Summary: Corky is secretly privy to an intimate conversation between Beatrice and Maggie, and learns something rather surprising.Keywords: FM f/f caution BDSM hist humorPart: 6Author: Vinnie Tesla ( Victim/Victorian

Victim/Victorian 6A: Overheard and Overlooked
by Vinnie Tesla
Story Codes: F/M f/f CAUTION inc BDSM oral voy hist humor

	[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Why did this episode, of average length and
	less-than-average cleverness, take me over six months to
	finish? Because I was putting off dealing with a
	dilemma. There's a plot twist in this chapter that I had been
	contemplating from the very beginning. I think it's cute and
	kind of sexy, but some people who've enjoyed the story so far
	may find it distasteful, and I found myself reluctant to
	disappoint them.

	Eventually, I concluded, hey, this is the Net. Just fork the
	story--do it both ways and make both versions available. This
	then is the potentially squicky version. If you're nervous,
	skip to the end to find out what I'm talking about,  or just
	go read the other version.
	As always, feedback--both positive and negative--is eagerly
	sought.					--Vinnie	    ]

Clearly, Corky had been right all along. The debaucheries of the 
Dalrymple household were not merely repellant and vulgar but unhealthy; 
fundamentally perverse.

Alone once more in his room, Corky was frantically repacking his 
steamer trunk with renewed determination to quit the household in which 
he had unwittingly become entangled.

Beatrice's discovery of Maggie in his bedroom may have been an 
unpleasant experience, but in fact it was a blessing in disguise.  The 
shock of the experience was sufficient to startle him back into his 
senses. For a moment, for a bare instant, he had been in danger of 
succumbing to the temptations he was--

No, no! How absurd! He had never been truly tempted. The perversity, 
the rampant vulgarity that had been paraded before him had sickened 
him, disgusted him at every turn.  Only physical compulsion, and then 
his own misplaced gallantry, had prevented him from immediate flight.  
Now the scales were gone from his eyes, and good sense had returned to 

The blasted trunk would not close. Trembling with agitation, Corky 
dumped out the clothes once more, and began to refold them more 

It was a shame that matters with Beatrice had come to such a state. He 
gritted his teeth thinking of the situation had spiraled so rapidly out 
of control.  He repented now of his lewd actions with her, perhaps even 
more than those with her sister. Beatrice, at least, was perhaps 
redeemable. Though she had encouraged, even instigated the liberties he 
had taken, it is the unalterable duty of the gentleman to preserve a 
lady's purity, even when she fails to grasp or acknowledge that 
obligation. He had failed her in this regard even more than he had 
failed her subsequently with Maggie.  He realized this now, though he 
doubted that Beatrice ever would.

The latches on the trunk shut with a satisfying click. Corky took a 
deep breath, slung several bags over his shoulder,  lifted the trunk, 
and made for the door.

It opened as he approached, the knob held by Mrs. Dalrymple. Oddly, he 
felt little surprise at her appearance. 

"William," she said. "You're home early."

"I was feeling poorly," he explained."

"You do look a little pale," the widow admitted. "But you appear to be 
preparing for a journey. Pardon my saying so, William, but is travel 
really wise if you're unwell? And so early in the term, too?"

Corky drew in a deep breath. "M-M-Mrs. Dalrymple, I am terminating my 
residency here, and s-s-seeking lodging elsewhere." There. He'd said 

His landlady's pale brow furrowed slightly. "How disappointing!  You 
really have been a most delightful guest, and it saddens me to see you 

Corky, who was expecting more vigorous objections, stood awkwardly for 
a few moments before replying: "All the same. My mind is made up. I am 
determined to quit this place, and to do so at once."

Corky suppressed a flinch as Mrs. Dalrymple reached out to pat Corky's 
shoulder softly. "Well, I do hope you'll come to dinner soon," she 
said. "Have you said good-bye to the girls yet?"

Corky colored a little. "I believe they're preoccupied at the moment. 
I'd prefer not to disturb them." 

"Oh, nonsense," Mrs. Dalrymple chided him. "Are they bickering again? 
I'll soon put a stop to that! You wait right here, William, and I'll 
fetch them at once."

Corky found himself divested of his bags and seated on a chair before 
he could react, and was still in the process of formulating a reply 
when the door closed behind Mrs. Dalrymple with a click. Corky tried 
anxiously to imagine the coming scenario: the red-eyed glares from 
Beatrice, the insolent grins from Maggie, the stiff, artificial 
farewells. Or else--worse yet--perhaps another scene of compulsion such 
as that on his first night.  Mrs. Dalrymple might once again enlist her 
daughters in overpowering him and forcing him to submit to her depraved 

Corky shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He could just imagine--Maggie 
and Beatrice restraining him while their mother exposed her body and 
slaked her lascivious desires upon him. Would Beatrice still cooperate 
in such an endeavor? Worse still, perhaps she would turn her attention 
to exacting her revenge on him for the slight she had endured. With her 
mother's assistance, she might turn him over her knee, pull down his 
trousers, and beat his bare bottom until it was red! The humiliation of 
receiving such treatment would be nigh unendurable. Corky stood, and, 
readjusting his trousers, paced the room anxiously. He could imagine 
the dreadful scene--his eyes damp and stinging, her delicate features 
set in a stern expression as she struck him again and again, forcing 
him to beg her forgiveness for his disloyalty. Oh, the shame of it! 

And then, under her mother's perverse tutelage, she might remove her 
own garments and gratify herself upon his body. Would the hair of her 
motte be thick like her mother's, or sparse like that of her sister? 
Corky could feel the heat and moisture of her snug passage as she 
lowered herself upon his struggling form. With a handkerchief, he 
mopped at his fevered brow. This was intolerable--he would not 
participate in her defilement. Once more, he took up his bags, and made 
for the door, determined to sneak out of the house before any such 
scenario could come to pass.

As if on cue, the door opened and Mrs. Dalrymple appeared, grinning and 
bright eyed "William, you rascal, she whispered. "You're a quicker 
study than I realized. The girls have been having a fascinating talk 
about you--I happened to overhear a few words." As she spoke, she 
divested him once more of the packages he had taken up. "Come quickly 
now!" she then demanded, seizing the young man's wrist and drawing him 
into the corridor. "Now hush my lad," she urged him in a thrilling 
whisper, "and you shall see something rather fine."

She pulled the reluctant student into her darkened bedroom, and Corky 
steeled himself for another assault. Instead, however, she opened the 
door of her closet and pushed him inside, following after and drawing 
the door shut. The smell of violet powder and mothballs surrounded him, 
calling to mind childhood games of hide-and-seek, where he had crouched 
in his mother's clothes closet. With fabric brushing against his face, 
he felt an echo of the giddy tension that had characterized those 
games, the frightening and thrilling anticipation of being found by the 
child who was "it." The yielding warmth of Mrs. Dalrymple's body 
against him called to mind other games, which he had heard of, but 
never played.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he noticed a small circle of light, 
from which emerged the tense voices of the two girls in the next room. 
A gentle shove sent him stumbling against the back of the closet, and 
he pressed his eye to the secret orifice presented to him.

In the next room, Beatrice was seated facing him on a bed, head in her 
hands, sobbing. Her sister had an arm about her shoulder, and was 
speaking consolingly to her.

"There, there, Beatrice," Maggie said. "It was'n't his doing. I'm sure 
William adores you."

"What do you mean 'it was'n't his doing?'" Beatrice sniffled. "The 
moment he was out of my sight, he was in the arms of another girl. Oh, 
I was a fool to believe that he loved me!" and she collapsed into sobs 
once more.

"No, no!" cried her sister. "It's my fault, Beatrice! He would never 
have done such a thing had I not forced him."

"Forced him?"

"Well, nearly. I used some of the methods mother taught us. And he 
had'n't spent with you. He was on the very verge of bursting when I 
started! You can hardly fault him for succumbing under such 
circumstances as those!"

"Perhaps not..." said Beatrice, sitting up a little straighter.

"Certainly not. Why, when he spent, it was such a quantity I thought I 
might drown. And so thick, too! It's small wonder indeed that the poor 
fellow could'n't control himself."

From his vantage point, Corky winced at Beatrice's indelicacy. 

Beatrice folded her fingers together and took a deep breath, dabbing at 
her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. "Thank you, Maggie. You're 
quite correct. I can't place the blame in poor William's lap. The 
situation was out of his control."

"Quite right!"

"And now it's clear what I must do next."

Maggie's brow furrowed. "Whatever is that?"

In a sudden motion, Beatrice leapt on her sister and pinned her face 
down to the bed. "Spank your rude lascivious fat strumpet bottom until 
it is black and blue!" she cried, and began pulling Maggie's petticoats 
up over her waist.

"You take that back! My bottom is'n't fat!" Maggie protested, 
struggling wildly against her sister's grip

Her posterior, whatever adjectives it merited, was soon exposed--not 
for the first time--to Corky's eye.

Still blotched red and pink from the previous evening's proceedings, it 
tensed abruptly at the first forceful blow from Beatrice's hand, as 
Maggie arched her back and redoubled her efforts at escape.

"Not on my poor bottom!" Maggie pleaded. "I'm still dreadfully sore!"

"And still dreadfully wicked as well," her sister retorted, punctuating 
her remarks with several more stinging blows that made Maggie's rosy 
flesh darken further as her hips bucked frantically.  "ApPARently you 
weren't SORE enough to reTAIN any of the LESSons mister BRANdywine 
attempted to TEACH you," each emphasized syllable bringing another 
resounding slap, and another shriek from her struggling victim.

"Oh, please, Beatrice!" Maggie sobbed. "My bottom all aflame. Already 
this morning I could barely sit still!"

Beatrice laughed. "Dear sister, you can barely sit down under the best 
of circumstances. I do'n't see why a good spanking should have improved 
your abilities in that regard.  Perhaps I am punishing the wrong part 
of you, though."

"Oh, yes," said Maggie. "Anything else, please!"

Beatrice roughly shoved Maggie's legs apart, unknowingly exposing her 
sister's nether lips--tinted a blushing pink scant shades lighter than 
her abused posterior-- to Corky's concealed eye.

Mrs. Dalrymple's soft hand had stolen to the front of Corky's trousers 
and was pressing rhythmically against the protuberance she found there. 
In the back of his mind, it occurred to Corky that he really ought to 
do something about that indiscretion, but his attention was too caught 
up in the scene before him to give it much thought. This was a side of 
Beatrice's character that he had not seen before; though his eyes were 
also on a side of Maggie's physique that he had.

 "It's not your bottom, after all, that gets you in such awful 
trouble," Beatrice mused, cupping her sister's plump genitals with one 
hand, "but this rude and greedy little mouth here. Why, even now I do 
believe it's drooling with eagerness."

"No, no!" protested her sister. "It's not that, it's just wuh..." her 
voice trailed off.

"It's just what?"


"It's just William's saliva, you were going to say, weren't you? More 
evidence of your vile lechery!" and she struck her sister's bottom once 

"Anyway, I do'n't believe you. I say you're still deriving lecherous 
satisfaction even from my attempts to correct you," and she pressed 
Maggie's sex open and pushed two fingers inside with a liquid sound. 
Maggie jerked and bucked against Beatrice's hold on her waist, but this 
served merely to agitate the digits within her, whether by accident or 

"Just as I thought--slick all the way up in," Beatrice declared, her 
eyes burning with fierce enthusiasm.

Whatever her initial intent, Maggie was now squirming against her 
sister's invading digits, angling for further penetration of her dewy 

 "What do you think?" Beatrice asked. She withdrew her fingers, 
eliciting a plaintive wail from her agitated sibling, which was 
abruptly cut off when they were thrust into her open mouth.

"Oh, you needn't make such a wry face, " Beatrice scolded her, "this is 
hardly the first time you've tasted your own fluids. In your expert 
opinion, what this flavor--saliva, or the outpourings of overly 
excitable twat?"

Muffled groans were her only reply.

"What's that? You need a larger sample? That can be accommodated."

Maggie gasped for breath as her mouth was vacated, then shrieked as her 
cunny was penetrated once more, followed by a series of staccato yelps 
as her sister thrust her bunched fingers repeatedly into her liquid 
Corky's eyes jumped rapidly between the girls faces--Maggie's eyes 
tightly shut, mouth slack as she succumbed to the sensations washing 
through her, Beatrice's gaze of fierce concentration, biting her plump 
lower lip as she labored away at her sister's inflamed nether parts; 
both faces flushed with emotion as they enacted their drama.

As Maggie's cries increased in volume and timbre, the last one was once 
more cut off as three shining fingers were thrust between her full 
lips.  This time she sucked ardently at the insistent fingers, moaning 
and twisting her hips beseechingly, so that the slack and shining mouth 
of her sex winked between the rosy cheeks of her bottom.

Beatrice attempted to withdraw, but her sister craned her neck, 
retaining her hold as her cheeks hollowed from the suction she was 
exerting on Beatrice's digits. Impatiently, Beatrice gripped her 
sister's hair with her other hand and pulled until she had extricated 
her damp fingers with an audible "pop." Maggie looked up beseechingly 
at her, her chest heaving rapidly.

"This certainly won't do," said Beatrice, her own breath noticeably 
short, "I'm still terribly cross with you, and you're having far too 
good a time. 

"I'll have a better time," panted Maggie, "paying you BACK!" And with 
the last word, she rolled fiercely into her sister, scrambling atop her 
in a veritable flurry of petticoats. In a moment, she had seized 
Beatrice's wrists and pinned her to the bed, straddling her waist with 
a triumphant grin. Beatrice glared fiercely up beneath her.

"Now then," said Maggie, "Shall I spank you first, and then make you 
lick my cunny, or should I do it the other way around?"

"Go ahead and bring your dirty fanny to my mouth, and see what I do 
with it!" Beatrice snarled, baring her teeth.

"Oh dear," Maggie said, batting her eyelashes, "You don't want to taste 
my poor little cunny? Perhaps I'd better go to Mr. Brandywine and have 
him fill it up with his nice creamy spunk for you. I'm sure he'd be 
happy to help us--after all, he seems to appreciate my pretty little 
puss even if--"

Maggie shrieked as a violent tug from Beatrice freed her hands, and the 
two of them were rolling about on the bed once more. After a brief 
struggle, Beatrice ended atop her sister, with one of Maggie's arms 
pinned behind her. Maintaining this hold with one hand, she used the 
other to unfasten Maggie's dress and tug it off of one shoulder as 
Maggie squirmed and whimpered in discomfort. A dexterous switch, some 
more tugging, and Maggie's dress was off both her arms.

Beatrice pulled a sash from the bedside table and bound her sister's 
wrists together in front of her. After inspecting her handiwork for a 
moment, she drew back and coolly watched as Maggie struggled to turn 
over onto her back. Once she had done so, Beatrice roughly pulled her 
into a sitting position, and tugged her gown down about her waist as 
she squirmed futilely

"There," gloated Beatrice, eyeing her sister's nude bosom. "Mother 
always said you were a shiftless girl, and here's the proof of it. Now. 
Clearly, your problem is that you cannot contain your impulses, so I am 
going to help you with that shortcoming in your character.  Place you 
hands on your head."

Maggie just stared at her, her chest heaving.

"Here, like this," Beatrice continued impatiently, and guided her 
sisters arms so that her wrists crossed atop her head. She sat back and 
looked at her appraisingly.  Maggie's soft bare arms trembled a little, 
framing her still flushed and tear-streaked face. Her position revealed 
little tufts of ginger-colored hair beneath her arms, and caused her 
plump breasts to rise, the broad pink nipples puckered in the cool air.

"You do have a lovely bosom," Beatrice mused, taking the soft abundant 
flesh in her hands and kneading at it gently. "Now, keep your hands on 
your head, or else it's back to spanking your bottom. And remember that 
this is for your own improvement." And she kissed her sister lightly on 
the cheek.

"You're dreadful and cruel, Beatrice Dalrymple," Maggie muttered, but 
she didn't move her hands.

Beatrice grinned and took her sister's plump nipples firmly between 
finger and thumb of each hand. "What did you say?"


Beatrice began to pull, stretching the resilient mounds of her sister's 
breasts. "I thought you said something."


She turned her wrists now, twisting the nipples as she tugged at them. 
"Are you sure?" she taunted. "I could have sworn I heard you speak."

 `I do'n't know why you're being so mean," Maggie declared, wincing, "I 
was just having some fun."

"Just having fun, were you?" said Beatrice fiercely, pulling at first 
one nipple, then the other while her sister twisted and whimpered. "And 
are you having fun now?

She released her sister's red and swollen teats. "Are you?" She swung 
one open hand downward so that the fingertips struck her sister's 
breast, eliciting a jerk and a sharp yelp as the resilient flesh 
Maggie was silent, save for her rapid breathing.

"I know how much you like attention; well, you're getting plenty of 
attention now, aren't you?" She slapped at the other breast in the same 
manner, then followed with a series of light back-and-forth blows to 
the sides of her sister's pale bosom. Each impact was met with a 
breathy yelp as Maggie's arms strained with the effort of keeping her 
hands in place in the face of this torment.

At some point, Mrs. Dalrymple had undone the flies of Corky's trousers 
and extracted his straining member. She held it tightly now, stroking 
in a maddeningly slow rhythm that caused Corky to unconsciously 
undulate his hips in a silent plea for her to hasten her movements.

"Your bosom is turning a lovely pink," Beatrice observed. The soft 
globes that she was striking were blushing angrily, but a more delicate 
tone also suffused the upper reaches of Maggie's chest, up to her 
delicate throat. "I think it's high time you gave me pleasure, to repay 
me for the pain you've caused me."

"And what if I do'n't want to?" sniffled Maggie.

Beatrice leaned in close. "Then I shall tie you to the bed, straddle 
your face, and use your wicked mouth for my pleasure whether you like 
it or no," she said in a low tone.

Maggie gasped. "Yes, yes, Beatrice! Force me, please?"

"First you must unfasten me," Beatrice said, turning about. Maggie 
raised her bound hands and dexterously opened the clasps on her 
sister's dress. Beatrice stood and, with her back to the peephole, 
removed her gown, rapidly followed by her stays and chemise. Corky 
beheld for the first time her slim hips and round little bottom, atop 
long legs. With catlike grace, she sprang onto her sister, who 
struggled and squirmed as she tied her hands at the bed's foot, and 
tied each straining foot to a corner of the head, giving Corky 
tantalizing glances of Maggie's ankles and even her calves beneath her 

Gently, Beatrice adjusted her sister's head so that Maggie's unbound 
hair hung to the ground in russet waves. "Are you ready to suck me?" 
Beatrice asked, stroking the line of her sister's jaw. "As you can see, 
I'm dripping with excitement already."

Maggie shook her head and pressed her lips together firmly. Corky saw 
Beatrice press her thumbs against the girl's chin until her jaw was 
reluctantly pried open, her lips slowly parting; and then the view was 
obscured, as Beatrice's slender buttocks blocked the sight of her 
sister's face. Groans and faint gulping noises came from the bound 
sibling, as Beatrice worked her hips slowly, and then faster over 
Maggie's face. 

In the closet, Mrs. Dalrymple removed one hand from gently stirring 
Corky's swollen cods to grip his hair and bring his ear down to her 

"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" she whispered.

He tore his eyes from the bewitching sight in the other room to look at 
her in confusion. She pointed with her chin, and he looked back at the 
two girls in sensual congress.

"Ah," Beatrice murmured to her sister, "your hot mouth feels so good, 
Maggie." She withdrew her hips, and there was a popping sound. "Do you 
want more?"

"Please, please," Maggie whimpered, "I want to feel it in my throat."

Corky's brow furrowed at this puzzling dialogue. Just then Mrs. 
Dalrymple stamped her foot sharply on the ground, and, without pausing 
in her manual ministrations, covered his mouth firmly with her hand. 

At the sound, Beatrice jerked away from her sister, and turned about in 
alarm. "What was that?" she cried.

Corky's cry of surprise at what he saw then was suppressed by the 
cunning widow's fingers. 

"More," begged Maggie, as she writhed sensually in her bonds, her 
bosoms heaving as she twisted one way and the other. A trail of fluid 
ran down one freckled cheek.

Mrs. Dalrymple put her lips to Corky's ear once again. "Isn't her cock 
lovely?" she whispered. "Look it bobbing there, so rigid and slender, 
shiny with Maggie's saliva. Look at her dear little cods, bunched tight 
and eager, between her stockings. Bewitching, isn't she?"

Overcome with emotion Corky, eyes wide, whimpered behind the widow's 
cool little hand. Beatrice's slightly altered angle now allowed him to 
glimpse as she bent her straining cock down and slid it once more into 
her sister's anxious mouth. Groans and gulping noise were once again 
emerging from Maggie's throat, but the lascivious writhing of her torso 
betokened an overwhelming enjoyment of this unnatural union.

Corky's stomach convulsed, and the first spurt of his semen struck the 
thin barrier of the closet with a hollow sound like great drops of 
summer rain on a window. Another followed with similar force as the 
boarder's eyes squeezed shut from the overwhelming sensation. Several 
more spurts of lesser force splattered to the ground before him before 
he slumped to the floor of the closet, quite unconscious.

END Part 6, version A