Alice Marlowe

Chapter One It was dark in the room and Alice couldn’t see the man’s face, but she knew he was there because she saw him for a moment outlined against the window. Then he crossed the room swiftly and laid a hand on her. “No, please,” she cried, though she knew it was in vain. Not again, she thought; oh, God, spare me! The man was strong, brutally so, and one of his hands grabbed her by the hair, pulling her out of the bed and forcing her down onto the floor. With a single movement he ripped her nightdress from her body, then reached out and took hold of her n*****s, pinching and squeezing them most terribly. She screamed but no one came. Instead, she dimly saw the man unbutton himself and take it out, a huge organ, rock hard. She could smell it, rank and pungent. He put it to her mouth and slapped her face viciously. “Open, b***h, and suck it,” he snarled. She was in mortal fear of what might happen if she resisted, and she did as he said, though she all but gagged as he forced himself into her mouth, stopping her screams. He held her tight against his groin. His c**k was huge, and she struggled for air, but he was far too powerful. She was afraid that she might suffocate and she tore at his hands to get free, but to no avail, and then she blacked out. She awoke bathed in sweat. Her hands were tearing at the bedclothes as if still struggling to be free; only gradually did she disengage herself from the nightmare. She lay for a long time, thinking about the images which her dreams dragged up from somewhere deep in her mind. What could it mean? No one had ever threatened her with the outrages that she suffered in her sleep. They corresponded to no reality which she had ever experienced. They were fantasies, no more, no less. But why these fantasies and not others? Why could she not dream of happy things, of flowers and trees and sweet music? And there was something else, something that disturbed her most of all. After the first such nightmare, of a rapist whose face she never saw, but who forced himself into her mouth over and over again, she had lain awake for a while, and then, as was her custom, she sought sleep by relaxing her body. Her hand strayed downwards, under the bed covers, and slowly pulled up her nightgown, right up over her breasts. Gently she stroked her n*****s for a while, then her hand went back down and stroked her belly, and then lower still. She threaded her fingers through the clump of dark curls and touched her cunt. But when she put a finger inside it, she was astonished to find that she was soaking wet. Such a thing had only ever happened when she was aroused; if perhaps she had read something which conjured up a tingle of desire. But now she was wet after a truly terrifying experience, which had half scared her to death. How could this be? Putting her fingers deeper inside herself, she once more felt herself slippery wet. This time she explored further, and found that her clit was swollen. When she touched it, she felt a thrill of desire. How was this possible? Surely there must be something wrong with her if her body responded to such violent dreams with clear evidence of s****l arousal. I must be sick in the head, she thought. She tried to think back to when the nightmares began. It was surely soon after she had accepted Douglas’s offer of marriage. Her initial resolve that she would not marry him, because she had neither a physical attraction to him nor any sentiments of real affection, had finally weakened under the stresses of living at home. The nightmares began the same week and came back at frequent intervals. She tried to keep them from her parents, but her mother heard her cries in the night. The doctor was sent for, who diagnosed nerves. Alice was prescribed a tonic which contained iron. It had no effect. If anything, the nightmares increased in frequency and intensity the closer her marriage approached. Alice lit a candle to dispel the darkness. Some people in the town had gas-lighting, but her father distrusted all modern inventions. He was not only a stick-in-the-mud, but a bully. There was no other way of putting it. He was a clergyman, a priest of the Church of England, and an adherent of one of its most joyless and puritanical movements, so-called Evangelicals, who seemed to have such an influence in the church these days. Alice’s home was a place of gloom, of dreary piousness that sapped all the pleasure out of life. Both Alice and her mother were obliged to wear black dresses every day, with no ornamentation: no bracelets or necklaces, no pretty brooches or pendants. Underneath, her clothing was all white: her shift, her drawers, her petticoats, but always of coarse cotton, never silk. She longed for a corset to display her figure, to push her breasts up and out, to nip in her waist, and a bustle too, defining her bottom, but such things were forbidden. They provoke sensuality and immorality, was her father’s opinion, and no one else’s counted. She saw other girls at church, in brightly coloured dresses, their shapes indicative of tight-laced corsetry reining in waists and accentuating bottoms, as was the style. Alice felt dowdy next to them. She had to wear her hair pulled back severely, then pinned up tightly into a bun at the back. At night in front of her dressing table she would unpin her hair and brush it, looking at the thick glossy, chestnut-coloured locks, wishing she could show it off in the pretty styles other girls adopted. Music too was forbidden, except for hymns. Alice’s reading matter was closely monitored. Novels were strictly outlawed; only religious books and biographies of righteous men were allowed. Alice’s mother loved flowers, but none were allowed in the house on the grounds that they might deflect the mind from religious contemplation. “But flowers come from God,” Alice’s mother had protested. “Only trivial minds are taken with bright colours,” her father had replied. When her mother tried to protest further, there were sharp words. Later, Alice heard the sound of her father’s raised voice coming from the bedroom, and a sudden sound that might have been a slap. Then Alice heard her mother crying. Alice’s father had never raised his hand to her, though once or twice she had feared he might. But nor had he ever offered a father’s hugs of affection, not even when she was a little girl. Nothing she did was ever good enough for him; he seemed to regard her solely as a sinner whose every move must be scrutinised in case it led to further wickedness. She felt oppressed under the heavy weight of his disapproval. When she had been small she had taken refuge in her dolls, telling them elaborate stories like those she read in a book of tales by the Brothers Grimm, a book she kept carefully hidden from her father. When she came to puberty, other kinds of stories interested her. She fantasised about boys, about what their bodies looked like, about what they felt like, about what they wanted to do to girls. But these were the musings of an innocent. Not surprisingly, because of the rigorous nature of the supervision imposed on her, Alice was a later developer. She was educated at home by her parents. Her mother had been well-educated herself and did her best to bring her up to standard. But any kind of instruction in the personal side of life was strictly avoided. However, when Alice reached the age of eighteen, her mother argued that she needed to attend a college for young ladies. “I have taught her all I know,” her mother said to her father. “But that is not enough for a young lady today. She needs professional instruction.” Her father protested that at a school she would pick up ungodly and unclean thoughts from the other girls. Alice was curious to know what such thoughts might be. But eventually her mother prevailed and it was arranged for Alice to go to a tutor for lessons in French and Latin, and another for piano lessons. It was thus that Alice first encountered her friend Charlotte, and it was under Charlotte’s influence that she began to learn things which were not taught by any tutors. After classes, they usually contrived to find time together, even though Alice’s father was of the opinion that chatter, as he called it, was the occupation of idleness. During these intimate conversations, the two girls would exchange confidences, mostly of a s****l nature. Charlotte’s father was a corn merchant, and prosperous. Together with his wife, he guarded Charlotte’s chastity closely. He had plans that she should make a good marriage, to a man of standing, perhaps a landowner; he had no intention of letting her throw herself away on anyone unsuitable. But in order to find a fitting suitor, a certain amount of leeway was necessary, and so on rare occasions she was allowed to a dance, though her mother kept an eagle eye on her throughout. Or tried to. “I was dancing with this boy,” she said breathlessly to Alice one afternoon after classes. “We were doing a waltz, and he got close to me at one point and I could feel him.” “What do you mean, feel him?” Alice demanded. “He pressed against me. I’m sure it was deliberate. And I felt him hard.” “Hard? In what way?” “Oh, Alice,” Charlotte said with a smile, “You are such an innocent! Don’t you know what happens to boys when they get excited?” “What?” said Alice. She didn’t mind confessing to her ignorance if she was going to learn something. “Well, you do know boys have a thing, don’t you?” “Of course,” said Alice witheringly. “Everyone knows that.” “When the boy gets excited, his thing gets longer and it becomes hard.” “And what then?” “What do you think?” “Tell me!” “When it’s hard he can push it up inside you, into your cunt.” Charlotte and Alice had started to use rude words, as a form of rebellion. Alice knew hardly any but Charlotte taught her several. Alice had practised saying the word “cunt”. It sounded deliciously dirty, even more so than “f**k”, another word Charlotte had introduced her to. Alice contemplated what Charlotte had said. She sort of knew what boys did, but she had never had it explained so explicitly. “How big is it?” she asked dubiously. “I’m not sure,” Charlotte admitted. “I haven’t actually seen one. But I think this boy will show me his if I can find a way to be alone with him.” “Oh, I wish I could see it too,” said Alice longingly. “We’ll have to wait,” Charlotte said. By contrast, Alice’s father seemed to have no ambitions for her of a matrimonial nature. He told her that she should study hard with a view to becoming a governess, which he considered one of the few respectable positions open to women. No useful purpose would be served by dances, or any other social engagements. And so, the cultivation of Alice’s s****l life was in the hands of her friend. The two girls began to experiment with m**********n, at first simply rubbing on top of their dresses, between their legs, while describing to each other the sensations this produced. Charlotte made all the running; one day she announced to Alice that at night in bed she had put her hand under her nightgown and rubbed herself naked. “What?” said Alice. “You mean, you know, there?” “Yes,” said Charlotte. “On my cunt. And guess what happened?” “What?’ said Alice, wide-eyed. “It felt so lovely that I just kept doing it, kept rubbing, and then the most amazing feeling came over me, it made me shake and clench my legs together. It was so lovely I just kept going, even though the feeling was so strong I almost couldn’t bear it.” “Show me,” said Alice. “I want to know how to do it.” The girls were taking the long way round to their homes, which led through a wood. Charlotte glanced around to make sure no one was coming, and pulled Alice behind a tree. She lifted Alice’s dress right up and slid her hand down the front of Alice’s drawers, pressing between her legs. Nothing loathe, Alice leaned back against the tree and opened her legs wider. Charlotte’s fingers began to explore, rubbing the lips of Alice’s cunt, then pushing inside. They went in and out and the feeling was so delicious that Alice clung to her friend, her lips against Charlotte’s neck. Then Charlotte moved her hand so that her fingers began to rub on either side of Alice’s clit, an organ which up till that time she had been scarcely aware of.