Beatrice - Victorian Classic
How did you go with Fifty Shades of Grey? It certainly created a storm, and even up here in north Queensland copies pop up all over the place. I guess half the women I know are admitting to at least starting it, and most of them don’t normally admit to reading erotica at all.
My first reaction was extreme jealousy; no-one should be allowed to have sales like that without consulting me first. Then I had a closer look, and came away disappointed. Sorry, I just did not like it. Don’t worry, I didn’t like the Twilight series either. Probably just means I’m a boring old traditionalist.
I didn’t mind the BDSM. Reading about a submissive girl being tied up and punished is intriguing. I’m not quite sure why I find the idea so sexy, but I do. (Not that I’m offering my tail for a whipping, but I might just be prepared to swing a whip myself. If I liked the bum I was punishing. I can imagine that being quite a turn-on.)
Enough of that. What I wanted to tell you about is a far better book - Beatrice. This was written in England at the end of the Victorian era and published anonymously. I bought a copy years ago and it is still on my shelves. I love it because, firstly, it is very well written, but mostly because of the hot, sexy, erotic BDSM it contains.
The characters seem normal for Victorian erotica but - and this is important - the dominant character is Beatrice, and she is definitely not going to be submissive. In fact, she comes to dominate everyone, family and servants, and turns her house into a palace of illicit sex. It is a much deeper and darker tale, and I love the fact that a woman has the whip-hand. You have to have a look at this one!
Here is an excerpt, taken from the time when Beatrice was learning her profession :
We stood. Beside me, Jenny caressed the bulbous curve of my bottom cheeks lightly. Katherine went into the hall and returned shortly. Frederick came with her. He was naked and blindfolded. His prong pronged. Around his neck was a halter to which a chain was attached.
Unspeaking, Katherine led him to the rear of one of the chairs and turned him to face it. His eyes were blind in their unseeing. His balls swung.
"Closer!"Katherine snapped at him. His feet shuffled forward, the chain clinking. With a slight grimace of his features, the knob of his erect penis touched the leather slingback. To a slight but disdainful guidance of Katherine's fingers the knob passed through the hole and continued its upward glide until his prick emerged completely on the other side, facing the back of the other chair.
Motionless he stood, the veins raised on his tool which seemed to swell more by the tight enclosure. His balls pressed against the leather below the aperture.
Jenny's fingers quested beneath my bottom, pressing the thin wool up between my cheeks. I strained my legs and endeavoured to stand still. Aunt Maude entered, surveyed the scene and nodded. A faint scuffling of heels came and Arabella was patted and persuaded within by my uncle. Her gown was wreathed up to her hips, her eyes blindfolded. Her legs were superb: statuesque, long, and beautifully curved. The fluff of her cunny was thick with curls. Her thighs rubbed nervously as she stumbled forward.
Guided by my aunt's hands, Arabella was taken to the chairs and made to kneel upon the seats. But an inch before her mouth--had she but known it then--the servant's prick jutted its menace. Her magnificent bottom cheeks--cheeks such as Michelangelo might have carved in marble--pressed against the back of the other chair. The waiting hole there appeared to centre itself exactly in line with the deep divide between her hemispheres. Melon-full, her exposed breasts hung down. Her knees made to shift in nervous reflex, but the dipping of the sling-seat into which the weight of her legs pressed permitted little movement.
My uncle approached the back of the chair to which her haunches were pressed. His face had a haggard aspect. His jacket and waistcoat had been removed. The top of his breeches was unbuttoned.
"Not yet--you are not privileged," Jenny said. With a last searching caress her hand relinquished my bottom. In my emptiness I stood while she blindfolded me, voices around me. How strange in the darkness of my dark. Did the furniture move--the sideboard menace? I had imaginings. A mystic magic.
"Hold her hips." It was my uncle's groan.
"There is no need, Thomas. She will be birched if she moves, save in desiring. Open your mouth now, Arabella--feel for it, absorb the knob--now press your bottom back, tight to the leather. Thomas, now!"
Groans, gurgles, cries--a gurgling, a moan. A blubbering, a slap, a sucking sound. Her mouth corked. Her lips would puff around the servant's tool. Creak of wooden legs. A croaking whine from Arabella. Her bottom corked in turn.
In my impossibilities I swayed. But feet away from me the thin in-hissing of breath sounded through Arabella's nostrils. Tomorrow perhaps she would receive guests for tea. The polite questions of everydayness would be asked. Music sheets would lay decoratively ranged upon a piano. Her parents would flank her sides. It would be known that she was obedient. The servants would move quietly in their domain. The curtains would be dumb to speak. Her bed would wait for night to fall. Sperm-drops around her stocking tops. Was here salvation? Her eyes would be hollow, receiving messages.
"Ah! in her to the root. She has taken both." It was Katherine's voice. Her tongue licked in my ear. I trembled. I knew I must stand still. In my stillness standing.
No one would ever know. Beyond our circles, no one. We were the chosen, the receptors of lust in our desiring.
However you look at it, Beatrice is a strange and intriguing book, quite out of the ordinary. I value it, and re-read it periodically. I have even bought the eBook version for my Kindle.
So many years, and it still touches me. I wonder what that says about me? You can find the book on Amazon here.
Jacqueline lives in Far North Queensland, on the shore of the Coral Sea. She keeps herself busy with her cats and garden, and by writing books - some of which are far too naughty for her own good. You can find out more about Jacqueline and her books at www.jacquelinegeorgewriter.com