A Victorian Tale

A Victorian Tale!

Part Three - The Professor!

"Come in, come in," said the Professor.

He must be nearly as old as the Vicar, thought Jennifer upon seeing him, but unlike the Vicar this man smiles and seems quite pleasant.

"Thank you," she gave a curtsey. "I have found something I am hoping you might be able to tell me about."

The study was full of ancient items. In cases and on shelves. Some laid out on cloths on the tables, with scraps of paper next to them. Jennifer knew a little about Greeks and Romans, and the Egyptians were very popular at the moment. But all these items looked very primitive, not the product of the classical civilisations.

"Palaeolithic through to Neolithic," said the Professor, waving at the items. "My speciality. That's a Luddendorf 'Venus' and this is my collection of Mesolithic microliths."

Jennifer looked at the little statuette he indicated. It was lying next to a pile of tiny flint tools. It was in the form of a grossly overweight woman. She was utterly naked with gigantic pendulous breasts, an enormous belly and thick thighs. Her private parts were suggested by simple, but very clever, cuts into the bone material. Her face was blank, with no features, but her hair was well detailed. It looked as if it was plaited and woven close to her skull. Overall the statuette was very sexual, despite her great size, as if she was a goddess of fertility, or perhaps a goddess of plenty. An expression of desire for a future where there was lots to eat and drink, and maybe some sweaty sex. Now why did I add that last thought, she mused?

"We don't know if she represents the goddess, or the shaman priestess who communed with her," admitted the Professor. "Now, what is it you want to show me?"

He had moved from his desk to stand close to Jennifer but she did not feel threatened. He seemed nice. She peeled off her gloves and showed him the ring. He immediately looked very interested.

"Wait," he said. "I need my glass. The old eyes aren't what they used to be."

He fetched a magnifying glass from his desk and, before Jennifer could object, he had taken her hand and brought the glass in close to the ring.

"Hmmm," he said, as Jennifer waited for him to become enamoured of her, to ask her to remove her garments. "You have a rare item here. It's a good thing I wear a Bead of Protection."

"Sorry," Jennifer replied. "What are you wearing!"

"A bead," he laughed. He pulled at a leather thong around his neck and a small, white glass bead, studded with little, black glass dots, came into view. "If I wasn't wearing this then I suspect I would be trying to seduce you right now."

Jennifer looked embarrassed, but she was grateful the ring had not made yet another man fall for her. She wanted answers, not sex. Sex, she thought wickedly, could come later. Then she silently told the ring off for encouraging her to sin.

Then she apologised, in her mind, to the ring. Perhaps it was she who wanted to sin and not it.

"This ring," said the Professor. "Is a Ring of the Shamaness, it is very powerful, though the true extent is not yet fully known. It makes the wearer irresistible to men, and some women I understand. I believe that they were handed from mother to daughter in the temples to the Great Goddess."

"How old is it?" asked Jennifer.

"Maybe four thousand years," replied the Professor. "Possibly much older, they are hard to date out of the context of a dig."

"Gosh, that old!"

"Many of the items here are much older," said the Professor. "She..." he indicated the fat Venus statuette. "... is probably about six thousand years, but there's one in France they believe is sixteen thousand years old. Found with the bones of creatures that have been extinct for a very long time."

He picked up a small ball of stone with ring carvings on it.

"This was found in Towie, in Scotland" he smiled. "I believe it to be about five thousand years old."

"So what was the purpose of my ring?" asked Jennifer. "Other than to make things very complicated when I am around men."

"We might study that together," said the Professor. "But it perhaps ensures that the priestess remains constantly attractive to men so that she can fulfill her role as the earthly representative of the Goddess of Love."

"I don't want to let it go," warned Jennifer, now worried that this man might try to claim it for science. "I'm sorry, but I don't want to give it to the museum."

"I think it would be very foolish to try to take it from you," replied the Professor. "These things have a life, and a purpose, of their own. It would probably object. Are you here just for the day? Are you intending to return home? Where is it that you live anyway?"

"Er... well I am staying in London with my Aunt..."

"No you're not," the Professor replied. "I can see that you're lying. You might be able to fool someone who hasn't worn one of these artifacts, but not me. Tell me the truth."

The ball in his hand glowed softly and Jennifer felt gently compelled to tell her story. It all came out from her early life at the Manor, to the finding of the ring, her father's incest, and the dreadful threat of marriage to the Vicar. At the end of the story the Professor put the stone ball down and sat for a minute.

"Here's what I propose," he said. "You can stay with me. The rent will be something you can easily afford. And I know someone who can give you work. Work that pays well. When you and I have some spare time we can study the ring. Find out what it can do. And, I promise, the secret of your location will be safe with me. Your parents will never be allowed to find you, and drag you back to a forced marriage."

It didn't take Jennifer long to agree. The Professor was almost as old as the Vicar but seemed so much more healthy. In body and mind. She trusted him and his suggestion saved her a lot of effort. She had been wondering where she could live, where she could earn money, and to whom she could go for advice in the big city.

"Agreed," she said. "Why did the stone ball glow?"

"You saw that?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Then you have bonded with the ring to a greater degree than I had expected at this stage. It is beginning to show you things that most people cannot see. A world that, to use the Irish phrase, turned sideways to the sun a long time ago."

That didn't entirely answer Jennifer's question, in fact it rather confused her, but it clearly would have to do for today. The Professor gave no further explanation but bustled about collecting his things together, and then instructed Jennifer to follow him.

--o--

A short walk took them to his house, a rather grand town house over three floors with marble pillars by the entrance, in a street of similar buildings. He lived with two servants, James who was his butler, and Mary who acted as cook and housekeeper. A middle aged married couple who seemed most devoted to their master. And, after a most relaxed dinner, Jennifer plucked up the courage to ask about the work the Professor had considered she was suitable for.

The truth was, like many upper class women, she had some education but no practical skills. She had been raised to become someone's wife. Preferrably a rich someone. Not to have a profession.

"Come and look at these," said the Professor, rising from his chair, his glass of Port in hand.

Jennifer followed him. He was pointing at two photographs on the wall. They had intrigued her throughout the meal but they were too far away from her seat for close examination. Now she was being given the chance.

"My friend, Lucien, does a service for artists," said the Professor. "Rich artists can afford to hire life models to pose for them. But poor artists must make do with friends, illicit lovers, or whores."

"Oh!" Jennifer was a little shocked. Were all artists using illicit lovers and whores to create their beautiful pictures. She would never look the same way at the half naked women again.

"My friend takes photographs suitable for artists to use for their paintings," continued the Professor. "Usually in classic poses. See here we have Odysseus returning to his wife, Penelope."

The photograph showed a muscular man, dressed as a Greek, with a large bronze shield on his back. He carried an enormous bow in one hand and was reaching out to touch his wife. Since he was wearing very little other than the shield Jennifer was grateful that he was turned slightly away from the observer, and the bow was placed where it was. A man away from his wife for twenty years might have a lot of desire to slake.

Penelope was represented by a matronly woman, though one who was very attractive still. She too was wearing Greek style robes that did little to hide the curves of her body. She was looking at her husband with great pleasure, and perhaps her eyes were lowered a little. Modesty, or was she staring at what was concealed by the bow? Jennifer's eyes were drawn to look at the woman's substantial, womanly breasts, one of which was draped with linen, and the other of which was completely exposed. And the man's hand rested upon this part of his wife.

She glanced to the side to see that the Professor was watching her closely, perhaps trying to gauge her reaction to the photograph. She decided she needed to reassure him that she was adventurous and not a shrinking violet.

"It is a good thing your friend did not try to photograph them a short while later, when Odysseus was demanding his conjugal rights," she laughed.

"Perhaps he did," replied the Professor. "And perhaps I could not afford that photograph."

Jennifer looked him in the eyes trying to judge if he was joking, but he seemed serious. He said no more about Odysseus and moved onto the other photograph.

"Leda and Zeus," he declared. "You know the myth, I am sure. A well educated girl such as you."

Indeed Jennifer did know the story. How Zeus descended to earth to seduce Leda, the Spartan queen, in the form of a swan. From this coupling Helen of Troy and Pollux were born, both stars in their own tales.

The photograph showed a young girl, about Jennifer's age she judged. She was completely nude. She was sitting on a chair that had been draped with cloth, many folds spread from it onto the floor. She was sitting sideways to the observer, with one knee raised, and her arm was positioned so as to partially hide her breasts. Her long dark hair was half placed down her back, and half used to cover part of a breast. The pose meant that her private parts were concealed but the pose, and the way she looked out of the frame straight at the viewer, made her look incredibly vulnerable. She doesn't look like a Spartan queen, thought Jennifer, more like a virginal Spartan princess.

The rest of the frame was filled with a large swan. It was placed so that its head and beak were directly in front of the girl's thighs. One lunge forward and that beak would touch her sex. Except that the swan was clearly a stuffed specimen. You could even see the wooden base on which it was mounted. I suppose an artist would simply leave out such a mundane detail, Jennifer thought.

"So," she said. "Artists use these instead of life models. Are you an artist as well as a professor?"

"Me no," he replied. "I saw them in his studio and I just liked them."

"I am very... ordinary," said Jennifer. But then she realised that the mature woman and the girl were quite ordinary too, if you looked closely. These were ordinary women who had agreed to reveal their bodies in the name of art.

"Lucien will be delighted," said the Professor. "You have a special sort of ordinariness that the artistic eye will linger over."

Jennifer thought about the prospect of taking her clothes off before this Lucien fellow, and decided she could cope. She had asked the ring for an adventure. It would be ungrateful to refuse when one appeared before her.

"I will do it," she said.

"Excellent," replied the Professor. "Your bedroom is on the top floor, first door on the right. Get ready for bed because tomorrow will be a busy day. I will be up later, to collect the rent."

--o--

The room was quite nice. Light and airy with a large bed. Jennifer sat at the dresser and prepared to sleep. Then she took the change from her coat and spread the silver and copper coins in a little circle. The Professor had said she could afford the rent. He would surely not ask for one of her sovereigns.

With her nightdress on, and her clothes neatly put away, she sat in the bed and waited. An hour went by, somewhere distant a church clock chimed midnight, shortly followed by the grandfather clock in the hallway downstairs, then the door to her room opened.

"May I enter?" the Professor asked.

"Yes, sir," Jennifer answered.

He was dressed for bed with a long nightshirt that reached down to his knees. He walked over to the bed and sat next to her. Then he lifted his buttocks with a grunt of age and exposed his legs and his manhood. It lay soft and wrinkled.

"Time to pay your rent," he said, in a kindly manner. "This night and every night that you stay. Though you are free to leave any time you like, if you do not like the rental."

He looked at her panicked expression and continued, "Tell me, have you ever given a man relief by the movement of your hands?"

"No, sir," Jennifer answered.

"Then do as I say and all will be well. You will pick up the method quite quickly."

Under his instructions she grasped his limp member and started to rub. She stroked up and down its length, and watched as it started to swell and grow. He placed one of her hands underneath the fleshy sack below his manhood, and encouraged her to grasp his length with the other. To do this she was obliged to kneel up and he gently pushed the straps of her nightdress down onto her arms. Then he tugged at the collar of the nightdress, loosening the ties, and slid the whole top of the garment down. It crested her breasts like the sea foam flows over the rocks on the seashore at Bridlington. And settled under her bosom.

Jennifer glanced down at her breasts, her nipples were taut and, somehow, her bosom seemed a little bigger tonight. Less flat and uninteresting. But that was silly, they cannot have grown in such a short time, she thought. It must be the passion that makes them larger.

Now the professor's manhood was standing upright. It had become hard and hot and he was breathing deeply and with considerable emotion. He did not touch her, his hands - now that he had exposed her breasts - were by his side, but he used commands to direct her.

She learned to go faster, and slower, to push up until the ring made by her thumb and forefinger pressed against the underside of the mushroom shaped head and to drag down until her hand nestled in his ginger pubic hairs. She could see the veins that ran over the member and the skin, so wrinkled originally, had become taut and shining.

"Aaaah," sighed the Professor. "You are a quick learner."

"Thank you, Professor," she replied.

"Now we conclude," he grinned.

She stopped.

"Ah no," he smiled at her. "I had a different conclusion in my mind."

Jennifer was puzzled and could not help showing it.

"Take hold, point my manhood at my chest a little, and put your other hand near the head, palm upwards. Then stroke vigorously."

She shuffled on the bed as she followed his instructions. Then started to stroke.

"Faster," he said.

She speeded up.

"Faster," he said.

She went even faster.

"Faster!!"

"But will I not hurt you?" she asked.

"No, no, do it. Do it!!!"

Jennifer rubbed away as fast as she could and then the Professor gave a profound groan and a white creamy something was splashing into her hand. She could feel the pumping action in his manhood as each load spurted out. And she cupped her hand to avoid spilling any on the bed. Was this seeding, she wondered? Was this how a man's seed reached a woman's womb? And what would it feel like when this happened inside you?

"Oh oh oh," she gasped as it all spilled out.

"Uh uh uh" he grunted, then gave a sigh. "Are you brave?"

His question startled her. It wasn't what she was expecting him to say. Rather something about how nice it had been, and perhaps a thank you. She sat with her hand on his now limp manhood and the other cupping a pool of seed, and thought.

"I would like to think I am, sir" she finally replied.

"Then drink it," the Professor replied.

She looked around for a glass to put it in.

"No dear," said the Professor kindly. "Lap it up, like a little kitty."

Jennifer had seen kittens in Manor grounds and she bent her head and started to lap. It tasted strange, salty, slightly sticky.

"It will not make you with child," the Professor reassured her. "Not eaten like this. But they say it has many beneficial properties. Makes the skin stay healthy and firm, and they say it increases the energy for life."

Jennifer finished her handful, licked her lips, and wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"I think I will call you Kitty when we do this," said the Professor. "If that does not upset you. Your debt for today is paid. I enjoyed it greatly. Have a good sleep... Kitty."

Jennifer lowered the wick in the oil lamp and drifted off to sleep, contented.

--o--

The next day, after an excellent breakfast, Jennifer was walking arm in arm with the Professor to see his friend Lucien. They will think me his granddaughter, she decided, watching the expressions on the faces of the passers-by. And, just so long as they don't know what I did for 'grandfather' last night, I will have their respect.

The bed had been comfortable and her sleep deep, only disturbed once by a strange dream. In her dream she was lying on her back on a bed of furs. And she was different. She had giant, pendulous breasts and a large belly. Her thighs were similarly huge and she lay with her legs spread wide. Up to this bed, one by one, came men dressed in animal skins. Which they threw aside and knelt between her legs, thrusting away at her sex, each man followed by the next.

In the dream she was experiencing climax after climax, just as she had under the Conductor's fingers, then the thrusting of the men was accompanied by the chuff chuff of the steam engine and they went faster and faster in imitation of the pistons. Her belly jiggled and her breasts swayed as they pounded away and... then she was awake and it was morning.

What an unusual dream, she thought. Perhaps it was suggested to my mind by the Professor tallking about that little statue of the fat priestess.

Lucien lived in an apartment block and the Professor gave a cheery wave to the porter on the door. Then it was up two flights of stairs and into a reception area. There was a middle aged lady sat there who looked up at the Professor and smiled.

"He is interviewing a model, dear Professor," she said. "But I am sure he will see you and your companion. Especially if the young lady is looking for work. Please go through."

The Professor opened the door and he and Jennifer passed through a small chamber with two doors, It seemed arranged to deaden sound. As the Professor turned the handle, and opened the inner door a fraction, a voice could be heard.

"Oh yes dear," it said. "That's excellent. You have done this before, haven't you."

The Professor clearly recognised the voice.

"That's Lucien," he said to Jennifer. "And if that sign is there then we can go in." He pointed up at a sign by the door that said 'Photography in Progress. No Entry'. It had been put on a hook at the side, out of the way, but there was also a hook to hang it on the door. "You first my dear," he gestured to Jennifer.

Lucien was sitting on a chaise with his trousers around his ankles and with a young girl using her mouth to give him pleasure. Jennifer nearly bumped into her, and stopped abruptly, then was pushed forward again when the Professor came in. She ended up right next to the girl so got a good look, both at her, and at what she was doing.