Anonymous

The simple tale of Susan Aked

CHAPTER I. GENESIS

We used to live at the foot of the continuation of the range of the Malvern Hills, on the borders of Herefordshire and Worcestershire. That is, my father, mother, I and an old faithful servant, Martha Warmart. Martha had been my mother's maid before she married my father, and was quite a confidential member of the family. Indeed, the idea of her leaving us never entered either her head or ours. Our other servants rarely stayed longer than a year or so because we lived in such a quiet hum-drum spot, amongst such perfect clod-hoppers, that there was a scarcity of beaux; and what woman, saving a staid, elderly one, can be expected to like a place where the engaging male sex is so sadly wanting? Until I was sixteen years old I had lived in this dear old house, and so even and tranquil was my life that I never contemplated leaving the place. If my father and mother had grown any older during those years I did not notice it. To me they were ever the same, and so indeed was Martha. My father was a great reader of books, much versed in science, and his delight and my pleasure was my being taught by him. Botany, geology, animal and insect nature formed the chief and most interesting portion of our studies; but history, geography, French and Italian also found their place. I learnt to play the piano from my mother, and altogether, though completely without society, my education would have done me credit had I had the advantages of a town maiden's life. As I have said before I was as happy as the day was long, never knowing what a violent emotion was like.

But all this was to come now to an end. One fine morning in the early summer-oh! I have cause to remember the 6th of June-my mother came down to breakfast without my father. She told me she supposed it was a long walk he had taken with me the day previous which must have tried him, but that he was so sound asleep she had not the heart to waken him. We ate our breakfast as usual, only taking care to make as little clatter as possible with our knives, forks, cups and spoons, lest any little noise might reach the ears of the dear sleeper above, and waken him from a sound and refreshing sleep. Ah, me!

I went out into the garden to see which new flowers had blossomed into beauty, and to pick a nice posy for my father, who loved flowers, when I heard my mother shrieking out for Martha. The tone of her voice alarmed me, and I flew to see what was amiss. My mother, seeing me rushing upstairs, called louder still for Martha, who came running as fast as such an ancient body could, together with the servants, who were as alarmed as myself, all with faces of consternation. My poor mother, seeing us all coming, went into her bedroom, and, pointing to my father, said, 'I don't know what is the matter with him but I cannot wake him!' I ran forward, but Martha pushed me to one side, saying, 'Not yet, Miss Susan, dear!' and went and gazed earnestly in my fathers' face. He was lying on one side in the position of a person sound asleep.

Oh! He was dead! Dead! He had died probably very early in the morning, for he was quite cold and stiff: he must have been dead for hours. The agony of the discovery was unbearable. It was such a dreadful, dreadful shock, but what followed intensified our grief and horror, and made it seem as though all the miseries man was capable of enduring were being showered down upon our devoted heads. My darling mother never spoke again! She sank into a chair, gasped once or twice, and before anyone could run to her aid, she fell to the floor, literally heart-broken. I must beg permission to cease from any further details of the most excruciatingly agonizing moments I ever spent. I do not even remember how the hours, the days and the weary nights passed. I was stunned with the overwhelming grief and desolation that came upon me, and I can only liken myself to a happy bird, a native of the tropics, suddenly moved from its joyous surroundings to an Arctic desert.

The first distinct thing I can remember was old Martha telling me I should write to my father's man of business, old Penwick, whom I had seen several times when he came to see my poor dear father on business. I did so. Worcester, where he resided, was not very distant from us, but news from our part of the world travelled slowly along the country roads, and my letter reached Mr Penwick before rumour. The old gentleman was inexpressibly shocked and grieved. I find that suddenness has a great deal to do with feelings of that kind-not that I think Mr Penwick would have shown less sympathy had my parents died after a long illness instead of in the sudden manner that they did; but the blow, coming like a thunderclap as it happened, certainly caused him intense pain, and made his benevolent old heart open towards me in a most tender and fatherly manner. He advised me to think of some of my nearer relations, and to write and ask one of them to come and stay with me for a while, until some plan for the future could be made, for there would be some work for the lawyers, and much to be done before my affairs could be put into good order. I was a minor, too, and must have a guardian.

My father's will had to be discovered, and whilst all this was being done, as my presence was necessary, Mr Penwick said I ought to have someone to stay and live with me, to cheer me up and divert my unhappy thoughts into some brighter and altogether different channel. I felt too languid, too indifferent. My simple prayers were that I too might die, and go to that happy land where I had been taught to believe my beloved parents had gone, and where I might be with them for ever.

Had my cousins, the Althairs, been still at Leigh, Mr Penwick would have called in on his way in and out from Worcester, and asked my aunt to let one of the girls come to keep me company; but they had gone to live in France. There were other less well-known cousins of mine, one of whom my mother had invited to make short stays with me some six years back. I did not care much for her, as she was a town girl, with ideas and pursuits altogether different from mine, and I remembered being offended with her for sneering, as I thought, at my 'beetle and pebble hunting' occupations, which to her were tiresome and uninteresting. Somehow her name came into my head-Lucia Lovete-and it was to her that Mr Penwick wrote. Lucia had lost her parents when very young; like myself, she was an only child, and she lived at Sunninghill with another cousin a little older than herself, Gladys Spendwell. In my heart I thought Lucia would never care to come, and I really hoped she would not. I was in that morbidly unhealthy frame of mind when it seems unbearable to have to speak to others. The only person I cared to see was dear old Martha, for she would cry with me, though she too, scolded me for not trying to bear up better.

But Lucia came: the moment she heard the dreadful tidings she left all her joys behind her, packed up a trunk and came as quick as steam and horseflesh would bring her. Nothing could exceed her gentle, sweet, sympathising manner. She took my heart by storm. It is true she was the means of making my tears gush forth again, but they were not the same bitter tears of desolation and despair, for I felt I had in her a true, supporting heart to lean on. Poor old Martha had indeed given me hers; but she was old, and Lucia was new and more of my age, being nineteen whilst I was sixteen. So to Lucia I clung. Shall I tell you what she was like? Lucia was just a little above the middle height for girls. She had a most lovely figure, with beautiful arms, hands and feet. The lines of her bosom were singularly beautiful, for she was full there without being too plump, and her breasts seemed like living things. She had a waist naturally small but not in the least waspish, and from this her hips gradually and gracefully expanded to a most exquisite fullness. Her head was small and beautifully poised on a throne of snow. But her face was too exquisite. Not only had she the most lovely dark brown eyes, most perfect nose, mouth and teeth, but her expression was forever changing. It was my delight to feast upon her personal beauty, and I knew not which to admire most in her, for each point seemed perfection, and there seemed nothing to praise at the expense of something else. Lucia might be compared with another girl as a whole- with me for instance (and I have often been taken for her sister) but you could not say of her that she has lovely arms, feet, hands, breasts, etc.

I shall not refer to our dear Mr Penwick and his legal lore, for I am not writing these memoirs from what may be called a public point of view, but rather as a history of my most private thoughts, ideas and deeds, and truly I fear that Mrs. Grundy would never permit her dear sons and daughters to peruse so much naughty description as I shall have to give, however much she might like to have the private reading of it herself!

But of Lucia, and of the lessons she gave me, and of the practice I made of them, I shall write as fully as I can, nor shall I in any way allow my pen to be prudish. I am going to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, as they say in the courts of law, and as truth, to be truth, must be naked, so shall I be to my readers: and may there be many to admire my charms and appreciate them!

CHAPTER II. THE SOWING OF THE SEED

It was impossible for our house to remain long plunged in the depths of desolation, when once so sweet, amiable and lovely a girl as Lucia had come into it. Naturally of a most loving and sympathetic disposition, she had, at first, been greatly grieved at the sad loss she had herself sustained by the deaths of a loving aunt and uncle. The almost tragic nature of their deaths had also a naturally inspiring effect upon her, and she was as subdued and tearful almost as myself and Martha, but in less than a day she saw that if she were to be of any use she must overcome her own feelings, so as the better to raise our spirits. At first all our conversation was of the beloved parents, now, as I fondly thought, gone to eternal bliss in Heaven. Without stating her belief on this subject, Lucia rather encouraged mine; in fact she showed the greatest tact in gently leading my thoughts from the dark grave, and the darker secrets beyond it, to this world, and its multiplicity of pleasures and delights.

She insisted on our taking good long walks. The weather was open and pleasant. All nature seemed to be in accord with us-everything was well grown but had still to reach full development. We ourselves, Lucia and I, were in this condition too. It was impossible not to feel the effects of the lovely beauty of the country, of the sweet, fresh air and of the song of the birds, and with exercise came back a more elastic state of health, and as my body improved in health so did my mind. Lucia in old times had sneered at beetles and weeds and stones, and rubbish, as she called the results of my natural history rambles but now she appeared to take a delight in all I had to tell her about these things. I do not believe she knew a word of science, but she was so quick and intelligent, and seemed so anxious to learn, that I soon found myself growing quite excited in my eagerness to teach her, and if I referred to my dead parents it would be merely to tell Lucia what they had said about these matters, not to rail and lament as I had first done. So some three weeks passed, and July was upon us with hotter sun and warmer air. We used to be glad to find some glade in the woods, near a purling brook, where we could sit or lie down on the grass and talk. One day when thus situated Lucia said, 'Susan, do you intend to live here all your life?'

'Well,' I answered, 'I suppose so. Where should I go? and why should I not stay here?'

'Oh!' she said. 'Now, my dear, without meaning to be at all rude to you, I don't think I could live here much longer.'

'Oh, Lucia! You are not thinking, I hope, of going away yet! What should I do without you, my own darling cousin?' and I began to cry.

'There, there!' said she, putting her arm round my waist and kissing me. 'I would not have said that if I had had any idea it would make you cry, darling. What I meant was, this is such a lonely spot! You never see a soul here from morning to night. I declare I have been here nearly a month, and except old Penwick, I have not seen a single gentleman inside the house. Are there no families with young men living near enough to have discovered the lovely violet called Susan Aked who hides her beauteous charms in these secluded groves?'

She spoke half in earnest, half in jest, so I said, 'Now Lucia! Don't make fun of me. I may live in a very secluded spot, but I don't see why you should find fault with people for not taking notice of such an insignificant girl as myself.'

'But Susan, you are not insignificant. You are perfectly lovely, if you only knew it! Now, let me speak! If you saw more people you could not help noticing, if no one happened to tell you, that you are beautiful. Yes, beautiful! Your eyes are something perfect, and so is your face. You have lips which no man could resist longing to kiss! You have a lovely figure and a perfect bust-or one which will soon be perfect when your breasts have grown a little more full. As it is I can see plainly through your dress that the high, hideous, stiff stays you wear cover two most charming little globes. Ah! Why don't you get others, like mine for instance, which give all necessary support without preventing the rounded globes being seen? It is really a shame to spoil a bosom like yours, and a girl ought to take care of charms which have so powerful an influence over the imaginations of men.'

'Oh goodness, Lucia, how you do run on! Now do you think I care a straw for what men may think of me! As for my stays, poor mamma bought them for me, and I think she was a good enough judge of what I required.'

'Ah! Bless you, Susan, dear! Now I would not mind betting that, had poor Aunt Maria lived to see you in society, she would soon have looked to your being dressed so as to show off all your lovely points to advantage.'

'But suppose I don't care for society, and never wish to go into it?'

'Oh, but Susan! You are talking of what you know nothing about. In a girl like you society means great admiration, and who is there who does not like to be admired?'

'Well, I don't care about it for one!'

'My dear child, for you are a child and nothing else in spite of all your science and botany and stuff, you have been so buried here, that unknown to yourself, you have grown up in complete ignorance that there is a world of men and women about you, and that some day, perhaps not far off now, you will have to take your place in that world. When you do, you will, I venture to prophesy, very soon find out what a charm there is in being admired. But, as I asked you before, are there no young men in these parts?'

'No, Lucia, I don't believe there are. We lived so very quietly, that I suppose if there are any such creatures, they never found us out. Our parish is quite a small one, and, as you may have seen in church, there are very few people in it, and no gentry. Papa used to be called “The Squire.”

'And you actually contemplate without horror the idea of living here by yourself all your life?'

'Oh, no! I hope you will come sometimes and see me, Lucia. I shall ask Gladys, too. Besides, I have old Martha, and I have my birds, and beasts and flowers in the summer; my piano and my books in the winter, and my poor people to look after. You have no idea of how very busy I am usually.'

'But Martha won't be always with you. Gladys and I, I am sure, would be glad to come and stay with you sometimes; but, Susan dearest, I know Gladys well, and she would soon mope to death here where she would see no one of the opposite sex. Besides, her tastes are not half so countrified as mine, and I declare to you that, much as I love you, I do not think I could live here much longer without being tired of myself, and even of you. Women require men just as much as men require women. If you had some handsome, agreeable young squires down here it would be pleasant enough to spend the days flirting in the fields and woods with them, but there is not a soul!'

My goodness, Lucia, how you do care about men! Now I declare I should not mind it; I never saw another in my life!'

'That is because you have never known a town, my dear Susan. You have never known what it is to be wooed! You don't know the pleasure of courtship. You don't know what it is to have a man worshipping the very ground you have walked on. In fact you have never even dreamt of love.'

I was silent.

'Well,' she continued, 'now have you?' 'I really do not understand a word of what you are talking about, Lucia. To me a man is nothing, and as for love, except for the love of my parents, or of you, or of dear old Martha, I know nothing. You mean something, I am sure, of which I have never heard. Of course a husband loves his wife, a parent his child, but I can't see what there is in such love for anybody to rave about as you do!'

'Have you never read any novels, nor any love stories, Susan?' she went on.

'No! My father and mother said they were foolish stuff.'

'I have heard them say so. And have you not even Sir Walter Scott or Shakespeare in the house?'

'Shakespeare we have, I know; but it is locked up in papa's study, in the glass bookcase. I have never read it.'

'Ah! Then read Romeo and Juliet, and you may perhaps learn a secret or two.'

'The secret of love? But what is this curious secret, Lucia?'

'Well now, Susan, answer me. You are a girl, are you not?'

'Yes, of course I am.'

'Of course you are! But why “of course”?'

'Well, because I am, I suppose! I was born so. I don't know any other reason.'

'But there is a very good reason, if you only knew it. Why should you be formed different to a man, for instance? Can you tell me that, sweet Susan?'

'I don't know, but what difference is there?' Lucia stared at me with very open eyes.

'Oh, come, Susan! You don't mean to pretend that you have lived so long without knowing that there are most marked differences between a man and a woman?'

So saying she reached out her hand and lightly placed it in my lap, pressing her fingers on the part between my thighs. 'Now are you not immensely different from a man here!'

Of course I knew I was. I knew that a man was not formed there as I was, but I tell the truth when I say I did not then know exactly what the formation of a man was.

'And have you never wondered why you should be formed here as you are?' she asked, keeping her hand still pressing between my thighs, whilst she gently stroked the place with her long, tapered fingers.

'No, indeed I have not! But, Lucia darling, don't do that!'

Why not? You are a girl and I am another. Surely one girl may touch another there? What harm is there in it?'

I don't know whether there is any harm, but oh!'

'What's the matter?' said Lucia, her colour rising slightly.

'My dear girl! Oh, for goodness sake, take away your hand! You are tickling me dreadfully! Oh, now, don't go on, or you will make me scream!'

'Scream away, my pet!' said Lucia, laughing. 'You may spend your breath, if you like, but I mean to make you spend something else before. I have done!'

I did not understand her; in fact the pleasure she gave me was so intense, and at the same time seemed to me so shameful, that between the two feelings I was nearly distracted. In vain did I try to tear myself away from her. Lucia held me tight with one arm, whilst she half lay upon me, laughing and looking into my eyes as if she expected to see something she wanted to find in them. Very soon the tickling reached such a point that I felt that if I did not find some way of relieving myself I must faint. Lucia observed my rapidly weakening struggles, for she said, 'Ah, my dear, if your dress were not so thick, and if you had not on two petticoats, I would have made you come before this; but I don't think it is far off all the same!'

As she spoke I felt myself, as it were, jump under her hand; a thrill, a throb shot through all that region, a delicious sense of some pent-up flood bursting the ever lightening bonds which had held it back made itself distinctly felt, and so great a sensation of delightful languor took hold of me that I could not resist giving vent to a grateful, 'How nice that is!'

Lucia took her hand off, and throwing herself completely up on me, she pressed me enthusiastically in her arms, kissing me with the most passionate affection.

'Ah!' she said. 'So my darling Susan is sensitive to pleasure! I thought a girl made like her must be. Oh, Susan, Susan, I would that I were a man! Would I not make you happy, and myself too!'

'Well,' said I, 'please do get off me, Lucia! I am nearly choking, and your weight; is perhaps heavier than you think. Ah, now I can breathe! Oh, goodness, I am all wet!' Lucia burst into a fit of laughter.

'Wet? Are you? Of course you are, darling, I have made you spend! But, Lord, if I had been a man, and had been slithering into you, instead of first tickling your cunnie with my hand, I would have made you spend a dozen times!'

'I don't know what you mean,' said I, 'and I don't know what you mean by spending.'

'Why, bless you, girl! Do you mean to tell me that you have never tickled yourself there?' laying her hand once more an my lap, but taking it away again immediately, 'in bed, until what you call the “wet", and I call “spend” came?'

'Never!' said I.

Ah, that is just because your thoughts have never rightly turned to love, my pet! I really do believe you are as ignorant and as innocent as I thought you were only pretending to be! I see I have a great deal to teach you, and I will teach you, too! But see, it is getting time for us to be going home, and I dare say you would like to put on some dry drawers.'

But although I pretended to be of the same mind, yet no sooner had Lucia begun to rise than I pushed her over and made a grab at her, caught her, turned her on her back, and putting my hand between her thighs, I began to treat her as she had treated me. Instead of struggling, she lay perfectly quiet, looking up into my glowing face, saying, 'Well, what are you up to now, Susan?'

'I am going to punish you and treat you the same way you treated me, and see if you like being tickled nearly to death!'

'Oh,' said she, 'I defy you to tickle me. You don't know how to do it.'

'Perhaps not so well as you do, darling, but I will try, anyway!'

Lucia had not nearly so thick a material in her dress as I had, and she had on the lightest of petticoats and shift. I could distinctly feel the soft, yielding charm under my moving fingers and even thought I could trace the deep line which marked her sex.

She lay quite quiet for about half a minute, when she suddenly gave a little start. Ah-ha! Miss! I don't tickle you, I suppose!'

'No, not a bit!'

I continued my movements. Lucia's colour began to rise, her bosom to heave; I could feel the elasticity of her breasts as they rose and sank under mine. I began to feel a fresh tickling myself, though her hand was no longer in my lap, and the caressing of the charming and beautiful girl began to fascinate me. Still, except that one little start, she showed no outward signs of being tickled by me. But all of a sudden she clasped me round the waist and exclaimed, 'You have got on to it at last! Keep your fingers moving just there. Oh, my darling, my darling! Ah, that's it! Oh, Susan! Ah! Ah! Oh my God! Oh, how heavenly! A little quicker, darling! Ah, now, quick, quick, harder, harder, ah-h-h! Ah-h-h-h. There!'

The increasing excitement excited me still more. Whether it was sympathetic or not, I don't know, but as she exclaimed, 'There!' I felt myself gone again, and a fresh flood once more soiled the purity of my drawers. I sank onto Lucia's bosom for a moment, and we both lay quite still. At last I raised my head and looked at her. Her face was flushed, but she had her eyes closed and her lips slightly parted, and looked so still that I thought she had fainted. Alarmed, I shook her gently. 'Lucia, Lucia!' I cried.

'What is it, darling?' she said languidly. 'Oh, you dearest pet! What pleasure, what exquisite pleasure you gave me!'

Reassured by hearing her speak, I recovered my equanimity, and jokingly asked her, 'Well, now, did I not tickle you?'

'That you did, darling, and right well too.'

'But you defied me to be able to do so!'

Lucia laughed. She caught me again in her arms and said, 'Ah, Susanna mia! There is such a thing as having a little fox to catch a lovely goose! But come, oh dear, I must have spent a cupful! I am drenched!'

'And so am I,' said I, 'for I spent, as you call it, again, when I was just finishing you off!'

Lucia, who was on her feet, once more caught me in her arms and said, Ah, Susan, to leave you here where you can never know a man would be to sin! You must come and live with me, and learn how to use and enjoy the exquisite and sensitive charms you are endowed with. You are just the girl to form into a real priestess of Venus!'

CHAPTER III. GERMINATION