The Daughter of Fanny Hill

The Daughter of Fanny Hill




For more than 200 years, the world has loved Fanny Hill, the beautiful, bawdy courtesan whose amorous adventures in the half-world of 18th-century London have shocked and delighted tens of millions of readers. Now Fanny is at long last vividly reincarnated in the person of her only child, an artful adventuress whose assault on the hot-blooded bucks of Merrie England is matched only by theirs upon this damsel who couldn't say no!



Publié par
Date de parution 07 janvier 2013
Nombre de lectures 56
EAN13 9781608728619
Licence : Tous droits réservés
Langue English

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Considerable speculation still surrounds the authorship ofDaughter of Fanny Hill. The is It known that following the publication of Fanny Hill, and the resultant scandals and legal suits that resulted from the printing and public distribution of that now acknowledged classic, John Cleland, the author, in return for a small pension agreed never to take pen in hand again in such an endeavor. It is well known that, fortunately for literature, John Cleland did not keep to that agreement. Several works exist that, while they do not bear his signature, are nevertheless unmistakably of his authorship. AboutThe Daughter of Fanny Hill,no two scholars agree. Some insist that it is in truth from the pen of John Cleland, while others just as stoutly maintain that it was turned out by some other writer in the wake of the success of its forerunner,Fanny Hill. Certainly the work, irrespective of whether or not it is actually from the talented pen of John Cleland, can stand on its own merits as a classic, however long neglected. It is an accurate portrayal of the manners and morals of one of the most bawdy periods in England’s social history, reflecting the atmosphere of a time that permitted such infamous groups as the notorious Hell Fire Club not only to flourish more or less openly but to number among the members persons of high repute and noble birth. And the book, itself, shows the same graceful touch that marked the pages ofFanny Hill. Up to now, for one reason or another, the circulation ofDaughter of Fanny Hill The  has been limited to the select and fortunate few. This edition, the first of two volumes—for there is yet another depicting the further adventures of the talented offspring of the world’s most famous courtesan—marks its first publication in English in modern times.
Dear Madame: Having just been advised, and in a manner most round about and curious, of your continued existence and station in life, I am but most anxious to establish communication with you. I hesitate, however, to do this in person and without prior warning of my intentions, well knowing as I must considering the circumstances of my own up-bringing and my youthful environment, of your own background and manner of life and the achieving of such status in society as you now enjoy. I hasten at the very beginning of these lengthy epistles, to assure you, Madame, that I bear you no bitterness in my thoughts nor malice for having deserted me at such a tender age, while still a puling infant. Much to the contrary. In fact, I was most proudful and understandably pleased when recently I was informed that beyond peradventure I was indeed the daughter of the famous and by many most envied Fanny Hill. You should know, Madame, that for long your name and reputation, the latter quite possibly exaggerated and made more colourful in the retelling, have long been held in the highest esteem in the brothels and bagnios of London, particularly in the most select establishments of those catering only to the nobility. I have, during my own not inconsiderable, experiences since becoming a practicing whore, heard from many of high quality and position, not excluding that of the highest in the land, which exalted gentleman I encountered not once but several times at the country establishment of Lord Rochester, of your practiced arts. You have, if I may say so, Madame, without your thinking me guilty of unbecoming flattery, been a most enviable example for an ambitious daughter, and I think I may say without conceit that I am indeed ambitious to better myself in the profession in which circumstances and fate have placed me. So much by way of an introduction. I should imagine—perchance I should say that I am most hopeful— that you are anxious to learn the circumstances of my early and formative years since you left me to the tender mercies of Kate Dugan, in her brothel in Soho at a time when fortune seemed to have deserted you. If later you sought, as I have heard, to discover my whereabouts, it is a small wonder that you met with no success, for Kate Dugan, too, came upon hard times, due largely, so I have been informed, to allowing her clients to be most shamefully robbed and exploited. This grievous state of affairs resulted from her rarely being in command of her full senses, being besotted by strong drink, and she died later a drunkard’s death and was buried in a common pauper’s grave. This addiction to strong drink, I am happy to state, is a vice to which I have never been prone, believing that drunkenness is not suitable for a lady’s proper comportment. I have always believed that the minor vices should be most carefully eschewed by those of our particular profession, and have so conducted myself. In that respect, Madame, you may be quite certain that I have done nothing to bring shame on your name. Following Mistress Kate’s untimely demise, I was, so I am told, shunted about for a time until at last I came to a certain permanence in the brothel of Madame Berkley. It is here that my earliest recollections begin. I was most well provided for, and even coddled, though allowed no idle time for the mischief which I understand is common to most children and makes them a burden to their elders. Further, at a most tender age I was privy to the ways in which gentlemen found their pleasures with girls, so that nothing was to come as a surprise or a shock to me in later years. As is befitting for a child who is at the same time an orphan, with her own way to later make in the world, I was set at an early age to doing needful tasks about the establishment. I was indeed fortunate to find myself in a place such as Madame Berkley’s which deserved its established reputation for superiority, not only in its appointments but in the type and variety of the doxies there employed. I might well have found myself in one of the tawdry dives
peopled by drunken sluts not worthy of hire by any but the most sordid of riffraff, scum from the gutters who cared not where or how or with whom they found release for their animal passions. Madame Berkley, as doubtless you are aware, maintained one of the most elegant of brothels, many of the gentlemen who were certainly in a position to judge even claiming that it surpassed the fashionable establishment of Mrs. Charlotte Hayes. I have heard it told often enough that in many of the brothels of London the girls were kept therein by force, or if not by force then by the most horrible of threats. This, I am most happy to say, was not true at Madame Berkley’s. She rivaled Mrs. Hayes in her treatment of the girls working for her. Each one had her own private apartment, well and tastefully furnished. Each one, too, had her own body servant, a post which I occupied during my tender years before I had matured enough to actively enter the trade. Two of the young ladies who were great favorites with Madame Berkley, as well with the gentlemen who visited the establishment with regularity, had small Negro boys whom they dressed in oriental costume as body servants. Needless to say when times were idle there was considerable play of a most intimate nature with these small ebony attendants. I, myself, once was severely reprimanded by Madame Berkley when she apprehended me intimately investigating one of these black urchins. I explained to her that I was only curious to discover whether or not they possessed the same make of manhood as that I had so often seen displayed by the clients of the establishment when perchance, as quite often happened, I entered one of the bedrooms while it was being put to most active use. Madame Berkley was always most forceful during those short years before I reached the tender age of 13 in impressing upon me how carefully I should guard my virginity. It was, she consistently reminded me, my one asset of tangible value in coin of the realm. “The sooner you rid yourself of your innocence, the better,” she often told me. “To my mind innocence is on a par with ignorance, and both are a liability to any woman with her way to make in the world. Your virginity, my child, is quite another matter. That is something tangible that can readily be detected by anyone in a position to investigate. It is of value, for today there are numerous gentlemen of wealth who will readily pay a goodly sum to be the first to possess a young virgin. So at the very start of your career, when it does begin, you will receive a most extravagant sum for an hour or so of your services. Whether or not you ever again receive a like sum for pleasuring some man will depend entirely on what talents in that direction you may develop. Some very few in our profession have gone on to wealth and high position, but far more have ended in the gutters due entirely to their own sloth and lack of ambition.” Young as I was then, I knew that much of what she was telling me was the truth. It was indeed true that there was an unprecedented demand for young virgins, and there were constant rumors of the kidnapping of tender young maidens throughout the length and breadth of England to supply this demand. According to the talk in Madame Berkley’s, young virgins from the poorer classes fetched as much as 15 or 20 pounds in the average brothel and it was said that many of these kidnappings were not in truth such but instead the work of parents overburdened with children and only too eager to exchange one for coin of the realm and at the same time rid themselves of one more mouth to feed. Girls from the better classes, more carefully and delicately reared, often fetched as much as 100 pounds. So widespread had this trade become, with the young virgins offered for sale of an increasingly tender age, that Parliament had but recently passed a law forbidding girls to become prostitutes until they had completed their 12th year. That was why Madame Berkley was so insistent that I guard myself. It was no easy thing to do for I began to develop at quite a tender age. My breasts began to take shape when I was only slightly past my 10th year; where once they had only been indicated by pinkish brown nipples they began to acquire a form and substance of their own. I watched them as closely as a gardener watching budding fruit, impatient for the day when
they would be ripe enough to take to the market place. Like a miser pawing over gold pieces I even counted the first silken tendrils of curling hair that were to mark both my womanhood and its center of attraction. Yet though I retained the physical aspects of my maidenhood and maidenhead, I was by no means unversed in various other forms of such pleasures as are best enjoyed in bed. Some of these pleasures I was introduced to by Jenny, a vivacious young girl who was only my elder by 3 years. Jenny was just passing her 14th year when she arrived at Madame Berkley’s, brought hence by one of Madame’s panderers from a small village in Devonshire. Whatever other qualities she possessed, and some she had in considerable abundance, innocence could not be numbered among them. She was most well practised in the various ways of pleasuring both herself and others, and what she knew not from previous experience she was most eager to learn. Indeed, she enjoyed her work far too much to quite suit Madame Berkley, who more than once had to admonish her for her carefree manners. “To be a good whore is a serious business and not to be taken lightly,” Madame would tell her sternly after Jenny had been caught in some flighty caprice. “Mark me well, young lass, you will come to no good end if you continue such self-centered behavior. You are not here to enjoy yourself but to please others.” “But if it pleases me over-much to please others, what then?” Jenny demanded pertly. “You will wear yourself out before your time,” Madame told her. “La!” Jenny said afterwards to me. “What matter how soon I grow old if I enjoy myself while doing so?” As she had not yet reached that point in her profession where she was deemed worthy of having her own private quarters—being still an apprentice on probation, so to speak—Jenny shared a bed with me in a small room on the topmost floor. It was an arrangement that proved most pleasant for us both. It enabled me to satisfy certain curiosities that had plagued me increasingly, and also provided us the opportunity to indulge and experiment in various private ways. As I have previously mentioned, I was yet to be relieved of what the poets refer to as a pearl without price—a most poetic fancy that is without merit, for the only reason my precious little maidenhead was being guarded so zealously by the good Madame Berkley was that it indeed had a price and one that she intended to make most dear. But while I waited, and at times most impatiently, for that moment of barter, I was not unnaturally beset with much curiosity as to exactly what my own physical reactions would be. True, I was no stranger to the spectacle of the act, for nigh since I could remember I had been privy to the sight of gentlemen disporting themselves with various doxies of the establishment whilst I was in and out of the rooms on sundry chores. I had, truth to tell, been more than a wee bit puzzled by the wide disparity with which Nature had seen fit to equip gentlemen in what they seemed quite often to regard as the most important portion of their body; in short, the lance between their legs with which they entered into amorous battle, a battle in which they only seemed to win when at last their weapon was rendered temporarily useless and without power. I had seen a most astounding variety of these weapons—from puny, shriveled little things that I thought me could scarce tickle one’s privy parts, let alone serve to thrust within, to giant purple crowned shafts as big around as my wrist and of horrendous length and I was most puzzled to learn how they might be safely encompassed within any female not herself of gross proportions. The thoughts of one day having such a massive member thrusting impudently at my precious cunny sent little shivers through me, but whether of fear or expectation of another sort I would not care to say. I spoke of my apprehensions and concern to Jenny one night whilst we were dallying in bed postponing sleep.
“Did ever you have to service a gentleman so extravagantly equipped?” I queried. “It must be, indeed, a most painful experience.” “‘Tis nothing,” Jenny said, one hand reaching to the hem of my shift and moving it upwards over my body. “Nothing of pain, I quite assure you.” “But how can you say that!” I protested. “I know what I have seen with my own two eyes and I have observed gentlemen with shafts the length of which I could not span with my two hands. Surely such a monstrous horn if thrust in your front must come out your bumhole, leaving you spitted like a piglet prepared for roasting over the coals.” Jenny giggled, her clever little fingers beginning to stroke lightly between my legs, around and about and over that very spot that we were now in part discussing. “In truth, there is a brief moment of pain at the first entry but it is quickly forgotten in the pleasure that follows. And size means nothing, my curious Nellie. It has been well said that the smallest little treasure chest, small as the one I am fondling, can conquer and hide the largest lance ever man did sport.” I shivered at the thought. “It may be as you say, but I find it most hard to believe.” “Only hope that you always find it hard!” Jenny giggled again. “But if the thought frets you overmuch I can prepare the way for you now.” And her finger prodded the tender crevice between my legs. “God forfend!” I cried out, twisting quickly about in the narrow bed. “You know right well, Jenny, that Madame is most firm that I should guard well my maidenhead. It will fetch a pretty price when at last it is put on the market.” “And if Madame follows her usual practise she will sell it at least a dozen times.” “How can that be?” I demanded. “I can lose it but once, and I have not heard that it grows back again like hair when it is shorn.” “La! but you have much to learn! It is not what you possess, in the way of virginity, that is important but what gentlemen can be led to believe that you possess. There are more ways than one of pretending a maidenhead that is long since gone. Even such a simple thing as vinegar or a solution of alum properly applied can pucker you most tightly, more than sufficient to cozen most swordsmen storming your maidenly portals.” “Most curious,” I murmured. “Most curious, indeed.” My attention wandered, for once again Jenny’s fingers had commenced to tickle me, hovering lightly as a butterfly over that sensitive little parting still but faintly concealed by silken tendrils, sending ripples of exquisite pleasure through my body, causing me to squirm in eager anticipation for the warm flood of release I had learned from previous submission to Jenny’s skilled caresses would shortly come. I whispered, “Kiss my titties, Jenny dear, as you did before. Kiss them most hard...” “More than that I will kiss,” Jenny promised. “But only if you do likewise with me.” “I will,” I managed to say between little gasps of delight. “I will, Jenny dear. Only do it quickly, for the love of God. Quickly, quickly...”
Dear Madame:
In my earlier, and first, epistle I was writing you to apprise you of the circumstances of my early years but ‘ere I could continue on for more than a few introductory pages events of such complex and unforeseen nature intruded that for a time I was uncertain of what my future might be or if indeed I would live to have one. But of that I shall write in its proper place in this chronicle, rather than skip about like a bedbug on a hot mattress, or as some say like a crab in a hair thicket. Suffice to say that since last I took pen in hand I have found myself in surroundings both high and low and with such a variety of experiences as even you, honored Madame, would find it difficult to believe.
When last I was engaged in setting down my history for your perusal I was still in full possession of my virginity, at least in body if not in mind. But it was not to be thus for long. I had passed the legal age at which it is now permitted that a young female may without hindrance of the law enter the profession of whoredom, and there was no longer need of hesitance.
It was simply a matter of Madame Berkley finding the best offer for my preciously guarded maidenhead and then striking a bargain. In my youthful dreams I had hoped that when this long awaited event took place the instrument of my deflowering would be one of the young and handsome gentlemen who frequented the establishment. More often than not I had feasted my young eyes on the stalwart body of this one or that one when I chanced in one of the occupied rooms with a ewer of warm water or fresh hand linen. With such a one, I often mused, any momentary hurt would be well worth the joy that must most certainly follow.
Madame Berkley quickly disabused me, dashing these innocent hopes to the ground.
“Would that it were so, child,” she told me when I broached the subject. “Unfortunately, life is not so arranged. Those gentlemen—at least, such of those as most often frequent establishments the like of this—who are favored by Nature with comely looks and healthy bodies are not overly burdened with coin of the realm. Many, truth to tell, are hard press’d to meet the price of a night of pleasure, as I have far too many chits to show. It is the old and oftimes ugly who have the gold with which to indulge their flagging passions and a good thing it is for the likes of us.”
Without knowing it, and certainly quite without intention for such would not have been seemly, she must have made a sour face.
“Don’t let your thoughts dwell on it,” Madame Berkley advised. “I assure you that there are far worse things in life than servicing the old and ugly, most particularly when they can pay well for that service. You are most fortunate, child, never to have known dire poverty. An empty belly would willingly lay with the ugliest ogre on earth for a crust of bread to fill it.”
It was but a few days after this conversation that Madame Berkley sought me out, coming herself to my little top floor room, followed by her personal blackamoor serving boy. The latter carried an armful of clothes which he placed most carefully over a chair and then stood back, waiting his mistress’s further orders.
“I have good news for you, Nellie,” Madame Berkley informed me. “At last someone has offered what I consider a suitable price to be the first to savour your innocent charms.”
“So soon?” I could only stammer.
“So soon, indeed!” Madame Berkley said bruskly. “It is high time that you were settled down to business. I had nigh given up hopes of ever getting the price which I consider you worthy of. It is 25 guineas, and that is not to be sneezed at.”


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