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Marie 8950 words
It was hot in Savannah, and the humidity made
Marie's simple muslin dress cling. She held Mr.
Marrow's hand and tried not to step in the horse
droppings with her bare feet as they made their way
to the hotel. Inside, after visiting with the desk
clerk, he led her up two flights of stairs to a room.
It was the first time Marie had visited Savannah, the
first time she had seen a building so big, and there
were so many white folks. Mr. Marrow was taken
aback when a woman opened the door. Marie
thought she was beautiful, old enough to be her
mother, but dressed in a fancy taupe gown of silk,
with dark blue trimmings. She had a tiny waist and
a full bosom. "Mr. Marrow, I presume," said the
woman. "I am Mrs. Wilson."
"I am pleased to meet you, ma'am. Will John be
back soon?"
"No. I buried him yesterday, typhoid."
"I'm so sorry to hear that. You have my
condolence. While I only knew him as a business
associate, I regarded him as a friend. He was a fine
man."
"Thank-you, Mr. Marrow. The goods you sent were
received in good condition and are already loaded
on the ship. I have your money here, in gold. as you
wish. Please count it." She held out a heavy bag
of coins. "Is there anything else? I must attend to
my late husband's other obligations. My ship
leaves the day after tomorrow, early, and I suspect I
may not return to America. If you wish to continue
to do business with our firm, I can send the name
of our new representative, when he is known."
He put the money back on the table and said,
"When I came here, I had in mind to suggest a
business proposition to your husband, but I will
make it now to you, Mrs. Wilson. May I introduce
Marie? Step forward, girl."
"What is this, another orphan you have befriended?
Mr. Wilson told me you were charitable, if not
churched, but a child like this... She is pretty.
People might talk."
"I assure you, Mrs. Wilson, Marie may be short and
slender, but she is a woman, not a child. No one
will think ill of me for bringing her to Savannah.
She is my slave, and they will assume I mean to sell
her."
"But she is white!"
"So it would appear. Her skin is light; her hair is
only wavy, not kinky. He features are not distinctly
African. Her mother was light skinned, for a
negress, and we may presume her father was white.
As a child, Marie was a common field slave, pulling
weeds and picking cotton. When my wife died, I
brought her mother and Marie up to the big house
and added them to the domestic staff. I have come
to regard Marie as my daughter, my only child, as,
possibly, she may be. I taught her and her mother
to read and write and figure with numbers, but I , a
man without a wife, could not teach her to be a
lady."
"I understand it is illegal in Georgia to teach a slave
to read."
"Mrs. Wilson, illegal is not the same as immoral. I
try to do the right thing, regardless of the law.
When her mother was dying, I promised her that,
when the time was right, I would free Marie."
"I appreciate your desire, but where do I fit in?"
"I want you to take Marie with you to England and
place her in a good school. The money from this
last cargo should be sufficient, I think. You may, of
course, take appropriate payment for your efforts,
and I have an account with a bank in London which
you may access should additional funds be
necessary."
"Legally, she will be free the moment sets foot on
British soil. Slavery was abolished long ago."
"That is my point, Mrs. Wilson. If I were to legally
emancipate her here, she would be simply another
free negro, an orphan, ill equipped for the world,
subject to abuse or exploitation by any white man.
If she goes to a good English school, she will not
only be free, but they will teach her how to be a
respectable white woman, equip her to marry well.
When the time comes, I can provide a modest
dowry. There are so many things she doesn't know.
Few men have even spoken with her, and none has
touched her. She would have no idea how to
behave if a gentleman were to pay suit to her."
"If that is the case, Mr. Morrow, I cannot think of a
suitable school. The other girls would tease her and
fill her head with unsuitable ideas."
"Can you suggest what I should do, Mrs. Wilson?"
"I am willing to take her with me to England. She
can travel as my niece, Marie Morrow, if that is all
right with you."
"Yes, of course."
"Lacking a suitable school, I think it best if I take
her into my own household, as my relative, and she
can be tutored in the ways of respectable women in
a protected environment. I shall send you progress
reports and accounts of expenses from time to time,
and it may be that, with training, she may later
attend a finishing school, or she may come out, be
presented to society, at a ball in London, as many
country girls are. I feel sure we will find her a
suitable husband. I would, of course, be acting in
loco parentis, with full guardianship rights, the right
to discipline her as necessary and to control who
she may or may not associate with. I will choose
or approve her choice of husband. I would want
that in writing. Would that be agreeable, Mr.
Morrow?"
"Marie, would you agree to that?"
"Yes, Master."
"Agreed, Mrs. Wilson. I'll have a document giving
you guardianship drawn up and delivered here
tomorrow morning. As far as my lawyer, or my
acquaintances here, will know, I am selling her to
you, but with a transfer of guardianship, since
slavery is illegal in England. I will have a separate
letter drawn up for my bank. Can you think of
anything else?"
"It is best, Mr. Morrow, that I take charge of Marie
now. I have only a day to get her cleaned up and to
buy her a wardrobe a white woman would be seen
in. Has she any proper clothes? Corsets? Shoes?"
"I fear not. What would I know about buying her
such things?"
"Very well, Mr. Morrow, I will take charge of your
daughter and treat her as if she were my own. The
money for the cargo should be ample for the first
year or so, and, who knows, by then she may be
married. If you will excuse me, I am expecting
more visitors."
Twelve weeks later, a letter arrived from England:
"Dear Papa, Auntie, Mrs. Wilson, says I may send
you my own progress report. The voyage took 34
days and was an adventure, which is to say, an
inconvenience, rightly considered. I'm afraid I lost
some weight, the result of mal de mer, indifferent
food, and the constriction of my new corsets, which
limits how much I can eat at one meal. However,
Auntie tutored me in French and deportment during
the voyage. I have learned to put up my hair, like a
lady, and I have been practicing a little flirting, with
the eyes. We traveled to London by railway,
another great adventure, and I now live in a fine
house, five floors tall, close by the River Thames. I
think I am gaining weight. I have not yet seen a lot
of London, but I am learning all sorts of things I
might not have dreamed of. Your appreciative and
loving daughter, Marie."
The letter, of course, was written under the
supervision of Auntie, and it left much unsaid.
Upon arriving at the Wilson house, which was close
by the docks, Marie was introduced to her new
home and the rules thereof. "Auntie," Mrs. Wilson,
must be obeyed, instantly and without question. In
her absence, the chain of command was Mr.
Manchester, the butler, Mrs. Wood, the
housekeeper, Mrs. Dudley, the cook, and Marie's
maid, Edith. All must be obeyed. Except for
politely requesting services from Edith, Marie could
order no one, and idle conversation with anyone
else was forbidden. She was not to leave the house
except with someone specifically designated by
Mrs. Wilson. Humility and obedience would be
required at all times, and failure to obey would be
punished.
That understood, Marie was sent upstairs with
Edith. Warm water was brought from the kitchen
to fill a large wooden tub, and Edith helped Marie
undress. With all those buttons in the back of her
dress, and the corset laces, Marie could not have
undressed without help. In short order, Marie
stood in her room in nothing but her corsets and the
underlying camisole, both of which had not been
removed from her body since she had embarked at
Savannah. Each day, Auntie had tightened the
laces, in an effort to give Marie a new waistline,
smaller, of course, but also higher than before, to
avoid constricting the bowels. That required
compressing the lower ribs, a mildly painful process
which might take years to complete. Since the
corsets were stayed with whalebone, Marie had not
been able to bend at the waist, so her accustomed
sleeping posture, curled up, was impossible. Using
the commode, and wiping herself, was awkward.
Auntie had provided a sponge on a stick for
washing the nether orifices.
When Marie was finally naked, and thankful for the
respite from the corsets, Emily helped her to bathe,
soaping her liberally and scrubbing the folds of her
skin to remove the smell of five weeks
accumulation of sweat. Emily patted Marie dry
with a towel and directed her to stand, naked, by the
fire to dry off, while Emily took advantage of the
bath water to bathe herself.
Marie stood, taking it all in, the coals of the fire, the
sights and sounds of the traffic in the street, the
draft horses and great wagons, the rumbles and
shouts she could hear even through closed
windows. This city surely was the hub of the
British Empire; there was nothing like it in Marie's
experience. Marie had begun to comb out her
waist-length hair, when the door opened and Auntie
entered, followed by Mr. Manchester! Marie
dropped the comb and tried to cover her breasts and
most private places with her arms and hands.
"Marie, stand still, with your arms at your sides,"
barked Mrs. Wilson. Marie continued to cringe and
cover her privates. "For disobedience, you have
earned three strokes of the cane. Now, do as you
are told. Stand at attention, facing me, with your
arms at your sides."
Marie froze with fear. She had never been
whipped. As a child, she had seen an overseer whip
a field hand near to death, and when Birdie stole
and ran away, she was caught and whipped. The
memories made Marie sick.
"For delay, another stroke."
"Auntie, I'm naked, and Mr. Manchester is a man."
"Another stroke for questioning my order. Think of
Mr. Manchester as your overseer. He has a right to
examine you." Marie forced herself to stand
straight, with her hands at her sides. Mr.
Manchester approached and looked her over
carefully, front and back, even pausing to feel the
elasticity of her breasts. Never before had a man
touched her like that. It made her cringe, which
was corrected by a glaring look of reproof from
Mrs. Wilson. When Mr. Manchester had stepped
back, Mrs. Wilson said, "Marie, stand at the foot of
the bed and bend over, with your face against the
coverlet."
There was a great four-poster bed. Marie stood at
the foot and bent at her hips, pressing her breasts
into the eider down coverlet. That posture stretched
out the muscles of her legs and presented her
buttocks uppermost. Mr. Manchester produced a
cane the length of his arm. It made a whizzing
noise as he tested his form. "Five strokes, Mr.
Manchester. Marie, you will ask for each stroke,
'Please, sir, may I have the first,' and after each
stroke you will say 'thank you.' There will be no
fuss and blubber. Do not clench your arse cheeks.
Relax. Move your knees apart." Marie realized
that, if she did that, Mr. Manchester would have a
full view of her private little fig, between her legs,
but she had no choice but to obey. "Ask for it,
Marie."
"Please, sir, may I have the first?" Whap! The
blow fell across both buttocks, an instant sting,
followed by a deep burn. Marie screeched at the
pain, worse than she had ever known. She pushed
away from the bed and bolted for the door, but Mr.
Manchester was too quick for her. She dodged to
the side and tried to find shelter under the bed, but
Mr. Manchester grabbed her ankle and dragged her
across the floor.
"Stand up, girl! For that, you get three more.
Edith, come here and hold Marie." Marie was
repositioned on the bed, her torso pressed against
the eider down, her arms stretched forward, with
the naked, wet Edith holding her wrists. When Mrs.
Wilson adjusted the position of Marie's legs, apart
in a vee, she was helpless. "We will start again, for
eight. Ask for the first again, Marie." Again, Marie
was frozen by fear. "More delay. Make that nine
strokes, Mr. Manchester." Marie drew upon
reserves of strength and resolved to take her
punishment properly.
"Please, sir, may I have the first?" Whap! The
cane fell almost exactly as it had before, leaving a
bright red welt atop the first. Marie managed to
stifle her scream, grunting hard and gasping for
breath. "Thank you, sir. Please, sir, may I have the
second?" Whap! Again the cane struck both
cheeks equally, half an inch lower than before.
Marie gave a noise like a frightened animal and
then said, "Thank you, sir. Please, sir, may I have
the third?" With a precision derived from long
practice, the "overseer" raised a welt parallel to the
others. Marie broke into uncontrollable sobs.
"For further delay, make it ten." At last, Marie
asked for and received her strokes, thanking Mr.
Manchester for each one. Strokes eight and nine
struck the back of her thighs, and the tenth, by some
devilish craft, also struck the fleshy lips of her
womanly cleft, the ultimate pain and humiliation so
far. When the punishment was over, Mrs. Wilson
said, "Marie, you will stay here, naked, until Edith
brings you another camisole and corsets. Edith, you
may dress and go to eat. Then bring Marie her
supper. After that, you may find new clothes for
her and wash the corsets she wore on the ship."
"Mrs. Wilson," said Mr. Manchester, "I think a
further examination of the girl is in order." They
put Marie on her back on the bed and raised her
ankles, up and apart, so that her striped buttocks
were in the air and her private place was displayed
for all to see. Mr. Manchester actually parted her
labia with the cane! He examined her from a
distance of inches. When they lowered her legs,
Marie rolled over onto her stomach and cried into
the pillow. Slavery on the plantation was never as
bad as this, and there was no way she could appeal
to her master, her papa, for help. Mr. Manchester
cleared his throat and said, "Mrs. Wilson, we have
here a genuine virgin, virga intacta. You have seen
her maidenhead. Further, while she must be two
years older than Edith, she looks younger, don't you
think? Her breasts are those of a barely blooming
child." Mrs. Wilson smiled. "Would she not be
more attractive to the right sort of men if we
represented her to be, perhaps, thirteen? Imported
from America, where one can still find virgins?"
Mrs. Wilson spoke with joy in her voice. "Edith,
forget the new corsets. From now on, Marie will
wear none. She will wear her hair down, as it is
now. And tonight, before you go to bed, ask Mrs.
Wood for soft soap and a sharp razor. I want you to
shave Marie, to remove all the hair from between
her legs. Yes, and under her arms, too. From now
on, Marie, you are thirteen, and not yet a woman."
When Mrs. Wilson and Mr. Manchester had gone,
Edith rubbed some oil over Marie's welts, even
rubbing her bruised lower lips as Marie lay, face
down, on the big bed, her legs splayed. "Thank
you, Edith. That feels better." Edith slipped an oily
finger between the puffy lips. Marie gasped. She
knew she shouldn't touch herself there, but Edith
did not hesitate. But then, Mr. Manchester had
touched her, too, with his cane. "Mmm. Thank
you. I think that's enough." Edith held up a hand
mirror, and Marie turned her head so she could see
her own bottom. "Will those marks go away?"
Edith responded by showing Marie Edith's bottom.
"They whipped you, too? How long ago was it?"
"The day before yesterday. We maids get whipped
once or twice a week, whether or not we have
misbehaved. Mr. Manchester says it keeps us
obedient and diligent in our work. I think he just
likes to whip girls, and Mrs. Wilson likes to watch.
Well I'd better get dressed and get down to the
kitchen. You just stay here and lie on your tummy
until the soreness goes away."
Just before bed time, Edith shaved Marie, until she
was hairless as a baby. She ran her finger tips over
the newly shaved lips and then, while Marie's legs
were still spread, Edith bent down and planted a
kiss on Marie's virginal cleft. Her tongue slid
toward Marie's navel, probing toward the apex of
the inner labia. Marie started to protest, but then
Edith reminded her to do as she was told. "Just lie
there, with your knees far apart, and I will teach you
something you apparently never learned." Her
tongue teased the clitoris, and then Edith kissed it
with her lips and gently sucked, trapping the little
organ while the tip of her tongue flicked the end of
it. Marie moaned and tensed up, as Edith
continued her ministrations. Then Marie rocked
her pelvis, exuding juices from her cleft, and
making incoherent cries of delight.
After a while, Marie said, "Thank you. I never felt
anything like that before. What happened?"
"Women are blessed with a place whose purpose is
to make life worthwhile, no matter how bad things
seem. They call it the man in the boat. There must
be other names but... Anyway, it makes up for
having a bottom God designed for being whipped.
Now, you are spent. You will be able to sleep."
Edith pulled her shift off over her head and climbed
in bed beside Marie, pulling up the eider down.
"Good night, Marie. Tomorrow I'll show you your
chores."
In the morning, Mrs. Wilson was concerned about
what Marie should wear. Finally she gave her back
the thin muslin frock she had worn in Savannah. "It
will do, until we get you some clothes appropriate
for your age. Remember, you are thirteen. Wear
these clogs until we get some proper slippers. Now,
Marie, if you are going to marry well, you must
know the skills of a good wife. You must know all
there is to know about running a house, and there is
no better way to learn than to learn what each of the
servants does. Today, you will stay with Edith and
do what she says. You will do the work that she
does, so you will appreciate what maids must do. Is
that clear? Good. Tonight, Mrs. Harris, next door,
is having a soiree, a party, with gentlemen guests. I
expect, Marie, that I will take you there and
introduce you, sort of whet their appetites. Of
course, you have a lot to learn about how to please a
gentleman."
During the day, Marie emptied chamber pots,
cleaned fireplaces and laid new fires, polished
brass, swept and dusted, and did so many things that
normally went on out of sight of Mrs. Wilson. She
also began her monthly period, inadvertently
staining her dress, so Mrs. Wilson said Marie could
not go to the party. Edith went, and the next night,
too, returning to the bed very late, her breath
smelling of alcohol. Marie was anxious to hear
about the parties, but Edith would not tell her,
explaining that it was best if she found out herself
or from Mrs. Wilson.
There were no Sunday services; it was a day like
any other. That did not surprise Marie, for her papa
had not observed the Sabbath, either. The next
week was more drudgery, though Mrs. Wilson did
have a seamstress fit some girlish calico dresses for
Marie, and some pretty slippers. Neither Marie nor
Edith had occasion to be caned that week.
Sometimes, Marie would dine with Auntie, instead
of with the servants, to learn proper table manners.
Often, as they ate, Auntie would expound on the
state of the world, how free trade was making
Britain prosper, how anyone could find work, while
other countries, with their tariffs and monopolies,
stagnated and had many underemployed workers.
Our Queen is our mother and looks after us, and
Albert, her Prince Consort, is so interested in
natural philosophy and mechanics and commerce.
He sets an example for English enterprise. Yes, the
human race is perfectible, and progress can be seen
everywhere: railways, steam ships, pumped water,
sewers to carry away the filth. All over Britain,
there are societies to promote learning and morality,
to suppress vice, and to alleviate the suffering of the
poor. Yes, there are the poor, but an ambitious
woman, prepared to do what she must, can do very
well in London. "Marie, you are going to learn
what it is that rich men want. Someday, you will
have a rich man at your command, eating out of
your hand, so to speak, and you will not want for
nice things. There is no excuse for being poor."
On Friday, there was to be another party. Edith
bathed Marie, and herself, and shaved Marie once
more. Mrs. Wilson applied some perfume. Marie
helped Edith to dress with corsets, laced tight,
crinolines, and a silk dress which was cut low in
front and showed the mounds of her breasts and the
valley between, barely covering her nipples with a
frill of lace and gauze. Marie, however, had her
breasts bound with strips of gauze before putting on
a brightly printed calico dress, which had a high
collar and no bust line at all.
"No pantalettes, Auntie?"
"No, they won't be necessary." While Edith had
her hair pinned up, Marie's cascaded down her
back, without even a ribbon to restrain it. Edith
even had some rouge for her cheeks, and color for
her lips and eyelids. Marie wondered when she
would be old enough for that. English ladies
evidently painted their faces, whereas in Georgia
that would be scandalous.
Very strangely, Marie thought, they did not go into
the street to enter the house of Mrs. Harris by the
front door. Instead, on the topmost floor of Mrs.
Wilson's, up under the roof, where there were box
rooms and tiny cubicles for servants, there was a
secret door, which led though the wall to a passage
and stairs and another concealed door, which
entered out into a small room adjacent to a parlor
and ball room. A quartet of musicians, a pianist
and string trio, waited to play for the dancers. The
guests were evidently down stairs, dining or
drinking. Auntie told Marie to wait on the
concealed stairs until she came to get her. It was
dark, absolutely black, as Marie sat there, alone,
listening to the noises of the house. Soon the
musicians started tuning up, and then playing
waltzes, interspersed with lively tunes. She heard
muffled conversations, and the clink of glasses, and
occasionally a woman's uninhibited laugh. She had
never heard ladies laughing, only the slaves at
night, around the fire.
Finally, Mrs. Wilson came for her and led her into
the parlor. Marie's eyes had to adjust to the light,
and she stood there, speechless. Through a
doorway, she could see men of all ages dancing,
but in the parlor, there were just four men, all her
papa's age, or older, sitting, looking at her. Two
smoked cigars. She had come to like the smell of
cigars. Papa smoked them, sometimes, and he had
a small cigar factory on the plantation, so he could
sell cigars as well as tobacco wholesale. She had
even learned to roll cigars herself, once when Papa
had a big order from England. "Gentlemen, let me
introduce Marie, all the way from America. She is
only thirteen, and no man has touched her, ever, so
she is, as you might expect, shy and a bit reticent
around gentlemen. However, she is anxious to
grow up and to please a generous mentor. We are
talking here of a long term relationship. One can
only spend one's innocence once, you know, so it
should be worthwhile, don't you think?"
One man, rather round in the middle, put his cigar
down and said, "Only thirteen? Ah, could I see?"
Without a word, before Marie could realize what
was happening, Auntie raised Marie's skirt for about
three seconds, showing Marie's hairless cleft to the
gentlemen. "She seems biddable, not too skittish,"
remarked the curious one.
"She has learned to do what she is told. Emily!"
Emily appeared at the door. "Take Marie to get
some punch, please." When Marie was out of
earshot, Mrs. Wilson said, "Now, let's discuss
terms."
Marie was out of her element. She did not know
how to dance, and she felt out of place, pretending
to be thirteen. Furthermore, the punch, which
tasted delightful, had rum in it, which she had never
had before, and she was getting a bit fuzzy headed.
It was all very exciting, however, and she saw
several dashing young men, who did not, however,
seem to see Marie. Twice men approached Edith,
who was actually younger than Marie, asking to
dance, but she told them, "Later, if you please." At
a sign from Auntie, Edith took Marie back to the
hidden stairs and tucked her into her bed. Edith,
however, went back to the party.
At dawn, Marie awoke to see Edith beside her,
utterly unconscious. Marie got up, used the
chamber pot, washed her face, the lower face, too,
and put on her white muslin dress from home. It
comforted her to wear that dress. She slipped on
slippers and went downstairs. She was eating
oatmeal in the kitchen when Auntie found her.
"Where's Edith?"
"I couldn't wake her."
"That's alright. She was up late last night. When
you have finished breakfast, come see me in the
office." Marie thought Auntie seemed unusually
cheerful. Auntie conducted several businesses from
her home, importing and exporting goods, arranging
holidays for travelers, and who knows what else.
Perhaps her businesses were prospering. "Marie,"
she said when her "niece" presented herself.
"Today you are going to meet a real gentleman, a
rich gentleman, at ten o'clock this morning, next
door. I think he is the most suitable for our
purposes, that he will treat you well. Remember,
you are thirteen, newly arrived from America, and
you know nothing of big city ways."
"It is true, Auntie. I know nothing, except what
you have taught me. It is all bewildering, after
growing up on the plantation."
"This gentleman, he says you may call him Uncle
George, is going to have you spend the day and
night with him. He should bring you back to Mrs.
Harris's by midnight, tomorrow. I'm sure he will
treat you courteously and buy you treats and such.
In return, you must obey him in all things. You
must do whatever he says to do, no matter how
strange it may seem. Understand? If he tells me
tomorrow that you have failed in the least
particular, you will be whipped, and he can watch,
if he wants to. If you thought ten strokes was
hurtful, think of thirty or forty, and not just on your
bottom. Now, tell me, what are your instructions?"
"I must do anything Uncle George tells me to do."
"Yes. Be pleasant and forthcoming. If he asks you
questions, answer him truthfully, except you must
remember that you are thirteen and you are white
and have never been a slave. He must not guess
your true age. You may tell him what you like or
dislike, what you think of the things he shows you.
Tell him about America, if he asks, but do not
betray your age. Remember, you are the only child
of a rich planter, who has sent you to England
because his wife, your mother, was very sick and
died a few years ago, and he wants you properly
educated. Can you do that?"
"Yes, Auntie."
At ten, Uncle George arrived at the door of Mrs.
Harris, and Marie came out, dressed in pink calico
with a bonnet and white gloves. Uncle George had
a hired cab, and they drove through The City, with
St. Paul's Cathedral, and on to Westminster Abbey
and the Houses of Parliament. Marie was genuinely
excited and told him how pleased she was. He
smiled and bought her sweets. They drove through
Trafalgar Square, dedicated to Lord Nelson, and up
the Mall and on to Kensington, where they walked
hand in hand in the parks.
"Uncle George, I've never seen such sights. I'm
learning so much!" she said, as they dined on chops
at an Oxford Street hotel.
"Do you like Madeira? You don't know what it is?
Waiter, a bottle of Madeira, if you please." Marie
drank more than her share. It loosened her tongue.
"Uncle George, may I ask you some questions?
Why are you interested in me? Why are you being
so nice to me?"
"I thought I would enjoy your company, and I was
right."
"Are you married? Have you children?"
"No."
"You look as old as my papa. Have you ever been
married?"
"Yes, twice. My first wife, Agnes, was very
beautiful, but she died of childbed fever, after
bearing our first child, who was stillborn. After that
I married a widow, who had a title and considerable
property. We had no children, and in time she
died."
"I'm sorry."
"Why, Marie, did you come with me?"
"I promised my papa I would obey Auntie in all
things, and she told me to go with you and to do
anything you want me to."
George smiled. "Do you think that strange?"
"No. It is not for me to question my guardian."
They went to Paddington Station, and took the
Great Western Railway to Windsor. Sitting
opposite each other, alone in a first class
compartment, Marie, who was already a bit
unsteady on her feet, said, "Uncle George, do you
have more of that nice wine?"
"You know I do. I bought another bottle, and two
glasses. Would you like some more?"
"Yes, please."
"Can I ask you a favor?" he said, as he poured the
wine.
"Yes, of course."
"Show me your cunny?"
"Cunny? What's that?"
"Are you wearing pantalettes?"
"No."
"Show me that that is so." Marie giggled and lifted
the hem of her dress up to her chin, throwing her
knees apart. "Oh, my. Oh, my, how beautiful you
are. I am quite overcome. Let me touch you." He
did not wait for her answer but reached out and
traced her pouting labia with a finger tip. "That is
your cunny. Yours is so pretty." She giggled. He
pulled back.
"Uncle George, no man has ever touched me there.
It's alright, Uncle George. You didn't hurt me."
She dropped her skirt.
They were out of the city, tearing along at a
frightening speed through green countryside.
"Marie, may I see your boobies?"
"These? I don't see why not, Uncle George." She
unbuttoned the front of her dress, and George
helped her pull her dress down, baring her
shoulders and breasts.
"Oh," he sighed, "so perfect, like sugar cookies
with gumdrops in the center." He reached out and
touched her nipples, which seemed to grow before
his eyes. "Come, sit next to me." He cradled her
in his arms and blew on her bare breasts, touching
his tongue to a nipple. She giggled. "Do you like
that, Marie?"
"Mmmm. I don't know. Try it some more, please,
and I'll tell you." He devoured her little breasts,
holding one while he licked the other. He found he
could suck almost her entire breast into his mouth
and swirl his tongue over the gumdrop nipples. The
train began to slow, and he pushed her away,
pulling up her dress and doing up the buttons. He
looked at her expectantly. "Yes, Uncle George, I
enjoyed that. Fun. More wine?"
They stared up at Windsor Castle, towering over
the Thames. They walked a bit in The Great Park
and rented a punt on the river, but Marie was
decidedly tipsy, so they returned to the train station.
They found an empty compartment -- first class cost
more and was less popular -- and Marie sat next to
Uncle George and snuggled close. He slid his hand
over the bodice of her dress and she did not
complain. He unfastened some buttons so he could
slip his hand under the cloth and cup her breast in
his hand. She seemed to purr. He withdrew his
hand and slipped it along her thigh, under the skirt
of her dress. She let her knees move apart. Again,
he traced her labia with his finger tips. She giggled.
"You like my cunny? Is that what it's called?"
"Yes, very much." He slid his finger between the
lips and gently rubbed, noting that she seemed to be
getting more slippery. His finger tip tried to press
inside her.
"Ouch! You can't do that. There isn't room for
your finger. I'm not telling you what you can or
can't do, Uncle George. I just thought you ought to
know that it hurts."
"Oh, my dear little girl. I don't want to hurt you.
It's just that you are so pretty. I get carried away,
and I do so like what you have between your legs."
She smiled at him, and he kissed her for the first
time, a quick, uncle-like kiss. "Marie, have you
ever seen what a man has between his legs?"
"Yes, a black man. I saw a slave making water in a
field. Are white men different?"
"Would you like to see?" He undid his trousers,
lifted his hips so he could slide them, and his
drawers, down to his knees. His rampant penis, tall
and stiff, was there for her to see.
"Oh, it's so big. It's much bigger and longer than
the slave's was. And these are your bollocks?" She
touched his scrotum lightly.
"You've seen a man's -- uh -- balls before?"
"No, but I grew up among farm animals. Dogs,
horses, bulls, they all have them, underneath the
pizzle. My, what a splendid pizzle you have."
"Ah, Marie, animals have pizzles. Men have
penises."
"I understand," she replied. He took her hand,
removed her glove, and guided her fingers to the
shaft of his penis. She wrapped her fingers around
it. Slowly, his hand over hers, he led her to stroke
his tool. "It's quite marvelous, isn't it? I seems
almost to be growing. So big and hard."
"Marie, kiss it. Put your lips around the end of it."
"I'll do whatever you ask, Uncle George." She bent
and took the end into her mouth, while still moving
her hand up and down the shaft. With out further
instruction, she swirled her tongue, treating it as
Edith had treated her man in the boat. In seconds, it
seemed, the penis was jerking in her grasp, and then
it spurted something into her mouth. It was more
sweet than salty, like clotted cream in consistency.
She had no handkerchief to spit into, so she
swallowed the fluid, not so different than
swallowing her nasal secretions. When she
straightened up, Uncle George handed her the last
of the wine, "to clear your palate," he said. His
penis was only a shadow of its former self. He
pulled up his drawers and trousers and buttoned the
waistband. "Thank you," he said, "You are a very
dear girl, and you have made me very happy."
Marie finished the wine and giggled. "It is my
pleasure to serve you, Uncle George. You have
been very good to me."
They took a cab to his club, where he had to leave
her in the cab while he went inside -- no females
allowed. He came out with a leather traveling bag
and directed the driver to a hotel, a small one,
where it was unlikely that anyone who knew him
would see them go in. They had wine and
sandwiches brought up to the room and watched the
setting sun as they ate. Marie expressed a need to
find a privy. He showed her the water closet at the
end of the hall and explained the operation of the
flush toilet. In a few minutes, she was back at the
room, and he bolted the door.
"What would you like to do now, Marie?"
"Whatever you like, Uncle George. I am at your
service."
"Take off your clothes, all of them." She had
already taken off her bonnet and gloves. She
removed her shoes and then began to unbutton her
dress. George stared at her, as Mrs. Wilson might
have stared at a heap of gold, and then, without
removing his gaze from Marie, he began to undress
himself. She was naked first, and she stood there,
her skin rosy in the light of the dusk, as he devoured
her with his eyes and left his clothing in a heap on
the floor. He motioned for her to come to the bed.
She sat beside her. "Your pizz...your penis seems
to have grown again."
"I want to put it inside you."
"I don't think it will fit."
"I'd like to try."
"I cannot say no to you, Uncle George. Do what
you will." He arranged her over the edge of the
bed, face down, much as she had been when she
was caned by Mr. Manchester. He felt her cleft,
first with his fingers, then with the tip of his stiff
penis. She made soft mewling noises, as if in pain
but not wanting to complain. He got down on his
knees and tried to lick her quim, the fluids of her
little valley, but he could not quite reach her man in
the boat. The sight of her after globes distracted
him. He began to stroke them, then squeeze them.
All traces of her punishment had faded.
"Of course your parents spanked you," he said.
"No," she replied. "I have never been spanked."
"I want to spank you. You've been a good girl. I'm
not punishing you for anything. But some women,
uh, some older girls, like to be spanked, and if you
have never been spanked, you don't know, do you?
You might like it."
"You can do whatever you want to me, Uncle
George." Gently, he spanked her globes,
alternately. She flinched and murmured and, as he
spanked harder, she giggled, even laughed.
Compared with the cane, it was exciting, sending
shivers through her insides. He stopped a moment
and felt her quim; she was wetter than before. With
one hand he spanked her bottom while, with the
other, he reached for and fingered her little passion
button, the man in the boat. She began to squirm,
rocking her pelvis, and she exclaimed, "Uncle
George, you are making me feel so... so strange!
Oh, oh, I don't know if I can stand much more of
this. I feel faint." He stopped slapping her bottom
and applied his penis, but she cried out, "Ow, you
are tearing me!" He stopped and got onto the bed,
lying on his back.
"Marie, sit astride my legs." She did. He beckoned
to her to come close. She leaned closer and he
rubbed her boobies. "Marie. I don't want you to
remember me as the man who hurt you with his
penis. Now, listen carefully. I will hold my penis
upright. I want you to slide up, closer, on your
knees, so you little cunny is right above my penis.
Understand? Good. I want you to lower yourself,
so it enters your cunny. You can go as fast or as
slowly as you like and lean forward or back,
whatever way makes it go in easiest. It may hurt
some, but you have control over how much it hurts.
If it hurts too much, you can pull away and start
over. You may just have to grit your teeth and bear
the pain, but I want you to put my penis in your
cunny."
Marie positioned herself over his penis, which he
held upright with his left hand while his right hand
roamed over her chest and belly and then homed in
on her passion spot. She lowered herself until the
tip was half an inch inside her. She winced and
seemed to gather her courage. Then she sat quickly
on his pole, driving it into her belly. She gave a
short scream, and then she smiled, proud of herself.
George looked down and saw blood on his pubic
hair. "Good girl," he said. "I'm proud of you. You
did very well, Marie." He grasped her hips and
urged her to slide forward and back with his penis
deep inside her. He could feel his penis deep in the
fundus of her vagina, rubbing her cervix as it went
back to front and back again. He watched the
expression on her face, the smile giving way to
some excitement, perhaps even fear. She started
breathing through her mouth and working hard,
rocking her pelvis back and forth, pivoting on his
penis. He found her man in the boat, which
squirmed under his finger, as she grew more and
more excited, grinding her cunny against the root of
his shaft. Perspiration gleamed on her chest. Her
mouth was agape, her breath was audible, her
nipples stood forth. George could feel it coming,
that exquisite sensitivity, that inevitable tension, but
Marie was panting and rocking her hips, her hair
flying, her eyes closed.
"Ah, ah, ah, ohh," she moaned, while George tensed
and said, "I can't hold back. I'm coming." They
writhed together for a few seconds, and then Marie
collapsed on his chest, hugging him, breathing
heavily. A minute later, his penis had slipped out of
her. He moved, and tipped her onto the bed. He
took a towel from his bag and mopped up the blood
as best he could, leaving the crimson cloth between
her legs. She seemed asleep already. He
rearranged her limp form and lay beside her,
slipping into a contented sleep.
When, in the morning, they were wakened by
church bells, he asked her how her cunny felt. She
said, "Sore. But I'm not sorry. Last night was the
most exciting of my life. Thank you very much."
"I am in debt to you," he said. They enjoyed a
delightful day, strolling in the parks, taking a cab to
Greenwich, boating on the river, which is tidal
there. In the afternoon, they returned to the hotel
room and had supper in their room, with wine and
beer. "Let's eat naked," he suggested. She agreed,
so they did, building up the fire to avoid a chill.
She slipped her dress on to visit the water closet,
then returned to the room. "Did you move your
bowels?" She said she had. "We have only a few
hours left. How is your cunny?"
"It has stopped bleeding, but it's sore when I touch
it."
"I want to be inside you again, but I don't want to
hurt you."
"I will try to bear the pain. I'm sure it's nothing,
compared to childbirth. Women do these things for
men, I'm told."
"But you are a child, and you don't deserve to be
hurt, at least not more than necessary. Would you
mind if I put it inside your back passage?"
"Uncle George, you may do whatever you want to
me."
George positioned her naked, on her knees, face
down on the bed. He applied some butter from the
dinner tray to her little rosebud and worked the tip
of his finger inside. She tried to relax and
accommodate him. Then he took a half bottle of
wine, topped it off with beer, and placed the neck of
the bottle against her buttery backside. He pushed
until it slipped inside, an inch or so, and he shook
the bottle. There was enough carbonation left in
the beer to force liquid into her rectum. The
alcohol absorbed very quickly, and in minutes
Marie announced that she was drunk and no longer
responsible for her actions. With a towel handy,
George withdrew the bottle, wiping up her wet
farts, while Marie giggled and sighed. George held
her hips, so she wouldn't slide away from him, and
he thrust his penis into her relaxed anus. "Oh, My,
that's good!", he called. Marie giggled as he came
inside her, his seed mixing with the wine and beer.
Marie was drunk for hours, but he got her cleaned
up -- the bed was a mess -- and dressed by ten. He
held up two golden sovereigns, warmed in his hand,
more money than a laborer would earn in many
months. "These are for you, not your Auntie. I
want you to hide them and keep them in case of
future need." He slipped them, one at a time, into
her cunny. Then they took a cab back to the Harris
house. Marie went upstairs, to use the secret
passage to her room, while Uncle George spoke
with Mrs. Wilson. He could afford it, so he
negotiated a long-term lease on Marie, exclusive
use, every weekend, from Friday to Sunday night.
Later that week, although Marie had performed her
duties diligently, Mrs. Wilson decided she was
altogether too cheerful, and she had Mr.
Manchester administer ten strokes of the cane, after
which, with the threat of another ten, Marie was
forced to fellate Mr. Manchester and perform
cunnilingus on Auntie.
Friday night, Uncle George noticed the bruises on
Marie's bottom and became very angry, asking her
what had happened. She tried to make light of it,
saying Auntie believed girls should be caned
regularly, to assure they remained submissive.
Sunday night, before he would return Marie, he
insisted on a full-time lease. He bought her clothes
from Mrs. Wilson and installed Marie in a hotel
room not far from the Inns of Court. Uncle George
left her alone during the day, Monday through
Friday, when she would mostly read. He brought
her the papers, and novels by reputable and
instructive authors. There were also biographies
and histories, from his personal library. Over
supper, he would ask her about what she had read.
"You are a thoughtful and sensible reader," he said,
"more so than many grown women, wives of my
colleagues, I have spoken with."
Their nights were spent in splendid fornication,
unbridled sin. They also went out, walking the
streets, dining out. Uncle George bought Marie
more grown-up dresses, but still no corsets. He
asked her to wear her hair up and bought her fancy
hats, with plumes. "You like me to seem older,
more grown-up?" she asked.
"Yes. I look forward to your growing up, becoming
a beautiful woman."
"If you wanted a beautiful woman, why did you
choose me, a child?"
"No matter your age, I enjoy your company. But I
chose you because no man had touched you. After I
married my second wife, the widow, I discovered
that her previous husband had left her with syphilis.
Do you know what that is? No, of course you don't.
It is a disease that is spread by intimate touching. I
have a great fear of it. I could not touch my wife.
We slept in separate rooms. Of course we had no
children. She died of the disease. I promised
myself I would not touch a woman who was not a
virgin. I chose you because, of all the females I
might have chosen, you were the first that I
believed was certainly a virgin. It wasn't that you
were a child. I'm not a pedophile. I only wanted
to make sure my lady was a virgin."
One night, George said, "What's this? You are
bleeding."
"If it offends you, dearest, you may use my back
channel or my mouth. It is only my monthly."
George pulled away from her. "Is it not unusual for
a thirteen year old girl to have monthly periods?
How long has this been going on?" he asked, when
he realized the implications. "My Lord, you might
have conceived a child!"
Marie replied, "I cannot tell you."
"Why not? Just give me an estimate, a few months,
a year? How old were you when your periods
started?"
"I am not permitted to tell you. Auntie forbids it."
"Auntie be damned! I've paid for you, and I want to
know."
"Can you protect me from Auntie and Mr.
Manchester? They said they would beat me, forty
strokes of the cane and more if I let on my true
age."
"Of course I can protect you. I'm a Queen's Bench
Judge. If they hurt you, I'll see them prosecuted.
Tell me the truth, child."
"I started my periods when I was fifteen. I turned
eighteen last month, while we were still at sea."
"Eighteen? You lied about your age? You are a
fraud."
"She lied about my age. Mr. Manchester said I
would be more attractive to men, if they said I was
younger. I haven't lied, though I allowed you to be
deceived. Please, forgive me. I had no choice.
Mrs. Wilson is my legal guardian."
"But you were truly a virgin. It wasn't a trick,
sewing you up or something."
"Yes, I was truly a virgin. Until Mr. Manchester
felt my breasts, I had never been touched by any
man, and you are the only man who has ever
touched my cunny. I'm sorry I'm a fraud. Have you
noticed that I used your razor when you were out? I
have been shaved, down there, to make me look
younger. My father was defrauded, too, for he paid
Mrs. Wilson to make me a lady, and I realize now
I'm not a lady. They say about one in fourteen
women in London sells her body. The preachers
call them whores. Really, I did not want to become
a whore. I did not sell my body. Mrs. Wilson did.
And you bought me, knowing you were making me
a whore, before I realized that was what I would
become." Marie began to cry. "Please, don't send
me back."
George paced the room and seethed, muttering
angrily. Then he stood still and said, "I really have
nothing to complain about. I conclude that it is I
who have wronged you, Marie. In a sense, I am
relieved, for I did have moral qualms about
debauching an innocent child. Now, you are a
child no longer, not in my eyes. I certainly don't
want to send you back to Harris House, to be sold to
the next bidder as a common prostitute. Come,
give me a kiss. I forgive your deception. Will you
forgive my arrogance, my selfishness? I had no
right to try to buy your love."
"But I do love you, George. Is it all right if I stop
calling you Uncle? You make me feel that I am a
lady, even if..." She threw her arms around him and
kissed him long and hard.
In the next weeks, George treated Marie even
better, if that was possible, and consulted her more
often about her wishes and preferences. He did not
seem embarrassed to be seen with her and even
introduced her to his clerk, when they met on the
street, and to a barrister, as "Miss Morrow, from
America."
The next month, Marie's period did not come.
George said, almost cheerfully, "I must make you
an honest woman. I will get Mrs. Wilson's
permission, if you will consent to marry me."
Marie glowed and kissed him in reply. "If she dares
demand money, I'll take you to Scotland to marry
you, and I'll see that the police close her down."
Several weeks later, two letters from London
arrived in Georgia, containing clippings from the
London papers. The gist of them was that Sir
George Hounslow, QB, had married the former
Marie Morrow, of Georgia, USA, in a ceremony at
St. Clemmon's Church. They plan to honeymoon
on the continent, making the grand tour. In the first
letter, Auntie included a note: "I feel that I have
delivered value for money, and our accounts are
settled. It has been a pleasure doing business with
you." The second letter was in Marie's distinctive
hand.
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