Victorian Diaries

Entry I

Dear Diary,

Today is a new day for the rest of my life, a whirlwind of changes. Even you are new, bound in leather with a lock to make you mine alone; just as I am his, now. Bought and paid for. I'm still terrified, I tell you only. But I suppose it was inevitable, and mother prepared me as best she can.

She should not have had me, she always said. The Duke could not afford embarrassments such as an illegitimate child would cause, and so I grew up alone in the attic, surrounded by books and what delights mother could sneak up to me. Do not pity me, for mother was beautiful and her gentlemen very generous. Still, after she broke with the Duke things were never quite as grand, she said. And used to cry late at night, whispering his name when she thought no one could hear. All my life I know she loved him, though circumstances compelled her to ask him to leave for his own sake and the Duchess.

It was last Tuesday, the end of my childhood and a rather abrupt transition into womanhood. Her current lover entered without sending that he was coming, something she asked of all her lovers for my sake. And found me there, playing dress up in her finest gown while mother was out visiting the bakery for the evening's rendezvous. I never liked him, this one, for there was always something cold in his eyes and mother never sang anymore.

I cannot and will not write of how it happened, dear Diary. Some pains are only to be held within, in the dark places of your mind and soul. Mother arrived home in the middle of it, and I think saved me as she sent him away for good and held me while I cried. She sent for the doctor, and another note to an old friend that showed up and helped her deal with the inevitable troubles with the solicitor and constabulary. But at length she was free, though even more poorly off, and I acquired through her something in a kindly uncle.

It was he that suggested delicately to us both that perhaps it was time I found my own way in the world. That at his club there was a yearly event, where young ladies might find "protectors". Mother wanted to protest, and even more so did I. Still, he took me for a carriage ride that afternoon and explained matters to me. That he would attend, with a few likely acquaintances of his that had no mistresses. He promised I’d be well treated with whomever he would find, and want for nothing. I had to believe him, dear diary. He truly meant kindly, seeing this as the only decent future for one that had already lost what I had lost. Certainly considering my parentage and bastardy. Still, I feared.

My mother dressed me, helped me do my hair with some little makeup. The last of her lessons for me, she tried to smile, and I found myself reassuring her. That it was all right, would be all right, and that I was ready to be out in the world. (I lied, and still it hurt.. No, mustn't show her that.) With a simple white dressing gown over corset and stockings, she saw me to the door as the carriage arrived. I hugged her hard, not knowing whether I'd see her again, and there were tears in my eyes as I started down the steps. The footman handed me in like a grand lady, and my spirits raised a little to see my "uncle". He told me what would happen that evening, what would be expected. That whatever happened, I should try to smile and be pleasant.

I resolved to be brave, not to disgrace his kindness or efforts. He saw me to the back room of the club, patted my cheek, and was gone. And I was alone with a group of strange women, all in various degrees of dishabille. Some were as young as I, some even younger and a little thin and shabby, which made me sad they must be even more poorly off than my Mother and myself. Some of the women were much older, brazen and painted in ways Mother would have laughed at and called the cheapest artifice. But suffice it to say that none stared overmuch, and we all waited there in the back either frightened or eager as one by one a butler type fellow came to take us out into the main club.

When it was my turn, the white gloved man paused to whisper to me that tonight my name was Pansy, and I should say so to any but the man who finally won the auction to take me home. And he led me out onto a dais in a room too warm that seemed full of smoke and the reflected glow of gaslights. I grew a little frantic that I couldn't see my benefactor, and the butler had to shake my arm twice before I could respond to his questions. I said my name, and he bade me walk about the stage before coming back to have him remove my outer robes.

There were many hoots and catcalls as I was left standing so near naked, and I blushed all over with my hand over my breasts. One by one I was made to answer questions shouted from the audience, humiliations galore as some seemed merely designed to embarrass me and amuse their friends. Still, the bids started, and I endured it well enough until I heard a voice that made my blood freeze. It was he, that horrid man that hurt me, and cost my mother so much money. And the bid he made my knees go to water with fear, for who would pay so much? There was silence for a few moments before another voice countered it. Deeper, this voice, and stronger, and without seeing I longed for whomever it was not to give up as the Bastard bid again. And again.

The price reached so high the Butler bid me go out into the crowds so that the bidders could see the merchandise up close, and the Bastard rose to pull me onto his lap. Cruelly hard he pinched my nipple where it just showed over my mother's too small corset, laughing with the rest when I cried out. He licked the tear off my face, and I cringed from his breath and memory both. More tears, and the Butler kindly enough lifted me to lead me to the other man. He sat with my Uncle in a semi circle of chairs, and his countenance almost made me lose heart. So angry he looked, so disdainful. Still, as I was led between his legs to stand, the sheer clean smell of him made me fall to my knees and beg him not to let the other man win. I felt his hand at my throat, lifting my chin as he looked long into my tearstained eyes. Idly he asked my "uncle" if I was a bright girl, and obedient. I confess I would have promised anything at that moment, and perhaps I even did. It’s all a blur.

Slipping down, I knelt before him to beg in a low voice, and perhaps something in that pleased him for his final bid silenced all. Even the Bastard dared not bid again, though I could feel his glare on my back and I shivered in fear. Sold, it was declared, a symbolic rope draped about my neck with one end placed in my new owner's hand. He nodded, and the next girl was brought out as I remained there on the carpet between his knees. I heard my "uncle" then quietly promise to reimburse Him for part of my price, but he shook his head. ‘She's mine,’ he said quietly, his hand still about my throat. ‘You arranged it, you will live with it.’ And the rest of the auction I remained there with my head against his knee.

Eventually things began to break up. Or in truth, some men left with their acquisitions while others began to share them about their table and friends, then and there. I averted my eyes. My new.. Employer? Owner? Master, he bade me call him, and did not ask my name; he rose in time, saying that he'd be taking me away for the night. Reaching the cloakroom he put his own about my shoulders, for which I was grateful for my shivering. He said very little on the trip a few blocks to a Hotel, and led me upstairs to a room for which he had the key. Inside, and he pressed me down into a chair and sat across from me staring for long enough that I began to be worried again.

Finally did he ask me my name, my age, my general health and education. I answered with more and more confidence, something of his general reserve more comforting than the debauchery back at the club. He told me his name, his marital situation in very terse terms, and what I could not expect. And what I could. He would be very demanding, he said, and as I was his I would obey always without question. I would not see anyone without his leave, would not leave the hotel for now without his presence at my side. On and on it went, how I would dress when I was waiting for him, how I would groom myself and keep myself. How to sit, even. Now and again I would blush, but he was very matter of fact about it all.

When again he rose, he bade me stand and removed my corset and stockings with his own hands. Turning me, he began to examine me much like the doctor had. Only it was not like the doctor, Diary, something in his eyes like water held back behind a dam. A flood, and I was nervous about it. I'm not sure if he was pleased or angry to find that I was not a virgin, though the ways that I *was* still a virgin he seemed satisfied about. The touching changed, subtly, almost gentle when I confessed what had happened for my first time. Was it his lips in my hair I felt? Something of the fear in me melted at that small gesture.

Settling back in his chair, he found a small pillow to put down between his legs, and commanded me to come take him out and do the duty he'd described. The moment of truth, I suppose, and there was only the faintest hesitation in my obedience. I'd seen Mother perform this act a hundred times, even practiced when I was younger on the end of my hairbrush. Though he was nothing in shape like my hairbrush! I nearly choked when I tried to do what she did so easily, and his hand in my hair was gentle as he started to talk, guiding me through it. And so I learned from his quiet instructions, finding my own pleasure from the way his voice started to catch. Such a sense of accomplishment when I finally heard him moan, and say that yes, I'd gotten it.

It did take me by surprise how much squirted when he finally came in my mouth, and I couldn't swallow quickly enough the musky, sour stuff. Despite his instructions, some of it escaped my lips and down my chin, nearly going out my nose as I fought to breathe and choke it down. He wiped my face with his kerchief, and kissed my hair before gently slipping his fingers through the braids to tug me upward as he stood. I'd done well, he said, but I still let some spill. And he'd told me not to. Almost kindly was his voice, as he pulled me over to the bed with him to push me over the edge to lie face down.

The first slap caught me by surprise, yelping as his hand warmed my ass. Ten times, and it was the shock that made me cry more than the pain. Afterward he gathered me into his arms, lying with me there on the bed. He stroked my hair and dried my tears, and told me that he was proud of the way I did for my first try. And that I'd get better, and he'd never punish me too hard if I truly did try to do what he wished. I fell asleep like that, my cheek against the linen of his shirt, as he stroked my hair long into the night.

A new mistress

Entry II

Dear Diary,

Three days, and it seems like an hour passed, no more. I awoke to a note, that morning I was his, and I confess that briefly it shook me. What had I hoped for, I scolded myself? That the strict and yet oddly gentle man who now owned the lease on my life would move in for some semblance of wedded bliss? I knew he was married. I saw the ring on his hand. I should not feel a twinge in my stomach.

It must be gratitude, this swelling of the heart. I feel almost giddy, to be my own woman in some ways. A very sober solicitor came by that first afternoon, sitting down with me to explain and draw up terms. What my new Master would provide for me, while I was his. More than once I wished my mother or "uncle" were there, to guide me through the strange waters of legalities and accounts. Still, I now seem to have a line of credit in my own name. Modest, but still quite exciting! And accounts at two modistes, as well as with the grocer. I even signed papers that, though I was warned were provisionary, meant that he was pleased enough I would have my own small flat and in my own name. I didn't need him to explain to me why it was my name, not his.

And yet I floated through the rest of that day. A woman of property, as mother would laugh at herself. Even if that property exists on the whim of another. The solicitor didn't even stare much at the collar I still wore about my neck, as He had ordered. (As if I needed the reminder of him.) So often I find my fingers touching it still, even now as I write to you. Leather, soft even with its thickness, my finger curls about the ring in front idly to hold it.

But so many details to remember! I write them for you, here, so that I can remember always. I am not to wear undergarments, save when it is needed to be sanitary. I will always face him when I sit, and my knees will be always apart. If greeting him at home, I will be on my knees, and always offer first to take him in my mouth. I am to swallow, and spill nothing. (Which I won't fail again!)

Corsets I must go and acquire from the modiste, to be worn waking or sleeping, save when he removes them. And stockings, always silk. When in the bedroom I am not to raise my eyes to his until he bids me, and I will always do my best to be graceful under all circumstances. I will keep clean and well shaven of all hair not on my head, and always wear the right makeup so as to be appropriate for the occasion.

This he says is a beginning! I'm so nervous of failing. Still, when he arrived the at last, I was ready. He knocked and waited a moment before entering, giving me time to move a cushion to the entryway and kneel there with my knees slightly parted as ordered. He praised my downcast eyes, and I felt his hand on my hair like a blessing that relieved and thrilled me such that when I felt his cock touching my lips I opened to him without thought.

I was more ready this time, having practiced on any appropriately shaped object. Still I gagged very slightly when he pulled my face forward, forcing himself deep into my throat. But he kept murmuring his encouragement, easing my flashes of fear at suffocation. He'd let me breathe a moment through my nose before gently pushing, over and over until the sensation of the thickness back against my throat wasn't quite so frightening. Feeling my easing, the pace increased, never more than I could handle, but always pushing, until I felt him swell between my lips. This time I remembered my mother's advice, and held his jism on my tongue to evaluate it for a moment before swallowing. This way there seemed less, and swallowing was easier.

He called me his good girl, kissing my forehead and, for the first time, my lips, and there was such warmth inside. With a finger in my collar he tugged me upward and to follow him over to the bed. The pillows he arranged on the side, and very gently pressed my face down into them so that I was bent over there. A hand on my back held my wrists there, and he started to feel me again, exploring more than before. He laughed to feel the liquid in my cunt, I hope teasing when he called me a willing slut. And more, as his fingers started to slip in and out, arousing me.

Stranger yet, he started to ask me what felt good, harder or softer. Trying to please me? I answered, and he did as I said, until shortly my legs were shaking and near to collapsing. I felt such a rush that I was nearly faint, whimpering for I knew not what. And with a final flick along my pearl, he stopped. Or rather, he let one wet finger trail backward, until it just rested against my arsehole. Breathe, he advised, pressing in without stopping.

Pleasure gave way to shock, and were it not for his other fingers teasing at me his thumb might have been more than I could deal with. Still, he kept it up, until I was begging, pleading for I knew not what. He found a rhythm of stroking with that invasive digit, thrumming along my clit with his fingertips and demanding that I let go, let it happen, until the world exploded behind my eyes. My whimpers turned into cries, louder than I would have thought for how startled I was. A flood of quivering delight, and I nearly collapsed off the edge of the bed but for his hands holding me. Or rather, still holding my wrists, with his thumb and hand underneath, supporting me. He held me still there until the shivering stopped, slowly pulling his finger out and letting go so that I could slide to the ground at his feet.

I kissed his shoe, and he smiled, patting my hair. Turning, he left directions for me to dress for dinner, and off he went to make reservations at a restaurant even mother had never afforded.

His Mistress

Entry III

Dear Diary,

Two days he spent with me. Two whole days! At dinner he treated me like a fine lady, save once when he reached out underneath the table to be sure I was sitting as he had bade me. I was, of course, so new and paranoid at the mere thought of disappointing him. His smile was warm, his hand briefly touching me familiar before withdrawing to go on eating. He asked about my studies more, and seemed to actually have some interest in my words and thoughts. It was flattering, and I think banished the last of my fear of him.

Now there is only eagerness, for all that he has given me. Happiness in how he treats me. I think sometimes of my mother and the Duke, (whom I must not think of as Father,) and how she described their time together. He is my Duke, my Master, though lacking the title.

When we returned from dinner back to the Hotel, he had me strip for him. A new experience, he told me to imagine music in my thoughts, and to move with it, through it as a dance. I was nervous, but tried to do as he asked. He laughed partway through and gestured me over, saying I should practice perhaps when he was not around. He himself undid the buttons of my gown, sliding the silk and brocade down slowly as though unwrapping a Christmas gift. Down to my stockings and corset, he turned me between his legs, lost in a pool of my dress as his hands roamed over my thighs, hips, knees, up over my breasts.

My knees grew a little weak, and I asked if I should fellate him, only to be told it would wait upon his pleasure. Always, on his pleasure. He settled onto the loveseat, pulling me with him. His hands were everywhere, feeling, caressing, weighing my breasts in his hands as he pulled them out of the top of the leather corset. He pinched my nipples to fullness, none too gently though he pulled me closer to suckle upon them, one arm about my waist. I kissed his hair, and he moved me a little so that I would straddle one of his legs. Thus parted, his hand slipped down to feel my freshly shaved cunt and lightly tickle me there.

Then indeed did I understand what he meant when he said shaving would make me more sensitive! His fingers were like fire, and I think if not for his arm still about my waist I might have slipped and fallen against him. He found me wet and smiled, lifting his fingers to my lips so that I would taste myself. Our eyes met, and there was for a moment perfect understanding. Please, I whispered then. Let me taste you. And he nodded, letting me go to slide down to my knees. This time I felt I understood. This time I wanted the taste of him on my tongue. Wanted to hear his breath go short, and know I was the cause. Wanted so badly to please him that the ache in my jaw was just another gift for him.

He stopped me though, this time, when he had swollen to fill my mouth and press against my throat. For a moment I was disappointed and afraid that I had failed, not pleased him. But he stood then, and stripped off his own clothes letting me see him fully. And there was the faintest hint of diffidence in his own gaze, letting me with wonder realize that perhaps he truly did care what I thought. Hoping I would find him attractive. Once again, my feelings seemed to matter to him.

I took his hand, then, and in silence we walked to the bed. He took me in his arms, lifting me to the middle only to follow. His mouth. Oh, he made me sing, tasting my skin and juices, sliding down to do for me what I had only heard described. I was still whimpering when I felt him enter me, felt the full weight of him bearing down on me to press me into the mattress. Dear Diary, is it foolish to fall in love with a man just for joining with you? There was something.. I cannot describe it. Like a blaze of light behind my eyes, and I realized I would do anything, everything for this man. And like a fool I could say nothing, but kissed him over and over, urging him on with soft noises.