Marie (1851) free porn video

Marie                         8950 words

It was hot in Savannah, and the humidity made

Marie's  simple muslin dress cling.  She held Mr.

Marrow's hand and tried not to step in the horse

droppings with her bare feet as they made their way

to the hotel.  Inside, after visiting with the desk

clerk, he led her up two flights of stairs to a room.

It was the first time Marie had visited Savannah, the

first time she had seen a building so big, and there

were so many white folks.  Mr. Marrow was taken

aback when a woman opened the door.  Marie

thought she was beautiful, old enough to be her

mother, but  dressed in a fancy taupe gown of silk,

with dark blue trimmings.  She had a tiny waist and

a full bosom.  "Mr. Marrow, I presume," said the

woman.  "I am Mrs. Wilson."

"I am pleased to meet you, ma'am.  Will John be

back soon?"

"No.  I buried him yesterday, typhoid."

"I'm so sorry to hear that.  You have my

condolence.  While I only knew him as a business

associate, I regarded him as a friend.  He was a fine

man."

"Thank-you, Mr. Marrow.  The goods you sent were

received in good condition and are already loaded

on the ship.  I have your money here, in gold. as you

wish.  Please count it."   She held out a heavy bag

of coins.  "Is there anything else?  I must attend to

my late husband's  other obligations.  My ship

leaves the day after tomorrow, early, and I suspect I

may not return to America.  If you wish to continue

to do business with our firm, I can send  the name

of our new representative, when he is known."

He put the money back on the table and said,

"When I came here, I had in mind to suggest a

business proposition to your husband, but  I will

make it now to you, Mrs. Wilson.  May I introduce

Marie?  Step forward, girl."

"What is this, another orphan you have befriended?

Mr. Wilson told me you were charitable, if not

churched, but a child like this...  She is pretty.

People might talk."

"I assure you, Mrs. Wilson, Marie may be short and

slender, but she is a woman, not a child.  No one

will think ill of me for bringing her to Savannah.

She is my slave, and they will assume I mean to sell

her."

"But she is white!"

"So it would appear.  Her skin is light; her hair is

only wavy, not kinky.  He features are not distinctly

African.  Her mother was light skinned, for a

negress, and we may presume her father was white.

As a child, Marie was a common field slave, pulling

weeds and picking cotton.  When my wife died, I

brought her mother and Marie up to the big house

and  added them to the domestic staff.  I have come

to regard Marie as my daughter, my only child, as,

possibly, she may be.  I  taught her and her mother

to read and write and figure with numbers, but I , a

man without a wife, could not teach her to be a

lady."

"I understand it is illegal in Georgia to teach a slave

to read."

"Mrs. Wilson, illegal is not the same as immoral.  I

try to do the right thing, regardless of the law.

When her mother was dying, I promised her that,

when the time was right, I would free Marie."

"I appreciate your desire, but where do I fit in?"

"I want you to take Marie with you to England and

place her in a good school.  The money from this

last cargo should be sufficient, I think.  You may, of

course, take appropriate payment for your efforts,

and I have an account with a bank in London which

you may access should additional funds be

necessary."

"Legally, she will be free the moment sets foot on

British soil.  Slavery was abolished long ago."

"That is my point, Mrs. Wilson.  If I were to legally

emancipate her here, she would be simply another

free negro, an orphan, ill equipped for the world,

subject to abuse or exploitation by any white man.

If she goes to a good English school, she will not

only be free, but they will teach her how to be a

respectable white woman, equip her to marry well.

When the time comes, I can provide a modest

dowry.  There are so many things she doesn't know.

Few men have even spoken with her, and none has

touched her.  She would have no idea how to

behave if  a gentleman  were to pay suit to her."

"If that is the case, Mr. Morrow, I cannot think of a

suitable school.  The other girls would tease her and

fill her head with unsuitable ideas."

"Can you suggest what I should do, Mrs. Wilson?"

"I am willing to take her with me to England.  She

can travel as my niece, Marie Morrow, if that is all

right with you."

"Yes, of course."

"Lacking a suitable school, I think it best if I take

her into my own household, as my relative, and she

can be tutored in the ways of respectable women in

a protected environment.  I shall send you  progress

reports and accounts of expenses from time to time,

and it may be that, with training, she may later

attend a finishing school, or she may come out, be

presented to society, at a ball in London, as many

country girls are.  I feel sure we will find her a

suitable husband.  I would, of course, be acting in

loco parentis, with full guardianship rights, the right

to discipline her as necessary and to control who

she may or may not associate with.  I  will choose

or approve her choice of husband.  I would want

that in writing.  Would that be agreeable, Mr.

Morrow?"

"Marie, would you agree to that?"

"Yes, Master."

"Agreed, Mrs. Wilson.  I'll have a document giving

you guardianship drawn up and delivered here

tomorrow morning.  As far as my lawyer, or my

acquaintances here, will know, I am selling her to

you, but with  a transfer of guardianship, since

slavery is illegal in England.  I will have a separate

letter drawn up for my bank.  Can you think of

anything else?"

"It is best, Mr. Morrow, that I take charge of Marie

now.  I have only a day to get her cleaned up and to

buy her a wardrobe a white woman would be seen

in.  Has she any proper clothes?  Corsets? Shoes?"

"I fear not.  What would I know about buying her

such things?"

"Very well, Mr. Morrow, I will take charge of your

daughter and treat her as if she were my own.  The

money for the cargo should be ample for the first

year or so, and, who knows, by then she may be

married.  If you will excuse me, I am expecting

more visitors."

Twelve weeks later, a letter arrived from  England:

"Dear Papa,  Auntie, Mrs. Wilson, says I may send

you my own progress report.  The voyage took 34

days and was  an adventure, which is to say, an

inconvenience, rightly considered.  I'm afraid I lost

some weight, the result of mal de mer, indifferent

food, and the constriction of my new corsets, which

limits how much I can eat at one meal. However,

Auntie tutored me in French and deportment during

the voyage.  I have learned to put up my hair, like a

lady, and I have been practicing a little flirting, with

the eyes.  We traveled to London by railway,

another great adventure, and I now live in a fine

house, five floors tall, close by the River Thames. I

think I am gaining weight.  I have not yet seen a lot

of  London, but I am learning all sorts of things I

might not have dreamed of.   Your appreciative and

loving daughter, Marie."

The letter, of course, was written under the

supervision of Auntie, and it left much unsaid.

Upon arriving at the Wilson house, which was close

by the docks, Marie was introduced to her new

home and the rules thereof.  "Auntie," Mrs. Wilson,

must be obeyed, instantly and without question.  In

her absence, the chain of command was Mr.

Manchester, the butler, Mrs. Wood, the

housekeeper, Mrs. Dudley, the cook, and  Marie's

maid, Edith.  All must be obeyed.  Except for

politely requesting services from Edith, Marie could

order no one, and idle conversation with anyone

else was forbidden.  She was not to leave the house

except with someone specifically designated by

Mrs. Wilson.   Humility and obedience would be

required at all times, and failure to obey would be

punished.

That understood, Marie was sent  upstairs with

Edith.   Warm water was brought from the kitchen

to fill a large wooden tub, and Edith helped Marie

undress.  With all those buttons in the back of her

dress, and the corset laces, Marie could not have

undressed without help.  In short order,  Marie

stood in her room in nothing but her corsets and the

underlying camisole, both of which had not been

removed from her body since she had embarked  at

Savannah.  Each day, Auntie had tightened the

laces, in an effort to give  Marie a new waistline,

smaller, of course, but also higher than before, to

avoid constricting the bowels.  That required

compressing the lower ribs, a mildly painful process

which might take years to complete.  Since the

corsets were stayed with whalebone, Marie had not

been able to bend at the waist, so her accustomed

sleeping posture, curled up, was impossible.  Using

the commode, and wiping herself, was awkward.

Auntie had provided a sponge on a stick for

washing the nether orifices.

When Marie was finally naked, and thankful for the

respite from the corsets, Emily helped her to bathe,

soaping her liberally and scrubbing the folds of her

skin to remove the smell  of  five weeks

accumulation of  sweat.  Emily patted Marie dry

with a towel and directed her to stand, naked, by the

fire to dry off, while Emily took advantage of the

bath water to bathe herself.

Marie stood, taking it all in, the coals of the fire, the

sights and sounds of the traffic in the street, the

draft horses and great wagons, the rumbles and

shouts she could hear even through closed

windows.  This city surely was the hub of the

British Empire; there was nothing like it in Marie's

experience.  Marie had begun to comb out her

waist-length hair, when the door opened and Auntie

entered, followed by Mr. Manchester!   Marie

dropped the comb and tried to cover her breasts and

most private places with her arms and hands.

"Marie, stand still, with your arms at your sides,"

barked Mrs. Wilson.  Marie continued to cringe and

cover her privates.  "For disobedience, you have

earned three strokes of the cane.  Now, do as you

are told.  Stand at attention, facing me, with your

arms at your sides."

Marie froze with fear.  She had never been

whipped.  As a child, she had seen an overseer whip

a field hand near to death, and when Birdie stole

and ran away, she was caught and whipped.  The

memories made Marie sick.

"For delay, another stroke."

"Auntie, I'm naked, and Mr. Manchester is a man."

"Another stroke for questioning my order.  Think of

Mr. Manchester as your overseer.  He has a right to

examine you."  Marie forced herself to stand

straight, with her hands at her sides.  Mr.

Manchester approached and looked her over

carefully, front and back, even pausing to feel the

elasticity of her breasts.  Never before had a man

touched her like that.  It made her cringe, which

was corrected by a glaring look of reproof from

Mrs. Wilson.  When Mr. Manchester had stepped

back, Mrs. Wilson said, "Marie, stand at the foot of

the bed and bend over, with your face against the

coverlet."

There was a great four-poster bed.  Marie stood at

the foot and bent at her hips, pressing her breasts

into the eider down coverlet.  That posture stretched

out the muscles of her legs and presented her

buttocks uppermost.  Mr. Manchester produced a

cane the length of his arm.  It made a whizzing

noise as he tested his form. "Five strokes, Mr.

Manchester.  Marie, you will ask for each stroke,

'Please, sir, may I have the first,' and after each

stroke you will say 'thank you.'  There will  be no

fuss and blubber.  Do not clench your arse cheeks.

Relax.  Move your knees apart."  Marie realized

that, if she did that, Mr. Manchester would have a

full view of her private little fig, between her legs,

but she had no choice but to obey.  "Ask for it,

Marie."

"Please, sir, may I have the first?"  Whap!  The

blow fell across both buttocks, an instant sting,

followed by a deep burn.  Marie screeched at the

pain, worse than she had ever known.  She pushed

away from the bed and bolted for the door, but Mr.

Manchester was too quick for her.  She dodged to

the side and tried to find shelter under the bed, but

Mr. Manchester  grabbed her ankle and dragged her

across the floor.

"Stand up, girl!  For that, you get three more.

Edith, come here and hold Marie."  Marie was

repositioned on the bed, her torso pressed against

the eider down, her arms stretched forward, with

the naked, wet Edith holding her wrists.  When Mrs.

Wilson adjusted the position of Marie's  legs, apart

in  a vee, she was helpless.  "We will start again, for

eight.  Ask for the first again, Marie."  Again, Marie

was frozen by fear.  "More delay.  Make that nine

strokes, Mr. Manchester."  Marie drew upon

reserves of strength and resolved to take her

punishment properly.

"Please, sir, may I have the first?"  Whap!  The

cane fell almost exactly as it had before, leaving a

bright red welt atop the first.  Marie managed to

stifle her scream, grunting hard and gasping for

breath. "Thank you, sir.  Please, sir, may I have the

second?"  Whap!  Again the cane struck both

cheeks equally, half an inch lower than before.

Marie gave a  noise like a frightened animal and

then said, "Thank you, sir.  Please, sir, may I have

the third?"  With a precision derived from long

practice, the "overseer" raised a welt parallel to the

others.  Marie broke into uncontrollable sobs.

"For further delay,  make it ten."  At last, Marie

asked for and received her strokes, thanking Mr.

Manchester for each one.  Strokes eight and nine

struck the back of her thighs, and the tenth, by some

devilish craft, also struck the fleshy lips of her

womanly cleft, the ultimate pain and humiliation so

far.  When the punishment was over,  Mrs. Wilson

said, "Marie, you will stay here, naked, until Edith

brings you another camisole and corsets.  Edith, you

may dress and go to eat.  Then bring Marie her

supper.  After that, you may find new clothes for

her and wash the corsets she wore on the ship."

"Mrs. Wilson," said Mr. Manchester, "I think a

further examination of the girl is in order."  They

put Marie on her back on the bed and raised her

ankles, up and apart, so that her striped  buttocks

were in the air and her private place was displayed

for all to see.  Mr. Manchester actually parted her

labia with the cane!  He examined her from a

distance of inches.   When they lowered her legs,

Marie rolled over onto her stomach and cried into

the pillow.  Slavery on the plantation was never as

bad as this, and there was no way she could  appeal

to her master, her papa, for help.  Mr. Manchester

cleared his throat and said, "Mrs. Wilson, we have

here a genuine virgin, virga intacta.  You have seen

her maidenhead.  Further, while she must be two

years older than Edith, she looks younger, don't you

think?  Her breasts are those of a barely blooming

child."  Mrs. Wilson smiled.  "Would she not be

more attractive to the right sort of men if we

represented her to be, perhaps, thirteen?  Imported

from America, where one can still find virgins?"

Mrs. Wilson spoke with joy in her voice.  "Edith,

forget the new corsets.  From now on, Marie will

wear none.  She will wear her hair down, as it is

now.  And tonight, before you go to bed, ask Mrs.

Wood for soft soap and a sharp razor.  I want you to

shave Marie, to remove all the hair from between

her legs.  Yes, and under her arms, too.  From now

on, Marie, you are thirteen, and not yet a woman."

When Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Manchester had gone,

Edith rubbed some oil over Marie's welts, even

rubbing her bruised lower lips as Marie lay, face

down, on the big bed, her legs splayed.  "Thank

you, Edith.  That feels better."  Edith slipped an oily

finger between the puffy lips.  Marie gasped.  She

knew she shouldn't touch herself there, but Edith

did not hesitate.  But then, Mr. Manchester had

touched her, too, with his cane.  "Mmm.  Thank

you.  I think that's enough."  Edith held up a hand

mirror, and Marie turned her head so she could see

her own bottom.  "Will those marks go away?"

Edith responded by showing Marie  Edith's bottom. 

"They whipped you, too?  How long ago was it?"

"The day before yesterday.   We maids get whipped

once or twice a week, whether or not we have

misbehaved.  Mr. Manchester says it keeps us

obedient and diligent in our work.  I think he just

likes to whip girls, and Mrs. Wilson likes to watch.

Well I'd better get dressed and get down to the

kitchen.  You just stay here and lie on your tummy

until the soreness goes away."

Just before bed time, Edith shaved Marie, until she

was hairless as a baby.  She ran her finger tips over

the newly shaved lips and then, while Marie's legs

were still spread, Edith bent down and planted a

kiss on Marie's virginal cleft.  Her tongue slid

toward Marie's navel, probing toward the apex of

the inner labia.  Marie started to protest, but then

Edith reminded her to do as she was told.  "Just lie

there, with your knees far apart, and I will teach you

something you apparently never learned."  Her

tongue teased the clitoris, and then Edith kissed it

with her lips and gently sucked, trapping the little

organ while the tip of her tongue flicked the end of

it.   Marie moaned and tensed up, as Edith

continued her ministrations.  Then Marie rocked

her pelvis, exuding juices from her cleft, and

making incoherent cries of delight.

After a while, Marie said, "Thank you.  I never felt

anything like that before.  What happened?"

"Women are blessed with a place whose purpose is

to make life worthwhile, no matter how bad things

seem.  They call it the man in the boat.  There must

be other names but...  Anyway, it makes up for

having a bottom God designed for being whipped.

Now, you are spent.  You will be able to sleep."

Edith pulled her shift off over her head and climbed

in bed beside Marie, pulling up the eider down.

"Good night, Marie.  Tomorrow I'll show you  your

chores."

In the morning, Mrs. Wilson was concerned about

what Marie should wear.  Finally she gave her back

the thin muslin frock she had worn in Savannah.  "It

will do, until we get you some clothes appropriate

for your age.  Remember, you are thirteen.  Wear

these clogs until we get some proper slippers.  Now,

Marie, if you are going to marry well, you must

know the skills of a good wife.  You must know all

there is to know about running a house, and there is

no better way to learn than to learn what each of the

servants does.  Today, you will stay with Edith and

do what she says.  You will do the work that she

does, so you will appreciate what maids must do.  Is

that clear?  Good.  Tonight, Mrs. Harris, next door,

is having a soiree, a party, with gentlemen guests.  I

expect,  Marie, that I will take you there and

introduce you, sort of whet their appetites.  Of

course, you have a lot to learn about how to please a

gentleman."

During the day, Marie emptied chamber pots,

cleaned fireplaces and laid new fires, polished

brass, swept and dusted, and did so many things that

normally went on out of sight of Mrs. Wilson.  She

also began her monthly period, inadvertently

staining her dress, so Mrs. Wilson said Marie could

not go to the party.  Edith went, and the next night,

too, returning to the bed very late, her breath

smelling of alcohol.  Marie was anxious to hear

about the parties, but Edith would not tell her,

explaining that it was best if she found out herself

or from Mrs. Wilson.

There were no Sunday services; it was a day like

any other.  That did not surprise Marie, for her papa

had not observed the Sabbath, either.  The next

week was more drudgery, though Mrs. Wilson did

have a seamstress fit some girlish calico dresses for

Marie, and some pretty slippers.  Neither Marie nor

Edith had occasion to be caned that week.

Sometimes, Marie would dine with Auntie, instead

of with the servants, to learn proper table manners.

Often, as they ate, Auntie would expound on the

state of the world, how free trade was making

Britain prosper, how anyone could find work, while

other countries, with their tariffs and monopolies,

stagnated and had many underemployed workers.

Our Queen is our mother and looks after us, and

Albert, her Prince Consort, is so interested in

natural philosophy and mechanics and commerce.

He sets an example for English enterprise.  Yes, the

human race is perfectible, and progress can be seen

everywhere: railways, steam ships, pumped water,

sewers to carry away the filth.  All over Britain,

there are societies to promote learning and morality,

to suppress vice, and to alleviate the suffering of the

poor.  Yes, there are the poor, but an ambitious

woman, prepared to do what she must, can do very

well in London.  "Marie, you are going to learn

what it is that rich men want.  Someday, you will

have a rich man at your command,  eating out of

your hand, so to speak, and you will not want for

nice things.  There is no excuse for being poor."

On Friday, there was to be another party.  Edith

bathed Marie, and herself, and shaved Marie once

more.  Mrs. Wilson applied some perfume.  Marie

helped Edith to dress with corsets, laced tight,

crinolines, and a silk dress which was cut low in

front and showed the mounds of her breasts and the

valley between, barely covering her nipples with a

frill of lace and gauze.  Marie, however, had her

breasts bound with strips of gauze before putting on

a brightly printed calico dress, which had a high

collar and no bust line at all.

"No pantalettes, Auntie?"

"No,  they won't be necessary."  While Edith had

her hair pinned up, Marie's cascaded down her

back, without even a ribbon to restrain it.  Edith

even had some rouge for her cheeks, and color for

her lips and eyelids.  Marie wondered when she

would be old enough for that.  English ladies

evidently painted their faces, whereas in Georgia

that would be scandalous.

Very strangely, Marie thought, they did not go into

the street to enter the house of Mrs. Harris by the

front door.  Instead, on the topmost floor of Mrs.

Wilson's, up under the roof,  where there were box

rooms and  tiny cubicles for servants, there was a

secret door, which led though the wall to a passage

and stairs and another concealed door, which

entered out into a small room adjacent to a parlor

and ball room.  A quartet of musicians, a pianist

and string trio, waited to play for the dancers.  The

guests were evidently down stairs, dining or

drinking.  Auntie told Marie to wait on the

concealed stairs until she came to get her.  It was

dark, absolutely black, as Marie sat there,  alone,

listening to the noises of the house.  Soon the

musicians started tuning up, and then playing

waltzes, interspersed with lively tunes.  She heard

muffled conversations, and the clink of glasses, and

occasionally a woman's uninhibited laugh.  She had

never heard ladies laughing, only the slaves at

night, around the fire.

Finally, Mrs. Wilson came for her and led her into

the parlor.  Marie's eyes had to adjust to the light,

and she stood there, speechless.  Through a

doorway,  she could see men of all ages dancing,

but in the parlor, there were just four men, all her

papa's age, or older, sitting, looking at her.  Two

smoked cigars.  She had come to like the smell of

cigars.  Papa smoked them, sometimes, and he had

a small cigar factory on the plantation, so he could

sell cigars as well as tobacco wholesale.  She had

even learned to roll cigars herself, once when Papa

had a big order from England.  "Gentlemen, let me

introduce Marie, all the way from America.  She is

only thirteen, and no man has touched her, ever, so

she is, as you might expect, shy and a bit reticent

around gentlemen.  However, she is anxious to

grow up and to please a generous  mentor.  We are

talking here of a long term relationship.  One can

only spend one's innocence once, you know, so it

should be worthwhile, don't you think?"

One man, rather round in the middle, put his cigar

down and said, "Only thirteen?  Ah, could I see?"

Without a word, before Marie could realize what

was happening, Auntie raised Marie's skirt for about

three seconds, showing Marie's hairless cleft to the

gentlemen.  "She seems biddable, not too skittish,"

remarked the curious one.

"She has learned to do what she is told.  Emily!"

Emily appeared at the door.  "Take Marie to get

some punch, please."  When Marie was out of

earshot, Mrs. Wilson said, "Now, let's discuss

terms."

Marie was out of her element.  She did not know

how to dance, and she felt out of place, pretending

to be thirteen.  Furthermore, the punch, which

tasted delightful, had rum in it, which she had never

had before, and she was getting a bit fuzzy headed.

It was all very exciting, however, and she saw

several dashing young men, who did not, however,

seem to see Marie.  Twice men approached Edith,

who was actually younger than Marie, asking to

dance, but she told them, "Later, if you please."  At

a sign from Auntie, Edith took Marie back to the

hidden stairs and tucked her into her bed.  Edith,

however, went back to the party.

At dawn, Marie awoke to see Edith beside her,

utterly unconscious.  Marie got up, used the

chamber pot, washed her face, the lower face, too,

and put on her white muslin dress from home.  It

comforted her to wear that dress.  She slipped on

slippers and went downstairs.  She was eating

oatmeal in the kitchen when Auntie found her.

"Where's Edith?"

"I couldn't wake her."

"That's alright.  She was up late last night.  When

you have finished breakfast, come see me in the

office."  Marie thought Auntie seemed unusually

cheerful.  Auntie conducted several businesses from

her home, importing and exporting goods, arranging

holidays for travelers, and who knows what else.

Perhaps her businesses were prospering.  "Marie,"

she said when her "niece" presented herself.

"Today you are going to meet a real gentleman, a

rich gentleman, at ten o'clock this morning, next

door.  I think he is the most suitable for our

purposes, that he will treat you well.  Remember,

you are thirteen, newly arrived from America, and

you know nothing of big city ways."

"It is true, Auntie.  I know nothing,  except what

you have taught me.  It is all bewildering, after

growing up on the plantation."

"This gentleman, he says you may call him Uncle

George, is going to have you spend the day and

night with him.  He should bring you back to Mrs.

Harris's by midnight, tomorrow.  I'm sure he will

treat you courteously and buy you treats and such.

In return, you must obey him in all things.  You

must do whatever he says to do, no matter how

strange it may seem.  Understand?  If he tells me

tomorrow that you have failed in the least

particular, you will be whipped, and he can watch,

if he wants to.  If you thought ten strokes was

hurtful, think of thirty or forty, and not just on your

bottom.  Now, tell me, what are your instructions?"

"I must do anything Uncle George tells me to do."

"Yes.  Be pleasant and forthcoming.  If he asks you

questions, answer him truthfully, except you must

remember that you are thirteen and you are white

and have never been a slave.  He must not guess

your true age.   You may tell  him what you like or

dislike, what you think of the things he shows you.

Tell him about America, if he asks, but do not

betray your age.   Remember, you are the only child

of a rich planter, who has sent you to England

because his wife, your mother, was very sick and

died a few years ago, and he wants you properly

educated.  Can you do that?"

"Yes, Auntie."

At ten, Uncle George arrived at the door of Mrs.

Harris,  and  Marie came out, dressed in pink calico

with a bonnet and white gloves.  Uncle George had

a hired cab, and  they drove through The City, with

St. Paul's Cathedral,  and on to  Westminster Abbey

and the Houses of Parliament.  Marie was genuinely

excited and told him how pleased she was.  He

smiled and bought her sweets.  They  drove through

Trafalgar  Square, dedicated to Lord Nelson, and up

the Mall and  on to Kensington, where they walked

hand in hand in the parks.

"Uncle George, I've never seen such sights.  I'm

learning so much!" she said, as they dined on chops

at an Oxford Street hotel.

"Do you like Madeira?  You don't know what it is?

Waiter, a bottle of Madeira, if you please."  Marie

drank more than her share.  It loosened her tongue.

"Uncle George, may I ask you some questions?

Why  are you interested in me?  Why are you being

so nice to me?"

"I thought I would enjoy your company, and I was

right."

"Are you married?  Have you children?"

"No."

"You look as old as my papa.  Have you ever been

married?"

"Yes, twice.  My first wife, Agnes, was very

beautiful, but she died of childbed fever, after

bearing our first child, who was stillborn.  After that

I married a widow, who had a title and considerable

property.  We had no children, and in time she

died."

"I'm sorry."

"Why, Marie, did you come with me?"

"I promised my papa I would  obey Auntie in all

things, and she told me to go with you and  to do

anything you want me to."

George smiled.  "Do you think that strange?"

"No.  It is not for me to question my guardian."

They went to Paddington Station, and took the

Great Western Railway  to Windsor.  Sitting

opposite each other, alone in a first class

compartment, Marie, who was already  a bit

unsteady on her feet,  said, "Uncle George, do you

have more of that nice wine?"

"You know I do.  I bought another bottle, and two

glasses.  Would you like some more?"

"Yes, please."

"Can I ask you a favor?" he said, as he poured the

wine. 

"Yes, of course."

"Show me your cunny?"

"Cunny?  What's that?"

"Are you wearing pantalettes?"

"No."

"Show me that that is so."  Marie giggled and lifted

the hem of her dress up to her chin, throwing her

knees apart.  "Oh, my.  Oh, my, how beautiful you

are.  I am quite overcome.  Let me touch you."  He

did not wait for her answer but reached out and

traced her pouting labia with a finger tip.  "That is

your cunny.  Yours is so pretty."  She giggled.   He

pulled back.

"Uncle George, no man has ever touched me there.

It's alright, Uncle George.  You didn't hurt me."

She dropped her skirt.

They were out of the city, tearing along  at a

frightening speed through green countryside.

"Marie, may I see your boobies?"

"These?  I don't see why not, Uncle George."  She

unbuttoned the front of her dress, and George

helped her pull her dress down, baring her

shoulders and breasts.

"Oh," he sighed, "so perfect, like sugar cookies

with gumdrops in the center."  He reached out and

touched  her nipples, which seemed to grow before

his eyes.   "Come, sit next to me."  He cradled her

in his arms and blew on her bare breasts, touching

his tongue to a nipple.  She giggled.  "Do you like

that, Marie?"

"Mmmm.  I don't know.  Try it some more, please,

and I'll tell you."  He devoured her little breasts,

holding one while he licked the other.  He found he

could suck almost her entire breast into his mouth

and swirl his tongue over the gumdrop nipples.  The

train began to slow, and he pushed her away,

pulling up her dress and doing up the buttons.  He

looked at her expectantly.  "Yes, Uncle George, I

enjoyed that.  Fun.  More wine?"

They  stared up at Windsor Castle, towering over

the Thames.  They walked a bit in The Great Park

and rented a punt on the river, but Marie was

decidedly tipsy, so they returned to the train station.

They found an empty compartment -- first class cost

more and was less popular -- and Marie sat next to

Uncle George and snuggled close.  He slid his hand

over the bodice of her dress and she did not

complain.  He unfastened some buttons so he could

slip his hand under the cloth and cup her breast in

his hand.  She  seemed to purr.  He withdrew his

hand and slipped it along her thigh, under the skirt

of her dress.  She let her knees move apart.  Again,

he traced her labia with his finger tips.  She giggled.

"You like my cunny?  Is that what it's called?"

"Yes, very much."  He slid his finger between the

lips and gently rubbed, noting that she seemed to be

getting more slippery.  His finger tip tried to press

inside her.

"Ouch!  You can't do that.  There isn't room for

your finger.   I'm not telling you what you can or

can't do, Uncle George.  I just thought you ought to

know that it hurts."

"Oh, my dear little girl.  I don't want to hurt you.

It's just that you are so pretty.  I get carried away,

and I do so like what you have between your legs."

She smiled at him, and he kissed her for the first

time, a quick, uncle-like kiss.  "Marie, have you

ever seen what a man has between his legs?"

"Yes, a black man.  I saw a slave making water in a

field.  Are white men different?"

"Would you like to see?"  He undid his trousers,

lifted his hips so he could slide them, and his

drawers,  down to his knees.  His rampant penis, tall

and stiff, was there for her to see.

"Oh, it's so big.  It's much bigger and longer than

the slave's was.  And these are your bollocks?"  She

touched his scrotum lightly.

"You've seen a man's -- uh -- balls before?"

"No, but I grew up among farm animals.  Dogs,

horses, bulls, they all have them, underneath the

pizzle.  My, what a splendid pizzle you have."

"Ah, Marie, animals have pizzles.  Men have

penises."

"I understand," she replied.  He took her hand,

removed her glove, and guided her fingers to the

shaft of his penis.  She wrapped her fingers around

it.  Slowly, his hand over hers, he led her to stroke

his tool.  "It's quite marvelous, isn't it?  I seems

almost to be growing.  So big and hard."      

"Marie, kiss it.  Put your lips around the end of it."

"I'll do whatever you ask, Uncle George."  She bent

and took the end into her mouth, while still moving

her hand up and down the shaft.  With out further

instruction, she swirled her tongue, treating it as

Edith had treated her man in the boat.  In seconds, it

seemed, the penis was jerking in her grasp, and then

it spurted something into her mouth.  It was more

sweet than salty, like clotted cream in consistency.

She had no handkerchief to spit into, so she

swallowed the fluid, not so different than

swallowing her nasal secretions.  When she

straightened up, Uncle George handed her the last

of the wine, "to clear your palate," he said.    His

penis was only a shadow of its former self.  He

pulled up his drawers and trousers and buttoned the

waistband.  "Thank you," he said, "You are a very

dear girl, and you have made me very happy."

Marie finished the wine and giggled.  "It is my

pleasure to serve you, Uncle George.  You have

been very good to me."

They took a cab to his club, where he had to leave

her in the cab while he went inside -- no females

allowed.  He came out with a leather traveling bag

and directed the driver to a hotel, a small one,

where it was unlikely that anyone who knew him

would see them go in.  They had  wine and

sandwiches brought up to the room and watched the

setting sun as they ate.  Marie expressed a need to

find a privy.  He showed her the water closet at the

end of the hall and explained the operation of the

flush toilet.  In a few minutes, she was back at the

room, and he bolted the door.

"What would you like to do now, Marie?"

"Whatever you like, Uncle George.  I am at your

service."

"Take off your clothes, all of them."  She had

already taken off her bonnet and gloves.  She

removed her shoes and then began to unbutton her

dress.  George stared at her, as Mrs. Wilson might

have stared at a heap of gold, and then, without

removing his gaze from Marie, he began to undress

himself.   She was naked first, and she stood there,

her skin rosy in the light of the dusk, as he devoured

her with his eyes and  left his clothing in a heap on

the floor.  He motioned for her to come to the bed.

She sat beside her.  "Your pizz...your penis seems

to have grown again."

"I want to put it inside you."

"I don't think it will fit."

"I'd like to try."

"I cannot say no to you, Uncle George.  Do what

you will."   He arranged her over the edge of the

bed, face down, much as she had been when she

was caned by Mr. Manchester.  He felt her cleft,

first with his fingers, then with the tip of his stiff

penis.  She made soft mewling noises, as if in pain

but not wanting to complain.  He got down on his

knees and tried to lick her  quim, the fluids of her

little valley, but he could not quite reach her man in

the boat.  The sight of her after globes distracted

him.  He began to stroke them, then squeeze them.

All traces of her punishment had faded.

"Of course your parents spanked you," he said.

"No," she replied.  "I have never been spanked."

"I want to spank you.  You've been a good girl.  I'm

not punishing you for anything.  But some women,

uh, some older girls, like to be spanked, and if you

have never been spanked, you don't know, do you? 

You might like it."

"You can do whatever you want to me, Uncle

George."  Gently, he spanked her globes,

alternately.  She flinched and  murmured and, as he

spanked harder, she giggled, even laughed.

Compared with the cane, it was exciting, sending

shivers through her insides.  He stopped a moment

and felt her quim; she was wetter than before.  With

one hand he spanked her bottom while, with the

other, he reached for and fingered her little passion

button, the man in the boat.  She began to squirm,

rocking her pelvis, and she exclaimed, "Uncle

George, you are making me feel so... so strange!

Oh, oh, I don't know if I can stand much more of

this.  I feel faint."  He stopped slapping her bottom

and applied his penis, but she cried out, "Ow, you

are tearing me!"  He stopped and got onto the bed,

lying on his back.

"Marie, sit astride my legs."  She did.  He beckoned

to her to come close.  She leaned closer and he

rubbed her boobies.  "Marie.  I don't want you to

remember me as the man who hurt you with his

penis.  Now, listen carefully.  I will hold my penis

upright.  I want you to slide up, closer, on your

knees, so you little cunny is right above my penis.

Understand?  Good.  I want you to lower yourself,

so it enters your cunny.  You can go as fast or as

slowly as you like and lean forward or back,

whatever way makes it go in easiest.  It may hurt

some, but  you have control over how much it hurts.

If it hurts too much, you can pull away and start

over.   You may just have to grit your teeth and bear

the pain, but I want you to put my penis in your

cunny."

Marie positioned herself over his penis, which he

held upright with his left hand while his right hand

roamed over her chest and belly and then homed in

on her passion spot.  She lowered herself until the

tip was half an inch inside her.  She winced and

seemed to gather her courage.  Then she sat quickly

on his pole, driving it into her belly.  She gave a

short scream, and then she smiled, proud of herself. 

George looked down and saw blood on his pubic

hair.  "Good girl," he said.  "I'm proud of you.  You

did very well, Marie."  He grasped her hips and

urged her to slide forward and back with his penis

deep inside her.  He could feel his penis deep in the

fundus of her vagina, rubbing her cervix as it  went

back to front and back again.  He watched the

expression on her face, the smile giving way to

some excitement, perhaps even fear.  She started

breathing through her mouth and working hard,

rocking her pelvis back and forth, pivoting on his

penis.  He found her man in the boat, which

squirmed under his finger, as she grew more and

more excited, grinding her cunny against the root of

his shaft.  Perspiration  gleamed on her chest.  Her

mouth was agape, her breath was audible, her

nipples stood forth.  George could feel it coming,

that exquisite sensitivity, that inevitable tension, but

Marie was panting and  rocking her hips, her hair

flying, her eyes closed.

"Ah, ah, ah, ohh," she moaned, while George tensed

and said, "I can't hold back.  I'm coming."  They

writhed together for a few seconds, and then Marie

collapsed on his chest, hugging him, breathing

heavily.  A minute later, his penis had slipped out of

her.  He moved, and tipped her onto the bed.  He

took a towel from his bag and mopped up the blood

as best he could, leaving the crimson cloth between

her legs.  She seemed asleep already.  He

rearranged her limp form and lay beside her,

slipping into a contented sleep.

When, in the morning, they were wakened by

church bells, he asked her how her cunny felt.  She

said, "Sore.  But I'm not sorry.  Last night was the

most exciting of my life.  Thank you very much."

"I am in debt to you," he said.  They enjoyed a

delightful day, strolling in the parks, taking a cab to

Greenwich, boating on the river, which is tidal

there.  In the afternoon, they returned to the hotel

room and  had supper in their room, with wine and

beer.  "Let's eat naked," he suggested.  She agreed,

so they did, building up the fire to avoid a chill.

She slipped her dress on to visit the water closet,

then returned to the room.  "Did you move your

bowels?"  She said she had.  "We have only a few

hours left.  How is your cunny?"

"It has stopped bleeding, but it's sore when I touch

it."

"I want to be inside you again, but  I don't want to

hurt you."

"I will try to bear the pain.  I'm sure it's nothing,

compared to childbirth.  Women do these things for

men, I'm told."

"But you are a child, and you don't deserve to be

hurt, at least not more than necessary.  Would you

mind if I put it inside your back passage?"

"Uncle George, you may do whatever you want to

me."

George positioned her naked, on her knees, face

down on the bed.  He applied some butter from the

dinner tray to her little rosebud and worked the tip

of his finger inside.  She tried to relax and

accommodate him.  Then he took a half bottle of

wine, topped it off with beer, and placed the neck of

the bottle against her buttery backside.  He pushed

until it slipped inside, an inch or so, and he shook

the bottle.  There was enough carbonation left in

the beer to force liquid into her rectum.  The

alcohol absorbed very quickly, and in minutes

Marie announced that she was drunk and no longer

responsible for her actions.  With a towel handy,

George withdrew the bottle, wiping up her wet

farts, while Marie giggled and sighed.  George held

her hips, so she wouldn't slide away from him, and

he thrust his penis into her relaxed anus.  "Oh, My,

that's good!", he called.  Marie giggled as he came

inside her, his seed mixing with the wine and beer.

Marie was drunk for hours, but he got her cleaned

up -- the bed was a mess -- and dressed by ten.   He

held up two golden sovereigns, warmed in his hand,

more money than a laborer would earn in many

months.  "These are for you, not your Auntie.  I

want you to hide them and keep them in case of

future need."  He slipped them, one at a time, into

her cunny.  Then they took a cab back to the Harris

house.  Marie went upstairs, to use the secret

passage to her room, while Uncle George spoke

with Mrs. Wilson.   He could afford it, so he

negotiated a long-term lease on Marie, exclusive

use, every weekend, from Friday to Sunday night.

Later that week, although Marie had performed her

duties diligently, Mrs. Wilson decided she was

altogether too cheerful, and she had Mr.

Manchester administer ten strokes of the cane, after

which, with the threat of another ten, Marie was

forced to fellate Mr. Manchester and perform

cunnilingus on Auntie.

Friday night, Uncle George noticed the bruises on

Marie's  bottom and became very angry, asking her

what had happened.  She tried to make light of it,

saying Auntie believed girls should be caned

regularly, to assure they remained submissive.

Sunday night, before he would return Marie, he

insisted on a full-time lease.   He bought her clothes

from Mrs. Wilson and installed Marie in a hotel

room not far from the Inns of Court.   Uncle George

left her alone during the day, Monday through

Friday, when she would mostly read.  He brought

her the papers, and novels by reputable and

instructive authors.  There were also biographies

and histories, from his personal library.  Over

supper, he would ask her about what she had read.

"You are a thoughtful and sensible reader," he said,

"more so than many grown women, wives of my

colleagues,  I have spoken with."

Their nights were spent in  splendid fornication,

unbridled sin. They also went out, walking the

streets, dining out.  Uncle George bought Marie

more grown-up dresses, but still no corsets.  He

asked her to wear her hair up and bought her fancy

hats, with plumes. "You like me to seem older,

more grown-up?" she asked.

"Yes.  I look forward to your growing up, becoming

a beautiful woman."

"If you wanted a beautiful woman, why did you

choose me, a child?"

"No matter your age, I enjoy your company.  But I

chose you because no man had touched you.  After I

married my second wife, the widow, I discovered

that her previous husband had left her with syphilis.

Do you know what that is?  No, of course you don't.

It is a disease that is spread by intimate touching.  I

have a great fear of it.  I could not touch my wife.

We slept in separate rooms.  Of course we had no

children.  She died of the disease. I promised

myself  I would not touch a woman who was not a

virgin.   I chose you because,  of all the females I

might have chosen, you were the first that I

believed was certainly a virgin.   It wasn't that you

were a child.  I'm not  a pedophile.   I only wanted

to make sure my lady was a virgin."

One night, George said, "What's this?  You are

bleeding."

"If it offends you, dearest, you may use my back

channel or my mouth.  It is only my monthly."

George pulled away from her.  "Is it not unusual for

a thirteen year old girl to have monthly periods?

How long has this been going on?" he asked, when

he realized  the implications.  "My Lord, you might

have conceived a child!"

Marie replied, "I cannot tell you."

"Why not?  Just give me an estimate, a few months,

a year?  How old were you when your periods

started?"

"I am not permitted to tell you.  Auntie forbids it."

"Auntie be damned!  I've paid for you, and I want to

know."

"Can you protect me from Auntie and Mr.

Manchester?  They said they would beat me, forty

strokes of the cane and more if I let on my true

age."

"Of course I can protect you.  I'm a Queen's Bench

Judge.  If they hurt you, I'll see them prosecuted.

Tell me the truth, child."

"I started my periods when  I was fifteen.   I turned

eighteen  last month, while we were still at sea."

"Eighteen?  You lied about your age?  You are a

fraud."

"She lied about my age.  Mr. Manchester said I

would be more attractive to men, if they said I was

younger.  I haven't lied, though I allowed you to be

deceived.  Please, forgive me.  I had no choice.

Mrs. Wilson is my legal guardian."

"But you were truly a virgin.  It wasn't a trick,

sewing you up or something."

"Yes, I was truly a virgin.  Until Mr. Manchester

felt my breasts, I had never been touched by any

man, and you are the only man who has ever

touched my cunny.  I'm sorry I'm a fraud.  Have you

noticed that I used your razor when you were out?  I

have been shaved, down there, to make me look

younger.  My father was defrauded, too, for he paid

Mrs. Wilson to make me a lady, and I realize now

I'm not a lady.  They say about one in fourteen

women in London sells her body.  The preachers

call them whores.  Really, I did not want to become

a whore.  I did not sell my body.  Mrs. Wilson did.

And you bought  me, knowing you were making me

a whore, before I realized that was what I would

become."  Marie began to cry.  "Please, don't send

me back."

George paced the room and seethed, muttering

angrily.  Then he stood still and said, "I really have

nothing to complain about.  I  conclude that it is I

who have wronged you, Marie.  In a sense, I am

relieved, for I did have moral qualms about

debauching an innocent child.   Now, you are a

child no longer, not in my eyes.   I certainly don't

want to send you back to Harris House, to be sold to

the next bidder as a common prostitute.  Come,

give me a kiss.  I forgive your deception.  Will you

forgive my arrogance, my selfishness?  I had no

right to try to buy your love."

"But I do love you, George.  Is it all right if I stop

calling you Uncle?  You make me feel that I am a

lady, even if..."  She threw her arms around him and

kissed him long and hard.

In the next weeks, George treated Marie even

better, if that was possible, and consulted her more

often about her wishes and preferences.  He did not

seem embarrassed to be seen with her and even

introduced her to his clerk, when they met on the

street, and to a barrister, as "Miss Morrow, from

America."

The next month, Marie's period did not come.

George said, almost cheerfully, "I must make you

an honest woman.  I will get Mrs. Wilson's

permission, if you will consent to marry me."

Marie glowed and kissed him in reply.  "If she dares

demand money, I'll take you to Scotland to marry

you, and I'll see that the police close her down." 

Several weeks later, two letters from London

arrived in Georgia, containing clippings from the

London  papers.  The gist of them  was that Sir

George Hounslow, QB, had married the former

Marie Morrow, of Georgia, USA, in a ceremony at

St. Clemmon's Church.  They plan to honeymoon

on the continent, making the grand tour.  In the first

letter, Auntie included a note: "I feel that I have

delivered value for money, and  our accounts are

settled.  It has been a pleasure doing business with

you."  The second letter was in Marie's distinctive

hand.