This is the story of how he claimed me, and what it cost us both.
He used to proudly label me as the only Virgin Whore in the dockside. And it was true.
I'm not sure what made him treat me differently from the others, but he did from the start. I didn't recognize it at the time. I was used to being treated with gentleness, in my life before, so his initial kindness, his manners, even when he demanded what at the time were unspeakable things from me, were only what I considered natural.
The advertisement I answered, that I found on a tattered handbill in the railway station, was for a teacher, a governess. Or I'd thought it was, as it fluttered across the ground and caught against my boot. Only a few words had remained on it "young ladies" "for instruction" "no references needed, willing to train". And an address. My hunger had reached its peak on that day, my plump body unused to the pits and pangs and my bruised psyche aware that i could never return from where i had come and the future held only death. I thought that flutter of paper was an answer from the divine.
I suppose only that can explain why I stayed after he made me kneel in front of him. After he opened his trousers and cupped my chin in his hands, slipping his thumbs into my mouth to open my jaw as with horror I realized the price of my salvation.
But soon I realized that I was special. Perhaps it was my education, far in advance of any other girl in his employ. Perhaps it was the softness of my hands, my innocence, or the plumpness of my white skin, still not entirely diminished from my days as a minister's daughter. Whatever it was, he treated me differently than the other women that served him in this house. He opened the door of his private apartments, and I did indeed become governess to his young child.
By day. By night I needed to earn my keep, and his clients paid well for the simple service I had first rendered him. That of my mouth.
So I became the Virgin Whore, famously so. He would sometime let them touch my body through my clothes, but all he let them use was my mouth. They enjoyed this petty defilement, because though I tried to please, my mouth was small, and they found themselves in my throat, choking me, and bringing tears to my eyes. He always let them know I was the virgin daughter of a clergyman, and that made them even harder, made them thrust deeper and come faster. He would let them unloose themselves onto my face or into the top of my dress, on the exposed tops of my breasts, if they wished, or they could force me to swallow.
I hated sucking them, night after night. But he required it of me, and I owed him everything. It had become clearer and clearer as the women passed through and were used up. The other owners of the house had wanted to auction my virginity off, I'd heard them talking about it several times. But his answer had been a firm "no", and when I was on my knees in front of a customer, licking and gagging, it was him I was trying to please, as he watched me from across the room with dark eyes.
I hated it. I knew it for the defilement that it was. But I would sometimes ache, when dawn came and I was in my bed, from some deep place within me, thinking of cock in my mouth and drying come in my dress and his eyes on me.
But this is the story of how I became his. And it really starts not with kindness but jealousy, and betrayal.
Normally he did not indulge in the girls from the house. I learned not long after I arrived that my audition for him had only been because Charlie, the normal front of house man, had been away on business, and my master had indulged a whim with me, spotting from my well-made clothes that I was something out of the norm and rightly assessing that his cock would be my first.
So it was with surprise and shock and a great stab of some other emotion that I opened the door to his study that afternoon and saw a slender blonde woman with her body bent forward over his desk, her skirts up over her backside. I saw the taut muscles of my master's backside flex as he pushed himself into her, heard and smelled the scents and sounds so familiar in that house and yet so out of place in the quiet of his study. Sweat, musk, her moans, and the grunts of his pleasure.
I did not, I am ashamed to say, hold my composure. I gasped. The books I was carrying dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. He turned to look, not missing a thrust, his eyes on mine. Those eyes. I took flight.
I had a little money put by, tucked into a handkerchief in a corner of a drawer. With trembling hands I pulled my clothing, the mended and carefully pressed clothing I'd arrived in nearly a year before, from that drawer and stuffed it into my valise. I did not know why I had to go, but I felt I could not stay. He would not need me or want me anymore perhaps, or perhaps it was that I could bear it when his hands were not on me, but to see them on someone else instead, to hear his pleasure, which I had last heard when he loosed his come into my own mouth--with his hand tangled in my hair, felt like more than I could bear.
I heard his voice say my name as my fingers touched the doorknob, but my eyes were blinded by tears and my footsteps only quickened and propelled me out into the sunlight.
I was stupid. I was forced to admit that though I'd always been the luckiest whore, the one spared, that I was both ungrateful and secretly the greatest whore of all. Every day in that house women went unwilling to their fates, Spreading their legs for cocks they did not want and enduring the shame. But me, I'd have gladly opened my cunt for him, debased myself in every way, if he'd only asked. Far from being grateful for being spared, I was actually envious, jealous, of that girl on the desk.
But, again, I was stupid. I had nowhere to go. I wandered the streets till evening. It was not long before he found me, sitting forlorn in the nearly empty train depot. He sat beside me on the bench, silent.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, eyes on the paving stones of the floor.
"You know the rules," he said quietly. "Even I cannot protect you from them, as much as I might want to."
I nodded. I knew the rules. You did not leave the house without permission.
"I think I understand why you left," he said, "but I cannot make an exception for you. And you would not respect me if I did. Gather your things."
Leaving was forbidden, and I'd known it. The punishment was usually the cane, sometimes the lash. Some girls broke under it, bruised and bloodied. Some were sent away afterward. Several of my master's partners particularly enjoyed meting out this punishment. He did not usually stay to witness it.
During the carriage ride back he would not meet my eyes, and cold fingers crawled up and down my spine.
I spent two days confined to my room. On the third evening he came for me. I had already gone to bed and moved to take my dress from the hook but he gave a quick shake of his head and I followed him down the back stairs, clad only in my shift and bare feet. The wooden steps were worn but cold beneath my feet.
He opened the door to his study. Inside were about a dozen men, standing about in conversation, smoking, with snifters of brandy in their hands. Their sharp eyes devoured me as my master led me into the room. I was acutely conscious of the curve of my heavy breasts and the pinkness of my nipples showing through the thin material of my shift. My breasts, which none of these men, many of whom I recognized, had ever seen before. They stared, and we were all acutely aware of my fall from grace and what it meant.
My master led me to the center of the study. "Remove the shift now," he commanded me. My eyes were wide, but I did as he instructed, pulling it over my head. He took it, and I stood among them, my pale flesh shivering despite the warmth of the room. My master reached over and pulled a cane from the umbrella stand.
They devoured me with hot eyes, touching places with their gazes even I had not fully seen. The aureoles around my nipples. The slope of my belly. The down of hair between my legs, the roundness of my bottom, the peek of pink flesh below. I fought the urge to cover myself because I knew my master would be angry.
"Bend over the desk," he said to me. And so I found myself in the same position that the young woman had been in, only a few days before. Naked and exposed before them all. Before him. But instead of the pleasure of his cock, I was to feel the sting of my own shame and betrayal, for I knew now, that they would each take their turn in beating me, and watching the red marks rise on the white skin of my behind.
I could feel, not see, their greedy eyes on me as the cane whipped through the air. It hit the padded curve of my ass almost delicately. I felt, rather than saw, the welt that accompanied the sting. My eyes teared. My teeth bit into my bottom lip. Once, twice more the cane whipped out, swishing through the air. It burned. My body jerked with each kiss of it, but I was proud that I maintained my composure for him.
However, what happened next was unexpected. He set the cane down, and moved around the table, squatting a bit so that he could look into my eyes.
He touched my cheek gently with the back of a finger. "Good, brave girl," he said. "But you know that isn't it, right? You're a special girl, and you broke the rules. You know that means you need special punishment?"
He had my eyes trapped in that gaze of his, but I was just so happy to have them on mine again that the pain I felt was erased. I nodded, insensible of what awaited me. He nodded back and went on stroking my cheek. "These gentlemen are here to show you how lucky you've been, my sweet. You won't be the Virgin Whore any more after tonight."
