The Calamities of Jane: The Victorian Bondage Classic
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Category: Erotica/Classic Erotica
Description: From Parson's Niece to Bondage Addict! Imagine what might happen to the innocent Jane O'Connor, young, raised in a parsonage by her ecclesiastic uncle following the death of her parents, fresh out of a cloistered existence, who is hired to be a secretary in an employment agency and who discovers that the "agency" is nothing less than a wild bordello. As Jane explores all of the possibilities of her job, she soon discovers "the chamber on the second floor" where diverse games are played by healthy and perverse Englishmen. She is guided in her initiation by Colonel Barrington, whom we see proceed with an Irish lass's unusual, intimate initiation into the arts of bondage and submission. With a deft hand and an unerring eye for sexual detail, Jane"s story unfolds.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: July 2008
6 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [174 KB]
Reading time: 113-159 min.
Colonel James Barrington had just gone into a private house of modest appearance at 130 Edgerton Terrace in the elegant quarter of Brompton.
It was just after six when he gave several raps with the knocker on the small green front door. A few seconds later an agreeable maid-servant dressed in a white apron and small bonnet of white cotton opened the door and ushered the visitor into the vestibule.
"Good day, Mildred..."
"Good afternoon, Colonel..."
"...Hum ... hum ... yes, I'm shopping, Mildred ... received a short note from your mistress ... hum ... very savory ... hum ... hum."
"Ah, I know nothing of it, sir..."
"Will you please announce me, Mildred? This is where I wait isn't it? As usual ... hum ... hum..."
The pretty servant opened the livingroom door and the Colonel sat down "as usual" in a deep and comfortable brown leather armchair.
He was a big fellow with a highly colored complexion, his hair was greying at the temples, and he had a small up-curling mustache of an indeterminable reddish-blond color. During his years as a career soldier he had traversed the Transvaal in Rhodesia, India, Egypt, Burma, Somaliland, the Cape, Colombo, Shanghai, Cairo, Rangoon, and many other cities on all the latitudes of the globe and none of them held any more secrets from him. Three wounds and five decorations were the stigmata and proofs of his bravery.
He had just been promoted to the General Staff in London where he held down an easy job as assistant personnel officer; soon he would be retired-a retirement, it must be recognised, well deserved.
He was 52 years of age, although one would not have given him more than 45, and he was to be freed from his military duties in three years' time. He was a bon vivant with a childish laugh, loud, and gifted with a marvelous constitution, having always taken life from its better side, and being very fond, as a proper subject of Her Majesty the Queen of England's Army, of whisky, champagne, and ... women.
He had remained a bachelor all his life after an unfortunate love affair in his youth. His fiancee whom he had adored had left him high and dry, running off with one of his friends of the same regiment who had inherited more of a fortune.
Colonel Barrington seemed to be dreaming, his thoughts roaming far afield, as he sat there with his eyes half-closed. He had taken a magnificent "Henry Clay" from his cigar case and he now lit it carefully; he rested his head against the backrest of the armchair and began blowing large billows of blue smoke up toward the ceiling.
Suddenly he sat up. He searched in the pocket of his vest (he was dressed in civilian attire) and finally drew out a letter which he unfolded and read, then reread.
His expression changed, his features froze and hardened. He was so absorbed by his thoughts that he did not notice when the mistress of the house entered the room. She came up to where he was sitting and gently placed her hand on his shoulder and he jumped up, startled at the unexpected contact.
"Hum ... hum ... ah, it's you ... How are you, Mrs. Coates ... hum ... you surprised me ... I was just rereading your letter..."
"Good afternoon, Colonel. I really think that this time I have uncovered the veritable rare pearl for you."
"Oh, you think so, do you? That would surprise me ... I don't trust you, you old witch ... hum ... hum..."
"Be more polite, James, and have some respect for my white hair."
"To be sure, but you've already told me the same story so many times that it is only natural that I should have lost faith in you."
He exaggerated on purpose for he enjoyed teasing her. For in truth he could not complain of the services which this worldly procuress had lavished upon him.
Mrs. Coates had once been a very much noticed figure in high society. Unfortunately for her, her husband had committed suicide after having been ruined by the exhaustion of the Rhodesian diamond mines in 1892, leaving her but the small house on Edgerton Terrace and a pitifully small income, manifestly inadequate for a person accustomed to the luxuries of a London existence. At that time Mrs. Coates, who was then 36 years old, was in her full splendor. And so she had no difficulty in finding several suitable cavaliers to serve her and to help her maintain the standard of living that she had been accustomed to. However, with time and advancing age she slowly slipped down to a lower form of prostitution in order to be able to meet her needs. It was in this way that she met Mrs. Flaybum, who ran one of the houses that she had taken to frequenting, a house that prospered more and more with each additional year.
The two women became fast friends. So much so that when Mrs. Flaybum retired after having made sufficient money to keep herself comfortably in her house in Kent, she left Mrs. Coates the richest part of her former clientele, whom the latter received from that day on in her apartments at Edgerton Terrace. Soon after, Mrs. Coates stopped selling her own charms due to age and its wrinkles and settled comfortably behind the flesh of young women or girls in need of money and sometimes even love.
One had to be exceedingly careful, for the police did not at all tolerate this kind of commerce. Furthermore, Mrs. Coates's role consisted principally of acting as an intermediary and not in receiving anyone in her home. In order to mask her real activity she had set up in her house an employment office for house servants, secretaries, and stenographers which functioned more or less normally and served as an excellent cover-up. She made an exception to this absolute rule only when she was certain that she was dealing with a person of absolute discretion.
"My little ad in the London Chronicle has borne fruit, innocent as it was."
"And so it has," answered the Colonel as he read: "Widower, man of letters, requires secretary, young beginner, serious, honest, good handwriting, easy filing, no special knowledge needed. Write: Employment Office, 130 Edgerton Terrace, London W. 3."
"And what happened?" he asked.
"Three days later I received the visit of a charming young girl called Jane O'Connor, 17 years of age, who had left Ireland where she was vegetating in her uncle's parsonage; her parents had died several years previously. At first, she told me, she had thought of finding work as a chambermaid, but seeing my ad, she was enchanted by the idea of becoming a writer's secretary. She seems to have had a very good education. And as she was all alone here and without money, I offered to put her up until the time you would come in answer to my notifying you. She nearly threw her arms around my neck in appreciation of my goodness."
"Hum ... hum..."
"Well, Colonel, here you are-a widower, a man of letters in search of a secretary.
"We have spoiled the dear terribly since she has been with us. She is absolutely delirious with joy and confidence, and I might add that she has a very beautiful body."
"How do you know that? Hum ... hum..."
"For one thing, it's evident just looking at her, and then yesterday evening I had Mildred give her a bath and by looking through the peek-hole I was able to admire her in all of her pure nakedness. I can assure you that this one is completely innocent. Mildred had a great deal of trouble getting her to undress in front of her. She wanted to keep her slip on and only agreed to get into the bath when she saw that the water was cloudy and opaque due to the bath salts which had been added. Mildred made fun of her in a gentle way and that gave her some confidence, so she finally consented to have Mildred soap her up and caress her. But not without a goodly number of little alarmed cries of shyness, and Mildred in the end succeeded in an artful way to certify that Jane is a bona fide virgin. Of course, she was unable to be too persistent, and she was just able to slip her soapy fingers into the perfect little sea shell."
"Hum ... hum ... you're exciting me ... damned woman ... we're going to have a look at this tender morsel ... take me to her ... my future secretary..."
"In any case, not here; it's too dangerous, James. Go up to the second floor, to the special room. There," she added laughing, "you'll be undisturbed. One can't hear a thing and you can do what you will in peace. However, dear James, I should like to have a little deposit for my trouble..."
"How much money do you want?"
"I think ... I think that ... a situation of this kind, a rarity like this..."
"Hum ... stop bargaining ... How much?"
"Would it be too much to ask 100 pounds?"
"You're crazy ... a fortune ... 100 pounds ... you don't realise ... If that's your last offer I put my hat on and you can do what the hell you damn well please with your Irish morsel."
"You wouldn't say that, Colonel, once you had seen her. This girl is priceless. I'm even ashamed to put her in your hands ... she deserves a better fate."
"Now you are insulting me. What better fate could you reserve for this girl? Perhaps you're thinking of keeping her on for a few years: educate her; give her music lessons; only to throw her into the arms and bed of our drunken Prince of Wales? My cock is as good as his, I can assure you; as good as anybody's for that matter ... no 100 pounds..."
"That's right, 100 pounds or nothing," she answered dryly.
"Damn pimp, the least you can do is to show us this rare bird of yours."
"If you like, come this way..."
So saying, she led the Colonel toward the livingroom wall and removed a painting, thereby uncovering a grated peek-hole.
"Wait, let's be careful; I'll close the curtains first."
Once the room was thrown into darkness, she came back to the peek-hole and drew back the grating. The Colonel was able to see seated in front of a table the charming Irish girl, reading a magazine. He was literally overwhelmed. Such were the qualities of grace, innocence, charm, and beauty assembled in the ravishing features of this marvelous child that he didn't hesitate for one second.
"Hum ... here's 50 sovereigns and if I'm satisfied afterwards you'll get another 50 ... By God ... this little gal is giving me a hell of a hard on; I'm going to let fly my fly buttons..."
"Shut up, Colonel ... You're a beastly creature to speak in such a way. Well, go on up if your appendage is troubling you that much. Sit down in the armchair next to the table and I'll send you your future secretary. Make her pass a stiff examination; and if you need help, remember one ring for Mildred and two for me. In the closet you'll find all you need to calm the resistance of a recalcitrant young girl."
The Colonel teetered with impatience. The hurried and obstructed view he had had of Jane by means of the peek-hole had filled him with easy desire. But he knew how to control himself. He had wallowed through too many countries and had too much experience to throw himself on offered prey like a young stallion. He was going to play with her first, as the cat does with the mouse, before eating her.
No sooner had he entered the special room than he examined his surroundings carefully.
It was a room rather severely furnished: a large chimney, a large couch loaded down with cushions, a large footstool covered with velvet, a massive oak desk next to which was one of those terribly comfortable leather armchairs, a high-backed work chair, and in the corner a sturdy bench some six feet long. Next to the bench was a praying stool which had a large seat covered with a dark red velvet cloth. Hanging on the wall over the praying stool was a large crucifix made of ivory and strikingly realistic in form. On the table were a blotter, a large inkwell, a ruler, and several thick files piled high on the table corner.
On entering the room the Colonel had immediately noticed the thickness of the walls and that of the double doors that closed it-all of which gave him a feeling of utter security. He went to the only window and opened it, discovering that it was faked. It opened on a paneled enclosure brightly lit by artificial means to give an illusion of daylight. The thick curtains did not permit one to distinguish very clearly the contents of the room.
The room was ventilated by openings hidden in the upper wall-moldings and the mantelpiece. The overall impression the room gave was one of earnestness and, one might have said, austerity.
His heart beating fast, but composing himself nonetheless, he took on a grave and serious air as he sat down to wait, still smoking his cigar. A few minutes went by and then there came a light knock on the door.
"Come in," he said in a low voice which barely disguised his feelings.
Mildred was the first to come in, but she stepped aside and introduced the young Irish girl, who, shy and blushing, came forward to the middle of the room.
"This is Miss Jane O'Connor, sir. This is the young lady who answered our ad in the paper."
So saying, she went out of the room. Barrington still hadn't said a word nor made a movement. He was literally dumbfounded by the young girl's great beauty, and his eyes never left her face as they devoured her delicate features. Jane curtsied while looking at him shyly, and blushed red as a red pepper. What a bewitching vision. Miss O'Connor was of a rare beauty: Her complexion was without blemish, her golden hair highlighted the perfect oval of her face and the grace of her neck. She was a tall girl and perfectly proportioned, radiating health. Her waist was high and well outlined; her hips well rounded; and her breasts amply filled her blouse of cotton. Her dress was of a great simplicity and descended down to cover her ankles. All this time he was silently prancing with joy at the thought of having found a girl of such beauty and perfect innocence that he would soon find clutched in his lascivious claws. To Jane he continued to show his mask of calm authority. Jane, not being able to support his persistent stare, lowered her eyes and folded her hands before her. Being very timid, she did not dare speak; she waited for Colonel Barrington to address her.
The continued silence began to weigh on her and made her feel uneasy. It was some three minutes after entering the room that she heard for the first time the voice of her future employer.
"Come closer," he said with a dry and authoritative tone.
She took three little steps forward.
"Closer ... next to me ... hum ... hum..."
Blushing even more, if that were possible, she took two more steps forward.
"What is your name?"
"...Jane O'Connor, sir."
"And how old are you?"
"I'll be 17 next month, sir."
"That's fine; and do you write well, and can you do arithmetic?"
"Why certainly, sir."
"Let's try you. Sit down at the desk and write the following..."
And here Barrington dictated some figures in order to put her to the test.
Rapidly and without one mistake, Jane accomplished the operations that he had asked her to perform.
"Now let's have a look at your handwriting. The numbers are well formed and the results exact. And now I shall dictate something to you."
He took one of the files lying near on the table, opened it, and began reading slowly: "Miss Adeline, the beautiful daughter of the planter, had fallen asleep on the grass in the shade of a bush. However, her slumber being disturbed, she tossed about and in so doing uncovered her knees."
In the meantime Barrington had gotten up, and was now leaning on the back of Jane's chair, his head bent over her sweet-smelling hair. He followed the graceful movements of her hand and tapered fingers.
Jane hesitated before writing the last sentence. On noticing this, the hot-blooded Colonel took up the ruler from the table and began tapping its surface lightly, as if to punctuate the text of his dictation. He continued:
"'Joe, the gardener, a magnificent Negro of some thirty years, came strolling past. His glance was immediately attracted to the white form stretched on the ground, and he recognised his master's niece. He approached her on tiptoe and without a noise kneeled down before her. Adeline continued in her disturbed slumber, moving her knees apart and together again. Her legs were bare underneath her skirt, and because of the intense heat she was dressed as lightly as possible, so Joe was able to direct his gaze ... '"
Jane, white as a sheet, let fall her pen and looked the Colonel in the eye, making as if to get up. He placed a hand on her shoulder and forced her to remain seated. This first physical contact with the young girl's body, even if it was hampered by her blouse, made him shudder. He then asked: "Where do you think Joe's gaze landed, Miss O'Connor?"
"I ... I ... I don't know..."
"Hum ... so you don't know? Then I'll continue reading. Please continue writing.
"' ... Joe's glance fell between the thighs of the young maiden who at that moment was unveiling her most intimate charms' ... Hum ... hum..."
Jane, on hearing these words, had not only stopped writing but had suddenly gotten up from the chair despite James's hand which had remained on her shoulder. He had tightened his grip, digging his fingers into the tender flesh. Jane screamed and succeeded by sheer fright to escape his hold. She staggered back several steps and began crying hysterically: "...Sir, I ... I ... am sorry ... but ... I don't think ... no, I don't think that ... I can ... become your secretary..."
He said nothing, waiting for her to calm down. All the while he continued to stare at her fixedly.
"Please ... I hope ... but I did not understand ... I didn't think ... I never realised ... I wouldn't have imagined ... that a gentleman ... would have ... could have ... would want to force me ... oh, my God ... excuse me if I have disturbed you, but I don't think that I can do ... what you desire..."
He replied savagely: "On the contrary, you fill the bill perfectly, you silly idiot. By whom could you have been brought up, anyway?"
Thinking that it would be best to reply politely, she said, "By the pastor ... my uncle, Ted O'Connor..."
"Ah, I understand. And your parents?"
"They were killed in a boat accident when I was six ... It was on a Sunday..."
"And so the good pastor took you in and kept you during all those years?"
"Oh, no, sir; he's sent me to a boarding school run by two women."
"Ah ... ah ... hum ... hum..."
"I stayed at the school during eight years and it was there that I completed my education."
"Very good, very good, and what did you learn during all that time?"
"Oh, a little bit of everything: history, geography, literature, music, sewing, and a little arithmetic, as well as a bit of cooking."
"And you learned nothing else at this boarding school?"
"Yes, perhaps I have forgotten something; oh, yes, business."
"Hum ... hum ... no, what I mean is the sort of things one doesn't learn from the teacher, but from one's school mates...?"
"I don't understand what you mean."
"Hum ... And your teachers, were they very strict?"
"Oh, yes, very strict."
"And ... and ... hum ... did they beat you often?"
"Beat us? But why? What do you mean?"
"Yes, hum. When you didn't pay attention to your lessons, didn't they sometimes ... hum ... give you a ... spanking?"
"Oh, no, sir, never."
"How were you punished then?"
"By written punishments or by being deprived of our dessert, and for more serious infractions we lost our Sunday permission to leave the school."
"Is that all? Hum, that's not very much."
He became thoughtful and considered what plan of action to follow. Her candor disarmed him. He thought of the fact that he might have had a girl just Jane's age, and the thought troubled him a bit. But this hesitation lasted but a second. He sat down and asked the girl to come to his side.
"Be assured, Miss Jane, that you are the person I need. You have a good education and in no time I shall have taught you the job of secretary. I should suggest that we sign a little contract for a three-month trial period, if you are agreeable. It reads: 'I the undersigned, etc., agree to employ on trial for a period of three months in the capacity of private secretary Miss...
"'Miss ... shall have all her expenses relating to lodging, food, heating, electricity, and laundry paid by me. In addition, I agree to pay the sum of 20 guineas weekly, payable on the termination of this contract.
"'For her part, Miss ... agrees to serve with devotion and loyalty during the period of training and give me the authority to improve and increase her education, which is greatly wanting, by whatever means I should deem necessary and in her interest in order to render her more aware of the facts of life and of her womanhood. If for whatever reason Miss ... should break this contract she will forfeit her salary, totaling 260 guineas. Further, she agrees not to take any court action in connection with any complaint whatsoever.
"'Composed in London, 130 Edgerton Terrace, in two copies, on this the 23rd day of June, 19...'
"There you are, my child. Reread it carefully before signing; remember it commits you only for three months. If after three months you decide to leave we shall remain good friends, and if you should like to stay on we will study the terms for another agreement."
The young girl had placed her face in her hands, overcome with joy at the 20 guineas a week, room, and board; never could she have dreamt of such a godsend.
"Oh, sir, how can I ever thank you? I'll sign with both my hands. You are too good. How can I ever prove to you how grateful I am?"