A VICTORIAN ROLE-PLAY

I had imagined that I would write about this role play session in another letter from the Victorian Uncle of dubious morals I had created but, now I sit down to think about all the wonderful, kinky things that happened, I can’t quite create the distance from it that would be required to once again inhabit that remote, forbidding caricature.

It’s not that we didn’t carry through the role play; we dipped in and out of it all evening, but I felt the session, like all our sessions; was an interchange between Lilly and I, not between two characters we had created. The devious Uncle Wackford was there, yet somehow not fully there.

Lilly took my breath away when I saw her, her beautiful multi layered Victorian dress, the way she had done her hair, the absence of makeup and earrings for authenticity, the boots, the gloves – she really was a perfectly Victorian young lady sent to London to be disciplined by her cruel relation. I was really touched by the effort she had put into the preparation for our evening together; so much thought, so much care.

When we went up to the hotel room to drop her bag off, I showed her the bundle of birch twigs I had brought and had her tie them into a punishment implement with three pieces of red ribbon. I found myself turned on by her reaction to the dense hardness of the twigs and their stingy bite as she tapped them experimentally onto her palm.

Dinner was fun, the setting perfect, a period dining room with displays of butterflies in bell jars; it couldn’t have been more Victorian.

At first I felt exposed and faintly ridiculous in my green frock-coat but that faded as I concentrated on Lilly and on the light but delicious meal we ordered.

As we came nearer to going upstairs her nervousness grew, showing itself in uneasy glances and movements. This wasn’t role play at all; this really was Lilly, who is no hardened professional submissive, fully aware of what we were going to do immediately after dinner;  nervous, excited, tense. I was fascinated by the change in her, erotically excited by it, in truth. I was nervous myself also, nervous like I’m always nervous when I’m about to hurt someone for fun. I feel it’s good to be nervous about that.

Slowly lifting the filmy layers of her dress one by one as she lay over my knee, until only her thin cotton bloomers remained, was beyond hot, an act full of erotic intent and delicious anticipation, perhaps for both of us. I spanked her slowly over the bloomers, only gradually building the pressure, enjoying her beautiful reactions. When the bloomers inevitably came down, her perfect bottom was a deep, rosy red. In true ‘traditional discipline’ style I made her stand in a corner of the room afterwards, the weight of the dress against the now sensitive skin of her well smacked backside.

I took her by surprise with the riding crop, making her hold her hands out for three swats on each palm, my steady, challenging gaze connecting with her fear of it before each blow. I bent her over a table, leaning on her elbows, while I smacked her behind with the heart shaped end of the crop. Had I perhaps broken role as I stroked my fingers over her clitoris and slid in and out of her wetness until she came, or was I still Uncle Wackford, taking advantage of his pretty companion? I pushed her hard onto the table as her orgasm approached, dominating her, making her submit to my will. Such hotness.

We drank Champagne and chatted for a while, taking our time to get to the birch. My earlier post with the videos tells how beautiful a vision this presented, what beautiful sounds accompanied it. If I have ever been part of a hotter, more perfectly kinky vignette, then it must have been a very long tome ago.

Fellow blogger and friend, Marie Rebel had it spot-on in her comment:

Her beautiful rounded ass, slightly reddened, the birch against it, and the deep red and the frills to contrast the former. It’s just stunning!

Lilly, allowed to control both the pace and the duration of the session, was brave and strong and wonderful, taking herself deep into the experience. Her “Thank You, Sir,” asking for the next stroke, was sometimes immediate, defiant and bold; at other times anguished, hesitant and afraid. I varied the intensity of the strokes accordingly, holding back or pushing forward, testing where her limits might be and holding her there for five or six strokes at the end. It was a beautiful thing to a be part of, as Lilly immersed herself in the sensations and challenged her own tolerence of them.

The sex that followed was vigorous and prolonged, her bent over the bed, dress pulled up and drawers long discarded, me with the front of my Victorian trousers unbuttoned to release the erection that had been pushing against the coarse material for at least half an hour.

 

I’m not always like this, not with Lilly, but I took her like I owned her, pushing her onto the bed and driving into her relentlessly, sometimes reaching round to stroke her clitoris. She came at least twice, it might have been three times. Then, once I had the sensation numbing condom off, she helped me to my own shaking, gasping release with her pretty mouth and her delicate hands.

There was more later; more sex, more intimacy, more kissing and touching. It was quite an evening, it really was; both for Uncle Wackford AND for me.

Lilly is wonderful; so giving and intimate and lacking in artifice; so brave and daring and open. To spend time with her, especially in this type of extended session, where we dive deep down the rabbit hole together, is such a joyous thing to do.

Perhaps I was kind to old ladies in a previous life; perhaps I’m going to be kind to old ladies in the next; whatever the reason, I know I’m very, very lucky in this one.

 

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