Fate's Victim

Fate's Victim
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ISBN:  9781907753800
Author:  Roxane Beaufort
Word Count:  80,946
Format:  eBook

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Foxy LadyFoxy Lady
In Too DeepIn Too Deep
Memoirs of a CourtesanMemoirs of a Courtesan
Rebel GirlRebel Girl

The vehicle stopped. She was lifted, carried down the steps, and then hoisted over a broad shoulder. She guessed it to be Aidan by the smell of him.
   He was walking and she swayed, her head hanging down, her hair streaming. Cold air. Sounds of footsteps and the jingle of harness as the cab retreated. Where was she? What was the bastard about to do to her? It was horrible to be robbed of sight and voice, and unable to struggle or defend herself.
   Would he let her go eventually, or did he intend to keep her prisoner? She heard the squeal of iron hinges and knew by his movements that he was descending. It was colder still, and damp, and Angela was terrified...

Fate deals beautiful but pampered Lady Angela Bayswater a cruel blow when her wealthy landowner father dies suddenly. Not only is she now alone in the world, but she discovers that he was deep in debt and the house and estate has to be sold to pay his creditors. She hopes her betrothed, the handsome Lord Aidan Driscol, will honour his promise of marriage, but he refuses now there is now substantial dowry.

Instead he offers to make her his slave, to submit her to his sexual domination. But proud and headstrong she refuses and battles with the vagaries of fortune now that she has fallen from riches to rags, struggling to survive in the midst of the harsh life of mid-Victorian London.

Will the lovely damsel in distress sacrifice her precious virginity in order to claw her way up from the gutter? Or will she remain prey to the many ruthless, greedy, lustful desires of perverts and villains?

She sat in the park for a while, but was uneasy. Used to being chaperoned she did not know how to comport herself alone. The sunshine was warm, and the scene almost bucolic. Just for a while she pretended she was home again. She closed her eyes, and then became aware of a shadow between her and the sun. Warning bells clanged in her brain. Lifting her lids she saw a man standing there, staring down at her.
   He tipped his hat, a tidily dressed person of middle years. 'Are you by yourself, miss?' he began. 'May I join you?'
   Angela got to her feet, a blush colouring her cheeks. 'No, sir, I'm about to leave,' she said levelly. 'I'm meeting my mamma for lunch.'
   'Really?' He raised a sceptical eyebrow and, as he took a step closer she caught a whiff of his breath. It was unpleasant and she noticed his teeth were stained and uneven. 'I beg your pardon, but I imagined that you were here in the way of business, as it were.'
   'I d-don't understand,' she stammered, drawing her black cloak more closely about her.
   'No?' There was mockery in his small brown eyes, and a lop-sided grin on his narrow lips. 'D'you mean to tell me that you're not touting for trade? Come here, girlie,' and he put his arms around her and dragged her behind a tree.
   Angela struggled, freeing her hands and slapping him across the face. 'How dare you?' she gasped. 'I'll scream if you don't leave me alone.'
   'Scream away,' he said, unperturbed. 'No one will take any notice. This is a spot that trollops often use, picking up men and selling themselves.'
   'Can't you see that I'm not one of them?' she panted, for now he had her trapped with her back against the tree bowl and his arms braced either side of her, his sour breath nauseating as he brought his face nearer.
   He was pressing his loins into her belly, his hardness very apparent, and Angela knew she was in real danger of being raped. Even when with Aidan she had never felt so helpless, cursing her weak woman's muscles that made her no match for this man's strength. She squirmed and tried to lash out with her feet, but was hampered by her long skirt.
   'You don't speak like a tart,' he agreed, using one hand to flick open his fly buttons. His cock shot out like a freed serpent, long and mottled and thick. 'No matter who you are, rub this for me and I'll give you a half sovereign,' he added huskily.
   This was a tidy sum of money and her cash from the pawnshop was dwindling fast. Just for a moment she was tempted. Why not? He was a complete stranger and she need never see him again. She could use her hand on him, then wash and wash and wash till every trace of his nasty emission was gone. But the thought made the bile rise into her throat, and unable to stop herself she turned her head, leaned over and vomited.
   He threw her from him, enraged, snarling, 'Draggle-tailed slut! Do I disgust you so much, or are you ill or with child?'
   Groaning, Angela doubled up, handkerchief pressed to her lips. When she next looked the man had gone. She ran back to the shop like a scared rabbit and went to her room and slammed the bolt. Throwing herself on the bed she sobbed as if her heart would break, cursing fate that had brought her so low, cursing Aidan for his callousness. That she could have even contemplated touching that vile man's penis! Shame flooded her, warring with the commonsense argument that she would have been half a sovereign richer. She began to understand Tilly and Doreen. All one had to do was get over that first hurdle. She woke into the headachy heat of early evening. She consulted her fob watch and was surprised to find that she had been asleep for so long. The room was becoming more and more shadowy. There was silence all around. The shop must be closed by now and the staff gone home. Where was Arthur? She slipped from the bed, tidying her hair, finding her shoes, and then unbolting the door.
   Her first port of call was the lavatory. Throne-like, with a flowered porcelain bowl, it had a mahogany frame, seat and lid, and a high water cistern operated by a chain. She used it, and then rinsed her hands in the basin.
   Still no signs of life. She decided to go down to the kitchen and made a pot of tea. There was a gas jet alight at all times, throwing a yellowish uncertainty over the treacherous stairs leading to the basement.
   Angela disliked this place; it was too gloomy and threatening and probably spider infested. Besides which, Kate ruled supreme, and the last person she wanted to meet was the disagreeable maid.
   With no thought save completing her mission with all speed and retreating upstairs, Angela moved quickly, her feet making no sound. Then she became aware of noises issuing from the kitchen itself that lay at the end of a short corridor. They filled her with dread, for she recognised that they were made by the impact if leather against bare flesh. Someone was using a whip, or belt or flogger on some unfortunate. Her skin tingled in sympathy, though her emotions were muddled, fear mingled with a grain of envy.
   Her legs were shaking but she forced herself forward and now those formidable sounds were joined by sobs and moans and Arthur's voice growling, 'D'you want me to gag you, Kate? I will if you don't stop that caterwauling.'
   'I'm sorry, master, but I can't help it. My pussy's that sore with you slashing at it.'
   'Then mind your manners to Lady Angela,' he shouted, and Kate shrieked as another blow found its mark.
   Steeling herself, Angela pushed open the door and was met by the sad sight of Kate strung up by her wrists from a hook set in a beam. It should have been used for sides of bacon or cooking pots, but now it held human cargo. Kate was naked, a slack-bosomed, heavy-bottomed woman past her prime. Both of these sensitive areas were red as fire and bore a zigzag of stripes.
   Her feet were tethered to iron rings set in the flagstones, about twelve inches apart.
   Not realising that Angela was watching from the doorway, Arthur, in his shirtsleeves, continued Kate's chastisement, sending the merciless length of leather singing through the air. It landed on her belly with a crack, the tip winding round to sting her buttocks.
   'Oh, master, have mercy! Let me lie with you tonight. I'll do anything you want. You can thrust it up my arse, anything, but please, please don't whip me any more,' the wretched woman begged, tense in her bonds, jerking when he lay on another blow.
   Angela could no longer keep silent, 'Mr Taylor, stop it at once!' she commanded.
   He swung round, but did not drop the whip. 'And what brings you down here, milady?' he asked in a sibilant voice, his eyes narrowing as he leered at her face and body.
   'I would like a cup of tea,' she said, advancing calmly though her heart was racing. 'I didn't expect to find you punishing Kate. Pray, what has she done to merit such severity?'
   'She is insolent towards you, and I'll not tolerate her rudeness,' he bellowed, emphasising his words by another slashing blow, this time to Kate's breasts. She screamed and Angela's own nipples crimped as she imagined the pain.
   'Don't beat her on my account,' she insisted, and hung on to his arm, marvelling at her boldness. 'Can't we forget this unfortunate incident?'
   'Forget?' Kate cried, her face working with fury. 'Why don't you mind your own damn business, Miss High-and-Mighty? Arthur and me have an arrangement, see? We don't needs you interrupting.'
   Angela was almost struck dumb. There was something going on between the two of them, something unhealthy and rooted in sexual desire. Kate was looking at him like a woman in love! How could anyone love that loathsome creature? That he was aroused, too, was apparent by the huge erection distending his trousers.
   Sickened, Angela turned to leave, but he snapped, 'Don't go. The tart and me have finished for the time being. Get out of here, Kate,' and he untied her feet and released her arms. She fell to the floor then scrambled up, gathered her discarded clothing and limped out, but not before giving Angela a glare that should have killed her.
   'You treat her shamefully,' she railed, turning on Arthur like a she-cat.
   'Don't waste your pity on the likes of her,' he advised, and there was a gleam in his eyes that made her sharply aware that there was no one within earshot. It was even worse than when the man in the park tried to take advantage of her.
   She decided to remain cool, walking across to the range and shifting the black kettle so that it stood over the hob. Then equally calmly she fetched the brown earthenware pot and spooned tea into it from the metal caddy. She hoped that such everyday actions would ground him, but one glance told her it was in vain.
   He was coming towards her, unfastening his trousers en route. He rummaged inside and lifted out his large, curved, pinkish-brown cock. The action of showing it to her seemed to excite him more and he was breathing quickly, enjoying her disgust. She backed away, seeking the door, but he followed, stroking his upright phallus, wetting the stem from the dew leaking from the tip.
   'Stay,' he croaked, closer now. 'Don't leave me in this state, Lady Angela. You must know by now how much I admire you. Is it beyond imagining that you might accept the hand of a grocer? I'm a man of means and you'd want for nothing. I know a thing or two about women's desires, too, and will play with your love-bud till you come, screaming for me to do it some more.'
   'I can't, this will never be,' she cried, unable to drag her gaze from his tool as it bucked in his hand. 'If you don't let me pass I shall tell Jacob on his return.'
   'You're so cruel to me,' he complained, but continued to masturbate, his fingers grasping his shaft, working at it eagerly, pulling the foreskin back and forth in his frantic haste to achieve his goal.
   'You have no right to expect anything of me,' she said, angry now and despising this sorry little man. 'Let me pass.'
   'Not yet,' he panted, breathing fast. 'Not till you've seen me come.' His hand flashed over his helm, his eyes bulged and his mouth was agape and he grunted deep in his chest as he released his semen in a creamy spurt that spattered Angela's skirt.
   'Oh, God, you're revolting!' she cried, seized the handle, yanked open the door and flew up the stairs, never stopping till she reached her room and locked herself in.

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Spanking Good Yarn in a Victorian Setting
Sunday, 10 January 2010  | 

This is an entertaining novel about a late Victorian rake and his dominant relationship with a young lady who expects to marry him once she inherits her fortune. When her fortune evaporates, however, only his desire to dominate persists, and the story concerns the problems she has avoiding him as she becomes increasingly submissive. The book's portrayal of the seamy and musical sides of Victorian life in London is excellent, and the scenes in which the interactions between the couple reach their steamy heights are difficult to beat; something that cannot be said about the young lady's lower person. This region has a delightful habit of becoming unclothed. This may be recommended for readers of erotic chastisement fiction who enjoy a good, well-researched, credible plot.


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