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Collected by Djian
update march 6 - 2010

Another story by Surtea | stories

M/F, humil, bdsm, historical

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Hirst Hall
By Surtea - 2010

surtea@live.co.uk

This is a story for adults – if you are not an adult or cannot tell fantasy from reality please read something else.

Synopsis – A lady agrees to a marriage but, sooner rather than later, comes to regret it.

Author’s note: I am trying to write this as a story set in Georgian times. Feel free to point out any glaring anachronisms you may find. I will however use sexual terms more in use in the current time than then. This is because I do not find archaic terms stimulating and I write for my own amusement as well as (hopefully) yours. You will probably read echoed themes from a number of places: Viddler’s ‘My Bare Lady’ and Erich Von Gotha’s ‘Janice’ spring to mind amongst others.

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?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.

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