The Beautiful Orphan

by realoldbill

Copyright© 2014 by realoldbill

Sex Story: A lovely young woman left destitute by her parents' death finds a way to survive and, eventually, prosper.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft   Reluctant   Heterosexual   Oral Sex   .

My secretary-receptionist and current sex slave, the delicious and multi-orgasmic Mona, showed the lovely girl in and licked her lips, tasting what I had deposited in her sucking mouth only a few minutes ago, our morning ritual. The girl flipped her long skirt aside and sat primly, hands in lap, smiling demurely. She was very young and very pretty, unspoiled was the word that came to mind. I did not discover her true age until much later.

"What can I do for you, young lady?" I asked politely while my evil mind undressed her and spread her long legs. I felt my well-sucked cock tremble. She had a fine set of very upright jugs.

"I'm am Jocelyn Matilda Kimberly, the late Lord and Lady Kimberly's only child and, I hope, heir. I'm called Tilda, and I hope you can help me. My father's friend, Lord Charles Morris recommended you after the funeral." She ptodiced a small handkerchief and blotted her eyes, beautiful blue eyes I noted. Her long, braided hair was cornsilk gold.

I smiled, Morris and I belong to the same branch of the Hellfire Club and had shared the randy trollop or two in our time as well as a multitude of fine wines. If he knew this lovely girl, I'm sure he thought of boarding her. I surely was. Bouncing on her soft belly was my immediate goal, and the sooner the better of course. My well-satisfied male member quivered.

"I read of your parents' accident, my dear. I'm very sorry, terrible thing. They were fine people."

She nodded. "But now my uncle has taken everything, sir, including my father's title and has all but thrown me out of my home."

"Seems hardly fair. Steven Albert Kimberly, right, home in Chester Square? Rotten borough, all that sort of thing, barrister I believe."

She nodded. "Yes, that's him and his foul wife is a terror, a termagant." She fumbled in her small reticule and produced a tiny ring with a large pale stone. "I have no money, but I can give you this." She reached across my desk displaying her fine pair of pale breasts in a lacy shirtwaist blouse and handed it to me and then sat back and blinked, obviously tightly corseted, worse the luck. Mona sometimes wore a waist cincher and had several satin costumes for when we had time to play games.

I looked at the ring and discovered a very fine opal. It was, if real, quite valuable "It was my mother's," she said as a tear coursed down her plump cheek. "She gave it to me. I wore it often."

"Lovely," I said, meaning both the ring and the girl. I put it in my vest pocket.

"I have no resources, sir, no money at all. A friend brought me down this morning. My uncle has everything, and he hates me, wants me gone. His sons have, have, well, they offered to take me as a whore, a mistress, to let me stay in a wing of my home while they use my body." She sniffed and whimpered.

I leaned back and smiled, feeling my cock surging as I considered my words. "But you are rich, my dear, you are young and beautiful."

She nodded. "Yes, so I've been told. I had many suitors until recently, scores, honestly."

"And now?"

"I have no dowry, nothing to bring to my husband, so, well, as far as I can tell, no one wants me." She licked her lips and lifted her firm chin. "Except as a plaything."

I laughed. "You are wrong, very wrong. Many would want you, hundreds, and would pay to be with you, to look at you, to make love to you, to watch you perform, to pet you, kiss you, lick you."

"I don't understand." She shook her head tossing golden curls. My cock swelled and jerked. I pictured her spread and impaled, writhing, snapping her hair across her lovely face as I lanced her.

"On the stage, my dear. I am sure you have seen them. Many women perform you know, in the theater, sing and play and dance."

"Oh, I couldn't." She blushed prettily. "Never."

"I suspect you could. It's much better than starving. Are you a virgin?" I asked as blandly as I could, as if I were asking if she was left-handed.

She blinked at me and nodded.

"Well then, your maidenhead has value, perhaps hundreds of pounds. I'm not sure." I had heard rumors of one that sold for a thousand, but the girl did not survive the manner of its taking. "Did you know that?"

She shuddered. "You'd sell my body? My virtue, my maidenhead itself?"

I smiled and nodded. "Indeed, well, rent it out, if the price were proper." I paused and licked my lips and smiled. "With your permission, of course. Your virginity might well support you for a year or so, depends on your decision of course."

"That's terrible, ghastly." She trembled. "Bartering my innocence."

"Starvation and penury are terrible. Hunger makes men, makes people, men and women, do strange things."

"But won't you help me, perhaps just my mother's clothes and jewelry. I know her property became my father's when they wed."

"Oh course. Stand up, please and take off your jacket."

She stood, looking puzzled, and wiggled it off, showing that she wore a set of small but tightly laced stays, just a waist-pincher beneath her pleated blouse. Her form was perfect, fine straight back and handsome prow. I longed to see and seize= her young nipples.

"Lift your skirt to the knee."

She displayed a long, shapely leg in silk.

"Thank you, I will be in touch. I assume you are still at the manor house."

She nodded and left, red faced, small kerchief to her face.

I dined with Morris at my club, and we discussed the girl.

"Damn shame. Wasn't enough left to bury. The train had smashed right through their carriage, horse flesh mixed with human I fear. Interred what we could scrape together."

"Yes, but Tilda. We have her. She thinks of you as a friend. And she's surely a ripe one, ready to be plucked." I lifted a questioning eyebrow.

He smiled.

"She claims to be a virgin. What's a cherry worth these days?'

"Finch paid a wad so they say, some claim it was all in gold."

"Ah, but he's a fool. How can we use this little beauty, eh?"

"Black Mass perhaps, public deflowering, sell tickets, one of those huge, African studs, that sort of thing. You know the members would pay, pay very well to share her treasures. We could auction all three orifices I suppose."

"Hm, rather do it myself. This should be a long-term venture, right? She's very young; we could enjoy her for years."

"Indeed." He produced a coin, flipped it in the air and smacked it to the table. "Call it for her cherry," he said with a smile.

I said heads and he lost, cursed and urged me to enjoy myself. I made some inquires that afternoon and visited Lord Kimberly's fine, stone mansion in Mayfair the next morning. The girl floated down the stairs in a light gown and sat with me in the library, looking crestfallen, morose but her dress clinging and very stylish.

Before we could start her uncle came in, shook my hand and said he wished to be shut of her. "Perhaps you can find her a position, nurse maid, that sort of thing," he suggested. "Put her in service. She's just decorative here, useless unless she's willing to fall on her back and spread her legs. My boys have suggested that, you know."

"She wishes to have her mother's possessions, furs, clothes, jewelry, books; you know the kind of thing."

"Out of the question," was his quick response. "My women have divided up what was worthwhile and discarded the rest, given to charity I believe. Gone anyway."

"Pity," I said, avoiding the girl's teary-eyed gaze.

He smiled. "Take her with you. She's not wanted here. She may remove from her own room what fits in one small bag, no more. Understand, girl? Just underclothes, frills." he demanded. He handed me some paper money. "Here, rent her a room. My wife is sick of seeing her."

So ten minutes later, carrying her one bag, Tilda left with me, and we rode back to my digs. I handed her over to my housekeeper and went to work.

I put her maidenhead on the market through the usual network of girl-child devourers and perverts and soon was getting anxious bids by messenger. When I went to the club, the highest was for five-hundred sterling for all three apatures. I told Morris who offered seven-fifty with a smile. "Noon tomorrow," I told him, "bidding closes."

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