Chapter 1 – I describe my life before my ill-fated marriage

My downfall has been so complete that it is hard to know what to write.  However I am minded that this tale must begin somewhere.  I was born Caroline Adamson, 36 years ago in London, the daughter of a merchant dealing in furs and wood from the Baltic. It was a comfortable if unexciting childhood marked by occasional fights with my older brother and the usual struggles that mark relationships between mothers and daughters.

I grew up to look very like my mother, perhaps even more attractive, with a mass of chestnut hair, matching eyes and a pale complexion together with a good womanly shape.  I have always known that my looks are my fortune, in the same way that my brother’s lie in his ability to calculate a profit and loss and to strike a good bargain.

In my seventeenth year I met and fell head over heels in love with a dashing and handsome captain in the Royal Artillery.  He came from a good family, the Devernes, in Shropshire, near Ludlow, but he, as the third son, had been packed off to serve the King and gain glory for the family in that fashion.  His parents hardly approved of a merchant’s daughter but, as there was little chance of his inheriting the family estates, he was allowed his way. We married as soon as we could in decency and for the first time in my life I was with a man. I know it is decorous to maintain that a woman is put upon by a man’s base urges but this is a foolishness.  It was enjoyable from the very first time and I would be a liar to pretend otherwise. Within two months I was pregnant.

My husband was stationed to the Indies to command a battery at Kingston in Jamaica.  It was as good a posting as we could have hoped for; we had at least avoided some of the worst places, though Canada would have been better.  I did not go with him immediately as I was pregnant.  The plan was that I should join him as soon as the baby and I could make the voyage.  Instead I was a widow, for he caught a fever on the crossing and was dead before he ever reached the Caribbean.

Without his pay I had no way of maintaining even a small house and had to accept the offer from his parents to live with them at their estate. The journey to Ludlow was gruelling as I was quite far gone by then and my welcome there was a little cool. But it was better than staying in London at my parents’ house. I named my daughter Georgina after the father she would never know.

Relations at the Devernes were never good, perhaps they would have been better had I delivered a male child. They could not in decency expel us but my Georgina and I would always be unwelcome guests. So when my mourning had been decently observed I accepted an offer of marriage from another local landowner, Mr Welbeck, who had a fine estate nearby at Deepwell Hall. 

My new husband was almost 40 years older than my then nineteen years.  His first wife had been unable to have children and I think he saw me as his last chance to have a son and heir. Otherwise the estate would pass to a distant cousin. I most obviously could have children. But maybe the problem was on his side for although we tried assiduously it never came to pass. Had I been more calculating I might have taken a lover and so got with child and passed it off as his. But by the time I considered this it would have been clear to one and all.  By then my husband knew where the fault lay.  Our always intermittent sexual relations had tailed away to nothing.

When he died on a cold November night I was once again without resources despite our near sixteen years of marriage. My daughter was away at a young ladies establishment in Dorchester so I did not even have her support when the Welbeck cousin came to take possession of Deepwell. He could not of course turn me out there and then as I was the grieving widow, but it was made clear that there was no question of my staying long.  Having agreed to move away by the end of January I had nowhere to turn except my brother in London.  He would have to take me in, though his wife cordially loathed me for having lived in a gentleman’s house in the country while she was a merchant’s wife in London. After a cheerless Christmas I was packing what few things were clearly mine and not the estate’s under the cousin’s watchful presence when I had a visitor: Sir Thomas Dalrymple.

Sir Thomas Dalrymple, Bart., had a large estate north and west of Ludlow, hard over on the Shropshire border, at the foot of the Welsh mountains. The estate had been in his family for centuries and they had fended of Welsh invaders when that country had been an independent principality. It comprised three valleys running down from the mountains; the northern and southern of these were narrow with poor land fit only for sheep, but the central one was broad and lush and the family had bred horses and cattle there for many years. However in that northern valley some forty years ago was found an entire mountain made of the ores of copper. This transformed the fortunes of the family from merely prosperous to distinctly wealthy. The water from the mountains powered the stamp mills and ore crushers. And the completion of the new canal ten years back now meant that the refined copper could be efficiently shipped to the coast where it is so much in demand for sheathing His Majesty’s ships in their struggles with Bonaparte.

Sir Thomas’ father completed the magnificent new mansion, Hirst Hall, in the style of Palladio a score years back and the family abandoned the fortified manor house that had been the family seat since the fifteenth century. My late husband and I had stayed at the new house once not long after Sir Thomas had inherited and it was truly impressive, both in scale and luxury as well as its setting with the Welsh mountains rising in the distance.

I had met Sir Thomas and his then wife as frequently as one might expect for other county families. She was small, elfin and pretty in a noticeably Welsh way and a little older than me.  They had stayed at Deepwell twice and we had met up at the Ludlow Assembly Rooms on occasion. Sir Thomas was tall, dark and handsome in a faintly lupine way. Now in his forties, he had the air of a man one should not cross. I knew he was also a widower, his wife having died in childbirth nearly two years back failing to bring his third son into the world.

And now he stood here in the drawing room at Deepwell and asked me quite forcefully to be his new wife. I was momentarily speechless.

“And do you have an answer for me?  It is after all a fairly simple question.” He sounded brusque but he was smiling in his wolfish way.

“I do not know what to say, Sir Thomas, you have caught me by surprise.” But of course I was dissembling; there was only one answer possible. ‘No’ would mean returning to my brother’s house and living on his charity.  It would also mean Georgina marrying some merchant’s son if she were lucky, far from the life she had led in her childhood. ‘Yes’ would make me mistress of Hirst Hall and I would be Lady Dalrymple. My daughter’s future would be assured.

“Let me explain my reasoning to you then, perhaps I will help you decide. You have always been a most beautiful woman and I believe you are lovelier now than ever. You have run Deepwell in an entirely competent manner and have a reputation as a fair and kind mistress. You are known to have never cheated on your late husband despite the great age difference and his growing infirmity. In short you are a most admirable lady and, despite the impropriety of asking so soon after your bereavement, I want you for my own.”

It was irresistible. “Yes, Sir Thomas, I will be your wife.”

Chapter 2 – Sir Thomas and I celebrate our wedding day

My acceptance changed my status in an instant.  The surly cousin of my late husband became charming and solicitous.  He offered Deepwell as my home until the wedding date.  I accepted with good grace as, although Hirst Hall and the Dalrymple estates were a ways north, we would still be forced to be county neighbours.  The date was set for three weeks hence, the minimum time to have the banns read.  Sir Thomas had left immediately after my acceptance, taking just a kiss as the seal on our bargain. I would not see him again till our wedding day in Ludlow. I wrote to him as to the arrangements and he asked for a simple ceremony and a luncheon for our guests to follow, then we would take the carriage to Hirst Hall arriving there after nightfall.  I might have wished for something more sumptuous, but I supposed that it was not the first wedding for either of us.  There would be time for a proper celebration when the season turned.  My daughter was to stay in Dorchester.  She was not due to return till her schooling finished in the summer. I thought of asking her to make the journey but the roads had been so appalling this wet winter that it was out of the question.  I even feared the carriage would not get us to Hirst Hall.

Sir Thomas did agree that I might take my maid with me to my new home. Rose had been with me for five years, having joined the household soon after turning sixteen.  She was a sweet girl with a creamy complexion and flaxen hair.  I adored the way she was always cheerful and eager to please. She, like me, was excited to imagine what our new life was to be: such a big house, so many staff.  At Deepwell we had eighteen staff all told, including stables and ground staff.  At Hirst Hall there were nearly sixty.  And I was to be mistress over all.

On the morning of the wedding there was a light dusting of snow and the weather was icy cold.  I was grateful for it meant the carriage could make its way to Ludlow over the now half-frozen mud that seemed to fill each road. The ceremony was at St Laurence for those that could brave the roads and weather as well as those that lived in the town. Afterwards we went to the Feathers Inn and had a fine wedding feast. But by two in the afternoon it was time to set out for it would be six hours driving across these bad roads to reach the Hall.

I insisted that Rose should travel in the coach with Sir Thomas and me.  He was not entirely happy but gave in with a good grace that I thought augured well.  I just could not bear the thought of the poor girl sitting up there on the box next to the coachman all the way back to our new home. And so I sat next to my husband while she faced across from us. I had taken a few glasses of wine and despite the rough state of the way I dozed for some time.

When I awoke we had passed Church Stretton where we left the main road to Shrewsbury and we wound past Long Mynd up into the wilds.  Occasionally off to our right I caught sight of the new canal and its barges laden with our ore. We ate a little dinner in the carriage as it was so late. Eventually we came down off the hills into the valley that held our destination. A little after eight in the evening we passed the gatehouse into the parkland and onto the long carriageway leading up to my new home.

The Hall blazed with light, I assumed that Sir Thomas had ordered every candle and lamp lit to welcome me. I was impressed; it was bigger and even more beautiful than I had remembered. As the coach approached I saw the staff rushing to line up under the portico. There were dozens: groundsmen, stable boys, footmen, maids, kitchen staff and more besides.

“Everyone indoors!” commanded my husband as we passed up the steps and into the hallway. “It is too cold for presentations outside today.”

I was swept into the great entrance hall with Rose behind me and looked back to see the coachman ordering the stable lads to unload my trunks from the back and roof of the carriage.  The outdoor staff were quickly leaving and the indoor staff were returning to the house. The hall before me was two storeys high and all marble and had a magnificent fireplace full of blazing logs.  I was grateful for the warmth as the coach had become quite cold despite the rugs and blankets it was equipped with.

As the door closed Sir Thomas said, “Welcome to your new home, Lady Caroline!”

I smiled lovingly back at him, pleased beyond all measure.

“And now, my dear, I should like you to undress so that I may admire your beautiful body.”

I froze. For a moment I thought I had misheard him. There were four footmen, the butler and housekeeper still in the hallway with us, not to mention Rose.

“Sir Thomas, this is hardly the place! Let us go to our bedchamber.” I could feel myself blushing a deep crimson hue.  I am not a prude, but one does not speak this way before the servants.

“On the contrary, wife, this is the very place. Undress immediately! Your maid may help you.” No one had moved and all were staring at me, even the footmen. Rose looked aghast.

“I will not! Come let us go to bed, where this is more seemly.” I felt tears of rage and humiliation welling in my eyes.

“Ah well, if you will not entertain us, perhaps your maid can. George, Hugh, David, have at her!”

Three of the footmen seized poor Rose and flung her to the marble floor. She struggled and screamed.  I tried to go to her aid but my husband held my wrist in a ferocious grip. Soon her skirts were flung up, her legs parted and her undergarments shredded. I could not believe that this was happening in the hallway of my own home. They were all mad. One of the footmen undid his breaches and lowered his body onto poor Rose.

“No!” I screamed but it made no difference. He entered her roughly and she wailed in despair.

“Virgin?” Sir Thomas enquired, almost conversationally.

“Not any more, Sir Thomas, not any more,” grunted the footman.

Horrified I watched as he raped my poor maid while the other two held her down.  Rose was sobbing and begging and pleading.

“Please Ma’am, please.  Make them stop. Please!”

But I could do nothing except weep. All present, even the housekeeper watched the spectacle with some interest. After several minutes the man groaned and shoved himself into Rose to his fullest extent, clearly climaxing inside her ravaged body. He pulled back and stood up rearranging his breaches. The poor girl lay there with legs still spread and his semen oozing from her, mixed with her own virgin’s blood. Slowly she rolled to her side and lay there sobbing her heart out.

“Now, my dear, perhaps you would be so kind as to undress so that we may admire your body. Or would you prefer that George has his turn now on the young slut.”

“No!  Please Ma’am, please don’t let him!” Rose was trying to rise off the floor.

I had no choice.  I was in no doubt that the threat would be carried out and I could not let poor Rose suffer further.  But how could I shame myself in this way?  It was beyond all reason.

“I... I will, husband. But not here, please not here. Not with the servants.”

“Mrs. Jones, is the drawing room warmed?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas,” said the housekeeper, opening a door on the west side of the hall.

“This way, my dear,” said my spouse, dragging me towards it. “Your maid can help you. Bring her!”

The poor thing was tugged to her feet and pulled along in our wake. The drawing room was as luxurious as I had remembered it.  When we were inside he dismissed the footmen and butler leaving just Mrs. Jones and Rose with us.

“Rose, undress your mistress. Now”

“Please ask her to leave.  Please, husband.”

“Mrs. Jones has seen enough naked women, my dear. Now get on with it or I shall order the men back in and they can give Rosie here another ride.”

Rose wailed, rushed over to me and began to unto my dress, my gorgeous wedding gown in cream satin and lace.  She was clearly cowed into absolute obedience. My husband sat before us in a chair and Mrs. Jones passed him a glass of Madeira. God, how I could have done with that.

“Please, may I have a glass?” I tried to sound meek, though I was furious and terrified at the same time.

“When you are quite naked, wife.”

Rose was taking my clothes off as fast as she could. My gown tumbled to the floor, followed by my corsets.  She tugged my chemise off over my head and I frantically covered my breasts with my hands and arms. I felt her undoing my drawers and then pulling them down. I had to move my legs apart a fraction to let her do so. I dropped one hand down to shield my sex while the other remained covering my bosom.

“Thank you Rosie, you may leave on her stockings,” said Sir Thomas, waving at my fine stockings with their blue garters which my maid was already beginning to undo.

“Step out of your gown and put your hands by your sides.  Obey me, woman!”

Slowly and reluctantly I stepped from the pile of discarded garments, which Rose promptly tidied away onto a chair. I dropped my hands blushing even more scarlet than I had ever thought possible. Mrs. Jones came over and passed me a glass of the sweet, strong wine. I gulped at it. Its warmth exploded into my stomach and I shivered.

I know that I have a fine figure. My breasts are now fuller and sag a little more than when I was a girl, but they do not droop. My waist is not the trim eighteen inches (in my corset) it was when I first married, but it is yet a mere twenty-two which is less than most other women my age. My bottom is still quite firm as I ride every day unless the weather is entirely inclement. And my bush is the same colour as the rest of my chestnut hair and is neither sparse nor overly dense as I know some women have.  I am proud of myself and would enjoy showing it to my new husband were we alone in a bedchamber.

“Turn, my dear, I want to see all of you.”

I obeyed. He had me stop so that he could admire the view from different angles. I was made to parade around the room like a prize filly at the horse fair. I could not stop tears running down my face. I was grateful when my glass was refilled.

“I do believe you are even lusher than I had imagined. What do you think Mrs. Jones?”

“Very nice, Sir Thomas. An exquisite form.”

“Come stand here by the fire. Now Mrs. Jones is going to invite the indoors staff in to be presented to you. I expect you to greet them properly as the mistress of the house. Mrs. Jones, recharge her glass.”

All my blushing returned. It could not be permitted. I had to stop him. I made as if to the door but where could I go?

“No!  Please!  I cannot, it isn’t possible.”

“You will, my dear, you will.  You will do it with a measure of decorum or I shall ask two of the footmen to stand either side of you and hold you.  If that doesn’t work then Rosie here will have to suffer.”

“No!  Ma’am, please don’t let him.  Please do it...” The girl had been very quiet trying not to be noticed but was now desperate with fear once more.

What choice did I have?  I went to stand before the fire and took a sip from my once more full glass.  The strong wine was beginning to have an effect on me, taking a little of the keen edge from my utter humiliation. My husband placed his chair next to me, sat down and nodded to the housekeeper.

Mrs. Jones opened the door and gave a signal. Soon the staff began to appear and formed a line. I could see some of them trying to stifle leers and giggles. Then it began.  As each man, woman, girl or boy stepped forward the housekeeper introduced them.

“Lady Caroline, may I present Mr. Edwards, the butler.”  The older man who had been in the hallway stepped forward.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Caroline.”  He gave a little bow which allowed his eyes to travel all over my exposed body.

“My pleasure, Mr. Edwards,” I replied, trying to hide the trembling in my voice.

“Lady Caroline, may I present Hugh, footman.” The man who had raped Rose stepped forward.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Caroline.”  Bow and faint leer.

“My pleasure, Hugh,” I replied through gritted teeth.

“Lady Caroline, may I present Mrs. Shepherd, the cook.” A thin, hard-looking woman in her forties stepped forward. I remembered the saying about never hiring a thin cook.

“Pleased to meet you, Lady Caroline.”  She could not keep the disapproval out of her voice.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Shepherd,” I replied as sweetly as I could manage.

And so it continued through more than two dozen staff, each one eying my blatant nudity. Maids curtseyed and tried not to look wide-eyed.  What must they think of a woman so presented?  I kept taking little sips of my wine. The scullery maids could not have been more than fifteen years old.  Finally it ended with a young lad.

“Lady Caroline, may I present Dai, our boot boy.” The boy stared at me quite amazed and not able to hide his interest.

“P... pleased to meet you, Lady Caroline.”  His eyes were fixed on my bush.

“My pleasure, Dai,” the sight of the bulge in his crotch would have been amusing had I not been so dreadfully exposed.

And then it was over.  The four of us were alone again in the room.

“Time for bed, I rather think,” said my husband. “I hope my wife is itching to consummate our marriage. I know that I am!  Mrs. Jones, will you show Rosie to her place?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas. We will just extinguish the candles. Help me girl.”

My spouse placed his hand on my naked behind and steered me towards the door to the hallway. I moved submissively. What other choice did I have? I wanted to comfort poor Rose but that was impossible. I could only submit for now.

In the hallway all was now dark excepting the glow of the banked fire and two candles in candlesticks on the sideboard, left there so that we could guide ourselves to the bedchamber. Sir Thomas took one and the other was left for Mrs. Jones. He continued to move me in the required direction with that strong warm hand on my posterior. We ascended wordlessly through the darkened house and all too soon we were at his bedchamber.

Inside the room was warm and still brightly lit, presumably on his orders.  My eyes were immediately drawn to the large bed with a fantastic ornate carved and gilded headboard. It was the subject of the myriad carvings that made me gasp for, while they were all taken from classical mythology, it was not your usual scene. In the centre was a monstrously priapic Pan, surrounded by admiring nymphs all touching or, in two cases, kissing his member. There was Leda and the Swan but with the poor queen being well and truly taken by her avian lover. On the other side was Europa and the bull but with the put-upon princess receiving the bull in a most unlikely manner. Everywhere there were dryads and nereids, nymphs and satyrs, even centaurs all in wild bacchanalian congress. It was the most perverse thing I had ever laid eyes on.

“Do you like my bed? I had the headpiece made in Venice to my specification and shipped here as a present for my wife to celebrate the birth of our first son. It took so long to carve and ship that it only arrived as she was bearing our second.  You can examine it in detail tomorrow in the daylight. Now that we are alone, you may undress me.”

With that he turned me to face him and, swallowing deeply, I began in my task. I divested him of jacket, tie and shirt revealing his chest to be strongly muscled and covered in black hair. The resemblance to a wolf was even more pronounced. Shivering I began to unbutton his breaches and undergarment. I began to tug them loose and down but he leant on my shoulders and forced me to my knees. I tried not to look as I pulled his garments down below his knees but, freed from its confines, his member sprang forth into the warm open air of the room. I let out an involuntary gasp as it banged into my cheek before I could pull my head away. It was bigger than my first husband’s and much, much larger than my second’s.

“I trust it meets with her ladyship’s approval,” he laughed as he pulled me back to my feet.

I gulped but could say nothing. In truth I did not know what to reply. As he turned to lead me to bed I first caught sight of the portrait hanging above the mantelpiece. I had not noticed it when I entered the bedchamber as my eyes had been drawn to the bed as we entered the chamber. There was hanging the most magnificent life-sized oil painting of Sir Thomas’ first wife, Lady Anne, my predecessor. She was standing facing the viewer, wearing riding boots and nothing else. One leg was slightly cocked by raising her heel and this showed the details of her womanly parts as her bush was as entirely absent as if in a classical sculpture. One hand was on her hip while the other cupped one of her small, high breasts. Her lips were red and slightly parted.  The overall effect was of a woman about my own age but unafraid of showing her most intimate self.  It had clearly been painted in the park surrounding the hall as the facade of the main building could be seen in the distance. I was stunned not just by the subject but by the quality of the work.

“Fine, isn’t it? That painter, Thomas Lawrence, painted it when he came up to do the Devernes family.  He was a bit short financially and was happy to do a set of portraits of my wife.  One hangs in the Yellow Salon and is quite formal, this is the second and maybe one day I will show you the third.  It is more risqué.”

At the shock of this picture I finally broke down, sitting on the bed and sobbing my heart out in complete despair.  I could not take any more. But if I thought this would stop my husband I was mistaken.

He began to kiss me, first my tear-streaked face and then my lips.  I felt his mouth travelling down to my neck and a little later to my breasts. When his lips closed on my nipple and his fingers travelled to my bush, and beyond, I lost control. I was overwhelmed by feelings of sudden ferocity and unimaginable intensity. Shuddering, I creamed right there and then in his hand.

He lowered me to the bed, parted my legs and took me with no more ado. He was big and I had not had a man in more than ten years, but I was so ready for him that I felt only a little discomfort. He was very good at the business and soon I was giving out little cries as my second crisis rose over me.  His was almost simultaneous but if I had expected him to roll off me at that point I was mistaken.

“God, you are hot, you little minx. Once is definitely not going to take the edge off this.”

With that he began to move again, opening my legs further so that he could force his entire self into my body.  It began slowly and this time it took longer; I would be lying if I pretended that I was not a very willing participant. My third climax was perhaps less intense than the first two but seemed to last for minutes until my lover joined me.

As I fell asleep in the crook of his arm I could not help thinking: ‘what do I do now?’

Chapter 3 – I am presented again

I awoke early the next morning and lay still in the bed recalling where I was. My husband’s warm body was lying next to mine under the covers and the room was cold. A little winter’s light was coming around the drapes. Then I realised what had woken me. The chambermaid had crept into the room and quiet as a mouse was relaying the fire and gentling prodding it back to life. Servants are trained to do this without waking their betters and had I been used to the house I should probably have slept through it. I coughed quietly and when she looked over I beckoned her to me.

“Where is my chamber?” I whispered to her, trying not to wake my husband.

She nodded towards the door to one side of the bed, clearly we had adjoining rooms.

“Find Rose and tell her to draw me a bath there.” She girl nodded and then her eyes widened suddenly as she looked over my shoulder. I guessed that Sir Thomas was now awake. She fled back to the hallway.

“A bath, in the morning?” I turned to see him propped up on an elbow with his wolfish grin on.

“Yes, it is my custom.”  I should explain that while the English bathe at best once a week and then usually in the evenings, I am not entirely English. My father met my mother while travelling in the Baltic as a young merchant and while I have inherited his colouring (for she was fair of skin and hair) I have taken from her Swedish notions of cleanliness.

“Very well then. It will take her a little while to have the bath and water brought up from the kitchens and so we have time together.” He reached a hand out to cup a breast.

“No, sir!” I uttered quickly.

“No?  I am not used to ‘no’.” I could well imagine that he wasn’t.

“No, I must...  I must pass water.” My bladder really was most awfully full.

“Oh, is that all? Go ahead then.”

I slid out of bed onto the cool mahogany floor and reached under the bed for the chamber pot. Looking back I saw him still watching me on his elbow.

“Look away sir, please.”

“No, I like watching you.” And so I squatted with my back to him and in the half-light I immodestly let my water flow. I had no choice really, I was that desperate.  I stood, covered the pot and made towards the nightstand to wash myself.

“Pull back the drapes, my dear.” I crossed to the two windows and one after the other pulled back the heavy drapes and opened the shutters. I view was breathtaking; our rooms looked out over the west facade of the house looking towards the distant Welsh mountains. Before me was arranged a formal terrace with parterres and paving. Beyond the rolling parkland laid out by ‘Capability’ Brown when the house had been built. Artfully designed to look natural it was in fact almost completely artificial, even down to the lake off to one side in the near distance.

I went and washed myself at all times keeping my back modestly to my husband. When I turned he had a distinctly hungry look in his eyes. I returned to the warm bed and slid in next to him. Immediately he was kissing me and when his fingers slid down to my sex his hand stopped for a moment and pulled mine over to his member before returning to its own explorations. He was dreadfully hard and very big. Was he even larger than the previous evening? It certainly seemed that way.  There was no denying that I wanted him and cooperated fully when he moved above me. Our lovemaking went on for a long time and I climaxed twice under his ardent attentions. Finally his seed boiled into me and I collapsed in a state of lassitude onto the pillow. Looking up I noticed that right above my head was a satyr rutting a nymph from behind in perpetual congress.

“What happens now?” I asked quietly.

“Breakfast will be waiting downstairs. I must go over to the mills, where a new crusher is being built.  I shall not be back till late afternoon. You must see Mrs. Jones and discuss the ordering of the house with her.  She is very competent but will want your direction.” While saying this he had slid from the bed and stood in his powerful nakedness passing his water forcefully into his pot. I could not help staring at the size of him even as the liquid flowed. I blushed at my own brazenness.

“But... but how can I run the house when they have all seen me naked?” I could feel tears suddenly in my eyes.

“Ah, is that your concern? The entire staff have been ordered to treat you with all the respect due to Lady Dalrymple, unless it is specifically against one of my own instructions. Failure to do so will lead to a flogging in the first instance and dismissal with neither pay nor references in the second.” And with that he strode towards the door in the far side of the room beyond the mantelpiece and that portrait.

For a few minutes I laid there in bed staying at Lady Anne trying to read what she must have been thinking from the look on her face.  She looked to have been about the same age as I was now when the painting was done. Then, quite nude, I went through the door to my own rooms.

Rose was there holding out a light robe for me to slip on. As I did so I stopped and stared.  What was she wearing? I had expected her to be wearing a maid’s uniform: grey woollen dress with white petticoats, high of neck and decent of cut. Hers was none of the above except that it was made of grey wool. Her dress ended at the knees, leaving her calves quite bare and showing scandalously her ankle boots. The sleeves were entire absent leaving her arms entirely uncovered. Perhaps worst of all the dress had a very low décolletage, leaving almost half of her breasts on display, the cut of the dress pushing them up alarmingly. Only her maid’s cap was completely normal. She blushed as I stared.

“What are you wearing Rose?”

“My uniform, Lady Caroline.”

“You cannot wear that, it’s indecent. You look like a whore.” The poor thing burst into tears at this. I felt so foolish, how could I have said that?  I moved to hold her and comfort her but she backed away.

“No, Lady Caroline.  I must wear this until I have shown them I am obedient.  There is no other way.” She looked at me fiercely through her tears.

“Oh God, Rose, I am so sorry. We must get out of this place.”

“No, Ma’am, that is not possible. You might manage it; I know you are a good horsewoman. I cannot even ride.  And if you leave I will be flogged hourly until you return.”

Flogged?  Hourly?  My head swam.  Surely not?  But if they had been willing to rape her in my sight then perhaps...

“Ma’am, you must obey them.  Please? Or we will both suffer.  They have promised it.  Now you must bathe quickly.  Sir Thomas will be expecting you at breakfast.”

I needed time to think so I lowered myself into the hot bath before the fire and began soaping myself.  It gave me time to look round the room. It was the mirror image to the one I had slept in but lacked the headboard and instead of Lady Anne there hung a picture of Leda and the Swan.  At least in this one the bird was not actually penetrating the queen as on the headboard next door. Here the bird nestled between her legs and stretched its long muscled neck up to between her breasts while she leaned forward to kiss it. The artist was unmistakeably Rembrandt and the effect undeniably to stimulate the baser senses.

As Rose dressed me I mused on a way forward but none appeared clear.  Soon I was ready to face the house.

“Have my bath, Rose.”  It had long been our custom that she would have my lukewarm bathwater when I was done.  It kept her clean and I preferred my maid not to smell.  I knew she enjoyed it too.

“No, Ma’am. Not today.”

“I insist, you must want one after your travelling and last night...”

“No, Ma’am.”

“I insist! Right now!” And I began to move towards her

“All right, Ma’am. I will.” And she reached back to unbutton her dress. As it fell to the floor I understood her reluctance to disrobe.  She was wearing no undergarments at all.

“They have given you no drawers?  How can they?” She began weeping again.

“No Ma’am. I will be given them if I have been obedient for a week.  Please Ma’am, don’t fight them, I do not want to be hurt again.” I was furious but impotent.

“I shall speak to Mrs. Jones. But I shall not fight them till I have a plan for us both. I promise you this: they will not hurt you again.” I saw the bruising round her thighs where she had resisted Hugh. “Are you alright, I mean is it the wrong time of the month, could he have...?”  I could not find the right words.

“Mrs. Shepherd gave me some drink with herbs, Ma’am. It will stop me conceiving.”

“But that is an old wives’ tale.”

“Not at all, Ma’am. It’s well known in these parts.  How do you think Lady Anne didn’t have any children after those first boys?”

I had wondered how she had had two boys, now thirteen and fourteen (and away at Winchester college) and then no other children for so long. “But she died in childbirth...”

“Yes Ma’am. She took it for years, every month, but when she turned forty she thought she was no longer able to have children so she stopped and then became pregnant.  And it won’t help you after it begins.”

I left wondering if it were possible and, if it were, would I want to take some.

After breakfast I spent the day with Mrs. Jones inspecting every inch of my new domain. Each member of staff including the housekeeper treated me with the utmost respect and after a while I began to relax. It was the most magnificent residence.  In the Yellow Salon was the formal portrait of Lady Anne to match the informal one upstairs. The painting was done from exactly the same spot as the nude but here her ladyship was in an elegant, scarlet riding habit.  Her stance was also exactly the same except that the left hand instead of cupping a breast was holding a riding crop. No one having seen the upstairs one could not see this one and not think of its pair.  I wondered where the third one was, the ‘risqué’ one.  I had by now seen the entire house except for Sir Thomas’ dressing room; Mrs. Jones informed me that only James, Sir Thomas’ valet, was allowed in there. I remembered a diffident looking young man from the night before. This one forbidden place and the matter of my maid’s clothing were the only matters where Mrs Jones did not defer to my wishes as they would in those instances conflict with my husband’s.

In the late afternoon Sir Thomas returned from the mills and promptly summoned me to meet him in the entrance hall.  I went with a sense of dread, which heightened when I saw Rose and Mrs. Jones with him. Rose was ordered to undress me and hurried to obey even as I was about to protest. Remembering my promise to her I stifled my words and acquiesced in being stripped. When I was quite naked and standing before the fire so that I would not freeze, the doors were opened and the presentation of the new mistress to the outdoor staff took place. There were perhaps three dozen of them, all men: gardeners, groundsmen, gamekeepers, grooms and stable boys, even the coachmen from yesterday. It seemed to go on forever and by the end my back was warm while my front was frozen, which had the unfortunate effect of making my nipples as hard as little flints. When the doors were finally closed on the last man I turned towards my husband. He had that hungry, wolfish look and I thought he would take me to his chamber and ravish me immediately. I was almost disappointed when he simply allowed Rose to dress me and left stating he would see me at dinner.

Much later when we were alone in his room he undid my sleeping gown and stood admiring me. There was something about the way he looked at me that made me quiver inside and triggered the dampness in my sex. When we were in our bed and were touching each other before the actual deed itself he pulled away from sucking on my nipples and pushed me down towards his member.

“Now it is your turn to suck me.” I could hear the teasing in his voice.

I had never done this in my life.  Once or twice in those few months with my first husband I had actually kissed his thing out of a sense of fun and then only when the act of love was over.  Besides I was very young then and very in love. I knew that the deed was possible as I had heard women discussing it, usually after too much wine had been taken and it was more than liberally represented on the headboard. But there is a great difference in knowing and doing and I had no particular wish to learn. So seeking to appease him I planted a couple of kisses on his organ before returning to his lips.  It was clearly not exactly what he desired but it passed and our lovemaking was vigorous and mutually enjoyable.

Chapter 4 – My failings cause Rose to be beaten

The following day I spent going over the house accounts with Mrs. Jones; they were all in a neat and satisfactory state, though I was surprised at the expenditure that the house required, more than three times that at Deepwell. At mid-afternoon, as I was thinking of leaving it for the day and writing some letters, we were both summoned to the Yellow Salon. As we arrived so did Rose and I shivered as I recognised the group that had so far meant only trials to me.

“Well, wife, you have a little learning to do. Last night I asked you to perform a certain task and you singularly failed.  So today I think practice is required. How do you say?”

“I... I am most sorry, Sir.  I did not mean to offend, but it is a task with which I am not familiar.  I will try harder tonight, I promise.” Why had he not simply asked for more effort last night?

“Thank you for your honesty, my dear.  And you will try harder, right now. Rose, undress your mistress.”

I almost ran at that moment, it was unsupportable. But Rose was instantly at the task of undoing hooks, laces and buttons and I froze.  All too soon I was naked again. My husband reclined comfortably in his chair and beckoned me over.

“Undo my breaches, my love. Let us get you to your task.”

I could not move. It was simply beyond all reason. “Please, Sir Thomas, please.  This is not possible.  Please let us retire.”

“Come here and do as I say or shall I ask Mrs. Jones to fetch George to come and have his turn with little Rosie here?  I don’t think he has sampled her yet.”

What choice did I have?  I could not watch her raped again at my refusal. I stumbled to him and knelt to unbutton his breaches and tug forth his member.  It was already more than half erect. I tried not to look at it. I began to cry; how could he be so cruel?

“Let us begin then.  We will begin where we left off last night.  Kiss me.”

I complied, knowing that Rose and Mrs. Jones were watching me, kissing the thing before me and wetting it with the tears from my screwed up eyes. I could feel it stiffening and throbbing beneath my lips.

“Open your eyes, wife.  I expect your pretty eyes to be visible at all times. For each time that I have to remind you, young Rosie will get a stripe from the crop at the end.  Now once you have kissed my cock for a bit I expect you to start licking it.”

Without even the refuge of being able to close my eyes I began to run the tip of my tongue along the shaft.  I could see blood pulsing along the veins on the thing.  It felt searingly hot as if would burn my poor tongue.

“Wetter, my dear, wetter.  Use the whole of your pretty tongue.  I want you to get it dripping with your saliva. Tears too, if you like!”

His callousness only increased my suffering but I tried to obey his commands, though he had to remind me to open my eyes once. With shock I realised I had just earned Rose a stroke of the crop.  Soon indeed the entire member was glistening with wetness from my mouth.

“Now it is time for you to kiss my balls, pretty one.  Do it with real love.” He pushed my head lower and soon his sack was up against my mouth.  I shuddered, it was both wrinkled and hairy.

“Eyes open!”  I had just failed Rose again. I kissed them one after the other and back again.

“Now lick!” The feeling of his wet hair on my tongue was most unpleasant, but I had no choice.  His groans told me I must be doing something the right way.

“Time to really use your mouth.  I want you to open it and suck the head inside.” The moment I had been most dreading arrived. I slid my lips over the tip and felt the big head in my poor mouth: stiff and warm.  I could taste the very maleness of him. I had no idea what to do now. In shame I closed my eyes as the tears flowed. It felt so very large on my tongue.

“That’s another stripe for you, Rosie!   Your mistress can’t seem to remember, or perhaps she doesn’t care.”  I did care but this was so excruciatingly hard, being debased before the housekeeper and one’s maid.

“Begin sucking, my dear. And, as you do that, I want you to slide your mouth back and forth on it. Ouch!” My teeth had banged into him as I tried to suck and move my mouth together. “Your teeth are not meant to touch my cock! Put your upper lip over the top ones and your tongue over the bottom ones. Try again!”

It was so difficult to do right. Twice more my teeth banged into him making him wince. Once more I closed my eyes, this time at the discomfort of the head of his organ banging into the back of my mouth when he pulled me right onto him. 

It seemed to be going on forever. Then I heard the door opening.  Frantic I tried to pull off but he held me in my place firmly.

“Ah Mary, the tea.  You may lay it out here on this table.  Mrs. Jones will pour as her ladyship is somewhat busy.”  And I was: sobbing my heart out round his hard member.

“Open your eyes, dearest wife!”  Oh God, I’d forgotten again. My eyes flew open and out of the corner of them I could see the housemaid laying out the afternoon tea: plates, saucers and cups for the cakes and tea. It could not be any worse than this.  Every member of staff would know in a few minutes.  It was unspeakable.

“I am sure you will be glad to know I am about to finish, my dear.”  Please, I prayed... please not while Mary was still here.  The damned girl was still setting out the sandwiches.  You could wager she was taking her sweet time.

“When I do I expect you to swallow it all like an obedient wife. Then you will keep the head in your mouth till I tell you to withdraw it.”  And with that I felt the first powerful spurt of his seed at the back of my mouth. It tasted so strong, so male: slimy and unpleasant and enough to nearly make one sick. Reluctantly I swallowed it, still sucking on the tip as more of the mess pumped from it.

“And your eyes are supposed to be open.  When will you learn?” Swallowing, sobbing and moaning I once again opened them.  I could hear Mary leaving the room.

“Look at me, my dear.”  I looked up along his belly and chest and, through my tears, saw him smiling down at me as I held is slowly softening organ in my mouth.

“You did very well for a first attempt.  You still have a lot to learn but I can see that you will be an avid pupil.  Now would you like some tea?”  I nodded without removing either the thing from my mouth, where it now lay quiescent on my tongue, or my eyes from his.

“Would you prefer to dress or remain as you are?” As he asked this he eased my head from his lap and smiled broadly at me. How could he find this amusing?

“Dressed, please.  Please let me dress.”

“Absolutely, my dear,” and he helped me to stand.  As he did so his hand slid up my leg and touched me lightly just there.

“Ah, I thought you might be.  A little dampness there.”  I blushed scarlet. He was quite right; despite the excruciatingly humiliating position and circumstance, the mere presence of his powerful body and its violent member had made me somewhat excited despite all my wishes to the contrary.  Quickly I slipped on my drawers and with Rose’s help dressed quickly. 

As I was reaching for the cup of tea I so badly needed I heard his deep voice behind me.

“Before you tuck in I think we should settle accounts with young Rosie.  Five strokes I believe to account for her ladyship’s failings.  Bend over that chair.  Lady Caroline, you go round and hold your maid’s arms in place, please.”  And so I found myself kneeling on the rug holding the poor girl’s wrists as she bend over a tall chair with her bottom high in the air.  We were face to face and I mouthed ‘I am sorry’ to her only for her to mouth back ‘you promised, Ma’am’. I felt crushed.

“Mrs. Jones, five across her posterior with the crop.  Naked is more effective.”  This drew a wail from Rose and she half tried to stand but my hold kept her in place.  Her short dress was flipped up onto her back and five nasty ‘cracks’ followed as the crop bit into her drawer-less backside. I saw her stamping her boots and gasping and moaning from the pain. When it was over I was letting her go when I heard a final command.

“Hold that position girl! Wife, come look at what your inattention has wrought.” I had to go and inspect the five angry red wheals across my poor maid’s posterior; they looked terribly sore.  I could also see the bruises on her thighs and the straw-coloured curls on her sex.

“You may touch them if you wish,” he said with amusement.  But that was the last thing I wanted and the poor girl was finally allowed to flee the room while my husband and I enjoyed our afternoon tea.

That night in his bed he teased me unmercifully with his probing, tickling fingers and by kissing my face, neck and breasts until finally I could bear it no longer and begged him to mount me.

“A little sucking first, wife!”  This time I did not hesitate or attempt to appease him with half-measures.  I sucked at him as I had been taught that afternoon and I believe I did creditably.

When finally he took me I was instantly lost once more in the rapture of my climax and remained in a state of pleasurable delirium until he finished riding me. How was I to live with a man who could be so calculatingly cruel and yet give me so much pleasure?

The End (for now)

*****

I could leave Lady Caroline in this somewhat compromised position as the tale will stand in its own right.  But as she said in the opening line her downfall has been complete.  And so I think there is rather more that she has to suffer if people are interested.

Let me know what you think of my effort and what works and does not work.  I cannot promise to change my style, but I am interested in your opinions.

Surtea

Chapter 5 – I am more naked than ever before

The next day I went riding for the first time since coming to Hirst Hall.  Sir Thomas insisted that I be accompanied by a young groom, Ralph. Although this was nominally for my protection and to help familiarise myself with the estate, I felt it was more in the role of a warder.  And as his stallion was stronger and larger than my filly I was in no doubt that he could if necessary prevent my escape.  And even if I could manage this I would be opening poor Rose to terrible abuse: beaten every hour.

This, coupled with the fact that I knew Sir Thomas insisted on discreetly reading all my correspondence before it was sent, meant that I was trapped in my position: a nightingale in an ornate and gilded cage. Somehow I knew I must find a way to escape my predicament.  I knew Mrs. Jones read the correspondence from the staff so approaching a maid to send a letter would be foolish.  I determined that I should begin to immerse myself in charitable works on the estate and then in the district until I found a person with no connection to the estate to whom I could entrust letters to my daughter and my brother.

That mid-afternoon I found myself once more summoned to the Yellow Salon.  I think my husband preferred to use this room for tormenting me, both for the pleasure of his first wife’s portrait and the fact the room was always warm due to the size of its fireplace.  And since I knew from the day before that he was ready in part to disrobe himself I imagined that he wished to remain comfortable as the weather outside was still in the latter days of February. And once again it was Rose and Mrs. Jones who joined us.

“My dear, I am desirous of continuing your instruction.  So Rose, if you wouldn’t mind?”  With this my maid began to undress me once more.  By now I was becoming accustomed to this martyrdom and resisted not one whit. I shivered though with the thought of what might be to come. Was he about to make me take his member in my mouth again?

When I was again naked he bade me sit on the Chippendale sofa that faced the fireplace and the portrait of Lady Anne above it.  A cushion was placed behind my back and I was asked to recline against it.  I grew increasingly apprehensive; this was clearly something new and undoubtedly humiliating.

“Mrs. Jones, please give me a hand with this next part.” The two of them advanced on me while I cringed back against the cushion.  My husband bent down and took a firm grip of one ankle while the housekeeper took the other. I cried out in alarm as I felt them lift my feet from the floor and pull my legs up and apart. I did not resist at all as I was trying to keep my balance and stop myself sliding off the sofa onto the floor. Quickly they bound soft cords to my ankles and to the prominent corners on the back of the sofa.  I was splayed alarmingly wide in a position bereft of even the slightest decency, looking between my legs at the fireplace and portrait.  I glanced down to see the tendons sticking out on the inside of my thighs so far apart were they and also to see my mound and bush thrust upward and my sex opened.  I firmly shut my eyes to close off this sight.

“Please...  please let me down.” I made to cover myself with my hands.

“Keep your hands by your side, dear, or I shall have Mrs. Jones bind them.”  Reluctantly I let them fall next to me.

“Now, open your eyes and look at me.”  He was standing before me immaculately dressed as always and with that hungry wolf-grin on his face.

“Rosie, come here.  Stand before your mistress and lift your dress.  Show her your backside.”  Rose complied with this order without hesitation.

“Those five stripes still look rather tender.  Are they?”  I was staring hopelessly at the red lines across her buttocks.  The put-upon maid assented.

“Well, let’s hope her ladyship doesn’t earn you any more today. Drop your dress, you hussy!”  Rose obeyed and retreated to one side.

“The rules for today, dear wife, are that you will keep your eyes open and that you will only speak if spoken to. Rosie here gets a stroke every time you fail in these simple tasks.  Is that clear?”

That was clearly a request needing a reply so I said, “Yes, Sir Thomas.”  What were they going to do to me?  I must stay silent.  I fixed my eyes on Lady Anne’s smiling face in the portrait as a way of trying to keep my eyes open.

“I think we are ready to begin, Mrs. Jones.  You may ring for Mary.”  I heard the bell tinkle.  I wanted to close my eyes but dared not.  The door opened promptly and I watched in trepidation as the young maid pushed in a little trolley with a variety of items.  I saw her eyes start with surprise at my contorted position.  I tried to stare straight ahead but found my eyes torn to look at the trolley. There was a bowl of water, towels and a number of other items.

“Thank you, Mary.  Please send in James.” The maid curtseyed and left, only for the slender young man who was Sir Thomas’ valet to appear. 

I nearly closed my eyes as he disinterestedly surveyed my position and then addressed Sir Thomas.  “Yes Sir?

“James, as you will know from the portrait in my bedchamber, I prefer my women to be altogether more undressed than Lady Caroline is.  Please see to the matter.”  Undressed?  But I was completely naked already.  And then I fathomed his meaning: he wanted my bush removed!

“No!” I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t stand for it.

“One stripe for you, Rosie.  Keep the score for me please.”

I bit my lip and watched helplessly as James picked up a shaving dish and mixed up lather in it.  He twirled a badger hair brush in it and leaned forward towards me.  Helplessly I closed my eyes earning my maid another stroke.  He worked the brush all over my mound and along the lips of my sex.  I panted with the shame of it.  I wanted to beg for mercy but did not dare.

“Come in closer, Rosie.  You are going to be responsible for keeping her ladyship smooth so you may as well learn now.”  I saw Rose, wide eyed, coming nearer.

The valet picked up a razor and after stropping twice leant in and ran it over my mound.  I did not even dare tremble; I was so afraid of being cut. I almost screamed as I felt the blade scrape across my bush, neatly removing it along with the white lather. I groaned aloud but did not get penalised for it so it was clearly just words that were forbidden.  I saw and felt his deft fingers moving my skin this way and that to keep it taut as the razor did its work.  I squealed as James began to work lower, on the sides of my sex itself.  It was excruciatingly embarrassing but I kept watching through my tear-fogged eyes.  Then it was done and he picked up a wet towel and ran it over my naked mound. It felt unspeakable indecent.

“When it is smooth and clean you add a little rubbing alcohol or cologne.” James was addressing Rose, not me. He poured some liquid onto is hands and then ran them over my private parts.  I howled in pain, contracting my restrained legs which only had the effect of bringing my sex higher and spreading it wider.

“No... Stop... It hurts!”  I had just earned Rose another stroke and she looked at me reproachfully but she had no idea how painful it had been.  Fortunately the agony faded as fast as it had come as the alcohol evaporated.

“That helps the pores to close giving a smoother feel and also toughens the skin so that subsequent shaving is easier.” He was talking as if he were a school master teaching a pupil. “Finally you apply a little salve to keep the skin supple.”  The valet opened a little jar and put a dollop of creamy white unguent on my mound before massaging it in with his fingers.  It felt terribly pleasant after the pain and, despite my humiliating position it had the effect of exciting me a little.

“Thank you James, that will be all for now.”  At Sir Thomas’ order he left with his trolley, leaving my body still spread unpleasantly wide on the sofa.  I stared at where my bush had been.  I was now more naked than I had ever been.

My husband pulled up a chair and sat between my open legs, smiling cheerfully.  I wanted to beg for release but did not dare.

“Now for your lesson, my dear.” There was more to come?  I had thought that the shaving was the torment for today.  I did not think I could bear any more.

“I have noticed that while you are a passionate woman in my bed, you seem reluctant to use any words for what you are so good at doing. And so I thought we might discuss this while you are so conveniently disposed.”

With this his hand cupped my now smooth sex. His touch felt like fire, partly because of the warmth of it and partly because the razor, alcohol and unguent and left me exquisitely sensitive. Despite the shame of it the feeling was intense enough to sear the soul. Helplessly I closed my eyes earning me a reprimand and Rose a stripe.

“And so, my dear, what do you call this?  Not that you speak of it I’m sure but in your thoughts you must have a name for it.” His hand explored me as he teasingly enquired in a carefree tone. I felt as if I would die of humiliation.  I had to answer or earn more pain for poor Rose.

“I...  Those are my private parts,” I gasped, burning ever more scarlet.

“No one,” he was laughing, “calls it that!  The truth now, wife.”

“My sex,” I moaned, “I call it my sex.  Please, please stop.”  I wasn’t sure what I was asking him to cease doing: making me talk indecently or his gently questing fingers.  Both were utterly intolerable.

“I’m afraid that counts as speaking out of turn: yet another stroke for Rosie.  Just answer the questions dearest.  From now on this is your cunt or, if you need to discuss it in polite company, your pussy.  So, what is it?”  He was gentling patting my sex now and each contact was making me shudder.  I could see the muscles on the inside of my spread-apart thighs quivering. I had to reply or earn Rosie further punishment.

“My...  my pussy,” I managed to whisper.

“Or?” The appalling patting continued.

Or... or...,” I tailed off.  I just could not say it. Then he pointedly glanced at Rose.  I had to submit, no matter how terrible the price.

“My...  my c...  cunt!” I spat out the word as if it were poisonous.

“And you like having your cunt played with, don’t you dear?”

“Nooo...  no, I don’t.”  And I really didn’t.  No one wants to be touched like that while bound wide open in front of the servants.  In bed at night was quite a different matter.

“Then why is your cunt so damp, so pink, so swollen?”  The touching never paused.  He was waiting for an answer.  I could not meet his teasing, dark eyes, but neither was I allowed to shut mine; I looked away only to find Lady Anne’s smiling face.  It was as if she knew.

“I can’t help it!  Please, I just can’t help it.”

“Clearly, my love, clearly.”  His hand mercifully stopped playing with my sex.  After a brief pause a finger reached out and touched me right there.  Oh God, it was unbearable, unbearable in every way.

“And what do you call this?”  The finger was now tracing tiny circles of purest flame.  How could I answer?  I was sure I could not speak at all.  At that very moment Mary entered with the afternoon tea. I wished I could faint from shame but I can’t.  She began to lay out the food and drink while surreptitiously surveying her mistress, bound naked with her shaven sex opened and higher than her head.  She must have been able to see how stimulated I was despite all my efforts to the contrary.  I wanted to die and yet I still had to respond.

“My bud, Sir, my bud.”  I whispered it, trying to keep my answer low.

“’Bud’ is a sweet word for it,” he pleasantly assented, “but I prefer clitoris, clit or clittie.  You can choose which.  So what is this?”

I had to reply swiftly as the touching was rapidly taking me to a place of no escape.  “My clittie, my clittie...”

“Good girl.” 

Thankfully the touch on my bud stopped.  But the torment was by no means over.  He made me name my ‘lovelips’ (both the outer and inner ones), my ‘pisshole’ (the touch nearly made me do just that) and my ‘cunthole’ (his fingers entered right into me at this point).  This last one meant yet another blow for Rose as I was unable to articulate the word to his satisfaction.  Finally I stammered it out.

Next his hands sought out my posterior, so scandalously separated in this infernal position.  He kneaded my bottom as if it was dough and he was making bread.

“And this is?”

“My bottom, Sir.”  His vigorous mauling was making my whole body tremble.

“Your arse, my dear, your arse.”  Then the kneading stopped and his finger landed between.  I squealed out loud.

“This?”

“Oh, oh,” I was transported by my shame.  “It’s my bottomhole,” I managed after several attempts.

“Your arsehole, Lady Caroline, your arsehole.  Now, what is it?” The finger tip was now dancing about on this most indecent, most sensitive and most private spot.

“My...  my arsehole!”  I wailed, quite unable to resist him any longer.

The tormenting finger continued to beat its tattoo on my poor little aperture while another returned to circle on my bud.  This was cruelty of the most intense kind and could have but one outcome.  I earned another stroke for Rose by begging volubly for mercy but there was none.  All too soon I reached my climax which was so intense and so extreme as to be as much pain as pleasure. I felt my legs lifting my sex high into the air as they contracted; it was impossible to tell if I was trying to escape the touch or intensify it. I hung in my bonds, gasping like a gaffed fish and utterly overcome.  At my husband’s signal Mrs. Jones released me from my position and I lay on the sofa, quite beyond caring.

“How many stripes has your mistress won for you, Rosie?”  I had no idea how many times I had failed, but I was sure Sir Thomas had been keeping the score.

“Seven, Sir.  I think it was seven,” my poor maid replied with a quaver in her voice.

“Over your chair then and flip your skirt up.  Mrs Jones can do the honours and your mistress will hold your hands.”

I groaned as I made my way over, my legs ached from being bound so taut and for so long.  I knelt and held Rose’s hands.  I could not meet her eyes, I was ashamed at the pleasure she had seen me take, ashamed at my nudity and ashamed at the punishment she was receiving at my fault. The seven cracks sounded like gunshots and the poor girl stamped, moaned and finally yelped as the crop bit into her posterior over and over.

At the end my husband once more had me come and survey the damage.  The seven new stripes overlaid those from before in even angrier and more painful red.  I was horrified at the soreness of it and that it was all because of my failings.

“Would you like a little unguent for those, Rosie?”  Sir Thomas’ tone was half mocking and half solicitous.

“Yes please, Sir Thomas, yes please. Thank you”

I thought he would release her and let her take the little pot of salve with her.  Instead Sir Thomas handed it to me.

“There you go, my dear. As your inattention has caused little Rosie’s discomfort perhaps you should ease it.”

I stood frozen.  I couldn’t touch her, not on her behind.  It wasn’t right.  I just couldn’t.

“Now, wife!  Or are you going to disobey me?”

“Please, Ma’am.  Please do it...”  Rose knew what my disobedience led too.

And so I dipped my finger in the pot and traced my slippery digit along the painful red tracks.  Each wheal was actually raised from the surface of her posterior.  The poor girl moaned and winced as I went about my task.  Finally I was done.

“Please may I dress, husband, please?” I was desperate for relief from the humiliation.

“Not today, dearest.  I want to admire you just the way you are.”  And so I had my tea sitting on that damned sofa, opposite Sir Thomas, more naked than I had ever been since childhood.  We discussed the estate and inconsequential matters until Mary finally returned to clear away.  Then Rose was allowed to return and to help me dress.

I realised that for Sir Thomas pleasure did not have to be taken immediately but could be prolonged by being left till a later hour.  And so it was that evening in his bed as he took me repeatedly and ferociously.  He made me go over the afternoon’s vocabulary lesson and my instruction from the day before.  I confess I took as much pleasure from him as he took from me and he was near insatiable.  I slept the sleep of the utterly sated.

Chapter 6 – I am cleansed in a most upsetting way

The following morning I awoke as the room slowly warmed from the revived fire.  As soon as I heard the faint sounds of Rose pouring my bath next door I arose and made my way through to my own room.

I was naked as ever, or even more so as I glanced down to note the complete absence of my bush.  I had had hair there for twenty years and its sudden absence was unsettling in the extreme.

Rose’s eyes opened in surprise as I entered and I glanced behind me to see Sir Thomas padding through the door as nude as I.  Rose could not keep her eyes from him and blushed a shade of pink.  I have described my husband as lupine for it seems to suit his rather long-limbed and powerful figure as well as the look of the hunter in his face.  He is more hirsute than any man I have known (and that is of course just my previous husbands).  His dark hair is not just confined to his chest but to his belly, back, shoulders and upper arms. His member swung about quite uncovered, half erect and quite large as it seemed to be every morning.  He made no attempt at decently covering himself.

“Morning Rosie!”  His voice was cheerful and hearty.  She curtseyed to hide her flush and to avert her eyes.

“As you are to keep Lady Caroline as smooth as a little girl down below I wanted to give you a second task. This one is to be performed every morning.”  With this he produced a strange-looking instrument from behind his back resembling nothing so much as a hand-pump of the sort on occasionally sees in houses together with buckets of water and used to fight small fires caused by an upset candle or a leaping spark from a fireplace.

“This is a clyster.  Have you used one before, girl?”

“No, Sir Thomas,” stammered to poor maid.

“Well, it’s easy enough.  I’ll demonstrate.  Bend over the bed, my dear.”

At this point I thought I understood his intention.  He meant to irrigate me down below so as to keep my sex clean.  This was hardly necessary as I have a bath every morning and I told him so.

“Not there, you silly goose.  Now bend over the bed.”  Then it really did dawn on me what he planned.  This was unspeakably vile.

“No, Sir Thomas, you cannot.  I will not allow it.  You are most offensive.”  I wanted to run for the door but was quite naked and would make a strange spectacle running down the passages to goodness knows where.

“Rose, your mistress’ behaviour is going to leave a sore ruin of your arse.  Ask Mrs. Jones to join us and tell her to bring the crop.”

I stood there irresolute as my maid went for the door.  I had no choice: I did not want Rose beaten again, nor did I want the housekeeper to witness this latest appalling indecency.

“No, please don’t.  I will submit.  Do not send for Mrs. Jones.”

Rose hesitated, her hand already on the handle.

“Come back, Rosie.  Her ladyship has decided to be wise after all.   Now over the bed with you, wife.”

Reluctantly I leant myself across the bed, burying my face in my hands so as not to witness what was about to happen.

“Bring that little jar of salve from yesterday, Rosie.  Now, first you fill the clyster like so.” I could hear him over by my nightstand where the ewer of water stood.  “Then dip the tip in the ointment and insert.”

I heard his bare feet behind me, felt his hand parting by bottom and then the tip of the diabolical device was at my bottomhole.

“It will be easier if you ask Lady Caroline to open the way for you.  My dear, please pull your cheeks apart a little way.”

Burying my sobbing face in the bedcovers I reached back with both hands a gently parted myself only to feel the tip of the thing, as thick as a finger sliding into me.  I wailed quite helplessly.

“The clyster holds about one pint and it is best to insert it with one firm, but not too fast, motion.”

With this I felt a great surge of water up into my entrails. It felt horrid and filthy, not to mention cold as the water had been standing there all night.  I was immediately plunged into deep discomfort with an intense need to void myself.  This actually increased as the nozzle was withdrawn.  I had to clench my bottomhole to hold the liquid in.

“Now count to fifty out loud and then you may release it into your pot.”

“Onetwothreefour…”  I had never counted so fast in my life.  I gabbled through the numbers in a blur in my eagerness to evacuate my unnatural and perverse load.

“Fortyeightfortyninefifty.” I scrambled for the chamber pot on this side of the bed and squatting released into it.  The relief was intense and I stayed there gasping for several moments.

“Back over the bed, my dearest.  Now Rosie, one flushing is not likely to do the job satisfactorily.  I recommend three, unless the second one comes out clear.  Caroline, please pull your buttocks apart once more.”

Twice more I sobbed into the covers as I was forced to hold myself open and the refilled machine was implanted in my behind and the water surged deep into my bowels.  The final time it was Rose who performed the task under my husband’s direction. Twice more I had to count to fifty before letting go.  The last time I released the water into the pot from the other side of the bed: it was only slightly discoloured.  Sir Thomas was satisfied and with a pat on my bottom he left me to my bath with a cheerful farewell.

“Well done, beloved, well done!   And Rosie, tell Mrs. Jones you are to be allowed drawers for the moment.  You have earned them.”

I lay in the bath unable to meet Rose’s eyes as she busied about laying out my clothes for the day.  Escape from my torments was now imperative.  I decided to focus on local charitable works until I had bent someone to my purpose sufficiently for a letter to Georgina to be safely delivered.   Under no circumstances was my daughter to come and see me in this state of sin. But how was I to achieve my purpose?

In the event, Sir Thomas made all my feverish planning obsolete as we had breakfast together.  I was ravenous, whether from the coupling of the night before or the morning’s flushing it was impossible to tell.  As I was enjoying a second helping of poached eggs I was astonished to hear him suggest that in mid-April we should have a house party at the Hall to let our friends see us enjoying married life.  He asked if I wouldn’t mind drawing up the guest list, making the arrangements with Mrs. Jones and sending out invitations.  I knew then that I could invite Anne Graves, a close friend from Ludlow, together with Major Graves, and she could deliver letters safely for me.  It meant enduring another six or seven weeks of this debauchery, but this route was safer than trying to find another to trust.  Besides the charitable works method might take nearly as long.  I agreed with a slight show of indifference so as to disguise my purpose.  It was with a lighter heart that I went out for a long and vigorous ride, accompanied as always by young Ralph.

However no amount of vigorous exercise would put off the summons for afternoon tea in the Yellow Salon.  I entered with trepidation to find that Sir Thomas was somewhat delayed from inspecting farmland on the estate that had been damaged in flooding caused by the late winter rains.  I sat there with Mrs. Jones and Rose standing nearby.  I wanted to ask my maid if she now had her drawers but could not say anything before the housekeeper.  In any event Rose still wore her scandalously abbreviated maid’s uniform.  I engaged Mrs. Jones in a discussion on the house party and she agreed that the house could comfortably have a dozen couples to stay and I decided to make up the guest list on that assumption.  Then my husband entered, changed from his riding clothes and full of cheerful apologies.

“I have been thinking of you all day, my dear.  You make even all that mud down at Ford Farm bearable.  We will have to let the tenant there pay half-rent this year; he won’t be able to plough for at least a month.  But the thought of you waiting here kept coming to my mind.”  Something in the teasing way he said it made it clear it was not just conversation he was anticipating.

“Mrs. Jones, Rosie, please dispose your mistress as yesterday.  I did admire that particular view.”

I stood and allowed Rose to undress me while Mrs. Jones placed the cushion in the centre of the sofa and affixed the cords to its corners.  I was shivering and it was not from cold as the room was pleasingly warm. I dreaded what might happen, partly from the humiliation of being so displayed but also the memory of the incredible shame of yesterday as I had been made to climax before my own servants and the sheer intensity of that loss of control.  My maid easing me back onto the sofa brought me out of my reverie.  All too soon my legs were being lifted and spread and I was on show as I had been the previous afternoon.

“How are your drawers, Rosie?”  Sir Thomas was now teasing the girl as she tied off my ankle.

“Nice, Sir, thank you,” she replied humbly.

“Well, you will be happy to hear that today’s lesson for Lady Caroline does not involve any possible forfeit on your part.  So no more stripes for your pretty backside.  I imagine you’ll be grateful for that judging by her ladyship’s inattention in the previous days?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas, I’m very grateful.”

He sat before me as he had yesterday so that his face was just above my exposed mound. I quailed inside, what would he do to me?  At least I had the relief that no misbehaviour on my part could lead to my maid being beaten further.  I was worried though that he was manipulating her so that in future her loyalties would lie with him rather than with me, her mistress.  I resolved to be as kind as I could to her as I needed an ally at Hirst Hall.

Then Sir Thomas did a remarkable trick.  He stuck out his tongue and, pointing it, touched the tip of his nose with the end.  It looked like the sort of manoeuvre a wild animal such as a ferret or stoat might manage.  I have tried since to do it and cannot even reach my nose let alone the end of it. 

“An amusing and unusual talent that runs in my family, my dear!”

Then as I stared at him he reached out with that long tongue and ran the tip of it along the slit in my shaven sex before finishing by planting a little kiss on my bud.  I wailed out loud.  No one had ever kissed me there, ever!  In fact I had not even imagined it might happen.  It was unspeakably rude and indecent.  Proper persons just did not indulge in such depravities.

“No!  Please don’t do that!  Please, Sir Thomas, please stop!”

“Absolutely not.  I believe you are going to taste every bit as good as you look and you look very fine opened up like that.”

I brought my hands up to protect myself and to prevent him, but he simply shook his head and I let them fall again.  I did not wish to be bound further nor did I want him to change his mind about beating Rose.

He leant back in and began planting little kisses up and down my sex but, except for that very first time, he avoided my bud.  The touch was so gentle and so pleasant that I could not help but enjoy the sensation.  His lips were warm and smooth (despite his abundance of hair his face was always clean-shaven).  I tried to think of household things that needed doing so as to resist the insistent little feelings that were beginning to permeate my loins.  For a little while this worked.

Sir Thomas beat these defences with ease: he reached out with his fingers and spread my sex open before using his tongue to explore its inner folds.  I was defeated: the sensations swamped me like a spring tide.  When his long fiendish tongue entered me I cried out in shame and in pleasure.  I felt it wriggling about like a cut worm in my innermost being.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh.”  I was letting my breath out in short gasps as a way of keeping some semblance of control.  If I was to climax again in front of Rose and Mrs. Jones then I wanted it to be with as much dignity as I could muster given my appalling position.

Repeatedly he withdrew his tongue from inside me only to send it questing into every crevice of my now drenched sex except one.  My tormentor steadfastly kept away from my little bud (or not so little as it was now quite swollen).  Then the darting little organ would return to my core and tease me there.  Finally I felt a finger from the hand that was not engaged in spreading me touching my bottomhole.  So indecent, so sensitive and now so liquid from all the saliva and from my own wetness.  He rubbed this hot warmth in little circles on my clenched aperture and all vestige of control was lost like chaff in autumn winds.

“Please, please, please,” I moaned.  There was no use in pretending even to myself that this was anything except a plea for release from the tumult of sensation I was feeling. 

“Please what, my dear?”  The tongue only stopped for the moment it took to say this.  The finger below did not even pause.

“Please!”  I could not say it but knew that if I didn’t the maddening teasing would merely continue.  I wished I could just faint away.  “Please touch my clittie!”

“Touch it, kiss it or suck it, wife?”  Intolerable question, impossible answer.

“Suck it, suck my clittie!”  I cared for nothing except release now.

And suck it he did, taking the entire hot swollen little bud into his mouth and engulfing it.  Tugging it with those gentle lips.  I was completely annihilated; my climax actually shot bright little stars against my firmly closed eyelids.  I know I was squealing joyously and with complete abandon but had no idea what sound I was actually making.

And as the intensity slowly faded I realised he had not stopped.  His lips were still nibbling at my poor bud before moving lower again.  And the finger that had been rubbing my bottomhole was now actually inside it, the tip of the digit was really inside my bottom and still wiggling around.  No! Surely he couldn’t mean to?

“Please stop, please husband,” I begged as sweetly as I could.

“A little while longer my dear, I know you’ll like it!”  With that the terrible tongue went back to its task.

Twice more he made me erupt like some Plinian volcano.  I was beyond caring by then, almost beyond reason.  It seemed to go on like a Bach fugue, repeating and extending itself forever.

And then he finished and released me from my bonds.  I was barely aware of Rose dressing me and I sat slumped in the sofa as a cup was passed to me from the afternoon tea that I had no recollection of having been laid out.  I watched as Sir Thomas dried his face with a napkin, it had glistened with our mingled wetness.

“Well Mrs. Jones, what do you say to that?”  Sir Thomas was addressing the housekeeper’s back as she and Rose were about to leave the room. She turned and I saw the ghost of a smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes.

“Most impressive, Sir Thomas, when I climb a hill I am generally too pleasantly fatigued to immediately ascend another.  I need to rest before a further attempt can be made.  Her ladyship seems to be one of those rare souls who can assault even the steepest of summits, climbing ever taller mountains.  I wonder how high she can go.”

“I am sure that in time we will find out.  Thank you Mrs. Jones.”  And with that we were left alone to our tea, though in truth I was too fatigued to do more than pick at it.  Sir Thomas seemed pleased with me or perhaps it was just satisfaction with the degree to which he had just debased me.

Chapter 7 – I visit the mills and view the crushers

The following morning I was alone with Rose and desperately nervous as to how we should manage Sir Thomas’ orders.  As I was debating with myself exactly what avenue to take my maid spoke up.

“Ma’am, please lean over the bed.”  Her tone was courteous but firm and I obeyed her instruction without comment thinking it easier to retain my dignity in silence.

“Ma’am, please help me with gaining access to your ladyship.”  Again courteous but I could hear the strain in her voice.  I felt tears prickling in my eyes as I kept my face in the bedcover and reached back to pull my bottom open.  I felt the cool greased tip enter me followed by the expected and dreadfully uncomfortable flood.  I evacuated and the process was repeated. As I rose from the chamber pot after the second I went towards my bath.

“Once more, Ma’am, please.”  I was taken aback.  Sir Thomas had said twice would suffice if the water were clean and the second had been barely discoloured.

“But Sir Thomas…” I was too hesitant to convey any authority.

“Better safe than sorry, Ma’am,” Rose insisted, “and it is my backside that will be thrashed if the master is dissatisfied.”  In tears I lay over the bed and was flushed a third humiliating time.  This time the water was spotless.  Wordlessly I took my bath while Rose cleared the bedroom of all unpleasantness and laid out my clothes. As I emerged she handed me my towels as usual.

“Ma’am, I think it best if I shave you today.”  She sounded embarrassed and nervous.

“But I am still smooth, Rose.”  It had been less than two whole days since James had removed my bush and my hair is not coarse in any way.  I was sure that it would be several more days before any sign of regrowth could be detected. Once a week would be more than sufficient.

“Yes Ma’am.  But I am nervous about performing the task and I hope that practising on your ladyship when you are nearly smooth will be easier and make me more confident.”

“Rose, this is ridiculous.  I will not agree.”

“Very well, Ma’am, but if Sir Thomas asks me I will have to inform him of your refusal.” She sounded both upset and fiercely determined at the same time.  I supposed she did not wish to lose her hard-won drawers and hoped for a proper maid’s outfit soon.  Yet what could Sir Thomas do to me?  He could hardly treat me worse than he already had.  I felt secure in my response to Rose but still was assailed by a deep and insistent doubt: Rose was my only ally here at Hirst Hall and I did not wish to lose her.  I might well need her efforts during the house party so as to dispatch my letter.

”Very well, Rose.  You may shave me but I expect you to take extraordinary care.  How shall we do this?”

“On the bed will be best, facing towards the windows for the light Ma’am.”

And so I found myself once more on my bed (I had not even slept in the cursed thing and yet it was a place of torment for me) with my legs drawn up while my maid went about her appointed task.  I saw her hands tremble at the start and was so very fearful of being cut.  Yet once she began she was firm carefulness personified and followed James’ instructions to the letter.  The cologne at the end stung awfully but this time I was prepared for the pain and managed to hold my tongue.

At breakfast Sir Thomas surprised me by remarking that he would not be back in time for tea that afternoon as he had to go over to the mills and would not be back till after nightfall.  As I was contemplating an afternoon free of debauchery I was surprised to hear him invite me to accompany him on the visit as I had yet to see the mining valley except from a considerable distance.  I agreed with pleased alacrity being eager to have a day away from the hall and to see the source of our great wealth.  I went to change into a riding dress while Sir Thomas ordered my filly to be brought.

The ride north was pleasant in the cool early March air.  The sun was burning off the frost from the previous night.  I doubted we should have many more cold nights this year.  As we entered the north valley we passed Green Mountain, the great deposit of copper ore that was now being worked to such effect.  We climbed it from the south side and when we approached the summit my breath was taken away.  In place of a peak there was now a great and growing hole.  There was not a scrap of vegetation and a series of six wide terraces was being worked by groups of men.  Using picks and shovels they were loading the excavated rock (‘ores’ my husband called them) into great wagons pulled by teams of four shire horses on the level below.  On the north side of the mountain there was a notch in the side of the mountain where each of the terraces opened out into the valley beyond and it was clear that this was where the loaded wagons would be moved as there was no manner in which wagons of such size could be moved up-hill once laden with rock.

We descended carefully to the uppermost of these terraces and made our way along it towards the far end and this egress into the valley.  The entire place was a dark burnt brown colour and this extended to the men and animals that worked there as if they had been stained by the rocks they worked. Men paused and doffed there caps as we passed before returning to their duties.  As we approached the exit of the terrace we encountered one of the great wagons on the level below also arriving at the notch. The four great draft horses pulled the thing though in truth they had but little to do, as my husband explained.  Apparently each of the terraces was built on a slight incline which meant that the full carts ran down under their immense weight. On the front bench of the wagon sat a driver flanked by two burly men.  Each of these had a powerful wooden lever which when pulled applied itself to one of the front wheels slowing the great device.  If the wagons picked up more than a steady walking pace they would career out of control and crush the horse team in front.  Outside the mine proper we were on a wide roadway with a gentle incline and surrounded by green fields, hedges and trees, all quite incongruous with the scene we had just left.  The roadway was fully paved, the first paved road I had seen since leaving Ludlow.  The cost of creating and maintaining such a roadway would have been prodigious and spoke of the value of the copper being extracted.  We came upon an empty wagon ascending and watched as the full wagon comfortably passed it on the wide road.  The team pulling this empty cart had to exert themselves despite the even incline which spoke of the sheer size of these ore carriers.

Below us in the valley was a panorama of the mill works that processed the ore to copper.  I could see eight or nine large buildings and three large reservoirs of water.  At the lowest end was the canal which brought in the coal and carried away the refined copper. On the far side of the valley I could see the three large villages of workers’ houses that provided accommodation for the industry below.

My husband gave me a tour of the entire place and I applied myself to understanding the processes involved.  First came a stamp mill where the wagons were emptied into hoppers that funnelled the ore so that it was brought under vast engines that lowered and raised gigantic pestles which dropped onto the rock crushing it to smaller pieces all driven by a vast water wheel.  There were three such crushing mills each with its own reservoir and great wheel.  The noise of these works was so deafening that even though I never entered the building fully my ears were left ringing.  I noticed the men who did work in there wore rags tied round their heads to prevent the complete loss of their hearing.  And everything was covered in the same dark brown rock dust.

The next buildings housed roasters where the now finely crushed ore was heated over beds of coals to dive off the sulphur that is bound to the ores.  The heat and smell of this work was quite immense and I wondered how the men inside tolerated it.  The resulting material, calcine, was mixed with sand and limestone and reheated to even greater temperatures.  These latter materials had the effect of creating an impure slag that could be taken off leaving molten copper as the final product.  This was poured into ingots for loading onto the barges in the nearby canal. 

We left past the workers’ cottages.  In all the three large villages must have held a thousand working men and their families.  It was hard to comprehend so many folk dependent on the Dalrymple estates.

We rode back in the late afternoon as dusk was gathering around us.  I asked Sir Thomas why he put so much effort into the mills when it could be left to a manager.  He replied that most land-owning families would just collect a royalty from the mine and let a company own and run the works.  However his father had believed that the family should not let someone else have their profits and by keeping the supervision and running in the estate the moneys would stay as well and so it had proved.  Sir Thomas’ father had been mainly interested in books and the arts and had left management of the estate to agents.  His son was interested in the estates and not books and so was deeply involved in the day-to-day running of both the farmland and the mills.

After our long day together I felt closer to my husband than at any time before and as we rode up to Hirst Hall I felt genuine affection for him.

I had a long bath to wash out the fine brown dust which and permeated every seam of my dress and my hair despite it having been tied up and covered.  Never had water felt so pleasant.

After a delicious meal together Sir Thomas suggested we retire early and I made no demur.  The long day had left me tired and the time spent in his presence had left me eager for his attentions.

As we disrobed under Lady Anne’s ever-present gaze I turned to see his playful grin upon me and I shivered as I guessed that he had some new task for me.  At least we were in private and I should not have to be watched and appraised by the servants.

Our lovemaking began in a conventional enough fashion with much touching and kissing but soon enough my husband pushed me back against the cushions and lowered his face towards my sex.  I shuddered as I anticipated the intensity of what his tongue and fingers could wring from me down there. As had happened the day before his tongue and fingers roamed and explored every crevice of my sex leaving me gasping with desire.  He avoided any contact with my bud even though I was soon begging him to touch me, lick me or suck me in that place.  Then his finger, wettened from my sex began to play with my bottomhole sending my poor soul to an even higher plane of unsatisfied want.

As I was moaning and begging for release his finger entered me, not in the conventional place but in my bottom and not just the tip but the entire length of his digit. It felt uncomfortable and disgusting but instead of reducing my ecstasy it only served to intensify it. So desperate was I for my climax now that I sent my fingers down towards my poor little clittie.

His free hand, the one that was not molesting my bottom, merely caught my wrist and held it fast. I bucked my sex against his mouth in an attempt to rub my bud on it.  I had to find relief somehow! Then I felt my bottomhole being stretched as a second finger forced its way in beside the first. It was moderately painful but that only seemed to heighten my desperation for release, a release that my husband seemed determined to keep me from.  My torment was indescribable, but it was a torture of unfulfilled craving.

“Roll over dearest,” my husband ordered me as he lifted his now wet face from my sex.  He flipped me over onto my stomach and I unthinkingly raised my hips as if to offer myself to him.  I wanted him to take me so badly. My hand crept beneath me to find the spot.

“Put your hands on the headboard, wife!” I could barely stand it but obeyed as I felt him spreading my legs and moving behind me.

Then I felt him running the head of his organ over my sex and gasped at the heat of his flesh.

“Please.  Please take me!”

And he did but not in the way I expected and desired.  He lifted his thing and pressed the tip against my bottomhole withdrawing the two fingers skewering it as he did so. I was so shocked and so overwrought that I did not resist him and as he pressed the thing it slid inside despite my natural resistance.  All I could do was absorb the pain and discomfort in an effort to speak.

“Please.  For God’s sake, take it out.  It hurts; it’s not right.  Please!”

“Relax, dearest.  Just let it happen. And put your hands back on the headboard.”   His voice was calm and firm.  He hadn’t moved since entering me and only the head was in my bottom.  It felt so big, and so hot, as if his flesh were on fire.  He had clearly greased himself otherwise there was no possible way it would have been able to force its entry. It was the lowest, most debasing provocation to have been inflicted on me in this house and yet it affected my lust not at all, unless it was to enflame it further.

Gradually I felt him applying his weight and driving it deeper into me.  I groaned and clenched my fingers on the headboard carvings till I was sure they would break.  With every fraction of an inch of his flesh that was slid into my bottom my fire was stoked.  I was beyond caring and quite beyond any decency as I sought my release.  Finally I felt his weight resting on me as the full length of him had been driven into my bottomhole.  I felt appallingly full and stretched, expanded, opened and spread.  It was as if every ounce of feeling in my body was focussed on that aperture where he had forced his body into mine.

At that moment his fingers crept under me and seized my swollen bud. I climaxed uncontrollably, squealing my pleasure and gratitude.  It went on and on, like the great bore on the River Severn, washing over me and pulling me this way and that.  When finally my sensations settled to a point where I was compos mentis once more I realised that Sir Thomas was still in my bottom.  Moreover he was now moving himself gently back and forth within me, irresistibly stoking the flames that had only just been banked.  Twice more his fingers moved beneath me and strummed against my bud.  Twice more I howled my appreciation.  Twice more I came back to find him still working against my behind. How much strength did he have? 

“Beg me to finish in you!”

“Oh God, please finish in me!”

“Not like that.  Say: ‘Please, Sir, let your cock cum in my arsehole.’”

I couldn’t bear it so I complied.  “Please, Sir, let your cock cum in my arsehole!” 

He moved faster and deeper.  There was no more discomfort on my part; I was completely opened to him. Once more his cruel fingers sought me out and as I felt him spurting inside me I was overcome by a last climax. 

I was destroyed.  I felt as smashed as the great lumps of ore I had seen that afternoon: crushed, heated and finally smelted into some other substance, except that in my case instead of the impurities being driven off it was the pure part that had been set aside.  How could anything so appallingly indecent have had such an effect on me? As he rolled off me I rolled slowly over and he took me in his strong, hirsute arms.  I was pathetically gratefully for this comfort.  Lady Anne looked down on both of us.

“Well, my dear, I think we have found what it is that makes you a real woman.”  His voice was teasing, but only a little.  For a little while I could find no response.  A woman, yes, but a lady, no.

“Was it the same with your first wife?”  I had to know.

“Not at all,” he replied jovially.  “Lady Anne was excited by two things in particular.  She derived pleasure from being humiliated, particularly in front of the servants.  It made her dreadfully, uncontrollably wet.  And she also was transported to rapture when men put their cocks in her mouth.  Sometimes she could reach her climax just from having a man push his prick into her throat in front of others.”

“I… I don’t understand…”  And in truth I could not comprehend this.

“What don’t you understand?”  He lifted himself onto an elbow so he could look down at me.  I blushed.

“’Men’, you said ‘men’.  You mean others besides you?  And throat, how could it be in her throat?”

“Quite right, my dear, ‘men’.  She liked it when I had her taken by others: strangers or the servants.  She found the humiliation quite intense.  And yes, a well-trained woman can take a man’s prick into her throat.  It is simply a matter of learning to swallow it.  One of these days I will teach you how it is done.”

“But that’s not possible…”

“Lady Anne derived a deep humiliation from being buggered in public.  But not real pleasure, not like you.  I have never seen anyone derive such ecstasy from having her arsehole played with.  I noticed the very first time I touched you there.”

I knew in my soul that he was right.  I knew that he had found out something about me that could not be denied. Something mean, nasty and hidden had now been revealed. Where would we go from here?

Chapter 8 – I discover the housekeeper’s peculiar tastes

The next morning I lay over my bed without demur and parted my bottom to allow Rose to clyster me.  I kept my face pressed into the bedcover in shame and embarrassment for my bottomhole was still swollen and puffy from the pummelling it had taken the night before.  It must have been quite obvious to the maid and I was grateful that she said nothing.  As I counted to fifty before releasing my liquid load I wondered if any of the servants had heard the carryings on of the previous evening.  The servants’ quarters were directly above ours and though we never heard them (they were required to whisper and to go about in stocking feet when there) that did not mean that they did not hear us.  The nozzle on the clyster device made my still sensitive little ring clench with a ghostly memory of the pleasures it had endured so recently.  I was happy to be able to hide my consternation at this feeling by getting into my bath.

That day there was no summons to afternoon tea and I supposed my husband was allowing me some respite after my recent exertions.  I spent the time with Mrs. Jones preparing for the house party.  We had to send out invitations and plan where the guests would sleep.  I made sure that the first batch of invites included the one to Major and Mrs Graves in Ludlow.  I knew Anne would be happy to carry my letter to Georgina.  It was more imperative than ever that my daughter be spared any time at all in this place of iniquity.  However I had been planning to use Hirst Hall as the backdrop to secure her an advantageous marriage and was relying on Sir Thomas to supply a sizeable dowry.  How was I to manage those needs if she were simultaneously to be kept away?  But kept away she must be.

Sir Thomas and I enjoyed a most pleasant and affectionate supper and that night our lovemaking was confined to the more conventional methods.  In my heart I had to confess to a certain disappointment in this as I had been half-anticipating a repeat of his assaults on my bottom.  Instead he made me ride him as he lay back and watched me.  In many ways this is not dissimilar to riding a horse at the trot with the rhythmic raising and lowering of one’s bottom in the saddle except that the equine version does not involve a large male member sliding into one’s sex with alternate strides.  It was however deeply pleasurable and I reached my climax as well as bringing on Sir Thomas’ but it was not of the intensity that I had enjoyed the previous night.

The following night was the same except he made me ride facing away from him.  In this way he could watch my bottom as it rode him.  I, in turn, was facing Lady Anne with her brazen nudity and sardonic smile.

One he third night I endeavoured shamelessly to guide his hand towards my little aperture hoping that he would, at the very least, caress me there. The hand though resisted being brought to the desired spot.

“My dear, if you wish to be taken there you will have to ask nicely,” he said through a grin.

“I... Please...  I want you to take my bottom...”  I felt as if I were surrendering the last vestiges of my dignity.

“Not like that, you silly goose, ask me properly, with the right words.”  The laughter in his voice mocked my embarrassment. How could he be so cruel?  It was bad enough having shown by my actions that I wanted his attentions in that indecent place.  Now he wanted to revel in my debauchery.

“I want you...  Please, Sir, fuck my bottomhole, my arsehole...  Bugger me, please!”

And he did, but his calculated torment did not allow it to be as I had wanted. As I waited for him to move to take me he did not shift at all but laid back against the pillows.

“Ride me then, wife.  You can do the work!”

I was completely taken aback.  He wanted me to do the work?

“Get some lotion and smear my cock with it.”

I reached beneath his pillow and found the little pot he kept there.  With my fingers I rubbed a fair amount along his member, which was as hard and hot as a poker fresh from the fire.

“Mount me.”

I straddled him and lowered myself.  Even then he would do nothing to aid me.  I had to reach between my spread legs and lift and hold him at the vertical so that I might slide him up between my bottom cheeks and against my little hole. I doubted this would be successful; I had not this time been fingered by him beforehand and my muscles were tightened by apprehension.  Still I had passed the point of seemly behaviour: I wanted him and these were his terms.

With one hand grasping his maleness and the other trying to open my bottom to allow him access I slowly let my weight fall upon him.  For a moment I thought he would bend and I would hurt him but then the head of it slipped inside quite suddenly.  He groaned with the tightness of it and I cried out in pain as the discomfort of his entry radiated through me.  However, much greater than this was the pleasure caused by the sheer obscenity of what I had just managed for myself.  Slowly I lowered my bottom further, impaling my taut hole in the most exquisite agony imaginable.

After what seemed like several minutes of this I began to raise and lower myself in this martyring saddle.  I had not comprehended how much additional pleasure I could derive from being in control of mine own impalement.

“Touch yourself!”

It was immediately clear what he wanted and I moved my fingers so they could caress my little bud.  Within moments I was climaxing, whinnying and gasping as I became light-headed with ecstasy.  True to his fashion he made me repeat this twice more before letting himself reach his spurting peak in my behind.

Another line had been crossed and in the days to come I learnt that he would only take me in my bottom if I begged for it in the crudest manner.  Even then, all too often, he would casually refuse my supplications despite knowing how much of my pride it had cost me to make them.

One morning I made a most untoward discovery.  After breakfast I went riding and returning I decided to go and discuss the wine order for the house party.  It had been left on my desk the previous day by Mrs. Jones and I had a few questions before I would sign off on it.  So I went down to the servant’s area and the housekeeper’s office.  One of the kitchen maids told me that Mrs. Jones was indeed in her room and after knocking I entered.  I suppose I might have waited for a response but this is after all my house and I am not required to stand on another’s permission.

I confess that even after all that I had undergone at Hirst Hall I was surprised at the sight before me.

Mrs. Jones was semi-reclined in an upholstered chair by the side of her desk.  What was shocking was that, while she was fully dressed in, as usual, a sober brown dress, her legs were clearly spread and from beneath her dress stuck out not just her shoes but also a pair of housemaid’s boots.  From the movements beneath the skirt it was obvious that the girl was using her mouth upon the housekeeper’s sex.

I stood and stared in amazement. I had heard whispers of women who preferred the company of members of their own sex rather than men.  I had always thought the idea rather scandalous but perhaps not surprising given that it was clear that there were men who did not like women at all.  But that it should happen here was beyond comprehension.  That Mrs. Jones did nothing to correct the situation did not help the matter: the head was still making little bobbing motions.  And my somewhat anomalous position in relation to the woman did not help either.

“How may I help you, Lady Caroline?” The housekeeper’s voice was noticeably deeper than usual.

“I came... I came... What is going on here?”

“I am just teaching Mary a little lesson.  Her attitude has been a touch lax in recent weeks.  No, don’t stop Mary.  Keep to your task.”

I was rendered speechless.  This was a punishment?  So Mary did not want this?  Should I tell Sir Thomas? Did he already know? Would it be better not to say anything and so have a hold over Mrs. Jones?  Her next words answered all my questions.

“Yes Lady Caroline, I prefer a woman’s touch to that of men.  Sir Thomas is very aware of this and has no complaints in this regard.  He offered me this position after I was dismissed from a previous post for... an indiscretion. Of course he knows how I occasionally reprimand wayward housemaids.  And little Mary here doesn’t like it at all.  She prefers the company of men her own age.  However her tongue is quite talented and she does find this preferable to a birching. Does this answer your concerns, your ladyship?”

I had no idea how to respond to this bald statement of facts.

“Mary, we will finish this later. Come out now and go stand outside while I answer Lady Caroline’s questions. Don’t wash your face.” With this she gave the head a little push and slowly from beneath her skirts the housemaid appeared.  Mary’s face was wet and flushed red, whether from exertion or embarrassment it was impossible to say but I imagined it was both.  She scurried towards the door.

“Where are your manners girl? Curtsey to her ladyship.”  The voice was like a whipcrack.

Mary whirled and made her obeisance.  I could see the track of tears running down her face, which was wet with a lot more than just tears though. She fled through the door.

“And what can I help you with, Ma’am?”  Mrs. Jones had rearranged herself so that she was sitting in her usual position.

Needless to say I could hardly remember what my questions were and I left as soon as I could.  Outside the door stood young Mary, eyes downcast and face still sticky, waiting for her chastisement to resume.

While I had afternoon tea with Sir Thomas every day that we were both at the hall (perhaps five times every week), the occasions that were arranged so as to torment me occurred no more than twice a week and always had Mrs. Jones and Rose in attendance. While I dreaded their unpleasantness I learnt to live with the strictures, after all it was only a couple of hours in a week.  Of course during each such a session I wished I could fly anywhere but the Yellow Salon.

During one such tea he had me bound in what I was now thinking of as the usual position.  My ligaments must have become suppler for I found it less of a strain with each successive binding.  Once in position he proceeded to tickle my most intimate areas with the feather of a white goose. It was stiff and soft at the same time. In the beginning he worked it round my sex avoiding both my bud and my bottomhole.  Soon though he used his fingers to spread me open and twirled the devilish tool right into my poor body.  The stimulation the feather caused was most cruel.  It was light and gentle enough that it made me unbearably hot and yet it was not enough to bring on the desired effect.  Once the plume was sodden with my dampness, Sir Thomas began to tease first my bud and then my bottomhole.  His baiting of my poor little nub would soon have brought me to a climax except for the continual stopping and switching to another target.  He even managed to insert the tip of the damned thing into the twitching aperture of my bottom.  The stimulation went on unceasingly until I could take it no more.  He wanted me to debase myself and I could resist him no longer.

“Please, Sir, please let me climax.”  Saying this before Mrs. Jones, Rose and now Mary too (why did I always fail while she was laying out the tea?) was humiliating and embarrassing beyond reason.

“In a bit, my dear, I don’t think you are quite ready.”

I wanted to scream that I was far beyond ready but knew it would do no good.  Instead I moaned out loud as the tip once more traced its cruel pattern across my aching bud.  I was not sure that it had ever felt so hard, so red and so sensitive.  But the contact was far too brief and the feather moved to another part of my sex.

“Come and have a close look, Rose, Mrs. Jones.  I believe her ladyship is now close to being fully stimulated.” The women promptly obeyed until their faces were within a foot of my inverted loins.

It was horribly unpleasant having the two women leaning in so close to observe my poor intimate parts.  But it was hard to deny the truth in Sir Thomas’ words.  Every part of my sex was now red, swollen and wet. The sensations radiating from it swamped all other feelings: embarrassment, humiliation and shame were as nothing compared to my need to climax.  The knowledge that the housekeeper must be stimulated by the sight only made things worse.

“Have you ever seen a cunt so red, Mrs. Jones?”

“Only one that’s been beaten or strapped, Sir Thomas.”

“What about you Rosie?  Ever seen your mistress’ cunt so wet and sticky?”

“No, Sir Thomas, never.” I could see the flush on her face.

To complete my indignity my husband took the cursed feather and inserted it, quill end first, into my bottomhole.  There it waved like a sort of obscene flag.  I was weeping with shame and frustration; it was impossible to tell which feeling was stronger.

“Now, my dear, I do believe you are ready to reach your peak.  Just ask Mrs. Jones to take the plume from your arsehole and frig your clit with it till you come.”

No!  I couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it.  I refused to let that woman with her disgusting tastes touch me even with a feather, even when I was desperate.  He could not make me.  I would remain silent.

“Pour the tea, Mrs. Jones, please.”  This she did and passed a cup to Sir Thomas, who proceeded to start on a cucumber sandwich.  After a couple of minutes he stopped, returned to me and, taking the feather from its impromptu holder, proceeded to tease me back to the edge of reason.  Replacing the feather he resumed his tea.

After the third time this had been inflicted on me I broke.  I knew it would continue till he won.  He could never allow me to best him in such a manner.

“Please, Mrs. Jones.  Please do it.”

“More precise, little wife.  Where to you want her to take the feather from and what to you want her to do with it?”

“Take the feather from my arsehole, please…  Please use it on my clittie… Please!”

At a glance from Sir Thomas the housekeeper complied with my supplication, but not without using the damned thing to tease me first till I was perched on the very edge.  After balancing there for what seemed like forever I fell into a purely gigantic climax as the tip of the plume whirled around on my bud.  This orgasm went on and on unbearably as the stimulation of my stiff little nub simply did not cease.  The woman was beyond cruel.

“Please stop…  Please… Aarggh!” I was overcome by another fearsome crest.

“I think you better had, Mrs. Jones.  Otherwise her ladyship may dislocate something jerking about like a puppet with St. Vitus’ dance.”

At once the teasing ended and soon after Rose was helping me to dress once more.  My poor sex still throbbed and would for hours after.

Another time Sir Thomas had me bound in a new position: lying with my back on the seat of the sofa, my legs spread and bound to the usual corners leaving my head dangling over the edge of the settle. In this way I gazed inverted at the portrait of Lady Anne.  My arms were stretched out and bound to the arms of the furniture.  This made me even more than normally apprehensive as generally Sir Thomas required me to keep my free hands by my side voluntarily.  I guessed he had a true ordeal planned for me.

On this occasion I was not to be stimulated in the slightest, merely educated.  Sir Thomas knelt before me and unfastening his breeches proceeded to place his organ before my face. He commanded me to first kiss it and then lick it.  Both activities were quite strange in my position.

“Open wide, my darling!” The moment I had been dreading arrived. I complied and he proceeded to feed himself into my mouth.  I did my best to suck and satisfy him.  Swallowing in an inverted position is difficult though and soon a little trail of my drool was running down my face and into my hair.

“Now you are going to learn how to swallow cock.  I do not expect you to become as accomplished at this task as your predecessor but I am sure you will do your best.”  With this he began to force the head of his organ against the back of my palate, seeking entry to my throat.

“Swallow, dear, swallow.” I just retched up copious saliva which then ended up smeared all over my face and dripping into my hair.

He was relentless though and after brief respites returned again and again to his labour.  Over and over he told me to swallow and eventually, just as I thought I might drown in my own spittle, I timed my convulsive swallowing motions with his pressure.  Appalled I felt the head of it slide into my throat.  I panicked.  How was I to breathe? But my cruel master held the lump of flesh in there for several long moments before with drawing it back into my mouth proper.  I spluttered immense quantities of sputum around the damned thing.

“Well done, wife!  Now again!”  And so it went on. 

At the end of what must have been half an hour or more he had managed to force the entire length of it into my throat leaving his scrotum, dripping with my saliva, resting on my nose.  He would hold it there for long moments enjoying the tightness of my gullet, even rocking himself back and forth in hard little jabs.  Then he would briefly withdraw to allow me to breathe before resuming.  My face was a mask of drool which had also soaked my hair to the roots.

Finally with a loud groan he shoved his member as far as he could into my throat and held it there making little stabbing motions.  He was coming directly into my gullet and I swallowed it reflexively, tasting it not at all.  As he finally withdrew from me I hung there dazed by my ordeal.  My whole face felt bruised from his pelvis hitting it repeatedly. My throat felt so raw I knew I could not speak.  How could Lady Anne have found this exciting?  If he had touched my sex at that moment he would have found no trace of dampness.

Rose helped me up and managed to wipe my face with a napkin before dressing me.  But nothing could remove the feeling of sputum drying on my scalp as I sat having my tea.  The warm liquid burnt a track down the scraped lining of my craw and brought tears once more to my eyes.

“Very well done, my dear, for a first attempt.  Regular practise and you will soon become accomplished at it.”

My throat hurt too much to reply with more than a hoarse, “Yes, husband.”

But on the way out of the room his hand strayed to my bottom and cupping it he whispered in my ear. “You have earned yourself an exceptional arse-fucking tonight, Lady Caroline.”

He was as good as his word and having climaxed earlier in the day he was able to make it last almost forever, certainly long after the candles had burnt out.  My face was sore but my sex was satisfied.  Was I becoming a captive of my own desires?

Chapter 9 – Success and disaster at the house party

All at once it was Mid-April and the house party was upon us. The preparations were so intense during the last week that Sir Thomas did not even seek to disturb the household’s rhythm by ordering me to tea in the Yellow Salon. Rose was allowed her proper maid’s dress with two days to go.  The preparations to have twenty guests stay for five days and to hold a grand ball for everyone in the district on the last night are hard to describe.  Suffice to say that extra staff for the kitchens had to be brought in from Hirst village, where many of the estate families lived.

It took an entire afternoon for all our guests to arrive.  Bedchambers had been assigned and the footmen moved luggage to and fro.  As each guest brought with them a maid or manservant all our servants on the top floor had to double up with extra beds being brought in.  Meals in the servants’ hall had to be taken in two sittings and tensions ran high below stairs as the crowding took its toll.

While nominally Mr. Edwards, the butler was the head servant, in reality it was Mrs. Jones who ran everything.   Whatever I might have thought of her morals her ability to organise was indisputable.  Nothing fazed her.  When Lady Sydenby brought two maids instead of the expected one, she merely arranged for another bed to be put into Rose’s room to accommodate the girl.  Whenever disputes seemed about to break out she quelled them. Rose told me it was that everyone was terrified of her.  I supposed that none of the maids wanted to end up under her skirts being punished in such a disgusting fashion.  And men are always in awe of a woman in a position of power.

The kitchens looked like a scene from Bedlam.  This was the true test of Mrs. Shepherd’s skills as a cook.  Her efforts for Sir Thomas and me had always been excellent, but cooking for two undemanding people is quite different from arranging meal after meal for twenty-two.  As I entered with Mrs. Jones on the first evening I could see that there were more than double the normal staff all set to different tasks and the cook was bustling between them barking shrill orders and occasional reprimands.  I was surprised to see she had a little switch in her hand that she used twice on scullery maids who did not move out of her way quickly enough.

“Do you think that is the proper way to get them to do their best?” I asked Mrs. Jones.

The housekeeper gave me a half-smile. “I think the kitchen staff prefer the switch to her other threat.”

“Which is?”

“Being sent to see me to explain their misdemeanour and to ask for my punishment.  None of them want that.”  That was understandable I could not wish for anyone to receive that Sapphic humiliation.

Despite the turmoil behind the scenes the dinner that evening was superb.  I sat at one end of the long table while my husband was at the head.  Separating us were our twenty guests, ten to a side of the long mahogany table.  The entire dining room shone with myriad candles.  On a usual evening the two of us just sat at the far end side by side and only half the room was lit.  The meal, like the others that followed showed off Mrs. Shepherd’s cunning.  There were always one or two dishes that were complicated and required immense preparation.  These were interspersed with courses that focussed on quality and freshness to deliver their effect.  That evening we had pigeon en croute to start where every individual dish had a sculpted bird on its pastry lid.  Then came a fresh cream of vegetable soup, excellent roast beef from the estate herds and finally a whipped mousse of egg, cream and sugar teased into little spires.  Cheese and port finished the meal and when we ladies retired to leave the men to it I made a little detour to the kitchen to give the staff some of the many compliments I had received from the guests.  As I left the kitchen I heard a little cheer followed by a high-pitched snarl from Mrs. Shepherd to get on with the tidying up and to start preparing bread for baking in the morning.

During the day the men went shooting and hunting while us ladies walked the gardens, rode out (for those of us who were more energetic) or spent time in indoor pursuits.  One day Sir Thomas took the entire party over to the mine and the mills to show them the sights.  It served both as a point of general interest and as a demonstration of the Dalrymples’ considerable wealth. 

Our most important guests were Viscount and Viscountess Hawarden who had estates to the west in Wales.  I knew they had a son, Lord Llanbedr, in his early twenties who was unmarried and would one day inherit his father’s title and so I was more than a little interested on Georgina’s behalf.  That the Hawardens were of necessity looking for a suitable dowry to pay down mortgages on their estates made my need to find a way to keep my daughter away from any scandal while securing for her a dowry from my husband all the more pressing.  And while Lord Llanbedr was not present (he was in London for the Season) there were several other eligible men who might have done almost as well.

As a first step on this journey to my daughter’s future I passed a letter addressed to Georgina into the hand of Anne Graves when we were out walking in the rose garden.  The letter gave no hint of what had befallen me at Hirst Hall but instructed her that when her schooling was done in early June that she was to go to London and to stay with her uncle for the time being.  I begged my friend not to let anyone know of the existence of the missive and she promised that it would be sent as soon as she returned to Ludlow.  This task done I turned my full attention to my guests and the ball.

The ball was a magnificent success and the dancing went on till near dawn with the musicians having been brought from Shrewsbury for the occasion. And with near two hundred in the Hall I was overcome with pleasure at the compliments I received: on the ball, on the house, on the music.  Everyone kept calling me Lady Dalrymple and all that I had undergone in the past two months seemed washed clean.  This was how I had imagined being the lady of Hirst Hall would feel like.

The next day was tiring as we had none of us had more than a couple of hours’ sleep, if any at all.  The last ball guests left at dawn followed by clearing away and the packing of the house guests who began to leave after a final luncheon.  Finally, late afternoon, the last of the guests’ carriages departed down the drive. 

I planned to rest in my room for an hour but first I had to thank the servants who were already hard at work trying to overcome the mess throughout the house.  It would clearly take days before it was all returned to pristine order.  As I was standing with Mrs. Jones thanking the kitchen staff, both the temporary and the permanent, a message arrived from Sir Thomas requesting our presence in the Yellow Salon.  I was amazed, surely he could not want to abuse me there now; we were all so fatigued.  And yet it had been nine days since he last tormented me, the longest such period since I had come to the hall.  Mrs. Jones and I hurried there to find out.

When we arrived he courteously bade me to be seated. He congratulated me and Mrs. Jones on the great success of the house party and the ball.  Then, just as I was beginning to relax, he produced from his pocket a letter and held it up to me.  It was my letter to Georgina.

“But how...?” I began.

“Simple enough, I asked Rosie which among our guests was your particular friend and she mentioned Mrs. Graves.  I sent her to tell Mrs. Graves that you had changed your mind about the letter and to request its return.  Had there been no such missive then she would have admitted to a maid’s misunderstanding.  As it was the letter was promptly returned to Rosie so she could pass it to you.  Instead it came to me.”

“It is merely a letter to my daughter.”

“And why would any caring mother, having not seen her only child for nigh-on six months command her to go to London.  Especially when the young lady in question must be eager to see her new home.”

“I thought it better for her.”  I was finding a well of defiance deep within me.

“Then you should have discussed it with me first.  This is most disobedient.”

“I am sorry, Sir Thomas, for my disobedience, but I believe my decision to be entirely justified.”

“Well, my dear, you are to be punished for it.  I will not have disobedience.  Rosie, strip your mistress.  Mrs. Jones, bring me the crop from the chest.”

So I was to be beaten.  I resolved to endure any chastisement for Georgina’s sake.  Soon enough I was naked and bent over the back of a Chippendale chair.

“Grip the arms, wife, and do not release them.”

I complied which left my breasts swinging as I leant forward.  I was determined to remain silent under this unfair cruelty.

With a whistle and a crack the crop landed hard on my bare, taut bottom.  I felt the intense pain lancing through me, waves of shocks radiating from my damaged flesh.  The sensation was near overwhelming and I gasped but managed to stifle any other sound.  More strokes followed and my behind became as hot as a brazier, radiating pain in fierce surges through my body.  I felt as if I were floating away on a sea of agony. After the firth stroke Sir Thomas stopped.

“Damnation, I do not believe it!”  With that exclamation of surprise I felt his fingers enter my sex.

“You’re wet, you harlot!” And I was.  Overwhelming though the pain felt it had travelled straight to my loins and made me as hot as it was possible to feel.  I did not crave the pain and would have done most anything to avoid it, but the physical reaction was undeniable.  I said nothing; I was determined in my silence.

“You are NOT supposed to be enjoying this!  Rose, Mrs. Jones, arrange Lady Caroline on the sofa.  Bind her.  I want her feet together and pointing upwards.”

While they arranged me on my back on the settle with my ankles bound and fixed above my head, my husband went and fetched a different instrument from the chest of drawers between the windows where the implements of my torment were kept under a lock to which Mrs. Jones carried the key.  He returned flexing a tawse.  This was a wooden handle from which sprang a long leather strap, split so that the two sides could move with a slight degree of independence.  I had seen one at Deepwell where it had been used on servants in the days before I became mistress.

“This you will not find so pleasurable,” he said with a fierce earnestness that was terribly disconcerting.  The tawse landed with a loud whipcrack across the soles of my feet.  He was right.  This was pain of a quite different sort, well beyond any semblance of pleasure.

I have discovered since that day that for me there are three kinds of chastisement.  There is a punishment where each stroke serves only to stoke my fire, the pain being quite secondary.  A spanking comes in this category.   Then there is a beating such as the crop I had just received on my bottom where the pain is intense and the suffering real but which leads to an underlying, growing warmth, like hot coals under a layer of ash.  The third kind is where the pain obliterates any possible pleasure. The application of the tawse on the soles of my feet is most certainly in this third class.

Within minutes I was howling unrestrainedly in abject misery.  I was squealing like a pig in a slaughterhouse, bereft of all dignity.  The entire household must have heard me and I cared not one bit. I begged and supplicated to no avail.  When finally he desisted my feet carried on screaming their suffering almost as if he had continued.

“Will you be an obedient wife?” I was stung by the ferocity in his voice.

“Yes, yes, I will. Please, no more!”  I would have said anything to get my release.

“Good. Rose, dress your mistress and take her to her room.  She may eat there this evening.”  With that he turned and left the room, throwing the tawse on the sofa beside my bound body.

Once they had unbound me Rose and Mrs. Jones got my dress back on and had me carried in a chair up to my room.  I could not put any weight on my feet. I laid on my bed while Rose fussed around me.

“Why?” I asked Rose in tears.

“Sir Thomas asked if I were an obedient girl and I said I was.  Then he told me to make the request from Mrs. Graves.  I didn’t know what was in the letter, Ma’am.”

“And if you had known?”

“I would still have done what he asked.  He is the master here and I do not want to be beaten again.  You should obey him too, Ma’am.”

A maid appeared with a bowl of water.

“Mrs. Jones says you are to use this.  It will help.”

Rose helped me get my feet into the bowl.  The water was cool and soothing and smelt of liniment which stung my feet slightly but was undoubtedly good for them.  After a while the housekeeper herself appeared and inspected my feet.

“Rose, make sure her ladyship now keeps her feet up.  They must be at the same height as her head.  Use pillows if necessary.  Lady Caroline, trust me, this will aid with the swelling.”  For maybe the first time since I had met her, Mrs. Jones seemed to care about my welfare.

That evening I ate alone in my room and I spent the night in my own bed, the only time this had happened since coming to the hall.  Even when it was my time of the month I had spent the night with Sir Thomas in his bedchamber.  I was lonely and desperately worried that I had done some sort of irreparable damage to my marriage.  But Georgina came first in my mind.

The next morning Rose appeared and laid out my bath.  I could just about put my weight gingerly on my poor martyred feet. As I headed toward the tub she stayed me gently.

“Your clyster, Ma’am.”

Without a word I arranged myself back on the bed and submitted to my irrigation. After soaking for a long while I arose to get dressed.  It was then that I noticed the dress that Rose had put out for me and was waiting to help me with.  It was one of my dresses that had been modified.  It now ended at the knee, had no sleeves whatsoever and extreme décolletage. 

“What is that?” I stammered.

“Your dress, Ma’am. Sir Thomas says you are to wear shortened dresses until you have shown yourself to be obedient.”  Rose blushed.  She was clearly embarrassed for me.  I noticed a complete absence of undergarments.

“I will not wear that.  I plan to go riding.  I take it that my riding habit has not been destroyed?”

“No, Ma’am.  Are you sure you should be riding with your feet in this condition?”  But she moved to begin laying out the riding costume.

“Quite sure.”

Rose lacing on my riding boots made me weep with pain but I managed to get down to the front steps where Ralph was waiting with both of our horses.  Even using the mounting block I found getting on the filly’s back difficult.  I wanted to cry out with agony.

I rode deliberately towards the east end of the estate down towards Church Stretton.  After an hour or so Ralph, who generally hung back by twenty yards or so approached me and suggested we turn back.  Usually I never rode so far from the hall.  I agreed but as he turned his stallion I kicked mine into a gallop and headed away.

My filly was slower than his stallion but I was a much better horsewoman and the filly was much more manoeuvrable than the bigger mount.  For a long while he found it impossible to catch up with me.  When he did I turned this way and that avoiding him as I sought to reach the main road in the hope of some succour.  Eventually my poor little mount stumbled in exhaustion and he seized the reins.  He looked at me reproachfully as he turned us back towards the hall.  It took us the best part of two hours to reach it and during that time I begged and entreated him to let me go.  He kept silent the entire time, refusing even to respond to me.

On return to the hall I hobbled to my room, part in shame and part in impotent fury, my feet in complete unmitigated pain.   Soon though Rose came to say I was summoned to the Yellow Salon where Sir Thomas met me, having been informed of my attempt to ride away.

“Rose,” he snapped as we entered, “why is Lady Caroline wearing that?  I ordered her dresses shortened till she is obedient.  Was I not clear?”

“I’m sorry, Sir Thomas, the seamstress only had time to modify one overnight and her ladyship asked to go riding.  I did not know.  I am very sorry.”

“You will be even sorrier if I stripe your arse again and have you drawerless in a short shift.  Am I clear now?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“And tell Ralph that her ladyship is only to go riding if she is hobbled and properly attired from now on.  She will have to ride side-saddle and in a short dress.  That should make her less adventurous.  Now let’s have Lady Dalrymple back on the sofa as per yesterday.”

I fought them not at all as they positioned me.  Soon enough the tawse was hitting my soles again.  The pain was even worse than the day before as the blows were landing on my already bruised and sensitised feet.  He did not even need to hit as hard as before.  I was screaming and begging from the second blow.  After fifteen minutes I was lost in a world where all I could feel was agony.  My entire self was the nerve endings in my feet.  I babbled incoherently and barely noticed as I was unbound and carried half unconscious to my room.

Some while later Mrs. Jones herself appeared to bring the water and liniment.  Even that was full torment to me now.  I spent the evening alone in my room, was fed there and slept fitfully.

In the morning I tried to bribe the chambermaid to carry a letter for me by offering a piece of jewellery.  She declined and I was soon reported.  This time I was carried to the Salon and arranged as before.  I was already begging before Sir Thomas even showed me the tawse.  He barely needed to hit me now.  The blows were probably only half as hard as on the first day but the pain was worse.  Once more I was carried to my room near insensible.

When Mrs. Jones brought the water for my feet this time she bathed them herself.  I wept from the pain as each scrap of my foot suffered.

“This cannot go on, Lady Caroline, you must give in to him.  These bruises will take weeks to heal.  If this carries on he may end up damaging your nerves.”  I could hear the concern in her voice.  She was gently drying my feet now.

“I cannot,” I sobbed.  “I must save my daughter.”

“He is your husband, you have sworn to obey him.”

“Not in this, I cannot.”

“Then I pity you...”  And with this she left me to my misery.

The next morning Rose had to help me arrange myself for my irrigation as she was unwilling to let me forego it.  I had my breakfast in my room as I was unable to walk more than a step or two.  I noticed that the chambermaid did not reappear.  Only Rose and Mrs. Jones came in.  I supposed that the housekeeper did not wish me to make another futile attempt.  In truth I do not believe I could.  I was now in terror of further pain and would do nothing to bring it on myself.

After an hour of resting on my bed reading they both reappeared.

“Yes?” I enquired, shaking inwardly.

“Sir Thomas wants to see you,” said Mrs. Jones gently. “Now.  In the Chinese Salon.”

“But I have done nothing wrong.  And why the Chinese Salon?”  It was my favourite room and the one I used for my writing and reading.  There was a lovely chinoiserie Chippendale writing desk and gorgeous Chinese style wallpaper and ceramics.  It was a delicate and bright place and now I was terrified of going there.

“A man may talk to his wife whenever and wherever it pleases him.  Don’t keep him waiting.”  And with this they began to attire me.  The modified dress was scandalously short, finishing at the knee and also terribly low leaving my nipples barely covered.  In fact the dark halo round my nipples could be seen above the level of the hem, leaving me blushing with shame.  I was given no undergarments.  Boots were an impossibility and instead I put on felt slippers which were all I could stand.

“Shall we call the footmen to carry you downstairs?” 

“No thank you, Mrs. Jones. But please help me.”  And so I half-hung between the two women as we descended the stairs and made our way to the salon.  At the door they made to help me inside but I gently pushed them to one side.  I entered, hobbling and wincing, alone.

Sir Thomas was sitting on the chinoiserie settee and rose immediately to greet me politely but seeing me hobbling rushed to help me to be seated.  The pain was all consuming and I had no time to think of the spectacle I must be making in my travesty of a dress.  Nor did I even notice my lack of undergarments.  By the time I was seated there were beads of perspiration on my forehead.  My husband sat next to me and I felt his extreme closeness.  This in itself was unusual as he normally sat in a chair across from me so that he could watch me.

“I would ask how you are, dear, but I think the answer is obvious,” he began.  “Mrs. Jones tells me I have to agree terms with you.” 

Inwardly my heart leapt.  Maybe there was some way of saving this for I knew that if he ordered me beaten again I would capitulate immediately before even the first blow.  I could not take any more abuse on my poor feet.  I owed the woman a genuine debt.

“And do you always do what your housekeeper tells you, Sir Thomas?”

“Mrs. Jones rarely offers me any advice, much less bluntly tells me what I should do.  She is a remarkable woman and I value her.”

“Have you slept with her?” The thought had suddenly sprung up in my mind.

“Not at all,” he laughed.  “As I am sure you know I would not be to her taste.”

“So what is it that makes her remarkable?”  I was happy to keep the conversation away from dangerous subjects.

“She organises as well as any person I have ever met and is a fine judge of character.  I met her ten years ago when she was 26 and a junior housekeeper at Stansfield Grange near Shrewsbury.  It was a high position for someone of her age and a tribute to her hard work and abilities.  While Lady Anne and I were staying there overnight she was caught in flagrante delicto with the lady of the house.  I later discovered (she told me quite honestly) that the master had walked into his bedchamber only to find Mrs. Jones more than half naked and seated on the face of his entirely nude wife while enthusiastically pumping a candle in and out of her mistress’ cunt.  She admitted that it she had been the seducer.  Dismissal was instant, with neither pay nor references.  Our carriage passed her walking towards the nearest town.  I offered her the same position at Hirst Hall as she had held at Stansfield.  She accepted having nowhere else to go but the whorehouse.  Three years after she became the housekeeper here.”

“Then why is she Mrs. Jones, especially if she only likes women?”

“You can ask her yourself.  But I understand she married at eighteen because it was the expected thing to do.  Her husband left her a few years later when her true nature became apparent.”

“And what did Lady Anne say to this?”

“Lady Anne was an obedient wife,” he said with heavy emphasis.  “And as you may have found out Mrs. Jones has a talent for humiliating other women, given the opportunity.  And my dear departed wife derived immense pleasure from occasionally being sexually humiliated.  It formed the basis for an entertaining if complicated relationship between them.”

“I do not derive any pleasure that way.”  It was my turn to use heavy emphasis.

“No, but you are capable of finding ecstasy in other ways.  Your needs are every bit as intense as Lady Anne’s passions, perhaps more so.”  He paused as if to draw a line in our conversation.  “That is quite enough about the past. What shall we do to get around our current impasse?”

I took a deep breath.  “I want to send the letter.”

“No.  You will not.”

I thought for a moment he would ring the bell and order me bound and beaten.  I would have lost all.  I summoned up all my dwindling courage.  “Then how are we to proceed?”

“These are my terms,” he replied carefully.  “You will write to Georgina telling her to come here as soon as her schooling finishes in June.  I will promise that I will never so much as lay a finger on my step-daughter.”

“But you could as easily order Hugh, David or George to rape her in the hallway the minute she arrives.”  I had not forgotten Rose.  “Or your sons, Edward and James, they will be back before her.”

“My sons are but fifteen and fourteen, hardly much of a threat.  Very well then, I will promise that no man or boy shall touch your daughter in any way while she is at Hirst Hall.  It is not in our interests to have any scandal attached to Georgina.  She must make a good marriage and we must not endanger that.”

My heart leapt at these words.  I knew I was negotiating the terms of my surrender and that in the end I would capitulate either through agreement or by having my defences breached by agony.  This was my chance to get what my heart most desired.

“A good marriage will require a dowry.”

“Indeed, and as the Dalrymples are wealthy it will be expected to be a generous one.  Although Georgina is really a Deverne I do not expect your first husband’s family will be making any major settlement on her.  I was talking to Viscount Hawarden the other day while we were out shooting.  He expects that young Llanbedr will marry a lady bringing thirty thousand pounds into the family.”

I gasped.  That was immense sum though I imagine the viscount was exaggerating knowing who he was talking to.

“I told him that Miss Georgina would have a dowry of that magnitude and that I would provide an annual income of two thousand pounds to her during her lifetime.  Hawarden is keen that the two young people should meet in the summer.”

The dowry was that of a significant heiress and would secure Georgina for life.  I had won.  “Can the estate afford this?”

“Easily, my dear.  The new canal cost the estate a quarter of a million pounds and that expense has already been repaid and more besides. And I have no other daughters to provide for. However in return for this settlement on my part I expect that I will have an obedient and compliant wife.”

And there it was: I was to become ‘obedient’ and Georgina was to become a future viscountess.  There was no point being coy. “I will at all times be your obedient wife, Sir Thomas.”

He leant over, held me in his arms and kissed me on the forehead.  “We shall see, my dear, we shall see.  Now, I have an estate to run.”  And with that he rose and left me to savour my triumph and to worry about the nature of the obedience required from me.

Mrs. Jones came in soon after.  “Will you want help returning to your room, your ladyship?”

“No, I think I will remain here for the time being.  And thank you, Mrs. Jones.  I am grateful.”

“No need to thank me, Lady Caroline.”

“I think there is, you have been most kind.”

“I am not usually described as ‘kind’.  Not at Hirst Hall.  You may be the first person to call me that.”  And with a merest hint of a smile she left me.

I spent my day first reading and later writing a very different letter to Georgina informing her that she was come directly here as soon as her schooling was done and full of gossip about eligible young men.  I handed the letter unsealed to Rose and asked her to have it sent.  That it would be read first was no longer an issue.

I retired to my room to have my swollen feet bathed and decided I was in too much pain to go down to dinner.  My lack of appropriate clothing did not help.  Four of my dresses had now been modified and those were the only ones that I was to be permitted to wear.  Undergarments had completely disappeared from my dressing room.

As I was falling asleep the side door to my room opened and in stepped Sir Thomas.  He was as naked as a wild beast and in the light spilling through the door I could see he was already half-erect.  I blushed just looking at him.  Without a word he gathered me in his arms before carrying me back to his lair.  My nightgown offered little protection from the heat of his body. I shivered and then winced as my sore feet brushed against the door jamb.

In moments I was in his bed, my gown was bunched at my waist, I was spread open and he was inside me.  There seemed no need for gentleness as I was very ready for him.  I pulled back my legs and wrapped them round him so that my bruised and aching feet rested together on the small of his back, letting him into me as far as was humanly possible.  His hands gripped my bottom making me feel the welts still there from the crop.

“Take me, oh take me!” I wanted him as badly as could be imagined.  Three days without him combined with the physical torture I had suffered had left me desperate for the comfort of sexual release.

“For God’s sake, say it right,” he whispered in my ear.

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!” I squealed.  And as I said it I climaxed and climaxed and climaxed.  Truly I thought my surrender was complete.

But as I lay there afterwards in the crook of his arm he whispered quietly in my ear.

“I love you, wife.”

And those words, not said to me for eighteen years put me in turmoil.  He fell asleep moments later while I lay there contemplating what my life had become.

Chapter 10 – I am taught the meaning of obedience

The next morning I steeled myself to be the obedient wife.  The biggest difficulty I could foresee was going to be wearing the shortened dresses without drawers; I was going to feel half-naked for the entire day.

The first shock was when Rose informed me that Sir Thomas now wanted me to have a fourth rinsing each morning and that the first of these was to have glycerine added to it.  This seemed to penetrate even further into me than plain water.  I had to hold it for a count of one hundred which was a genuine ordeal and I was struggling during the last twenty.  Still I said not a word and afterwards passively let her shave me.

At breakfast Sir Thomas and I discussed the coming weeks.  Georgina was expected in seven weeks and we planned to arrange for Lord Llanbedr to visit three weeks later at the beginning of July.  Before that Thomas Lawrence was expected to paint my portraits in 25 days time (I quailed inwardly).  James and Edward, my stepsons, were due back from Winchester ten days before Georgina, though Sir Thomas was packing them off to friends in Derbyshire after a week so that Georgina could settle in without the presence of adolescent males.  I was pleased that he was considering his stepdaughter’s comfort.  I suggested that she should have the room nearest mine, but Sir Thomas just asked if I was sure I wanted her hearing my nocturnal noises.  In the end we agreed that a room down near the old nursery should be redone for her.

I spent the day inspecting the house to see all was restored after the chaos of the ball.  I had to deliberately ignore the bruising in my feet which necessitated frequent pauses to rest.  And my scandalous outfit most certainly did not help.  At one point I stretched to straighten a mantelpiece ornament and my nipples popped out of the cursed dress.  Frantically I struggled to tuck them back in while Mrs. Jones pretended not to notice.

As I had anticipated I was summoned to the Yellow Salon for afternoon tea.  I was sure that my obedience was to be tested in some perverse way.  Mrs. Jones arrived with me to find that Sir Thomas was already sat in the centre of the sofa with Rose standing off to one side.

“Please come stand before me, my dear.”

I limped over until I was directly before him. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll have you off those sore feet in just a few minutes.  Meanwhile please lean forward.”

I complied, knowing what would happen.  Suddenly my nipples leapt free of the dress and I felt them stiffening in the air.  I made a move to rectify the situation but my husband just stopped me with a glance.  I straightened back up with my breasts now resting on top of the dress.  It felt quite obscene, worse than being naked.

“Now lift your dress, wife.”

I began to lift the already high hem up my thighs.

“To the waist please.  I wish to see you properly.”

I obeyed and my shaven sex was suddenly clearly on display to him and to Mrs. Jones who had moved to stand behind the sofa.  I blushed a deep crimson.

“Lovely!  Quite edible, I am sure!”

Was he going to eat me?  I knew what havoc his tongue could wreak down there. 

“Rosie, come help her ladyship off with her dress.  And Mrs. Jones, please compliment the seamstress on her work.  I do love the way Lady Caroline’s titties threaten to leap free with every movement.”

When I was naked (which took mere moments as I was wearing so little) he patted his lap.

“Come lie down across my lap.  I want to conduct an experiment.”

I shuddered and made to sit on his lap.

“No, silly, face down and bottom up.”

Understanding for the first time his intentions I placed myself face down on his lap.  On one side my legs trailed to the floor on the other my breasts dangled and I had to place my hands on the rug to help balance.

“Now my darling, I am going to spank you.  Judging from your reactions a few days back I believe you will enjoy it.”  And with this his fingertip began to trace the now fading tracks where the crop had bitten in to me four days before.  They were still somewhat sore and I winced slightly.

Suddenly the hand was removed and with a loud slap applied to my right cheek.  It hurt, stinging my sensitive skin.  I felt the warmth bloom as the blood flooded into my bottom but equally or more so there was a tingling of heat in my sex.  The two were connected as if by some umbilical cord.  The next slap landed on the opposite cheek.  He was not hitting hard and was clearly aiming more to sting me than really cause serious pain.  Nonetheless the stinging hurt and soon my bottom was very sore indeed.

After a few minutes he stopped and his hand roamed all over my reddened hemispheres rubbing and gently pressing my flesh. It felt so terribly pleasant as I supposed it was meant to do.  Then his fingers dipped and slid along the slit of my sex.  I could not stifle a low moan.

“As I predicted, you’re wet already.”

His hand withdrew and went back to spanking my bottom.  A few more minutes of spanking followed.  It was hurting more now as my skin became more enflamed.  But that made little difference to me now as the real fire was somewhere else. When he next stopped and stroked and kneaded my bottom I was becoming desperate for those flames to be doused not stoked.  This time his fingers slipped right inside meeting no resistance whatsoever. I groaned out loud and wriggled my behind.

“Beyond mere dampness now, I’d say she’s dripping.  What do you think Mrs. Jones?” I felt his fingers withdraw; he was clearly holding them up for the housekeeper to inspect.  I was glad that my face was down toward the carpet, hiding my blushes.

“Lady Caroline clearly likes being spanked, Sir Thomas.  I would recommend you do it regularly.  I have found that when a housemaid needs breaking in that setting a time each week for her to be disciplined works wonders.  The knowledge that the chastisement is coming merely heightens the occasion.  Ah, here is Mary with your tea.  You could ask her.”

I felt the hand slap down hard on my bottom again as Sir Thomas went back to smacking me. But it did not stop him interrogating Mary.

“Does Mrs. Jones discipline you regularly Mary?”  Another spank from him, another moan from me and a wriggle from my flaming backside.

“Yes, Sir Thomas.” Slap, moan, wriggle.

“When does she do it?” Slap, moan, wriggle.

“Friday mornings, Sir, at ten o’clock.” Slap, moan, wriggle.

“And does anticipating it make it worse or better, Mary?” Slap, moan, wriggle.

“Much worse, Sir.” Slap, moan, wriggle.

“Ah, but that is because you do not like Mrs. Jones’ punishment, do you Mary?” Slap, moan, wriggle.

“No sir, not at all.” Slap, moan, wriggle.

“Whereas Lady Caroline, as we have all already established, rather enjoys her torments.” Slap, moan, wriggle.

“Nonetheless, Sir Thomas,” I heard the amusement in the housekeeper’s voice, “I am sure that knowing what is to come will only heighten her ladyship’s sensations.” Slap, moan, wriggle.

“Very well then, Mrs. Jones, let us assume you are correct.” Slap, moan, wriggle. “I will spank my wife every Sunday at ten o’clock, just before we go down to church in the village.” Slap, moan, wriggle. “It will give her something to think on during the sermon.” Slap, moan, wriggle.

The spanking switched once more to the stroking and then to the blatant fingering.  I was reaching the point where I was going to have to beg for release.  I managed to hold out through one more session of spanks till Mary had at least left.  Then as I was about to ask he suddenly paused in his fingering of my slit, which by then really was dripping with my wetness.

“I think that’s enough for now.  Come get your mistress dressed Rosie.” 

I wanted to scream at him to please, please finish me off but, as I was about to, he forestalled me.

“Now as an obedient wife I am sure you will want to keep your cunt nice and hot for me till bedtime.  That means no touching yourself on the sly.  I want you as hot as Vesuvius tonight.”

And I was.  By the time the next six hours had passed I was truly ready to erupt.  The warmth I felt in my bottom seemed to keep my inner flame at a peak of heat and brightness.  I was ready to give him anything in the most wanton way imaginable when we reached his bed.

And the next Sunday he was punctilious in his application.  I presented myself in my Sunday best (being allowed to wear a real dress was a genuine pleasure – without any drawers though) and lay over his lap.  I was already wet with the anticipation as he loudly pointed out to Rose and Mrs. Jones. Several rotations of spanking, stroking and fingering later and I was at the peak of stimulation, the very verge of climax.  At that point he stopped, lifted me to my feet and, taking my arm, we walked down to the church.  I heard not a word of the service being lost in mine own little world of unendurably prolonged sexual torment.

After our lunch I was beginning to feel back in some semblance of control despite having been required to change into one of my abominable short dresses on return from the church.  Usually on Sunday afternoons Sir Thomas and I went walking in the grounds or riding depending on my choice, but as it was beginning to rain I suggested we stayed indoors.  I really wanted him to take me upstairs and do perverse things to me in his chamber.  But he said that perhaps we should just sit and read.  That was most unlike him, he was not much of a reading man.  It was not that he was uneducated, just uninterested unless the tome was to do with estate management, mining or some such activity in which he could take an active interest.

He went off to fetch a book from the library and a little while later came to join me in the Chinese Salon where I sat reading a novel by Mrs Radcliffe, The Mysteries of Udolpho, while he looked through a heavy scientific tome by some Scottish doctor named Hutton.  I glanced across at his and it looked unbearably turgid and abstruse, all to do with formations of rocks in a place named Glen Tilt.  After a while he must have thought so too for he slammed it shut and dropped it onto the floor.

“Lady Caroline, I believe I am in need of more entertainment than poor Dr Hutton can provide.  Let us repair to the Yellow Salon.”  And with this he stood and reached out his hand for mine.

The heroine of my novel was just at that point fending off the attentions of an Italian brigand.  I felt there was little chance of my being saved from mine own particular footpad and my poor sex, which had only just calmed itself from the morning’s attentions, twitched anew.

We entered the room hand in hand and I saw that Rose and Mrs. Jones were already there before us, waiting for our arrival.  In addition there was a new piece of furniture, an unusual chaise longue.  I had seen it before pushed to one side in the old nursery.  While it was a fine mahogany piece and richly upholstered I had paid it no particular heed.  It had clearly been brought down here since I was spanked in this room before the service this morning.  Sir Thomas must have given orders for it to be brought when he went to fetch his book.  Obviously he must have planned this ever since I said I wanted to stay indoors.  What made the chaise longue different from others was that on each of the long sides of the object there was a heavy, vertical and carved pole.  In as much as I had given it any thought at all I had imagined that some invalid might recline upon it and using the verticals pull themselves into an upright position.  In truth I had not thought about it at all.  Now that I did it seemed to be just the sort of device that would be useful should it be necessary to bind someone.

“For this particular pastime it will be better if you are naked, my dear.  Rose, please help her ladyship.”

When I was divested of my clothing I was invited to recline on the chaise.  When I was comfortable Sir Thomas took first one leg and then the other and bound them at the ankle to the posts.  As these uprights were at the level of my breasts my legs were of necessity bend double and wide apart.  My feet pointed at the ceiling and my sex yawned wide in an unbelievably vulnerable way.  My wrists were next tied adjacent to my ankles.  I was now unable to move myself at all and with the back of the chaise holding my shoulders and head up I was required to gaze along my contorted body at my naked mound.

“Rosie, this afternoon is going to be a test for you.  We are going to see how well you know your mistress.  Refusal to play the game will mean a loss of your maid’s uniform and your underclothes.  A failure in the job you are to carry out will lead to a beating.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas.” I could detect fear and determination in equal measures in the girl’s voice.

“Excellent.  Mrs. Jones will help you with advice, but advice only.  You are going to use your agile little fingers to manipulate your mistress.   Should you bring your mistress to a climax you will be given a dozen strokes of the crop.  Should, at any time, Mrs. Jones decree that you are not doing your best to keep Lady Caroline close to the brink of her orgasmic pleasure then you shall receive two dozen.”

“No, please...”  I could not bear the thought of her touching me like that.  By the look on Rose’s face she was not exactly looking forward to the task either.

“Hush, dearest, an obedient wife is subject to her husband’s will. And this afternoon she is silent.”

I held my tongue though I could feel tears beginning to run down my face.  This was going to be incredibly unpleasant.

“It is now three of the afternoon,” Sir Thomas continued.  “At six o’clock by the clock there (we all glanced to look at the rococo ormolu timepiece on the mantle below Lady Anne’s portrait) you will bring Lady Caroline to her zenith, but not before. Off you go and while you are stimulating her ladyship’s body I will endeavour to entertain her mind.” 

Saying this he picked up my novel and drawing up a chair sat looking at my face.  He began to read where I had left off as the plucky Emily, trapped in Castle Udolpho by the villain Montoni fends off the proposals of marriage from Count Morano.  He read well and at any other time I would have listened attentively except that at the other end of the couch Mrs. Jones was whispering in Rose’s ear, clearly giving her suggestions for how to begin.

Rose’s fingers reached out and she ran them lightly over my sex using just the finger tips.  After a few minutes of this there was more whispered advice and the fingers’ touch became firmer.  Soon she was actively manipulating the folds of my sex.  Despite the fact that I am not interested in women this fondling had an inevitable effect especially with my husband smiling down at me.  In a way it was him touching me, as it was at his command that those feminine fingers were working me.

I was never again able to read ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho’ without my poor sex immediately becoming damp and warm.  The ordeal was so intense that the characters read so well by Sir Thomas have become fixed in my mind as symbols of perverted physical pleasure. This has not stopped me reading it of course and if anything has made it a more intense amusement.

Rose became steadily more active, pulling the folds of my intimate flesh this way and that, tickling and stroking and later rubbing.  She kept tugging my bud back and forth quite roughly and then stopping and rubbing it gently for a bit before moving on to some other place just in time.  At Mrs. Jones’ suggestion she also took hold of the inner folds of my sex and spread them wide open to the point of being painful.  Then she would lean forward and blow a little stream of air right into my innermost core.  Later still her fingers moved lower and rubbed my bottomhole which by then was desperate for attention. By now I was groaning and moaning quite freely but she was cautious not to push too far.  At no point did she penetrate me.

“Four o’clock now. I need to stretch my legs a bit.  I suggest a ten minute break.  Mrs. Jones, will you join me in a glass of Madiera?  Rose, fetch us both one.”

“Please,” I moaned, “please may I have one as well.”

“Off course you may, wife.  Rose, pour her ladyship a glass and help her to drink it.”

Rose helped me to drink by holding it to my lips and gently pouring it in while I gulped away.  It tasted so good.  The ten minutes gave me a chance to calm myself slightly before the torment recommenced.

Sir Thomas sat down once again and the reading carried on.  I glanced down though at where Mrs. Jones was handing a little pot of lotion to Rose who proceeded to dip her fingers in it.  Soon those digits were questing their way into my sex at first gently and then more forcefully and deeply. One then two and finally three fingers sought my inner core.  As this stimulation increased the visits of the fingers to my bud grew less frequent and shorter.  I think Rose saw too much risk in paying me much attention there.

After a bit I could stand it no longer.  “Please...” I moaned, “Please...”

My husband gently placed his finger against my lips to shush me. “Hush now.  Obedient wives don’t speak unless they are allowed to.”

I felt a finger slipping into my back passage and the thrill of it surged round my sex. Despite my bonds I humped my bottom upwards skewering it more deeply.  It felt so good, just what I needed.  But then it was withdrawn and I was left with my little bottomhole twitching in an attempt to recapture her digit.

This went on interminably: touching here, rubbing there, entering this hole or that.  I gave up any pretence at fighting the torment.  I became entirely focussed on the feelings in my sex.  There was no way this would last till six o’clock; I was going to climax long beforehand.

Rose entered my bottom with two fingers and I knew that would be enough. Convulsively I jerked myself up onto her.  The fingers sank into my backside to the knuckles. Furiously I clenched my muscles round her. I was so close. The fingers were rapidly withdrawn and I felt her pinching my nub viciously as Mrs. Jones whispered urgently in her ear.  The sharp pain just dulled the pleasure enough to bring me back.  I cried out in unspeakable frustration: so, so close.

A few minutes later Sir Thomas declared a break as the clock struck five.  “More Madiera, Mrs. Jones?  I imagine you’d like one too, Rosie.  Go on then, you’ve earned it.  I reckon you came awfully close to a dozen strokes there.  But I’m sure you have learned that her ladyship’s arsehole is most remarkably sensitive; you’ll have to be very careful there.”

While Rose gave me a glass of sweet wine too, Sir Thomas and Mrs. Jones went over to the chest and had a conversation in whispers that I could not quite hear.  Then Mrs Jones retrieved two smallish rosewood cases from a drawer and they returned.

“A mere 45 minutes to go, my dear.  But to make them more interesting for you, I think Rosie should have a few toys to play with.  Look here.”

He held open one box while the housekeeper held open the second.  I gasped.  Inside the one were four simulacra of the male organ carved from ebony.  The smallest was little thicker than my thumb though longer, the second about the size of my second husband, the third about the size of Sir Thomas and the last one bigger even than he.  In each case it was rendered in full detail even down to the flared head and the veins along its shaft. 

The other wooden case contained four brushes in the shape of bottlebrushes.  Each brush clearly had bristles of differing consistency.  I later learnt that the first was from some sort of South American rodent with the softest hair known, the second was squirrel hair, the third from a badger and the fourth from a boar.  These last bristles are fearsome and quite rough: more prone to scratch than soothe.

At Mrs. Jones instruction, Rose began by taking the gentlest of the brushes and running it over my sensitive folds.  It felt like the touch of an angel. She graduated to the other brushes.  The squirrel was lovely and the badger tickled.  Soon I was moaning again. Then the first of the false organs slid into my soaked sex.  It felt so nice but I only wanted a bigger one.

Rose was careful, teasing me toward my peak but never letting me get there.  After a little while I felt the second size of rod slide out of my sex while the smaller one slid into my behind.  This would have been sufficient to let me reach my desire but at that moment the girl shoved the boar bristle brush right into my sex. The pain was intense as it scratched its way in.  The thrusting of the thing in my bottom only tormented the bristles in my front; it felt as if a hedgehog had burrowed its way in there. Finally they were both withdrawn.

A while later the third size of artificial organ was inserted into me frontally and again I knew it would take me there: it felt so like Sir Thomas.  Again I was prevented as Mrs. Jones took a clothes-peg from her dress pocket and had Rose fix it directly onto my poor swollen and aching bud.  The pain from my crushed flesh just prevented the pleasure from overwhelming me.

By now I was begging helplessly, “Please, please, please…”

My husband hushed me but as I was beyond all bidding by now he put down the book and leaning over me he kissed me, his mouth acting as an impromptu gag as his tongue entered forcibly into my mouth.  I moaned, begged and squealed into his. I watched his teasing eyes fixed on mine and I could tell how much my torment was exciting him.

Finally the clock began to strike.  The peg was torn from me making me scream. The second size of the wooden tools was shoved forcibly into my bottom and the gentlest of the brushes was rubbed furiously over my turgid red bud.  I howled my climax into Sir Thomas’ mouth.  I was beyond pride or decency.  The rubbing and thrusting went on for what seemed like forever but was only six or seven minutes. I climaxed continuously and my cries echoed round the whole hall as the gagging tongue was removed.  Never had any physical sensation been so intense, not even the whipping of my feet.

I barely remember being unbound and attired in the dress again.  I do recall gulping down several glasses of tea as my husband occasionally teased my nipples, which he had commanded me to leave free of their confinement, with the softest of the brushes.  I was dazed and in a state of sexual shock.  My relationship with my maid could never be the same again, not only had she made me beg piteously for physical release she had seen me achieve that release by having a carved piece of wood shoved repeatedly into my bottom.

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A little feedback please!  I am now about halfway through this story (give or take) and need to know what people think.

Chapter 11 – My obedience deepens dangerously

A few days later found me bound once more on the sofa in the Yellow Salon.  I was as always quite naked.  While I was seated on the sofa in a normal upright way, my arms had been bound along the back and my legs were on the sofa with my ankles spread and tied to opposite ends.  Sir Thomas stood before me teasing my nipples with his fingertips.  They were hard already.

“I do think you had better put a cloth under Lady Caroline’s cunt, Mrs. Jones.  I fear it may leak a bit today.”

The housekeeper hurried to obey.  I felt her fingers brushing my spread sex as she pushed the cloth under me.  I guessed it was deliberate and wondered if she wanted me in the way she had wanted her very first mistress.  Would she like to sit on my face and use a candle in my sex?  The thought made me shudder: not if I had any say in the matter.  But I had sworn to be obedient and only Sir Thomas knew how far that might go.

My husband wandered over to the chest of drawers and returned with a new instrument of chastisement.  This was a simple little flogger: a woven leather handle with a dozen thin strands of the same material at the end that was to be applied to me. Random along those strands were little knots.  With a sudden flick of his wrist he brought them down across the top of my left breast.

“Aaaah,” I moaned.  It was painful but not agonising.  I stared down to see if my poor bosom were marked.  It was reddened but not striped.  I supposed there were too many strands and not enough force to leave individual marks. I was grateful as I did not want to be walking around the house with stripes across my breasts, displayed as they were in my obscene dresses.

“Unggh!” A second blow landed on the right side. Exquisitely painful and I felt an immediate corresponding throb in my sex.  It was no less fierce for being unbidden.  Sir Thomas was right: I was going to leak, if not outright gush.

Swish followed swish and soon I was begging for a break.  My tops of my breasts were now scarlet and in awful pain. 

Sir Thomas kindly stopped and asked Rose to get me a drink.  His fingers returned to my nipples while my maid helped me to drink the sweet wine.

“Here next, I think,” and with that he brought the flogger down right across the centre of my right breast making my nipple scream in pain and making me howl in agony. He repeated this back and forth from one side to another till I was crying and begging for mercy.  Finally he paused.

“Is her ladyship wet, Rose?” I saw my maid approach and felt her fingers on my sex.

“Very, very wet, Sir.”

“So, my darling, you are begging for me to stop but your little cunt just can’t switch off.  Well, a few more minutes and you can have your tea.  Ring for Mary, Mrs Jones, please.”

As the housekeeper rang the bell, Sir Thomas went over to the cabinet and returned to me. He held a pair of wooden clips connected by a fine silver chain.  He rubbed one of my already taut nipples and then affixed the clip to it.  I howled, my teats were already so, so sore.  This was just cruel, yet my other, more southerly and even more sensitive, nub gave a definite throb in response.  The chain was pushed around the back of my neck beneath my hair.  As Mary entered I guessed what he planned to do.

“No, please, no…” I begged.

“Come lift your mistress’ tits, Rosie.” She came and lifted my sore breasts upwards.

“Higher.” She pushed them up more and flattened them against my chest.  Sir Thomas now attached the second clip to the other nipple.

“Aaagh! Please…”

“Let go now, Rosie.” And I felt her hands withdraw. My breasts barely fell at all, they were held upwards by the clips and the chain.  The pain in my nipples was indescribable as they took the weight of my breasts.

“What do you think, Mrs. Jones?  Her tits aren’t as high as Lady Anne’s, but they are bigger and so the same chain seems to work.  Wasn’t sure it would though.”

“Yes, I am surprised.  But then, as you say, her ladyship’s tits are quite a bit bigger than Lady Anne’s.”

Mary was staring as she laid out the tea. How I hated her. Still tomorrow was Friday and at 10 in the morning she would be under the housekeeper’s skirts.  Perhaps I should go and watch her humiliated for a change.

Swish!  I squealed as the damned little whip lashed into the tender undersides of my breasts. This was worse than across the nipples and after ten minutes I was sobbing and pleading.  Finally Sir Thomas tossed the martinet away and turned to Rose.

“Release your mistress’ titties, Rosie.  And her right arm.”

I wailed as the clips were removed and the blood returned to my poor crushed nipples.  Looking down my breasts were a uniform hot swollen red and the teats seemed to stick out a full inch. I wondered how long they would take to recover.

“Touch your cunt, wife.  Are you wet?”  It was a question to which I knew the answer only too well.  But I lowered my free hand and delicately touched my sex.  It was well beyond wet.

“I’m…  I am wet, Sir Thomas.”

“Then you must want to finish off.  Go ahead.  Then we can have our tea.”  He was smiling.

“No…  Please not in front of them.”  It was too humiliating; no matter how much I ached for release.

“You forget, Lady Caroline, Rose and Mrs. Jones saw you begging to climax like the lowest strumpet last Sunday.  Do it now!”

I was obedient.  I touched myself.  I frigged my little nub hard.  It took so little time before I could see the sparks behind my closed eyelids as my pleasure suffused me.  I know that humiliation does not excite me, but obedience to him, to my husband, does.  Is there a difference?  I am not sure.

A few days later and I sat at breakfast in the most scandalous of my dresses.  Rose had laid it out for me and I had not demurred.  Her position was so much stronger now: the clysters, the shaving and the dresses.  I submitted to it all.  I was obedient.  While all the dresses were cut low this was by far the worst; I was capable of popping out of it just by breathing too deeply.  And whereas the others ended at the knee this one finished a good three inches above it.  This morning Sir Thomas was staring at my terribly exposed breasts.

“I see you are fully recovered my dear,” he said amiably.  He was right the reddening and swelling had faded over two days and was now quite vanished.

“Yes, Sir Thomas, quite recovered.”

“Perhaps you would like to go riding today?  I have not seen you on horseback since before our agreement.”

He was right; I had not been riding since the day of my failed escape.  I had seen my abbreviated riding habit in the dressing closet and had no wish to be seen in it.

“I am ashamed of my behaviour in front of Ralph and have no wish to scandalise him further.  Perhaps in a few weeks.”

“What nonsense.  He will not be scandalised; he is merely a groom.  I think you should go riding today.  Go and change.”

I obeyed.  In truth compared to my other dresses the riding costume was least changed.  Rose helped me on with it.  The upper half remained in every way unaltered.  Even the brown serge jacket and matching hat were allowed as before, at least my breasts would be decently covered for a change.  But the long skirts and petticoats, which before had reached the ground, were gone.  The new skirt with its single underslip reached only to just above the knee, leaving an expanse of bare flesh before the boots began at mid-calf. I picked up my gloves and crop and marched down to the front steps. 

Sir Thomas was waiting there with Ralph and our respective mounts.  They both could not help looking at my bare knees as I came down the stone steps.  I felt the air blowing up under my skits to my drawer-less private parts

“You look lovely, my dear.”  Sir Thomas was cheerfulness personified in the warm late-April sunshine.

“Ralph, please hobble her ladyship.”  The groom moved to pick up a black leather device from the bottom step.

“That will not be necessary, I have promised obedience, Sir Thomas.”

“My dear, you will be hobbled until you have proven yourself cured of wilfulness.  Ralph, hobble her ladyship.”

Ralph knelt and affixed the device which left him uncomfortably close to my naked legs.  The hobble consisted of two wide leather cuffs which were wrapped around each of my ankles over my boots, joined by a thick strand of cord about eighteen inches in length.  With this I would have to ride side-saddle.  As a proper lady I, of course, ride side-saddle at all times in polite company.  However like many other ladies who are good horsewomen I ride astride whenever I am on mine own or in the company of only women.  There is no way that a horse can be controlled at speed without being astride it.  Side-saddle I would be confined to walking or a light trot.  And even sitting sideways on my mount my knees and part of my thighs were going to be visible.  I resolved to keep the ride to the parts of the estate where I was least likely to see any other people.  I made my way to the little stone steps at the side of the carriageway, specifically put there to allow ladies to mount side-saddle.

“First I should like you to apologise to Ralph for leading him on such a wild chase last time,” my husband said genially.

“Ralph, I am most awfully sorry for the trouble I put you to when I was so foolish,” I replied obediently.  It was humiliating and I blushed but it was merely words.

“It was nothing, your ladyship,” the young man replied quietly.

“And to show there are no hard feelings, Ralph, my wife will now fellate you.”

“No!” I was horrified.  He could not mean it.  Not the groom, not a servant.  And he was near young enough to be my son.

“Are you disobeying me?”  The question was swollen with meaning.

“No, I am not.  But please, husband, please not this.  Not one of the servants.  I beg you.”  I was crying now, in despair at the trap I found myself in.

“Obey then, Lady Caroline.  Now!”  His voice was implacable.

Reluctantly I slid to the ground before Ralph, feeling the hard pea-sized stones of the gravel path digging into my bare knees.  Still weeping I fumbled at his breeches. I was so upset that he had to help me open them. His organ leapt out, fully erect.  I suppose the thought of what his mistress was about to do had made him completely hard.  He was not as large as my husband and he must have washed that morning as I could smell little odour apart from the vague smell of horse that seemed to permeate his clothing.

I gave one last look at my husband, hoping for a reprieve, but saw only his amused smile. I licked the organ with my tongue and so for the first time in my life I touched a man to whom I was not married in that most private place. 

“Suck him, dearest.”  And I opened my mouth and took him inside me. He uttered a loud groan.  This would not last long; he lacked Sir Thomas’ control.  Indeed, no sooner had I thought this than his seed began to explode into my mouth.  I pulled back quickly and spat onto the ground that which was on my tongue while the rest erupted in wide arcs from his twitching organ.  My God, that had been awful.  I had just taken one of the staff in my mouth.

“Next time Lady Caroline will swallow properly.  I do apologise for her behaviour, Ralph.”  Next time?  There was going to be a next time?  I moaned in despair.

As I awkwardly rose to my feet I saw a far away, beatific smile on the groom’s face. I guessed that no woman had ever done that for him.  In fact I wondered if I were his first ever woman.

“Off you go.  Enjoy your ride, my dear.”  And with that Sir Thomas swung a leg over his own mount, kicked her into a quick canter and headed off south towards the farms that had suffered the winter flooding.

After mounting much more awkwardly I rode west and kept my thoughts to myself.  Ralph rode just behind and the few times I glanced at him he still had that confounded smile of utter bliss.

In the next week this charade was repeated twice more.  The first time was once more with Ralph as Sir Thomas again insisted that I should go riding.  This time I did indeed swallow, obediently at my husband’s command while kneeling in the gravel before the house.  This time the young man did last somewhat longer, but not much.  The reality I suppose is that very few men have Sir Thomas ability to delay their climax indefinitely.  In fact very few seem to have the ability or inclination to withhold it at all.

The second time I was summoned to the front hall where, in the presence of both Rose and Mrs Jones, I was ordered to orally satisfy the three footmen: George, Hugh and David. Performing this act three times in succession while other women watched was appalling and I cried throughout.  Each time I swallowed as was now expected.  They had only a little more stamina than young Ralph. It did confirm one thing for me: I derive no pleasure from either fellatio or from being humiliated.  If Sir Thomas had thought I would be another Lady Anne then he was to be disappointed.

Two days after the latter episode I was summoned to the Yellow Salon.  I was still dressed in those damned shortened dresses, though Heaven knows I had proven my obedience.  I noticed the dreaded chaise-longue at once.

“Rosie, help her ladyship undress and arrange her on the chaise: on her back and with those lovely arms and legs bound to each post as before.”  It did not take long even though Rose was inexpert at tying knots and had to be instructed by Mrs. Jones.

Mrs. Jones, fetch the cases please.” And the housekeeper fetched the same two cases as before form the chest.  I quailed inwardly; I did not want to go through the debasement of that drawn-out stimulation again. 

“Now, young Rosie, I want you to exercise her ladyship’s arsehole using the dildoes.  I would prefer her not to climax and to that effect you may use the boars’ bristle brush in her cunt to slow her down.  But if you cannot stop her from reaching her peak do not worry too much: there is no punishment this time.  Have you a pot of ointment, Mrs. Jones?” The housekeeper passed a little jar to the maid.

“Now, wife, keep quiet please.  At least for as long as you can!”

I watched and felt as my maid’s fingers went to work.  This time she touched my sex and my bud not at all avoiding all stimulation there. Instead her finger entered my behind as soon as it had been greased. Then two fingers and soon after the smallest of the simulacra.  I felt my passion climbing steeply.  No matter how many times I have been touched or taken there the result seems never less strong. As Rose passed the second of the wooden organs into me she inserted the bristle brush.  Although by this time my sex was thoroughly wettened it hurt awfully as it burrowed its way inside.  I cried out and groaned despite all my efforts to remain silent.

“Now the next size, Rosie, and get it all the way in.”

This third one was as large as Sir Thomas himself and its insertion pushed me over the edge into ecstasy.  Even the bristles in my sex could not stop the inevitable.  With little squeals of pleasure I reached a deep rolling climax of release.

When the last wave had washed over me I opened my eyes and looked down my contorted body.  The twisted wire end of the brush poked out from my sex and I could see the end of the dark ebony rod that was fully buried in my backside.  I clenched my muscles there and felt little surges of pleasure radiate from the stretched flesh.  What would he do now?  I had no doubt that there was further torment to come.

Sir Thomas came and sat on the edge of the chaise and he gently stroked my face.

“Another drink, my dear?”

“Yes please.”  He fetched and fed it to me himself before leaning down and licking the last drops of wine from my lips.  His eyes were just inches from mine.

“Do you think you can take the biggest of the dildoes now?”  I shuddered, causing the muscles in my bottom to contract once more and reminding me that the third of those wooden carvings was still in place.  The last one though was considerably bigger, larger even than my husband, and I was scared of it.

“Please not that, Sir,” I begged.  “It is too big!  It will not fit and will hurt most awfully.  Please?”

“Well, alright then, we can save that amusement for another day.”  He stroked my face again tenderly.  “We’ll try something else.  Mrs. Jones, ring for James please.”

Soon a man came into the room and I recognised him as one of the gardeners.  I had exchanged a few words with him over the weeks.  He had struck me as a quiet, calm sort of man, given to few words. He was neither handsome nor ill-favoured, must have been in his thirties and was dark of complexion in a Welsh way.  And here he was in the house seeing me bound and offered up with a brush in my sex and a black ebony rod stretching open my bottomhole.  I blushed at the thought of what he must think.

“Thank you for taking time away from your gardening duties, James.  How are the roses going to be this year?”

“They should be good, Sir Thomas.  There are plenty of new shoots and as long as it does not become too hot in May we should have an excellent season.”

“Lady Anne would be happy, she did like her roses.”

“Ay, Sir, that she did.”

“Now I would be most grateful if you could help out this afternoon with Lady Caroline.  Perhaps you would like to show her your qualifications for the task ahead.”

With this he removed his work jacket and handed it to Rose and unbuttoned his breaches.  His organ swung free instantly, he was without undergarments.  It was massive and half erect, swinging back and forth with the momentum of a pendulum.  I gasped as did Rose.  It was so much bigger than Sir Thomas’, larger than any I had ever seen or even imagined.  I stared at it the way a hen stares at a fox that has broken into the coop.  It was still swelling, growing as it took in the air and as the gardener stared at my displayed private parts.

“Girl, take those objects out of your mistress.”  The maid hurried to obey, still glancing out of the corner of her eyes at James’ swinging organ.  First the dildoe was slid out of my bottom and then the brush out of my sex, making me wince as it scratched its way free.

“Now, my dearest, you are going to find out why James is called ‘Giant Jim’!  Biggest in the entire district I believe.”

“Please, no.  It’s too big.  It will hurt; it will tear me!”

“Nonsense, darling.  But just in case, Rosie, work another dollop of ointment into Lady Caroline’s arsehole.”

I would be dissembling if I wrote that her fingers did not feel exciting as they performed their task, opening my bottom as it tightened with apprehension.

And then the man was approaching me, holding his now swollen instrument.  It was so big that even fully erect it would never stand up along his belly as a regular man’s does.  It stood out at the perpendicular from his hardened stomach, stiffly muscled by his outdoor labours.

“I hope you have tossed off this morning, James?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas, not more than an hour ago.  I should be able to last a good little while.”

With this he placed the giant head of the thing against my bottomhole.  I stared in horror, there was no way that was going to go inside without hurting me.  I felt the pressure build and then, suddenly, it slipped into me.

“Aaaaah!”  It hurt; I could feel waves of pain radiating from my stretched aperture.  But it was the kind of pain that only seemed to make me hotter.  I stared at my sex, it was wet and opened and the huge member beyond was now clearly in me.  I caught a glimpse of Rose’s horrified looking face and Mrs. Jones’ amused one.

“Sooo big...  It’s so big.  Please, no more...”  I could not control myself.

“Is her ladyship tight, James?”

“Very, sir.  Most excellently.”

“Lean in then, man.  Lean in.”

And on this command the gardener began to push himself into me.  His weight sank a couple of inches of his organ into me, and then he stopped and worked it back and forth in little jabs as if to loosen up the path.  Then he leant in again for another couple of inches. 

The second time he made his little accommodating strokes I climaxed, mewling and groaning my pleasure to the whole room.  It felt so vast, even though less than half was inside me.  I was stretched and filled and pushed into a realm where the only sensations were the pain and pleasure surging from my bottom.

I have no recollection of how many times I reached the pinnacle of pleasure before the entire length was worked into me.  Indeed one peak blurred into the next as the stuffing of my poor bowels continued relentlessly.

“Well done, James, a sovereign for you!  You’ve got your entire cock inside her ladyship on the first attempt.  Remarkable!” 

I stared down the length of my bound body.  The man’s belly did now rest of against me and I could feel every fraction of him inside me.  My God, could I feel it.

“Thank you, Sir.  Can’t last much longer though...”

“Have at it, man, have at it!  You’ve earned it.”

With this the gardener gave a number of fast deep strokes into me.  It felt as if he was pushing his organ up into my lungs and I immediately climaxed once again even as he released his seed high up into my guts.

His slow withdrawal was intense in its own right.  It felt as if I were passing a veritable pole which, in a manner of speaking, I was.  Even now, as it slowly softened, his member was gigantic.  ‘Giant Jim’ indeed.   All four of them gathered at the end of the chaise and stared at my privates.

“Remarkable!” Sir Thomas was clearly impressed.

“Look at her arsehole, Rose,” said Mrs. Jones, “it has been so stretched it isn’t even closing properly.  No sign of tearing though, your ladyship.”

“Time you were unbound, my dear.  Thank you, James, that will be all for now.  Time for tea, I think.”

Later that night as my husband ravaged my bottom himself he commented that while I was still tight I was clearly easier to enter than before.  I moaned and climbed to another little peak of pleasure at the thought of what had happened to me.

And as I lay there afterwards, limp and happy in his arms he ventured, “Thomas Lawrence wrote me today.  He will be here next week to paint your portraits.”

I stared at the portrait of the naked Lady Anne in the half-light as the last of the candles guttered out.  How was I to be painted?  And what did that third risqué painting of her show?

Chapter 12 – In which my portrait is painted thrice over

Thomas Lawrence arrived late in the afternoon the following Sunday.

During the preceding week I had humbly begged my husband to show me the third portrait of Lady Anne.

“Not yet, dear wife, not yet.  But Soon I will allow it.”  His reply raised both my anxiety and my anticipation.

He had me taken by James again in the same position as before.  And as the previous occasion it was necessary for Rose to open me and to stretch me with her fingers and the wooden tools before James would fit inside.  But once I had been prepared my body was unable to resist his assaults.  I succumbed piteously in the inevitable paroxysms of unwanted delight.  In truth, although the vast size of the gardener dragged me to previously unimagined places, I preferred Sir Thomas.  His size was satisfyingly large and yet could be accommodated more easily.  This coupled with his ardour, his clever knowledge of my needs and his expressions of love for me made him my master in more ways than just the legal sense.  I was indeed happy for I had won a great victory for my daughter and was at the same time experiencing more physical pleasure than I had ever had in my life.  For eighteen years I had been almost without gratification and now I was like a garden watered after a long drought: bursting into bloom.  I did not enjoy being humiliated and tormented but I knew how it stoked Sir Thomas’ desire.  And so if he wanted me to take one of the servants in my mouth or to have the gardener pummel my bottomhole I tolerated it.  Of course then I had no inclination of how far he planned to travel along this twisting road.  But I was too far to turn back and seek a safer path.

That Sunday, having been spanked before church as was becoming customary and suffered through another sermon (this one was on the sin of Vanity), I went to change into a short dress as soon as we returned to the Hall.

“Don’t bother changing, dearest.  I think you have proven yourself obedient enough for now”

I flung myself in his arms and kissed him even though there were servants passing as they too returned from church.

“And that is most unseemly behaviour for the Sabbath,” he said teasingly.

I cannot describe adequately how pleasant it was to go about the house with my bosom and arms properly covered and with my skirts once more swishing along the floor.  And, oh the pleasure of feeling silk drawers sliding over my enflamed bottom was simply intense.

So when the carriage carrying the painter pulled up I could meet it properly as Lady Dalrymple.  Having come from the Devernes the coach bore their arms, Thomas Lawrence not being wealthy enough as yet to set up his own.  Our carriage would take him down to Ludlow once the commission was completed.

He was a delicate, elegant looking man of about my age with fine features and sandy hair and his keen eye immediately set about appraising me, his work for the next week or two.  I had expected him to be alone but he was accompanied by a young assistant. Marco.  This youth, barely nineteen it transpired, was the son of an Italian painter friend of his and was in England to improve his portrait painting.  He was the most breathtakingly handsome young man I had ever seen: long dark hair bound back, flashing eyes and an intense smile.  He clearly knew it too.  Every woman in the house, with the exception of Mrs. Jones, was going to swoon over him.

After dinner that evening Sir Thomas offered to show our guests the portraits of Lady Anne that Mr Lawrence had completed a decade before.  First we went to the Yellow Salon to see her formally dressed.  The painter expressed his pleasure at seeing the picture again and his regret that the sitter had died so young.

Next we moved to Sir Thomas’ bedchamber where Marco first noticed the headboard just as I had done.  He exclaimed his pleasure at its workmanship and, being from Venice himself, knew immediately who the master carver had been.  I blushed as the three men unashamedly discussed its subject matter and pointed out particular details.  Then they turned and appraised the second portrait. Young Marco did not seem overly shocked, was this sort of painting perhaps common in Italy?

“And the final picture, Sir Thomas? Are you willing to let me view it once more?  I confess that I have never painted its like except that time.  It was most unusual and yet I believe it to be one of my finest works.”

“My pleasure, Mr Lawrence, it hangs in my dressing chamber where I may admire it every day.”  And with this he opened the door and we entered the one room in Hirst Hall that I had never been allowed in to.

The valet, James, was there but I barely noticed him.  We were all staring at the painting upon the far wall.  It was not large in comparison with the others, being about two foot on each side and was lit by a pair of double wall sconces.

I stood there, slack-jawed, staring at it.  It was far beyond risqué.  It was intensely, incredibly obscene.

A naked Lady Anne was represented from the waist up with her fine small breasts with their hard little nipples.  She was kneeling before an anonymous man who was only shown from the waist downwards.  The male member was entirely in her mouth and throat.  Only the smallest fraction remained outside of her, enough to show how very large it was.  Her eyes were open and a single tear was shown in the corner of the visible one attesting to the immense effort of swallowing so much living flesh.  Her throat bulged where it had to accommodate this mass.  It was obviously not Sir Thomas; this man was not nearly hirsute enough.  However there could be no thought that this was coerced, Lady Anne’s arms were raised and gripped the back of the man’s thighs in order to allow her to pull him deeper into her body.  I was suddenly light-headed and the candlelight and the intensity of the subject matter reminded me of a painting by Caravaggio of the beheading of some Old Testament character that I had seen years before at Sudeney Place.  Despite all this there was no doubt that this was a portrait, no one who had known Lady Anne could be in any doubt that this was she.

“It’s your friend, James the gardener,” Sir Thomas whispered in my ear.

I felt faint and swayed, feeling his hand quickly in the small of my back.  I could not comprehend it.  No woman could surely have taken that giant’s organ in such a fashion.  I was certain that it would kill me to even try.

“Magnifico...” Marco whispered, barely audibly.

For several minutes we all admired it in silence.

“And is this how you wish Lady Caroline to be painted?” Mr Lawrence broke the silence.

I swayed again.

“Not quite,” my husband replied thoughtfully, “I have something different in mind.  Perhaps we can discuss it tomorrow.” 

And with that the viewing was over and we departed to our beds.  I noticed however that while Sir Thomas and Marco showed distinct signs of turmoil in their breaches, Mr Lawrence did not.  I wondered if it was because his interests lay elsewhere or because he viewed the portrait only as a subject that he had painted.

At breakfast the following morning Sir Thomas and Mr Lawrence discussed the first two portraits while Marco and I listened attentively.  I noticed that the young man appraised me differently now, aware that soon he would be seeing me both nude and probably utterly compromised.

“As it is now late May and pleasantly warm, I would like Lady Caroline painted on the terrace with the gardens in the background,” said Sir Thomas.

“And what dress should her ladyship be wearing?” Mr Lawrence was very businesslike; he clearly wished to be about his task. 

“A think the peach, silk one that you wore to the ball, with the matching bonnet.  At least in the first portrait. Would that suit you, my dear?”

“I like that dress, Sir Thomas.  It would be most suitable.”  I planned to be utterly obedient, knowing that I should have no say in the matter in any case.

“Would you like Lady Dalrymple to be seated or standing, Sir Thomas?”

“Standing, I rather think.”

“In any particular pose?”

“I should like Lady Caroline to be leaning on the balustrade of the terrace, facing away from the canvass and looking back over her shoulder at you as if briefly distracted from viewing the gardens.  Is that possible?”

“Of course, Sir Thomas.  It will be different and challenging as compared to a standard portrait, but quite possible.  And for the second portrait?”

“Exactly the same but en déshabille.”

“Excellent.  And the third?”

“Let us discuss that when the first two are well underway.  How long will it take?”

“Well, Sir Thomas, as you recall, last time it took me three weeks.  However the greater part of that is work on the dress and the background.  For both of those young Marco is perfectly accomplished, perhaps even better than myself.  I propose that I complete that major parts of all three paintings this week as I must return to London to paint Princess Caroline.  Marco will remain here until all the detail work is finished to your satisfaction.”

“That will be satisfactory as long as the young man’s skills are as fine as you believe them to be.  When will you begin?”

“As soon as your wife is ready, Sir Thomas.  Marco can fetch the canvasses now.”

“Easy enough.  Would you mind changing, my dear, and meeting us on the terrace?”

I obeyed and met them as Marco was setting up the second canvass on a large easel.  He had clearly had help as the footmen were still laying out the professional painter’s considerable equipment.  Mr Lawrence directed me to the balustrade in a corner of the terrace where the sun would not reach us till late afternoon.

My husband posed me leaning on the stone balustrade looking out over the gardens and parkland.

“Now, my dear, look back over your left shoulder.  Turn yourself at the waist and let your left hand rest in the fold of your dress.  Look directly at Mr Lawrence.  That’s perfect.  Now, where are your feet?”

“Together, at the end of my legs,” I could not resist being a little difficult.

“Well then move them apart, about two-foot apart.”

Two-foot?  That was a long way.  And if repeated when I was naked would be scandalously indecent.  But I complied nonetheless, slowly shuffling my legs apart.

“Excellent!  I will leave you to it.”  And he vanished back into the house.

Mr Lawrence worked feverishly, continuously on the move; first he painted in broad strokes then in more detailed.  After a while I asked for a glass of water which Mary brought for me and later we had tea.  Both could be placed before me on the balustrade and not seen from the painting position.

After some three hours Mrs. Jones appeared to tell us that lunch was served.  My position on the balustrade was marked with chalk and I could step back.  Mr Lawrence came in but Marco remained on the terrace.  As soon as Mr Lawrence stepped away from the canvass he began work on the landscape.

I went to look at the progress and my limbs ached from the stiffness of standing still for so long.  I was surprised at how fast the painter had caught my likeness.  My outline was only done in the broadest of strokes and the background was entire absent except for the tiny piece of balustrade around my right hand.  But my hands and face were largely complete.  He had made me look quite beautiful and I was grateful.  In the portrait I wore a look of slight surprise as if someone had just called out to me.

Sir Thomas joined us for lunch and as soon as we were done we went back outside.  Marco had already sketched in the broad outlines of the foreground and the parkland beyond.  Four of the gardeners were just dragging up a large cast lead planter containing a tall thin cypress, perhaps some ten foot tall.  The young painter ordered them to place it to one side of where I stood at the balustrade explaining that its narrow height would make me seem taller by being positioned there.

Sir Thomas expressed pleasure at the painting so far and I moved to resume my position.

“If your ladyship does not mind, I should like to begin the second composition,” Mr Lawrence ventured.

I hesitated.

“Send for Rose,” said my husband turning to one of the footman hovering at the edge of the terrace.

Soon she was there and helped me out of my clothes under Sir Thomas’ supervision.  My peach silk bonnet remained, but the dress and all my undergarments save my boots and stockings were removed.

“Take your position, my dearest.”

I blushed at being naked before Mr Lawrence and Marco.  They were the first outsiders to have seen me thus.  I reconciled myself that, of a fashion, they were still servants; they were after all being paid for their work.

When I approached the balustrade I placed my hand on its mark and slowly edged my feet apart until they were as before.  There was no doubt that my freshly shaven sex could be seen from the painting position.  I turned to look back, thereby revealing one breast to the onlookers.  I let my left hand rest on my thigh.

“My God, but you are gorgeous.  Quite magnificent.  Now a few little additions.  Rose, undo Lady Caroline’s right stocking.”

The girl hurried to comply and I felt her undo the lace and the fine silk cloth slid slowly down my leg and pooled at my knee.

”Lovely.  Now, dearest, let your left hand move backwards till it is on your buttock.”

I complied, though I was worried about how this would look.

“Good, now take hold off your bottom cheek and pull it open a little.”

“Nooo!  Please?  It will look so bad.  Please?”  I would look like a wanton strumpet, opening and offering myself, and from behind.

“Are you disobeying me?”  A touch of steel had entered his voice.  The look on Mr Lawrence’s face showed he had heard it too.  Marco was just staring at my blatant nudity.

“No, husband, I am not”  And I complied; I gripped my bottom and pulled it up and apart, thereby improving the view of my sex and perhaps even offering a glimpse of my bottomhole.  I shuddered at the thought of the appallingly indecent view I must be presenting.

Sir Thomas left and I remained in that position for another three hours till the sun crept round and freed me.  At intervals Mr Lawrence would tell me to relax my grip for a few minutes before once again putting myself back on display.

Rose dressed me and we all had tea on the terrace except Marco who was once again back at work on the canvass.  At Sir Thomas’ insistence I went to view the progress.  It was every bit as scandalous as I had feared even though the painter had only worked on two areas. I looked immediately at the area I most feared and found that Mr Lawrence had painted my bottom pulled somewhat apart by my hand.  My sex gaped slightly open and there was even the hint of the aperture between my cheeks.  My face was also a surprise.  I had expected an expression like Lady Anne’s in the bedchamber: a beautiful woman frankly displaying her sexual nature and challenging the viewer to look at her and to think what he would.  But in my case he had painted me as a shy woman, almost girlish in the peach bonnet, slyly opening herself to the viewer.  It was flagrantly sexual; I was inviting the viewer to take me and from behind.  The one stocking loose around my knee only made the invitation more impudent.  Tears sprang to my eyes and I almost cried: I was to be preserved in this pose forever.

That night in our bed while we were making love I begged my husband to reconsider, to make my portrait more like Lady Anne’s.  His movements within me slowed but did not stop.

“No, why should I want two portraits the same?  And I think Thomas Lawrence has captured your nature perfectly.  He has shown you as the most exciting woman conceivable.  The pole that young Marco was carrying around in his breaches all day bears testimony to that.  I imagine he is in his bed right now frantically abusing with himself as he thinks of all the perverse things he would like to do to you.”

I shivered at the thought of the handsome young man playing with himself and my sex twitched.  Sir Thomas pushed hard into me in response.  I helplessly squeezed his member with my muscles, it felt irresistibly wonderful.  Maybe I was what my husband said.

“I am going to hang it there.” And he pointed to where a painting of ‘Diana Surprised in her Bath’ now hung on the wall to one side the bed.

The thought of myself hanging there, perpetually offering my bottom to him, was too much and I climaxed convulsively.  His domination of me was entire: I might and would fight it but I could never win.  In all honesty, I was no longer even sure I wanted to win.  I resisted out of pride alone.

The next morning I was at breakfast with Sir Thomas and Mr Lawrence.  Marco was nowhere to be seen.  I blushed somewhat at the thought of him still asleep having spent too much of the night awake.

“Shall I put on the peach dress once more?” I asked Mr Lawrence as we finished.

“No need, your ladyship, today I plan to concentrate on the naked portrait.  Besides, Marco already has the dress.”  He waved at one of the windows looking out over the terrace.

I went to look and there was the young painter, busily working at the first of the canvasses.  The peach dress had been hung on a seamstress’ dummy and placed up against the balustrade where I was to stand in a few minutes.  Far from being lazy he had clearly been up from dawn to catch the light before his master took over.

I spent the entire day on the terrace, naked apart from boots, stockings and bonnet, excepting a brief pause for luncheon.  Marco moved the first canvass to one side and likewise the dress but he did not stop painting.  I began to comprehend the immense detail that would have to go into the pink silk ball gown.  I returned again and spread my feet to the chalk marks and placed one hand back on the balustrade while the other reached behind me.

As the day progressed Mr Lawrence would wander over to Marco’s canvass and give advice or call him over to his portrait to give him instruction.  I did notice a certain stiffening in the young man’s trousers when he looked at me and my portrait, but then he would return to his own work.  At lunch he did not join us but worked on the background of the second picture.

In the late afternoon Sir Thomas joined us for tea and we all admired the paintings.  Marco had made the dress sparkle in the sunlight and it only served to highlight my features.  The painting lied magnificently: it had made me to be utterly beautiful, far more so than I really was.  The tall, thin cypress only served to make me more elegant.

Mr Lawrence had worked on the other parts of my body.  In this case it only served to highlight the unmitigated brazenness of the portrait.  I noticed that the one visible breast had a clearly erect nipple.  In this portrait the tall thin tree beside me looked as if it were some form of gigantic, priapic phallus, erect at my nudity.  It was hard to deny that the painting was a masterpiece but I never wanted anyone to see it.

“Tomorrow we can begin on the final portrait,” Sir Thomas announced.  I quailed inside.

The following day at breakfast, young Marco was once again out on the terrace hard at work on the two portraits.  They were now largely done as far as Mr Lawrence was concerned, needing only a few further touches from him.

“Let us meet in the Yellow Salon in fifteen minutes, my husband announced as we were finishing, “I have had your materials brought there, Mr Lawrence.”

“Very well, Sir Thomas,” replied the painter.

“What shall I wear?” I asked nervously.

“It matters not, my dear,” Sir Thomas cheerfully responded.  “You won’t be wearing it long!”

In the salon an easel with a three-foot square canvass had been set up, larger than Lady Anne’s third portrait, I noticed.  It faced the sofa and I was relieved to see that the chaise longue was nowhere to be seen.  Mrs Jones and Rose were already there and Mr Lawrence joined us, shown in by Sir Thomas.  I was grateful that Marco was not invited.  He was still on the terrace at his work.

“Right, let us get to work disposing her ladyship.”  My husband was all business-like.  “Rosie, please help your mistress to undress.  I wish her to be entirely naked, wearing nothing but her wedding band.  Mrs Jones, please fetch the little box of tools.”

While the housekeeper went to the chest, Rose swiftly divested me of everything, including my boots and stockings.  She even let down my hair which I never do except in bed.  In the end I had on only the plain gold ring on my left hand.

“Lean back on the sofa please, beloved, and open your legs.”

I complied, blushing helplessly.  Although I had been in this position before I knew that the painter was going to preserve me in my humiliation forever.

“Exercise Lady Caroline’s arsehole, Rosie; I want it thoroughly opened.  I take it you have given it a proper rinse out this morning?”

“Yes Sir Thomas, as always.”  The maid was reaching for the second size of carved member and the little pot of unguent.  With little more preparation she dipped the head in the viscous liquid and then presented it to my bottomhole.  With one firm push she slid it home drawing a groan from me. 

I was now used to accommodating Sir Thomas or the carvings in this spot and could not pretend that there was any pain and only minimal discomfort.  What there most definitely was was heat. Warmth surged from my sex in response to the intrusion.

After a couple of minutes she changed to the next size and I stretched to allow it entry.  She would bring me to a climax if she continued long with her manipulations.  I tried to keep control and so retain the vestiges of my pride.

“Shall I insert the largest one, Sir Thomas?” Rose enquired, ever the attentive servant.

“No need, just leave that one fully inserted.  Mrs. Jones, ring for James please.”

Moments later the gardener appeared.  I shivered though I had guessed he might be called upon, guessed it and feared it.

“Thank you for coming James.  You remember the portrait of Lady Anne you helped with?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas.”

“Well, I am in need of your assistance once more.  I will require your best efforts and will ensure there are a few sovereigns in it for you at the end.”

“Thank you, Sir Thomas.  You are always most generous.”

“Dearest, please stand up so that James may be seated.”

I struggled to my feet, though it was hard to stand comfortably with the large carving still wedged deep in my bottom.

“Help undo James britches for him, dear, and get his cock nice and hard.”

I leant down and did just that.  It did not take long as he was already more than half-hard and when I applied some lotion and manipulated him he soon reached his full, titanic size.  My hand would not even fit around it and it was as long as my forearm.  I dreaded it but saw no way to avoid it except disobedience and that was a step too far.

It was clear to me that James was to remain fully clothed except for his unbuttoned breaches.  In this way my nudity would be emphasised along with the fact that he was a servant in his homespun vestments.

“Well done, Lady Caroline” said my husband.  “Now please straddle your mount while facing Mr Lawrence and lower yourself onto him.  You had better remove the imitation prick first though.  Oh, and I recommend greasing your friend first as well.”

“Oh God...” I groaned as I slid the damned thing out.  It was the first time I had been forced to extract it myself and there was something disgusting and thrilling simultaneously about doing this.

Then having greased James’ organ as much as I could I took up my position and began to lower myself.  It was appalling, almost indescribably so.  I had to reach down and hold that immense pole of flesh at the vertical while easing my bottom onto it, guiding it into my bottomhole.   Yes I had done this with my husband in the privacy of his room and now I wondered if he had been training me for this day all along. On the previous two occasions with James he had been the one pushing it in, now I had to do it myself.  Gingerly I lowered my bottom onto him.

“Aaahh!”  The big head had just passed into me.  There was a flare of intense discomfort and the corresponding surge of pleasure in my sex.  I looked up to see them all watching me.  Mr Lawrence was staring at James’ vast tool, I was suddenly certain that he was more interested in the gardener than me.  Mrs. Jones was gazing at me with her sardonic smile, I knew she was enjoying my humiliation.  Rose stared at me wide-eyed her face betraying a mixture of disgust and pity.  And Sir Thomas, with that wolfish grin and the twinkle of excitement in his eyes.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!”  I slowly lowered myself in little gasps.  It was so gigantic and it was going in me so deeply.   Finally I reached the end and was sat fully upon him with that incredible mass inside me.

“Fuck your arsehole, my dear.  Slowly!”

I began to comply, lifting and gently lowering myself.  I climaxed almost immediately, openly and uncontrollably, and in everyone’s full view.  I had no idea how James was managing to hold out, he must have brought himself off beforehand, maybe more than once.

“Now lean back on him.  He’s strong enough to take your weight.”

I did as I was told and felt a couple of inches of him slide slowly out of me.  I was still so stimulated that I knew any further movements would only bring more crests of pleasure.  He was now buried under my body.

“Now James, take hold of Lady Caroline’s legs at the knee and pull them up please and apart as well.”

As he did this I was opened up as never before.  My poor bottomhole was pinned on his immense organ and my sex above it was spread wide open as my knees were pulled up to my breasts.  I could only imagine what it must have looked like from where the others stood.  Once I was fully bent open like this Sir Thomas continued his instructions.

“Now bugger her, James.  Nice and deep, please”

The gardener shoved himself upwards, burying the inches that had slid out of my bottomhole straight back into me.  Bent double as I was it felt even bigger, even though that was quite impossible.

“Oh My God!  Oh please...  please.... stop.”  My face must have looked comical as I struggled to cope with the sensations.  I erupted into an explosive pinnacle of lust, squealing at my pleasure.

“Now stop, James.”  And he did.

“Reach down with one hand and spread your cunt, dear.”  Against all my better judgment I obeyed him, using my fingers to open further the lips of my already swollen sex.

“And begin again.” The pounding in my bottom recommenced.

This stopping and starting went on till I reached another reluctant pinnacle.

“Now pull her ladyship right up, James.  Till you just slide out.  Keep looking at me, darling.” I barely heard my husband’s directions, lost in a little world of ecstasy.

I felt my knees pulled up even further till they seemed to reach my ears, lifting me off his organ as I was bent double. Finally, with an almost audible pop, I felt his thing slide out of my bottom.

“There Mr Lawrence, that is the pose I want you to capture.” 

I was staring along my bent double body just over my spread sex at the group of them.  I could only imagine what it looked like from the point of view of the canvass.  My husband was making for the door.

“I understand perfectly, Sir Thomas.  Right, my man, can you please lower her ladyship a little and get your rod back in her arse.”  James complied using one hand to feed himself back into me while the other kept my knees up high.

For the next three hours and then again after lunch this continued with brief little breaks.  I would be lowered onto him.  On Mr Lawrence instructions James would vigorously force himself up and down in my bottom before pulling me right up till he popped free.  Then the painter would furiously sketch and paint for a few minutes before I was once more impaled.  I climaxed twice more in the morning and once in the afternoon but spent the entire day in a daze of heightened sexual feelings.

We finally stopped just before afternoon tea when, with a tremendous groan, James lost his control and erupted in my bottomhole, releasing my legs and letting me sink onto his damned member to its full extent.

“Well, I believe we may as well leave it there for today,” said the painter.  “We can recommence tomorrow at about ten of the morning.  I must go see how Marco is getting on.”  And with that he too left.

Rose and Mrs. Jones came and helped me off James’ now softening but still immense organ.  I was too exhausted and too stiff to do much to help.  With some effort they got me to stand and I could feel a stream of his seed running from my opened bottomhole onto my legs.  I was beyond caring.  I looked down at James and he looked in little better state.

Dinner was ordeal as I just wanted to go to my bedchamber and collapse.

The next day was a repeat of the one before with the entire time spent in the Salon with myself once again seated upon James.  This time he lost control just before lunch and this allowed me time to go get cleaned up and to have a little rest before we began again after eating.  I ate but little; bent double the way I was I did not want a full stomach.  I did take several glasses of wine though to try to take the edge off the proceedings.  It only helped a little.  By late afternoon I was at the end of my tether when Sir Thomas appeared with Marco.  Despite all I had undergone  I blushed as the young man saw me in this grotesque position.

“You look lovely, my dear,” Sir Thomas said looking at my exhausted and dishevelled state.  “Time to finish now I rather think.  Mary is laying out tea on the terrace.  I hope today has gone well, Mr Lawrence?””

“Excellently, Sir Thomas! I shall be done by luncheon tomorrow.  Marco can then take over with painting the room.”

“And how are you doing, James?”

“Fine, Sir Thomas,” came the muffled reply from beneath me.

“Need to finish off?” Sir Thomas asked solicitously.

“Yes please, Sir...”

“No! Please no...” I wailed.

“Go to it man.  Tally ho!”

And with this James held me wide open and frantically hammered his member in and out of my distended bottom in front of them all.  It took a minute or two for him to reach his climax by which point I was already howling my own little gasps of extreme pleasure.  I had never been more humiliated.

My husband himself raised me up to my feet and I staggered a little.  His arm went around me a gathered me to his side.  I wanted to run from the room but instead just rested my head on his shoulder, utterly naked and completely shamed.

He led me round to where everyone was regarding the painting.

I gasped and burst into tears which soon became the deep racking sobs of a woman who knows she has been totally degraded.  I will not describe the sight before me in its totality but merely the two areas that drew my eye and would draw any viewer’s rapt attention.  The rest of the painting apart from the two bodies was complete undone.  Even the sofa was but crudely sketched but the work on James (what little of him was visible) and myself was near finished.  My face was a mask of tortured lust surrounded by a mass of tousled auburn locks.  My lips were half-opened, the tip of my tongue was just visible and my eyes shone with a desperate sexual need.  Because of the way I was drawn back in James’ grip my chin was only just above my sex in the portrait.  My fingers spread my red and swollen folds which glistened with my own secretions.  My hard little bud stood out like a scarlet beacon.  But worst of all was my bottom: my buttocks were stretched wide apart by being bent double.  The immense log of flesh with its flared head rested against one cheek having just slipped from my poor aperture.  This entrance which should be so little and tight (and was in the second portrait) here gaped wide open, quite unclosed.  I suppose the pummelling it had received and the sheer size of the instrument that had transfixed it had left the muscles so stretched that they no longer closed immediately.  I cannot imagine anything more obscene than my portrait; it was much, much worse than Lady Anne’s.  I buried my head in my husband’s shirt and moaned my anguish; my despair was not helped in any way by the steady trickle of male seed I could now feel running from my bottomhole and down my leg.

A little later, dressed by Rose once more, I was on the terrace sipping tea while all congratulated Mr Lawrence on his masterpieces and Marco too as his work on my peach dress was nearing completion.  I was not congratulated: after all I was just the sitter not the master craftsman.

The next day I was once more impaled upon James as Mr Lawrence finished his work.  The inevitable physical results were the same and I could not fight them.  I did not even need Rose help preparing myself now.  I merely greased my bottomhole and the gardener’s swelling member and then slowly lowered myself onto it.  It still hurt as it initially made its way into me, but not as badly as it once did.  I felt as if I were some experienced whore.

In the afternoon I was returned to the peach ball gown and the terrace while Mr, Lawrence and Marco made final adjustments to the attire in the formal portrait.  The way the dress shone in the painting made me look like the most beautiful woman imaginable.  It was not Lady Anne’s challenging but delicate allure, mine was softer and fuller.  But seeing this one hanging openly in the house would inevitably make me think of the other two.  I supposed it must have been the same for my predecessor.

The coach was prepared and Mr. Lawrence departed leaving Marco behind with us.  We all gathered on the steps to see him off.

As he stepped into the carriage he turned to us.

"Do not keep the lad too long.  I need him in London.”

“Have no fear, Mr Lawrence.  I shall give him good reason to finish the portraits.”

“How’s that, Sir Thomas?”

“Well, for each portrait that the young man hands over, finished to my satisfaction and properly varnished, I shall instruct my wife to satisfy him, using her not inconsiderable oral powers.”

I gasped out loud.  No...  For some reason the thought of having to suck off the too handsome young man was even worse than the footmen.

“How does that arrangement suit you, Marco?”

“Very well, Sir Thomas!”  He was gawping at me quite openly.

And over the next two weeks he worked hard on completing his works.  I was no longer required as a model and indeed saw little of the young man except that he was either on the terrace or in the Yellow Salon completing the paintings.  He rarely joined even us for dinner.  But three times I was summoned to join Sir Thomas as he received a completed portrait.  And three times at my husband’s command I slid to my knees and took his organ in my mouth.  His member was as handsome as the rest of him but the first time he lasted less than a minute.  I swallowed his semen as instructed by Sir Thomas.

“Foolish lad,” my husband quipped, “next time I recommend you pleasure yourself first.  That way you will last long enough to really appreciated Lady Caroline’s skills.”

I remember him gawping like a gaffed fish but nodding frantically.

The next two times he had clearly taken Sir Thomas’s suggestion and he lasted much longer and I had to work at my task.  The last time indeed I heard Sir Thomas amused instruction after I had already been at my work for some while.

“Swallow him, my darling.  Take him right into your throat.  All the way.”

I did it; I swallowed his member down into my gullet, milking him with my throat muscles.  It brought him to a gasping, moaning climax as his seed bubbled down to my stomach.  I rose to my feet and tried to look calm. 

He stared at me in amazement; I was instantly sure no woman had done this for him before. 

I took a certain malicious pleasure in licking my lips, swallowing ostentatiously and walking away while swinging my hips.  If I was to be humiliated then I had to enjoy little victories where I could.

Sir Thomas’ gentle laughter echoed as I left.

Chapter 13 – I meet my two stepsons

On the day Marco finished the first of the portraits Sir Thomas’ sons came home from Winchester College.  They were only to be with us for ten days and were planning to leave the day before Georgina arrived to go spend some time with school friends.  This would give Georgina a chance to make Hirst Hall her home before having to contend with two younger stepbrothers.

The young men bounded from the carriage like foxhounds taken off the leash.  They greeted their father with genuine warmth and me with a wary politeness and a certain young male interest.  They were clearly brothers though not particularly similar looking.  Fourteen-year old James (it was a popular name in the district) was the younger but he had his father’s rangy, spare height and was already taller than his older sibling.  Fifteen-year old Edward was thinner and less heavily built and clearly took after his mother.  Both were dark and handsome; with their wealth and looks they would cut a fatal swathe through the local female population.  But it was Edward who had his father’s slashing, calculating eyes and there could be little doubt that he was the leader of the two.

They had not been in the Hall since September and the noise of their getting reacquainted with it echoed for some hours. The only person who gave them pause was Mrs. Jones: one look from her quietened them instantly.  I supposed they had known her and feared her since they were very small lads.  After they had crashed through the Chinese Salon while I was writing, she came in to apologise.

“I am sorry for the disturbance, your ladyship.”

“It is nothing, Mrs. Jones.  I do feel that it might be better though if we encouraged some manly activities away from the Hall.”

“I could not agree more, Lady Caroline.  It would be much safer.”

“Safer?”

“Much safer.  Master Edward and Master James could roger every maid in the place given a little time.  And pregnant maids don’t work well.”

“Whereas outside they can only seduce the estate girls.”

“Exactly, much better from my point of view.”

And so I encouraged riding, visits to the mills, a shooting party and even an overnight expedition into Wales.  I heard from the housekeeper that they were indeed wreaking havoc amongst the female population and that there were rumours that one outraged husband was coming to see Sir Thomas as to Edward’s advances on his young wife.  Not to mention a general locking up of all good-looking daughters.

On the fifth day of the boys’ visit, as they were out hunting rabbit with one of the groundskeepers who had taught them to shoot years before, Mrs. Jones came into the Chinese Salon dragging a shamefaced Mary behind her.

“Explain to her ladyship what you were doing!” Mrs. Jones was quite ferocious.

“Oh no, please Ma’am, not that, please.”

“Right now or I will have you whipped and working in a short shift.”

“Your ladyship, I didn’t mean to…”  And the maid broke down sobbing.

“Master Edward or Master James?”  I asked Mrs. Jones.

“Neither! Tell Lady Caroline, you hussy!”

“M… Marco…” wailed the poor girl.

“And what were you doing Mary?” I tried to sound stern.

“I…  I…  I took…  I took him in my mouth!” The girl was now a flaming shade of red.

I tried not to laugh.  The afternoon before Marco had delivered the second portrait and received his second reward at my hands (or rather, not my hands).  The young man had clearly been sufficiently impressed by the experience that he had set out to persuade someone else to repeat it.

“Where was this, Mrs. Jones?”

“They were caught on the north backstairs, your ladyship.”

“Had Mary finished her task?”

“Well, you slut, had you finished sucking him off?” The housekeeper turned her fury on the quailing maid.

“No…. no, Ma’am, no I didn’t.  I’m so sorry, your ladyship.  I didn’t mean to…”

“You didn’t mean to?  You didn’t mean to stick his prick in your mouth?  Perhaps it ended up there by accident?  It just popped in as he was walking past?”  Mrs. Jones was tormenting the girl.  After all of Mary’s shameless peaking at my degradations I could not help but enjoy it somewhat.

“And what do you want me to do about it, Mrs. Jones?  You deal with staff discipline inside the Hall.”

“Yes, your ladyship.  But this is a serious infraction and requires your attention.  Mary can be dismissed for this.”  She was watching me for my reaction.  Mary was begging and wailing.

Unbidden, the picture of the young housekeeper sitting on her mistress’ face and wielding the candle came to my mind.  Mrs. Jones had been dismissed for that.  I could not be that cruel.

“What do you recommend, Mrs. Jones?”

She looked at me challengingly.  She clearly wanted to see what I was capable of.   “That is for you to decide, your ladyship.  It should sufficient to ensure there is no repetition.”

How was I do deal with it?  I could have her birched but I hate pain being inflicted on people (except my own person and I know that it is not decent).  Mary was still sobbing at my feet.

“Have young Dai brought here,” I ordered.

Mrs. Jones’ eyes widened but she rang the bell and when Eliza appeared gave the order.  The maid hurried away.

Minutes later the young boot boy appeared, out of breath.  I do not suppose he had ever been summoned upstairs before.

“How old are you boy?”

“F… fourteen, your ladyship.  I… I had my birthday last week.” He was stammering with nervousness. Although he was the same age as Master James he looked several years younger as he was so much smaller and less sure of himself.

“Well, Dai, I have a late present for you.  Mary here wishes to suck on a male member.  I am going to allow her to practice on yours.”

“NOOO!  Please, your ladyship, please not that.  Anything else…”  The maid was beside herself.

“Well, I had thought of having you birched.  But I have made Dai an offer and I will not renege on it.  You will take him in your mouth, you will finish the task and if one drop falls on my carpet then you will be birched.”

Mrs. Jones dragged her up onto her knees by her hair.  Dai had to undo his own britches.  His little member, stiff as a poker, if much less impressive, leapt out.

“Suck him, now, you trollop,” ordered the housekeeper, pushing her head forward.

Sobbing, Mary engulfed him with her mouth.  The boy lasted mere seconds, I am not sure she had to suck at all.  Her frantic swallowing told me she took the threat of the birching seriously.  Then she collapsed on the floor again.

“Thank you Dai, you may go.”  The dazed lad was fumbling with his fastenings and backing to the door.

“Right Mary, next time you want a man in your mouth just come and tell me, I will find someone for you.  Take her away please, Mrs. Jones.”

Mrs. Jones dragged the distraught maid away leaving me alone with my letters.  As she left I caught an approving glance from the housekeeper; I had obviously risen to the task in her estimation.

I sat there breathing heavily for several minutes.  I did not need to touch myself below to know how wet I was.  Ordering someone else humiliated and watching it had been terribly exciting.  I was ashamed of what I had done but there was no denying its effect upon my body.  Was this what humiliating me felt like for Sir Thomas? I shuddered.

All too soon it was the last day of my stepsons’ visit.  There was packing going on for their departure next morning and I was in a state of excitement for I knew that Georgina should be with us late the following afternoon.  The only difficulty was that Sir Thomas had arranged for us to leave the morning after Georgina arrived here to visit nearby houses and families: Deverne Court, Deepwell Hall and Ludlow as well as Sudeney Place on the way back.  We would be away for ten entire days and Sir Thomas had decided that he did not want Georgina with us.  She was to remain and become accustomed to her new home.  I had tried to persuade him otherwise, but to no avail.  Still I would see her tomorrow and after our little trip we would be together the whole summer.

I had feared that Sir Thomas would somehow test my obedience in the time that remained.  However by that afternoon, less than a day before Georgina was due, I had relaxed.  And then came the summons to join him for tea on the terrace.  I arrived as Mary was laying out the last of it and I was about to sit between the two boys and opposite Sir Thomas when he caught my eye.

“It is a lovely day, my dearest, and you look a trifle warm.  Why don’t you go and ask Rose to help you change into something cooler.”  He was all affability.

“I…  I… but…”  I was taken aback.

“Off you go, darling.” And he dismissed me.

Rose was waiting in my room with the dress.  It was, as I feared, the shortest of my punishment dresses, the one that left my knees as well as my calves bare and let my breasts leap free at the slightest provocation.

“Sir Thomas wishes your underclothes to remain here, Ma’am.  I’m sorry.”

As I changed I glanced out of the window down at the terrace below.  The boys and their father were sat sipping tea and awaiting my return.  They had not started on the bread and cakes.

I was horrified to discover that the front of the damned dress now had little hooks and eyelets at the bosom which could be undone to allow the breasts to be completely exposed.  I wanted to run, run anywhere and hide.  But I had only a day to go.  My stepsons would be gone tomorrow and my daughter would be here.  Obedience was everything, obedience for just a little while longer.  How bad could it be?  I reminded myself of the dowry Georgina was to receive if I was an obedient wife.  Obedient...

I returned to the terrace walking carefully so as not to offer the boys even more of a view than I already was.  They gawped shamelessly: at my ankles in their half-boots, at my calves, at my knees, my bare arms and my half-revealed breasts.  As I approached they both leapt up to pull out my chair, staring at the dark rings around my nipples which peaked above the hem.  I sat so very cautiously, tucking my shortened dress beneath me and keeping my back straight.

“There, my dearest, you look so much cooler now,” teased my husband.  “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes please, that would be kind.”  I watched them warily.

Sir Thomas poured me a cup and held it out to me.  He held it about halfway across the table so that I would have to reach for it.

Stretching out like that would have but one result.  I hesitated, hoping fruitlessly that he would move it towards me, and then I leant forward and took it.  As I did so my nipples popped out of the dress and into plain sight.  I thought the boys might whoop with delight but they were well-mannered enough just to stare.  I made no attempt to put them back in put left them there on display.  I sipped my tea and tried not to tremble.

“I was just discussing corporal punishment with the boys,” Sir Thomas said conversationally.  “Seems there is as much of it at Winchester as when I was there.  I reckon it keeps the lads in line.  I was telling them that some people actually derive a sort of satisfaction from being beaten, but they found that hard to believe.  What do you say, my dear?”

Oh, God.  Surely he did not mean to beat me in front of them?  I did not think that I could bear it.  “I cannot imagine that is possible, Sir Thomas.  Why would anyone want to be beaten?”

“Exactly father, I know I hate it,” said Master James, still staring at my breasts.

“Oh, I don’t think they want to be beaten, but perhaps they enjoy it all the same.”  His eyes teased and tormented me. 

Silently I tried to beg him not to do that to me.

“Well sons, what about some muffins and cake?  Mrs. Shepherd’s marmalade is simply marvellous this year.  And we have the most excellent muffins for you to enjoy.”

“Yes please, father!” they chorused.

“Mary, come over and help me please,” he motioned for the nearby maid.

The girl hurried over, looking a little nervously at me even though I was scandalously attired and my breasts were on display.  She was still cowed by my exemplary punishment of her.

“Open her ladyship’s dress for me, girl.  Help Lady Caroline display herself properly.”

I gasped and tears sprang to my eyes.  Dear merciful God, no.  But Mary was fumbling with the hooks and pulling my dress open.  Soon my breasts were completely uncovered.  They seemed so large, framed as they were by the cloth.  My nipples stood forth stiffly, hardened by fear and anticipation.

“One muffin each boys, I think.  Do you prefer them with butter and marmalade or just marmalade?”

“Both, Sir,” said Master James.

“Just marmalade, please,” said his brother.

“Get on with it, Mary.  One of each”

“I... I don’t understand, Sir Thomas,” the girl stammered, looking confused.

”Cover Lady Caroline’s tits please.  One for each boy and as they have ordered.”

The maid’s eyes opened wide in shock as she understood and she nervously took a step forward.  I began to weep in utter humiliation but sat there obediently.

Mary picked up the butter knife and the little plate and began to butter my left breast.  I trembled at this abuse.  It wasn’t painful just utterly degrading.  When she had done my poor breast was slightly yellow and shone in the bright light.  Next she picked up the crystal bowl of marmalade with its silver spoon and began to slather the sticky orange jam onto both sides of my chest.  It stuck to me, more on the side that had no butter.  Glancing down I could see the pieces of orange peel of all sizes stuck to the slopes.  Mary had managed to place particularly large dollops of the conserve on each of my nipples making them seem grotesquely large.  Finally she stepped back.

“Tuck in, boys, tuck in,” Sir Thomas commanded, laughing.

The young men hesitated for just a second before diving onto a breast each.  James went straight for my nipple, sucking it straight into his mouth and relieving it of its load of sweetness.  Edward began by licking me gently at the edges before slowly working his way in.  My dear God, he was so like his father.  I gasped at their ardent ministrations.

Sir Thomas watched me over the heads of his two boys.  I could barely see him through the tears in my eyes but his eyes never left mine even though he was slowly eating a cucumber sandwich.  He was enjoying this immensely while I could only sit there and suffer.  I could have sworn that at one point he silently mouthed the words ‘I love you’.

“That’s enough lads, I’m sure you’ve had your ration by now.”

Reluctantly his sons removed their mouths from my breasts and resumed their seats.  My bosom shone in the afternoon light, glistening with their spittle and with my nipples like fierce little towers.  There seemed not a trace of butter or marmalade left.  I was not surprised as they had sucked and licked hard enough.

“Another cup of tea, darling?  And you must try some of these cucumber sandwiches, the first of the season I believe.”  He leant forward to help me and somehow I contrived to eat.

“Mary, come here.”  Once again he waved the girl forward.

“Yes, Sir Thomas?”

“Go find Mr Jenkins in the glasshouses in the kitchen garden.  Ask him if I might have one of his fine cucumbers.  Unless, of course we have just eaten the only one.”

Mary scampered away to fulfil her task and we four sat there and discussed Edward’s and James’ upcoming visit to friends from school who lived in Hampshire.  I felt my breasts slowly drying and struggled to regain my calm.  ‘Just endure it’ I kept telling myself.

Soon Mary returned bearing a cucumber on a little silver salver, which she placed on the table before my husband.

“Mr Jenkins sends his compliments, Sir Thomas, but this is the best he can do so early in the season.  He says they will be longer and larger when we’ve had more sun, Sir.”

Even so it was a perfectly healthy looking specimen of the vegetable.  I imagined Mr Jenkins had planted out the seeds in early March and had forced the plants hard under glass.

Sir Thomas held it up and inspected it.  “Excellent and remarkable.   Did you know, my dear, I’ve heard tell than some women have been known to use these to surreptitiously pleasure themselves in the absence of a suitable man?”

Oh please, please no.  “That is a disgusting notion, Sir Thomas.”

“Perhaps it would be easier to imagine if it were cut in two.  Pass it to Lady Caroline please, Mary.”  He placed a sharp little cake knife on the salver and handed it to the maid, who placed it before me.

“Cut it in two neatly, my dear.”  It was an unmistakable order and tremblingly I obeyed.  The sharp edge sliced easily through the green skin.

“Now do you see the resemblance?” There was a cruel edge to his voice.

“A... a little, perhaps,” I hesitated.

“I am so glad you agree, my little wife.  Dispose of them then, my dear.”

I did not understand.  Dispose where?  I was about to summon Mary over to take them away when it dawned on me what he intended.  No, he couldn’t mean...  “Sir Thomas, husband, I don’t know...”

“Put them away, silly girl, as only a woman can.  Both of them.  One each side.”

Now it was horribly, appallingly clear.  But I could not do this, not in front of my stepsons.  In fact I was not sure I got physically manage it at all.  “Please, Sir Thomas, I’m begging you...  I cannot.”

“Cannot?  You are disobeying me?  Here and now?”  It was very clearly an ultimatum.

“No, no.  I will obey.  I will try...”  I was weeping now, ashamed to my very core.

“You will succeed.  You may use the butter to help, if you need it.”  Never had he looked more lupine than at that moment and never had I felt more like a helpless rabbit.

I rose and felt all three pairs of the Dalrymple men’s eyes on me.  I picked up the first half of the cucumber, the one with the more elongated end and dipped it in the soft, half-melted, butter before reaching back under my skirt and easing the tip up between my cheeks to my bottomhole.  Slowly I pushed and it gradually slid in.  It was big, larger than Sir Thomas’s member but smaller than Giant Jim’s.  I was almost grateful that my bottom had been so opened two weeks before; there was a stretching discomfort but no pain.  Suddenly, as it was slowly sliding in, I wondered if later in the season the cucumbers would reach the size of the gardener’s vast equipment.  The very thought made me shiver. After a couple of minutes the entire thing had passed into me.  Slowly I straightened up, still sniffling back my tears.  I could feel every inch inside my behind.

“Well done, dear.  Now the other half!”  He was smiling at me while his sons sat there like pole-axed bullocks.

I reached for the remaining chunk of the vegetable, greased it in the butter and slid it under the front of my skirt.  I had to half squat to allow my sex to spread wide enough so that it would enter.  It was not easy.  I had to work the end around to get it in.  I think because my backside was so full already it was tighter in front.  Finally I lodged the tip in me and with little moans I forced the rest of it up and in.  Eventually I had it all buried.  Slowly and carefully I stood up.

“Lift your skirt and show Edward and James that it’s all gone.  Then come to me.”  I could here by the tone in his voice how much my ordeal had excited him.

I lifted my skirts and showed my bottom and front to both of the boys before walking very gingerly to stand beside my husband.

“Raise your skirt and show me...”  He was inches from my sex.

I complied and quivered as I felt one of his fingers slide into my slit and push against the end of the vegetable.

“Turn round...”

This time his finger entered my bottom and pushed the vegetable up as high as he could.  He pulled his finger out and the intrusion slowly slid down again before he shoved it up again.  He repeated this several times till I began to moan. 

“You see boys, even well-brought up women like Lady Caroline can act like low-born strumpets if they want to.  It is simply a matter of finding them the right motivation.”

“And what is my stepmother’s motivation, father?” It was the elder boy.

Dear Lord, please don’t tell him.  Please, I silently prayed.  He was still pushing the vegetable up and down my back passage.

“Some things are between a man and his wife, Edward.  But I am sure you will have no difficulty motivating your ladies when the time comes.”

Sir Thomas withdrew his finger completely and spun me round.  Reaching up from his seat he put his hand on the back of my neck and pulled my face down to near his.  He placed the finger that had just been in me, front and back, into my mouth and held it there until I began to suck on it.  Finally he tugged me closer till my tear-wet lips met his and he kissed me.

“You’re wet, you little harlot,” he whispered just for me to hear.  “What are you?”

I groaned as quietly as I could into his open mouth, “I’m wet... and a harlot.”  I hoped the boys had not heard me.

He let me go and said quite cheerfully, “Well sons, I imagine that your stepmother has made you both quite stiff.  Am I right?”

“Yes, father,” they both assented.

“My dear, as you have caused them this discomfort perhaps you should help them relieve it.”  He spoke as if we were discussing a minor household problem.

“Nooo.  Please, not that...  Please husband, not that.”  I was sobbing once more.

“Nonsense, don’t make such a fuss.  Sit yourself down.”

Weeping I sat down in my chair.  As I did so the large lengths of cucumber moved deeper inside my body and I could not stifle a grunt.  They were so big, so deep.  I was full beyond all imagining and my breasts were still hanging out with their firm little nipples.  I wanted to pass away from shame.

“Boys, pull up your chairs and sit either side of your stepmother.  Then you can get your cocks out.”

The boys moved like summer lightning and in moments were sat either beside me with their breaches undone.  Their members stood out and they seemed to have no shame in showing themselves before each other.  I wondered how many young girls had seen both of them together.  While not as large as their father they were already bigger than I would have thought.  I imagined they might match him when both were full-grown.

“Take one in each hand and see if you can relieve their stiffness, my dear.”  Sir Thomas was clearly highly amused.

Hesitantly I reached out my hands and took hold of my stepsons’ members.  They were both dreadfully hot and twitched in my grip.  I had Edward in my right hand and James in my left which was just as well as I imagined the older son had some of his father’s self-control and would require more dexterity.  So it proved to be as the younger boy erupted in a wild white fountain within a minute while his sibling took quite a lot longer before his seed spurted up into the air.

I sat there with my hands covered in their semen and still gripping their softening organs.  My head was slumped and I stared at my naked breasts.  I was humiliated beyond caring now, debased into the depths.  What else could he do to me?

“Lick your fingers clean, little girl, they’re all messy.” 

I realised there was always another torment he could visit upon me.  His talent for abusing me was limitless.  Helplessly I obeyed him, licking the boys’ slimy stickiness from my fingers like a cat washing itself.  Every small movement I made reminded me of the damned things still in my body.  Finally I was done and looking up I saw the boys had done up their breaches and tried to remove the worst of the stains with the napkins.  What now?

“Fancy a walk round the gardens, sons?”  Sir Thomas was cheerful and already standing.

“Yes, Sir,” his sons replied.  You could tell how much they loved him.  Not surprising, as he had just offered them their own stepmother.

“Want to join us, my dear?” he asked me solicitously.

“No, thank you,” I moaned.  “I think I’ll just sit here, if it pleases you.”  I never wanted to move again.

“Ah well, suit yourself.  I hope you enjoy your afternoon on the terrace,” he replied.  Then he leant very close to my ear and whispered so quietly that only I could hear, “I am going to fuck you senseless tonight, utterly senseless!”

He kept his promise.

Chapter 14 – In which I am reunited with my daughter

The following morning Sir Thomas and I stood on the steps to wave my stepsons off as they left to spend the next month away with friends.  I confess to being somewhat bleary-eyed having had altogether less rest than I would have liked during the night.  My husband had driven me from pillar to post.  I had learnt by now that the more successful he was in degrading and humiliating me the more rampant he would be during the night that followed.  And yesterday he had outdone himself.  I still trembled inwardly at what had been done to me.  It had taken me a full half-hour of sitting on the terrace before I had the courage to summon Rose to help me return to my room and resume a normal state of dress as well as to extract the unnatural objects I had about my body.

Dinner last night and breakfast this morning had been constrained affairs with the boys continually gawping at me and Sir Thomas and I pretending nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.  I was grateful when the carriage pulled away.

After a light lunch I went to lie down for an hour or so but fell so sound asleep that I awoke only when Rose rushed in to tell me that a carriage had been spotted coming up the long drive.  I rushed downstairs and arrived only as the carriage was pulling up.  Sir Thomas was there before me and took my hand as I ran up.  I was grateful for his support as I was unaccountably nervous at what Georgina would think.

The door opened and my beautiful daughter appeared.  She looked a little older than when I had last seen her in September, a little bit more like a woman.  She had turned eighteen during that time and there was now no obstacle to her marriage. Perhaps she might go up to London next year, do the Season and be properly presented.  Had she been Sir Thomas’ natural daughter it would have been expected, as his stepdaughter it was not necessary.  And I wished her married and settled.  Should, God forbid, anything happen to Sir Thomas our position would be as precarious as before.  As Lady Llanbedr and her mother and with the settlement Sir Thomas had discussed we would be quite secure.  I was not mercenary but the vicissitudes of my life had taught me caution.

If you were expecting my daughter to be a younger version of myself you would be quite mistaken.  I am told that the shape of our faces is similar but there the resemblance ends.  Neither does she resemble my late husband, Captain Deverne, excepting his rather fine nose.  She is in every other way the image of my late mother.  She is as tall as I am but thinner, like a poplar tree.  She is as fair as any Swede and has their piercing blue eyes and light skin.  Whereas my figure is full of womanly curves, hers is straight.  I kept hoping that she would develop a bosom but it never really happened.  I know she agonised as to whether she would ever have breasts or hips like mine before finally resigning herself to never having more than small bumps.  But for all that she was truly beautiful in the ethereal, willowy way that must have captivated my father when he first saw my mother.  All this was set off by her fine blue travelling dress for which I had sent her the funds.

She ran to my arms and we were suddenly hugging and crying.  I don’t think I had every felt more happy in my life.  Her eyes were wide as she stared at the great East Facade of the Hall with its vast portico and sweeping steps.  She kept looking from place to place till her eyes alighted on Sir Thomas who was beaming at her.

“Welcome to Hirst Hall, Miss Deverne.  I hope you will find your new home to your liking.”  There was amusement in his voice but courtesy too.

“Thank you, Sir Thomas,” she bobbed a curtsey, “I am honoured to meet you.”

“Honour, tosh!  I should be honoured to have a lady as pretty as yourself in the house, Miss Georgina.”

And then it was my turn to be surprised, for a second figure emerged from the carriage.  It was a young woman, in her twenties and dressed in modest travelling clothes.  She was short, a good six inches below my and Georgina’s height, with mousy brown hair pulled back in a neat bob.  Her body struck me as hard and muscular as if used to physical exercise (it later transpired she liked walking every morning by herself).  She was neither plain nor pretty but had an enquiring gaze, which she dropped as soon as she saw me watching her.

Georgina caught my look and flushed slightly but turned to introduce me to the newcomer.

“Mother, this is Miss Hailsham. Sir Thomas has employed her as my governess.  Miss Hailsham, this is my mother, Lady Caroline Dalrymple and my stepfather, Sir Thomas Dalrymple.”

The young woman curtseyed appropriately.

“Governess?” I enquired in surprise.  “Sir Thomas, Georgina is eighteen and has finished her schooling.  I am sure she is in no need of a governess, rather in want of a husband.”  I was somewhat put out at this ridiculous development.

“My darling, there is always something more to learn.  Miss Hailsham has excellent references and is, I believe, a quite accomplished artist.  I am sure Miss Georgina will benefit from her tuition and even if this were not the case your daughter will enjoy having another young lady about the house.  It is only until she is married.  And with her beauty and Hirst Hall as a backdrop to set it off I am convinced that eventuality will not be long delayed.”  His tone was placatory.

Put like that I could hardly object and I moved beside him, slid my arm into his and welcomed Miss Hailsham.

“I hope you will enjoy your time at Hirst Hall, Miss Hailsham.  Georgina is to have a room in the south wing; I am sure we can find you a room nearby.  I am sure you can both use the old nursery as a day-room for your sketching.”

“Thank you, Lady Caroline, you are most kind.”

And with that the party went inside and I took girlish pleasure in showing them through my magnificent domain.  They both expressed wonderment at my portrait which had just been hung in the Chinese Salon.  In truth I loved the picture, it made me look radiant and alluring, there on the terrace in that great dress and looking over my shoulder in surprise.  Miss Hailsham knew immediately who the artist was which reassured me as to her artistic nature.

The room adjoining Georgina’s was swiftly prepared for Miss Hailsham.  I could not think of her as a governess, companion would be a better term.  The big old nursery had been redone as Georgina’s private sitting room and Miss Helena’s (as I learnt her first name to be) art equipment was put in there.

Dinner that evening was a convivial affair with the four of us.  I think Sir Thomas was pleased with all the female attention, I was enraptured just by having Georgina back beside me, she was continually amazed at the opulence of her new home and Miss Hailsham was a pleasant and easy-going presence.  It turned out that her father had been an artist and engraver in London and when he had died she had found it necessary to support herself as a governess and drawing instructor to young ladies.  I found my initial antipathy to her evaporating.

The following morning Sir Thomas and I left for our tour of visits.  We left Georgina and Miss Hailsham setting up easels in the old nursery and clearly happy in each other’s company.  I asked Mrs. Jones to make sure Georgina felt at home and then we were gone.

The weather was excellent and the roads were fine and so we made good time.  Rose and James the valet sat outside at the back on the rumble seat while the footman sat up front with the coachman.

Our first stop was Deverne Court, the home of my one-time in-laws.  My first husband’s mother was still alive though her husband had passed on a few years back.  George’s brother was now the owner of the estate.  In the past when I was Mrs Welbeck of Deepwell Hall my welcome had always been cordial if somewhat reserved.  This time it was very warm indeed and Sir Thomas and I had the best guest room.  They kept asking after Georgina and made arrangements for her to visit later that summer.  Before she had been an embarrassing minor relative, now that she was likely to make an excellent marriage they were eager to claim her as a Deverne.  I smiled sweetly and let them have their way; I was so happy for my daughter that any bitterness was impossible.

Next came Deepwell Hall where my second husband’s cousin was now well ensconced and pleased to tell of his betrothal to a young lady from the district whom I had known well during my time at the Hall.  The girl was sweet and quiet and quite stupid.  She would make him the easiest going wife one could wish for.  We both agreed to come for the wedding in late August.  It was so very pleasant to see all the staff at Deepwell again and often I found I had tears in my eyes.  It is impossible to live in a place for seventeen years without putting down deep roots.

In Ludlow we visited Major Graves amongst others and I could see Anne again.  She had no idea of the pain her handing over the letter to Rose had led me to and I did not deprive her of her blissful ignorance.  After all she had not meant to cause me any harm.

Finally we stopped at Sudeney Place near Church Stretton on the way back.  It was a magnificent Jacobean mansion and one of the finest houses in the district after Hirst Hall.  The owner was an old friend of Sir Thomas’ and the two of them spent an evening scandalising their wives with tales of their behaviour when young men together in London society.  The recollections seemed to all involve inordinate quantities of drink, fighting and bed-hopping.

Finally we returned to Hirst Hall, having been away for eleven nights.  I was so impatient to see Georgina again. I had enjoyed my trip and all the courtesy extended to Lady Dalrymple, but now I just wanted to be a mother for a while.  We had so much to plan, Lord Llanbedr was expected for a visit in a fortnight’s time and everything had to be perfect.

We found the Georgina and Miss Hailsham in the old nursery with the latter at the easel while my daughter sat in the window so that the light caught her face.  Miss Hailsham bobbed a curtsey while Georgina came and kissed me.  The latter seemed very subdued though, but I put it down to having to sit still for a long period.  I blushed slightly as thought what an ordeal posing could be.

At dinner it was much the same: Georgina was still listless.  I was concerned.

“Are you quite well, dear?  You don’t seem your usual self.”

“Oh.  Oh, I am quite well, thank you mother,” she replied quietly, seeming anything but.

“Miss Hailsham,” I turned to the other young woman, “you must look after my daughter better.”

She smiled sweetly at me, “I do try, Lady Caroline, but Georgina can be so wilful at times.  It is hard to control her.”

“Well, tomorrow afternoon we can go riding together.  I have a lovely horse for you, Georgina and I am sure we can find something suitable for Miss Helena.  I must spend the morning with Mrs. Jones going over the house.”

The next morning poor Georgina was still quiet and withdrawn at breakfast and I determined to get her to myself as soon as possible for a mother-daughter conversation.  We have always been close and never hidden anything from each other.

Mrs. Jones and I toured the house as was my wont once a week.  We started in the north wing which is rarely used except when visitors come or when we use the family chapel.  Then we inspected the main wing which contains all the main rooms before moving to the south wing where the old nursery is, where my stepsons have their bedchambers and where Georgina and Miss Hailsham were roomed.

There we met Sir Thomas coming back from picking a couple of oranges in the orangery which lies on the edge of the south wing to pick up as much sunlight as possible.

“Look, my dear, the first oranges of the season.  We can have them with our afternoon tea.” He was positively radiant with energy but I was surprised he was not over at the mills having been away for so long.

“Mrs. Jones and I are just off to see Georgina and Miss Hailsham in the old nursery.  We will finish our tour of the house in the orangery.”

“Oh, I’ll join you then, I would like to see if Miss Hailsham is as good as they say.”  Sir Thomas fell in beside us.

“I saw her work yesterday.  It was a remarkable likeness.” I was glad he was there beside me.

I opened the door to the nursery and went straight in with my husband and housekeeper right behind.

I froze in absolute horror at the sight.

In the middle of the room stood the chaise longue I was already too familiar with.  Georgina was naked and bound to its two posts exactly as I had been except that her head, instead of being at the end sloping upwards, was hanging over the foot end.  Her head was straining upwards as much as it could.  What held her back was her blonde hair: divided into two plaits with each braid tied to a leg of the chaise.  She had her tongue out and was desperately trying to reach her target.  This objective was Miss Hailsham’s sex which was just above her as the young woman straddled her face.  While Georgina was entirely nude, her companion was wearing boots, stockings and a corset.  By straining herself to the very limit my daughter could just run the tip of her tongue along the furrow in the governess’ slit.  I noticed that unlike mine it still had a neatly trimmed light brown bush.

“Noooo,” I screamed.

Georgina saw me and immediately dropped her head down.

“Noooo,” she wailed.

“Did I tell you to stop, you little slut?  Do I need to ask Mrs. Jones to fetch the crop?” Miss Hailsham’s voice was as hard as steel.

“No Miss, please,” Georgina sounded terrified and her head came back up and her tongue once more began questing for its mark.  “I’m sorry, mummy...”

“Noooo.  No.  No,” I could say nothing else.  Finally I noticed my husband was gripping my arm.  I wanted to flee and I wanted to run to my daughter.  In the end I did nothing.  I turned to Sir Thomas in rage and despair.

“You promised me...  you promised me...”  I was sobbing now.

“I promised you no man would lay a finger on your daughter,” his voice was calm.  “Mrs. Jones has any man been near Miss Georgina?  If they have I will geld the bastard and dismiss you.”

“No, Sir Thomas,” the housekeeper replied evenly, “she is still a virgin.  In that sense at least.”

“You tricked me,” I sobbed, “you have ruined her.”  I was beyond comforting and felt myself slowly sliding to the floor.

“A chair, Mrs. Jones, a chair for her ladyship.”  Sir Thomas held me upright while a chair was swiftly dragged over.

I collapsed into it.  From where it was positioned I could see my poor daughter’s other end which before had been hidden by Miss Hailsham.  I wailed anew.  From her sex was sticking the second of the carved wooden dildoes while from her bottomhole protruded the end of the smallest sized one.  No, this was too cruel, too disgusting.  My poor, poor child.

“I would like your report please, Miss Hailsham,” said my husband, standing behind my chair with his hands on my shoulders.

“Yes, Sir Thomas.  Shall I dismount?”

“No, you may remain there.  You seem comfortable.”  I could hear amusement in his voice.  How dare he be amused at Georgina’s state?

“Yes, Sir.” The woman flexed her legs slightly more, lowering her body a fraction.  Her legs, short and strongly muscled, looked as if they could hold the position all day long.  “Get your tongue right inside now, Georgie.   Nice slow licks.”

Through my tears I could see how Georgina’s extended tongue was now between the lips of the other woman’s sex and slowly running up and down.  I could see the pink inner lips wet with my daughter’s saliva.  Oh God...

“It was exactly as you guessed, Sir Thomas,” Miss Hailsham began, “Miss Georgina is indeed a lesbian.”

“Oh, please, no...,” wailed my daughter.

Miss Hailsham looked down at her sternly, “Georgie, I will not be interrupted.  If you take your tongue out of my cunt one more time I will ask Mrs. Jones for the crop.  Do you understand?”

“Yerrs, Miss,” moaned my little girl and her tongue once more buried itself between the folds of feminine flesh.

“As I said, you had surmised correctly, sir,” Miss Hailsham began again.

“How?” I whispered through my sobs.  “How could you even think that?”

“Easy enough,” Sir Thomas replied pleasantly, “I wrote to the Headmistress of her little academy and asked if Miss Georgina had any particular friends among the local boys.  I wished to ascertain if she were still a virgin and so suitable for marriage to Lord Llanbedr.  The reply stated that her only close companion was Miss Emma Missenden with whom she was inseparable.   I sent Miss Hailsham down to investigate as she has a discreet reputation for dealing with young ladies with Sapphic tendencies.  Miss Hailsham wrote to say that from a distance she assessed Miss Georgina as having likely inclinations in that direction.  I employed her as a governess forthwith to establish the truth of the matter.  Miss Hailsham?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas.  After you and Lady Caroline departed I confronted Miss Georgina directly with the matter.”  Here she looked away from us and down at unfortunate Georgina whose tongue was steadily licking back and forth.  Miss Hailsham smiled at the memory.  “She denied it but not too vehemently.  With Mrs. Jones help I stripped her and having bound her I used my fingers to establish the truth of the matter.  She still denied it and so I used the crop until she confessed.  Miss Georgina has a remarkably low tolerance for pain and will do most anything to avoid it.  I do pity the midwife when she is brought to labour.”

“Are you sure, Miss Hailsham?” Sir Thomas enquired.  “I should not like to think it was merely a response to pain.”

“Quite sure, Sir Thomas.  Ask her yourself!”  And with this she straightened her legs a little, raising her sex a couple of inches above Georgina’s straining face.

“Well, Miss Georgina?  Are you attracted to women or men?”  I could hear clearly the amusement in his voice now.  “Speak up!”

My daughter’s head had slumped down now, relieving the strain on her poor neck muscles for a moment.  She was weeping and her face shone with both her own and Miss Hailsham’s wetness.  “Please, Sir... please, Sir Thomas, not in front of my mother.  Please?”

“Right now, young lady, or I shall ask Mrs. Jones to get involved.”

Georgina gulped and looked away from us.  “Y... Ye... Yes, Sir.  Yes, I like women.  I’m sorry, mummy.  Sorry...”

“Back to work, little girl,” said Miss Hailsham lowering her sex so that my sobbing child could begin sucking it once more.  I noticed that it was lower this time so that the victim’s whole mouth could and did make contact with it.

“And has Miss Georgina come to terms with it now?”

“It did take several beatings during the first couple of days for her to accept her nature.  She found several Sapphic activities hard to accept initially.  I am happy to report that all such prudery has now been stripped away.  Indeed Miss Georgina is now open to any suggestion that I or Mrs. Jones care to make.”

These remarks caused a moan of distress from my little girl, but she did not remove her mouth from her tormentor’s sex.  I wanted to faint, to make the nightmare go away.

“And does she have any particular proclivities?  Strong likes and dislikes?”  Sir Thomas was discussing Georgina as if she were not there, though I noticed he was watching her mouth carefully.

“I have already mentioned her aversion to pain, Sir Thomas.  She will go to extraordinary lengths to avoid it.  She enjoys any and all games that women play amongst themselves and now gives herself to them freely.  Being treated as a little girl, a naughty pupil, has a strong effect on her as does one other interesting thing.  Shall I demonstrate, Sir Thomas?

“Yes please, Miss Hailsham.  I am sure we will all be interested!”  He squeezed my shoulder and I felt as if I might be physically ill.

The governess raised herself up and turning around lowered herself back onto Georgina, now facing back along her body.  During the brief turn I saw my child’s little breasts, barely more than little bumps.  Her nipples though were much the same size as mine and stood out like hard pink bullets, appearing incongruously large on the small pillows on which they rested.  Now her poor face was entirely buried under Miss Hailsham muscular hindquarters.  I was worried she might suffocate but her mouth was obviously still working.

“Watch this please, Sir Thomas.”  She leant forward and grasped the end of the dildoe sticking from my daughter’s sex.  Vigorously she manipulated it back and forth, drawing muffled moans from Georgina.  After five or six strokes she paused.

“And now this...”  She seized the end of the smaller rod and pulled it out before ramming it back in.  The effect was immediate: Georgina shoved her bottom up as much as she could in her bound position and squealed into Miss Hailsham’s sex.  They were unmistakeably sounds of need and pleasure.  Oh please, not her as well!  Within a minute the poor girl’s body stiffened in climax and she let out a loud groan of release.

“It works every time, Sir Thomas.  Tongues, fingers or objects in her arsehole: all have that effect.  And I did not tell you to stop sucking, little slut.  Just because you come does not mean you stop sucking.” The movements between her thighs recommenced.

“Well, my dear, you have at least one thing in common with your daughter,” Sir Thomas teased.  “Besides being unable to control your baser urges, I suppose.

I sobbed.  It felt as if my life had ended.

“I hope she is being rinsed regularly,” he continued cheerfully.

“Yes, Sir.  Three pints in the morning and three at night.  She derives pleasure from it: as I said anything in that hole is a source of ecstasy for the little strumpet.”

“Who does she have as a maid?”

“Mrs. Jones gave her Eliza, Sir Thomas.  The girl is not a lesbian but she is remarkably broad-minded and has Miss Georgina well in hand.”

“Shaving?  I see she still has her little bush.”  And indeed the blonde curls on her mound were still intact.

“Just the cuntlips at this point, sir.  Her hair is so fine it takes only a little work.  And her future husband might notice its complete absence.”

“It would grow back in time, but you may have a point.”

For a couple of minutes the scene remained as if frozen, the only movements being the muffled working of Georgina’s mouth and my heaving sobs.  Then suddenly Miss Hailsham stiffened and let out three short gasps.  She had clearly just climaxed under my daughter’s ministrations.

“Good,” said Sir Thomas behind me, “now bring Miss Georgina off again, and then we can leave mother and daughter to get to know each other.”

Miss Hailsham swung herself off Georgina and kneeling beside the bound body seized the ends of both dildoes and worked them enthusiastically.

Georgina’s head was now hanging down of the end of the chaise and her face was smeared with her tormentor’s juices.  She was flushed red and her eyes were screwed shut.

“Ah!  Ah! Aaaah!” My daughter wailed her climax out loud.

“Can she manage it again or does she need time to recuperate?” My husband sounded inquisitive.

“Almost immediately, Sir Thomas! Watch,” replied Miss Hailsham.

She continued her efforts and within minutes Georgina stiffened again and squealed her next pinnacle.

“Well, there’s another thing you have in common with your daughter, dearest, it must run in the family.” He was teasing me most cruelly.  “Please release Miss Georgina.  And let us go; you may give me any other observations you have in the library.”

Miss Hailsham stood and moved to a nearby chair where she picked up her drawers and slipped them on and then stepped into her dress before reaching behind to effortlessly fasten it. Then she did an unexpected thing. She knelt to undo the braids of hair tied to the chaise legs and while she was doing it she leant down to kiss Georgina fiercely.

“Well done, little Georgie, very well done!”  I noticed that Georgina kissed her back with a melting openness that was all acceptance.

In a trice the dildoes were extracted and the ropes were undone and my poor girl rolled onto her side and slid onto the floor where she lay weeping quietly.  Sir Thomas, Miss Hailsham and Mrs. Jones all left the room and I ran to scoop my poor thing up in my arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she kept moaning and then I started saying the same thing and soon we were both crying in each other’s arms.

In a little while I was shushing her and trying to get her calm.  I looked round around the room and saw no clothes whatever for Georgina.  I was suddenly furious.  I pulled her up to a nearby settee; I would not use the chaise as it was still festooned with ropes and dildoes.   I rang the bell and in a few moments Eliza appeared.

“Bring Miss Georgina’s clothes,” I barked.

She stared at me and at Georgina huddled naked on the sofa.  “I am not sure that is allowed...”

“Are you telling me that my daughter is not allowed clothes?  Are you disobeying me?” I was enraged.

“Miss Hailsham tells me what is allowed,” she continued defensively. 

She was not even being polite. “Get out of my sight.  You will be back in two minutes with her clothes.  And I want Mrs Jones here within five minutes.  You had better start running.”

She fled my sight and in moments was back with a short dress of the type I was familiar with from my own punishments.  It was better than nothing.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, this is what Miss Hailsham has ordered her to wear.”  Finally she was remembering her manners, but I was still beside myself.

“Get Mrs. Jones, now!” She ran once more.

As I awaited her arrival I helped poor Georgina on with the damned outfit.  It was a lovely blue to set off her eyes, but it was short and sleeveless.  The décolletage which on mine pushed up my breasts and so half-revealed them could do no such thing for my daughter’s tiny breasts. In her case the bust line had been cut entirely below her high breasts leaving them completely exposed and framed in the ruffled hem.  Her nipples stood out hugely on the little bumps.  It was scandalous in the extreme.

Mrs. Jones arrived soon dragging Eliza with her.  I explained the girl’s impertinence.  Eliza was crying by now.

“I apologize for her rudeness, Lady Caroline.  Shall I have her birched?” this drew pleadings from the maid.

“No, I want her working drawer-less in a short uniform of the variety Rose was wearing until I give orders otherwise.  And if you cheek me one more time girl I will have Mrs. Jones tear your bush off with a pair of tweezers.  Am I quite clear?”  I knew I was taking my impotent fury out on the girl, but I did not care at that point.  I had been angry with her the moment Miss Hailsham had described her as ‘having Georgina well in hand’.

“Yes, your ladyship.  I am so sorry, please forgive me.”  She was in floods of tears.

“And is this dress necessary, Mrs. Jones?” I waved at Georgina’s naked breasts.

“Sir Thomas has said that Miss Hailsham is to decide on Miss Georgina’s dress and activities.  I am sorry, Lady Caroline.” 

“That will be all then.  Please leave us and have Eliza bring us tea when she is properly attired.”

Georgina and I spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon alone, talking. We took tea and then lunch in the nursery, both served by a shame-faced Eliza, now in her short uniform.  I was still not happy with her.  Her breasts, unlike my child’s, were at least half covered.

I explained what had befallen me here in more or less complete detail, leaving out only the most appalling humiliations visited upon me.  She listened wide-eyed and sympathetically.

Then she told me of being forced to confront her Sapphic tendencies.  Miss Hailsham had offered her no chance to build any defences and through use of the crop and the strap had forced her to submit.

“But are you sure that you really want that sort of attention?”  I was still not sure of her nature.

“Very sure, Mama,” she insisted. “You saw me just now.  She possesses me completely and I cannot resist.  I do not want to resist.  I love her.”

“You cannot love her.”  I was terrified of the thought.  She must marry Lord Llanbedr.  “I must get you away from here.”

“No, I will not leave.  I will stay here.”  Her determination was marked and there were tears in her eyes.  “And they made me write to Emma and invite her here.”

“Emma?”

“Miss Emma Missenden, my friend from school.  She is looking for a post as a paid companion and I they made me write to her and offer her the position as my companion.  I sent her money so that she can come directly.  Oh mother, I am so scared for her.”  She was crying again.

“Is she... is she... lesbian?”  I did not know what to say.

“I don’t know, we kissed once, but lots of girls do that just to see what it will feel like when a man does it.  Oh God, I don’t know...”

By late afternoon we were talked out and Sir Thomas sent word that we were both expected at dinner.

It was a stilted affair as Georgina sat there in her short dress with her breasts in full view of her stepfather.  Miss Hailsham and I were at least respectably dressed.  I was wary of them all; Sir Thomas was jovial, Miss Hailsham polite and Georgina silent unless spoken to.  It was not a success.

Later as we got into bed I demanded of Sir Thomas why he had done it.

“I will tell you once I am inside you.  Get in the saddle, my dear.”

I straddled him and lowered myself onto him.  He was big and hard and I was barely damp at all, which is not like me as usually the sight of his body makes me instantly receptive.  My mind was elsewhere.  After a little while I managed it though and lay myself down with my breasts squashed on his chest and his hairy pelt tickling my nipples. And we began the slow steady back and forth movement I loved so well.

“Your daughter is a lesbian. It is better she comes to terms with it now.  Or she will spend a miserable and frustrated life.  She will make her husband and her household unhappy and will end up an embittered shrew.  This way she knows where her pleasures lie.  She can give her husband what he wants while discreetly satisfying herself elsewhere.  Miss Hailsham and Mrs. Jones can teach her how.”  He was deeper now and I was wetter.

“I do not recall Mrs. Jones being discreet, either with her mistress or her husband. Aaah...”  I was beginning to feel so warm, a little fire erupting in my belly.

“She was younger then and had no one to teach her.  I think she was angry and careless.  Miss Georgina must be neither.”

“Then you still think Georgina should marry Lord Llanbedr? Oooh...”

“More than ever...  He is the sort of man who will never notice as long as he has his way.  She can bear him a couple of sons and spend the rest of her life between some woman’s thighs.  But you will be obedient, won’t you, wife?”

“Aaah!  Oooh!  Yes... Yes, I will be obedient... Uungh!”  And with that the first of my climaxes washed me away.  True to his form it was just the first of many.  He had smashed my life to pieces and yet held me helplessly in his arms.

Chapter 15 – In which my daughter and I come to terms with our position.

The following morning saw the four of us at breakfast.  It might have been an everyday repast at any great house except that my daughter was sat there with her little breasts framed by her bust-line rather than hidden by it.  I was determined to fight back.

“Georgina, I think we should go riding this morning.”  I made it sound as decided as possible.

“Lady Dalrymple, I was hoping to sketch Miss Georgina this morning,” Miss Hailsham countered politely.

“I should like to have my daughter for half of every day, Miss Hailsham,” and I looked to Sir Thomas for support.

“That seems reasonable,” he replied equitably.  “Miss Hailsham. I assume you can sketch in the afternoon as well as in the morning?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas.” She was again as polite as one might expect from any governess.

“Well, then that is settled.  Miss Hailsham, each morning you will ask Lady Caroline which half of the day she desires to have Miss Georgina for.  The other part she is at your disposal for your tutoring.”

“But Mama, I cannot go riding like this,” Georgina said quietly, looking down at her exposed bosom and half-naked legs.

“Your mother has,” Sir Thomas said happily, “but, as I know she prefers to ride astride and will no doubt wish you to do the same, you may have a long skirt.  But your pretty chest will remain bare till you have earned your proper clothes back.”

“Yes, Sir Thomas,” my poor little girl said humbly.

“We must make sure you are ready for Lord Llanbedr when he comes,” my husband continued.

“Ready?” I queried.  “How so, husband?”

“Well a lady should always have a plan for how to ensure her husband is run to ground,” he said conversationally.  “Many years ago, I spent a season up in London having a wild time.”

I rolled my eyes, having heard these tales just days before.  He noticed and grinned.

“Well, wife, at the end of the season I was summoned back to Hirst Hall.  My father had decided it was time for his son and heir to marry.  The House was not ten years finished and our new wealth from Green Mountain was on full display.  The number of desirable young ladies was pleasantly large and I spent an enjoyable summer playing the eligible bachelor.  There were ladies from excellent families and ladies with wealth and ladies with beauty.  Never, it seemed, all three together though.

“Sometime in August a small Welsh beauty appeared at one of our house parties.  While she was undoubtedly attractive, she was neither from a great family nor of any particular wealth.  She teased me quite unmercifully, both in the sense of flaunting her beauty and of making fun of my rather pompous young maleness. I could not decide whether I loathed her or was attracted to her.

“Then one day young Anne and I were having a picnic with others in the sunken garden south of the orangery.  It was a warm day and she’d had a little more to drink than was her wont.  I saw my opportunity and invited her to explore a small wilderness nearby.  While there she slipped tipsily and fell against me.  I kissed her before she had any chance to resist.  I remember her smiling at me and shyly kissing me back.  Then she slid to her knees, undid my breaches and took out my cock.  In her drunkenness she not only kissed it and licked it, she sucked it and finally swallowed the entire thing.  Not even the whores in London had done that.  And when I came, which as you can imagine took mere moments, she swallowed it all.  Then saying nothing she buttoned up my britches and took me back to the others.  I was so dazed I think she led me like the prize bull in a harvest fair parade.

“The next day she professed eternal shame at her behaviour and anger that I had taken advantage of her inebriation.  There was no way that she would even be alone with me again.  I, in turn, was desperate for her and obsessed to the point of unreason.  We were engaged within the week and married in two months.  It was not till our wedding night that she confessed that she had never been very drunk and that swallowing my cock had been the most exciting thing she had ever done which she proved by repeating the performance.  And she confessed that I was far from the first, though she did alleviate the shock of her deception by telling me I was the biggest.

“When much later I had my revenge by humiliating her in public, I discovered that Anne found that every bit as exciting as sucking cocks.  In fact during our entire marriage I was never sure who was in control.  I felt myself the lord of the manor but always wondered if I were dancing to my lady’s tune.  So, Miss Georgina, you must find your own way of ensuring Lord Llanbedr is well and truly hooked, landed and gaffed!”

“But I don’t...,” began Georgina before trailing off.

“Miss Hailsham will help you,” said Sir Thomas, “and your mother probably has some ideas too.  Now I must go to the estate office.”

“We will go riding this morning, Miss Hailsham,” I immediately asserted, “as soon as Georgina’s dress has had a proper skirt stitched onto it.  Would you care to join us?”  I was interested to hear her response.

“That would be very kind, Lady Caroline.  I should enjoy that.”

And it was indeed a lovely ride once Georgina had got over the embarrassment of riding with her breasts exposed.  I carefully kept to the quieter parts of the estate and young Ralph kept a discreet distance ahead and twice warned us of estate labourers so we could turn to one side.  Miss Hailsham was a better horsewoman than I expected, having heard that she was brought up in London.  She applied herself to riding with the intense determination she seemed to put into her drawing and her other duties.

That afternoon I sat and read for a while and then tried to write a letter.  My mind, though, kept drifting to what might or might not be happening in the old nursery.  Eventually I could stand it no longer and went to investigate. With trepidation I quietly opened the door to the room steeling myself against what I might see.

Georgina was sat in the window seat, angled so that the afternoon sun was catching her body.  She reclined comfortably against cushions and had her face turned to look out at the westerly view across the park.  She was quite naked.  Her legs were drawn up so that her feet were beside her bottom and her knees were spread apart, leaving her sex spread open. This openness was enhanced because the fingers of both her hands had peeled open and were holding apart the lips of her sex.  Not just the outer ones but the inner ones too.  Her sex was so opened that one could actually see her hole.  Her little bud was stiff and her pink flesh glistened with a sheen of wetness.  Clearly she was somewhat excited by keeping this wanton pose.

Very close to Georgina sat Miss Hailsham on a small stool with a sketchpad in one hand and a pencil in the other.  She was concentrating on sketching my daughter.  Except that she wasn’t sketching all of her, she was only drawing her open sex.  It was there on the paper, larger than life-sized and in amazing detail.  I would have been impressed at the quality of the work had it been of a more normal subject.

At that moment the draught from the open door must have alerted them.  Georgina glanced over from the view, clearly expecting Eliza or Mrs. Jones.  It wasn’t till her eyes opened wide in surprise at seeing me that she released her hold on her sex.  Instead she swiftly covered herself with the same hands.

Miss Hailsham having seen me too, turned back to Georgina.  “Now, Georgie, what have I told you about not changing your pose unless I tell you to?”

“But, Miss, it’s my mother...”  Georgina sounded nervous and shocked.

“Yes, I know Lady Caroline is your mother.  However while during half the day you are to be the dutiful daughter, during the other half you are my pupil.  Now spread yourself wide again.  Show us how sticky you are.”  Her tone was both teasing and authoritative.

Slowly Georgina spread her sex open again.  The poor girl was now blushing a shade of pink that almost matched the rosy hue of her innermost flesh.  It was hard not to notice though that the inner folds of her sex were if anything moister than before.

“Please mother, please don’t stay...” she begged me in desperate tones.

I hesitated.

“But perhaps Lady Caroline would like to see our sketches from the last week?”  There was a distinctly mocking and challenging undertone to Miss Hailsham’s voice.

“Very well,” I managed, determined not just to flee, “I would like to see your work.  I take it there are drawings by Georgina as well as of her?”

“Oh yes, your ladyship.”  Miss Hailsham replied.  “If you just give me a couple of minutes to finish this study of your daughter’s pretty pink cunt, then we can show you our sketches.”

I knew she had used the word just to shock me but I stood my ground and closed the door behind me.  Georgina was once again looking out the window and I could see a solitary tear running down the cheek nearest me.  She was clearly humiliated, upset and excited all at the same time.  Why did I not derive any pleasure from being displayed?  Lady Anne and my daughter both did.

I could see that the drawing was complete apart from the final details of the blonde curls on my daughter’s mound and indeed in a few minutes time they too were detailed in.

“Well done, Georgie, all finished.  You deserve your kiss now.”  Miss Hailsham put down her sketchpad and leant towards Georgina, who shrank back against the cushions.

“No, please Miss, not in front of my mother...” Georgina sounded quite desperate.

“No?  No reward then?  Very well, let us show off our drawings.  I’ll ring for tea first.”  And she stood up and went to ring the bell pull by the mantelpiece.

My daughter’s tear-pricked blue eyes followed her every movement.  She was still in her open pose on the window seat, but her fingers had at least released their spreading grip. “But Miss, I want it...  Oh, please Mother, please leave for one minute.  Please?”

I just stood there, irresolute and confused.

“No, Georgie, it is not polite to ask guests to leave the room,” continued Miss Hailsham firmly.  “You have earned your kiss, now do you want it?  I would like an affirmative or negative response.  No more silliness.”

“Oh please...  Please Miss...,” Georgina’s gaze was on her governess but it kept flicking to me.  She was now pinker than ever.  “Please, Miss, p... please m... may I have my kiss?  Oh, God...”

“Why of course you may,” said Miss Hailsham sweetly, “you deserve it for posing so nicely.”

She approached Georgina who had not moved upon the seat.  I did not know whether to run or stay.  I knew that if I left I would have lost some of my pride before this strange young governess.

Miss Hailsham took my daughter’s face in her hands and began to kiss her.  Not chastely, but passionately and hungrily.  If there had been any remaining doubts as to my little girl’s tastes they vanished at that moment.  She melted as her tutor’s urgent tongue quested its way into her mouth.  Her hands came up to meet on the back of Miss Hailsham’s head, gently running over the bun of brown hair.  That she loved the woman was clear, whether it was infatuation or something deeper I did not know.

Soon the governess’ head moved downwards and began to kiss Georgina’s hard nipples.  The woman actually managed to suck the entirety of my girl’s breasts into her mouth, first one side and then the other. 

Georgina was moaning now, head thrown back, mouth open and eyes screwed shut.   I am not sure she even knew I was there anymore.

Miss Hailsham moved again, leaving a wet trail of saliva across Georgina’s belly as she went.  When she reached her target she kissed it, and then licked it before finally sucking the entire little bud into her mouth.

“Waah!”  Georgina convulsed, shoving her sex upwards into the other woman’s mouth.  She groaned in evident climax.  It seemed to go on forever as Miss Hailsham refused to relinquish her lips’ grip on the morsel of flesh.

Was that what it looked like when I reached my peak in the Yellow Salon before everyone?  I had no need to touch myself to know that I was damp below my waist.  It is not that I am attracted to women; it is just that the scene before me was so undeniably, intensely sexual.  I also confirmed for me that I liked to watch others have sexual relations.  For reasons I do not understand it excites me.

Finally Miss Hailsham raised her face, shiny with wetness, from my daughter’s sex.  Poor Georgina lay upon the cushions gasping for breath.

“What do you say, Georgie?” The governess was teasing now.

“Thank you, Miss, thank you for my kiss,” the girl whispered back.

“Come then, let’s show your mother our hard work!”  And Miss Hailsham sounded suddenly like the young woman she was under that entirely perverse teacher personality.  She wanted to show off her artistic abilities as much as anyone.

The tea arrived, brought by Eliza in her short uniform.  Her eyes widened as she saw me there.

Miss Hailsham arranged me on the sofa and placed a table before me.  Eliza laid out tea upon another.  Georgina, still naked and with her flush slowly subsiding went about helping get all the drawings out.  She and her tutor huddled together by the window seat deciding on and arranging the pictures.  They made an incongruous sight: one short and fully dressed the other utterly naked with her long legs, fair hair and willowy figure. 

Occasionally Georgina would shake her head and whisper, “Not that one, please Miss?”

“Of course that one, it shows you so well!” Miss Hailsham would whisper back.

As they were about ready, the door opened and Sir Thomas strode in.

“Mrs. Jones told me you were all up here,” he boomed.  “All that sun streaming in, perfect place for tea.”

The two young women whirled round.  Georgina flushed pink once more as Sir Thomas looked her nudity up and down quite blatantly.  Miss Hailsham curtseyed and a moment later so did her charge.

“We were about to look at some of our drawings, Sir Thomas.  Does that sound agreeable?” Miss Hailsham enquired politely.  Georgina just turned pinker.

“Capital!” And he came and sat close beside me on the settee.  “Pour the tea, please, Eliza.  And Eliza, if I hear that you have been insolent with my wife one more time, I’ll have you buggered.  In public.  Is that clear?”

“Yes Sir Thomas.  I am so sorry, Sir.  Your ladyship, it won’t happen again.”  The girl was in tears and I suddenly felt sorry for her.  She looked so vulnerable with her breasts half-out and her legs bare below the knee.

I felt my husband’s thigh pressed against mine through my dress.  I shivered as his presence had its customary effect on me.   This was going to be difficult.

The first sketch was of Miss Hailsham’s head and was by Georgina.  It was half-finished and showed a good hand but without the governess’ manifest talents.

“This is the sketch that Miss Georgina was making of me the first afternoon,” Miss Hailsham explained, “after you left on your trip.  It is unfinished because I asked her if she were attracted to women and at that point the sketching class finished for the day.  Bring the next one please, Georgina.”

The second one was a quick sketch by Miss Hailsham and showed Georgina bound hand and foot on the sofa we were currently sat on.  There were stripes from a strap on her bottom and her woebegone face was towards the artist.

“This was later that same day.  Mrs. Jones had just strapped her backside and Miss Georgina was just affirming to me that she did think she was partial to women after all.”

The next one was with my poor daughter sat upon the sofa with her legs wide apart and drawn up and her arms bound along its back.  Between her legs knelt a fully dressed woman.  I could tell immediately that it was Mrs. Jones from the style of the dress.  Georgina’s face was a mask of shock and lust.  It was so remarkably intense.

“This is the last sketch that first day.  Mrs. Jones had just given Georgina her first Sapphic orgasm. And our little girl went on to have two more soon after.  After this she no longer denied her true self, though she did baulk at letting herself take part in some activities, at least till the crop made her think again.”

After this there were numerous other sketches, almost all by Miss Hailsham.  Most showed Georgina with Mrs. Jones.  There were drawings of her sucking and licking every part of the housekeeper’s body.  There was even one portrait where my dear daughter had her tongue actually inside the woman’s bottomhole.

“We did have to use the crop a few times before Miss Georgina agreed to do that particular one.  But she managed it and now she loves it?  Don’t you, Georgie?”

“Please...  please Miss...  Oh, yes I like it...”  My daughter would not meet our eyes but stared at her feet.

“Like what, Georgie?”

“Like... like... I like licking your arsehole, Miss.  And Mrs. Jones’.”

There were several drawings by Georgina of Miss Hailsham or Mrs. Jones, naked in various poses on the window seat or the sofa, but never together.  In comparison with her own positions these were positively chaste.

The last three shown to us were noteworthy: all were by the governess.  The first was drawn to show the view as Miss Hailsham looked down along her body to where Georgina was sucking on her sex.  The hard muscled body was caught in a foreshortened pose and my daughter’s face was shown with her chin in her tutor’s sex, her tongue out on her lover’s bud and her eyes looking up, wide with devotion like those of a puppy.

The second showed Eliza wielding a clyster.  Georgina lay over the bed with her bottom raised and her hands yawning the cheeks of her bottom apart.  The device was fully inserted and the maid was pushing the plunger home.  What made it different from my morning ritual was that, whereas I buried my head in the covers to hide my shame, Georgina was looking back at the artist with a look of open-mouthed lust on her face, the tip of her tongue poking out to touch her lip.  I do not know whether it was the humiliation or having her bottom played with that was more exciting for her.

The final one showed Georgina reclining in the window seat, legs akimbo, while she worked the two dildoes I had seen the day before in and out of her body.  As yesterday the smallest one was in her bottomhole while the larger one penetrated her sex.  The look of lust was intense and perfectly captured by the artist.

“I’m afraid poor Miss Georgina was not allowed to climax until the sketch was done.  She found it very difficult, didn’t you, Georgie?”

“Yes, Miss, very difficult.” 

“Do you remember what you promised if I let you come, you little strumpet?”

“Yerrs, Miss...”

“Tell us then.  Tell your mother and Sir Thomas.”

“Please, Miss?...  Oh God...  I...  I...  I promised to let you pee in my f... face... and to d... drink it, Miss.”  Georgina was crying now, but I could tell by her voice and the flint-hard nipples how aroused she was.  This was, without a shadow of a doubt, exciting her.  She kept unconsciously rubbing her thighs together as if to bring herself relief.  She stood there eyes shut and so very vulnerable and beautiful.

“And have I, little girl?”

“No, Miss.”

“But you know I will someday, don’t you?”

“Yesss,” she whispered.

Miss Hailsham leant in very close and standing on tip-toes spoke directly into her ear.  “And you want me to, don’t you, you little whore?”

“No, Miss...  Yes, Miss...  I don’t know...  Yes, I want it!” Her fingers were sliding across her thighs towards her bud.

“Don’t you dare, you little harlot.  Not without my permission.  Do you want to come?” The iron in her voice held Georgina in thrall.

Sir Thomas’ hand found mine and squeezed it. I realized I was holding my breath.

“Yes, Miss,” came a little girl’s voice finally, “yes, I want to.  Please may I come for you?”

“Open your eyes, look at your mother and play with yourself.  And tell her when you are coming.”

“No, please not that, please, Miss,” Georgina was begging.  But her eyes opened and her fingers moved to her mound.  She stared at me, unfocussed, as she frantically rubbed her little bud.

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Aargh!  I’m coming, Mummy!  Mummy! Coming, Mummy!”  She was squealing as she furiously tugged her little nub of flesh about.  Slowly she slipped to her knees before us.  “Thank you, Miss.  Oh God, thank you.”

I have to confess the scene had made me unbearably hot, even though it was my own flesh and blood.

“Thank you, Miss Hailsham,” said my husband evenly, though I could tell from the monstrous bulge in his breaches that he was as affected as I, “most edifying!  Perhaps I can return the favour.  Please won’t you and Georgina join me tomorrow for tea in the Yellow Salon?

The following morning, Georgina was with Miss Hailsham and she did not join me until luncheon.  We said nothing of the happenings the day before or of what she might have been doing before lunch.  We sat in the Chinese Salon and talked of friends and the house parties to come, of dresses and balls.  We pretended that yesterday had not happened nor that teatime was fast approaching.  I wanted to ask what it felt like to derive pleasure from being humiliated, what a woman tasted like, why she didn’t hate Miss Hailsham.  I lacked the courage to broach the subject.  I was too well brought up, too well mannered and far too shy.

At half past four Mrs. Jones appeared to fetch us.  I looked at her; she seemed somehow different.  Perhaps it was that I had now seen her naked in a dozen different sketches.  Or maybe it was that she had been so intimate with my daughter in so many different and obscene ways. I now knew that her figure, always so well hidden in her brown dresses, was very fine indeed if not quite as voluptuous as mine.

“Lady Caroline, Miss Georgina, it is time for tea, if you please.”  In truth it sounded like the summons it was.

We entered the salon to find Sir Thomas, Rose, Eliza and Miss Hailsham already present.  The maids stood off to one side, while the governess sat in one chair and my husband had the other.  Mrs. Jones went to stand behind my husband as she always seemed to.  That left the sofa for Georgina and me and so we sat decorously beside each other.  Georgina was staring at the portrait of Lady Anne in her scarlet riding habit.  I had by now become accustomed to its subject’s startling gaze.

“As Miss Georgina managed to entertain us so well yesterday,” Sir Thomas began, “I thought today perhaps both ladies might care to amuse us.  I have thought of a diverting competition for you both.”

I swallowed hard and kept my gaze on my hands in my lap.  Obedient, I had sworn to be obedient.

“To begin with, Eliza and Rosie, please undress your mistresses.  You may leave on their boots.”

We stood to make it easier for our maids.  In Georgina’s case it took mere moments as her tiny dress fell away as soon as it was unbuttoned and she stepped out naked.  In my case it took longer as dress, corset, shift, petticoats and drawers were all removed, leaving me naked but for stockings and boots.  I don’t think my daughter had ever seen me in a state of undress before and she did stare at me.  I caught her perusing my breasts (I knew she had always desired bigger breasts like mine) and my flared hips.  My complete lack of a bush made her blush; I supposed I was the first woman she had ever seen without one.

“If I did not know, I would swear you were not mother and daughter,” said Sir Thomas, “a thin blonde girl and a statuesque auburn woman.  Still, as we know, you have some sexual traits in common.  Now I would like you both to kneel on the sofa side by side, bottoms towards the fireplace and heads on the back of the sofa.”

We complied with unfeigned reluctance.  Soon enough though were kneeling side by side.

“Now turn your heads and look at each other.”

I turned and saw Georgina with her head resting on her hands and looking at me.  I could tell from her slightly parted lips and the stiffness of her nipples that she was already excited by having to kneel naked beside me. I tried to smile at her, but I was sure my effort was nervous.

“Knees apart, ladies, about a foot should do.  Well done.”

He came to stand directly behind us and then I felt his hand running over my bottom, stroking and patting it.  It felt pleasant despite the indecency of the scene.  He always left me helpless.

“I should like to stroke yours too, Miss Georgina, but I have promised your mother that no man will touch you here at Hirst Hall.  I shall confine myself to enjoying the view.”

“Thank you, Sir,” choked out my daughter.

“What do you think of the sight, Mrs. Jones, Miss Hailsham?” Sir Thomas continued.

Miss Hailsham stood and walked over to us.  Please don’t let her touch me, I begged silently.  She stroked and patted Georgina as she might a pet dog.

“I do like Georgina’s hindquarters, Sir Thomas, all long legs and tight buttocks.  But I also like a woman with proper hips and Lady Caroline has a most excellent backside for a woman her age. She is firm like a twenty-year old, must be all that riding.  May I, Sir?

“Be my guest, Miss Hailsham...” 

Nooo!  Please, not that...  But it was too late.  Her hands were running over my bottom, stroking and patting me.  Then she kneaded my buttocks and I groaned out loud before finally giving a little wail as she pulled my cheeks apart to inspect my bottomhole.

“Magnificent, Lady Caroline, you are quite magnificent!”  I could not tell if she were teasing me.

Mrs. Jones in turn did no more than stand and look at us.  I was so grateful.

“I cannot decide which I would prefer in my bed to keep me warm at night, Sir Thomas,” said the housekeeper.  “Both would make a bedwarmer quite redundant.”

“Well, Mrs. Jones, I do not believe Lady Caroline will take you up on that offer.  Will you, my dear?”

“No, Sir.  I will not.”  It was a repulsive notion.

“Now, today’s game will involve what we a have already established to be the most sensitive parts of both your bodies: your arseholes.”

Oh my dear God, no!  I did not think I could stand having Georgina know how any touch there affected me.

“Miss Hailsham has agreed to manipulate this toy in your bottom, Miss Georgina.”  Here he waved the smallest dildoe. “While for you, wife, it will be this one and Mrs. Jones has agreed to do the honours.” He waved the second one at me before handing them both to the governess and housekeeper.

“No competition is complete without prizes and forfeits.  The prizes, self-evidently, will be the pleasure you two derive from having your arseholes toyed with.  The winner will be the lady who manages to climax the greatest number of times.  The loser will receive strokes of the crop equivalent to the difference between her score and the winner’s.  Is that clear?  I think half an hour should do the trick.  Then we can stop and have our tea.”

Merciful Lord, this was going to be terrible.

“You will keep looking at each other and for each time I have to remind you to keep your eyes open you will lose one point.  For a climax to count I expect you to tell us that you are having one.  Right, the time starts: NOW!”

I glanced back to see Miss Hailsham dipping the little dildoe in ointment before sliding it into Georgina’s bottom.  I saw her eyes open in response and then I felt the same sensation in myself as Mrs. Jones shoved the larger tool into me.   She was quite rough with it, pushing the entire length into me in one long shove.  I groaned in discomfort but kept my eyes on my daughter’s blue ones.  She was already gasping and wriggling her bottom in response to her governess movements.  Within a couple of minutes she was squealing.

“I’m coming...  Oh Mummy, I’m coming...  It’s so good...”

I was horrified.  I wanted her to win, knowing I could take (and even enjoy a little) the pain better than she could.  But I wanted her to win by one or two climaxes, not many.  Please, not many.  I had to keep up.  I vigorously shoved my bottom back against Mrs. Jones in an obscene parody of my movements in bed with Sir Thomas.  I concentrated on the feelings of pleasure radiating from my bottomhole in waves.  I felt my ecstasy climbing.  I imagined him sinking his big organ into my backside: so big, so deep.

“I’m coming again, Mummy!  Again...”

And she was, gasping for air and with her tongue out and flicking up and down.  In shock I realised she was imagining licking some woman’s sex as she climaxed.  I had to concentrate.  I unfocussed my eyes and just imagined Sir Thomas behind me ploughing my bottom, forcing his entire length into my bowels.

“Oh God, I’m coming...  Coming, darling...”

I had caught up one climax, but having done that I struggled to focus on the task.  Had I been allowed to reach down and touch my bud it would have been easy, so easy.  I tried to concentrate on my pleasure, but it was hard.  This wasn’t Sir Thomas and it wasn’t our bedroom.  And while Mrs. Jones could push my pleasure higher and higher with the clever way she used the dildoe, she could not supply the last little push over the edge.

Georgina was having no such trouble.  Her hands were still on the back of the sofa but her face had slid down and she was hanging there, her back arched so she could shove her backside hard back against her tutor’s hand.  Her eyes were open but utterly glazed over. Her tongue was still stuck out to its limit.

“Ungh, coming Mummy...  Coming Miss. Coming again.”

She seemed to be almost delirious and I stared at her in horrified fascination.

“Ungh, fuck my arsehole!  Fuck my arsehole!  Fuck my dirty arsehole!  I’m coming, Miss... your little slut is coming...

It was hard to tell where one orgasm stopped and the next began.  I was going to lose terribly.  I had to stop thinking of her.  I let myself go to another place.  I imagined James the gardener slowly forcing his gigantic penis into my bottomhole, stretching me, hurting me, opening me, filling me.  Over and over again.  Hurting me!  Stretching me!  I viciously shoved my bottom back and forth and then finally...

“I’m coming, coming... Oh, Thomas, I’m coming...”

But that was it for me and I watched as Miss Hailsham drove my daughter on.   One of her hands had come off the back by now and her face was on the cushions while she hung from her remaining arm.  She babbled a string of obscenities as she sought one more climax.

“Fuck me, Miss, fuck your little whore.  Shove it up my arse!  Please Miss, harder, deeper...  Let me suck your cunt, please let me suck your cunt...  I’m coming...  your dirty whore is coming...”

“Time ladies, please!” Sir Thomas’ words released me from my purgatory.

I felt the dildoe removed from my bottom and saw Miss Hailsham do likewise from Georgina’s.  My dear child was still thrusting her bottom back and forth as if to recapture the damned thing, her face buried in the cushions.  Slowly she slid over on one side and lay there gasping, moaning and crying.  I gathered her up onto my naked lap and stroked her hair.  Poor, poor little girl.

“How many times do you think Miss Georgina managed to come for us, Miss Hailsham?” my husband enquired in the tone of a scorekeeper.

“Eight for sure, Sir Thomas, though it can be difficult to tell them apart when the she slips into her little harlot mode.”

“Less one for when I told her to open her eyes is seven.  And my wife, Mrs. Jones?  I counted just the two.”

“Two it was, sir.  I think her ladyship rather needs to be touched somewhere else as well.”

“And so, my dearest, you lose by five.  Would you mind bending over my chair and gripping the arms.  Mrs. Jones will do the necessary.  If you release your grip the stroke does not count.”

I eased Georgina’s head off my lap and onto a cushion.  Stoically I walked to behind the chair and leant forward, letting my breasts swing out for all to see.  I gripped and did not release the arms.

Five fiery red stripes from the crop were applied to my posterior, marching in a row down from the top of my bottom.  The housekeeper was not gentle and was quite expert.  I imagined she had beaten enough errant maids.  Each vicious cut was echoed by a molten surge in my sex.  By the end I knew that the slightest touch on my bud would drive me to a climax.  It was not to be.

“You may dress Lady Caroline now, Rose. “ She hurried over and carefully I dressed trying to avoid pressure on my flaming behind.  Finally, gingerly, I sat back on the sofa.

“What about your charge, Miss Hailsham?  Shall she dress?”  My husband was solicitously passing me a cup of tea.

“I think not, Sir Thomas.  Miss Georgina has been a complete trollop this afternoon.  Haven’t you, Georgie?”  The governess was pulling my daughter into an upright position beside me.

“Yes, Miss.  But please let me dress.  Please?” 

“No, you have behaved like a whore, you can sit like one.  Now, back straight, head up, tits out and move those knees apart.  Wider...  that’s it, let everyone see how wet your slit is.  Perfect!  Now, would you like a cup of tea, little girl?”

“Yerss, Miss”

And like that we had our afternoon tea.  I was grateful that they could not see my sex which was as hot and wet as Georgina’s, just from the heat in my damaged behind.  Georgina sat there with her breathing shallow, her nipples like little flints and her slit glistening.  She was clearly terribly excited being made to have tea undressed before her mother, stepfather and governess, not to mention the servants.  And that despite having already climaxed numerous times.

Much later I lay on my husband’s bed while he gently rubbed salve into my striped bottom.  It soothed and excited in equal measures.  He was naked and his big member was as stiff as a fire poker.  I was getting hotter by the second as he ever so gently ran his fingers over each weal.

“Would you have had her beaten as hard?”

“You were never going to win today, my dearest.”  I could feel him moving behind me and felt his stiffness suddenly resting in the cleft of my bottom.  Oh Dear Jesus, how I wanted him...

“How did you know?” I whispered, arching myself and spreading my legs.

“She enjoys being humiliated, more than you can imagine.  Perhaps even more than Lady Anne.  She at least could hide it, Georgina positively radiates it.”  The head of him began to push between my buttocks till it rested against my tight little hole.

“So I couldn’t win?  Aaagh...” He had shoved himself into me.

“Never.   I would have your daughter paraded naked around the whole house except that she would drip on the carpets.”

“Ah! Oh! Ooooh!” He had pushed right into me, his hair tickling the painful stripes on my buttocks.  “I’m coming, husband, I’m coming!”

“You’re as big a slut as your daughter, wife,” and then he really began to plough my bottomhole.  Soon I was quite, quite lost.

Chapter 16 – In which my daughter is betrothed.

Lord Llanbedr arrived a week later.

During that week Sir Thomas had not abused me except on the day before his lordship’s arrival.  He came back for luncheon that day and after the meal happily announced that Georgina was to be allowed her proper dresses from that evening onwards.

“However, I should like to enjoy her in her current outfit until tonight.  Perhaps you would like to join her, my sweet.  That way I may admire you both.”

Without demur I went to change into my now familiar short dress.  When I returned my daughter gave out a little gasp.  She had not seen me so scandalously attired. And while my nipples were covered (barely) the dress did push my breasts out and made them look very large indeed.  Not to mention my bare arms and legs.

“Come, let us go to the Yellow Salon,” Sir Thomas said cheerfully.  Miss Hailsham accompanied us.

I quailed inwardly; I sensed there was more to this test of my obedience than my foreshortened attire.

Mrs. Jones joined us there and we were all soon seated apart from the housekeeper.

“To commemorate Miss Georgina’s last day with her titties on display I should like her to be about the house with a somewhat stickier face.  Do you think you ladies can manage that?”  Sir Thomas’ voice was teasing but calculating.

Miss Hailsham smiled broadly.  “Of course we can, Sir Thomas.  Would you like to begin, Mrs. Jones or shall I?”

“You begin, Miss Hailsham, by all means.” The housekeeper was smiling too.

“Come, Georgie.  Come and take my drawers off.”  The governess stood to make it easier.

Georgina quickly obeyed reaching under the skirts to undo the drawstring and let her governess’ undergarments fall down.  She was clearly practised at this manoeuvre.

Miss Hailsham stepped out of them and then sat back down and reclined in the chair.  “To work, little girl, you know what to do.”

Without even glancing at me Georgina had dived under the skirts and moments later I could see her head at the juncture of the tutor’s thighs.  Miss Hailsham gripped her head through the cloth and I could see her rubbing her sex all over my daughter’s face.  This went on for some minutes until Miss Hailsham stiffened and let out a series of little gasps.  Then she pushed the head away from her.

Georgina reappeared, her face flushed and smeared with Miss Hailsham’s secretions and her own spittle.

Straightaway Mrs. Jones beckoned her over.  Once more the drawers were removed and once again Georgina dived underneath the brown skirt.  By the time the housekeeper had reached her climax and pushed my child out, her face was completely smeared with both the women’s juices.  Some curls of her blonde hair were plastered to her cheeks and forehead with the sticky wetness.

“You look a picture, stepdaughter!” said my husband to my gasping daughter.

The poor thing was so excited at her humiliation that her hands were pressed together in front of her pushing at her mound through her dress.  One look from Miss Hailsham quelled that behaviour.

“I want you to remain like that until you dress for dinner.  Then you may wash yourself.  Is that clear, young lady?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas.”

“Now, your mother will of course want to keep you company!”

No, he couldn’t want me to!  Not that, it was too disgusting.  I would refuse.

“Mrs. Jones, would you mind asking three, no, make that four, of the footmen to attend us?” He was quite off-hand.

Oh God, that was revolting.  But at least it was better than what I had thought he wanted.  I was sure I would not have been able to go beneath another woman’s skirts.

Mrs. Jones reappeared minutes later with four of our footmen.  George, Hugh and David were there as I had expected.  The last was Stephen, who had only been with the household a couple of months.   He was a young man still with a bad rash of pimples.  They stood in a line awaiting instructions, all stealing glimpses at my scandalous attire and my daughter’s naked breasts and sticky face.

“Men, thank you for coming so promptly,” Sir Thomas began.  “Lady Caroline has an urgent desire to be as messy as her daughter.  I would be grateful if you would each in turn allow her to suck you off.  You are each to withdraw at the appropriate moment and leave your spunk in her face or on her tits.  Would you mind lifting them out for us, dear?”

Tears in my eyes I obeyed.  I merely had to stretch and my breasts popped out of their confines and sat on the top of the dress.

“Perhaps we had better start with young Stephen,” my husband said gently.

The pimply youth stumbled forward and fumbled with his fastenings. He brought forth his terribly stiff and red organ and approached me.

I opened my mouth in readiness.  That was too much for him and he exploded, spraying my face wildly with his slime. There was an enormous quantity of it and I could feel one large globule of it drip from my nose onto my breasts.  Dear Lord, this was horrible.

There were stifled guffaws from the other footmen but my husband was solicitous.

“Bad luck, lad.  Better luck next time!  You’re next George.”

One by one the men stepped forward and I sucked them at my husband’s command.  None of them lasted long. George sprayed my face wildly, much as young Stephen had, but with less volume.  Hugh aimed at the bridge of my nose and seemed to cover much of my forehead with his thick effusion.  I felt it running slowly down my eyebrows.  Finally David pulled from my mouth and pointing downwards sprayed his greasy mess all over my neck and breasts.  I must have looked terrible, encrusted in semen from my hairline to my nipples.

“Thank you, men, you may go about your duties,” said Sir Thomas and the men left with wide smiles on their faces.  He turned to us.

“You two make a fascinating matched pair.  Please remain that way till it is time to dress for dinner.  And Mrs. Jones, I am sure that Lady Caroline will want to inspect the house today and perhaps go for a walk in the gardens.  But first I would be so grateful if Miss Hailsham would do me the honour of making me a quick sketch portrait of her ladyship and her daughter.”  With that he left us for his own work.

In tears I sat for half an hour on the sofa beside my daughter as Miss Hailsham sketched our distressing condition.  For the first few minutes I could feel the men’s sperm slowly sliding down my face and dripping onto my breasts.  Some of it even slid into my cleavage and trickled down into my dress.  But after a while it stopped oozing and just began to dry into a sticky film over my features.  I had never felt more disgusting and dirty in my life.

When the sketch was done we were paraded about the house and grounds as walking obscenities.  It was supposedly in the nature of a tour of inspection, but in practice Mrs. Jones made sure that every one of the servants in the house saw us.  I had never felt more humiliated; I was sure that the footmen had told everyone what had transpired.  They could all see my displayed breasts and the white mess drying on them, on my face and in my hair.  We finished in the library, where my husband was poring over a large estate map.

“Well, ladies, you look lovely.  How about a walk in the gardens?”  And with that he swept us out through an opened window onto the terrace.

We walked through the gardens and the warm air completed the drying of the slime on my hair, face and bosom.  I could feel it beginning to crack and flake.  It itched and I wanted to peel it off but did not dare.

Sir Thomas held my hand and at one point said to me, “You look so beautiful like that, you should dress like that more often.”  It was so cruel and I hated him for it.

A little later he whispered to me, “You are the most exciting woman in the world, I wish I could fuck you right here and now.  Look how stiff my cock is.” 

I glanced down at the large bulge in his breaches and immediately my sex twitched in response.  I hated him for his unkindness and loved him for how desired he made me feel.  Lady Anne might indeed have controlled her husband during their marriage, but there was no doubt that now he controlled his second wife utterly.

Finally the promenade was over and Georgina and I were allowed to go bathe before dinner.  I sat in my bath and scrubbed my face, neck and breasts till they were pink.  I had Rose wash my hair twice to remove all traces of the terrible mess.  Even when I knew it was all gone I could still feel it there as if it had been seared into my skin.

I dressed for dinner in a beautiful gown to celebrate that my daughter would be dressed as a lady at dinner for the first time in weeks.  I was sitting at my dressing table and Rose was just piling my hair up in an elaborate arrangement when Sir Thomas came in from the adjoining room.  He looked elegant as always for dinner, but I was surprised as he never usually came in when I was dressing.

“Rosie, may I have a moment of your mistress’ time?”

Rose made to leave the room.

“No need for that, Rosie, I won’t be a minute.”  And he strode over to me, bent down and kissed me passionately on the lips. 

I flushed a little; I was not used to expressions of ardour from him in front of the servants.  What did he want?

He stood up again and undid his breaches.  His member was already half-erect and sprang forth. 

Oh, please, not that...  But his organ was at the precise height of my seated head and it was clear what he desired so I opened my mouth and took the head of him in.  I began to suck.  Please, I was thinking to myself, please don’t let him climax in my face.  I did not think I could stand to sit through dinner covered in his sperm.  Especially not if Georgina were there all beautifully dressed.

“Don’t suck, dear,” he commanded.

I just sat there with the head of him resting on my tongue, hot and heavy.  I could taste the maleness of him, that little dribble of liquid he gave off when excited.

“Look at me!”

I looked up along his chest at his smiling face.  What a sight I must have made sitting there, dressed for dinner and staring up at him with his big penis in my mouth.  I shivered at the image.

“I want you so badly, dear, that I considered ravishing you right here and now.  Instead I will content myself in sitting at dinner with the feeling of your lips around my cock.”  With that he pulled from my mouth, fastened his breaches around his stiff member and turning, left the room.

I sat there stunned as Rose came over and began to finish my hair.

All through dinner I could swear I could still feel him on my tongue.  I know that my sex oozed the entire time in anticipation of what he would do to me later.  And yet still it was a lovely meal.  Georgina looked radiant and beautiful in a yellow dress to match her hair.  She was vivacious and happy and we all danced attendance on her, even Miss Hailsham.

As we sat at breakfast, knowing that Lord Llanbedr was due to arrive in a few hours, I was luxuriating in that I would play Lady Dalrymple in full during the week he was here.  Miss Hailsham would just be the drawing tutor and Georgina would be the prospective bride.  Her hoped-for intended would stay for seven days and his parents, Viscount and Viscountess Hawarden, would join us for the last two days.  If all went well we might even seal the betrothal then.

“I hope you have devised a plan to land your young man, Miss Georgina,” said Sir Thomas.

Georgina blushed and looked at her plate.  “I think so, Sir Thomas.  Miss Hailsham has been helping me.”

Sir Thomas looked over at the governess and raised his eyebrows.

“I see no reason to tinker with a winning plan of campaign, Sir Thomas,” she replied sweetly, “Miss Georgina will tease her young swain and then find an appropriate moment to take her young beau aside somewhere private in the gardens and proceed to do unto him exactly what was done unto you by Lady Anne.”

Sir Thomas grinned.  “But unless Miss Georgina has been making every man in the house very happy, surely she lacks the requisite skill.”

“Mrs Shepherd has been most kind,” Miss Hailsham continued.  “She has supplied us with a variety of sausages of varying lengths, girths and firmness.  Miss Georgina has practised hard and, unless her young man is equipped in an exceptional fashion, I believe she is ready.”

Sir Thomas guffawed.  “And are you ready, Miss Georgina?”  He looked over at my blushing daughter.

“I think I am, Sir,” she whispered still looking at her plate.  Then she lifted her head up and looked straight at Miss Hailsham.  “Miss Helena, I mean Miss Hailsham, says I am.”

“Then I am sure you will do, dear stepdaughter.”

Lord Llanbedr turned out to be a charming young man, four years older than Georgina and handsome enough in an unprepossessing way.  He was no taller than Georgina and was of a slim build so that the two of them looked like a pair of poplars side by side.  They shared an interest in books, drawing and music and so had more than enough to discuss and do together.  Miss Hailsham was always there as a chaperone.  Knowing her predilections I could see there was no attraction of a physical nature on my daughter’s side, but there were enough hungry glances from his side to leave me in no doubt as to his admiration.  And Georgina could always find her satisfaction elsewhere as long as she did right by her husband.  I was more pleased than can be imagined.

On the day before his parents came we had a little fête champêtre in the sunken garden.  Two of the garden staff who were accomplished on the fiddle were hidden in a nearby bower and played country tunes, while the five of us dressed gaily and had our luncheon on the grass.  After a while Sir Thomas took me for a walk down towards the long drive.  There he pushed me against a tree and kissed me so fiercely that I was sure he was about to ravage me.  But no, after a few minutes he pulled me to him and we began to walk back, arm in arm.  I was sure my hair must be somewhat disordered; I know I was panting.  As we approached the sunken garden we met Miss Hailsham helped by the serving maid.

“Oh, Sir Thomas and Lady Caroline, I feel most unwell.  Would you mind helping me back to the house?”  She stumbled as we came close.

We assisted her back to the terrace and asked the maid to get her to her chamber.

By the time we returned to the remains of our lunch in the little garden, Lord Llanbedr was lying flat on his back on the grass with a look of utter amazement and satisfaction on his face.  Georgina was on one elbow looking down at him and teasing him under the chin with a buttercup. 

“My Lord, it reflects yellow so strongly you must love butter more than anything else!”  She had a look of twinkling triumph in her eyes.

“No, Miss Georgina, I could love nothing more than you.  Don’t tease me so.”

At this point Sir Thomas coughed and the young man shot up into a sitting position and dropped his hands to his lap as if his clothing might be misarranged there.  It wasn’t but the gesture was telling.

“A little more wine, Miss Georgina?” my husband said solicitously.

“Oh no, stepfather,” she replied coquettishly, “I still have a lovely taste in my mouth from the dessert!”

Lord Llanbedr’s face was the picture of rosy embarrassment, which we all feigned not to notice.

Viscount Hawarden arrived the next day and Lord Llanbedr took him aside almost before he had alighted from the carriage.  Within the hour he had visited both Miss Georgina to make his formal declaration and had been to see Sir Thomas to ask his permission.  The betrothal was announced at dinner.  My daughter was to be Lady Llanbedr and, in time, a viscountess.  My triumph could not have been more complete.

After dinner we ladies left to another room to discuss the plans for the nuptials.  The men remained to discuss business.

When they rejoined us my husband announced, “The Viscount and I have agreed that the wedding should be in the third week of September and that we should hold it here at Hirst Hall, in the chapel.  I realise that gives you ladies less than three months to prepare, but it seems cruel to keep such young people apart for too long.”  Lord Llanbedr once again went a trifle pink.

Later my husband informed me that the date was insisted on by Lord Hawarden as the next tranche of his mortgages was payable on the 1st of the month following the wedding and he wished to reduce the payments by reducing the principal with the thirty thousand pounds that would be paid on the consummation of the marriage.  Sir Thomas also told me that he had made it clear that the two thousand per annum to be paid to Lady Llanbedr would be paid to her account and not her husband’s.

The following two days were pleasant as we ladies happily discussed the wedding preparations while the men went out hunting and shooting.  I noticed that my daughter was the picture of propriety except that in the half-hour before her intended was due to depart she allowed herself to take a promenade through the gardens alone with her fiancé.  He returned looking a very happy young buck, she like a young lady who has learnt exactly how to control her man.

As the Hawarden carriage left down the sweeping front drive it passed a small pony trap coming the other way.  We were about to go back inside when Georgina gave a girlish squeal of delight.

“It’s Emma.  Mother, it’s Emma.”  Then she suddenly looked back up at the house, where Miss Hailsham was no doubt awaiting her and she looked nervous.

Miss Emma Missenden was not what I had expected.  She was darker than I had expected: her hair was almost raven coloured and her skin was had an olive hue as if she were from a Mediterranean country.  However she was entirely English, the poor scion of a good family who had been given an education at the discretion of a great-aunt, but who would now have to earn her living as a governess or a companion.

She and Georgina hugged and my daughter blurted out the news that she was to be married.

“But,” began Miss Missenden, “but then you will not need a companion.  Your letter informed me I was to come.  I am sorry to have not written back first.”

“Oh, but Miss Georgina will.”  I turned to see Miss Hailsham coming down the steps.  “Even when she is Lady Llanbedr, she will have need of a companion.”

Georgina blushed and looked down.

Miss Hailsham looked the newcomer up and down quite frankly.

“Emma, this is my drawing tutor, Miss Hailsham, Miss Helena Hailsham.  Miss Hailsham, this is my best friend, Miss Emma Missenden.”  My daughter was still slightly flushed.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Emma.”

We went up the steps while footmen unloaded Emma’s trunk and as we ascended I heard my husband whisper to the governess.

“Is she, do you think?”

“It is hard to tell, Sir Thomas,” replied Miss Hailsham, “I will need to see her and Miss Georgina together.  Mrs. Jones will help.”

“Well, let me know when you do.”

“I’ll know by dinner, Sir Thomas.”  She sounded determined and I shivered inwardly on Miss Missenden’s behalf.

Sir Thomas headed off on his own business, I went to the Chinese Salon and the three women went off to the south wing.  I spent my time reading and writing and perusing the house accounts that Mrs. Jones had left for me.  I wondered what might be going on in the Old Nursery but did not dare intrude there for fear of what I might find.  But after some time I could stand it no longer and rang for a maid.  Mary appeared.

“Send word to Mrs. Jones in the south wing.  Ask her if my presence is required.”

Mary hurried away and in a few minutes Eliza appeared.  I noticed that while she had worn proper clothes during the visits of the Hawardens she had immediately reverted to the punishment dress on their departure.

“Your ladyship, Miss Hailsham says that, while your presence is not required, if you were to come it might help move events along.”  The girl looked and sounded nervous.

“Very well, Eliza, I shall come.” And I stood to follow her.

“Please, Lady Caroline, please may I have my clothes back.  Please?  I will be good.”  She was twisting her hands in her shortened skirt.

“Eliza, you may have your drawers back.  Tell Mrs. Jones.”  We were walking toward the south wing now.  “And you may have the remainder of your outfit in one week if you are good.”

“Thank you, your ladyship.  I will be good. Very good.”

“But do not forget what Sir Thomas said.  He never forgets an affront and if you misbehave he will have you buggered and in public.  Have you ever had a man?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“Well, believe me, Eliza, it hurts when you are taken in your bottom.  Especially the first time.”

We were there now and I took a deep breath as the maid opened the door to the nursery.

I entered looking as unconcerned as possible.  There was Miss Emma, naked and bound face down onto the sofa. Her face was turned towards the open door to see who entered.  Her fine bottom was striped with a dozen or more wheals, clearly applied by Mrs. Jones who stood behind the settee flexing a crop.  Miss Hailsham stood nearby with a kind smile on her face.  My naked daughter knelt on the carpet near her friend with her bottom on her heels and her hands in her lap.  She looked worried for her friend.

“Lady Caroline, help me,” cried out Miss Emma, “they are beating me.  Please.”  She sounded angry but more than that she was clearly terrified.  Her face was a mask of tears and spittle.

“Miss Hailsham, why are you having Miss Emma beaten?” I tried to keep my voice stern but fair.  The sight of another naked woman suffering as I had done was undeniably exciting though.

“Your ladyship, Miss Emma was asked to confirm whether she liked her kiss with Miss Georgina when they were at school and also to elucidate as to her feelings for members of her own sex.  She refused and was remarkably insolent.  It took quite an effort from all four of us to remove her clothing and have her bound to the sofa.  Mrs. Jones has just applied her first dozen strokes and I was just asking her to be so kind as to answer my enquiries.”  Miss Hailsham might have been discussing a pupil who had misconstrued a French irregular verb.

“Miss Emma, you are here as a companion to my daughter.  Sir Thomas has hired Miss Hailsham to act as tutor to young ladies here at the hall.  As such you are expected to follow her instructions as if they were my own.  Is that quite clear?”

“But... but... but, Lady Caroline,” the girl stammered, “Miss Hailsham asked indecent questions!”  She was staring at me open-mouthed now.

“Let me make it easy for you then, I shall ask.  Did you enjoy kissing my daughter and do you think that you would like to do it again now?”  I smiled at her in as encouragingly a manner as I could.

“You can’t ask that!  It is not right!”  The young lady was crying again and shaking her head as if to deny that the question had even been asked.

“Lady Caroline can ask what she likes, as can I.  You will answer politely and immediately.  Half-a-dozen more please, Mrs. Jones.”  Miss Hailsham’s voice never lost that sweet tone so perfect for young children.

“Nooo!  Aarghh!” The raven-haired tresses flew back and forth as Miss Emma shook her head furiously in response to the first of the new blows from the crop.  The howls and screams did not stop as the next five were cruelly applied.  Eliza brought me a chair and I sat facing the sofa.  I could see Georgina weeping as her friend suffered.

“Please, Emma,” she moaned, “please don’t fight them.  Just give in.  Tell them.”

I looked at the poor young woman’s bottom.  It was a sore sight now.  The first dozen had been laid in a row from the top of her bottom to the juncture with the thighs.  These next six were being applied at an angle across to form a diagonal grid.  The pain must have been intense and by the end Emma was begging for it to stop.

“Now, Miss Emma, answer Lady Caroline’s questions please.”  Miss Hailsham asked the sobbing and hiccoughing girl.  “No more prevaricating, if you please!”

The poor thing just moaned and shook her head.

“Ah well, another six please, Mrs.  Jones.  There always some slow learners in every class.”  Miss Hailsham actually managed to sound sorry for what she had just commanded.

“NOOO!  Please...  I will answer.”  The girl seemed beside herself.

“Come along then, quickly...  Or else...”

“I...  I... I don’t know if I liked the kiss.  It just happened.  And I don’t know...  I don’t know about Georgina.  I like her...  I like her but...  but...”  Her voice, barely audible to start with trailed off.

“But what, Miss Emma?” I asked as kindly as possible.

“But... but...” She tailed off again.

I looked pointedly at the housekeeper.

“But I like men too...”

It was my turn to be surprised.  Could one like both?  Miss Hailsham interrupted my thoughts.

“So you liked Miss Georgina kissing you?  But you also like men.  Have many kissed you?”

“No, Miss.  Just two.  I... I... mean just two kisses.  One from Georgina and one from Alan.”

“Alan?” Georgina sounded surprised.  “Alan who delivered the groceries to the school?”

Miss Emma nodded and blushed.

“How sweet,” said Miss Hailsham.  “Georgie, kiss Miss Emma.”

Georgina leant forward but Emma promptly buried her face in the sofa.

“Miss Emma, I will say this only once.”  Miss Hailsham sounded like a stern schoolmistress.  “If you do not do exactly as I say then I will ask Mrs. Jones to apply a half dozen more strokes for each failure to comply.  This will turn your arse into even more of a mess than it is.  As things stand you will not be able to sit for several days.  When we reach three dozen strokes on your backside I will flip you over and Mrs. Jones will stripe your tits.  Then will come your thighs.  I will have your absolute compliance sooner or later.  Now turn your face to Miss Georgina and let her kiss you.”

For a moment all we could hear were muffled racking sobs but then Emma turned her face towards her school friend.  It was blotchy and wet from crying.

Georgina leant in and took the poor girl’s face in her hands and then began to gently kiss her.  First little kisses all over her face before she began to concentrate on her lips.  Within minutes she was passionately kissing her open-mouthed and with her tongue questing deep in Emma’s mouth.  Her friend accepted it all, her eyes closed and resisting not at all.

“Stop now, Georgie,” said Miss Hailsham.

Georgina leant back; she was gasping and flushed.  Her nipples were as big and hard as buds about to burst into bloom. 

Emma lay there with her mouth open and her eyes screwed shut.  She too was gasping for air and letting off little moans.

“Open your eyes, Miss Emma, and look at me,” said Miss Hailsham firmly but not harshly.

Reluctantly the bound girl complied, blinking away tears as she sought the governess’ face.

“Now, young lady, we are going to unbind you.  When you are free you are going to lie down on the sofa and spread your legs as wide as you can.  Then Georgie here (she patted my daughter on the head) is going to suck your pussy till you come for us.  Then we will all be able to see how much you like women.  Is that agreeable?”

“Noooo.  I can’t, Miss... It’s not right!”  Emma was shaking her head and shivering violently.

“Six strokes please, Mrs. Jones,” Said Miss Hailsham calmly.

“Noooo...  Aarghh!”

Mrs. Jones had come round the near side of the sofa and began to lay the half dozen wheals across the poor girl’s bottom in the opposite diagonal to before leaving a diamond cross-hatched pattern on Emma’s very sore behind.  The poor thing howled and jerked frantically throughout.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jones. Her arse does look a state,” opined the governess. “Do you think she can take any more there?”

“Oh yes, Miss Hailsham,” replied the housekeeper enthusiastically.  “I can get six more on each of the diagonal patterns before I run the risk of breaking the skin.  After that we will have to flip her over and start in on her titties.”

“No... no... no...” whimpered the poor young woman.

“Now, Miss Emma, do you want to be untied so you can spread yourself for little Georgie’s tongue?  Or shall we have another six?  It is your choice, young lady.”

“No... no...”

“Ah well, it looks like six more, Mrs. Jones...”

“NO!  I’ll do it.  No more... please, no more!”

“Very well, Miss Emma.  But if you baulk now I shall have a full dozen applied next time.  Eliza, Georgie, undo her.”

Unbound the young woman slowly rolled herself over, groaning and wincing as her tenderised bottom made contact with the upholstery.  She lay there crying softly.  Despite her blotchy face she looked quite beautiful.  I saw that her breasts were full and of medium size, smaller than mine but much bigger than Georgina’s tiny ones.  Her bush was black and full and I wondered if Miss Hailsham planned to have her shaved.  Her hands came up and covered her breasts as if to protect them from Mrs. Jones who was ostentatiously flexing the crop. Slowly she let her legs fall open a little.

“Hush,” said my daughter tenderly as she leant in to kiss her friend, “let me.”  And she moved down and placed a kiss full on the furred mound.  Then gently but firmly she pulled her friend’s legs up and apart, opening her for her Sapphic attentions. 

“Salve please, Eliza,” she said and the maid hurried to get some.  Mrs. Jones remained there, a very visible insurance against backsliding, but Miss Hailsham drew up another chair and sat beside me to observe.  I wondered if her sex was as damp as mine.  I imagined it was.

When Eliza returned with the soothing lotion, Georgina began to run it over her friend’s cruelly damaged buttocks.  The poor girl moaned and winced and wept.

“Pull your legs up more, Emmie, I need to get all of you,” my child encouraged her friend. I saw how clever she was.  Soon poor Emma had pulled her legs right up so that her knees were near her breasts to allow the gently comforting fingers to rub salve into the entire area.  It allowed us to admire Mrs. Jones’ artistry with the crop.  The wheals were evenly spaced and of the same intensity.  It looked like a mathematical pattern sketched on human flesh.

When the rubbing was done Georgina’s mouth just lowered itself onto her school mate’s open and softly furred sex. 

There was a moan from Emma and one of her arms went up to cover her eyes.  But there was no resistance.  We all watched as my daughter’s skilful tongue set about exploring her friend. It teased and poked here and there. The moaning intensified.  Then her fingers joined in spreading Emma’s sex open to allow deeper access.  All too soon the hips were making little involuntary thrusting movements up against the sucking mouth.

“Oh! Oh! Ooooooh!”  It was clear that Emma had just climaxed in her friend’s mouth.

Georgina slowed but did not stop.  It was clear she would continue doing this until Miss Hailsham told her otherwise.

“Oh!  No...  No more... please.”  Emma’s voice was plaintive.

“Put down your arm, Miss Emma, and look at me,” said Miss Hailsham.  “And Georgie, slow down a little for now.”

Slowly the arm came down and wide-eyed the young lady looked at us surrounded by her disordered dark tresses.  She looked immensely lovely.  Lower down her sex was still being gently lapped at by her lover.

“Did you like that, Miss Emma?”

“Ye... Yerrs, Miss,” choked out the poor girl.

“Then you like Georgie sucking on your cunt?”

“Y...  Yes, Miss.”

“Say it then.  Tell Lady Caroline what you like her daughter to do to you.  Now!”

“I...  Oh God...  Lady Caroline, I like...  I like Georgina sucking on my...  on my...  my cunt!”

“Well done girl,” said the governess kindly.  “Georgina, bring her off again.  Quickly.  And then you’re done.”

My child raised her mouth and clamped it on her companion’s bud as a limpet clings to a rock.  Which was just as well as in a short while  Emma was thrusting her mound up into Georgina’s face and then letting out  wild cries of orgasmic pleasure.

“Pretty conclusive, wouldn’t you agree, your ladyship?” Miss Hailsham addressed me.

“I believe so.  I can’t imagine that Miss Emma will deny being a lesbian ever again.”

I looked over to where my daughter was lying between Emma’s spread legs with her head on her gasping friend’s stomach.  Her eyes were glazed with lust and the bottom of her face was wet with her lover’s dew.  She kept licking her lips unconsciously, but her gaze was fixed on Miss Hailsham.

“Yes, little Georgie, you’ve been a good girl.  Would you like a kiss?”  Miss Hailsham was teasing her now.

“Yes, Miss.  Oh, yes please!”  She began to scramble into a sitting position at the end of the sofa.

“Would you like it from me or Mrs. Jones?”

Georgina’s gaze flicked from one woman to the other.  She shivered as if the choice was hard to make.  “You please, Miss.  Please?”

Emma lay there watching, her legs now slowly coming together again as she rolled onto her side on the other end of the settee.  Her eyes followed as the governess stood and walked over to my daughter.

As I had seen before Miss Hailsham kissed first Georgina’s lips then her breasts and finally her sex.  The child squealed her way through several intense climaxes to the amazement of her friend curled up beside her.  When she was done and Georgina had collapsed next to Emma, Miss Hailsham wiped her mouth on a napkin and came to sit beside me once more.

“Tea, your ladyship?”

“That would be lovely.”  And I watched as Mrs. Jones with a glance sent Eliza hurrying away.

“May...  may  I dress?”  Emma’s voice was a quiet whisper.

“No.  You young ladies will have tea just as you are.”  The governess’ voice was matter-of-fact.

“Lady Caroline,” she continued, “I believe Miss Missenden will make an excellent companion for your daughter.”

“But I...  I...” began Emma uncertainly, “I don’t want her to be my mistress now.”

“Don’t be silly, little girl,” said Miss Hailsham with a giggle.  “She is not going to be your mistress; you are going to be hers!”

Chapter 17 – The summer is spent preparing for the big day

Quite what Miss Hailsham meant by that comment became apparent in the weeks that followed.

Emma was not beaten again.  It proved entirely unnecessary as she settled into her new role without further demur.  Miss Hailsham treated her as much as a confederate as a pupil.  It was clear from the outset that the governess was training her into her own role.  They both treated Georgina as either a disobedient school girl or as a little pet to be toyed with.

I would have objected to this treatment except that my daughter so clearly revelled in it.  Submitting to her friend as if to her governess was clearly a shock to her but she immediately began to derive an obvious pleasure from the situation.  Sir Thomas had clearly been right in saying that her desire for humiliation was a deep well that would never run dry.

Georgina was required to address her former school friend as Miss Missenden as if she were her elder and superior.  Emma in turn referred to her as Georgie in much the same way as Miss Hailsham did.  While I cringed at this familiarity, Georgina just flushed and clearly became wet at the debasement. 

I did worry about her: she wallowed in her pleasure in such a clearly submissive way.  How was she to hide this from Lord Llanbedr?  And yet she managed it.  When he came to visit, which he did twice before the wedding, she changed from pet and plaything into proper lady without batting an eyelid.  She managed her future husband with ease and he clearly adored her.  She teased him terribly but complimented him too.  He seemed amazed at his luck; I supposed he must have thought he would have to marry a merchant’s daughter who looked like a horse in order to secure a sizeable inheritance.  Yet here he was with a girl who was beautiful and who, when he could trap her alone (and that was rarely), would do something hideously perverse with seeming pleasure.

She and Miss Emma spent a week at the Devernes with no mishap.  Lord Llanbedr even contrived to be invited there for a couple of nights.  It was clear that he would go to any length to spend time with her.  I remember well the afternoon she returned from Deverne Court.  Sir Thomas and I were sat on the terrace having tea with his sons who had returned during Georgina’s absence.  Edward and James had clearly been impressed when their stepsister had returned an hour before.  She in turn was polite but slightly off-hand with them both.   Eighteen year old women about to be married are rarely interested in boys three or four years younger than they are.  Sir Thomas had forbidden his sons from either touching their stepsister or from entering the Old Nursery unless specifically invited.

And so we sat having afternoon tea on the terrace.  I kept thinking of the last tea I had spent with my stepsons and I could guess they felt the same judging from the looks they gave me.  After a little while Miss Hailsham came out and joined us.  She had not been on the trip to Deverne Court and had already met the boys.  While they had shown some interest in her, she had shown none whatsoever in them, which confused them, much to Sir Thomas’ amusement.  I supposed that as rich and handsome young men they were surprised that a governess should care not one whit for them.

“Miss Georgina and Miss Emma will be down in a few minutes,” she explained.  “They are just changing out of their travel clothes.”

The boys told us about their visits and we passed the time pleasantly enough.  Then suddenly James paused in mid-sentence and he stared behind me with wide eyes.

I turned to see what the commotion might be.  There was Miss Emma crossing the terrace to join us, dressed in an elegant cream dress that set off her dark looks perfectly.  It was clearly new and I guessed that Georgina had bought it for her in Ludlow on the way back from the Devernes.

However beautiful Miss Emma looked it was my daughter that had taken the boys’ breath away.  She was almost entirely naked, wearing only her little boots and cream stockings that matched her companion’s dress.  Her only other adornments were cornflower blue ribbons the colour of her eyes.  Her hair was done in two blonde braids like a schoolgirl’s with blue bows at the ends. Her stockings were held up with blue garters and further blue bows had been tied around each wrist.  The final blue ribbon had been loosely tied about her neck and was held at the other end by Miss Emma in the form of a lead.  As we all stared at her Georgina blushed a deep pink.

Hugh, the footman, followed them carrying a low footstool.  When Miss Emma reached her seat she pointed beside her own chair and Hugh put down the stool.  Georgina ignored her own chair and instead sat down on the little stool beside Miss Emma who promptly tied the lead off on the arm of her chair.  My daughter’s head ended up at the height of the table top.

“I am sorry we are late, Sir Thomas, Lady Caroline,” said Miss Emma, “but it took Miss Georgina a little while to change out of her travel clothes.”

“Well, my stepdaughter always looks ravishing,” teased my husband.

“Georgie has been such a good girl playing the role of the future Lady Llanbedr,” said Miss Emma sweetly, “that I thought she could play the part of my pet this afternoon.”  She patted Georgina’s head as she might a little lap dog.

Georgina blushed a deeper shade but said nothing and kept her eyes down.

As we had our tea Miss Emma described how well the visit to the Devernes had gone.  At intervals she would tear off a little piece of sandwich or a morsel of cake and pop it into Georgina’s mouth or hold out her cup of tea so that her pet could take a sip.  At no point did my child use her hands.

After a while Miss Emma turned to my daughter.  “Pet, your nips seem most awfully stiff now.  Is showing off making you hot and sticky?”

“Yes, Miss,” said Georgina quietly.

“Well I cannot say that I am terribly surprised.  But it does allow you to wear another ribbon or two.  Stand up please, pet.”  And with that Miss Emma undid the lead from the arm of the chair and let my daughter stand.

James and Edward stared as their stepsister stood before them.  Her nipples were now so stiff that they must have been painful and she scissored her thighs together as if to ease an itch.

Miss Emma reached into a pocket and brought forth some thin blue ribbons the same shade as the others.  “Here, pet, lean towards me,” she teased.

Georgina complied, leaving her tiny breasts quite close to her companion.

Miss Emma took the first ribbon and tied it to her pet’s left nipple, finishing it in a neat bow.  She then repeated this on the other side.  There was something terribly humiliating in being decorated thus and I could see from my daughter’s open mouth and heavier breaths that she felt it keenly.

“You look so pretty, Georgie,” said Miss Emma gaily, as if the ribbons were in her hair and not on her breasts.  “Now, just the one ribbon left.  Spread yourself for us, little pet.”

Georgina’s eyes widened in surprise.  “Oh no, Miss.  Please not that. Please?”

“Is that disobedience I hear, Georgie, my little girl?”  Miss Emma’s voice was soft and sweet but laden with threat.

“No…  No, Miss,” stammered Georgina. “But please…”

“Then spread yourself, pet.”

“Oh please…”  Slowly my daughter’s hands slid to her mound, which she thrust forward a little while using her fingers to open the lips there.

I thought James’ eyes would actually jump from their sockets so hard was he staring. Sir Thomas had on his air of studied nonchalance which Edward was striving to copy.  Miss Hailsham watched with amused indulgence; her student was clearly doing well in her appointed task of tormenting my little girl.

Miss Emma reached out with thumb and forefinger and grasped the little nub of flesh revealed by Georgina’s fingers and tugged it back and forth gently to fully display it.  Her deft fingers then placed the ribbon round it, tightened it and finished off in another little bow.  Somehow the pretty blue ribbon attached in such a place and in such a manner was the epitome of humiliation.  The flush on my daughter’s cheeks and the glistening of wetness at the top of her thighs showed that she felt it too.

“Walk round the table for us, Georgie,” said Miss Emma, “show us all what a naughty little strumpet you are.”

Slowly my poor girl paraded around, blushing furiously as we all inspected the bows tied to her most intimate flesh.  She returned and gratefully sat herself down on her stool allowing Miss Emma to tie her lead to the chair once more.

Tea continued for a little while longer till finally Miss Emma turned to her pet and, stroking her hair, said, “You have been so good, dear Georgie; do you want a kiss?”

Miss Hailsham and I knew what she meant but the men present of course did not.

“Yes…  I mean no, Miss.  Not here, Miss.  Not now, Miss.  Please?”  Georgina was clearly flustered and a picture of confused emotions.

“Perhaps a quick stroll in the gardens then,” said Miss Emma, undoing the lead once more and rising from her chair.  “Excuse us for a few minutes, ladies and gentlemen.”  And with a little tug of her lead she took Georgina off towards the steps down to the gardens.

They could not have gone any distance at all because within a minute we all heard the distinct and noisy sounds of orgiastic female pleasure, repeated loudly for several minutes.  A brief pause followed until Miss Emma reappeared leading a flushed and still gasping Georgina back to the table. Her hair was somewhat messed and she kept her gaze firmly downcast.

“Oh dear,” said Miss Emma as they reached the table, “You seem to have lost one of your bows, pet.  You had better go and find it!”

Every pair of eyes there immediately went to Georgina’s sex where indeed there was no longer a blue bow.  The poor girl whirled about and headed back whence she had come.  The eyes followed as her slim hips and little bottom descended the steps.

In a minute she returned with the missing item which she handed to her mistress.

“Spread, pet,” came the curt order.

While my daughter reluctantly complied, Miss Emma undid and straightened the ribbon.  In a trice she had circled it around the little bud and pulled it tight.

“Oww!” Georgina gasped sharply.

“Does that hurt, little one?”  Miss Emma was all mock solicitude as she finished off the bow.  “Still, it should stop it dropping off again.  You are after all dripping wet down there, aren’t you, you little harlot?”

“Yerss, Miss,” moaned my little girl through the stream of tears running down her face.  It was hard to tell if they were tears of pain or of debasement and humiliation. Probably they were a mixture of both.

When tea finished shortly after I noticed that my husband and both his sons left with a distinctly uncomfortable gait.  I felt a wry smile on my face: if my daughter was to be so appallingly treated at least they could suffer a little for it too.

The very next day, as I sat at my desk writing to my brother in London concerning arrangements for the wedding, in came Mrs. Jones with a shamefaced Mary.

“Oh Mary,” I said, “not again.  Whose organ have you had in your mouth this time?  Let me guess, James?”

“Nothing quite so bad, Lady Caroline,” Mrs. Jones replied.  “But she was caught snogging in the kitchen gardens.  It was fairly intense by Mr. Jenkins’ account.”

“And who was the lucky lad?” I tried to sound stern.

“Jack, the groom.”

“Oh yes, quite a handsome young man.  Now, Mary, what did I tell you before?  If you want a man’s cock in your mouth you are to come and see me and I will arrange it for you.”

“But...  But please, your ladyship, I didn’t want to... to... do that.  We were just kissing.”  Mary sounded quite desperate.

“Has he asked you to marry him?” I enquired.

“No, Ma’am, not yet,” the maid replied quietly.

“Mrs. Jones, send for the young man.”

The housekeeper left and returned within a couple of minutes with the young lad.  She must have told him to wait on the kitchen steps beforehand.

“Well, Jack,” I began, “what are the rules about relationships with the housemaids?”

“W... we are not supposed to go beyond holding hands, Ma’am.  Not unless we has permission, Ma’am.”

“And were you kissing and touching Mary?”

“Yes... yes, Ma’am.  But only over the clothes, Ma’am!”

“Jack, you know the rules.  Not that I blame you.  Mary here is a hot-blooded minx who I am sure led you astray.  I will not have you distracted by her evident charms.”

At this point Mary began to softly weep and to whisper, “No, Ma’am.  Please Ma’am.”

“And so, young man, to keep you both from being too frustrated by her desires I propose the following compromise.  Once a week, Mary will take you somewhere private.  There she will take your manhood in her mouth until you are relieved.  The rest of the time you will confine yourselves to holding hands.  Is that clear, Jack?”

“Yerss...  Yerss, your ladyship,” the dumbstruck lad eventually choked out.

“On your knees then Mary,” I addressed the sobbing maid.  “You can do this week’s session right now.”

“Please...  Please...  Not here, not Jack, not that.”  Mary was quite beside herself but despite this, when Mrs. Jones pressed down on her shoulders, she slowly sank to her knees.

The housekeeper beckoned the stable lad forward and he fumbled at his fastenings.  Out sprang a decent-sized male organ and despite her tears I saw Mary’s eyes widen a little.  It was certainly larger than both Marco’s and Dai’s: the only other members she had personal experience of, though of course she had seen Sir Thomas’ still greater manhood at work on me, not to mention ‘Giant Jim’.

A push from Mrs. Jones on the back of her head and Mary opened her tear-wetted mouth and engulfed the flesh before her.

Jack let out a heart-felt groan of pleasure.  He actually lasted longer than I expected; he was clearly holding back as hard as he could to prolong his pleasure.

When finally he spurted into her mouth, Mary swallowed frantically without being told to.  She knew what would happen if she made a mess of my carpet.

“That will be all, Jack.”  I said sternly, though my sex was now sticky and warm at this display.  “And remember, once a week and in private.  Apart from that hand-holding only!”

He fled leaving his partner still sobbing on her knees.

“I hope you enjoyed that, Mary?  You are becoming quite proficient at sucking.”

“Oh please, Ma’am.  Now he’ll never marry me...”   The maid sounded heartbroken.

“Don’t be silly girl!  Treat him nicely, tease him often, suck his cock once a week and refuse to do more than hold hands at other times and he will ask you within a month.  You’re a slut, Mary, but he will want you to be his slut and his alone.”

“But...  But, Ma’am, I’m not a slut...”  The girl was distraught.

“Of course you are, silly child.  Marco, Dai and Jack have all been in your mouth already and you are not yet twenty.  I was 37 before I had had so many, and thrice married,”

“I’m a good girl...” Mary wailed.

“Mrs. Jones, Mary seems to be under some peculiar delusion.  Ring for George, Hugh and David.  Oh, and Stephen as well.  Perhaps they can fuck some sense into the girl.”

“Nooo!  Please, your ladyship, no!  I’ll say it.  I’m a slut...  A slut!  A slut...”  She was kneeling at my ankles now.

“And don’t you forget it, Mary.  You are a slut and I expect you to behave as one.  When Mrs. Jones sends you under her skirts or when I tell you to suck some man’s cock I expect the enthusiasm of a really filthy slut.  Am I clear?”

“Yerss...  Yes, your ladyship,” sobbed the maid.

“Off you go then, Mary.  Oh, and Mary, that is a nice sized member your Jack has.  Make sure you treat it with proper respect.”

As I watched her leave I could feel my poor sex on fire, tormenting the poor girl was horribly exciting.

As the summer passed it sometimes seemed to me as if there was an informal competition between Sir Thomas and Miss Emma.  Sir Thomas would once a week or so show off my obedience to his will while Miss Emma would with a similar frequency demonstrate her dominance over my daughter. 

Miss Hailsham did not seem to object to Miss Emma taking over her role and seemed only too pleased to just becoming the drawing mistress.  It transpired that she preferred sketching and painting to her work with young women.  Her paintings of people were in many ways as good as those of Thomas Lawrence.  I happily purchased from her many of her sketches of Georgina including all of those of dubious or obscene taste, of which there were many.  I also paid for her to paint a head and shoulder portrait in oils of Mrs. Jones which I then presented to the housekeeper.  The first version looked too severe and I had it altered so that it showed that enigmatic half-smile she sometimes bestowed on us when she was amused.  When we presented it to her she said it was not appropriate to be hung below stairs as it might be taken for vanity.  I replied that if that was how she felt I would have it in the Chinese Salon so I might enjoy it.  The very next day it was hanging in her office.  Though she never would admit it I know she was flattered by it.

The Sunday after the tea with the ribbons Sir Thomas invited all to come and witness my spanking before we set off to church.  James and Edward, Miss Emma and Georgina, Miss Hailsham and Mrs. Jones were all  present in the Library as I dropped my drawers around my ankles, gathered up my skirts and lay over my husband’s lap.  Before them all he repeatedly spanked me, stroked me and fingered me.  He was so expert at this chastisement that he could stoke me like an expert furnaceman till my bottom and my sex glowed white hot.   Then he stood me back on my feet and allowed me to fasten my undergarments.  Through my tears I saw the look of amazed surprise on the women’s faces and the naked lust on my stepson’s.  And there was Mrs. Jones’ half-smile.  Despite the seething sexual torment I was in I could not help but smile inwardly at the sight of it.  For the vicar it was another wasted sermon on my part, I heard barely a word.  Judging from the stiffness in James’ and Edward’s breaches neither did they.

After luncheon that day, Sir Thomas took me aside into the library.

“James and Edward are desperate for you to treat them to another teatime. They cannot touch the maids as Mrs. Jones has threatened them, I have forbidden them to go near Georgina and Miss Hailsham and Miss Emma have rejected all advances.”

“They could try the estate girls.”  I did not want another tea such as the one before.

“They have, but most are locked up by now, and it is anyway not the same.  So I have told them that, while I do not think your presence at another private tea is required, I am sure you will not mind meeting them briefly after church on a Sunday, here in the Library.”

“Please, husband, not that...  Please?”

“You will come her directly after the service and before lunch and you will swiftly and obediently satisfy them, either digitally or orally.  At all other times you will be free of their attentions entirely.”

“Oh God, please...  not that...”  I was sure the fact that he had decreed it weekly meant that he had heard of what I had done to Mary and was giving me a dose of my own medicine.

“If you decide to do it digitally, I only ask that you ensure that you lick up all the resulting mess.  You will be obedient, won’t you?”

“Yes...” I whispered to his retreating back.

The boys entered a few minutes later.  I felt like demanding that they should come one by one, but was sure I would be refused in my request.

Quivering and tearful I sat on a chair and beckoned one toward me.  They both came but it was James who ended up directly before me while his brother just stood to one side and watched us.

I undid the boy’s breaches and loosened his already stiff member from his undergarments.  It sprang to rigid attention.  I began to manipulate it, at first gently and then more vigorously.  It did not last long and I could tell from his moans that he was about to shoot.  Bearing in mind Sir Thomas instruction I held my cupped hand before it to try to catch as much of the mess as I could.  Apart from the first monstrous spurt I caught it all in a greasy little pool in my palm.  Bending I lapped it up.  I believe this to have been the most revolting thing I had ever done.

I repeated the process on his older brother with similar results.  Once again I found them watching me as I licked the sperm from my hands.

“You missed a bit, stepmother,” said Edward pointing out where James initial shot had splashed across the desk.

I scraped it up with my fingers and licked them clean.  It was disgusting and degrading.

The boys enjoyed the game though and spent several happy minutes finding every fleck of semen and watching me lick it up.

That was the last time I completed this obedience with my fingers.  The following weekend when we went straight to the Library from church I sat my sore bottom on a chair and sucked them both, one after the other.  It was faster, less messy and strangely somewhat less humiliating.  I still felt like a cheap slattern though.

Another time in August it was a lovely day but we had been driven inside from tea on the terrace by a sudden summer thunderstorm.  As we stood in the drawing room watching the sheets of rain, Sir Thomas came up with a proposition.

“Let us have a competition of the talents from you ladies.  You can each show us your best skill and we men shall sit in judgement like Paris to decide the winner, though I am not sure which of you is to be Hera, Aphrodite and Athena.  Personally I should say Miss Emma is Hera, always giving queenly commands.  Miss Hailsham is Athena, wise beyond her years.  My wife is, of course, Aphrodite, the most alluring of women and the goddess of sensual love.”

“And I?” Enquired Georgina.  “As I recall, stepfather, Paris had only to judge amongst three ladies.  So which goddess am I?  And nowhere in the myth does Paris have two assistants.”  She nodded at James and Edward.

“Oh without doubt, Miss Georgina, you are Artemis, lithe of form and fleet of foot.  And I am entitled to some aid for I fear my task is harder than young Paris’ for I shall not be accepting bribes.  The winner shall not receive a golden apple though, but she may demand the same forfeit from all the ladies she has vanquished.  Now who shall begin?”

“I shall,” said Miss Emma, making her way to the pianoforte.  She proceeded to play a piece from Haydn which was both difficult and perfectly delivered.  We all applauded her loudly.

“I would like to be next,” said Georgina.  “Will you accompany me please, Emma?”  And she began to sing a well known folksong about a fair maiden imprisoned by a cruel lord.

Except that after only a few bars Miss Emma stopped playing.  Georgina looked at her quizzically.

“I do believe your singing is too constrained, Georgina,” said her accompanist mockingly.  “Let me help you.”

And with this she stood and approached my daughter.  She undid her dress and stripped her naked to the waist, revealing her little bosom.

“There, now you can get more air into your chest,” she teased her friend.

I was about to protest at this attempt to put my child off when I looked at the boys.  They were happily staring at their stepsister.

“Thank you, Miss,” said my daughter calmly.  Then she thrust out her chest, pointing her stiffening nipples at the judges and she sang.  If Miss Emma half imagined this trick would help her she had made a mistake.

“I’m next,” said Miss Hailsham as my daughter readjusted her clothing.  “I shall draw a portrait of each of you in under twenty minutes.”  And picking up her pad she began.  It was a remarkable achievement and the six resulting portraits were true to life and not caricatures at all.  She would have had my vote.

“And now you, my wife,” said Sir Thomas, smiling.  “What shall you display your virtuosity in?”

“Alas, husband,” I replied, “I was raised in a merchant’s house and not a stately home.  I am good at running a household but have none of the refined skills of a lady.  I fear I shall have to forfeit.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” said Sir Thomas, “you are too hard on yourself.  You have a greater talent for sodomy than anyone I have ever met.  Why don’t you show us that?”

I stared at him in horror, shaking my head.  “No husband, please not that, not in front of...”  But he was already rising and ringing the bell.  Mary appeared in a moment.

“Ah Mary, ask Mrs. Jones to attend us, find James the gardener and send Rosie to help her mistress undress.”

Mary hurried away and as we waited I sat staring at my lap and wringing my hands.  Please not in front of my daughter and stepsons.

Soon Rose and Mrs. Jones appeared.  Rose came straight to me and began to remove my clothing.

“Entirely naked please, Rosie,” said Sir Thomas.  “I should like her ladyship without a stitch on.”

James appeared a few minutes later just as I reached a state of nudity. 

“Here is our Hercules,” said my husband, “fresh from his labours.  James, her ladyship wishes to display her skills in the art of sodomy and your instrument is the organ on which she will demonstrate her talent.  Are you ready?”  His face was split by his wolfish grin.

“Yes, Sir Thomas, at any time.”  And the man began to strip away his clothing while staring at my nudity.

My husband came and took me by the hand and led me to the sofa.  He leant in close and whispered in my ear.

“I expect you to win, my love, so show them your best.”  Then he kissed me on the cheek and left me to be joined by the gardener whose monstrous equipment was rapidly swelling to ‘giant’ proportions.

I took a deep breath and arranged myself on all fours on the settee.  I looked back to see Mrs. Jones handing Jim a pot of lotion.

I looked over at where the six spectators were sitting or standing.  The boys faces were by then transfixed with a rictus of lust.  My breasts were already swinging free beneath me and my rounded bottom and bald sex would be enough to cause that.  My daughter was bright-eyed and open-mouthed, clearly my humiliation was exciting to her.  Miss Hailsham was a picture of concentration as she looked at me and then down at her sketchpad.  Dear God, I wanted to ask her not to sketch this.  Miss Emma was staring at Jim’s swelling organ.  Mrs. Jones and Sir Thomas were, as always, calmly surveying it all.

I felt a finger, well-greased slide into my bottom, followed by another one.  They were clearly the forefingers of both hands as Jim began to pull them apart so as to stretch me open.  It was disgusting and uncomfortable and overwhelmingly exciting, as yet there was no pain.  My husband had by then taken my bottom so many times that only the insertion of the gardener’s giant manhood was really going to hurt.  I felt my sex immediately begin to ooze uncontrollably.  Soon he had four fingers inside me and was pulling my bottomhole open in all directions.

I felt the by then familiar head of his giant greased member between the cheeks of my bottom.  It felt like a small apple sitting there.  Then it was implacably pressing against my tiny aperture.  With a little explosion of pain it slipped inside: so big, so hard and so hot.  My sex was going to be gushing in a moment.  I looked at my husband and he smiled encouragingly at me.  He wanted me to win, to show how good I was at this.

“Fuck my bottom,” I said out loud, at first as a hoarse whisper and then as a loud command.  “Fuck my bottom; shove it all the way in.”

‘Giant Jim’ followed my instructions and leant into me.  I dropped my head to the sofa, arched my back and shoved back against him, speeding up my impalement.  The pain and the stretching were by then overwhelming.  I was going to climax so quickly.  As I felt his hair tickling my bottom I reached back and squeezed my little bud.

“Aahhh!  Coming!  So good...  so good!” My orgasm blew through me like a hurricane and I made no attempt to hide it.  I was left weak and gasping. 

My partner just began to work my bottom slowly; he knew that I could go from climax to climax.  Indeed the next one took but a little time before it buffeted me about.

After that I pushed him off me and got him into a sitting position on the sofa. I straddled his lap and first rubbed my breasts into his face, half smothering him.  Then I reached behind me and seized his giant tool and held it upright.

“Right, let’s get this thing back where it belongs!” I said staring straight at my audience and I lowered myself onto it.  In this position it felt, and must have looked, simply enormous.  Slowly I forced it into me, drawing a loud groan from the gardener.  I fucked up and down on him hard, rubbing my breasts all over his chest.  Twice more I squeezed my little bud and twice more I climaxed.

“I can’t hold out much longer,” he whispered in a strangled gasp.

“Two more minutes,” I whispered back.

I pushed myself off him and turned around so that I was facing them all.  I straddled him again and played with my nipples, stretching them and pinching them painfully till I nearly came.  I reached down for him, put him back in position and lowered my bottom until my delicate hole was once again transfixed upon him.  I slowly lowered my weight till he was finally in me to the very root.  It felt wonderfully immense inside me, as if it were pushing all my other insides out of the way, which it probably was. I pulled up my legs till my bare feet were on his thighs and spread myself apart.

“Hold me up,” I whispered to him and I felt his strong hands on my waist.  I began to raise and lower myself on him at first slowly and then faster.  With one hand I reached down and spread my sex wide open so that they could see every detail of me.  With the other I began to strum my swollen red bud.  As I climaxed I felt him begin to spurt inside me as his cock pulsed furiously.  I jammed my little ring all the way down on him.

“Yes, come in my arsehole, you bastard.  Fill my arse with your sperm.  Fill me up!”  And I frigged my clittie till I came again and again.  Finally I slumped back against him as I saw Sir Thomas approach me and take one of my sticky hands.

He pulled me up and off the softening pole which left my body with a loud slurping sound.  I stood there bow-legged and looked at poor James.  The gardener lay back with a dumbfounded look on his face and his giant equipment slowly shrinking in his lap, covered in grease, semen and the juice that had leaked from my sex.  It took him a minute before he began to gather his clothes to depart.  He staggered as he left.

At my husband’s signal Rose hurried over to help me dress.  As she slipped my drawers on I giggled despite my embarrassment.  With the amount of male seed that was beginning to seep from my stretched bottomhole the undergarments were going to be a mess very quickly.

“So, James,” said Sir Thomas to his son, “who do you believe should win our competition?”

“Well, sir,” he began, “I thought Miss Emma’s playing was very fine and Miss Hailsham’s drawing was remarkable.  But I like Miss Georgina’s singing and my stepmother’s performance best.”  I wondered if our nudity had affected his decision.  He blushed as he stared at where Rose was now fixing my corset back on.  Each pull of the laces was forcing another little dribble out of my backside.

“And you, Edward?”

“I, Sir, thought Miss Emma and Miss Georgina were both excellent but Miss Hailsham and Lady Caroline were both the best at their skill that I can even imagine.”

“I concur,” said Sir Thomas, “Miss Hailsham is remarkable, I believe there can be few other women in England or Wales who can match her.  But Lady Caroline is also a consummate artist.  I am sure there is no other woman in Europe who can use her arsehole so skilfully.  I declare my wife the winner: the Aphrodite of sodomy. “

There was applause from them all and I flushed crimson.

“And as the winning goddess you may now choose a forfeit that all the other women must pay.”  Sir Thomas voice was teasing.

I looked at my fellow competitors.  What should I choose as a forfeit?  I felt like asking them all to fellate some footmen, for I should have liked to see Miss Hailsham and Miss Emma do that.  But my own daughter would have to as well and that I could not ask.  In the end I was merciful.

“I should like all the ladies to come to dinner tonight dressed only in boots and stockings.  They can remain that way until bedtime.”

Shortly after, I retired to my room.  I actually had Rose clyster me by choice; I wanted to get all of that mess out of my bottom.

As we met in the drawing room before dinner I found the boys there early.  Usually they were the very last to arrive, just a minute or two before we actually went in to the dining room.  I was dressed in an elegant gown and wore jewellery and had my hair elaborately fixed.  Sir Thomas came over and kissed me and whispered in my ear a number of very obscene things he planned to do to me later.

Then the door opened and in came the ladies.  Georgina was in the centre, holding her companions hands and leading them in.  The three were dressed, as instructed, merely in their stockings.  Georgina had an advantage over Miss Hailsham and Miss Emma: she had been paraded naked around the house more than once, often on a lead, and was somewhat used to nudity.  She was also excited by being in such a state, which must have helped.  She was as ever tall, thin and willowy.  Miss Hailsham was the opposite in stature, a little over five foot, with mousy brown hair even on her neatly trimmed bush, hard muscled and with high breasts like firm little apples.  She approached her nudity with ever-present determination.  Miss Emma was the darkest of the three in both complexion and in her hair, which was brown but so dark as to be near black.  Her figure was altogether rounder and she had a black bush on her fine hips.  Her breasts were full and lush and I noticed the boys both staring at her.  In her embarrassment her free hand kept trying to cover something, but there was far too much to hide.

“Here we are, Mama,” said Georgina, “I hope we have fulfilled our forfeit.”

“Not till dinner is done!”  But I knew she was enjoying showing her friends off.

Dinner was lovely and Miss Emma’s evident discomfort and embarrassment only made the boys stare at her all the more and pay her close attention.  James took her arm as we went through to dinner and I could tell how much he wanted to touch her more closely, his trousers were like a tent.  At dinner she sat between the boys and they pulled her attention this way and that trying to get a better look at her.  Finally they all went off to bed.

When my husband got me to his bedchamber he discovered how very wet watching their display had made me, and I found out exactly how stiff it had made him.

Chapter 18 – Another Wedding: At which my daughter is married and my future is assured

The day of my Georgina’s wedding dawned clear and warm, a perfect autumn’s day in which the heat of the summer could still just be felt. 

Hirst Hall was absolutely full with our family and friends.  My brother and his wife were here with their children and all were suitably overawed by my home.  The Devernes were here in force to see their lady (as they liked to call her) given away.  Even Sir Thomas’ brother, who was Dean of Lincoln cathedral was here to perform the marriage ceremony.  On the groom’s side all the Hawardens were here.  We had squeezed people in wherever we could and the inn in Hirst village held some of the younger married relatives.  Miss Emma and Miss Hailsham were sharing a room as were James and Edward.  I had even offered my bedchamber but Sir Thomas had insisted that I should retain my own private space.

The Old Nursery was now the dressing room for the bridal party and it seemed as if all the ladies had spent the last week in there making sure our gowns were perfect for the big day.  Georgina’s was an off-white creamy colour and sewn with pearls.  Mine was the same colour but plainer so as not to distract from her, but the sheer quality of the cloth made it quite impressive.  Miss Emma and Miss Hailsham were to be the bridesmaids and their dresses were in the same style as mine, but in still plainer style.  There had been a question from the Hawardens as to whether Miss Hailsham, as a mere governess, was suitable in this role.  Georgina had simply taken her future husband for a quick stroll around the garden and he was quickly assuring his parents that he was sure she was a perfect choice.

There were so many guests that even with the dining table opened to its fullest extent it was impossible to seat them all.  Those under eighteen years of age were required to eat separately in the drawing room, which removed just enough for the rest to squeeze into the dining room.  James and Edward were not particularly happy about this, but put up with just barely enough good grace.

Breakfast was an informal affair with family and guests coming down whenever they felt inclined.  Everyone was eating as much as they could as they knew the wedding feast would not be till late in the afternoon and would be the only other meal of the day.  I took my time in a leisurely fashion greeting one and all and savouring my triumph:  by the end of the day my only child would be Lady Llanbedr and so in time would be a viscountess.  When the King died and the Regent assumed the throne she would be in Westminster Abbey for the coronation (assuming Lord Llanbedr had inherited of course).  With these visions in my mind I was genially disposed to all.

Later in the morning we all scattered to our various rooms to dress for the ceremony.  The bride and her close family and friends were using the Old Nursery and I went there to be dressed and to help Georgina.  To my surprise, my husband was there as was Mrs. Jones.  I was immediately apprehensive, surely not today of all days?  He smiled his predatory grin at me and I knew at once, he planned something humiliating for me on my daughter’s wedding day.  I wanted to beg him for mercy but knew that would serve no purpose except to increase his triumph.  In the end I would have to submit, come what may.  I shivered at the thought.  Please let it not be too extreme.

To make it all worse was the number of people in the room.  Besides myself there were Georgina, Miss Hailsham and Miss Emma.  At the end of the room stood four dressmaker’s dummies which held our gowns for the day, fussed over by the seamstress who was on hand to make any final adjustments required.  Also there were Eliza and Rose to help with dressing as well as Mrs. Jones and Sir Thomas.  Nine of us in total and the windows looking south over the orangery and west over the park were thrown open to let in fresh air.  Fortunately our hair had already been arranged.

“I thought I might come and help make sure you ladies are properly prepared for the big day,” said my husband cheerfully.

We all stared at him awaiting his wishes.  I quailed inwardly.  What manner of preparation?

“Perhaps we should begin with Lady Georgina, as we will all be calling her from this afternoon.  Please prepare her except for the dress.”

Rose and Eliza scurried to obey and Georgina was swiftly stripped before having all her linen undergarments replaced with the most delicate silk ones: stockings, garters, drawers, chemise and corset.  All were in cream with little hints of red piping.

“Your husband will no doubt find you entirely ravishable tonight, Lady Georgina,” teased Sir Thomas.  And he was indubitably right: she did look heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Now we need to stoke up those fires a little to keep you hot for Lord Llanbedr.  First I think you should say goodbye to your Sapphic friends.  Who will begin?  You, Mrs. Jones?”

The housekeeper nodded and gave a little smile.  She moved to the settee and reclined upon it before tugging up her skirts and loosening her drawers to reveal her neat bush.  Quite without shame she spread her legs and beckoned my little girl.

Open-eyed Georgina approached and falling to her knees, began her task.  She was utterly skilful and soon lost herself completely between the other woman’s thighs.  Swiftly enough there were a series of short gasps as Mrs. Jones took her pleasure.

Twice more this was repeated on Miss Hailsham and then Miss Emma until all were satisfied and Georgina was left with a very sticky face.

“Now it is the turn of your friends to kiss farewell to your sweet young cunt.  But ladies, please ensure Lady Georgina is kept as hot as possible.  No climaxes till tonight please.  We need our little virgin to be steaming for her lord.  Eliza, remove Lady Llanbedr’s drawers please.”

Georgina was soon laid upon the sofa as the three women took turns to kiss, lick and finger my daughter’s spread-eagled sex.  I saw the pleasure mounting in her face, the flush spreading across her shoulders and neck and her breath begin to come in short little moans.  But these women knew her only too well and teased and tormented her without letting her have any relief.

Eventually Sir Thomas commanded her to stand and her drawers were put back in place.  She was gasping and rubbing her thighs together as if to bring herself relief.

“Now the dress please,” said her stepfather.  “And no sneaking off to use those nimble fingers of yours for illicit purposes, young lady.  Keep it warm for your husband.”

I imagined that although she was not particularly partial to men, she would be only too pleased with his attentions that evening, which I suppose was my husband’s intention.

The bridesmaids were soon dressed which left only my own person.  I gathered my courage; this would probably be unbearable and yet have to be borne.

“My dear, would you mind changing your undergarments now?” Sir Thomas said sweetly.

Rose helped me out of my dress and my underthings.  Suddenly there I was, stark naked before them all: maids, seamstress, housekeeper, bridesmaids, bride and my husband.  They were all dressed and ready to go whereas I was completely vulnerable.  My sex had been freshly shaved that morning and shone in the September sunlight.  I was proud of my body but had no wish to display it in this perverse fashion.

Rose slipped on my silk stockings, boots and corset.  I noticed immediately that the luxurious silk drawers and the chemise that completed the set were no longer visible.  Surely he did not mean me to go drawerless on Georgina’s wedding day?  And without my chemise my breasts were naked above the corset, though they would at least be covered by the dress.

“Now, my dearest, I am sure you will wish to keep your beautiful daughter company in her state of febrile expectation.  And we all know just the way to get you warmed up.  Please go and bend over the back of that chair.”

Reluctantly I complied letting my breasts swing free, how I wished I had a chemise on.  Protesting or begging would be only too useless and only cost me my dignity.  I saw him handing the tawse, which my feet had become so acquainted with, to the housekeeper.

“Twelve across Lady Caroline’s arse please, Mrs. Jones.  Lay them on good and hard, I need to know that she will feel them for the rest of the day.”

I clenched my teeth and braced myself.  The sound of the first blow echoed like a gunshot.  I was instantly grateful that our guests were all in the main and north wings.  The pain lanced through my behind, the agony skewering me in its intensity.  The damned woman left me for a whole minute which meant that the agony had time to wash back and forth over me.  The response was utterly unavoidable: my sex erupted in heat and longing even while my bottom burned.  Eleven more blows landed, each with a long pause to let me feel it to the limit.  By halfway through I was begging for it to end.  Each blow hurt more than the one before and my lust was climbing intolerably in league with the agony.

When it was over my bottom was one big flaming bruise.  I knew that every time I sat for the remainder of the day (and indeed for days thereafter) I would be in pain and that the discomfort would transmit itself straight to my poor sex.  He clearly wanted both Georgina and me on edge for the entire wedding.  Well there was no doubt he was going to be right. 

I saw from the look on Georgina’s face that watching me humiliated had only served to excite her further.  What a strange pair we were, both held captive by our weakness and carnality.  Worse, even were our captors to allow it, I was not confident that we would break free if the opportunity presented itself.  I knew I could not leave Sir Thomas and was fairly sure that Georgina would not leave Miss Emma behind even though she had no real need for a companion now that she was married.

I moved to where my dress hung to get myself ready.

“Not yet, wife, we still have to get you ready.”

Surely there wasn’t more of this?  “Please, Sir Thomas, please.  That is enough.  My bottom is on fire.  Please?”

“I am sure that it is not the only part of you that is hot right now!  But I want this day to be a day you will never, ever, forget.  And so I think we need to ensure that every bit of that gorgeous body of yours joins in the celebration.”

Every bit?  God, please not that.  I wanted to enjoy my daughter’s wedding, not endure it in a haze of sexual torment.  I was about to protest when he came over and kissed me, there in front of them all.  His tongue conquered me, thrusting into my mouth and capturing my very breath.

“You will be obedient, wife, utterly obedient,” he whispered as he broke our embrace.  One glance in his eyes, those wolf-like eyes, and I was lost.  I would submit as a dutiful spouse.

“Yes, husband,” I gasped almost silently, but he heard.  I felt as if I might climax just from submitting to him.

“Excellent, Lady Caroline,” he said heartily.  “Let’s have you back over the chair again.”  He waved me back to the position I had so recently vacated.

Once I was leaning over it again he approached and showed me a round black ball.  He let it rest in my hand for a moment.  It was about the size of a billiard ball, made from the densest ebony and perfectly smooth.  It was so heavy I was sure that it would sink in water, unlike normal wood.  I knew it had not come from the billiard table downstairs, where all the balls were made from ivory.

“Now that we have heated up your arse,” Sir Thomas said jovially, “it is time to entertain that hole between the cheeks you love so well.”

Oh, Dear God, not there.  Not that thing, in there...

“Mrs. Jones, would you mind inserting this for me?” And he passed the ball to the housekeeper.

“Your ladyship, would you mind assisting me by yawning your buttocks apart?”  The woman’s voice was polite but teasing at the same time.

Helplessly I complied, pulling myself open to make the task easier.  I felt the huge ball pressed up against my little aperture.  It felt slippery so she had clearly greased it first.  Slowly but surely she applied more and more pressure to the object.  I groaned as I sensed myself beginning to open for it.  Then with a sudden searing pain it slipped into me.  It felt huge in there; it was going to be hellish walking about all day with that thing in me.  But it made me terribly aware of my bottomhole and that was my husband’s obvious desire.  I wondered how I was ever going to get the ball out of my behind...

“Here you go, Miss Emma, why don’t you put in the second one?” And Sir Thomas passed an identical sphere to the bridesmaid.

No!  There couldn’t be!  But there was.  Reluctantly I held my position as the young woman approached behind me.  She seemed much less sure than the housekeeper and it was Mrs. Jones who gave the instructions.

“Pull your cheeks apart again, Lady Caroline.  Now, Miss Emma dip the ball in the lotion and present it to her ladyship’s little hole.  Don’t worry, it will go in.  Now apply pressure, slowly and evenly.  There, see how she opens?  Now, keep pushing...  You are having to push the first ball up as the second goes in.”

And she was quite right.  I could feel myself being stretched apart a second time and could sense the first ball being pushed in further by the second.  I was so uncomfortably full and I suddenly wished my corset was not so tightly fastened.  Suddenly I felt the piece of wood slip past my ring and up inside.  I gasped out loud.  I was not sure that I would be able to walk properly with these things inside me.

“Stand up, my darling,” said my husband, “and walk round the room.  I t will help you accommodate them.” 

I obeyed and made a little tour of the nursery while everyone watched me parading like a prize filly.  I took little steps and I imagined that I could feel the two balls rubbing against each other in my poor bottom.  Whether I could actually feel them moving was not important: what mattered was how very full and uncomfortable I felt and how it seemed to focus my entire consciousness on that terribly sensitive part of my body.  When I finished my little circle I was before my husband.  He reached down and once again he kissed me with a lover’s touch.  He knew I had no way left of fighting him at all.

“Once more of the chair, my dear.”

Oh, please, no.  Not a third!  It wouldn’t fit...  and if it did, I would be unable to walk.  But I took my position once more and looked over to see what he had planned for me.  From behind his back he took a strange looking object, definitely not a ball.  It took me several moments to even register what it was.

“Nooo!  Please, husband...  I am begging you...  Please not that!”  I was quite beside myself. 

He was holding a strange little carving.  Like the balls it was made of ebony and it represented the fist of a girl.  It was skilfully carved and one could make out the individual fingers and thumb and all the knuckles.  The wrist was represented and after that it ended in an oval base.  I had seen it sitting on the desk in the library and had assumed it was a native carving from the Gold Coast in Africa, brought back to England by some curious traveller.  In my husband’s hand in this situation it clearly had a much more sinister purpose.

“Miss Hailsham, your turn I believe.”  And with this Sir Thomas passed the infernal object to the governess who gave a little smile.

“Open yourself again please, Lady Caroline,” came her curt instruction.

“Nooo!  Please...”  I just could not do this humiliating task, not for that thing.

“Pull your cheeks apart or I shall ring for the footmen to come do it for you, dearest.”  My husband was not to be balked in this.

I pulled my buttocks apart slowly and reluctantly.  I immediately felt the clenched fingers of the carving presented to my hole.  The pressure began to mount.  While the width of the widest part was no bigger than the preceding balls, it was the knobbly nature of the knuckles that made it far more painful to accept, not to mention the fact that it now had to push the other objects up my passage in order to be accommodated.  I groaned and wailed without any pride or dignity.  Suddenly when I could stand it no more it slipped past my poor little ring.  Except this time my hole did not close behind it but was held open by the wrist of the damned thing.  The discomfort was intense but was swamped by the indecent intensity of the sensations it provoked.

“Parade for us, my dear.”

Once again I was required to make my tour of the room.  Even taking the tiniest of steps I felt nothing put waves of sexual pleasure from my distended bottom hole.  I would be able to think of nothing else all day.

“Sit for me, wife.  Just for a minute in the chair.”  His voice tormented me with its sweetness.

Gingerly I lowered myself into the seat.  The effect was appalling: the wooden fist was shoved up into my bottom in turn pushing the balls up my stuffed back passage.  I whinnied in despair: this was beyond sexual torment, it was torture.

“Stand now, dearest, and put one foot up on the seat of the chair.”

Slowly I complied.  In fact for the remainder of the day my every movement was perforce to be slow and measured so as to control the intensity of my body’s response.  Eventually I was left standing with one leg bent at right angles up on the chair.  What next?

I looked over to see Sir Thomas passing a strap to Mrs. Jones.  “Please give her ladyship half-a-dozen on top of her thighs.  And make sure it wraps around to catch the soft inner flesh.”

I gritted my teeth and prepared myself.

The first blow landed just above my knee and the leather left a red band across my leg.  As my husband had desired the end bent round and caught my inner thigh, increasing the pain. I gasped but stopped myself from crying out.  Each successive stroke moved up my leg towards my most sensitive area. With the fifth blow I cried out in pain despite my best intentions.

I looked down.  There was now just the width of the strap left between the last mark and my sex.  I glanced at the housekeeper’s face and saw her smiling at me.  She would have to be so accurate here, if she missed by just a fraction of an inch or if I moved at the last moment then the strap would land on the lips of my exposed sex. 

“Waaah!” I howled.  She had been utterly precise in her blow, but still the softness of my flesh in that spot made the entire thing agonising.  I doubled up and held my seared leg.  I could feel the heat radiating from my thigh.

“Change legs please, Lady Caroline,” said Mrs. Jones.

It took me several minutes to obey as I wrestled with my pain and the discomfort in my behind.

Just as the implacable woman was about to begin again my husband came over and ran his fingers through my slit.

“Dripping wet, Lady Caroline, dripping wet!” I could not deny the evidence on the fingers he held up for all to see.  Had he touched me for more than a few moments I would have reached my climax.

The second set on my other thigh was if anything worse than the first.  I felt as if every nerve in my body was tingling now, sensitive to the least stimulation.  I desperately craved my release and was tempted to just disobey him and seize my bud and rub myself to a climax.  But no, I was obedient.  By now I had no ability to balk his desires.

“Parade for us once more, dearest,” came his command and I did, feeling the heat radiating from my thighs and buttocks and the exquisite discomfort in my bottom.  I could feel wetness beginning to seep down my legs.

“Just a couple more accoutrements and you may dress.”

Accoutrements?  What could he mean?  What more could be done to me?

“Stand still, my darling, and move your legs apart a foot or so.”

Nervously I complied, each shuffling movement rearranging the objects inside me.

“The chains please, Mrs. Jones.”

I shivered at the words and looked over to the housekeeper.  Surely the did not mean to have me manacled today?  I would be unable to walk without everyone knowing.

Mrs. Jones approached me and knelt before me.  I felt her warm breath on my naked sex and on the reddened skin of my thighs.  I looked down and saw her take from her pocket a thin gold chain ending in little golden clamps at either end.  Quite gently she took hold of the left lip of my sex and tugging it slightly she began to affix the clamp to it.

“No,” I moaned, “oh please, no.”  But my entreaties made not a jot of difference.

When she had firmly attached the little device to me, she passed the chain around the outside of my leg and began to affix the second clamp adjacent to the first.  I immediately discerned its purpose, with every step I took, with every movement I made the chain would tug my lips apart and open my sex.  It was disgusting and humiliating and I knew that this continual torment would drive me far beyond the limits of sexual desire.

“Please, husband.  Please, Sir Thomas, it is too much.  I will not be able to stand it.”  I begged him surrendering the last shreds of my dignity.  Mrs. Jones was now attaching the second, matching chain to the other side.  I moaned in desire and despair.

“You will be able to stand it, wife.  But it may make you come spontaneously.  Perhaps during the service?  Perhaps when your daughter says ‘I do’?”

I looked over to where Georgina was staring at me, opened-mouthed and with eyes lidded with her own wanton needs.  Knowing her nature, she probably wished the chains were being clamped to her sex rather than mine.

Mrs. Jones was finished and slowly stood.  I could see the desire in her eyes too.

“Once more around the room for us, Lady Caroline,” teased my husband.

I walked and this time each little step pulled my sex apart, making my innermost self gape open.  As I passed the open window I felt the cool outside air flowing over the wetness of my sex.  I shivered in a paroxysm of lust.  My needs were spiralling in the warm September air.

“Miss Hailsham, just your piece to add then,” said Sir Thomas.

We all turned to look as the young governess approached where I was standing.  She was holding a little cornflower blue ribbon I recognised from before.

“Oh God, oh My God,” I moaned.

Slowly the young woman knelt before me with everyone watching her intently.

“Open yourself for me please, your ladyship,” she said in a clear commanding voice.

Desperately I looked at my husband but only saw the wolf in him smiling back at me.  With trembling fingers I spread my lips.  I might have done this just by spreading my legs and letting the chains do their work but that would have been consenting to my degradation and that, despite my wanton needs, I would not do.

Miss Hailsham knelt before me and I now felt her warmth breath on my sex.  Gently she teased out my bud.  In truth, this took but little effort as I was so excited that the poor little nub was as hard and swollen as it had ever been.  Then she brought up the thin little ribbon.  I wanted to look away but found I could not tear my gaze from my sex.  I watched as she put a little loop about my bud and firmly pulled it tight.

I orgasmed there and then, squealing my pleasure before them all.  I could no more control myself than I could stop the sun from rising.  My legs buckled and I found myself sliding to my knees.  I moaned and gasped as the tremors shot through me.

“Stand please, your ladyship,” said the governess.  “And spread yourself.  I need to finish off the bow.”

With supreme effort I stood again to let her finish her task.  I thought I would climax again as she adjusted the bow to perfection.

“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue!  I know that is for the bride, but it works for you too, darling,” teased Sir Thomas.  “The carving of the woman’s fist is quite old; the billiard balls were made just for you; the chains we can call borrowed as they must be returned this evening and the bow is a beautiful blue.  Now you may put on your dress.”

The seamstress helped me on with my dress.  The final surprise was when the dress was buttoned up.  Without a chemise my breasts were naked against the bosom of the dress and I found that two patches of rough canvas had been sewn over where my nipples, stiff with desire, would be.  The hard little teats would be tormented as the dress moved over them.  Truly my husband had found a way of torturing every feminine part of my body.

When I was dressed I looked at myself in the long mirror.  I looked perfectly respectable but felt utterly indecent.  My eyes had a desperate and haunted look.  I tried smiling and could see the strain on my face.  This was going to be impossible.  With every beat of my heart I felt an echoing throb in my bound bud and a twitch in my poor bottomhole.  Every little step I took made the fabric rub over my beaten bottom and thighs as well as tugging my sex open.  I knew I would not make it through the day without some form of relief.

Taking the smallest of steps I followed my daughter down to the chapel, escorted by Sir Thomas.  How I managed to greet the assembled guests there and make light conversation I do not know.  I just wanted to howl and beg my husband for relief.  By the time I managed to reach the front pew I could feel a trickle of my female wetness running down my thigh and soaking my stocking tops.  I gingerly sat myself down and stifled a gasp. The wooden fist shoved its way into me and the balls jostled as they moved up my back passage in response.  The wrist of the damned carving opened my poor little hole so very wide.  I was by now desperate for relief but before I could whisper a begging entreaty to my husband he left me to go back down to the main door so as to prepare to escort Georgina up the aisle.

The bridegroom’s family came over and I endeavoured to make polite conversation.  I sat as still as was possible and hoped that they put my distressed state down to nervousness about the day.  Finally the introduction to the bridal march began to play and I was left by myself in the pew as they retreated across the aisle to their places.  It was at that point I discovered that by clenching and relaxing my bottomhole I could drive the fist and balls up and down my backside. And by gently moving my legs apart I could stretch my sex open too.  It felt so good and I could not resist it.  I was determined to find some relief.

Suddenly the music changed to the full march and my daughter was coming up the aisle on my husband’s arm.  If I were quick I could just manage it before they arrived at the altar.  Furiously I clenched and relaxed my little ring.  I was practically bouncing in my pew.  As my daughter passed me I saw her glance in my direction and her eyes open in surprise.  Was it that obvious?  As she climbed the steps the music reached its peak and so did I, the sounds from the organ covering my short gasps and moans.  I saw both my husband and my daughter glancing over and watching me as I climaxed in the chapel and on her wedding day.  I could not have felt more disgusting and ashamed. But I had to find some measure of relief from my torment.  I hoped my oozing sex would not leave a damp patch on my dress.  Fortunately I knew the fine cloth to be quite thick.

When a little while later my husband finished his part in the ceremony and came to sit beside me, he kissed me on the cheek and whispered, “Filthy trollop!”

Just the words made my poor sex twitch anew.  My desire was once more stoking itself.  My bottom was so appallingly full that I could not take my mind off it for more than a few moments at a time.  And each time I let the sensations down there wash over me my need for relief rose again.  If I squirmed in the slightest, in an effort to find a more comfortable position, it just made the cloth move over my enflamed skin, the chains tug at my opened sex or the blood throb in my bound bud.  It was utterly, desperately unbearable.  I didn’t actually climax as my daughter said her vows but by then I was desperate to do so.  When Sir Thomas rose to go sign the registry as a witness he once more leant in and, while kissing my cheek, spoke quietly into my ear, “Try not to come while I’m away, slut.  Talk to our guests instead.”

With a barely stifled moan I swivelled in the pew so that I could try to converse with my brother and his family who, together with my stepsons, were in the row behind.  They must all have seen that I was in a state; I just prayed that they took it for excitement at Georgina’s marriage and not something more.  I am not sure that Edward was fooled; he was too like his father.

When the ceremony was finally over I processed down the aisle on my husband’s arm, following Lord and Lady Llanbedr as everyone tossed rose petals over them.  I was glad that all eyes were on them as I was sure that no one would be fooled by my smile if they looked too carefully.  I didn’t want to smile and nod and walk daintily behind the bride and bridegroom.  I wanted to lie on the floor, spread my legs, pound my stuffed bottom up and down while playing with my swollen little bud till I climaxed again and again.  I was almost beyond caring and beyond reason.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of unsated lust.  Amid my polarised urges to keep a respectable facade and to achieve some sort of relief for my base desires a few scenes stand out in stark relief.

Sitting at the wedding feast between Lord Llanbedr and Viscount Hawarden and making polite conversation while wishing I could bounce myself up and down in wild abandon instead.

Dancing with Sir Thomas in the second dance.  It was vigorous and, as he moved me powerfully across the floor of the ballroom, the jolting in my bottom and the tugging on the lips of my sex meant that I exploded in ecstasy, moaning my demented release into his shoulder as he whispered in my ear, “Filthy, filthy whore.”

Sir Thomas ordering me to visit the library with my stepsons.  I remembering lowering myself carefully to my knees and frantically engulfing their members with my mouth.  By that stage I was so desperate for carnal pleasure that I actually enjoyed the feeling of their organs as they were thrust into my face.  I was terrified that some other guest would enter into the room and went through the humiliating task with alacrity.  I recall their grins as they said “Thank you, Stepmother” and departed.

My sister-in-law cornering me and asking if I was quite all right as I was clearly completely overcome with the emotion of the occasion.  She suggested that I should go and lie down for a few minutes to calm myself.  I wanted nothing more than to do just that, but my husband wished me to stay by his side.

My husband and I standing side-by-side on the steps of Hirst Hall in the twilight and waving goodbye to the carriages holding the Hawarden party.  Georgina, Lady Llanbedr, sat there beside her new husband and waved sweetly and tearfully.  Miss Missenden sat in separate coach with the family servants and much of the luggage.  I wondered how she would get on in her new home.  I was sure she and my daughter would manage their Sapphic trysts once the honeymoon was over.

Following the departure of the bride and groom the party repaired to the Hall and quite swiftly began to leave for their various rooms.  It had been a long and exciting day (more so for me than anyone else) and I was grateful when my husband took my hand and led me to the stairs.

I was surprised when he led me to the door leading to my bedchamber rather than his own.  My heart jumped as we entered the room.  It was well-lit and Rose, Mrs Jones and Miss Hailsham were all in attendance, the latter still in her bridesmaid’s dress.  Immediately I was apprehensive; I had hoped that it would just be Sir Thomas and that he would release me from my torment and take me to bed and satisfy me.  I ached for his touch in every scintilla of my being.

“Undress your mistress please, Rosie,” came my spouse’s command.

And so my dress was removed leaving me once more on display for all to view.

“Turn for us, my dearest, nice and slow.  And put your hands on your head.”

I obeyed, letting each of them view my abject shame.  My stiffened nipples had been rubbed till they were red and sore.  My poor, delicate little bud was by now grotesquely swollen and a livid purplish colour.  It throbbed visibly.  The lips of my sex were puffy and wet and still gaped wide apart.  The end of the ebony carving protruded between my red flaming buttocks. I wondered if that sensitive little aperture would ever recover.  My thighs were a darkened red colour from the strapping.  With each little step I took I groaned as the chains tugged and the wooden objects moved about inside me.

“Lovely, darling, now get over your bed and let’s get those things out of you.  Mrs Jones?”

The housekeeper took me by the hand and let me to the bed.  Soon I was stretched out on the counterpane.  I felt one hand on the tender flesh of my bottom to steady me while the other gripped the base of the carved fist and pulled.

“Aaah, aaah, oooh!” I wailed as the thing was extracted from me. The pleasure and pain mingled inextricably and I nearly climaxed.  Then it was out and I saw the cursed object being passed to Rose.

“Clean that, Rosie, and place it on Lady Caroline’s mantelpiece.  I am sure she will want to admire it daily.”  Sir Thomas’ voice was teasing me cruelly.  I actually wanted to burn the thing.

“Lift your bottom please, your ladyship.  I need to get the balls out,” said the housekeeper in her business-like tone.

Slowly I complied, helplessly making the chains pull on my sex as I did so.  I felt a couple of fingers slip into my behind.  I wailed at the humiliation of this woman, any woman using me so degradingly.

“Now push down, Lady Caroline.  Bring the balls to me.”

I moaned and pushed the wooden spheres backwards as best I could.  Suddenly I felt Mrs. Jones’ fingers hook around the first ball. If the pain of the balls being inserted had been appalling, the agony of her fingers extracting the pair was infinitely worse.  My stretched ring of muscle was so sore and so sensitive that I could not help but squirm away from her.  In the end Sir Thomas ordered pillows put under me so that my bottom remained up high, while Rose and Miss Hailsham held me down.  After the last ball had reappeared I was released and lay there moaning and scissoring my legs in pain, not caring at the further distress this was causing to my sex.  Gently I felt hands rolling me onto my back.

I opened my eyes and through my tears saw Mrs. Jones gently raising and spreading my legs.  With a gasp I noticed that she was now more than half naked; her clothes and undergarments were draped over a chair.  When had that happened?  Oh, Dear God...

Carefully the housekeeper undid the clamps and I groaned as the blood returned to these abused spots.  Then finally she loosened Miss Hailsham’s bow as that woman watched.  The governess too, I saw, was now half-naked.

The blood surged into my little bud and the agony was far beyond description.  Despite its searing intensity I climaxed helplessly and more intensely than I ever had before, thrusting my naked sex up off the bed as if offering it up to the entire room.  I collapsed down as surge after surge of pleasure and pain bounced about my body.  In the throes of my extremis I opened my eyes to see Mrs. Jones above me.   She had straddled my head and was slowly lowering herself upon me.  As I looked down I saw my husband smiling and noticed the housekeeper had a candle in her hand, a candle she was bringing towards my sex.

Helplessly I licked her sex as it touched my mouth.  It felt so strange and so disgusting and yet I climaxed once again as I felt her slide the length of wax into my sex, loudly moaning my pleasure into her mound.  I licked and sucked and tried to forget what I was doing while they all watched me.

As the housekeeper finally lifted herself off so that the governess could take her place on my sticky face, I saw my husband watching me with a mixture of lust and amusement.

“We must take you down to London for the Season next year, my dear.  There are so many interesting people I want you to meet.”

I might have replied but suddenly my mouth was full once more.

The End (for now).

Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to read this careless magnum opus.  Somehow it growed like Topsy.  Your comments and reviews are always welcome.