David Shaw, Victorian Messenger Ch. 06

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(It was 1892 and I, David Shaw, then aged 19 joined ‘Maynard and Son, Purveyors to Gentlewomen and the Aristocracy’ on Upper Richmond Road, Putney. The job involved providing ‘underskirt services’ to single women. This was my fourth day with the firm)


The next morning, following my evening at the pub with Tim, I kept wondering what other engagements I would have to keep during my employment with Maynard’s. I really did not think that I could ever entertain a ‘ladies only’ party wearing just a clown’s costume. I thought Tim had a lot of pluck, to say the least.


I found the address, 180 Gloucester Place, and parked my bike in the area of this large Georgian terraced house. All about me Hansom cabs were weaving up and down the street and there was a distinct smell of horse manure in the cool morning air. I watched a young woman walk past and from my low elevation on the area steps I could see a hint of white petticoat emerge as she sped on her way.

I knocked at the servants’ door and handed in my card. A young housemaid took it and invited me in. I sat in the servants’ room in the basement at the front of the house and watched the fire crackling in the grate. Mrs. Campion, the housekeeper, told me that her mistress was expecting me and she would escort me to her bedroom where she was waiting.

I followed her up the narrow back stairs which twisted and creaked its way around the rear of the house to the second floor landing. Mrs. Campion had a nice arse and I would have happily had her sitting on my face with her legs apart and my tongue up her hairy ‘love-hole’.

She knocked on the door and entered with my card from Maynard and Son. I heard an educated voice from within and Mrs. Campion telling her something in sotto voce.

“Yes that will do thank you Mrs. Campion, do allow him in,” said the woman behind the door. “You may go now,” she said to her housekeeper.

I walked in with my cap in my hand and saw before me a tall elegant woman completely dressed in black. She was standing by the window where the curtains had been partly drawn. She wore a jet black crepe silk dress which was extremely full and flared outwards from her hips to the floor. She wore a bead necklace decorated with gold and jet, and jet earrings. Her dark brown hair was worn in a high coiled bun with ringlets. I also noticed her black slippers.

“As you can see I am in full-mourning and all I require from you are the usual underskirt services,” she said to me as if I were there delivering groceries.

I nodded as she walked up to me and asked me to open my mouth. I did as I was told as she lifted my chin with her black lace mourning gloves.

For some strange reason I imagined her gloved hands cupping my balls and stroking my willy, coaxing them into life and wanking me mercilessly.

“Hmmm,” she said, “And let me see your tongue,” she continued and I stuck it out ready for her to inspect.

I looked at her closely. She must have been in her mid 50s but she was quite slim and tall and did not stoop. I was used to seeing working class women in Putney who often looked haggard at 40 and ancient at 50 but Mrs. Annabel Langley, as that was her name, could have been mistaken for a much younger lady from a distance. It was illegal bahis mainly her wrinkled neck and bags under her eyes which gave her age away.

“Take off your jacket and shirt but keep your trousers on,” she said to me in a neutral condescending voice.

I stood in the centre of the room and removed my jacket and placed it on a chair next to the huge bed. She returned to the bedroom window.

“On the floor if you will,” she said and I carefully placed it on the floor at the foot of the bed.

I took off my shirt and folded it up and placed it on top of my jacket.

“Shoes and socks next,” she said staring out of the window at a passing brewery dray pulled by two huge Clydesdales. “They do make a racket don’t they?” she exclaimed, launching into ‘small talk’.

The clip-clopping sound of their hooves filled the room as I hopped about removing my shoes and socks.

I probably looked a forlorn little character to her with my thin frame and puny shoulders. My muscles were almost nonexistent and I was miles too short. In some respects I was ideally suited to be an ‘underskirt boy’. I imagined women would not tolerate a large muscular chap fumbling under their dresses and petticoats so I was ‘just the ticket’, size wise.

She suddenly turned on her heels and swept her large dress to one side as she walked over to the bed. She sat squarely in the centre of the bedspread with her feet dangling over the side facing me. Sliding backwards she leant back on her elbows and parted her legs so that the merest hint of white silk petticoat lace was revealed.

Already my heart was thumping fast and I felt an erection stir in my loins. She looked at me and pointed to the space between her feet where her vast dress lay like a billowing jet black cloud. Her dress seemed to fill the bed it was so large.

She lay on her back and placed a satin cushion under her head so that she could stare at me, down her nose. She looked very haughty and snooty and for some reason I was visibly shaking with excitement. My penis was completely erect and it felt horribly uncomfortable, restrained tightly inside my trousers. Her arms lay outstretched and she appeared totally relaxed.

She bent her knees and lifted her feet back onto the bed. Blood hammered through my brain and penis as I took in the sight which lay before me.

The scene appeared totally erotic. Her now exposed petticoats hung in a great sweep from knee to knee and spilled out, layer upon layer. The outer petticoat was trimmed with a deep flounce of Alencon lace of the finest quality. Beneath this there were at least four petticoats hemmed with Point de Gaze silk lace and two more trimmed with Maltese needle lace. She parted her legs further until I caught sight of her drawers which ended just above her knees. She was wearing seven petticoats.

I stood spellbound in front of her and feasted my eyes on her white silk finery and delicate lacework which contrasted dramatically with the dull black crepe dress above it which spread out on each side over her bed.

My penis ached for relief and I would have given anything for a good old fashioned wank.

“Boy, if you please,” she barked at me, clearly anxious for me to begin my tonguing.

I dropped to my knees between illegal bahis siteleri her feet. She wore flat-heeled black leather slippers over her black silk stockings.

I placed my head on the satin counter pane and nudged her ankles with my nose, pushing them even further apart. I heard her sigh as I began kissing and licking her slippers, ankles and shins. All the time I kept my eyes fixed on the dark space between her legs which would eventually be my final goal. The swishing rustle of petticoats moving against petticoats assailed my senses and quietly filled me with lust.

I breathed in her ‘underskirt odour’ which had the distinct muskiness of warm fanny with a hint of urine. Slowly but surely I pushed my head further under her dress and between her long legs, and rubbed my closely shaven cheeks against her stocking clad calves. I heard her moan with delight as she splayed her knees further to allow me unhindered access to the very centre of her sexuality.

As she splayed her knees her silk petticoats came swishing down all over my head and frou-froued against my face and ears. She threw her heavy black dress over me so that I was now hidden from view.

In the dark underspace I pushed ever forwards until I nuzzled the flounced laciness of crotchless drawers. She flinched noticeably as I ran my tongue up and down her inner thighs. She was tantalisingly close and I felt that my rock hard penis was drilling a hole in the bed. I continued licking the exposed flesh above her stockings and garters where her crotchless white silk drawers gaped open ready for me.

She must have now felt my hot breath on her most sensitive parts as my mouth brushed against her brown curls.

I touched the centre of her labia with the tip of my tongue and heard her moan and groan. Gradually I ran it up and down her cleft, probing it slowly and gently then with more fervency and urgency until it slid open, glistening with her juices.

She moaned again and whispered “Oh bliss,” as I eased my tongue between her vulva lips and into her vagina.

Her pubic hair was remarkably soft and it tickled my nose as I licked my way up one side of her lips and down the other in circular, or rather ovoid, movements.

“Oh heavens, oh heavens, my word what a good boy you are, a very good boy, oh heavens,” continued Mrs. Langley breathlessly.

She kicked off her slippers.

She lifted her left leg off the bedspread and swung it over my shoulders so that her stockinged feet lay against my naked back. She did the same with her right leg and immediately we became locked together. I pushed my tongue further into her so that it was buried up to its hilt, and then wiggled it about inside her.

“Oh, oh, oooh, yes. What a good boy you are, yes. Bliss. Heavenly oh a very good boy,” she whispered and moaned and groaned again.

Her hands rearranged her dress and petticoats over me so that I was completely concealed from my chest upwards. I now felt the weight of her long shapely legs over my shoulders and almost felt part of her hairy moist cunt as we were so closely coupled together.

She pulled me further into her with her thighs and I felt the pressure of her hands on the back of my head under the seven silk petticoats and enormous canlı bahis siteleri black dress which draped over me.

Her odour was intense. There was a muskiness combined with a sweet astringency which filled my senses and I felt as if I were drowning in her headiness.


Soon she held my head against her in a fiercesome grasp and began jerking her pubic area up and down over my face.

I stuck out my tongue and licked anything which was in its path. She wiped her fanny juices up and down my chin, mouth and nose in small energetic thrusts. I felt as if my facial features could have been merely a convenient piece of smooth shaped wood upon which she was pleasuring herself.

Her movements became wilder and wilder as she rubbed her clitoris exclusively over my nose and tongue. I had to brace myself as she bucked her arse off the bed and transferred all her bodyweight to her feet and to my back.

Her petticoats rustled and swished about me as she jerked herself up and down and from side to side. With each jerk the bedsprings twanged and shook and she cried out “Yes, yes, yes, good boy, yes.”

On and on she bounced, thrust, jerked and pushed her arse off the bed. My head was at the centre of a storm and her silk petticoats slid over me in total disarray. I felt that I could not withstand the intensity of her movements, or the immense pressures applied to my back.

I had little opportunity to tongue her clitoris but she apparently didn’t require me to, as she had clearly taken control of the whole situation and within three or four thrusts she started to shudder, shake violently then grip my head firmly.

I felt her buttocks tighten, her knees pull me in further and her whole body shiver, quiver and judder.

Suddenly she screamed, “OOOoooooohyess,” as she climaxed forcefully into my face.

I knelt there face down in the counterpane dribbling saliva mixed with her fanny juice into the Indian silk. Mrs. Langley lay there with both legs over my shoulders and dangling across my back. She had let go of my head and I became aware that her breathing still appeared laboured.

“Oh heavenly bliss, sheer complete bliss,” she whispered, “Good boy, good boy,” she said and patted my head through her immense black dress.

From my position, with my head inside her dress, I imagined that she was lying there staring at the ornate cornice moldings which ran around the top of the walls were they met the ceiling. She did not move; neither did I.

In the dark space inside her cool silk petticoats I listened to the smart clip-clopping of a Hansom cab heading towards Oxford Street and heard children running outside. Soon Mrs. Langley slid her legs off me and sat up. I slipped out from under her dress and smiled at her in an embarrassed way.

She tousled my hair and mouthed, “Thank you very much young man.”

I told her that it a pleasure and noticed that I had also accidentally ‘come’ in my underpants, which felt uncomfortably sticky and sweaty.

She rang for the housekeeper as I got dressed and she said that she would see me again soon.

“What is your name by the way?” she asked.

“Shaw, David Shaw, ma’am,” I said and smirked in a very self conscious manner.

“I will ask for you by name next time,” she said as I left the room.

Half an hour later I was bicycling across Hyde Park towards Knightsbridge whistling a silly music hall song. The sun finally shone as I sped back towards Maynard’s on the south side of Putney Bridge.

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