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Victorian BDSM EroticaAnna Austin
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Anna Austin
Written by Anna Austin
~~ All characters in this book are 18 or over. ~~
Beatrice dabbed gently at the perspiration that gathered between the swells of her bosom with a lace handkerchief. It was humid tonight, as were most nights at this time of year. She watched as the fog which rolled onto the cobblestone lined streets of London, cloaking the river Thames in a grey shroud. A Yorkshire girl, she was used to fog, but not this kind. The fog on the moor back home was thick, cool and strangely refreshing. The London fog was like a cloud of noxious gas, grainy and stultifying, flavored with the soot of the factories.
She took a shallow breath and proceeded to arranging the flowers that she would sell upon those very streets for the small pittance. That would ensure another day’s survival, if the weather held. It being summer she hoped the business would be good. Many a man would be out courting, and in need of a bunch of pretty flowers.
“Flowers for the lovely lady beside you this evening, sir?” Beatrice asked, curtsying before the stranger who she approached. The scent of freshly picked daisies, carnations and roses wafted up to drown the smells of the street. The couple walked around her as if she was invisible to them.
“Madam, would you like a flower?” she continued. Although the streets were busy she hadn’t made enough for more than an apple. Today was not a good day, not in the least. She was so hungry. The woman diverted her eyes from Beatrice and continued to walk on.
A coachman approached her then, his carriage left unattended but for a moment down an alley nearby. His uniform was crisp and clean. He carried his whip at his side and tipped his hat at her.
“Miss.” His voice was low and commanded her utmost attention among the bustling streets. She found herself a little afraid, though she knew not why.
“Flower for you sir?” she answered politely, curtsying before the stranger. The coachman returned the proper etiquette and bowed, although she thought she detected a hint of malice in his eyes.
‘What is your name, child?”
“My name, sir… is Beatrice.” She looked shyly at the man before her, confused. Most people forgot that she even had a name. “I’ve seen you before. Perhaps your master has bought some roses from me before?”
“You might say that. In fact, my master has noticed you and wishes me to pass on an offer to you.”
“He’s noticed… me, sir?” She looked up at the coachman in disbelief.
“Yes, Miss. My master wishes to have an audience with you at your earliest convenience.”
“Why would your Master wish to have an audience with me sir?” Beatrice looked confused. The coachman leaned closer and began to whisper in her ear.
“My master wishes to celebrate the evening with you, Miss. He is quite taken with you, smitten really. Provided your virtue is still intact, that is. He ordered me to offer you five pounds if you would have sexual relations with him. He wants to have his way with your lithe, supple body. But you must tell me now, ma’am, of your decision. “
It was if time had stopped in that moment. Five pounds was more than she could