be waiting to take you away from here."
With that she was gone.
I fretted and paced, deferring what I had to do for as long as I
could.
The sound of yet another set of footsteps on the stairs left me with
no other alternative but to screw my courage to the sticking place and
be done with it.
'Safe as houses,' is what she said. Did I believe her? Yes, I did. I
must. I had no choice. A sodomite was even now mounting the stairs and
I had no time to lose.
It wasn't so difficult as I had imagined. It was just as Ginny had
said. I moved, slow as a turtle I will admit, from one knot to the
other until I had counted five.
On descending to the sixth knot, I expected to feel solid ground under
my feet, but instead, I dropped into a pair of waiting arms.
"What have we here?" exclaimed the man who held me cradled in his arms
like I was his own precious child.
I knew immediately who he was.
"Dear God in heaven! Is there no one to rescue me from this hell I am
in?" I screamed. I was more desperate, more despairing than I'd ever
been before in my life. There was no hope. The devil reigned here. As
proof the darkened empty streets echoed with my pathetic plea, but no
answer came, no reassurance, no promise of help, nothing.
Slowly, cruel Philip carried me back into Mrs. Pearson's evil house to
meet my fate at last and I was powerless to stop him, and there was no
one to save me.
All was lost.
Libbie
- 11.08.2021
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