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Category: Erotica/Classic Erotica
Description: Erotic Classic! Depraved Angels might just as well have been titled, Depraved Angels might just as well have been titled, "The Adventures of the Sexually Inquisitive Sisters Clara and Iris and Their Well-Endowed Cousin Vivian," but then, the title would have been too long. Set in some of the most beautiful, exotic and erotic areas of Europe, the story opens with the wanton trio recounting past experiences while plotting, and carrying out, new adventures. Depraved Angels is a must read for connoisseurs of erotica.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions, 2006
eBookwise Release Date: September 2006

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [225 KB]
Words: 51093
Reading time: 145-204 min.

"Am I to be blamed if I prefer my vices to my family's approval?" sighed Lydia; her eyes lowered as she regarded the oysters writhing voluptuously under the caress of the lemon juice she was sprinkling with an expertly practiced ease.

Clara and Iris exchanged rapid glances, each wondering how best to encourage their new friend to disclose more about her intriguing past.

High above their heads, a tiny Bleriot airplane performed a gracefully unhurried aerial ballet in the cloudless December sky, the distant whine of its engine rendered almost inaudible by the low growling of the surf worrying the Riviera shore not thirty yards from where they were seated.

"Of course," their companion continued, "once my husband was safely dead, there was absolutely nothing to prevent me leading the life I found most pleasing."

"We were unaware that you're a widow, Lydia," said Clara.

"Should we offer our condolences?" queried Iris, eager to say the right thing. Lydia smirked and shook her head.

"Not at all. I must confess myself enormously relieved to have been so providentially freed from such an appalling bore. In fact, I have often thought of writing to the Mikado of Japan to thank him personally."

Clara and Iris, despite the many adventures that had befallen them since leaving Ireland six months before, must have appeared suitably surprised, if not shocked, by Lydia's observation. Her reaction was to clap her gloved hands together with glee and guffaw aloud.

"Oh, if you could just see the expressions on your faces. Of course I was delighted when a Japanese torpedo boat put an end to that unspeakable dolt I had the ill fortune to marry. Like most other Russian women of my class, I was compelled to marry by my parents. Peter Mikhailovitch, my late husband, was the least unsavory of the suitors my mother judged eligible. Women in provincial Russia, even women from minor noble families, have to do much as their families tell them unless they have the strength of character and remorseless courage necessary to become revolutionists and outcasts. I possess neither, to my shame, and the only person who truly loved me enough to have prevented my marriage to Peter Mikhailovitch was my brother. He, alas, was somewhere impossibly far away on the borders of China when my mother, grandmother and aunts decided that I was to be married to that insensitive oaf."

"How terrible it must have been for you," breathed Iris, her face sympathetic.

Lydia raised a brimming goblet of brandy to her lips and drank most of it in a single gulp before replying. "All's well that ends well, as your national poet so rightly said. The folly of our wretchedly despotic government in provoking a needless war with the Japanese ensured that my husband, as a reserve naval officer, was summoned to his ship within a month of our marriage. The only action he saw, other than the battle in which he was so ignominiously killed, was the absurd action in which the Russian fleet fired on the English fishing fleet from Hull."

Lydia beamed, delighted to have surprised her companions for the second time. "Of course, how very unmannerly of me to forget that this was all of seven years ago. Both of you were very young when it happened, although I remember laughing until I cried when the news of the fishing fleet incident reached us in the Russian newspapers.

"Oh, the irony of it all, my dears. The only successful Russian naval action of the entire war happened when Rozhestvensky's flagship and the rest of the squadron on its way from Libau to humiliating disaster at Tshushima managed to mistake the English North Sea trawlers for a squadron of far-ranging Japanese torpedo boats and opened fire on them!"

"How very odd, Lydia. Surely the admiral could not have believed the Japanese were in European waters?" said Clara.

"My dear Clara, we Russians are such a peculiarly neurotic people that we can easily convince ourselves of almost anything. Every ship of Rozhestvensky's fleet carried an icon especially donated by our poor fool of an Empress and every gun of the fleet had been sprinkled with holy water before departure. Rozhestvensky himself was the sort of charlatan who prospers under an autocracy, Clara. His 'victory' in fighting off a Turkish cruiser during a war over a quarter of a century before the war against Japan is universally believed to have been no better than a hoax, while his display of gunnery in front of the Tsar and the German Emperor at Reval two years before the war with Japan was as carefully stage-managed as any St. Petersburg ballet.

"However, every cloud has a silver lining, as you say in English. Had the fleet been commanded by someone of proven competence, I might still be chained to that insufferable fool to whom I had the misfortune to be married."

Clara idly toyed with the hem of her dress while she waited for Lydia to continue. When Lydia fell silent, Iris was the first to speak.

"You were saying something about your vices, Lydia, if I remember correctly..."

Lydia brightened at once, leaned back in her chair and resumed speaking with enthusiasm.

"How tiresome of me to have wasted your time talking about Russia's debacle in the Far East when there are so many far more interesting subjects of conversation, Iris. You were telling me only yesterday about your adventures in Morocco and on that Atlantic island, were you not?"

"Madeira, do you mean?" queried Clara.

"Indeed, Madeira. Not to mention those intriguing things you two experienced in Ireland before your travels began. Clara, please don't feel embarrassed in my presence. Believe me, my initiation into the many pleasures of the flesh came when I was younger than either of you, if you can bring yourselves to believe such a thing!"

"Really?" queried Clara, sitting upright with interest.

"I had hardly turned eighteen when my brother and I started doing things unimaginably depraved. In the eyes of most people, that is to say. One could hardly dare to think of something you girls have yet to imagine, if not to actually witness or try for yourselves.

"Kharkov, as I am sure you can readily imagine, is hardly one of the world's major civilized cities, yet it is not altogether without its charms. There are costume balls, dances and banquets virtually every night in the winter months. Our parents kept a house in the city in which they would often spend weeks on end, leaving my brother and me behind on the estate. My brother, I should explain, was nineteen and preparing to enter Moscow University the very next year. I was doing my poor best to learn French, Italian and English unaided until a new governess could be engaged to replace the last one who had occupied that post and who had departed without warning and under mysterious circumstances. Much later I learned that the Mademoiselle who had fled so precipitately had been caught en flagrante with my father by my maternal aunt!

"One day I closed my books earlier than was usually the case and strolled upstairs to see what my brother was doing in his study. For some reason, which I am at a loss to remember, I paused at his door and listened for a moment before pushing it open, something I rarely did. As I listened, I heard a girlish squeal from within, muffled by the heavy brocade curtain that hung over the door to keep drafts to a minimum. Russian country houses, as you can easily believe, are terribly cold and drafty in the winter months."

"Do go on with the story," urged Iris. Lydia had paused to take a second long gulp of her brandy.

"With that irrepressible curiosity for which we females are notorious, Iris, I contrived to push the door ajar sufficiently to ease myself through the gap without disturbing the curtain. To push it shut soundlessly behind me was the work of a moment. A little careful fumbling and searching brought my eye to one of the many rents in the elderly brocade and I was able to see into the room quite easily.

"Can you guess, Clara, what sight met my eyes?"

Clara lit a coarse French cigarette and blew a neat train of perfectly formed smoke rings into the cool air before replying. "One can only assume that your brother was fucking one of the estate maids, Lydia."

"That would have been quite sufficient, I grant you, Clara. In fact, Paul had two of the youngest maids in his study with him and was urging them to do things I had no idea could be done."