Coersion

( closed for Amatorial_Writer and I)


Victorian England - 1887

Elizabeth Fitzsimmons
Age 22
hair; long and mahogony
eyes; brown
height; 5'2"
Figure; large bust, curvy hips and small waist.


Elizabeth sighed as she said her goodbyes to Andrew. Her husband was sailing on tide for Calcutta, a captain in the 88th Regiment, bound to support the East India company, and enforce security. He would be gone for several years, yet it was an opportunity for advancement, that would not otherwise present.

At least it was not Afghanistan. The recent forced march from Kabul to Kandahar had decimated troops, and those who had not fallen in battle, as they were picked off along the Khyber Pass, had died of disease, and infection.

They had married only seven months earlier, and she had hoped she was with child, hence the decision that she remain in England, thus avoiding the diseases of the tropics. however, it was not to be. Her menses had come last week, but it had been too late to change their plans. Besides, Andrew was not keen on her going into a potential hotspot.

She had travelled to London with him, but had not gone tothe docks, they were not suitable for women. She was dry eyed as she sat in the carraige, on her way to Margaret's. They had been childhood friends, sisters almsot. Her mother and Margaret's had been reared together, and when Elizabeth's own mother had become gravely ill, following a still birth when Elizabeth was only eight, they had gone to live with Sir Malcom Whittle, a baronet, and Margaret's father. Her mother had passed, and the Whittle's had brought her up, educated her, and treated her like one of their own.

Now it seemed as though history was to repeat itself, as Elizabeth was to live with Margaret and her husband Charles, until Andrew's safe return.

Elizabeth had never been to London before, and the sights and smells were exciting. The pomp and ceremony of the British Empire was evident in each and every building. The carraige rolled passed every increasingly impressive town houses, until it came to a stop outside what she assumed was Margaret and Charles' house.

A footman took down the carraige steps, and opened the door, handing her down. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, as she climbed up the imposing steps of a large Georgian townhouse. The door opened, and she was shown into the drawing room where she was met by a tall, fit looking man in his late thirties. Margaret's husband, if his expensive dress was any indication.

She curtsied low, and introduced herself.

Charles Houghton

Charles Houghton

- 39 years old, straight brown hair matching intense brown eyes.
- He has a height of 6'0", towering for the Victorian Era, with a body shaped by athletics throughout his upbringing.
- Banking is his profession, sufficiently successful to afford various investments that already secured his lifestyle and influence in the financial community.

Hearing the usual sounds of a horse drawn carriage, Albert, butler to the Houghtons pulls the drape in the front room and sees the expected guest arrive. His customary duties include helping and escorting the guest but first he walks to the back of the house and alert his employer and master Charles Houghton of the guest's arrival. Charles smiles and thanks Albert who hurriedly steps to the lavish dwelling's front door and opens it in time. First a smile then a respectful nod and Albert shows Elizabeth in. "Welcome," he says in his usual soft and diplomatic voice and leads her to the waiting room.

Charles stands by the mantle, a small fire soon needing more logs comfortably warms the room. "Hello dear Elizabeth," says Charles. This isn't the first time they met and neither recall the number of previous meetings but a long time passed since the previous visit. Both know this isn't just a short visit. Charles gently raises both arms in unison, his hands gently grip her upper arms and they plant a kiss on the other's cheek. When standing back, Charles looks at her differently than previous times. Much has happened in the last two years. His eyes see her with more intensity, more gravitas and barely hint the thoughts that ran through his mind since Margaret suggested Elizabeth reside with them.

In the background, Albert's steps are heard as he scurries from outside to Elizabeth's bedroom. Three trips and her belongings are in place to be sorted out later at her convenience. The carriage driver is generously tipped and on his way. Albert sees his master and Elizabeth talking, stands in the front room's doorway and waits patiently. "Would you like a refreshment?" asks Charles as his arm points to a comfortable chair for her to sit on. No doubt Elizabeth will need rest and time to settle in. She was part of Margaret's family and still regarded as such therefore, entitled to privileges afforded to their best guests.

Elizabeth replies, "A cup of tea please." Charles turns to Albert who already heard the lady's preference. "Two teas Albert and the usual biscuits please," says Charles and that's all the seasoned and experienced butler Albert needs to hear to fulfill his master's wishes. The two are left alone, they continue their discussion, drifting from small talk to more serious matters such as the absence of Elizabeth's husband and Margaret's illness.

Elizabeth had always been somewhat in awe of Charles, he was a man who exuded power, not in an agressive or overbearing way, but he was a man who knew his mind, and imposed his decisions rather autocratically. She had often wondered how he and Margaret got along, but the discussion of marital affairs was not something to be shared, not even with the nearest and dearest.

She gratefully accepted the tea when it arrived. The blazing fire in the hearth was warming, but the cold of the fog from the Thames had permeated the air inside the carraige, the brick for warming her feet long since cooled, and the damp, cold weather had seemed to sink into her bones.

She took one of the scones with blackberry jam that the butler had brought too. They were delicious, and still warm from the oven, and the biscuits were far more of a luxuary than she was used to, managing on a military income left little for luxuaries such as sugar, and therefore, despite it being a little rude to take a second item from the tray, she did so, almost moaning as she savoured the flavour.

She described for Charles the generic journey she had endured, as he politely enquired about various aspects.

She thanked him profusely for allowing her to reside with him. She would have felt quite vulnurable on her own, and would not have been in a position to afford to pay a staff, perhaps a part time maid, but that would be all. Of course, she die not enunciate this, any discussion pertaining to money, or worse, the lack thereof, being decidely vulgar. Still, it was understood by them both, and unspoken.

She spoke of Andrew, and the big career opportunity service overseas represented. There was a lot of money to be made in India, but she was relieved he had avoided Afghanastan, and she had been told there was talk of his batallion being deployed to support forces in Burma, so India was the lessor of the evils, however, she would miss him greatly.

She looked up and smiled at Charles. "Sir, I do appreciate you taking me into your home. More than I can adequately express at the moment. I trust I shall never give you cause to regret your generosity" Then she thught for a moment, and it occured to her, that it was unlikely that his morning routine consisted of entertaining ladies in the drawing room.

"Pray, I do not wish to keep you from your business, and such, allow me to exusse myself. I will go to my room, and supervise the unpacking, and leave you to your usual routine. If there is anything that I may do to be of service, either to Margaret, or indeed to yourself, please let me know, as I do not wish to be a burden, and I would feel better if there was some duties I could undertake!" with that she stood, Charles politely rose to his feet, and she curtsied deeply once more, and excused herself.

Charles

In the midst of the formal tea, Albert enters the room bounded by a high ceiling to inquire of any further needs and invigorate the fire by supplementing it with dry fresh oak logs brought from the Houghtons' summer estate in Dover. Being used to such dutiful interruptions, Charles didn't pause his side of the conversation. Over the years he has established an irreversible trust in Albert, one stemming from his boyhood years. Albert is compensated more than adequately in part for his labor and in part to keep his mouth shut especially in matters regarding the Houghtons. The staff of servants is employed specifically to facilitate life for Charles, Margaret and now Elizabeth. Her attention is curtailed when a log slips but remains in the fireplace pit. Its impact against another log causes loose scales to fall, defying gravity sparks rise into the chimney then an invisible welcomed wave of heat passes both as their comfort level rises.

Elizabeth looks at Charles with the innocence of a maiden even though a band of metal surrounds her ring finger, the only luxury Andrew afforded for his new wife. Married only seven months, deflowered on her wedding night, the sexual awakening made her yearn for more. Ten years of repression instigated by social norms ended but she's still bound to one man, her husband who by now sails beyond England's shores, destined for India and not to be seen for three more years. Elizabeth is tasked with living her life with her sexual desires repressed again. She considers herself happily married but how will she endure a lengthy celibacy after tasting fruit reserved for married couples?

Charles watches her and sees more than she realizes. He sees her upbringing in the Whittle household manifested in poise, manners speech, delicate handling of food, patient slow consumption despite the lengthy trip of the last couple of days. Past visits with Elizabeth occurred in the Houghtons' previous residence in Bristol or at the Whittle Estate. The Georgian house inhabited by the Houghtons is a recent acquisition, the result of a settlement between Charles and a merchant in financial dire straits. The building comprises three floors, ample rooms for the Houghtons and the staff. An additional dwelling exists near the house, one for the groundskeepers and guest workers. The sleeping rooms for the Houghtons and their guests are on the second floor. The third floor is reserved for servile staff.

Clearly the road food availed and served to Elizabeth was substandard. She has a taste for sweets and it shows. Another side of her that shows is the ease to please her, partly from her lax personality and partly from her humble life.

"Liz," says Charles to get her attention. The charming adorable woman with all curves on her body neatly flowing in harmony turns her eyes to him. Two years ago when they saw each other, she was a shy virgin. Now she's a shy woman of limited experience with a man, only one man, her Andrew. "Liz, Margaret and I are simply delighted with your presence under the same roof. Please consider this your home. Margaret is away visiting a physician in Manchester. She's expected to return in the morrow." He expresses this information knowing his wife's return may be postponed.

To Liz, Charles is a benevolent relative willing to help his wife's best friend and near sister who spent a good part of their childhood together. Unknown to Liz and Margaret, Charles possesses more power than fathomed. He's an influential investor in the East India Company Andrew was commissioned to help protect in the course of its international business affairs. Charles can without suspicion, arrange to have Andrew placed away from or in harm's way with the high probability Andrew will never return. Charles never wielded such power and feels somewhat uncomfortable resorting to such tactics but his morality hasn't been confirmed in such a case. Breaking marriages and corrupting young ladies is well within Charles' domain, will and experience.

Charles knows not of details regarding Liz's financial disposition, he need not know. The mere presence of Liz as the new resident in his dwelling at the urging of his wife Margaret indicates Liz is unable to provide for herself while her new husband is headed to a distant continent. This young couple has yet to enjoy their first wedding anniversary and with luck, they may see each other during their fourth or fifth anniversary.

Employment beyond England's shores requires long term absences and more commonly than expected, permanent or tragic departures. Much can happen over the next few years. Long absences from marital joys and tribulations are typical for those in the military dispatched at the command of Her Majesty Queen Victoria. Such absences are also common for merchants and employees working in trade and foreign interests. This is 1887, an illustrious year for the empire that doesn't see the sun set.

Charles is a schemer and calculator albeit with a charitable streak. He hopes something will flourish to his favor at every opportunity and in this moment, he sees Liz as an opportunity. All these thoughts circulate in his mind while Liz finishes the tasty morning snack.

"Dear Liz we know each other from past encounters and I feel I know you through my Margaret. I shan't expect anything of ill will from you. Please accommodate yourself. Albert and the servants are at your disposal. Your presence here is of sufficient payment. Margaret will be pleased to have you as her companion especially during my short absences."

With that said, Charles takes two steps closer toward Liz when she stands. Just after her eloquent curtsy his hand is smoothly raised and fingers touch the underside of her chin. He patiently turns her head but her eyes remain downcast till her head is tilted back, oriented to face him. The avoidance of her eyes stems from social norms, she's expected to dodge and deflect advances regardless of their subtlety. His eyes gaze without a blink, his thick suit tailored in one of London's finest haberdasheries disguises his excitement below the waist. For a long second her eyes turn to his, soft smiles generated on their lips, he pulls his hand away, she turns and walks in a series of lady like short steps to the doorway where Albert stands ready to escort her upstairs. The spacious bedroom beside the master bedroom awaits her.

"Lunch will be served at noon," says Charles to Liz when she turns at the doorway for one more glance at Charles before heading upstairs. Charles feels a pang of excitement momentarily seeing her bodacious profile tightly bound by the burgundy colored Victorian outfit then turns toward the fire, his jacket open, thumbs inserted in the vest wrapping his abdomen and fingers pointing in thin air. If or when Charles will have inappropriate relations with Liz, she won't be the first while married to Margaret.

Elizabeth went out of the drawing room under Charles' escort, his hand resting at the small of her back, as he ushered her toward the butler. It was not the done thing to touch in public, let alone someone who was not your wife, yet she was sure that Charles intended the gesture in a familial way.

She went to her room, and rang for some hot water to be brought up, and when it arrived, she washed herself thoroughly, and changed from her travelling dress into calico day dress, with tiny sprigged flowers decorating the fabric. she must have gained a little weight, as it was tighter across the bodice than it had been, but while perhaps a little provocative, it was far from indecent, and she could let out the seams a little, later on.

Finally ready, she closed her bedroom door behind her, and made he way down the hall. She was a little surprised that she had been given a room adjacent to the bedrooms of the Master and Mistress of the house. Her own room was on the far side of Charles' dressing room.

She entered the hall, and seeing one of the maids, she asked to be shown to the small dining room, where lunch was eaten. It was the family dining room, and she knew that there was also a very large formal dining room used for entertainingn.

Charles rose when she entered the room, and with her eyes downcast, she curtsied, and took her seat on his left hand side, forestalling her chit chat until luncheon had been served.

Charles

Charles returns to his study and continues reviewing financial statements of a contemplated acquisition. His staff at the bank is well trained and experienced thus allowing him to visit clients in the city or stay at home. Because Margaret is away, he deemed it appropriate to stay home today and greet the expected guest Liz.

Concentration on financial matters isn't laborious for Charles but this time thoughts about Liz, Margaret and their cohabitation swirl in his mind. He closes one book, rationalizing a decision need not be made right now and better to forgo that decision. Leaning back in his custom made leather chair structured with artistically carved maple, he turns towards the window, its lace dressing attenuates the sun's light to an acceptable softness. Enough light enters his study dispensing candlelight. He takes the ten minutes remaining till lunch to ponder, scheme and plan. Not all plans come to fruition but his success rate exceeds the averages. Second after second the shiny brass pendulum swings in its timely cadence, hands rotate unnoticeably. A minute before noon Albert punctually enters the study in his customary manner informing Charles lunch is prepared. He is thanked as usual and both make their way to the small dining room before Liz arrives. Tugging his sleeves, running the right hand over the right side of his head, the left over the left, a look in the hallway mirror and he's content with his appearance. Albert ensures his master is orderly by brushing off a dust spec with his white kid gloved hand.

In the next room Albert gently nudges the master's chair under Charles as he sits at the table carved from imported teak and draped with a hand embroidered tablecloth. The sitting ritual is repeated for Liz after her arrival then for Charles again because he's gentlemanly enough to stand and greet her. "Welcome Liz," he says in a distinct voice of clarity. He wanted to say "Welcome darling Liz" but knows better despite an undercurrent of roguish behavior with some ladies in his presence. The food is brought after smiles are exchanged in silence. Liz blushes and Charles wonders how far that blush permeates below the neck high collar. He'll find out but no telling when. Each moves sideways as a servant places fine silver cutlery for the first course of the meal, soup. Another servant places a bowl of soup on the plate in front of Charles and Liz, all in proper form and protocol. Liz recalls such formalities from her upbringing at the Whittle Estate with Margaret. Her humble nature allows her to dispense with such manners when absent and accept them when offered. Warm vapor rising from hot soup caresses both faces, a contrast to cool ambient air despite the robust fire in the fireplace nearby.

"Bon apetit," says Charles to Liz and she returns the remark with another soft smile. The two proceed enjoying the soup in the almost robotic movements so customary and expected. Occasionally Charles steals glances, so does Liz, both watched by a servant standing waiting in case the master and his guest are in need of a task or item.

The meal progresses slowly interspersed with dialog of old days, married life, Margaret, Andrew and the future. A comfort level is reached between them, one reached in similar past gatherings. Charles hasn't forgotten the lust he felt for Liz in earlier years and out of respect for Margaret and her family, Charles did not act on that lust. He waited for a subsequent visit with a mistress known only to him.

The meal concludes with cake bathed in a shallow pool of fresh cream. A treat Liz hasn't tasted in a long time. The trip during the last two days and this morning's early rise to bid farewell to her Andrew then another trip from the lodge to the Houghton home took a toll on her stamina. Both know she needs to rest, both politely depart the small dining room. Liz heads upstairs to unpack and nap. Charles returns to his study for a cigar and more contemplating. About Liz, not finances.

Liz thouroughly enjoyed the richness of the food, the lamb having been marinated in port before cooking it, making it incredibly tender. She and Andrew had lived more on pork, poultry and offal, supplimented with vegetables from their little garden. The rich food delighted her pallette, and brings to mind her earlier years, before her marraige.

Of course, they had been invited to regimental dinner parties, with some of the other officers, and occasionally with the General himself. They were both from very well respected families, but Andrew was a third son, and therefore needed to make his own way in the world, and Elizabeth herself had had only a small dowery, and therefore she considered that she had done well.

She smiled at Charles, as they chatted easily. He was a very charismatic man, who instantly seemed to garner the attention of all in his circle. Of course, he was also a wealthy and influencial man, and a good looking one, of fine form, all of which added to his appeal.

She sipped her wine, and found it almost went to her head, as it had been some time since she had last consumed alcohol. Dessert was a luxuary she had not enjoyed either, for quite some time, and she eagerly ate up the sponge cake.

She suppressed a yawn, and was eager, at the meals end to go to her room, where she could recline on her bed for a little time.

Before they parted, she asked Charles if she should eat in her room this evening or would he like her to join him for dinner. She had to get the fine balance right between being willing and able to entertain her host, and not imposing herself on him, for perhaps he might like to dine at his club, seeing as his wife was away.

To her surprise, he advised that he would bring her to the Theatre that evening, a rare treat indeed.

Charles

Throughout the mid day meal Liz continued to exude an innocence and aura of vulnerability. Left behind by her new husband for a few years, she needs the support and attention from someone close to her such as her best and long time friend Margaret. Charles, Margaret's husband aptly qualifies for such a role but her naivete can steer her into treacherous waters and Charles is just the shark to welcome her. Despite his venomous nature, he maintains the facade of a courteous gentleman and a good friend. He is that as part of his nature but inconsistently and today the good Charles lies buried in his psyche.

Arrangements for this evening are established by Charles when he declares dinner to be served at 6 o'clock and the carriage will transport them to the Savoy Theater at 7 o'clock, in time for tonight's play "Ruddigore" at 8 o'clock. This musical is the latest Gilbert & Sullivan production with a theme intriguing to Charles.

His staff already familiar with the punctuality demanded of them will soon begin preparations for this evening. Albert dispatches one servant to the theater for tickets in a box, a place much preferred by Charles not only for the unhindered view of the stage but its privacy.

Without asking for her permission and thoughts, Charles tells Liz one of his staff will show her Margaret's wardrobe to choose an outfit befitting for tonight's dinner and entertainment. Although not related by blood, Liz and Margaret have similar physical features, sufficiently similar to allow them to wear each other's clothes, something they have done in years past. For Charles this is an added bonus. Should he be seen by someone familiar from a distance, appearances indicate Charles and Margaret are out and about. Only closer, from several paces can the differences between Margaret and Liz be discerned. If Liz wears a lace hood over her face, she would be truly incognito. Thus, Charles would not be suspected of improper behavior and if by chance he's met by someone known, LIz can be easily explained as Margaret's good friend and companion.

After Liz climbs the stairs towards her new living quarters, Moira is called into the small dining room and instructed on Charles' wishes, that she assist Liz with tonight's dress and accessories chosen from Margaret's collection. Moira is a lass of Irish heritage with autumn features, red hair, green eyes, fair complexion and seductive lips. Like Liz, she has an air of vulnerability, one qualification Charles wants in some of his staff.

Albert finds another staff member to arrange transportation. Other staffers clear the table and clean used china and cutlery then prepare for tonight's meal.

Minutes later the study has its usual occupant, Charles. He takes a seat behind the desk and leans back, hears footsteps above, those of Liz and Moira. Liz has yet to fully unpack, she just arrived this morning and Moira offers to help her. She will assist Liz in other preparations then let her be for a well deserved nap. Napping is a rare activity for Charles. His mind unable to focus and concentrate on business, is relieved to the recreational task of planning his next seduction.

Liz descended the stairs, her wrap already around her shoulders, and her hat in place, a little lace shields her face, but her maid, a cumley Irish lass, persuaded her that it was de rigeour in London at the moment.

Her hair has been arranged in a fancy updo, and she is pleased with her appearance in emerald green dress which accentuated her figure. It was a beautiful dress, of the finest silk, and it feels devine. She had black gloves that reach her biceps and all in all she is most impressed by her appearance.

The only thing was that the dress had a much tighter bodice, far, far lower cut than anything of her own. It is the style, apparently, or so Moira told her, but she was half afraid that if she took a deep breath, she would pop out!!

Charles was waiting at the foot of the staircase, and she hurried, not wanting to hold him up. She took his offered arm, and the leave, with Charles handing her up into the dark confines of the carraige.

Liz felt a little like Cinderella going to the ball, the fine clothes, and her handsome escort, completing the illusion.

Charles

A glance at the grandfather clock inherited from Charles' father shows the time as 3 minutes till 7. The dining room is being cleared, restored to its neat and orderly arrangement for the next meal. Slow paced sounds of heels tapping wooden stairs turn Charles' and Albert's heads. They see Elizabeth Fitzsimmons with Moira dutifully behind her. Both faces marked with joy of accomplishment. From a distance, Liz does look like Margaret, but more radiant and desirable, enough to surprise Charles himself, the schemer of this masquerade unbeknown to all others. In timely fashion the front door is opened, Albert its attendant holds the handle. It's not Charles and Liz who pass through the open doorway first, it's the evening air of London with good and bad scents and smells.

Another descent along a shorter flight of stairs brings the couple to the pavement near the carriage. Its driver waits for them with the door open. First Liz enters the carriage with an unseen helping hand belonging to Charles. He follows her inward, the door closed behind them and the driver mounts the carriage. Meanwhile his staff tend to their duties anticipating some free time before their master returns with the new cohabitant Liz.

The ride to the Savoy is a tour of this segment of London for Elizabeth who hasn't been here before. While she had a taste of high society's lifestyle in the past when living with young Margaret, this time is different. She isn't a girl anymore, nor virginal, nor is she a woman of diverse experience but she is curious, very curious.

The half hour ride is filled with talk between Charles and Liz, acquainting themselves better. Her face and his change in contrast and shade as different lights seemingly stream in their view. Sounds of horses strolling, the carriage shaking and street sounds echo in the chamber rocking on steel springs. For minutes darkness prevails, their chat interrupted to silence when Charles places his hand on her thigh. Her tremor is felt but he doesn't budge. She knows not the words to fend him off and deep down inside she welcomes this. The mild shock refreshes her memory of discussions with Margaret when courted by Charles. Both naive of the world they had little idea of who is best for them and Margaret relied on the wisdom of Sir Malcom Whittle and others of experience. Charles was highly recommended, that was good enough for her and that made her dear friend Elizabeth just as happy. This knowledge stayed in Liz's memory. She recalls another discussion, the last one with her husband Andrew minutes before he boarded the ship to India. He asked her to promise him her chastity whilst his absence. She offered that promise with words, smiles and kisses. Now she feels her promise challenged by emotions perhaps insurmountable. Infidelity runs against this society's grain and if revealed, her dignity will be permanently scarred fending sending her away from the high society she enjoys as a peripheral member. How she reconciles these conflicting influences remains to be seen. For now she quietly accepts Charles' physical gesture with guilt and a tense smile. It must be her fault she rationalizes. Otherwise a gentleman wouldn't be tempted to act as such with the best friend of his wife.

"We are here," says Charles when looking out the carriage window by his side and sees the theater's familiar facade. The carriage is aligned with other carriages stopped for passengers to exit the small yet comfortable cocoons on wheels. The driver is tipped generously and reminded he is to pick them up in two hours. Having transported Charles and his companions in the past, he affirms the instructions and tends to the carriage. Charles escorts Liz to the theater, entering the magnificent structure of entertainment privileged to those who can afford such luxuries. An usher escorts them to the box, ensures they are satisfied with its comforts and draws closed the drapes leaving them alone in their limited privacy. While they have their own space, there is no front wall and most in the theater can see them above their chests.

The orchestra warms up sounding random notes while tuning their instruments. Footsteps and other sounds heard behind the large curtain separating the entertainers from the entertained. Eight o'clock arrives, lights are dimmed, the large stage curtain is slowly opened, Charles places the opera glasses in Liz's hand and lowers his hand to her thigh. This time he doesn't feel her shake.

Liz was flattered by the patent approval on Charles' face, as she descended the stairs. She was feeling a little buzzed from the wine she had had with her dinner, nothing too much, just a glass and a half, but she had also had a glass at lunch time, and ordinarily, wine does not feature on her menu.

She climbed into the carraige, appreciating charles' guidance in the darkness. She was excited, absurdly pleased with her trip to the theatre, particularly as Charles' had a box, and they could sit above and adjacent to, the stage, far above the middle classes in the pits, and the poor in the "gods".

When Charles' hand lands on her leg, she thought for a moment perhaps he was disorientated in the dark, and thought his hand rested on the seat. After severall moments, and the odd squeeze, she knew that not to be the case, and she felt guilty for permitting it. But what was she to do? Perhaps he ment to comfort her, to console her on Andrew's absence?

When they arrive at the theatre, Charles jumps out, and instead of lowering the steps, he placed his hands on her waist, and lifted her to the ground. She felt odd in his embrace, or with his hands upon her.

They took their seats, and she was looking forward to watching the opera. Gilbert and Sullivan were among her favourites - she had seen "HMS Pinafore" and" The Pirates of Penzance" and she loved the satire, as well as the performance as a whole.

Charles' hand landed just as the house lights were dimmed for the performance. She stoically sat still, perhaps this was all there was, his friendly gesture. Perhaps member of the ton were more demonstative than their country counterparts, and she did not wish to appear foolish, by displaying her country manners.

By the interval, Charles' fingers were by her inner thigh, nearing her apex, and she had long awoken from that dream of hope, that this was mearly the way of upper London society. He was seducing her, and she was in a dreadful predicament. If she did not go along with his advances, she may well find herself on the streets, and there was but one way a woman made ends meet in those circumstances. She could not get work as a governess or companion, as she was married. She could not live alone, she hand no option. Surely it was simply his manly urges, in the absence of his wife. Perhaps he would be satisfied with a kiss, and while her spirit revolted at the thought of such adulterous activity, she was utterly vulnerable, and they both knew it.

Charles

Charles' eyes directed and cast to the stage, his mind on another topic, noting to himself he must thank Moira for assisting Liz with a bath and dressing. She not only looks exquisite, her fragrance concurs.

He is a connoisseur of women, knows not to waver or flounder. A hint of remorse or uncertainty may confuse his prey. He acts decisively commensurate with the lady's temperament. In short, he acts as if he's doing nothing wrong so she will go along with it. Of course he exploits social barriers and constraints using them for his purposes. Any onlooker from the theater below sees two spectators calmly poised watching the play and its esteemed players. They don't see evidence of his ulterior motives, to seduce Liz. She sees and feels his motives. Confused befuddled yet intrigued because he ignited something in her she must suppress. She promised so to her new husband and she is expected to abide as a lady and friend of the Houghtons.

The slide of his hand between her thighs indicates her thigh isn't used as an armrest. He won't go further, not here even in the semi-public area but he let his intentions be known, he started claiming his territory sort of speak.

The intermission means the play is half over. Enjoyed for its wickedry, a metaphor to the wickedry in the theater box occupied by Charles and Liz. He has her boxed in physically and psychologically. He isn't concerned about her objections, they shall be overcome. He's more mindful of the possibility she might flee the Houghton residence and has a strategy to keep her there. That strategy will be exercised later tonight.

For now the flirting is one sided and to his favor. If she is uncomfortable and disturbed, she doesn't show any signs. This being the Victorian Era, salacious behavior remains covert. For those such as Charles, the thrill of damaging his respect and social standing adds another dimension. In these times Charles risks damaging his reputation but Liz risks losing it. Such is the double standard prevalent in this society that considers itself at the top of the civilized world.

"Ruddigore" is entertaining, comical, satirical and to some extent profound. To Charles the play is an opportunity. To Liz it's a gateway to hell. When the play ends, they rise, escorted by the same usher who ensures they have all their belongings. He hands to Charles his hat and gentlemanly cane, one used for image not support and if necessary as a weapon. It's made of seasoned solid oak free of knots and its slender shape is suitable for caning to ward off intruders and muggers. A carved piece of ivory serves as the cane's handle and ornamental head.

For most the peak enjoyment came and went with the play. For Charles, it merely started. The real play in his evening is Liz. On the way out of the Savoy he sees familiar faces, nods smiles but doesn't stop to greet or chat, not tonight. Unexpectedly halfway between the theater's steps and the carriage waiting for them, they are stopped by another couple. The husband is an old friend from Charles' Cambridge days. Dudley Spencer stands next to his wife Martha. They ask how Margaret is thinking she is in front of them. Liz coyly lowers her head and coughs into her raised closed hand and Charles interrupts by answering, "Fine except for a dreadful cough as you can hear. We must depart to our home. It was most pleasant to see you again. We must visit soon when dear Margaret overcomes this ailment. I do apologize for rushing, good night to both of you." That's how Charles skillfully crafts his exit from this unexpected rendezvous and escorts Liz to the carriage. Its driver already at the side holding the door open. In his usual manner, he helpfully handles Liz into the carriage. His manhandling is left for later and not much later. Minutes after the carriage moves he looks at Liz with a wicked smile and satisfaction that she didn't correct Martha and inform them she is not Margaret.

His hand rests on her thigh again, she seems indifferent externally. Internally her heart beats at an alarming pace. Fear lust and guilt excite her in a surprising way. His hand moves closer to her mound but throughout all the touching at least one layer of fabric. The ride home passed as one long exercise with Charles being the predator and Liz his unwilling prey or so it seems.

The next stop made by the carriage is in front of the Houghton home. Albert exits the large house to greet and help his master and Liz. Moira comes out to escort Liz. It's expected each will go into their own chambers. What's not expected is Charles' late night visit to her room after the staff retires for the night.

Liz could recall little of the show, her entire focus had been on Charles' hand, working its way inextorably higher on her thigh. She did not want to make a scene, she was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place, and could not afford to upset her benefactor, the man providing her with a roof over her head.

At least, that is what she told herself as she sat beside him in the carraige en route home, as she thought on her own behaviour. She had participated fully with the charade that she was Margaret. She had coughed, covered her lower face, and nodded as Charles' made their excuses, and her silence was tantamount to her agreement with whatever nefarious plan Charles' had in mind.

There was another factor, one which she absolutely did not want to acknowledge in anyway, and that was that her body had reacted to his touch. She could have taken his hand in hers, held it, and prevented its upward journey, but she had not, she had done nothing, but permit his advances.

The carraige journey was thankfully short, and when they arrived, he had handed her down, and she had all but bolted upstairs, Moira coming to assist her with her toilette, brushing out her hair, and braiding it, removing her clothing, washing, and donning her plain white cotton night gown.

She dismissed the maid, and lay abed, and thought of what had happened. She hated that her body had relished his touch. Andrew was not gone more than a day, and she was enjoying the touch of another! No, she had not enjoyed it! It had NOT made her heart beat faster!! When finally she was relaxed and ready to sleep, she had convinced herself it was all a storm in a teacup, nothing had happened, and nothing would, still, her hand dipped beneath the covers, and she began to stroke her body to orgasm, needing the release, and as she did so, she visualised Charles' taking all sort of advantage of her, and of course, given her precarious position, she could do nothing.

Four times she stroked herself until her body convulsed, and she came hard, and the smell of sex was thick in the air, then she fell asleep, only to be awakened a short time later, by the certain knowledge that she was not alone.

Charles

Ten, eleven, twelve. That many chimes sounded by the clock when both hands point upward. Not noon, it's midnight when all in the house should be asleep. Thick walls and flooring muffle the clock telling time in its own way. Loud enough to hear the softened chime, Charles folds the bed covers with a swift swing of his arm, sits on the side of the bed, and scans his chambers illuminated by soft lunar light. He isn't interested in the room's aesthetics, he just wants to slip his feet into slippers and go where he can satisfy an irreversible compulsion.

Near the bed, the fancy crafted carved table supports a candle, used but plentiful for his nocturnal mission. The candle is lit, he stands up and exits his chambers, his and Margaret's that is. Cushioned slippers dampen steps even though no one is awake to hear them. So he hopes. The floor boards are new, thicker after renovating this glorious house shortly after its acquisition. So thick not a creak is emitted along the path from his bed to hers, Elizabeth's. Not even door handles turned or doors opened and closed betray his dastardly walk. Does he think he's dastardly? Not for a second. As far as he is concerned, his role is one of benevolence, to rescue a damsel in distress, that damsel being Elizabeth who needs to be saved from tormenting sexual repression.

In walks Charles into her chambers uninvited except by his position as master of the house which entitles him to be anywhere in this upscale dwelling. Unable to sleep, she sees movement, shadows shifting smoothly as the door is opened. The lit candle held in front of him portrays his chiseled face as demonic and creates a stark shadow behind him on the tall wall and above on the high ceiling. The dancing shadow is his and naturally follows him creating a menacing aura, as if two are coming to Liz. He can't rob her virginity, that was bequeathed to her husband Andrew but Charles can steal her virtue.

Charles' shadow changes as the candle is set on the night stand beside the bed. He sits on the bedside, props himself by placing his arm over her body as a brace. His eyes see hers look into his. "Thank you Liz for this day's charming company and accompaniment. I shall treasure this day. You brought so much joy, you remind me of Margaret that much." And so he establishes in her thoughts the nature of this midnight visit in her chambers. By all accounts this meeting should not occur, not between a man and a woman both married to others. Craftily, he planted in her mind the guilt, she looks so much like Margaret he can't help himself. By implicitly declaring himself free of blame, it becomes her fault and responsibility. He doesn't wait for her denial or correction that she is Elizabeth, Margaret's best friend and not Margaret. He won't let her speak, not with his lips on hers kissing her romantically for the first time while pressing part of his body on part of hers.

Sitting up, he sees her confused, afraid, worried, perhaps excited too. Her bosom heaves, the glow around her neck spreads profusely, her breath warms his face. Casually his hand separates the bed covers from her. The same hand lands on her thigh, fingers walk in place gathering the nightgown's hem exposing her legs for his vision and touch. She's restrained by his touch, his intimidating gaze and her guilt. Now he has another tactic, his fingers tread to her flower and feel the wet succulence of a woman in heat. "My my, what a tart you are, excited over a man who isn't your husband." He whispers, continually compounding her guilt.

Despite the obvious smell of burning wax lingering around them, he senses another smell, one familiar to him, one carried by her body heat unhindered by any clothing. He has been fucking her mind since she arrived, now he's fucking her flower with his finger.

She had known she was not alone, and similarly, she had known with out a shadow of doubt, who was in her room.

Charles made his way to the bed, placing the single candle on the bed side locker, the area in her immediate proximity quickly illuminated, and the shadows cast on Charles face, gave him a demonic look. She felt as though Satan himself had come to tempt her, to seduce her, to lead her down a path to Hell. Perhaps even to deal with her for her recent sinful self pleasuring.

"Thank you Liz for this day's charming company and accompaniment. I shall treasure this day. You brought so much joy, you remind me of Margaret that much."

She flushed, a deep red, hidden to an extend by the relative darkness, humiliated by the implication that she had been egging him on. Had she? Was she such a wanton woman? Her heart hammered within her chest, and she wondered where this might lead, what was about to occur.

She felt her body responding most sinfully to his presence. He climbed in with her, his hand trailing over her body, along her legs, about to discover her hidden shame.

She was soaking, her womanhood dripping, and Charles was about to make that discovery. She whimpered, as his fingers found her.

"My my, what a tart you are, excited over a man who isn't your husband."
If it was possible, she got even redder!! He was right, so right. Her husband barely aboard ship, and she had spent the last couple of hours pleasuring herself, as she thought about another man, a man not her husband, a man who was her best friend's husband.

He began to mimic the sex act by using his fingers on her, pumping her, wet sucking sounds seeming exceptionally loud in the darkened room. She found herself helpless, a slave to her desire, and she whimpered, so aroused, more so than she had ever been, as she raised her hips to him, silently begging for more.

Charles

Diabolical is an apt description of Charles who takes advantage of Liz and her vulnerability.

The Victorian Era is unduly and unnecessarily harsh on women and consequently on men. Puritanical misconceptions at a mob mentality level discourage, frighten and shame women into restricting sex to procreational purposes only. To derive pleasure from sex is tantamount to a sin and a despicable act. So called experts echo the conventional wisdom or lack of it. Churches and its religious troopers are only too happy to elevate themselves on soap boxes at every possible opportunity. Hyde Park is availed to commoners for publicly speaking their minds. Preachers promoters and pontificators of sexual repression are availed the whole country if not the British Empire.

Women are so convinced sex is undesirable they deny the wondrous pleasures to themselves and their spouses. Enter a work force of harlots ready able and willing to provide relief and gratification to a force of frustrated males who can afford such services. Prostitution is deemed immoral, sinful, and criminal but essential. Charles made use of a harlot from time to time but prefers his exclusive whore under the same roof. Unknowingly, Liz passed his transparent interview. Covertly grooming her for this role, he also ensures his standing with his wife Margaret by attributing all fault to Liz, something she doesn't dispute, something customary in the Victorian Era.

Most males in the situation Charles and Liz are presently in would climb on Liz, fornicate and leave her bedroom after orgasming. But not Charles who prefers carnal activities with control and psychological manipulations. Adding physical control is like frosting on his cake.

He sees the dichotomy in Liz, the proverbial denial of pleasure expressed audibly and the yearning for pleasure expressed physically. Charles doesn't give in so easily. His finger slowly moves between her folds tight from the obvious fact she hasn't given birth. The faster cadence of her breaths and the whorish gyrations of her body excite him. He addresses her needs by denying them. The teasing finger is removed causing Liz to sigh disappointingly then he assails her mind, particularly her dignity and guilt. "My dear Elizabeth, Margaret would be shocked and disappointed if she knew your behavior is one of a slut."

Her nightgown is raised, covers are lowered, legs and mound exposed. He stands from the bed, turns toward her, bends down to plant a kiss on her sweaty forehead then leaves her side, leaves her bedroom, abandons her in a state of disbelief, frustration agony shame and guilt. The kiss is merely a consolation prize.

The held candle guides his way back to his chambers. His treachery guides his way to Liz's soul. Minutes later he's back in bed happy with progress thus far. His age of 39 years affords him patience he couldn't muster during his teen years.

The next time his eyes open is 7 o'clock Sunday morning when Albert enters his chambers to wake up the master of the house. Today is the day of rest. A leisurely breakfast then attendance at church. Such mornings were spent with Margaret but she's still away. Albert moves closer to the bed, Charles watches the object carried by his trusted butler. The silver tray is set on the night stand next to the candle used last night. The tray contains a folded paper, a telegram. Its message is read silently. Margaret informs Charles she'll be in Manchester a few more days to see another physician. The paper is passed to Albert for his handing.

"Albert. I shall go to church with Elizabeth this morning," says Charles. "Very well Sir," replies Albert and knowing what's entailed, he leaves his master's chambers to summon Moira and other staffers for preparing breakfast and preparing Elizabeth.

As Charles stroked, and teased her, Liz' body reacted. She had already been aroused by her own hand before he had entered her chamber, and now, with his teasing touch, she was quickly reaching her peak.

She arched her back, moaning, all thoughts of right or wrong thrown aside, as her body begged for what it needed most. She helplessly lifted her hips, endeavouring to encourge him to delve deeper, to thrust his finger inside of her, to touch her with a more decisive touch.

"My dear Elizabeth, Margaret would be shocked and disappointed if she knew your behavior is one of a slut."

Instantly, she flushed with shame, totally and utterly humiliated at her whorish behaviour! She squeezed her eyes shut, yet her body still begged for what it needed. he removed his finger, and she whimpered, hoping he would now readjust his position, and take her with a more appropriate part of his anatomy, but he stood, leaving her bed, with nothing more than a kiss to her forehead.

Disbelief and shame washed over her, and she whimpered helplessly.

The night passed, and sleep eluded her. Her actions played over and over in her mind, and she was both shocked and disappointed in herself. She had behaved like a common harlot. Thank god Charles had had the good sense to control his manly urges!!

Morning came, and she dreaded going downstairs, facing the man she had almsot seduced, but who had had a greater moral compass than she.

She dressed, in her most conservative brown dress. It was a little drab, but today was Sunday, and she wondered if they would attend Church. If they did, she would certainly need to pray for her soul, for strength to withstand the weak morals of her sex, oh, and for Andrew, and his safe passage. She flushed again, unshed tears sparkling in her eyes, as she thought of how she had all but begged another man to pleasure her!

She came down to breakfast, relieved that Charles had already broken his fast. She picked at her food, but did not really eat much, her mind, and her emotions in turmoil. Suddenly, it occured to her, was he avoiding her?? She wouldnt blame him if he were, and she stood, and left the table, indicating to the footmen that it was in order for them to clear the table.

She found Charles in his study, and thought she needed to clear the air, no matter how uncomfortable it was for her. "good morning Sir," she addressed him, peaking around the doorway to his study, the dark panelled walls adding to the utterly male environment. "If I may, I would like to apologise for my ......... my ..... inappropriate behavioiur last night....." she blushed from head to toe, and hung her head ".... it was totally inexcusable, and I hope you can forgive me.........if.... if you desire that I take my leave, I will of course understand.

She waited, to see if he would cast her out. God! he was probably worried that her loose morality would rub off on his wife!!

At that moment, Moira poked her head around the door. "excuse me Ma'am, I was wondering if you required assistance to prepared yourself for Church, you are to attend with the Master" Liz shook her head, "Thank you Moira, I arose early this morning, and I simply dressed myself, as is my habit, I shall not require you until later, when I dress for dinner, unless there are other plans, of which I am unaware!"
She wished the girl would go, so that Charles could put her out of her misery, and let her know if she was required to leave, or not.

Charles

"good morning Sir,"

"Good morning Elizabeth," replies Charles when he hears her voice from the doorway. Of course he doesn't look at her. He can but he keeps his eyes on the open and raised newspaper in front of him kept there as a wall of disinterest. Meanwhile, something is felt below his waist and he smiles with satisfaction, a smile hidden from her. Unlike Margaret, Liz makes him feel like a roguish man in refreshing ways. Margaret forces him to be one.

"If I may, I would like to apologize for my ......... my ..... inappropriate behaviour last night....." she blushed from head to toe, and hung her head ".... it was totally inexcusable, and I hope you can forgive me.........if.... if you desire that I take my leave, I will of course understand.

She can't see his face because he won't let her and she dare not intrude into his space. Each word is heard and he responds with silence, lengthy silence in effect telling her to leave him alone, he does not wish to be burdened with her issues. A moment later Moira is heard offering Elizabeth assistance. His attention shifts from the published writing in front of him to the dialog.

"Thank you Moira, I arose early this morning, and I simply dressed myself, as is my habit, I shall not require you until later, when I dress for dinner, unless there are other plans, of which I am unaware!"

Before Moira is dismissed, he lowers today's issue of the Sunday Times enough for his eyes to appear above its top edge. A quick glance at Liz's dress and he thinks it's dreadfully desexing. Such an outfit must be for church but he wants Liz in less modest and bland attire.

"Moira," he says while looking into Liz's eyes then into Moira's. "Find another outfit for our guest. Choose one from Margaret's wardrobe and keep track of time. The carriage shall be here in half an hour." By ordering a different outfit for Liz, he simply condemns her choice of garments making her feel inadequate. The newspaper is then raised as a barrier intentionally shunning Liz. All she knows for now is that she'll go to church and return with him but nothing else about her future here at the Houghton home. In truth, her presence is quite secure but he won't tell her that and it will cost her dearly. He likes his ladies on notice, never comforted by enough security that they exert power over him. Only one woman in his life has a significant measure of security and that's within his wife's domain courtesy of the sanctity of marriage.

About half an hour later Charles isn't in his study, he's already outside by the carriage. Moira knows time ran out but hopes her efforts in this short notice will please her master. Liz isn't attuned to time because she knows not of Charles' demand for punctual results. Just when he's about to instruct Albert to inform the ladies the carriage is waiting, the two women rush downstairs and rush out the door. Moira brushes Liz's back and tweaks the dress ensuring its utmost comfort and appearance. She smiles with a sense of accomplishment while Liz wears a face of concern. She's assisted into the carriage by Charles and only by Charles who then climbs in to sit beside her. A few minutes later Albert and Moira are inside the house and the carriage passes through the gate and turns onto the street from this lavish home's private road.

"About your earlier inquiry Elizabeth," says Charles. "Your behavior is appalling for a virtuous woman whose husband embarked to a far away place. I don't know how long you can remain housed at the Houghton home. Margaret will be away for a few more days and just as well. She would faint if she knew her best and most trusted friend is a tramp." He sees Liz watching him with undivided attention even when his hand is placed on her thigh closer to her hips than knees. "We shall come to some arrangement," adds Charles hinting she's expected to pay in some way.

Charles knows Liz is pent up with desire and provokes her by pressing the back of his hand against her covered pubis and simultaneously presses his upper arm against her shapely bosom. The ride to the church continues one heartbeat at a time. She's made to feel responsible for his salacious behavior, made wary about not only her future but her social standing as a woman and wife to Andrew who's no longer on English soil.

"Pray to God he'll forgive you," are the last words Charles mentions before the carriage stops in front of the church. His arm is returned closer to his body and the small door is opened. From one enclosure to another, the pair of sinners moves from the carriage to the spacious structure of the church and escorted to a pew near the front where they sit for the duration of the service. Like yesterday's attendance at the Savoy Theater, Charles and Liz may be mistaken as Charles and Margaret. That's how he wants it.

Liz reaches for a Bible in this house of the heavenly Lord and Charles reaches into the corners of his deviant mind to conjure up an arrangement with Liz. This arrangement must consider Margaret, the lady of the house and his wife. He prefers Margaret not to know but already has a contingency plan, an alibi. It's Elizabeth's fault and that fault must be shared by Margaret for insisting the Houghton home is also Liz's home.

Time dragged out painfully for Liz, and she struggled to keep her composure, while Charles pointedly ignored her, making her fear the worst.

Finally, he addressed Moira "Find another outfit for our guest. Choose one from Margaret's wardrobe and keep track of time. The carriage shall be here in half an hour." Liz's shame was compounded by the implict condemnation for her dress. She hung her head and went with the maid, who selected an alternative dress, one of midnight blue, and even in her depressed mood, Liz had to admit that she looked significantly better. Her earlier choice, though modest, would probably have reflected poorly on Charles.

They hurried out to the carraige, Liz clutching her white, kid leather bound Book of Common Prayer. The atmosphere in the carraige was palpable, her nerves stretched unbearably thin, her heart hammering, knowing she was soon to be made homeless. Finally, Charles took a deep breath and spoke.

"About your earlier inquiry Elizabeth your behavior is appalling for a virtuous woman whose husband embarked to a far away place. I don't know how long you can remain housed at the Houghton home. Margaret will be away for a few more days and just as well. She would faint if she knew her best and most trusted friend is a tramp."

What little colour was in her cheeks drained away, and her eyes shone with unshed tears. She struggled to think of something to say, something that would allow her to wrap her dignity around her, like a protective cloak.

"We shall come to some arrangement," His hand was on her thigh, squeezing, and moving higher, and she wondered if her slattenly behaviour attracted or repulsed him. She was confused by the mixed signals, and God! She was aroused by his touch, unintended as it surely was.

"Pray to God he'll forgive you" She bowed her head "I will Sir, I will. Perhaps HE can save me!"

Mortified both at her set down, and at her arousal at Charles' accidental touches, she glanced warily about, wondering if she was to be struck by a bolt of lightening as she entered the house of God.

They sat together in the family pew, and the Vicar's semon seemed to have been designed with her in mind. The word Jezebel rang from the pulpit over and over, and she jumped each time. She was dreading the return journey in the confines of the carraige with Charles.

When finally the service ended, she trailed him from the church, and was handed up into the interior by the coach man while Charles briefly passed the time of day with one or two others. He had not paused to introduce her, and she assumed that this was because he did not want to be associated with her, and intended to remove her from his household in the immediate future. She was on the verge of losing her countenance when he entered the carraige.

Charles

Charles sees the carriage over Clyde Biddle's shoulder while chatting with him. Clyde and Charles were friends from their first day as co-workers in their first employment after graduating from university. Liz appears through the carriage window framed by an open velvet curtain. Her face wears discontentedness like a theatre actor wears a cosmetically enhanced emotion. She looks like a caricature of herself.

Charles sees her over Clyde's shoulder, pats his friend's upper arm and bids him farewell. One more stop before he joins Elizabeth. A short one involving a whispered request to the carriage driver sealed with a shilling placed in his gloved hand.

Passing through the carriage's side opening, he ingresses and sits opposite Elizabeth instead of beside her. Before engaging in conversation he waits for the carriage to move so horses' noisy hoofs will obfuscate the discussion beyond the driver's comprehension. The carriage moves rapidly enough that no pedestrian's attention will be attracted. His eyes roam her midnight blue clad body with curves capable of exciting the unexcited.

"My dear Liz, I trust you prayed for the Lord's salvation. You are in dire need of it." The assault on Liz's spirit began in his first sentence.

The carriage turns into a neighborhood unbecoming of upper class gentlemen and their ladies. T'is a neighborhood of ill repute accommodating and offering a cornucopia of vices. T'is a social gutter of London. Charles ties a curtain open so Liz can see this area's motif comprising filth decay and hopelessness. Stray dogs, rats and mice paraphrase the nature of their human counterparts. Two legged creatures walk, stand, sit, or prop themselves. Their station in life robs them of comfort nutrition and longevity. Some are happy to attain any semblance of comfort. No one is clean, no one neatly attired.

"Look outside and see this street laden with women unable to find respectable employment. They resort to street prostitution. Dirty odoriferous alleys are their workplace. They risk disease and sufferance for one or two measly coins, sometimes no payment at all." Charles speaks to Liz but faces the street while giving her a guided tour of this human cesspool. Liz believes him because her own eyes see misery and her nostrils smell the pungent air they breathe.

Charles silences his voice letting sights sounds and smells speak for themselves and they do. The sight of disgust and fear are clearly drawn on her youthful face of 23 years.

When the carriage leaves these inhabitants cursed by a lesser god, Charles closes the curtains and faces Liz. She cannot raise her head to see him, she's almost paralyzed.

"You have the calling of a harlot." So goes Charles' next salvo into her soul and Liz explodes by crying. His hands on her knees offer little or no comfort. He waits till she stops crying and wiping her tears with a handkerchief monogrammed MEH for Margaret Estelle Houghton, his wife.

"Elizabeth, the world of a harlot is your destiny. That's where you would have been if Margaret wasn't in your life," says Charles while pointing to the neighborhood they just egressed. "I offer an arrangement because you're my wife's best friend and in need of security. You may stay in the Houghton home and repay with conjugal services but you must be discreet. Otherwise you would give her cause for evicting you into the plight you just witnessed."

Charles waits not for her answer. He knows she's in emotional turmoil. Her indoctrination into his seedy world began on the day she arrived and continues as he reaches for her hands, pulls them towards him and whispers "kneel".

Not one minute of this life changing ride is joyous or sedate for Liz. After kneeling on the carriage floor Charles unbuttons his trousers, reaches behind his undergarment, points his erect manhood toward her mouth and pulls her head till lips touch his penile bulb, her lips.

Liz

"My dear Liz, I trust you prayed for the Lord's salvation. You are in dire need of it."

Liz was totally shamed now, her head hanging, as she thought of the low morals she had exhibited!

They travel through the East End of London, through Whitechapel, and into an even poorer district. Women ply their trade, taking men into dirty alleys for a "Thrupence upright" taking man after man to eek out a day to day living, disease prevelant, and death inevitable. Charles points it all out, but it has already struck home, and she is well aware of the future that awaits her, should she be cast out.

"You have the calling of a harlot."

Charles words cut through her life a knife, and she, unable to contain herself any longer, burst into tears.

"Elizabeth, the world of a harlot is your destiny. That's where you would have been if Margaret wasn't in your life, I offer an arrangement because you're my wife's best friend and in need of security. You may stay in the Houghton home and repay with conjugal services but you must be discreet. Otherwise you would give her cause for evicting you into the plight you just witnessed."

It was something she could not comprehend!! She was a moral woman! She was being asked to proved conjugal services to her friend's husband!! The alternative was that she provide those services indisciminately to anyone with a few coins, while living in squalor!! It was not choice, and she was relieved that Charles did not simply throw her out!! At least she could remain where she was!

"Thank you! Thank you Charles for giving me this opportunity! You wont regret it, I swear!" she said, visions of the alternative still horribly fresh in her mind.

Charles leaned forward and whispered an order to her, a single word "kneel".

Did he want her to beg for mercy?? She went to her knees, looking up at him, her eyes widening in shock, as his hands went to his pants, unfastening them. She had no idea whatsoever what he was doing, and once he freed his manhoon, he clutched her head, and brought her face to him. Unsure what he wanted she kissed him, and tried to pull back, but he held her firm.

"Charles, I..... I..... I dont know what you require of me! " she said helplessly "I am grateful, so grateful for the opportunity you have afforded me..... but you must teach me your requirements!" she hung her head "I may have the heart of a harlot, but I have not the knowledge or expereince ..... at least... not yet!!"

Charles

Charles has Liz exactly where he wants her physically, emotionally and psychologically. In this deliberate tour through East London's seedy parts he scared her into submission once and for all. Plight and sufferance written by authors and others of influence has yet to be eradicated. Liz witnessed in person what Charles Dickens wrote on paper and read around the world.

Liz's heritage stems from a lineage of paupers and Charles will keep her in that class. Queen Victoria's England is decades and wars away from a meritocracy. Liz has no chance of vacating the poverty pit trapping women like her. Despite her husband's military pay, it's barely enough for subsistence and hardly guaranteed considering Andrew risks his life daily. Most women in this era can only dream about financial self-reliance or even decent food and new clothes for that matter. The road to Liz's security is through Charles and the price are her dignity honor soul, and perhaps her marriage to Andrew. She's the wayward traveler through life and he is the troll demanding payment for passage.

The unhandsome carriage driver was paid handsomely to drive off the beaten paths upper class members travel through London. The ornamental box on wheels with closed curtains provides enough privacy for a gentleman of means to exercise his indiscretions while preserving dignity and reputation. By the same token, Liz is spared shame and ridicule measured according to oppressively flawed standards set by a society regarding itself righteous but acting sanctimoniously.

What can this illicit couple be hiding from the world? Not half an hour ago she was on her knees thanking a spiritual God. Now on the same knees she pays homage to a mortal on a road paved to Hell. Her head is held between his hands, his forearms rest in his thighs and her lips stretched around his erect cock. A sight that makes even the most liberal aghast.

"I may have the heart of a harlot, but I have not the knowledge or experience ..... at least... not yet!!"

She's not sure what to do and trustingly wantonly seeks guidance. One hurdle was overcome through her acquiescence. She doesn't resist, scream, shout, or throw temper tantrums. Instead she requests further experience. The student wants to study and the teacher wants to teach.

Piercing her eyes with his, he establishes more expectations. "You'll thank me with your loyal servitude summoned at each whim and desire my conjugal whore." Words void of reservation or guilt flow from Charles' mouth to her ears. He isn't virtuous but he is a virtuoso when corrupting women.

"I shall teach and you shall learn. I shall command and you shall obey." So says Charles then tilts his head back, thumping the wall between carriage driver and passengers. The real journey this couple travels is one of sin and immorality. She's instructed not with words but by action, his hands hold her head, slide it to and fro along the length of his manhood inflated with blood and ego. Motions limited by her throat or lips. "Don't move!" He suddenly exclaims in an animated tone previously unheard by Liz. His body almost seizes, he thrusts in her direction and she feels something different in her mouth, a warm creamy substance of saline taste. "Swallow," he asserts while holding her head firmly in restraint. She obeys, it's her nature and she has no choice if life on the streets must be avoided.

His eyes open and see tears streak down her blushing porcelain cheeks . Whether they're tears of joy or sorrow he cares not. He derived his pleasure unconcerned for hers. Liz in her vast inexperience doesn't know what to do or expect. She feels her head pushed back and hears him say, "Dress me and restore yourself. I can't have you looking like the tramp you are."

"I shall teach and you shall learn. I shall command and you shall obey."

those prophetic words were to sum up their present and future relaltionship. Liz was upset, both at her utter helplessness, and at the frailties of fate. She was betraying her husband, betraying her good friend, and betraying her own morality. But she could not endure the alternative, and she persuaded herself that perhaps she was doing her friend a favour, and relieving her of the onerous duty of being the receipent of the exercise of Charles' husbandly rights.

He teaches her how to perform, for the very first time, an act she had not even known existed. It was sinful, and she had no doubt condemned herself to burn forever in the fires of Hell.

She was shocked at his size, and gagged on his intruding manhood, as Charles' held her head. He was much, much larger both in girth, and length than Andrew, although she had never actually seen Andrew, when he visited her bed once or twice a month, he simply raised her nightdress, and his nightshirt, and fumbled about until he joined them both, while she lay back and thought of England. She had felt him against her leg though, and knew him to be of smaller proportions.

Charles thrust harder, and then uttered one word, moments after he filled her mouth with his seed. She had been on the verge of spitting it out, but the barked "Swallow," changed her mind, and she had complied before she even thought on it.

"Dress me and restore yourself. I can't have you looking like the tramp you are."


She blushed scarlet. Utterly humiliated at his demeaning and derogatory remark. She could not, however, deny its veracity, and she simply buttone his trousers, and belted them, before straightening her own clothing, and smoothing her hair.

She didn't know if she was allowed to sit on the carraige seat, he had not siad so, so she dared to ask. "may I sit, Sir?" she asked meakly, as her mind whirled, wondering if she had just made a devil's bargin.

Charles

Light enters the carriage after Charles opens the side curtains then his hands sweep his body postured on the forward seat facing Liz. She's still on her knees, the taste of his manly discharge lingers in her breath a while longer. "Yes" he softly retorts to her request and she rises only to sit opposite him and only with his permission.

The light satisfies his curiosity and concern. Attire adorning his body is in proper order, spotless and void of telltale signs. Now Liz's body is perused by eyes not hands, his eyes. Her dress or Margaret's as is the case lacks evidence of indiscretion and sloppiness. The high society image of neatness is preserved. Liz doesn't have the means for fashion but she knows how to be clean and orderly.

The view framed by the carriage windows and curtains is different. Streets and buildings are clean and designed with flair as well as functionality. People are well dressed. The seedy East London neighborhoods they visited are now distant, out of sight but not out of mind. Heading back home to the Houghton House from church, Liz saw what a life of indigence and penuriousness she could have had if she said "no" instead of "yes". Looking outward, seeing buildings of affluence surrounded by neatly coiffured landscaped grounds, she perceives the life she can and will have by saying "yes".

The grandeur architecture housing easier life still saddens her. The price is high and all can be lost by one faulty decision. To the unknowing, she's part of high society. To the knowing, Charles and Liz, she's on its fringes.

Soon a third person will enter this small club of the knowing. Albert and not by accident but by Charles' purposeful intent. Albert is a gentleman's gentleman even when his master is a rogue. Despite the marriage to Margaret, a lady of respect and dignity in the upper class, Charles hasn't sown his wild oats. Having witnessed Charles' life since his third birthday thirty-six years ago, Albert knows Charles better than his parents. Moreover, Albert earned his master's undying trust and confidence. When Albert will be aware of his master's latest conquest and endeavor, the gentleman's gentleman will facilitate the gentleman's roguishness.

No conversation was conducted in the carriage since the immoral misdeed that gratified Charles beyond expectations. It was more than just a woman's lips on his anatomy. It was about domination, submission and exchanged power.

They're almost an hour late when they arrive home but the master is privileged to alter his schedule and the staff is obligated to abide without question. The carriage stops, its passengers assisted and by Charles' edict, they congregate in the small dining room for the delayed and much desired meal.

Charles knows Liz is versed in high society's norms and practices. He recalls the service she rendered in the carriage and feels a chill and thrill course through him simultaneously. Liz has the potential of a courtesan. Should he conceal her from the male half of his world and keep her exclusively to himself as long as possible or should he also share her, use her as leverage to win further business and wealth from clients? Sooner or later this question shall be addressed and answered.

The afternoon's remaining hours are spent leisurely indoors and out. Charles stands near a rose bed centered in the lavish garden, his hands clasped behind him and Albert stands stoically being informed of today's events and the future's intents. The loyal butler will to the best of his abilities masquerade his master's misdeeds, cover all tracks and dissuade suspicion from Margaret, staff and others. Charles' pleasures are assured and Liz's fate is sealed.

Dinner and afterward are spent in routine fashion. Charles rests in his study then retires to his chambers. Tonight he will sleep alone and peacefully without any nocturnal visits and without caring about Liz's state of mind. Tomorrow is another day. He must work and tend to business but already left instructions with Albert. Moira is to be Liz's personal assistant and prepare her for an afternoon horse ride.

The remainder of the carraige ride seemed to Liz to be never ending. The tension in the carraige was palpable, and she was unable to make eye contact with charles. She simply sat there and contemplated how she had betrayed everyone of importance to her.

Charles clearly saw her as a slattern, and in truth, she did not see herself differently. The act she had just completed, was as fresh in her mind, as the taste was in her mouth. She wanted a drink, something to take the salty, slightly bitter taste away, so that she could pretend it had not happened.

The arrived home, and entered the house, with Charles insisting on lunch in the dining room. She would have sold her soul to not have to face him just then, but she feared she had already sold it, in the carraige.

The footmen served, and stood to one side, and she had to make polite small talk with Charles, as though nothing had happened, and it emphasised to her, how much had changed in so little time.

After lunch, she excused herself, and all but ran from the room, taking to her room, and reading her bible. Dinner passed in just as uncomfortable a way, while she portrayed the family friend, the respectable married woman, his wife friends, and all the while she felt as though she had the word WHORE branded on her forehead.

She retired to bed, and waited, grasping the covers up around her neck, and waited.... and waited.... and waited. She heard the hall clock chime out 11 pm, midnight, and every hour until she was disturbed by Moira at 7, with a choice of riding habits in hand.

Liz had spent the night bracing herself, awaiting Charles, and she was oddly dissappointed that he had not come to her. Was this proof positive of her low moral standing? She breakfasted in her room, and tried on each of the habits, one of navy blue, with light blue brocade, and the other of a burgundy crushed velvet. The red dress fitted much, much better, and she borrowed riding boots also from her friend. The dark red dress, while totally respectable, seemed to Liz, to proclaim to the world, her new status. She fastened her blouse, tucking it into the long skirt, and then fastened the tailored jacket over the top, before presenting herself to Charles, at the appointed time.