EXTRACT FOR
Fog, Lace and Steel
(Author Unknown)
Author's Introduction
Although every attempt was made to ensure the historical accuracy of the Victorian background and language of this story, it is primarily a work of erotic fiction and facts may have been moved chronologically or otherwise altered to fit the story. Attitudes towards class, race and religion are meant to accord with those prevalent during the period and do not represent those of the author.
V. W. Singer
Chapter One
Lady Anne Fitzwalter was distracted. The throbbing in her breasts and loins might have been painful if not for how wonderful it felt. For the first time, she found it difficult to think about her duties or to avoid a most unladylike writhing on the seat of her carriage. She was unusually thankful for the stiff, many layered petticoats that the fashion of the day required, for without them there would have been the distinct possibility of a most embarrassing stain showing right through her skirts, as the events of the past few hours continued to run through her mind.
Lady Anne had been invited to a recital at the home of a friend, an event which would have been deathly dreary if not for the unexpected attendance of a certain dashing captain of dragoons who was newly returned to London from India. She possessed little taste for the popular social pastimes so beloved of the other women in her social circle. Her going to such events was carefully calculated to maintain important social contacts and avoid making herself appear a reclusive spinster. Keeping up appearances was an important part of running with London High Society in this year of our Lord 1850, much as it probably had been in ancient Troy. The presence of Captain Jack Hutton therefore made a most welcome diversion. The two of them soon fell to chatting most amicably about the weather and the like, but it was the unspoken conversation between them that truly interested her. It soon became evident that Captain Hutton found her comely and Lady Anne was surprised to find herself responding favourably to his none too subtle advances in return. He was tall and handsome and possessed of all the necessary things that made the ladies' hearts go pitter-patter, but it was the subtle underlying scent of danger in him that stoked the fire in Lady Anne's bosom. When she chided him for a rather risqué comment regarding the best use of the unpopular Brunswick rifle, Captain Hutton had excused his lack of refinement by blaming it on all the years which he been obliged to spend in India with only the company of his fellow soldiers of the King's Royal Rifle Corps. Lady Anne later found it somewhat alarming that she had giggled at his repartee like some naïve debutante.
After the recital he offered to see her home and she accepted. They restricted their conversation to banalities during the ride in her brougham, not wanting to provide grist for the coachman's rumour mill. As they rattled over the cobblestones Lady Anne surreptitiously studied the Captain's profile. She was not usually a very sociable person and flirting was something only other people did. Yet, there was definitely something about him that aroused feelings in her that she had not up to now believed she possessed. After all, proper ladies were not supposed to experience carnal desire and such a weakness was most definitely not a desired trait to be found in a person who was in the service of the Queen. Despite it all, she did not recoil from the 'accidental' brushing of his fingers against hers and there could be no mistaking the meaning suggested by his touch as he stroked his way up the length of her finger to the apex where it joined its neighbour. When they arrived at her home she impulsively invited him in for tea. Even then, she was not sure whether she really intended to offer anything more. She heard herself inform him that her guardian was regrettably away and that apart from the servants, they were all alone in the house. She marvelled at this stranger who had seemingly taken control of her mind and body.
Lady Anne led the Captain into the sitting room where he entertained her with anecdotes of his adventures in India while they waited for her maid Sarah to serve them their tea. Sarah had been hired by her guardian and she sometime suspected a significant part of Sarah's duties was to watch over her activities, although to what end she could not be certain - though she did have her suspicions. The Captain proved charming and amusing and she soon found herself sitting beside him on the settee as they took turns viewing and laughing at a collection of naughty stereoscopes which Lady Anne had previously discovered in her guardian's study. Their hands touched as they both reached for a stereo card bearing the image of a particularly attractive nude woman. She turned her head to apologise, only to find her face inches away from his. An invisible, irresistible power took hold of them at that point and their lips met in a totally improper kiss. This led to more kisses and some shockingly indecent touching of bodies by wandering hands. Lady Anne began to fear for the overstuffed furniture and floral wallpaper as the temperature in the room seemed to rise to infernal levels. Then, to her amazement the Captain pulled away. A rush of shame filled her and she felt herself blushing. What must he think of her - to permit such liberties from a near stranger?
"Please, I must apologise. I cannot understand what compelled me to ... ," she said.
Although Lady Anne was in fact capable of far more extreme actions when duty required it of her, she knew full well that such casual misbehaviour could ruin her socially should Captain Hutton choose to be indiscreet. To her surprise, the Captain shook his head and went down on one knee.
"No, Lady Anne, it is I who must apologise for being so forward. I admit that I am greatly attracted to you and would be delighted if our acquaintance should develop into something more. However, honour compels me to warn you of certain - peculiarities in my character before our relationship is allowed to progress any further."
"Sir, indeed you confuse me. What could you possibly mean?"
"I'm ashamed to say that during my time in India I have done and experienced such things of a sexual nature that have left a permanent impression on my soul. I have developed certain preferences, some might say perversions, that may be offensive to a woman of breeding."
"Good lord, what a thing to say. You have piqued my curiosity sir, and you shall not leave this room until you reveal all. You must speak as freely to me as if I were one of your naughty soldier friends."
Captain Hutton smiled and resumed his seat next to her. "Very well. I shall take you at your word. Do not blame me then if I am more candid in my narration than may be considered proper." Settling back in the sofa, the Captain crossed his long, green clad legs and began his tale.
Chapter Two
The Captain's Tale
It was early in 1848 and my regiment, the King's Royal Rifle Corps was stationed around the city of Multan in the Punjab. Governor General Lord Dalhousie had just arrived in January and already there were whisperings of fresh discontent and even revolt, although the Diwan Mulraj still smiled at our emissaries and the people in the marketplaces were happy enough to take our shillings.
Although one had to get used to the heat, the flies and the Army's version of Indian food - which sent most new recruits to the privy in a flaming hurry, life in the Regiment was not unpleasant. Unlike many places, the local women were often beautiful and, with the right encouragement, accommodating. However, their men-folk could be fierce and not even a rifle in the face would put them off when they thought that they had been dishonoured, so one had to be cautious or risked losing certain vital parts to a razor sharp knife.
It was a soldier's dream, with warm company in the bed and the chance of action, glory and loot around the corner. Many men chose to maintain a demimonde whilst others sampled the blossoms when the urge arose. I must admit, I was one of the latter. At the risk of sounding immodest, I was always generous and treated the women well - or so they told me. As a matter of fact, I was often in receipt of complaints from my fellow officers that I was setting too high a standard. Unbeknownst to me, this also resulted in something of a competition amongst the camp women to win my favour and this is where my problems originated.
At first, the rivalry manifested itself merely in the degree of physical affection and enthusiasm displayed by my temporary companions. This soon paled as their flattery and attempts to please became smothering. My demeanour must have given some indication of this and the ladies changed to competing in the bed instead. The Indians have a most indecent and heathen manuscript which they refer to as the 'Kamasutram' which professes to be a guide to the ways of physical love and other related matters. I am told it teaches nearly fifty different positions in which a man and a woman may couple and by Jove, if the women did not attempt most of them with me! Again, this was amusing for a short while, but soon the strange contortions, however pleasurable, grew to be too much of a strain. Many the morning did I stumble to my post with a twisted and aching back as befitted a man decades more advanced in years. There was much frustration in the women's quarters when I insisted that such adventuresome antics had to cease. Once again they must needs to search for another avenue through which to vie for my attentions.
One young bibi by the name of Meena Kaur was of a particularly determined and precocious character. She was fair of body and of face and was in fact one of my favourites, especially as she could speak the Queen's English almost as well as you or I. I had up to then taken pains not to show her particular favour for fear of finding her ensconced in my quarters as a 'wife', given how much I valued my independence. However, the situation did not sit well with this determined minx and she made it her mission to find a way to bind me to her.
One evening, when it was Meena's turn to spend the night with me, she came to my quarters bearing a large sack. I inquired as to the contents, but she merely smiled and shook her finger at me before going off to supervise the preparation our dinner, sack in hand. I noted she was wearing her best shalwar kamiz, which is the traditional loose cotton shirt and baggy pants worn in those parts. Her eyes were darkened with kajal and she wore a scarf decorated with golden thread. Naturally, the care she had taken with her appearance combined with her reticence over the sack had the effect of stimulating my curiosity. Looking back, I realise now that this was her intention.
Once the meal was ready we dined together, using knife and fork on proper English crockery and not just the right hand as is the custom with Meena's people. Although an uncommon practice, I preferred the taste of true local cooking to the adaptations made by the Army cooks and English wives. The spicy meats, vegetables and breads accompanied by a bottle of Burton pale ale served to stoke the heat in my loins as I gazed at her lovely face over the table, exotic in the flickering lamplight. I asked again about the sack, but again she smiled and said that all would be revealed at the proper time. I could have ordered her to tell me, but I allowed her her little game. Usually I would sit back with a cheroot and a glass of brandy after dinner, but tonight I decided to retire to the bed chamber directly upon completing our meal, driven by a feeling that this evening's amorous activities were going to prove somehow different.
Meena helped me remove my boots and undress before leading me to the tub for a quick wash to wipe way the dust and grime of the day, the Punjab being far different in climate from our beloved England. Her ministrations soon brought me to full attention and I attempted to lead the woman to my bed but once again she bade me wait.
"Damn it woman, what the devil are you up to? Would you have me explode from an excess of humours?" I grumbled.
Meena bowed her head as if abashed by my scolding, but I noted the gleam of amusement in her eyes. She glanced deliberately to the corner of the room wherein lay the mysterious sack.
"Sahib has been most patient with Meena. It is Meena who has been bad. I know that the women have been making Sahib Jack unhappy with our arguing and fighting. Sahib should punish naughty Meena and so remove the heat in his blood."
Something stirred in the depths of my mind at her words, although I was still not certain what she was suggesting. Suddenly the sack held a new significance, poised threateningly against the wall as if it were a waiting cobra.
"Punishment? What kind of punishment girl? And what does that blasted sack have to do with anything. Stop being so damned mysterious or by Jove, I will not hesitate to take a stick to you."
My anger did not seem to cow Meena, although her posture displayed a feigned submissiveness. Instead, she shook her head, as if in sorrow at my ignorance.
"A stick is for old men Sahib. If Sahib wishes to beat poor Meena then she must surely deserve it, but perhaps Meena can provide some better tools for this task."
I have never been slow of wit and I did not need a semaphore or screaming drill sergeant to help me understand what Meena was suggesting. I am also not a man who would raise a hand to any woman in anger, but the very fact that Meena had brought a sack full of 'tools' indicated she was not adverse to a taste of the rod. Little did I know it then, but six of the best was mere child's play compared to the things she had in mind - for she was determined to be equalled by no other woman in my eyes. Aside from childhood spankings and canings administered to me or my playmates, I had never experienced this form of play and I have to admit that I was curious. Meena fetched the sack and set it down beside the bed.
"Tell me what kind of punishment an English woman would receive for displeasing her man."
"To be honest, I don't know. Disobedient children often receive six of the best."
"What is this six-of-the-best? Are they beaten by six strong men?"
"Good lord no," I exclaimed in shock. "It means that a cane is firmly administered six times to their posteriors."
"Pos..posteerars?"
"Their bottoms. Here," I said, patting her rump.
"Ah. And are their bottoms naked?"
"Sometimes - if they have been very naughty."
Meena pressed up to me with her hands on my shoulders. Her breasts flattened against my chest and her lips brushed my ear, warm breath tickling.
"I have been very naughty," she whispered. One of her hands left my shoulder and dropped to her waist. Her fingers moved against my waist and I heard the sound of cotton sliding against skin as her pants fell to the floor. She turned and pressed her naked buttocks to me as she bent over to retrieve a long rattan cane from the sack. "Let us start then with this so English six-of-the-best. Show me how an Englishman controls his woman."
She stepped away from me to place her hands on her knees, legs straight and a shoulder's width apart. The dark curls covering her chuta or cunny seemed to wave at me in the lamplight. I noted with some surprise that most of her labia majora were bare of any hair. When asked, Meena informed me she had plucked them clean in order that I may better enjoy her there. Though I was still somewhat bemused at the turn of events, John Thomas was definitely interested in what was happening and had risen to the occasion. Meena looked back at me over her shoulder and there was a challenge in her eyes. I knew then that I had to be firm or risked losing all respect amongst the local women. I picked up the cane from the bed and swished it through the air to gain a feeling for its heft. Meena grinned.
"It is a good cane. I chose it myself and tested it on my sister. It leaves good marks," she said, wriggling her arse at me and obviously suggesting I leave some marks of my own.
"Right then. Six of the best for you my girl. Brace yourself." Despite my brave words, I had never in fact caned a woman, or any other person. This was totally different from using a sabre on an enemy soldier, and officers did not physically wield the whip in matters of military discipline. It was because of my inexperience and fear of causing injury to Meena that my first stroke proved somewhat feeble. It was no more serious than a hard slap against the firm and tautly stretched curves of Meena's arse. She laughed mockingly at my poor effort, but the feeling of the rod striking her flesh and the sight of her sleek, narrow-waisted body wriggling under the blow affected me more than she knew. It was as if a key had turned in my brain and of a sudden, all my senses - sight, smell and touch seemed focused only on her body. The smooth silky texture of her skin, the faint darkening in tone of it between her nether cheeks, the slight quiver of the long muscles of her thighs and the multiple shades of red and pink spreading from the crack of her pussy all flooded over me. Her female scent and the musky perfume that she wore filled the room. It was as if Meena's body was the only thing that existed in the entire world; infinitely precious and yet, the subject of my darkest desires.
Like an automaton my arm rose, swinging the flexible cane over my shoulders before coming down again with an audible whoosh of air. My eyes fixed upon Meena's derrière like the sights of a gun and the cane struck home as if it was a stooping hawk. A streak of red rose up from beneath Meena's skin to meet the unyielding wood of the cane as I painted fire across the shadowed rift that separated her nether cheeks. I am a soldier and I know all about the awful authority of pain. Meena's calm acceptance of the second blow astounded and delighted me. The third, fourth and fifth strokes landed in quick succession. Swollen ridges of pain, each tipped with a dark bruise where the end of the cane met flesh, ran like random tram lines over her buttocks. Glistening sweat, more than justified by the heat of the night alone, lay sprinkled across her back and torso - a testimony to her suffering. Yet still she smiled and shook her head in defiance.
"Are you all right? Is the pain too much?"
"From the looks of your pego, you may be suffering more than Meena. Are you man enough to go on?"
"Vixen! Let us see if you are still so cocky after this final stroke."
"Wait!" she cried. I thought that the cane had broken her, but instead her next actions only served to worsen her situation. She shuffled her feet even wider apart and bent lower down to grip her ankles.
"Strike with the cane on the line where my thighs meet my buttocks," she ordered. Obediently I took aim at the indicated spot, but hesitated when I realised that her posture and the placement of this last stroke would bring the cane squarely across her out-thrust cunny. Surely, I reasoned, this could not be her intention. Seeing my hesitation and guessing its origin, she spoke again.
"If I have caused your loins to suffer, it is only justice that my loins suffer in equal measure."
Her deliberately twisted logic made me laugh, but in no way affected my execution of the sixth and final stroke. I took careful aim and slashed the cane smartly with my wrist, trying more for accuracy than sheer force. To my delight the rod struck true, biting into both the bases of her arse cheeks as well as cleanly across her plump cunny. The pain of this shrewd blow was more than even my determined companion could bear without reaction. Although she made the barest of sounds, her knees did bend, lowering her hips as if to escape the stinging agony that emanated from her female parts. For a moment she looked as if she were preparing to go to the privy, but through a heroic effort of will she rose to stand upright. She let me study her welted buttocks for a moment before turning around to face me.
"So Jack, was that a proper six-of-the-best?"
"Considering the manner of the last stroke, most improper I would say," I replied, grinning to show that I was joking.
"Ah, I think that you enjoyed striking my pussy."
Before I could decide on a proper response she gently took hold of my cock in her delicate grip and stroked the reddened cap with her thumb. It quivered like an eager hound in her hand.
"I think that I have an answer to my question right here. You are a naughty boy," she said, addressing John Thomas directly before planting a kiss on the tip. "Naughty boys should be properly rewarded."
I took this to mean that I should take her to bed and mount her, but Meena held me off with a hand on my chest.
"Not yet. Let's try something else first."
"Very well, but have a care. Much more and my seed will be wasted on the carpet instead of in your cunny."
Meena wriggled her hips at me as she reached into her magic sack once more. She rummaged in the sack like a child would her toy box before emerging triumphantly with a very mundane looking strip of leather, much like a long heavy bootlace. My first thought was that she would have me bind her but she soon disabused me of the notion.
"This is better for whipping a cunny. Light enough to tickle, strong enough to tear skin. Here, try it."
Meena placed herself supine upon the bed with her legs spread and drawn up as if ready to receive a lover. Her hands gripped her thighs under her knees, thereby keeping her thighs apart and making a most delectable display of her cunny. By now I had little hesitation in acting on her suggestions as she seemed to have thought everything through carefully before coming here this night. I wrapped one end of the leather thong around my palm until I had a length of just over a foot dangling from my hand. My cock was so rigidly erect that I realised that I would have to take extra care not to strike myself while having my fun.
As this was the first time that I had ever used a whip on a woman's cunny I chose to exercise caution. Unlike the caning, Meena had not specified a fixed number of lashes, so I felt free to experiment. Her eyes were fix on the lash with the kind of horrified fascination that one sees in bystanders at fatal accidents, but her face still displayed an iron determination. It was all very confusing, so I just stared at her cunny instead. As with most men, I have a special love for the fanny, pussy, cunny, call it what you will, and never tire of viewing it. To watch as I caused the leather strap to brush up and down over the secret curves of Meena's sex, and knowing that at any moment I could change the caressing touch to a whiplash that would savage the same sensitive landscape, was almost hypnotic. I feared for my sanity, so great was the anticipation that jarred my mind to its breaking point. Almost of its own volition, my hand increased the pressure of the leather's kiss. The end of the strap painted faint pink streaks across the smooth, hair framed canvas. It was as if pink translucent branches were growing from the rosy red stem formed by the compressed inner labia that peeked out from between the plump outer lips. I struck with even more force and the marks grew deeper in colour. Then there were the sounds - the smack of the whip striking skin, the rustle of Meena's buttocks rubbing against the sheets and the soft, controlled sound of her breathing that rose and fell in time with the blows that struck her most sensitive parts.