From edward_ell@hotmail.com Sat May 22 04:09:19 1999
Newsgroups: alt.stories.incest,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.srories.incest
Subject: EVE1-8.TXT
From: Sir Edward <edward_ell@hotmail.com>
Date: Sat, 22 May 1999 01:09:19 -0700

[Apologies to those collecting these chapters. This chapter, eight, is
actually the last chapter of “Book I”, not Chapter VII as I previously
posted.]

EVELINE: THE AMOROUS ADVENTURES OF A VICTORIAN LADY

M/F, Incest

Intended for adults only. You must be over 18 to read this post.

This fine example of Victorian Erotic Literature appeared sometime in
the early nineteenth century, and circulated privately. It was first
published, I believe, in 1905, and became very popular with devotees of
Erotica. It has remained so. Although it has many sexual encounters, and
a main theme of incest, I do not regard it pornography, but Erotic
Literature at it's finest. Well-written with an interesting plot, and a
wonderful heroine, it is personally my favorite. Eveline may be a
wanton, but she despises hypocrisy and takes delight in exposing it.

A word about language and editing: Since Eveline is British, you will
find some unfamiliar spellings and useages. I have left most intact,
such as 'flavour' for our 'flavor' or 'odour' for 'odor.' In some places
I have substituted American slang for British, because it is more erotic
to Americans, and this is intended primarily for an American audience.
You will also find some French, which I have left intact. I wanted to
preserve the flavor of the piece as much as possible. Also, I have
formatted it for ease of printing and readability.

“Eveline” will be posted as chapters in four books. I will post all four
if this work finds acceptance here. I would appreciate your comments
either way, via e-mail.

Sir Edward
edward_ell@hotmail.com


EVELINE

The Amorous Adventures of a Victorian Lady

Book I

Chapter VIII

I have already told you I am beautiful. I am dearly fond of the
beautiful in art. What can be the difference then between the beautiful
in the glass and the beauty in the picture? Rely upon it, every woman is
certain to know the exact measure of her good looks if she possesses
any. She is sure to be reminded of her defects. Her inner consciousness
will, whatever may be her natural vanity, infallibly lead her to a
correct appreciation of her charms. She may think that she can impose on
others by her beauty. It is only by the flattery, or the honest opinions
she obtains, that her vanity is touched, that comparisons are made. When
she goes home and in privacy she looks into her glass, she knows the
truth, for better - or for worse.

When a man tells me he thinks me the most beautiful girl in the world, I
know he is talking nonsense. When he simply and obviously admires me for
my comeliness, I may believe him. If he goes further, if he ventures to
speak of love to me, I know I have excited his desires. I can see it in
his eyes. It is evident in the parted lips, the ardent, furtive,
searching glances, with which I feel he is striving to pierce the thin
veils in which modesty - save the mark! - robes the nude form of woman.
He is gloating secretly on all his fancy pictures hidden beneath. He is
forming his ideas on the subject of my nudity - of the extent of my
fabricated personality. Poor man, if he could only look in reality
below, he would find there is nothing there but Nature unadorned. In
fancy, he gives his ideal full swing. He sees me as his lust would have
me. He sees the perfect breasts - the panting bosom which no fashionable
corset could improve - the waist and rounded haunch - the buttocks which
no dressmaker ever pads with wretched cotton wool. The man, after all,
is only a society satyr. His lust, subject as it must be to the
decencies of ordinary life, lifts him for the nonce from the common
place, knockabout man of average intelligence, into a being which
interests me. In fancy he beholds me stripped - at his mercy - small
mercy I should receive at his hands! He rages in private. He snorts like
a stallion over a young mare.

I have no contempt for this poor creature. Shall I confess the truth? I
feel intensely for him. That confession does not prevent me from
displaying to him such attractions as my beauty - my knowledge of men -
enable me to excite him with. His agony of lust is to me a selfish
gratification. It is joy to me to watch his barely concealed emotion. I
know him. I treat him simply as he would me. I am, in his shortsighted
view, too innocent and too young - altogether too inexperienced - to
understand anything connected with the realities of sensual pleasure. He
does not scruple to let loose, for my benefit, his lust of the flesh. It
has extended to my flesh. He figures to himself, in his licentiousness,
all the delights he would enjoy in my possession. In his bestial
concupiscence he revels in the ideal enjoyment of my innocent young
charms.

Could the man who struts in society only know how his glances at Eveline
are noted and enjoyed, he might indeed be more bold, but he would none
the less meet with the failure he merits. She is not the girl, young and
innocent as he deems her, to play the puppet while he pulls the strings
and boasts loud-mouthed about his conquests!

A fine morning. Actual sunlight, in London! I spring out of bed. Just
eight o'clock. My cold tub is there ready. How refreshing it is! How I
glow all fresh and pink as I stand and rub myself down! The act reminds
me of Jim - of grooming a horse. I should like Jim to groom me. Well,
should I really? Yes, that I should, when I remember the sight which for
a moment met my gaze through the stable window. I commenced my morning
toilet. I gradually matured at the same time an idea that became more
and more fixed in my mind. My passions, I fear, are not always made
subservient to my higher perceptions. It is my nature to give them
flight sometimes. To indulge them against - sometimes - my cooler
judgement. How can I, with my temperament, stop to think of risks - of
results? So, my fancy ran free now. In fancy I was again at the stable
window watching Mary handle Jim's large member. That did not prevent me
from completing my morning toilet. I descended to breakfast in the
dining-room. Papa was there already, his newspaper and letters before
him.

'Good morning, Eveline; here is a letter which will interest you.'

A large envelope inclosing a card. The arms of the late Duke of M. The
invitation at last to the costume ball.

'It will be magnificent, my darling. You must make a sensation. All the
guests are to represent some particular personality. How will you go?
You would look adorable as Anne Boleyn.'

'And my papa would look defiantly inscrutable as Charlemagne. Oh papa,
it is fixed. You must go as Charlemagne!'

'And you, Eveline?'

'I shall represent my great-grandmother - your grandmother, papa. I have
already considered all. We have her jewels. We even have in the great
wardrobe the dresses she wore at my age. You told me yourself how like I
was to her in the picture in your study. I can imitate the pose - the
look - everything. It is fixed, papa - you will not deny your own little
girl?'

He never denied me anything. He would go to the ball as Charlemagne, if
practicable. I, as my own Great-Grandmother!

'Do not forget we dine tonight at Lady Lessleton's. There will be some
nice people there who are always worth meeting. She is very erratic in
her assemblage of guests at these little dinners. You may depend on it
you have been asked to meet someone in particular; such very young
ladies as you are not always selected for these affairs.'

'I will not forget. I will look as bright as possible to please my dear
papa first and the somebody in particular next.'

'Naughty girl! Kiss me!'

The dinner passed pleasantly enough. Lady Lessleton laid herself out to
be very nice to me. Papa was right. I was coupled with a delightful old
gentleman -- the magistrate at Bow Street.  Sir Langham Beamer was a
bachelor, a gentleman and a man of taste. I like old people. I took
particular pains to be agreeable to him. He was a very smart, gay old
gentleman of the old school. He loved the society of young women. He was
evidently delighted to find that his hostess had not forgotten his
foible. I heard him express his gratification in no measured language to
her after dinner. I thought him charming. He made me promise to come
round with papa and see him administer justice in his police court.

At quite an early hour we returned home. It was the brougham they sent
for us. Sir Langham Beamer put me in himself. Papa received me in his
arms. We rolled away - our lips entwined - our hearts beating against
each other - our hands - ah me, our hands.... The restraint was dreadful
- the longing terrible. Between the two I was nearly mad. Papa, I could
see, was not much better.

*

'Convent Garden - opera - oh, here it is. Faust tonight. Look, what a
splendid cast! Will you go, Eveline? The music of Gounod always delights
you. Will you go?'

'Yes, dear papa. It will cheer me up. I feel I want to hear something
sympathetic. I love Gounod. I am not tired of Faust.'

'Agreed then, we will order the dinner and the carriage in good time.'

For some days he had withdrawn himself a great deal from my company.
Only on such occasions as were unavoidable did he come to me, or venture
himself within my influence. I was certain he had been forming
resolutions to restrain his incestuous passion.

I had been absent and abroad during three crucial years. I went from
England and from what most children look on as home - my mother's house
- a child. I returned a woman - very young, it is true - but still a
woman physically and mentally, with such experience as only a debauched
French 'institution de demoiselles' can supply to colour the life of a
young girl. My sensations as I prepared myself for the evening were of
the wildest anticipation. On this occasion I was determined to go
straight through with my mission. I was infatuated with papa. I had
nursed this passion for a long while. I knew the pleasure - the sensuous
gratification to be derived from it - would be supreme.

We had already gone too far to draw back.

He knew it as well as I did. It was that which induced him to invite me
to the opera this night. My desire for my dear papa was rampant.

I dressed carefully to please him. I decked myself out in just that
dainty and coquettish style which I knew would incite his lust. The
corsage just showed enough to make the observer wish to see more. My
whole toilette was of that ephemeral character which could serve only to
heighten the forbidden passion which burned to fever heat in his veins.
I was armed. I had no regrets. I was what I wanted with equal intensity
as his own. I only feared failure.

The great theatre was crowded. The atmosphere was oppressive. Sir Edward
leant over the back of my chair.

'My darling Eveline, you look more beautiful than ever tonight.'

'I am always glad when I can please my dear papa.'

'Your dress is perfection, it leaves nothing to be desired.'

'Absolutely nothing, papa? Poor Eveline!'

'Why do you say that, my dear child?'

I took his hand and held it. I leant back in my seat, and put my face
close to his. His eyes shot flames of passion. I had shut mine and
sighed. He kissed the nape of my neck just under my hair. I squeezed has
hand and patted it with my softly gloved fingers. I put my right hand on
his thigh. My breath came fast. I trembled. His agitation became
extreme.

'My beautiful - my darling Eveline!'

We had heard the last of the beautiful serenade. We sat silent. It was
the entr'acte. His arm was round my waist, my hand wandered slowly and
caressingly upon his left thigh.

'My sweet Eveline, you excite me dreadfully!'

'Why not, my darling papa? Your Eveline loves you so dearly; you alone
are my ideal.'

He pressed me closer, but in silence. His passion rose, hot, furious, it
showed in his bated breath, his swimming eyes, his every movement. His
nostrils we dilated like those of a stallion with the intensity of his
lust.

We were well behind the curtain and in the recess of the box. I threw my
head back. He kissed me on the lips. A long, lingering embrace which
spoke of his desire.

'Shall we go to the restaurant and sup there again, my sweet?'

'Yes, papa. It is most oppressive here tonight. The opera is too long.
Let us go at once.'

The supper was exquisite. The wine warmed our blood. Sir Edward drank
freely. I read a fixed purpose in his eyes. He could not keep his hands
off me. He helped me to all the choicest morsels. By his desire I kept
my gloves on. He tipped the waiter handsomely, then locked the door.

We sat side by side on the sofa. His arm was round me as his right hand
caressed my breasts. We exchanged wet kisses. I boldly lay my hand on
his tool. It was hard and stiff and seemed half as long as his thigh.

'Does that give you pleasure, dear papa?'

'It is delicious, my darling girl.'

'May I undo the buttons?' I whispered.

He saved me the trouble. My daintily gloved hand was pushed inside, I
held his member in my grasp. Meanwhile he was busy under my dress and
his hands quickly penetrated to my naked thighs. I had not worn drawers.
His thing grew larger than ever. He gasped at my nakedness.

'How happy you make me, papa!'

I sucked his tongue.

'Your mouth, your touches, are more intoxicating than wine, my dear
child.'

He gloated over my shoes, my silk stockings, and my naked thighs. He
passed his trembling hand over all. I had rightly gauged his desires.

A sudden movement released the noble penis. I saw it standing stiffly. I
seized it again in my hands. I beheld the long white shaft, the bulging
blue veins, the purple head - my father's cock - all, all for me at
last!

I gently moved my hands up and down, covering and uncovering the big
nut.

'Does that hurt, papa?'

'No, my darling, you give me delicious sensations.'

'I am so glad, papa! What a sweet thing this is!'

'I rejoice in possessing your love, my child. You may continue to play
with it. Does it excite you to handle it?'

'Oh yes, papa! I am always happiest when my hand is round it!'

'Dear girl! What lovely soft gloves you have! I love to see them
daintily clasped round my hard peg. See how he raises his red head? My
Eveline, you must not deny him; you must let him have his way tonight.'

'I am yours, dear papa! Do with me whatever you desire!'

'We will intoxicate ourselves with pleasure, Eveline, but we must be
careful and take all precautions against any mischance.'

He pushed me back gently on the sofa. He loosed his clothes. He raised
my legs upon the couch and knelt between them. Then he sank softly down
upon me and I felt him trying to adjust his tool to fit against the lips
of my slit. He set his teeth and pushed his loins forward. I opened my
legs for him.

'Papa! Papa! You're killing me! Oh, it is too much! I cannot bear it -
indeed you hurt dreadfully! Good heavens! I shall die! Take it away -
oh!'

He had done his worst. I felt my parts dilate; his member slid into me.
He was at last in the full enjoyment of my person. The whole length of
his delicious thing was in me to the balls which I felt band against ne
underneath.

The pleasure was celestial.

He worked it in and out, intent on the pleasure he was feeling. I lay
quiet, then helped him with a slight undulation of my hips.

'My Eveline, my sweet daughter, the pain has passed; there is nothing
but pleasure left now. There! There! Feel how it throbs? Let it go in.
There now, open your sweet legs further - so!'

I lay gasping in an agony of spasmodic convulsions, coming and coming.
At length I felt him approaching his own climax. With a sob of rapture,
he discharged right into me. I felt my papa's hot semen spouting right
up me. It was too much ecstasy.

At length he slowly withdrew. I quickly snatched a pin from my hair and
pricked myself on my slit. Seeing I was unable to move and apparently
faint, he promptly applied his handkerchief, even before I could find
mine.

'My darling, Eveline - you have indeed suffered! You have bled, my
child, my kerchief is stained with blood.'

'Cruel papa! But I love you!'

Sir Edward opened a door - a dressing room with toilet arrangements was
disclosed. He led me there.

'Quick, Eveline, wash well with cold water. Here, put a few drops of
this brandy in the basin. My darling, be sure you are thorough in your
present 'petite toilette.''

In a few minutes I felt like myself again. The thing was done. I had
what I wanted. My theories had been correct - nothing could ever equal
the pleasure my father had given me.

We sat together on the sofa, our hands linked, his arm round my waist.

He looked at the clock. It was yet early.

'We came away from the opera in good time, we need not hurry. I want to
enjoy my sweet Eveline again. Does she regret what we have done?'

'No, papa. Great men are excused faults which in ordinary people are
crimes. In my eyes you are a great man. You remember that Charlemagne
enjoyed both of his daughters? He was a great soldier like my papa.'

'Yes, indeed, but how did you come to know that?'

'I read it in Voltaire - when I was in Paris.'

'But how came they to let you read Voltaire at school?'

'Oh, with a little of one's pocket money there is no difficulty getting
the 'concierge' to do one so trifling a favour as to buy a book. I had
four little volumes from him which he bought for me expressly and kept
in his lodge. I had a great fancy to read about Charlemagne and his
daughters. Was it wrong, papa?'

'No, my child - only you seem to have run a risk of being detected.'

'There is no pleasure without risk. Are you intoxicated with yours
already, papa?'

'No, my darling Eveline, let us have more. Let us do it again!'

I grasped his limb. He released it for me to play with. It rose stiffly
under my fingers. It regained all it's grand dimensions. I bent down my
head and kissed it. I opened my lips, took the big knob into my mouth
and sucked it. It was delicious. Papa groaned with rapture.

We were mutually aroused. He took me in his arms. He laid me again upon
the sofa, raised my dress and lay again upon my body. He entered my slit
easily and had me again deliciously. He discharged in me copiously. My
vagina sucked in every drop of incestuous sperm. I could have screamed
with pleasure, had I dared.

A little later, we descended to the private entrance of the restaurant.
Papa called the cab which stood opposite. As he closed the door of the
hansom, I recognized the man with the hare lip.