Bonnie Bluebella Pennydreadfuls

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Bonnie Bluebellas Pennydreadfuls

Bonnie Bluebella’s

Penny Dreadfuls


Aneika adamson

1st Issue. 17.10.2021



The year is 1827 and, I, Bonnie Bluebella, live in London.  Of course, that is not the given name at my birth, but it really does serve my purpose, for a few reasons.  Nor are my origins in London but the great city of Edinburgh.

Whilst Edinburgh holds my soul, my trade requires, shall we say, a wider more open-minded audience.  In Edinburgh the Presbyterians are afraid to shag standing up, primarily I believe that this might lead to dancing and that act might in fact place a smile upon their faces, which of course would never do.  Although that said all that pent up sexuality must find an out somewhere.

London, however, has more of an ease to it, sex is everywhere here and quite openly so. There is also a harshness to be faced here, never, under any circumstances, allow yourself to fall into poverty.  For if you do you will be trampled under foot without a backwards glance. Thus, when you arrive you must be able to hit the ground running, before you resemble the bodies that stumble around and whose souls have already clearly departed, the rest is just a matter of time.  On that basis always have a plan, recognise your worth and hold out before you sell out.  Always consider exactly what it is you must sell, I mean if you hold a Persian rather than a moggy the price will be more, however, some moggies, have incredible skill and thus may still move up the money-making ladder, regardless.  Skill can make so much difference, and skills can be taught, unlike beauty you do not have to be born with these. 

That’s why to begin with a good tutor is essential.

I sought my tutor out carefully, and with the assistance of my family, although blissfully they were unaware of that, at the time.  The Church played quite the part in my early life.  I listened to those chaste sermons from the black clad Ministers, standing high in their pulpits, who preached of the sins of the flesh, of the devilment in lust, and I knew they indeed protested too much. 

My own, dear, Minister, a widower in his early 40’s, was vigorous in his views from the pulpit.  George Campbell liked to gaze at me with his steely blue eyes when preaching on such matters. 


My Father was keen for me to take heed of these sermons, particularly given his desire for me for to find a husband, and soon.

I had no wish to become a wife.  That was five years ago, and in 1822, wife was really another word for slave, for being owned.  I wanted to live, and in freedom regardless of the cost.  Given the restrictions on women’s movements, I required to be a clever cat when it came to acquiring the skills required for liberty. 

It was I, myself who suggested that Minister George Campbell tutor me himself following his Sunday sermons, on the deeper meaning of what he had preached that day.  All was agreed without much fuss at all.  The Minister thought this a good idea, what a surprise.  I arrived at his Manse directly after church to be greeted by his housemaid.  The housemaid showed me into the sitting room of his well-furnished home.  A home I thought rather opulent for a Minister.  A man whose tastes were clearly for luxury and not the austerity of which he preached the values of. 

I had chosen the correct underwear of fine lace and ribbons, George would indeed enjoy these, particularly under the cover of my high necked plain black dress.  The maid set about delivering a tea tray for which the table was already dressed.  As she did so, Minister Campbell entered the room, almost like an avenging angel.  Full black overcoat, which he had worn in the pulpit that very morn.  Oh, George had worked himself up, obviously with the good intentions of saving me from the devil’s intentions.

Minister Campbell dismissed the maid, telling her that that would be all for the day.  I had no doubt of his intentions and whilst a feeling of caution slipped over me, the situation was one entirely and deliberately of my own making, the excitement of which was quite euphoric. 

Once the maid was gone, I feyned a fainting fit, which of course meant that George as part of his Christian duty, would have to assist me remove some of my very tight-fitting clothing.  Of course, this would only be to allow me to catch me breath, corsets are so restricting. 


George was eager but steady handed, he had clearly stripped many a woman before me.  The desire in his eyes was clear, for although a man could buy his pleasure from many places throughout Edinburgh, a healthy, clean, young, and willing specimen was indeed a treat. 

As he eagerly unlaced my corset and had achieved halfway, he could not resist the temptation of starting to push his hand between my thighs, between my legs and inside of me.  His sighs of pleasure when he found me wet and waiting and then he looked at me and said, “you like that don’t you”.  Quickly overcome by need he started to pull at more of my corset, licking and sucking my breasts.  Pulling me into a lying position on the couch, quite mad with passion, George was pushing his face between my legs and licking me, his entire mouth loving me.  And oh, how the pleasure and thrill moved through me.  Now I knew what George was feeling and as he moved on top of me, I understood the type of instinctive beast I held between my legs and how I was indeed on the correct path.

Moments after George lifted me non too gently onto my hands and knees, pulling me over his knee skirts pulled up, examining me like a lion may a lamb, and then smacked me, “you naughty, naughty girl, I am indeed going to have to take you in hand and you will do as you are told, do you understand”?  “Yes Minister” I replied, George liked obedience, he liked to be in charge.  I could do that I thought, but obviously not for too long because it was me who were in charge, not George, but what a fun game.


Submitted: September 28, 2022

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