Honeymoon Hell

Provided By: BDSM Library

www.bdsmlibrary.com

Synopsis: Percy Chapman and his beautiful wife, Gwyneth, are not enjoying the honeymoon of
their dreams. Their New York storybook wedding was followed by a voyage to Liverpool to begin
a month long tour of Europe’s capitals. However, rough seas prevented them from consummating
their marriage. Upon arriving in England, they are kidnapped by ruffians who serve the notorious
roué and libertine, Lord Walshingham. Percy’s former best friend, Harry Pelham, has beseeched
his Uncle Walshingham to arrange for a spectacular deflowering of Gwyneth as a first step in
bringing Percy and his rich bride under his sway. The story takes place in the 1920’s following the
War to End All Wars.

Chapter 01 – Lord Walshingham

“You’ve done my nephew a bit of a bad turn,” said the imposing English lord. Gwyneth and I
had been forcibly conducted to the main hall of what I assumed was his country estate, Ashcroft
Hall. I had just demanded why we had been brought before him.

Much later, I learned Charles Dracut, the twelfth Earl of Monmouth, known to his peers as Lord
Walshingham, was a notorious roué and libertine, unwelcome in polite London society. The
young Charles had served in the army, paying a particularly unworthy role in the Boer War where
he gained a reputation for raping young Afrikaner girls and boys then turning them over to his
Zulu irregulars for further rape and ultimately disposal.

He was a tall man, above six feet, with unkempt gray hair and muttonchops that would have
made him appear distinguished had it not been for the white scar that ran from his forehead down
to his chin. Crooked, stained, and missing teeth gave him a most evil appearance. His visage
reflected a lifetime of dissipation.

I was finding it difficult to control my anger. “Your nephew, are you daft, man. I’ve never met
you or any of your family before,” I practically screamed. “When the authorities hear of this
outrage, you will be jailed, Sir.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that,” said Lord Walshingham fully aware that his wealth and position
protected him.

“I demand you immediately return my wife and me to London and the Savoy Hotel,” I said in
my most authoritative tone. The honeymoon suite at the Savoy was reserved for us. It was to be
a six week honeymoon with a week in every major European capital.

“Won’t do, my lad, simply won’t do,” said Lord Walshingham. “Harry, where the hell are you?”

“Here, Uncle,” said my erstwhile best friend, Harry Pelham, stepping from behind a curtain.
The swine arranged a dramatic entrance to shock us.

“Harry, help us,” cried Gwyneth my bride of less than a week. She would have run to him but
a rough sort of female held her by the shoulders. I was being restrained by several of Lord
Walshingham’s servants; a thuggish Mr. Hornsby was their leader.
 The totally unexpected appearance of Harry shed some light on our abduction. Harry’s
mother, Edwina, was British to the core; although his father Marcus Pelham was a Texas oil man
who refused to leave his Lubbock ranch in his firm belief that the state of Texas was an
unequaled earthly paradise and other locales would only disappoint. The Pelhams were given to
madness of that sort.

Percy Chapman is no man’s fool and I immediately deduced that Edwina Pelham was Lord
Walshingham’s sister. Rumors of her mad behavior that I had previously discounted assumed a
state of truthfulness.

“Hello, Percy, Gwyneth, did you find the Belgravia satisfactory?” asked Harry as calm as a
bowl of cream of wheat.

Perhaps it’s best to bring the reader up to date. Gwyneth is the only child of Mortimer Drew,
the richest man in America. I, Percy Chapman am the only son of Roger Chapman, the third
richest man in America. Gwyneth and I were married in New York’s St. Patrick’s Cathedral six
days prior. As soon as the ceremony ended, we were escorted to the honeymoons suite of the
SS Belgravia, the most sumptuous and well appointed of the ocean liners plying the Liverpool to
New York route after the Great War. Following a rollicking party in the main dinning salon, our
guests were sent ashore and we were left alone to consummate our marriage

Harry and I had been best friends since we prepped at Groton. There we suffered the
depredations visited upon lower classman by the bulls who combined sodomy with brutal
flogging. They say boys who share such pain and perversion become life long friends but in our
case, it proved untrue.

After Groton, we roomed together at Yale. Our freshman year, we both lost our virginity at
Mrs. Brophy’s House of Ill Repute, taking turns with a fat tart named Nancy. Until recently, I
considered Harry Pelham my best friend in the world.

Our falling out was over Gwyneth, a creature so lovely, words fail me. Her golden hair framed
a most beautiful face whose best feature were her deep violet eyes. Her figure was superb and
her creamy bosom summoned my most lustful thoughts.

I first laid eyes on Gwyneth at her coming out. My mouth dropped open when she first
appeared on her father’s arm. I watched totally mesmerized as she descended the steps to be
handed over to Harry Pelham.

Yes, Harry had met her first. But Percy Chapmen was not the kind of man to allow friendship
to keep him from possessing such a divine creature. Plus I didn’t consider Harry good enough for
Gwyneth. Since graduating, he had shown himself to be something of a wastrel. He had gained
a reputation for consorting with New York’s less desirable elements including Jews, Irish and God
forbid, Negroes. Rumors circulated of his frequenting jazz clubs in Harlem and that he had a
Negro mistress called Simone. She was reputed to be an octoroon who had passed for white
until her deception was discovered and she was banished to live with her own kind.

I admit to scheming to beat out my rival. All’s fair in love and war or so I am told. I employed
my Aunt Caroline, a leader of New York society to press my suit upon her parents. After all, I was
a true Knickerbocker whose wealth dated from the time of John Jacob Astor himself, not some
upstart parvenu who father sucked his new fortune from the earth.

Harry had not taken the announcement of our engagement graciously. He had loudly
proclaimed me a cad and a false friend to our mutual acquaintances. Under the circumstances,
his name was omitted from the wedding guest list. Until he appeared at Lord Walshingham’s, I
hadn’t laid eyes on him in months.
 “We had a very pleasurable voyage,” coolly lied Gwyneth. I was to discover in coming years,
she had a gift for deceit and even adultery but that is another tale.

“Not what I heard,” said Harry. “What was your experience, Percy?”

I saw no need to inform Harry that the Atlantic had been a maelstrom throughout the voyage
and we both suffered from mal de mer. “None of your business, Harry, see that we are
immediately transported to the Savoy and because of our past friendship, I will forgive this
abduction.”

My offer to forgo criminal prosecution was ignored. “I understand you were too ill to
consummate the marriage,” said Harry stepping to where he was directly in front of Gwyneth and
smiling most wickedly at her. No gentleman was Harry Pelham. He made no effort to conceal his
desire for my wife.

But Harry was unfortunately correct. I was violently ill from the moment we left the Eighth
Street Pier until we docked in Liverpool. Gwyneth suffered even worse. My faculties had only
begun to return to normal on the train to London. My eagerness to reach the Savoy was driven
by my desire to place myself between Gwyneth’s legs, secure her virginity, and enjoy the fruits of
matrimony. I calculated that in six week I could instruct Gwyneth on the pleasures of the flesh.
Her flirtatious remarks and passionate kisses convinced me she would be an apt pupil.

But Harry had stepped over the line with that remark. He had made an insulting remark to my
wife and that was beyond simple forgiveness. “I withdraw my offer. You will be prosecuted to the
limits of the law.”

“”Quiet the bugger down, Hornsby. I’ve heard enough of his shit,” said Lord Walshingham
gruffly. I found it difficult to believe an English lord would use such profanity with ladies present.

The ruffian who had falsely collected us at Waterloo Station said, “Yes, Milord,” then wielded
his cudgel against my testicles. I responded by falling to the floor, screaming in pain, while
clutching my injured privy parts. It had been a solid blow that caused me to worry whether my
manhood retained the capacity to produce future Chapmans.

As I lay there, writhing in agony, Harry rephrased his question. “Are you still a virgin, Gwyn?”

That confirmed my low opinion of Harry. He was no gentleman. Only a swine of the lowest
order would insult a lady of Gwyneth’s station in such a rude manner.

Gwyneth answered bravely. “None of your business, Harry, how can you treat us in such a
hideous fashion?”

At that moment, Lord Walshingham chose to intervene. “Strip the bint down, Mrs. Kline; so
young Harry can see for himself whether she’s been had by her husband, or anyone else for that
matter.”

His words were so foul and insulting; it took me a moment to fully understand their meaning. I
made to rise but Mr. Hornsby tapped me harshly on the back of my head with his stout club as he
threatened, “I’d stay put if I were you, Mister Chapman. Else you may find yourself running with
the geldings at the Marburg Stakes.”

Defeated I remained on the floor as Mrs. Kline assisted by two others attacked my wife’s travel
habit.

“Don’t touch me,” screamed Gwyneth pushing their hands from her buttons. “My father will
have you imprisoned.” The daughter of my country’s richest man was not used to having rude
hands placed on her person. Gwyneth’s violet eyes and jutted chin displayed her defiance.

“We don’t have all night, Mrs. Kline. Teach the wench to obey or else,” impatiently shouted
Lord Walshingham above the din of the women’s screaming.

Mrs. Kline’s rough fist landed hard on Gwyneth’s belly, doubling her over. A lack of breath
silenced her cries.

“Hold her, Mary, Liza. She needs to learn her place,” ordered Mrs. Kline to her helpers.
Gwyneth struggled helplessly as the two pinned her arms, holding her upright. Her genteel
strength was no match for theirs and she was easily held.

Mrs. Kline spit in her hands and rubbed them together before assuming a flat footed stance in
front of poor overmatched Gwyneth. It was a savage beating. The first blow to the jaw snapped
her head to one side. A spray of blood and saliva exited her lips, traveled through the air to land
on the sleeve of Mr. Hornsby who raised it to his lips for a taste. The animal savagery of his act
overwhelmed me and I felt faint.

Mrs. Kline followed up with another blow to the opposite jaw with an equally devastating effect.
Blood oozed over my wife’s lower lip. Mrs. Kline showed remarkable pugilistic skill for a female
as she hammered half dozen blows against Gwyneth’s torso.

“Excellent work, Mrs. Kline, enough for now, strip her,” shouted Lord Walshingham as a fist
landed square on Gwyneth’s breast causing no end of agony judging by the volume of her
scream.

I was appalled to see that one of Lord Walshingham’s hands was clutching his groin,
rhythmically squeezing his privates. The savage beating of my wife had aroused his lust.

Encouraged by her employer, Mrs. Kline ripped open my wife’s jacket then grabbed her blouse
and ripped it down the front. One more tug and her camisole was shredded by the powerful arm
of Walshingham’s minion. One of Gwyneth’s breasts came free affording me my first view of her
exquisite bosom.

Mrs. Kline’s scrub woman hand embedded itself in Gwyneth’s soft flesh gouging and twisting
the nipple. It was piteous to hear my wife’s plea for mercy. Unable to withstand the pain, she
screamed, “Stop, I’ll not resist further. Do what you will.”

Mrs. Kline looked to her Lord for guidance who immediately directed her to proceed to the
disrobement. “Get her fully naked. I want to see what’s got young Harry so randy.”

Gwyneth stood sobbing as they removed the remainder of her attire then forced her to slowly
turn round. In spite of the circumstances I marveled at her beauty. She was Aphrodite herself.

“Not enough meat on her bones, Harry. She needs fattening,” said Lord Walshingham.

“My taste differs, Uncle,” said Harry. “As I recall, we were about to determine whether Percy
here has fucked her yet.”

If I hadn’t been in a state of shock, I would have protested his profanity. Later, I learned that
Harry already knew the answer. He had bribed and seduced Cathy, Gwyneth’s maid, to report to
him of our success or lack of it in consummating the marriage. When Gwyneth did not require
her services, the unfaithful wretched girl had snuck off to Harry’s cabin to inform him of our
situation as they fornicated. Depriving Gwyneth of her clothes in front of others was an act of
revenge and humiliation not a necessary means to acquire information.
 As for Cathy, she was standing off to the side, watching her mistress and making no attempt to
intervene. In fact, the look on her face conveyed her pleasure at seeing Gwyneth humbled.

“Bring her closer, Mrs. Kline,” said Lord Walshingham once Gwyneth was without a stitch of
clothing.

The three harridans marched Gwyneth to the Lord’s chair where without hesitating, he placed
his hands on her breasts and remarked. “These are a bit of all right, nice and firm. Lady
Walshingham’s tits hung to her waist by the time she met her maker.” Then without hesitating, he
buried his face in Gwyneth’s breasts and made sounds that could not be described as human. It
was an act so grossly disgusting, it was difficult to believe I was in a civilized country.

“Mrs. Kline’s beating had broken Gwyneth’s will to resist. She stood silent and motionless as
that most foul of English lords noisily applied his lips and tongue to her virgin breasts.

“Flip her over, so we can see her goods,” said Lord Walshingham having satisfied his desire to
ravage her breasts.

Poor Gwyneth’s bosom was smeared with his disgusting saliva.

Mary and Liza aided and directed by Mrs. Kline grabbed Gwyneth’s legs and turned her
upside down, holding her suspended with the crown of her head pointed to the floor. The
swiftness of their action made me believe, Gwyneth was the not the first female to be treated so.

“Spread her open,” said Lord Walshingham causing my wife’s legs to be configured like a
wishbone.

I must confess I strained to see her sex. Mr. Hornsby noticed my attempt and commented
with a smile. “Too bad, Mr. Chapman, you missed your chance to be first in her twat. Don’t be
too alarmed. She’ll still be fuckable after the Governor and Mr. Harry are finished with her.”

Gwyneth wailed her acute shame and humiliation at being thus exposed to the lusty eyes of
her audience. Her perfectly formed vulva was covered with a fleece of golden hair.

His lustful nature aroused, Lord Walshingham placed his wrinkled hand on her sex and
encountered a problem. “She’s dry as sand, Mrs. Kline.”

“Easy cured, Milord” said Mrs. Kline grabbing the folds of Gwyneth’s sex to separate them
before loudly expectorating on Venus’s cavern. Mrs. Kline’s fingers moved about spreading her
sputum before remarking, “She’s slicked up, now, Milord.”

Lord Walshingham forced two filthy fingers into her virgin love tunnel causing her to cry out.
“Have mercy, Lord Walshingham, I am a virgin.”

He ignored her plea as he explored her opening. “It’s a wee hole now, my darling, and it is
capped but before you leave Ashcroft Hall, I warrant it will be open and much larger,” said the
Lord raising his hand to his nose to smell her feminine essence. I marveled that a man so
perverse should belong to the aristocracy.

Once again I foolishly made to arise but a sharp crack on the base of my skull, returned me to
the floor. “Be still, Mr. Chapman, and you just might leave with your nuts in one piece,” chided Mr.
Hornsby.

“You’re in luck, Harry. She’s unspoiled. Come and feel for yourself, my boy,” said the Lord.

Harry moved quickly to take advantage. He smiled directly at me as his fingers penetrated my
beloved. A loud wail escaped her lips as Harry pushed hard inside her. “A narrow passage
stoutly sealed, a man’s cock could buckle before it breaks down that door,” said Harry his fingers
probing my wife’s sex.

Lord Walshingham’s parted Gwyneth’s buttocks to expose her anus. He spit on his thumb and
pressed it against the center of the wrinkled flesh. “Her ass is too pink for my tastes. I prefer
brown, the color of her shit. I image she’ll squeal like a shoat the first time she gets a cock in her
bum. What say you, Mr. Chapman, did you have plans to butt fuck your bride?”

My answer was not entirely truthful. It was an issue I intended to broach with Gwyneth in a
timely fashion. “Of course not, sodomy is forbidden by both God and man’s law.”

“Then you won’t mind if other’s less punctilious of the laws, break down her back door and
skewer her,” said Lord Walshingham forcing his thumb past her entrance causing a wail of
despair to escape Gwyneth split lips.

I lacked words to respond to such evil.

“Tomorrow night after dinner, Mrs. Chapman, you will lose your virginity in the best English
tradition of rape and sodomy. Young Harry here and I will plan something special. You might as
well reconcile yourself to it. The Confucians believe that if rape is inevitable, you might as well
enjoy it.”

“On the voyage, I had opportunity to consider several different scenarios. Let the
arrangements be my surprise to you, Uncle,” said Harry.

“Excellent then, I leave the details to you, Harry. But who does the honors, Nephew? You,
me, or perhaps even Hornsby here, you’d like to have a go at this, wouldn’t you Hornsby”” said
Lord Walshingham finally removing his hand from Gwyneth’s buttocks.

“Yes, Milord, a pretty little fuck she’d make,” said Hornsby grabbing his crotch for emphasis.

“Hornsby was my Sergeant Major in the Transvaal. He developed quite a taste for fuzzy-
wuzzies of all sorts, especially little brown boys. Right, Hornsby?” said Lord Walshingham.

“It was a pleasure serving under you, Milord,” said Hornsby.

“Perhaps a game of whist to decide who deflowers the girl, but later, I’m tired. We’ll entertain
the newlyweds tomorrow at dinner,” said Lord Walshingham. “Lord Cranmere and his set are
coming to help us celebrate the consummation of Mr. Chapman’s marriage. Rodney Strong will
be here. We should let him be first. She’ll bleed like a stuck pig when Rodney storms her privy
parts.”

“I’m not acquainted with Mr. Strong,” said Harry.

“Largest cock in the empire, women go mad when they see it. He’s fucked all the women in
London worth fucking,” said Lord Walshingham.

“Excellent, Uncle, Percy and Gwyneth will be honored to attend,” said Harry.

“Lock him up, Hornsby. Take the bint along, Mrs. Kline, and see to her. And mind you, no
dalliance with the girl’s virginity. If she’s ripped, there will be hell to pay,” said the Lord in a
menacing tone.

“And the gentleman” asked Hornsby lifting me off the floor by my collar.
 “I believe Mr. Chapman would enjoy having your cock in his bum. What say you, Harry?
Percy there has the looks of a faggot,” said the Lord.

I am of slight build and fair skin with delicate features for a man. The Chapman men are
known for brains not brawn. I had nothing to say, understanding that my fate was sealed.

“He’s yours to enjoy, Mr. Hornsby. When we were at Groton, the older boys used to dress him
as a girl and sodomize his sweet bottom for hours,” said Harry revealing something we’d sworn to
never speak of. I considered mentioning that Harry was similarly sodomised but the presence of
Hornsby’s cudgel caused me to demur.

“Come with me, girl,” said Lord Walshingham offering his hand to Cathy. “Harry here says you
know a thing or two about how to please a gentleman.”

“I’d do my best, Milord” said Cathy rushing to take his arm.

Gwyneth and I were forced in different directions. Nude, beaten, and humiliated beyond
reason, she meekly followed Mrs. Kline and her girls as Hornsby and his lads marched me in the
opposite direction.

“Got just the thing for you, sweetheart,” said Hornsby kissing me on the cheek once we left the
hall.

Chapter 02 – Hornsby’s Sarah

“You do very well as a lady, Mr. Chapman,” said Digger. He was standing behind me admiring
my reflection in the mirror.

“Call me Sarah,” I said admiring my image and feeling excited at what it implied.

Lady was hardly the term. French whore, strumpet, and flapper, were more accurate. Still, I
learned early in life there is a time to fight and a time to go along, especially with the demands of
those bigger than you. Charlie Webber had taught me that at Groton. His father owned Webber
Steel and his family was among Pittsburgh’s elite. Of course, my dad could have bought out
Webber in the blink of his eye but none of that mattered when Harry Pelham and I were
summoned to the Prefect’s office.

It had been a painful lesson. Charlie was three years older and a head taller than me. His
broad shoulders and powerful thighs foretold of his success as one of Fordham’s football
linemen. “Down on your knees,” he ordered twisting my wrist to make me comply.

Frightened out of my wits, I dropped to me knees. I had a fair idea of what was expected.
However, I was determined to resist performing such a sinful, unmanly act.

On the eve of my entering Groton, my mother read from the family bible before dinner and she
must have suspected what I faced because she recounted the tale of Sodom and Gomorrah.
Her efforts to make me steadfast in resisting sin turned out to be of no avail.

“Take it out and suck it,” said Charlie.

“No, I won’t,” I replied sounding braver than I felt. Behind me, I heard Harry refusing Martin
White’s demand for oral relief. That was followed by the sound of a loud slap and a yelp of pain
from my new roommate.
 Two minutes later, the two of us were lying across Charlie’s bed stripped of our trousers, being
held by upperclassman who were laughing and joking about what they intended to do to us.
Between blows, wet fingers were stuck first in my ass and then in my mouth to demonstrate my
fate.

My parents did not believe in corporal punishment so the sting of Charlie’s belt on my rear was
not only incredibly painful but an entirely new sensation. I was in no way, prepared to endure
such pain to avoid the sin of Sodom.

After ten of Charlie’s best, I found myself tearfully accepting his cock into my mouth while Harry
performed on Martin’s member. That was the first of many cocks I sucked that fateful night.
Once I overcame my initial revulsion, I discovered there was considerable pleasure to be had
from having a firm, warm dick in my mouth. The next time, Charlie, wanted his cock sucked, he
didn’t have to ask twice.

A few nights later, aided by a handful of shortening stolen from the kitchen, Charlie introduced
me to the other form of sodomy. Although painful at first, I adapted rapidly to anal penetration
and if truth be told considered it pleasurable. Charlie preferred me on my back with my legs
wrapped around him so we could kiss as he copulated.

I became a favorite of Charlie Webber’s and spent many a night in his bed. Charlie proved to
be a versatile partner and on occasion, encouraged me to sodomize him.

Harry was right when he recounted that Charlie sometimes dressed me as a girl and called me
Sarah, his younger sister’s name.

Unluckily, Charlie went off to war and lost his life leading his platoon in an assault on a
German machine gun nest at Belleau Wood. When I first went to Paris on family business, I
made a point of visiting the American cemetery and laying flowers on his grave. I signed the
note, “All my love, Sarah.”

Of course, when Harry and I reached the upper levels, we dutifully cornholed the
underclassmen; but I can honestly say my heart wasn’t in it. When I looked down on a tearful
new student, sucking desperately to please me and avoid my belt, I sometimes wished it was me
sucking his cock especially if he appeared a strong, well built youth.

At Yale, I consigned such sins to prep school and became a frequenter of Mrs. Brophy’s
establishment where a diverse population of tarts proved eager to do whatever it took to earn
their keep. Unbeknownst to Harvey, I discovered that one of Mrs. Brophy’s girls, Angie,
possessed a dildo that belted around her waist and thighs, giving her the same capability as a
man’s cock. Many the pleasant evening, I spent with Angie’s faux dick in my ass while her soft
hand maintained a constant stroking of my manhood.

Expanding on our sex play, I encouraged Angie to dress her boyish figure in male attire and
discovered the excitement of forcing my cock into her asshole as I whispered, “I love you,
Charlie.”

Mr. Hornsby’s cudgel and his willingness to flatten my testicles convinced me that discretion
was mandatory. I resolved to cooperate fully to avoid further pain. When we reached Mr.
Hornsby’s quarters, I meekly followed Digger when Mr. Hornsby ordered him to take me into an
adjoining room and do his best at making a girl out of me.

“Undress,” said Digger when we were alone I quickly followed his direction. If truth be told, I
found myself somewhat eager to accept their preference for me as a girl. If I had not felt concern
for Gwyneth, I wouldn’t have hesitated to participate.
 As Digger prepared for the task, I experienced a moment of regret at my failure to
consummate my marriage on the voyage. Neptune had shown himself to be no friend of the
Chapmans. Now, the honor of splitting Gwyneth’s maidenhead would fall to others. Perhaps,
they would take pity on a bridegroom and allow me to participate in some small way.

Digger walked around me, eyeing me carefully before taking my cock in his hand to stroke it
as he spoke. “You’ll work out nicely, Mr. Chapman. Mr. Hornsby has an eye for a gentleman who
can be made into a petty wench.

“Under the circumstances, I’ll do whatever you want,” I said my manhood responding to the
warmth of his hand. When someone has one hand on your dick and the other your balls,
congeniality is called for.

Digger, who I’d taken for a working class sort, showed surprising skill at transforming me. It
turned out he served as a dresser for several leading lights of the London stage before going into
service with Lord Walshingham. “I always begin at the top,” said Digger looking over the ladies
wigs arrayed on the dressing table. They appeared to be the latest styles.

“The Eton will do very nicely,” said Digger adjusting the wig he selected.

“They call it the shingle in New York,” I said agreeing the slicked down, very short style with
curls covering my ears worked best. Amazing how a decent wig can transform a gent.

“Excellent, Mr. Hornsby is very partial to the flapper look and so am I,” said Digger leaning in
to kiss me on the lips. Anxious to avoid a trashing, I kissed back with fervor, allowing my tongue
to explore his mouth.

“I see you’re being smart, Mr. Chapman,” removing the wig to set it back on its pedestal.
“Now, you keep on being that way and you’ll get to London with your balls intact although your
bunghole will be larger,” said Digger laughing at his own joke.

“Call me Sarah,” I corrected before adding, “I’m amiable to whatever it takes to keep my nuts
in the same condition they arrived.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this but we had an American couple as guests last year. The man
was from Chicago and proved intractable to the Governor’s attempts at persuasion. He was most
unreasonable about matters that when you think about it were considered pleasurable by the
Romans who founded the greatest empire the world had ever known until we British came along.”

The hubris of the average Brit was at times annoying but I kept my peace. “What happened to
the couple?” I asked as I took a seat at a table equipped with an amazing variety of make-up.

“They were sold off to a Turkish gentleman who transported them to the Levant but not before
the Governor fixed the gentleman at the Ottoman’s request,” said Digger.

“Fixed, how?” I asked although I thought I knew and didn’t like the answer.

“Same way we fix sheep. The Governor tied his balls off with a length of gut and left them for
a day. He made the wife watch while he gave them a sharp tug. Came right off just like a young
ram. Then Mr. Hornsby applied a red hot iron to seal the wound and prevent infection. Nasty bit
of business that,” said Digger.

I wasn’t sure the story was true or something made up to terrify me. I decided to accept it as
gospel and act accordingly. “Lord Walshingham will not find me lacking in willingness to do his
bidding,” I said.
 “Good, that’s the ticket. Now you sit still and allow old Digger to make you into a sweet little
piece of fluff that Mr. Hornsby will approve of.”

I sat patiently while Digger applied my makeup, once again impressing me with his skill.
Manicure and pedicure were followed by a most attractive nail lacquer. While that dried, he
tweezed my eyebrows to a narrow line then applied rouge, face powder and at the last, a
compound that turned my lips a deep shade of red.

“What do you think, Mr. Chapman?’ asked Digger when he had finished with the make up and
wig.

The transformation was amazing. I didn’t doubt that I could walk down Fifth Avenue and be
taken for a shop girl out to attract a gentleman.

“Sarah,” I corrected before adding in a feminine voice, “Excellent, truly excellent.”

“Now, for something to wear that will catch the gentleman’s eye,” said Digger opening the
large wardrobe.

The wardrobe contained an astonishing variety of feminine apparel, most of which I would
classify as French lingerie that no decent woman would wear.

Silver bedroom slippers, patterned hose with a suspender belt, and a silky chemise that barely
covered my rear completed the look. Saucy French cut drawers covered my derriere. The feel of
silk on my bottom was most pleasing. I made a mental note to acquire similar undergarments for
Gwyneth once we reached Paris.

Digger taught me to walk while gracefully swinging my hips from side to side. Looking in the
mirror at the tart I’d become caused my cock to stir.

“Allow me to present, the sweetest bit of fluff ever to grace Ashcroft Hall, Sarah Chapman,”
said Digger proudly announcing me in a loud voice as he led me into the bedroom. Digger’s
mate, Tom patted me on the bottom as I stepped forward.

“Come here, Sarah, and give us a kiss,” said Mr. Hornsby from the bed. The man was a hairy
giant. The sight of him naked, sprawled across the bed was enough to give me pause; but I
bravely stepped forward and did a little spin before walking quickly to the side of the bed to take a
seat. I leaned forward to place my arms around his manly shoulders.

My breath quickened as I surveyed the specimen who intended to sodomize me. Evan
Hornsby was a large man whose hirsute appearance brought to mind a bear. He was stroking his
penis when I stepped into the room. It was breathtakingly large. My bottom twitched at the
prospect of penetration.

Anxious to please, I reached down for his cock as our lips met. We kissed for a while as my
hand stroked his shaft and caressed his sizeable testicles. I closed my eyes and recalled the
nights, Charlie Webber and I went at it in his room. Charlie was quite the gentleman, always
making sure I climaxed before he turned off the light.

“That’s right, Sarah. I knew from the minute I laid eyes on you that you would prove a willing
lass,” said Mr. Hornsby.

“Ever so willing,” I said speaking in the higher octave to enhance the illusion of my femininity.

I cuddled against Mr. Hornsby who asked me to call him, Evan. Digger and Tom had
undressed and joined us in the oversized bed. Evan’s giant hand pushed me downward
indicating he wanted his cock sucked. I played the lover, working from his lips to his nipples
before descending to the region of his formidable manhood.

I took position between his outstretched legs, grasped his penis in my hand and lifted it so I
could apply long upward licks that began at the base of his testicles and ended at the tip of his
cock. It was the starting technique Charlie Webber taught me.

Evan’s deep baritone filled the room with a loud sign as I teased the opening of his piss hole
with my pointed tongue. At my rear, Digger or Tom, I know not which lifted my chemise and
moved my drawers aside to apply the devil’s kiss to my anus. My own girlish sigh echoed Evan’s
as the warm moist muscle pressed into my opening.

Is there anything quite so delicious as feeling the warmth of the human tongue exploring
one’s sphincter. The two took turns with tongues and fingers until the pleasure was
overwhelming. My desire for penetration by their hard cocks made me want to scream for them
to sodomize me but I wisely stayed silent except for the moans and sighs I made as my mouth
and hands performed their magic on Jim’s weighty manhood.

I summoned my dormant oral skills. Cock sucking proved to have the same retention as riding
a bicycle.

“Sarah, love, you are quite the tart,” whispered Evan as he looked down on my efforts. His
hand lightly caressed the back of my head.

At my rear, Digger’s tongue had invaded my asshole while the versatile Tom was underneath
me playing my skin flute with a virtuoso’s skill. I found their efforts extremely pleasurable plus I
was deriving my own satisfaction from my own solo on Evan Hornsby’s instrument.

Yet, as a loyal husband, I gave passing thought to my Gwyneth. I did not doubt that she was
being ill used by Mrs. Kline and her lot. How would my morally upright wife react to their
depraved demands? Would she follow my lead and accept reality? It was difficult imaging such
a properly raised young woman passing her tongue over Mrs. Kline’s sex. Yet, I did not doubt the
persuasive capability of Lord Walshingham’s minions.

I could only hope that she adopted the same attitude as me to avoid brutal mistreatment. I
recall on several occasions witnessing Sapphic rites at Mrs. Brophy’s. Women and even girls
younger than Gwyneth eagerly sought to please one another with their mouth. And judging by
both their willingness and their loud cries of pleasure, there was no reluctance to perform the sin
that dare not speak its name.

Still, gentle born women such as Gwyneth would doubtless be horrified at being forced to
participate. And what would tomorrow bring? Would Lord Walshingham or Harry Pelham deprive
me of the honor of deflowering my bride? I did not doubt Harry would seek to humiliate me in the
worst possible fashion and in front of a large audience.

My thoughts were interrupted by a directive from Evan. “Wet your finger, Sarah, and stick it in
my ass.”

My well moistened index finger found the center of Evan’s sphincter and pressed inward until
the muscle gave up and my digit slipped inside. I have long delicate fingers that have proved
remarkably successful in invading the orifices of both sexes. The pad of my finger quickly located
that organ whose stimulation through the anus is much prized by the male sex.

As Evan sighed his approval, I contemplated how much I had been looking forward to
demonstrating my skill at digital penetration and masturbation to Gwyneth. Doubtless, my
techniques would quickly bring her to her first orgasm thereby establishing a positive acceptance
of her role as the always willing spouse. It was essential she quickly learn that the old wives tale
that women were incapable of orgasm was a myth.

“Beautiful work, Sarah, prepare to accept your reward,” said Evan arching his back.

I redoubled my efforts; increasing the pace my lips were traveling the length of Evan’s rock
hard penis. I felt his mighty sword tremble and jerk in my mouth. A powerful hand clutched the
back of my head fixing me in place.

My reward came quickly, covering my tongue with salty liquor. I sucked the head as it spurted,
delighting in having quickly pleasured such a formidable example of manhood.

“Give us a kiss, Sarah, my precious,” said Evan pulling me toward him. I shared his essence
when his tongue invaded my mouth. He gladly welcomed it. His large tongue scoured the inside
of my cheeks for each warm drop.

My respite consisted of a glass of port and a small bite of cheese. Digger produced a jar of
cream he claimed was all the way from Paris. His nimble fingers smeared the contents on my
anus then worked it inside causing me to moan and exclaim, “Oh that feels lovely, Digger. I can’t
wait to get your cock in me.” I added a saucy shake of my bottom to emphasize my eagerness.
Playing the coquette came natural to me.

“On your belly, Sarah, and raise your ass for a good rogering,” said Digger.

Aided by the French cream and a well placed pillow, his cock slid deep inside in a single
thrust. I felt a stab of pain that fortunately quickly subsided.

“How is her hole?” asked Evan lying beside me stroking his spent cock.

“Velvety smooth and warm, Mr. Hornsby,” said Digger commencing his stroke.

I sighed with pleasure as I pushed back to meet his thrusts. As his manhood reached its
deepest, I contracted my buttocks, squeezing its length during the withdrawal.

“Someone who knew what they were doing taught Sarah the art of sodomy,” said Digger as he
increased his pace.

“A schoolmate,” I offered.

“Swells learn sodomy in school where we poor folks learn it from our dads,” said Digger
increasing the pace until at last, his semen spurted deep into my bowel.

We both sighed together as Digger fell forward pressing me into the mattress. He lay upon
me breathing heavily. I felt his softening cock slowly retract from my passage.

“My turn, Sarah,” said Tom taking the Digger’s place.

My passage was now well lubricated with Digger’s spunk and Tom encountered no difficulty in
entry. “That feels heavenly,” I sighed as Tom’s blunt instrument found its way inside my rectum. I
wiggled my rear to encourage his assault.

Someone’s hand reached under to massage my cock and balls increasing ardor. I countered
Tom’s thrusts with my own movement. The pleasant sound of male flesh meeting filled the
bedroom.

A palm landed with a loud smack on my flank.

 “Ride me, Tom, ride me hard,” I cried warming to his blows as I recalled the many nights that
Charlie Webber mounted me and rode until we were exhausted. Charlie, a skilled horseman,
applied his crop as we galloped. Far from taking his blows as a harmful act, my mind treated the
pain as encouragement and reward. My excitement grew with each swat.

Finally, Tom crossed the finish line and I felt his essence fill my cavity.

“This time you are the rider,” said Evan Hornsby lying on his back beside me.

“Allow me, Sarah,” said Digger taking Evan’s cock in his hand as I assumed the superior
position.

I squealed, “Absolutely divine,” as I lowered my bottom. There was a brief moment when my
sphincter held off the prodigious instrument. But once the door opened slightly, the rest gave way
easily.

I didn’t doubt that the head of Evan’s cock reached a point heretofore only equaled by the tart
Angie’s India rubber tool. Her imitation of a cock lacked Evan’s girth and there was considerable
delight in feeling the walls of my passage expand.

I spent the next few minutes in absolute bliss as I raised and lowered my body. Evan’s strong
fingers found their way to my nipples where he applied considerable pressure.

After Evan climaxed, adding his essence to the other two, I experienced something new. Evan
reached out his powerful hands and placed them under my buttocks. He effortlessly lifted me off
his cock and brought me forward to where I straddled his face. I felt his mouth form around my
anus and apply a powerful suction. I experienced the formidable pleasure of having my bowels
evacuated of their content.

Having emptied my hole, Evan moved me to the side then rolled on top of me for a kiss that
filled my mouth with the combined spunk of my sodomists. Evan was replaced by Tom who
pulled me on top of him for another kiss that involved the exchange of my anal fluids. He in turn
passed the remainder to Digger.

The three positioned themselves to perform orally on yours truly. Three mouths mounted a
simultaneous attack on cock, balls, and asshole. Under such an assault, my defenses quickly
collapsed and I spurted my essence in one of the waiting mouths who then shared it with the
other two.

Exhausted it was time to rest. My final surprise of the night occurred when I heard Evan
inform Digger that I would be dressing as a girl for tomorrow’s party. I gave a final thought as to
how my beloved Gwyneth would react to me in female attire. Deciding there was nothing to be
done, I fell asleep.

***

It was sometime in the middle of the night that I was awakened by another servant seeking
entrance to my bottom. It turned out to be Lord Atherton’s valet, Malcolm.

“Mr. Harry Pelham sends his regards, Mr. Chapman,” said Malcolm as he positioned his cock
at my entrance.
 “Having a go at Sarah, Malcolm?” asked a sleepy Mr. Hornsby whose arms had held me
moments before.

“Yes, at Mr. Harry’s direction, but he did not mention what a pretty lass Mr. Chapman made,”
said Malcolm as he used his cock head to smear his sputum over my anus.

I had dutifully assumed the bitch’s position, reaching back to separate my buttocks to facilitate
Malcolm’s entry. I sighed with pleasure as the cock head forced its way inside my rectum.

“Miss Sarah, you have a velvet hole,” exclaimed Malcolm taking hold of my hips to pull himself
deep inside me. It was a sizeable instrument and I felt the walls of my rectum expand to
accommodate it.

“Where are the Lord and Lady Atherton?’ asked Evan Hornsby as he obligingly reached
underneath me to stroke my hardening cock.

“With Mr. Harry, Lady Atherton is terribly fond of her nephew and arrived early to enjoy his
cock. I gather there is to be a sizeable soiree at dinner tomorrow to witness the deflowering of
Mr. Chapman’s wife,” said Malcolm beginning a slow stroking that I found most pleasurable. His
large ball sack smacked against mine as he methodically sodomized my well used asshole.

“Yes, they stripped the bint down and discovered she still had her virginity. His lordship’s
fingers personally confirmed it,” said Mr. Hornsby.

Digger took a position at Malcolm’s rear as he entered the conversation. “It was quite the
scene. Mrs. Chapman resisted at first. Mrs. Kline had to knock her about before she would
agree to get naked in front of all present.” She’s quite the beauty.”

“I’m surprised Sarah here had not already popped her cherry,” said Malcolm halting a moment
to allow Digger to penetrate his bowels.

“We were both horribly sea sick on the voyage. I puked my guts out for the first two days and
was weak as a kitten the rest of the voyage. My wife was just as ill,” I said wiggling my bottom to
signify my need for Malcolm to continue.

“Sarah here was planning to fuck her as soon as they reached London but Mr. Harry
intervened to cheat Sarah of his prize,” said Mr. Hornsby.

“Yes, she would have gotten a proper fucking once we reached the hotel. We were both
looking forward to it,” I said,

“His Lordship and Lady Atherton along with Mr. Harry were discussing who will relieve Mrs.
Chapman of her virtue?” asked Malcolm while thrusting his considerable member into my rear. I
listened to their discussion of who would take Gwyneth’s virginity with considerable interest.

“My money would be on Mr. Harry Pelham. I understand she rejected his suit of marriage in
favor of Sarah’s,” said Mr. Hornsby.

“That’s true. Harry asked Gwyneth to marry him but she chose me instead,” I said as Tom
took a position that placed his cock at my lips. I licked around the head before taking it in my
mouth.

“There was mention of Rodney Underwood doing the honors,” said Malcolm.

“That would be well worth watching. I’ll never forget the expression on Miss Virginia Mapes
face when he pounded it home for the first time. The poor girl’s eyes like to have popped out of
her head,” said Mr. Hornsby.

“Poor lass bled like a stuck pig,” said Digger.

“I wish my cock was that large,” said Tom. “He is much sought after by the swells to deflower
their daughters. The Tattler reports that Lady Boynton persuaded him to be the first for each of
her three girls.”

“I heard he once near fucked a girl to death. She was the Duke of Kent’s daughter and had an
unusually narrow pussy,” said Digger.

“That’s not true. Lady Jane Elspeth is quite alive; although there are rumors she frequents her
father’s stables to find stallions that fill her hole as fully as Mr. Underwood’s,” said Malcolm.

“Where is Mrs. Chapman?” asked Malcolm who was pulling is cock out of my ass then forcing
it back inside giving me so much enjoyment I sighed loudly at each re-entry. Ass stabbing is one
of my favorites.

“She is with Mrs. Kline and her girls. No doubt the lady in question has mastered the art of
eating pussy,” said Mr. Hornsby.

“Mrs. Kline has a gift for teaching ladies of quality about French love,” said Digger.

“Regardless of who goes first with Mrs. Chapman, I don’t doubt that his Lordship will offer her
favors to all present including ourselves. What say you to that, Sarah?” asked Mr. Hornsby.

The thought of my Gwyneth being raped by all present had already occurred to me. There
was nothing I could do about it and much to my surprise I found the idea of watching her being
sexual assault quite exciting. “As long as I get to watch, I have no objections.”

“Amazing how gentlemen love to watch their womenfolk being fucked,” said Digger.

The conversation trailed off as everyone concentrated on achieving an orgasm. Tom was first,
giving me the satisfaction of having a mouthful of his warm spunk. Immediately he was replaced
by Digger who had manually brought himself to a state where a few simple sucks added his
semen to Tom’s. While Malcolm pounded my asshole, Evan Hornsby directed me to extend my
tongue so he could coat it with his essence.

He directed me to swallow it and I dutifully complied as Malcolm filled my rear. Digger and
Tom finished me off with their mouths as Malcolm and Mr. Hornsby watched.

Exhaustion had set in and once more we all curled up together for a night’s rest.

Chapter 03 – Tipping Mrs. Kline’s Velvet

“Now, Mrs. Chapman, if you don’t want more knocking about, you’ll do as your told,” said Mrs.
Kline as soon as we reached her accommodations.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said wanting above all to avoid a further beating. I could still taste the blood in
my mouth. My upper lip was split and my ribs sore. To say I wasn’t used to such treatment was
an understatement. I had never been subjected to violence of any kind. Mrs. Kline’s brutal fists
had left me trembling and afraid. Add to that, the fact I was stripped naked in front of strangers
and had my person violated in a most public and vile fashion and you have an accurate picture of
my wretched condition.

If only my Papa were here, none of this would have happened. He would have put Lord
Walshingham in his place. Poor Percy, I hope that horrible ruffian Mr. Hornsby doesn’t harm him
or force him to do anything unmanly.

“Sweetly said, I think the four of us are going to get along all right,” said Mrs. Kline beginning
to undress. “What do you think, Liza?”

“They say fine ladies have the softest tongue for tipping the velvet,” said Mary. “Tell us, Mrs.
Chapman, have you ever eaten pussy before?”

When I expressed my willingness to cooperate, I had no idea they intended for me to commit
the sin that dare not speak its name. Sapphic love was so repellant to my nature I immediately
withdrew my consent. “No, of course not, that is a horrid, perverted act. For a lady such as
myself, it is out of the question,” I replied. “Where is Percy? I demand to see my husband.”

“I would hazard to guess he is sucking Mr. Hornsby’s cock,” said Mrs. Kline.

“Or taking it up his bum” added Liza with a giggle.

My mind reeled at the thought of my Percy being sodomised. I doubted a genteel and noble
spirit like my husband could survive such depravity.

“Which I can tell you from my own experience is likely to disturb your shits for days on end,”
said Mary bending over to flip her skirt over her back displaying the fact she wasn’t wearing
undergarments. The perversity of Lord Walshingham and his servants was unbounded.

“The Governor does not keep men in his service with small cocks,” said Mrs. Kline. “Your
husband looks to be the sort that has been buggered before. I suggest you leave off worrying
about your Mister and concentrate on what will keep you from another trashing,” said Mrs. Kline
removing her chemise to reveal enormous breasts. “Cone here and give my boobies a nice kiss.”

I stood transfixed as she lifted her breasts offering them to me. In spite of the situation, I could
not bring myself to place my mouth in contact with her perverted flesh.

“So that’s how it is, Mrs. Chapman. Instead of enjoying a nice lying in, you’d prefer to have
your ass whipped. They say some ladies of quality are into being knocked about. It makes them
randy. Are you going to tip the velvet willingly or will you require further persuading?” asked Mrs.
Kline unfastening her skirt.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t. No matter what you do to me, I will not perform such an unchristian
act,” I said defiantly.

“Get her ready, girls,” said Mrs. Kline growing angry. “She’ll soon be begging to lick our twats.”

I didn’t physically resist but did plead with all my heart for mercy as they tied my hands and
ankles to the bedposts. I was left standing at the foot of the oversized bed with my arms and legs
outstretched. The position reminded me of Our Savior’s time on the cross. I took solace from the
similarity and vowed that no matter how much I suffered to refuse to join in such sinful behavior.

However, I was to quickly learn that those who follow the devil have the power to overcome
even the most determined believer in the Good Lord. I had hoped to act like one of the early
Christian martyrs resisting evil until the last; but I proved to be of weaker stuff.
 To say, our honeymoon had not gotten off to a good start is an understatement. I was looking
forward to our first night together. My mother had taken me aside before the wedding and
explained my wifely duties in the boudoir. I was somewhat aghast at certain practices but Mother
assured me they were expected and I was not to refuse Percy.

“Do what he asks and he will be a happy husband. I have never refused your father anything
and he can be very demanding,” was my Mother’s advice. Mother’s descriptions of possible acts
I would be asked to perform in the marriage bed peaked my curiosity, making me intensely
curious how my husband would use me for his pleasure.

I was beyond excited at the prospect of losing my maidenhead to Percy and anxious to learn
what demands he would make. But as the Belgravia left the harbor, the sea became rough and
we both suffered mal de mer of the worst sort. Ill to the point of being unable to hold our head up,
we repaired to separate state rooms. The next day the storm worsened. It wasn’t until we were
about to dock in Liverpool that the ocean calmed. Percy and I maintained good humor in spite of
our disappointment. I was giddy with excitement at the prospect of becoming his wife in more
than name once we reached the Savoy.

From the first moment at the train station, I sensed something was amiss and I warned Percy
not to accept the transport offered by Mr. Hornsby. But my new husband ignored my misgivings
and happily agreed to go along. It wasn’t until we were headed out of London that Percy
objected. However, his protests were silenced by the appearance of a revolver in Mr. Hornsby’s
hand.

At Lord Walshingham’s the sudden appearance of Harry Pelham had proved to be quite a
shock. Harry‘s behavior was beyond rude, proving my decision not to accept his suit was a wise
one. The man is a cad and a mountebank. When we return to New York, I will see that he is
ignored by polite society. Percy was absolutely correct to end their friendship. The fact that I
argued with Percy against dropping him from our circle proves the inferior judgment of my sex in
such matters.

I was trying hard not to recall the ignominy visited on my by Lord Walshingham. The savage
beating had been eclipsed by the intense shame of being stripped naked in front of strangers.
And the abject humiliation of being turned upside down and having my most personal and private
parts violated by the Lord and Harry’s rude fingers was beyond anything I had experienced in my
eighteen years. I had been treated no better than a girl of the docks who pleasured sailors for a
few pennies.

The prospect of losing my virginity to Harry or his Uncle was too dreadful to contemplate.
Harry would make me his whore to humiliate Percy. I resolved that no matter who violates my
body, in my heart, I will be true to my beloved husband.

“Show her what’s expected, Liza’ said Mrs. Kline interrupting my guilty thoughts.

Without the slightest hesitation, the little blonde climbed onto the bed, flipped over on her back
and positioned her head between my outstretched legs. I howled in shame as her tongue
flickered across my most personal and private parts. I was being subjected to the most horrible
sin known to womankind. It was the one sin that could never be atoned for. I faced the prospect
of burning in hell fires for all eternity.

“She tastes like a lady,” said Liza performing in a practiced fashion indicating my sex was not
the first she had violated. The attack of her tongue upon my sex drew forth a flood of physical
pleasure reminding me of Satan’s power.

Liza’s hand was buried in her own sex, briskly rubbing the knob of flesh my mother referred to
as the love button. Mother had emphasized how important it was to my enjoyment of matrimony
and that I was to encourage Percy to kiss me there.

“Your father has quite the taste for mine and will spend hours kissing it,” was her comment. I
had been shocked that my beloved father had engaged in such a practice but Mother assured me
that it was permitted within the confines of the marriage bed.

I tried to move but Liza reached her arm around to grasp my buttocks. She held me firmly in
place while her tongue licked my button spreading warmth between my thighs. A sense of guilt
pervaded my being at the unexpected wave of pleasure her tongue brought me. I struggled
without success to clear my mind and body of such filth.

Mrs. Kline pulled my head back by brutally grabbing a handful of my hair. I felt the tendons in
my neck stretch as her tongue invaded my ear covering it with her saliva.

“Before this night is out, Mrs. Chapman, you are going to be doing the same thing to me as
Liza is doing to you,” whispered Mrs. Kline as she violated my aural cavity with the tip of her
tongue. Her hand found its way to my breast and her strong fingers flattened my nipple. At the
time, I thought it the most horrible fate a Christian woman could endure; but I was wrong.

“Never,” I said. Liza’s actions were not proving painful. In fact, they were having the opposite
effect. I recalled the words of Preacher Elliot that sin is both pleasurable and seductive, making it
all the harder to for a Christian to resist. God was severely testing me.

“Put the crocodiles on her, Mary,” said Mrs. Kline roughly slapping my breast.

“Yes, Mrs. Kline,” said the redheaded girl in her Irish brogue as she eagerly rushed to a nearby
chest and removed two cone shaped brass objects decorated in the motif of the killer reptile of
savage India.

Seconds later I felt the cold metal as Mary fitted the cone over my left breast while Mrs. Kline
offered a detailed explanation of how such a fiendish device came to be in an English country
manor.

“The tenth earl of Monmouth served with Clive in India during the Sepoy revolt. The
crocodiles were a gift from the Maharajah of Sind for helping him suppress the rebellion. After the
enemy was defeated and the rebels executed, General Dracut and the Maharajah made an
example of their wives, forcing them into bordellos for his majesty’s army.”

“But the wives and daughters of the rebel leaders were stripped naked in the town square of
Hyderabad. A great crowd gathered to watch them being gang raped by criminals. Each was
raped forty four times, a mystical number to the ungodly of the place. Then crocodiles like these
were applied to their tits and their pussies impaled on a blunt stake. They were left to rot in the
sun.”

“In gratitude, the Maharajah gave the General, a pair of crocodiles made of pure gold. They
hang in the trophy room. The ones you’ll be wearing are made of brass and have brought many
a haughty lady around to the Lord’s way of thinking.”

As Mrs. Kline recounted her tale, I felt the base of my nipple being captured in a loop of stout
thread then felt it drawn tight around the base.

“Got it,” said Mary threading the twine through the open narrow end of the cone.

“Mary’s quite the clever one when it comes to making a lady change her mind,” said Mrs.
Kline.
 When the twine appeared at the narrow end, she pulled it tight, drawing my breast into the
cone. I cried out in pain as the flesh was stretched well beyond comfort. I was amazed when my
tiny bud appeared horribly elongated at the open end.

“Got you,” said Mary releasing a trigger that caused a metal ring to snap shut imprisoning my
tendril of flesh. I sounded a loud wail of misery as the shock traveled through my breast. The
pain was absolutely hellish.

“Hurts like the devil, does it?” said Mary admiring her handiwork as I begged for her to remove
the hideous device.

“Oh, please, take if off. My father is rich and will pay you well,” I pleaded.

They ignored my offer.

“Now to put the old squeeze on your tit,” said Mary as she proceeded to turn a screw at the
base causing the cone circumference to narrow, crushing my breast, forcing it to assume the
same shape as its prison. I howled in misery as the metal compressed the flesh. I had heard
tales of the insidious nature of the torture instruments of heathen races but had not believed
anyone capable of such cruelty to a fellow Caucasian. Obviously, I was wrong.

Mary immediately attacked the other breast. The pain having been once experienced was no
less. I opened my mouth and screamed to the ceiling hoping someone would come to my aid.
The weight of he crocodiles pulled my breasts downward adding to my misery.

“Ready to beg for the privilege of licking my pussy?’ asked Mrs. Kline.

I still had the will to resist and I cried, “Never.”

Tears came to my eyes as I fought to retain control and resist giving in to their wishes. All the
while, Liza’s tongue played across my sex, combining hellish pain with sexual pleasure.
Something only the truly evil can produce.

Distraught and almost in a faint, I silently prayed to the Almighty for strength. Adding to my
despair was the realization that Liza’s lips and tongue had caused my vulva to grow wet with my
secretions. I desperately called on the Lord My Savior to help me maintain my virtue.

“Two to start, Mary,” said Mrs. Kline as she removed what I took to be a cat-o-nine from the
same chest where Mary found the crocodiles. A wave of terror passed over me as I watched Mrs.
Kline wield the whip against the chest.

“Two it is,” said Mary selecting two long needles from a flat wooden box resting on the bed. I
had not noticed it until that moment. I watched as Mary opened a bottle of dark liquid and coated
the tip of the needle.

At that moment, my back exploded in pain. Mrs. Kline had applied the cat with considerable
force. I howled as loud as I was capable, hoping in vain to bring someone to my rescue.

“Only a sample, Mrs. Chapman, only a wee sample of what’s in store for you,” whispered Mrs.
Kline in my ear.

She held one of the strands of the whip in front of my face. “See the tiny knots on the tip.”

Although my vision was clouded with pain, I observed the twisted leather. “Yes,” I whispered
as my body attempted to deal with its pain.
 “The filthy Turks came up with them. They strip the flesh right you’re your back,” said Mrs.
Kline. “Go ahead, Mary, let’s see how loud Mrs. Chapman can scream.”

“I always start at the tip,” said Mary smilingly as she positioned the point of the needle in a
hole near the end of the cone then began to push inward. I could only hope for divine
intervention that would cause Mrs. Kline and the others to come to their senses and stop their
torture.

But it was not to be. The agony of having my delicate flesh pierced exceeded anything I had
experienced. I felt the point break the surface and slowly travel through my breast. The bloody
tip emerged from the other side of the cone having found its companion hole. Immediately, I felt
an intense burning.

“Cobra venom,” said Mary holding the bottle for me to see.

“From the spitting cobra, the venom does not kill but is incredibly painful when it finds its way
under the skin,” added Mrs. Kline. “Another trick learned in India by the Governor’s family.”

I was in too much pain to protest as Mary penetrated the other breast.

“I’m practically drowning down here. She’s dripping like a Cheapside doxie,” said Liza from
between my legs.

“Let me see,” said Mrs. Kline reaching between my legs to coat her fingers with my bodily
secretions then forcing them into my mouth before putting them to her red lips.

“You taste ever so nice, Mrs. Chapman,” said Mrs. Kline licking her fingers in an act so
perverse my mind had difficulty grasping it.

“Now for five of my best,” said Mrs. Kline, before, once again, forcefully landing the cat on my
back.

I screamed in pain; but my plea for mercy was interrupted by a second strike that left me
almost paralyzed. After three additional blows, Liza applied a second pair of needles further
away from the tip. The flesh was thicker there and the pain greater. She twirled the needle
causing me no end of misery.

Mrs. Kline applied the cat with great vigor and for the first time, I felt my will to resist slipping
away. There is only so much a human body can stand. The third pair of pins was halfway on the
cone and the sensation of the sharp metal slowly working its way through the thickest part of my
flesh was unbearable. The burning brought about by the venom did not lessen over time.

Another five tastes of the cat and my will collapsed during the insertion of the next pair of
venomous pins. “Please, Mrs. Kline, I’ll do anything you want. But for the love of heaven, cease
hurting me. I cannot bare it.”

Mrs. Kline studied my face for a moment before speaking. “You better speak true because
any back sliding on your part and we have something even worse.”

“I promise to do what you ask,” I said unable to imagine what could be worse.

“You’ll eat my pussy just like Liza is eating yours?” asked Mrs. Kline.

“Yes, I’ll eat your pussy,” I said adopting her profanity to convince her of my sincerity. My will
to resist was completely gone. I was a broken woman. Satan had won.
 With their victory came magnanimity, I was quickly unbound and the horrible crocodiles
removed. A healing ointment was applied to my breasts and back.

“Here, this will help,” said Mrs. Kline handing me a large goblet of Bordeaux.

“I don’t drink spirits,” I responded refusing the outstretched glass.

“Drink or else, you go back where you were,” said Mrs. Kline placing the glass in my hand.

“I’ll drink,” I said hurrying the glass to my lips for a swallow.

The four of us sat on the bed drinking wine. The warmth of the drink eased my pain.

“You’ve never used your mouth to pleasure a woman?” asked Mrs. Kline.

“Never, I was raised to believe it a terrible sin,” I said.

“Then you have much to learn,” said Mrs. Kline embracing me in a sinful kiss.

I was far too terrified to resist. When her tongue found its way inside my mouth, my own
tongue greeted it and in an act of satanic perversion followed hers back into her mouth. I realized
at that point that Lucifer had triumphed. My feminine weakness was no match for his strength. I
resolved to give myself over to him with the hope that once clear of Ashcroft Hall, I would find a
church and submit myself to God’s just punishment for my wickedness.

I threw myself on Mrs. Kline causing her to fall back on to bed. It took all my strength to
spread her heavy thighs open giving me access to her sex. I took a position between her legs
and lowered my face to the mat of dark curly hairs that covered her mound.

Satan’s power was such that the musky odor of her female sex combined with the aroma of
her urine did not repel me. In fact, the stench filling my nostrils acted as an aphrodisiac, urging
me to lower my head and pass my tongue over her sex.

“I told you ladies of quality love to tip the velvet,” said Liza to her partner as they attacked my
rear with their mouths. This time it was Mary who squirmed under me. The sound of her lips
smacking against my labia filled the room. It was then that I felt Liza’s lip press against the
opening reserved for the Devil’s Kiss.

I was startled by the moans and sighs I sounded. Eager to please Mrs. Kline and avoid further
torture I did not hesitate to perform the act of sodomy.

“Do my bunghole,” said Mrs. Kline grasping her heavy legs at the knees and pulling them
toward her chest. In spite of her size, she was remarkably flexible. I marveled as her knees
reached her ears, rotating her bottom to the ceiling.

The rose of her anus came into my view. I transferred my mouth to the opening designed by
Almighty God for the elimination of bodily wastes and imitated a cat licking a pat of butter.

“Wet your finger and stick it in my bunghole,” said Mrs. Kline.

I was too far in the clutches of Lucifer to resist.

“Ah, that’s nice,” said Mrs. Kline her muscle squeezing my digit, causing her sphincter to open
and close around it. The unnaturalness of the act astounded me. The aroma of feces filled my
nostrils.
 “Now put your finger in your mouth and taste my shit,” said Mrs. Kline.

Later, I understood it was a test. If I had refused, they would have resumed my torture until I
agreed. I slipped the stained digit in my mouth and used my tongue to remove the traces of
excrement. When finished, I held the pristine digit up for her to observe.

Mrs. Kline lowered her legs. “Excellent, I see you have learned your lesson. Just remember
that from this time on, you are no longer a lady. Ladies don’t eat shit.”

My degradation was undeniable. From that day forward, when anyone referred to me as a
lady, I recalled the taste of Mrs. Kline’s excrement. Before the night was over, my fingers and
tongue were to find their way inside Liza and Mary’s rectum.

The bed became a cauldron of writhing female flesh as the four of us worked to pleasure
each other. I performed every act possible between women with the exception that my vagina
remained unfilled.

At some point, I felt my breath quicken and my heart race. Mary and Liza were attacking my
vulva with their warm mouths as their slippery digits penetrated my anus. Mrs. Kline’s mouth was
formed over one nipple as her fingers pressed and rolled the other, causing a sensation of half
pain and half pleasure. I heard myself scream as I flopped around on the bed like a swordfish
landing on the deck of father’s yacht. I blacked out for a few seconds.

When I recovered enough to open my eyes, Mrs. Kline said, “Got off, did we, Mrs. Chapman?”

“What happened? I asked wide eyed and amazed.

“You had an orgasm,” said Mary wiping my secretions off her chin.

“A powerful one, I’d say by the way your eyes rolled back up in your head. Wouldn’t you
agree, Mrs. Kline?” said Liza.

“Yes, it was first class. It appears that Mrs. Chapman is a whore. Because that was a whore’s
come if ever I saw one,” said Mrs. Kline.

I was beyond caring what appellation Mrs. Kline applied to my being.

“Can we get out the dildos, Mrs. Kline? I fancy a fuck,” said Liza.

“All right, but remember, nothing goes up Mrs. Chapman’s cunt. When Lord Walshingham
sticks his fingers in her pussy, he better find what he found last night. Or the three of us, will wind
up in the stables trying to fit Zeus’ cock in our holes,” said Mrs. Kline.

“He wouldn’t do that. Would he? That’s unnatural,” said Liza who had only recently joined the
serving staff at Ashcroft Hall.

“Ask Mabel in the kitchen what happened when she failed to follow the Governor’s orders,”
said Mrs. Kline.

Mary felt Mabel’s story needed telling immediately. “The Governor made the staff gather in
the courtyard. Mr. Hornsby and Digger stripped her naked and tied her to a hitching post. Mr.
Hornsby gave her thirty lashes with a buggy whip. Her backside didn’t have any skin when he
was done,”

“How awful,” said Liza.

 “The Governor wasn’t finished with her. They bound poor Mabel over a small table with her
rear hanging off and her wrists and ankles tied to the legs. Next, they brought Ramses, the
Governor’s new stallion, out along with Esmeralda, a mare in season.”

Mrs. Kline felt the need to add to the story. “Ramses was randy as they come. His eyes had
that crazed look, a stallion gets, when he smells a mare’s pussy that is ripe for a fucking.”

Mary continued. “Then Mr. Smythe, the Governor’s equerry, puts poor Mabel under Ramses.
He positions the animal’s cock at the entrance to her cunt and steps back. I can still remember
her scream when the beast entered her. He gives it to her a dozen times before he released his
love juice,” said Mary.

“Ramses’ cock was as long as my arm and just as thick. Yet it went in all the way,” added Mrs.
Kline.

I decided that Percy and I had fallen in with the most demoniac of people. The idea of a
stallion copulating with a girl was too horrible to contemplate. Was there no limit to the depravity
of the denizens of Ashcroft Hall? Yet, I held my peace and merely commented, “It must have hurt
terribly, poor Mabel.”

“There was a puddle this wide of Mabel’s blood mixed with Ramses spunk lying on the
cobblestones when we carried the poor girl inside,” said Mrs. Kline holding her hands apart.

“You could stick your fist in her pussy and not touch the sides,” said Mary.

“But she lived,” I asked?

“Yes, Mabel was from Winchell Downs, a tough bunch that lot. She was up and about inside
a month,” said Mary.

Mrs. Kline reached between my legs to gently explore my vagina. Her fingers traced across
my still intact hymen. “So if we don’t want the skin wiped off your backside then have your sex
split apart by a stallion, we need to make sure that this is what the Governor feels tomorrow when
he deflowers Mrs. Chapman.”

“Then Mrs. Chapman will be the one to wear the dildo,” said Mary pulling what I could only
assume was a faux penis from the chest. The dildo was center mounted on a triangle of leather.
Each point of the triangle was connected to belting. I had never seen such a contraption. I could
only assume it was of French origin, given the perverse and wicked nature of the citizens of that
country.

“Yes, you can be the man, Mrs. Chapman and give us all a proper fucking,” said Mary.

Moments later they had buckled a leather harness around my waist and thighs, fixing the India
Rubber dildo firmly to my groin. Curious, I grasped my artificial manhood, amazed at its length
and girth. The surface was covered with sizable bumps and point. While the shaft was skin
colored, the larger, bulbous head was reddish and flared back over the shaft.

Surely, this was some hellish exaggeration of what I could expect from Percy. My hand could
not encompass its circumference. That such a sizeable instrument could fit inside me or any
woman seemed impossible.

“I’ll go first,” said Mrs. Kline taking a position on her knees and elbows presenting me with her
broad bottom. “Help her, Liza. My pussy is starving for cock.”
 I took a kneeling position at her rear and grasped her hips. Liza guided the cock into Mrs.
Kline’s entrance then whispered into my ear, “She likes it rough so fuck her as hard as you can
go.”

My hands tightened their hold as I prepared to strike. Thrusting forward with maximum effort,
the dildo plunged inward as Mrs. Kline bellowed a cry that combined both pain and pleasure.

“Oh, for the love of Jesus, that felt good,” gasped Mrs. Kline as I wedged myself between her
buttocks seeking maximum depth.

Liza squirmed underneath Mrs. Kline to pleasure her with her mouth as I attacked with the
dildo. Mary appeared at my side holding a fat cone shaped object. Pointed on the end, it
broadened to several inches before returning to a narrow neck that connected to a flat handle.

“Help me spread her ass, Mrs. Chapman,” said Mary pulling apart Mrs. Kline’s buttocks to
expose her anus.

I continued to thrust as I complied with Mary’s request. Without hesitating, Mary applied her
tongue to the barely open anus. Having moistened the opening, she inserted first one then a
second finger inside.

“Stretch my asshole open, you darling girls,” said Mrs. Kline wiggling her bottom to signal her
approval of that most perverted act.

As Mary positioned the point of the cone at the center of Mrs. Kline’s anus, I came to
understand her prior efforts were intended to relax the orifice to accept the cone. I watched as
the muscles in Mary’s arm contracted to apply the physical force needed for insertion. I marveled
as the narrow opening slowly stretched to accept the every widening diameter.

Loud cow like moans sounded from Mrs. Kline as the cone moved inward. I would have
thought it would do her injury but that was not to be. It was not long before I sensed a connection
between the massive dildo I was repeatedly thrusting into her anus and the object in her rectum.

“I am in whore’s heaven,” loudly exclaimed Mrs. Kline as the widest part of the cone slipped
past her sphincter and the wrinkled flesh closed around the narrow neck.

“Jiggle it back and forth like this,” said Mary showing me how to stimulate Mrs. Kline’s rectum.

“I grasped the small handle and used a combination of turns and pulses to stimulate her
bowels, all the while thrusting hard into her vagina. The sound of our thighs slapping provided
background to Mrs. Kline’s loud sighs and moans.

“Keep fucking her, Mrs. Chapman, while I suck her dugs,” said Mary before partially
disappearing underneath Mrs. Kline.

Mrs. Kline’s orgasm was neither quiet nor short. A complete rotation of the anal plug handle
triggered it. A long string of the foulest profanity ever sounded by a civilized female escaped her
lips as we three held on to her twisting form. Our perspiration covered flesh became married to
one another. I sensed violent muscular contractions from within her body that much to my
amazement were answered by my own contortions. This continued for several moments before
we collapsed completely winded and as covered in sweat as a hunter ridden to the hounds.

“That was glorious,” said Mrs. Kline touching her fingers to her flowing sex then brings them
to her lips. She repeated the act for each of us and I found no reason to object when her liquor
coated fingers slipped inside my mouth.
 I was forced to admit that I had given myself over to Satan and there was possibility of
returning to my former state. I was a ruined woman whose feet had left the path of
righteousness, perhaps never to return.

“I prefer to ride,” said Mary pressing me into the supine position.

Liza steadied my faux penis as Mary straddled me. She deftly placed the tip at her entrance
then without a moment’s hesitation, lowered her body engulfing the massive shaft.

“Fills a girl right up,” said Mary reaching between her legs to stroke her love button.

Mrs. Kline and Liza applied their mouth to Mary’s breasts and it was not long before she
experienced an orgasm.

“My turn,” said Liza taking Mary’s place.

We rested a few moments after Liza screamed her way to a powerful orgasm.

I lay there resting between Liza and Mrs. Kline while Mary returned to the chest and withdrew
a dildo similar to the one I was still wearing other than the shaft was longer and thinner.

“I think Mrs. Chapman deserves a good ass fucking for being such a good sport about
everything,” said Mary holding up the dildo for Mrs. Kline to see.

Mrs. Kline thought for a moment before answering. “We have to be careful and not go into
the wrong hole.”

Liza removed my dildo as Mary with Mrs. Kline’s assistance stepped into hers. I was placed
on my knees and elbows.

“I’ll protect her pussy with my mouth,” said Mrs. Kline slipping underneath me.

“Care to nibble,” said Liza placing her sex at my mouth. I answered by passing my tongue
through her valley, coating it with essence.

Mrs. Kline’s expertise at cunnilingus was unquestionably the product of great experience. I
shivered with pleasure as her lips performed their magic. My own tongue imitated her
movements. Liza responded with loud sighs and little squeals of delight at my efforts.

A wet mouth and probing tongue attacked my anus. The sensitive flesh of my sphincter
responded to the insertions of Mary’s tongue and fingers. It was not long before I felt a blunter
object seek entrance.

“Take a deep breath, Mrs. Chapman,” said Mary as she began to push the dildo inside my
rectum.

It was a telling moment. A short period of moderate pain was followed by growing pleasure.
“Oh, that feels good,” escaped from my lips as Mary began to slowly stroke her rubber cock deep
inside my bowel.

“I think our American cousin likes to be fucked in her shitter,” said Mary.

Perversion had won the day. I responded like the whore they had made me. “That’s right,
fuck my shitter and fuck it hard.”

My climax was not long in coming. Mrs. Kline’s skillful mouth, the presence of Liza’s wet,
warm vagina against my mouth, and above all, the intense sensation of a cock deep inside my
body proved irresistible.

I recall the way the muscles of my sex began to convulse. I was drinking from Liza’s vagina;
its sticky fluids coated my face. Mrs. Kline’s tongue circled my love button producing the most
intense sensations. Something inside me released and I experienced my most powerful orgasm
of the night. It only ended with my exhaustion.

I woke up hours later, curled against Mrs. Kline’s backside. Mary was pressed against my rear
and Liza was alongside her. I quickly fell back into a deep asleep and did not wake until
afternoon.

Chapter 04 – Lord and Lady Atherton

“Lord Cranmere will be there, Henry,” gasped Lady Atherton after removing my saliva-coated
cock from her mouth. “He’s going to bring the Stapleton twins and Rodney Underwood.

“So will Sir Oswald Mosley and Lady Diana,” added Lord Atherton.

I was surprised to learn my Uncle dined with Great Britain’s best known Fascist couple. The
divorce of Diana Mitford Guinness and her subsequent marriage to the most notorious man in
England had been the scandal of the year. Diana was one of the famous Mitford sisters. She
was strikingly beautiful and famously depraved. I’d seen pictures of her in the tabloids and the
possibility of fucking her hardened my cock which at present was wedged in my favorite Aunt’s
throat.

Drool cascaded down onto her aged breasts. She’d just finished a round of stabbing my
manhood into the opening of her throat before taking it deep in her gullet and keeping it there until
her body’s demand for oxygen overwhelmed her lust.

She was one of those rare females to whom sex was more than mere pleasure. In her psyche
it resembled air or water. She consumed sex and her appetite always verged on starvation.

“You should let Rodney Strong take her virginity,” said Lord Atherton as he handed his
trousers to Malcolm, his valet and fellow sodomite. He was casually getting undressed to join me
in fucking his wife, my maternal aunt, whose sexual proclivities could best be described as
insatiable and perverted to the extreme. “Man is equipped like a stallion. He’ll split her open and
she’ll bleed like the Mapes girl. That was a first fuck one does not forget easily. What was the
young cunt’s first name, Cecile?”

I was almost asleep when Aunt Cecile arrived from London with her husband, Charlie. My
uncle, Lord Walshingham, had said his youngest sister and her husband would not be along until
tomorrow but they had decided to drive down early. That was doubtless due to my dear aunt’s
love of my cock which at the moment, she was once again pressing deep into her throat, making
the distinctive of a phallus penetrating that narrow passage.

As was her want upon arriving, she threw off her clothes and jumped in my bed. Moving
quickly for a woman of fifty five, she peeled down the bed clothes, raised my night shirt and
noisily engulfed my cock in her mouth.

We’d begun as was her want with a spray of piss to coat her throat and in her words, “Prime
her pump.” Fortunately, I’d consumed several glasses of claret during our humiliation of the
Chapmans so I took a deep breath and released my bladder. The content was both voluminous
and strong to my Aunt’s delight. She favored the golden yellow variety and didn’t hesitate to
complain of weak urine

“Delightful, strong with some body,” complemented my Aunt smacking her lips after gulping
down a dozen mouthfuls, enough to give her belly a noticeable roundness. “There is nothing
more disappointing than the taste of weak piss.”

I had not realized my earlier encounter with Percy and Gwyneth had left me so randy. My
Uncle Walshingham had generously suggested that I repair to his boudoir with Cathy and him
where the two of us would gallop the whore until she collapsed. Afraid my Uncle’s ambitions with
Cathy exceeded his capacities; I pleaded fatigue and retired to my room. In five lust filled days
aboard the Belgravia, I had not managed to ride that mare to a state of exhaustion.

And on three occasions, her jockeys included, in addition to myself, the purser, cabin steward,
and an engine room stoker named Caleb, renowned for the size of his member and its ability to
remain erect until the job was done. Throughout our quadruple assault on her virtue, Cathy
seized on the rare opportunity when her mouth was not occupied to express, in terms so profane
a fish monger’s wife would have blushed in shame, her desire for us to fuck her harder.

Similar to my Aunt, she had a taste for the bladder’s drink when it had reached full strength.
She proudly displayed her appetite by kneeling before us holding a basin under her chin to catch
any of the golden nectar she failed to swallow. Once we four had emptied our reservoirs, she
smiled, proclaimed, “Bottoms up,” and quaffed the basin’s contents in a single long drink. I found
her appetite for piss most impressive. Her whorish talents had been a welcome bonus in my
plan to transform the Chapman’s idyllic romance and marriage into something else entirely

Percy’s loutish behavior toward me had driven my desire for revenge. A man I once called my
best friend had not only elbowed me aside to acquire his bride but had done everything possible
to diminish my standing in New York society. The injury to my feelings was severe and
compounded by their efforts to banish me from respectable company.

Doors previously open at my arrival were now steadfastly shut. The Chapmans and Percy in
particular had conspired to pull the welcome mat from under my feet. Reversing this sad state of
affairs was my ultimate goal. That it included the humiliation of Percy and the defilement of his
bride was an added bonus.

All this from one I had shared many fond memories of youth. Percy and I had stared into each
other’s face as Groton’s upperclassmen had sodomised our bowels. That first night after we
applied a healing salve to each other’s ravaged rosebud we had cried ourselves asleep in each
other’s arms.

As a true friend, I had never reported Percy’s preference for his own sex not that I did not
occasionally dally with my own gender. In a moment of pure whimsy while the other’s slept, I
orally sampled the stoker’s wares and found myself most impressed with the prodigious amount
of semen that filled my mouth. Percy Chapman was not the only Groton alum who acquired a
taste for cock; although I believe Percy’s appetite far exceeds my own.

My plan had gotten off to an unexpectedly fortuitous start. Mother Nature joined my
conspiracy as rough seas prevented Percy from enjoying Gwyneth’s maidenhead. Tomorrow
night, he would witness her deflowering. After that I had designs that would place the Chapman’s
under my control for the future.

My belief that underlying Gwyneth’s genteel nature and Christian upbringing was a slattern
waiting to be released had been encouraged by the wetness of her sex when my Uncle and I felt
for her hymen. In spite of the circumstances, there was a quickening of breath and the slightest
of returned pressure indicating the presence of our digits in the entrance of her vagina was
welcomed at some level. Uncle Walshingham had opined that once properly cock-broken she
would prove a true whore and amiable to the worst perversions known to the planet. My Uncle is
a man of the world and vastly knowledgeable in such matters; so I pray he is right.

My Aunt took a break from choking herself with my dick to make a request. “How about
another squirt of piss for your favorite Aunt?”

I relaxed the muscles inhibiting my flow and released the golden liquid to its welcoming vessel.
A few swallows later, my Aunt was most pleased with my contribution to her belly.

“You know, Henry, I was the first to drink your piss,” said Aunt Cecile, her lips stained with
golden drops. “Even before your dear mother.”

“Really, I wasn’t aware of that,” I answered being unaware of the significance of being first.

“You were only days old. Your Mother was still recovering from your birth. And the nurse was
occupied with tending to her so I offered to care for you. You soiled your diaper and I was
changing it when you peed into the air like a public fountain. I couldn’t resist the temptation to be
the first to drink your baby pee. For an infant, you produced quite a few mouthfuls.”

“What a wonderful story, Aunt Cecile,” I said feeling touched.

“Now, give your old Auntie the kind of rogering, she deserves. Charlie, hurry up. I need my
ass fucked too.”

I was psychologically preparing myself to begin the rough treatment she preferred. I am not
prone to violence but to please my Aunt I would have to set aside my normally gentle nature and
wail the daylights out of the good woman. My dear aunt’s idea of a good fuck always required a
little blood to be spilt.

“Choke on it, Aunt,” I said grabbing her head in one hand to force my cock down her throat
while the fingers of my other hand closed off her nostrils. I held her immobile until she began to
shake with suffocation. Upon release, she gasped for air as saliva poured over her lower lip. Her
smile indicated my brutal treatment was most welcome.

My grandfather, unlike many of the aristocracy, did not neglect the sexual education of his two
daughters. He imported a tantric priestess from India to train them in the sexual practices of the
orient. Beginning at age twelve the two girls had been educated in all the perversities found in
the Empire. Their knowledge of ways to pleasure a man or woman was boundless and relied on
positions and techniques developed over thousands of years. Ashcroft Hall’s library was filled
with rare manuscripts detailing such matters.

The first time I witnessed my mother engulfing my father’s penis, only stopping when her face
was pressed hard into his groin was one of my proudest moments growing up. I truly marveled
at the cobra like way her tongue slithered over her lower lip to caress his balls as her finger found
its natural home in his rectum.

My father, Marcus Pelham, appreciated my mother’s talents and introduced her to the sexual
practices of the local Cherokee whose rapacious appetite for the wives of white men amused him
greatly. They often attended ceremonies of the tribes where Mother along with father’s sisters,
Margaret and Amanda, were staked out naked on the ground for all the men of the tribe to enjoy.
During the wild savage dances that followed their prolonged rape, young boys and even the
natives’ dogs participated in their ravishment.

Sitting naked in the sweat lodge watching my father enjoy the chief’s daughters while listening
to the moans and pleas of my mother and paternal aunts are among my earliest and fondest
childhood memories.
 Unfortunately, Mother grew bored with the limitations of Lubbock and decamped to New York
with its greater possibilities for amusements of the flesh.

My own tastes had become more American and in my British cousin’s view less refined. In
Harlem, I am an avid participant in the sweaty, grunting, animalistic sex I experienced in the arms
of Negro winches and the occasional black man. I firmly hold to the belief that the sexual
capacity of people of color exceeds that of the white race.

There was something I found irresistible about the sub human manner they approached
breeding, representative of primitive man before being despoiled by civilization. I planned to
introduce Percy to Simone’s older brother Daniel when we returned stateside. I wager Daniel’s
cock will make him forget his love for the long dead Charlie Webber.

My darling aunt demonstrated her attention to detail by inserting a moistened index finger in
my rectum as she once more removed my cock to continue the earlier conversation. “Charlie,
Henry wants to do the honors himself. The stupid cunt threw him over for Percival Chapman and
revenge is absolutely mandatory.

My Aunt was in truth wrong. I did not seek Gwyneth’s humiliation but Percy’s. We had been
roommates and best friends at Groton. We had been together that fateful night when Charlie
Webber called us to the prefect’s office to train us in sodomy.

I had kept Percy’s secret all these years including his predilection at Yale for a tart whose
repertoire included donning a faux penis and ramming it home while Percy repeatedly cried,
“Fuck me. Charlie. Fuck your Sarah.”

Nor was it the fact that he captured the hand of Gwyneth’s and the possibility of her family’s
money. While I was nowhere near as rich as Percy, I was well fixed and lacked for nothing.

My desire for revenge was based on the manner in which he treated me after he won her
hand. His friendship had turned to enmity. His family had spread rumors about my comportment,
seeking to deny me entrance to society. He had actually paid a flack to publish false stories in
the gossip columns.

Therefore when I learned of their plans to depart on the Belgravia immediately after the
wedding ceremony, I decided to act. Fortunately, I had an ally in Cathy, Gwyneth’s personal
maid. Cathy, due to some perceived injustice at the hands of her mistress, had proven all too
willing to join me in the plot. That combined with her eagerness to engage without hesitation in
uninhibited sexual intercourse made her an ideal confederate.

“Better let her up, Henry, she’s turning blue,” said Lord Atherton pointing out that I had become
distracted by thoughts of revenge. My poor Aunt’s throat was filled with hard cock and once
again, my fingers had closed off her nostrils.

After a deep inhale to fill her starved lungs, my Aunt continued the conversation while wiping
saliva from her eyes. “Her name was Virginia Mapes and she was barely sixteen. She’s Lord
and Lady Smiley’s oldest girl. Rodney might ruin Gwyneth with that weapon of his,” said Aunt
Cecile. Her free hand was between her legs, massaging her sex. “Poor Virginia could not walk
the next day. She strained a muscle in her groin.”

“But the cry she made when young Rodney broke her dam was positively glorious. And the
eye-popping expression on her face was one I shall never forget. It was extraordinary. That will
be all, Malcolm,” said Lord Atherton dismissing the valet.

“Very well, Milord,” said Malcolm.

 Knowing Malcolm’s predilection for rogering his bettors, I took the opportunity to add to Percy’s
disgrace. “Malcolm, Mr. Percy Chapman is in the care of Mr. Hornsby and his mates. If you’re
feeling a wee bit randy, you might drop by and slip your cock into Mr. Chapman’s asshole. I’m
sure he would appreciate it ever so much. Give him my complements.”

“Thank you, Mr. Henry, it will be my pleasure,” said Malcolm bowing as he left.

I did not doubt that Malcolm would seek out Percy and add his cock to the population who’d
enjoyed Percy’s butt hole. My Uncle had informed me one of Mr. Hornsby’s men was a talented
dresser who had worked in the Strand. His mission was to transform Percy into the girl he truly
desired to be.

“I’ve been waiting for a special occasion to put these on the old girl.” said Lord Atherton
approaching the bed holding a small wooden box finished in polished walnut.

“What is it?” I asked aware of Charlie’s love of intercourse that combined pain and pleasure.
He and my Aunt were well suited for each other.

“Weighted tit clamps, put one on,” said Charlie opening the lid to reveal the handsomely made
instruments of sexual torture.

“Where did you get them,” I asked removing one of the objects which proved surprisingly
heavy.

“India and they are lead weighted,” said Lord Atherton answering my unasked question.

As Charlie took position at my Aunt’s rear, lining up his cock head with her vagina, I reached to
take hold of her nipple which from hard use was a good inch long. I pulled it outward, twisting the
flesh, and creating a corkscrew effect. When the flesh was fully wrapped on itself, I allowed the
jagged teeth of the clamp to snap shut.

The impact was quickly felt as my Uncle and I were forced to hold her in place to keep her
from ripping off the offending instrument. Her whimpers of pain reminded me of the sounds
emanating from my parents bedroom during my formative years. Is there any sound so sweet to
the ear, as the cries of sexual pain from a dear female relative?

Satisfied the clamp was properly placed, I released the heavy round ball causing my Aunt to
once more shriek in misery. Her dugs had grown at least an inch and tiny droplets of blood
appeared where the sharp points of the clamp had broken the flesh.

I handed the other clamp to my Uncle so he could do the honors. Once she was fully
engrossed in double pain, we began to fuck her in earnest. Uncle and I frequently switched
positions as we pleasured our cocks in her orifices. Since we were both men of slender
physique, we were able to position her orifices vertically then combine our cocks as one. Our
married phalluses stretched her openings, adding to her discomfort. After stretching her vagina
savagely open, we moved on to her anus. Her screams testified to our success in pleasing her.

In my view, there is nothing more manly that the feel of another man’s cock alongside your
own, as you plumb the depths of a woman’s ass. I cannot conceive of any greater form of male
comradeship. My Uncle and I stared in each other’s eyes savoring the manly bond between us.
We embraced and kissed as we slowly raised and lowered our bodies seeking to maximize her
penetration. Our hands circled one another’s waist, our fingers finding the way to each other’s
sphincter. Auntie’s tortured cries encouraged our effort.

I made a mental note that before I left Europe, Percy and I would enjoy his Gwyneth in such a
fashion. Our friendship would be rekindled by the commingling of our cocks inside her rectum,
an unmatchable act of male bonding.

Having two cocks in her ass proved the tippler as first my Aunt and then my Uncle and I
climaxed. We spewed our seed into her gaping aperture. Lord Atherton proved himself a true
raconteur of love’s liquids by placing his mouth on Aunt Cecile’s open sphincter and extracting the
contents.

He quickly rolled my still orgasming Aunt onto her back and spit our combined semen into her
mouth while brutally yanking off the breast clamps.

Even those in the furthest wing of Ashcroft Hall heard her scream of pain and pleasure.

Exhausted I fell asleep between the two.

Chapter 05 Dinner

After my terrible ordeal with Mrs. Kline and her minions, I fell into a deep sleep. They
awakened me toward noon with kisses and caresses, showing far too great a familiarity for
servants. One of the evils of sapphism is that it breaks down the natural order of things, causing
those who serve to consider themselves the equal of their masters. However, I returned their
kisses with ardor, mindful of their superior will and capacity to do me harm.

The prior day’s events had served to unmoor me from my natural inclinations toward morality
and subservience to my Lord’s commandments. My lack of worldly experience led me to
overestimate my own steadfastness in the cause of righteousness and underestimate the power
of Satan to bend me to his will. The experience had severely shaken my faith. Like
Nebuchadnezzar, I had been weighed in the balance and found wanting.

I was served lunch where to my surprise I found myself ravenously hungry. Mrs. Kline even
remarked upon it. “Our unbred she wolf has a good appetite. Well eat hardy, Milady, for tonight
you will feast on cock and cock will feast on you.”

After lunch I was taken to more suitable quarters where I found my maid, Cathy, waiting as if
nothing had happened. Under normal circumstances I would have terminated her employment on
the spot informing her she would get no reference from me but I was too overwhelmed to take
action against the disobedient and unfaithful servant. She prattled on while she prepared my
bath.

“Lord Walshingham is quite the swordsmen. It’s that long at least,” said Cathy illustrating the
length of the Lord’s manhood with her hands. Such conversation would have been unthinkable
before yesterday. I had often scolded Cathy for being too outspoken. Her recent behavior forced
me to reconsider my dismissal of the rumors that she allowed other male servants and even my
Uncle Simon to enjoy her favors.

“Did you have relations with him,” I asked while she removed my dressing gown? I knew the
answer already but found myself surprisingly eager to learn of her experience.

“Oh yes, Milady, his Lordship had me twice, once in my pussy and the other, he insisted on
sticking it in my bum. He gave me a good rogering,” said Cathy with a wistful sigh indicating she
practiced fornication without the slightest guilt. I took that as proof of her sinful nature and the
fact she was not raised in a Christian home.

“He sodomised you,” I asked taken back by the thought a member of the aristocracy would
perform such a perverted act on a servant. I had always considered buggery the province of the
lower classes, especially those whose livelihood brought them in close contact with animals; but
obviously I was mistaken. Sodomy in all its forms was as common as the air I breathed at
Ashcroft Hall.

Her answer was interrupted when she observed the effects of Mrs. Kline’s punishments on my
person. “Oh my God, Miss, you must have refused Mrs. Kline,” said Cathy noting the stripes
across my back and the marks upon my breasts. “Lord Walshingham said she would whip the
hide off your back if you didn’t cooperate.”

I fell into Cathy’s arms sobbing as I recounted the night’s happening in a rush. “They whipped
me to make me comply with their depraved desires. They did terrible things to my breasts with
pins and this torture instrument from the Punjab. I thought I would go out of my mind with the
pain. I gave into their demands and performed unspeakable crimes against my nature. I was
made to put my mouth on their sex to pleasure them.”

“Miss Gwyneth, you must not refuse them anything because they’ll take great delight in
making you suffer until you do it anyway. So what’s the use of saying No when you are ultimately
going to say Yes,” said Cathy closely examining my damaged breasts.

“Did you hear anything about Mr. Chapman?” I asked between sobs although I must admit that
Cathy’s gentle fingers on my bosom were causing my sex to feel warm and even, heaven help
me, wet. Mrs. Kline and the others had rendered me a debauchee that I feared no amount of
prayer and penitence would overcome. It was as Minister Woollcott preached, that once under
the spell of the devil, the way back is hard if not impossible. My own hand descended to touch
my love button, causing a wave of pleasure to sweep over me. There was no doubt I was under
the control of the fallen angel.

“I heard Mr. Henry Pelham and his Lordship discussing Mr. Percy. He spent the night in the
servant’s quarters with Mr. Hornsby and his fellows,” said Cathy checking my bath water.

“Why would he be with the servants,” I asked shocked that a man of my husband’s lofty
position would be so ill used.

“Sodomy, Miss,” said Cathy. “Mr. Hornsby is a sodomite and prefers his men dressed as
women.”

“Oh poor Percy, he will not survive such unmanly behavior,” I cried out as I collapsed in a
nearby chair.

“Ma’am, he’ll be all right. According to Mr. Henry, sodomy was a daily occurrence at their prep
school and the Master enjoyed it immensely,” said Cathy. “He was a great favorite of the Head
Prefect. Mr. Chapman was very upset when he was killed in the war.”

My first thought was that Henry was attempting to damage my Percy’s impeccable reputation.
“That’s a despicable lie. Mr. Chapman would never willingly engage in such sinful practices. Did
you hear anything else?”

“I overheard Mr. Henry telling his Lordship that he had secretly looked in on Mr. Chapman
disporting with Mr. Hornsby,” said Cathy.

“And what did he see?”

“Mr. Chapman was dressed as a French tart dancing and singing for the other three. Mr.
Henry said Mr. Chapman was a true faggot and loved all forms of sodomy, especially having a big
one in his bum and another in his mouth.”
 I felt faint for a moment then decided I must be strong for my husband “What an awful lie.
Let’s hear no more of this matter. When I see my husband, he will dispel Mr. Henry’s words as
nothing more than the calumnies of a man jealous of Percy’s position in society and the esteem
others hold him in.”

“Whatever you say, Milady, now let’s get you bathed. Dinner is at eight o’clock and I was told
to have you rested and ready,” said Cathy.

The warm water and French milled soap cleaned the accumulated filth off my body and eased
my bruises and cuts. However, it could not cleanse the moral filth from my soul. In less than
twenty four hours, I had gone from a respectable bride to a wanton who responded to the touch of
her female servant. I had sunk as low as the sinful inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah; yet Lord
Walshingham and Harry were not finished with Percy and me. I shudder to contemplate what
another day would bring.

It was after I was bathed and lying on the bed clad only in a warm dressing gown that I asked
Cathy to hold and comfort me. That had not been my practice in the past but I felt the need for
solace even from someone who had betrayed me. Cathy displayed her wanton nature by slipping
off her dress and camisole allowing her bare body to press against my back.

“I could tell you need a bit of cuddling,” said Cathy allowing one arm to wrap around me and
slip inside my gown to rest on my breast.

“What will happen to me tonight, Cathy? Did you overhear them discussing my fate?” I
asked.

“Yes, Mistress, your deflowering will be undertaken by Mr. Rodney Strong, Lord Burkett’s
youngest son. The Stapleton twins will assist Mr. Strong and be in charge of the event. Mr.
Chapman will be there along with the other members of the dinner party to view the ceremony,”
said Cathy.

The prospect that my deflowering would be made a spectacle, viewed by others who would
doubtlessly recount to an even wider audience was beyond my comprehension. My reputation
would be ruined! “I will be ravished in front of everyone by this Mr. Strong. How perfectly awful!
Is he a friend of Mr. Henry?”

Cathy caressed my breast and planted small intimate kisses on my neck and shoulders as she
answered, “More of an acquaintance actually.”

Once again, I found it impossible to control my wantonness. My nipples became hard and
extended as my sex grew warm. Satan sent his liquor to my vulva from what must be an
inexhaustible supply. Cathy’s fingers glided over my love button, teasing the opening to my virgin
vagina stimulating its appetite. In my mind, it took on the role of another hungry mouth begging to
be fed. Still, the choice of this Mr. Strong struck me as odd. “I thought Mr. Henry would rape me
to humiliate my husband. Why was this Mr. Strong chosen?” I asked.

“I gather it has to do with the size of his manhood,” said Cathy slipping the tip of her tongue
into my ear causing a wave of pleasure to sweep over my body, even my toes curled. “It is
reported to be of a prodigious size. Apparently, Mr. Strong is frequently employed by parents of
young girls to deflower them while others look on. According to one of the maids, he deflowered
a young girl here at Ashcroft Hall a fortnight ago. She was only sixteen. They say it was quite the
sight with his cock so large and her pussy hole so small. She fainted dead away when he split
her cherry. They say you could hear it pop from across the room. But after she was revived and
given a brandy, she responded with enthusiasm to his thrusts making her parents proud.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” I said dejectedly. I was going to lose my honor to a perfect
stranger. How absolutely beastly for Percy and me! I so much wanted Percy to be my first. My
marriage would never be the exclusive union of two kindred souls that I had hoped. “Will there be
many others there?”

“Yes, but I can’t remember their names except for Lord Cranmere and his party. Apparently,
someone famous named Sir Oswald Mosley and his wife, Lady Diana Mitford Guinness, will
attend. Sir Oswald is a politician and they say his wife is the most notorious and beautiful woman
in all of England.”

Cathy’s hands traveled between my breasts and my sex, inflaming the embers of desire to
where hot tongues of fire consumed by soul. I considered objecting to such familiarity but when I
opened my mouth only a sigh of pleasure issued and I placed my hand on the back of hers to
signal her touch, no matter how profane, was welcome. I relaxed back onto the bed, arching my
back, and allowed Cathy to move down and apply her mouth to my sex. Later, she climbed on
me to allow my tongue to invade her vagina while she returned the favor. I wrapped my arms
around her buttocks, hugging her tightly to my mouth. Her fluids covered my face as I forced it
between the folds of her vulva. The warmth of her flesh upon my face propelled me into a state
of ecstasy, overwhelming any reservations about my actions. I had passed from a state of grace
to one of lust.

We stayed thus until I felt a powerful, undeniable wave of pleasure wash over me. The first
wave was followed by others, each one crashing onto my being until I was exhausted and out of
breath. Cathy must have experienced the same because we writhed together, rolling across the
bed, giving and receiving pleasure, exulting the sin that date not speak its name.

When we were totally spent, I fell into a deep sleep with Cathy’s arms around me. It was
almost dark when two woman of great and identical beauty arrived. They introduced themselves
as Jenny and Cora Stapleton, twin daughters of the Duke of Somerset.

“We will be directing the taking of your virginity. This is what you will wear,” said Jenny holding
up a diaphanous gown which would display all my most private parts.

“But first we must fix your hair and darken your nipples and vulva,” said Cora. “That will make
you more exciting to the eye.”

Utterly defeated and quiescent, I sat quietly while they rouged my nipples and labia.

Their ministering to my appearance was not without a moment of humiliation. As Cora was
rubbing the substance over my labia changing the pink flesh to vermillion, her finger disappeared
into my vagina.

“Oh, you naughty girl, your sweet pussy is positively gushing,” said Cora withdrawing the
glistening digit and holding it up for all to see before placing it in her mouth and remarking, “You
taste as sweet as honey.”

I had no response. Lucifer had gained dominion over my soul. I was destined to be his
creature that night and perhaps for all nights. I could only hope that my Savior, Jesus Christ,
would take pity on me and return me to a state of grace.

“You have beautiful skin,” said Jennifer applying makeup to my areola.

“Your breasts are exquisite. I’m sure all the gentlemen will want to suckle them,” said Cora.

“And we ladies too,” said Jennifer laughing as she reached down to plant a kiss upon the
areola.
 “What do you think,” asked Cora when they were finished and I stood before a mirror?

The effect was startling. My ruby breasts and sex stood out underneath the gown which
concealed nothing. A rope of fine pearls had been intertwined in my hair.

“You look incredibly beautiful, Miss Gwyneth, like a goddess,” said Cathy.

“Every man present will take you. That’s traditional,” said Cora pushing an errant curl in place.

“Someone’s pussy will be sore tomorrow,” said Jennifer laughing. “But that is as it should be.”

A half hour later, I entered the glittering main dining room where over forty guests were already
seated; but they immediately jumped to their feet and began clapping. I took heart from their
enthusiastic applause and shouts of approval of my appearance, wanton as it may be.

The twins escorted me to the head of the table where I was seated between Lord
Walshingham and Harry Pelham who I refused to acknowledge. However, that did not prevent
him from placing his hand between my legs to feel my sex.

“You’re wetter than the blackest whore in Harlem,” said Harry massaging my sex. He even
slipped a finger inside my opening to reconfirm the presence of my hymen.

Lack of knowledge rendered his comparison meaningless. The events of the last twenty four
hours had tapped into a hidden spring between my legs. Upon another’s touch, it flowed beyond
my control. The spring’s output must be exceptional because all who had placed their hands
upon it remarked on its volume.

Harry’s forked fingers acting as a diving rod dowsed the spring’s location eliciting a low moan
from the back of my throat.

“Hear that, Sarah,” said Harry speaking to the female seated at his right. “Your bride’s pussy
becomes a mountain spring at the slightest touch, the sign of a true whore. I daresay every man
here will drink of her waters before the cock crows.”

“If she is a whore, it is because you made her one, Harry. I will never forgive you for what you
have done,” said Sarah mater of factly.

The voice was unmistakable. It was Percy dressed as a woman. I had not recognized my
own husband his disguise was so excellently executed. My mouth fell open in amazement.
Percy is slight of build and has delicate features as do all the Chapman men. Someone with
considerable skill had selected his clothes, jewels, and wig then expertly applied makeup with the
result my husband made a most attractive female albeit one whose attire suggested a woman of
the brothel. My heart sank at the prospect that Cathy’s stories were correct. I could not rely on
Percy to bring me back to the path of righteousness. He too had succumbed to the ways of the
wicked.

His disguise was remarkably complete. A blonde wig emulated the cheap hair style worn by
shop girls on the streets of New York. His jewelry was of the cheap and tawdry sort, the kind sold
by Mr. Macy’s department store. The makeup and dress were of the latest style although the
skirt’s hem was far shorter than what I considered respectable. The tops of his hose and garters
were visible to me. More shocking was the presence of Lord Cranmere’s hand on his knee.

One of my friends at school had spoken of clubs where men dress as women but I had not
believed such a thing possible. To my utter amazement, Percy made a passable even pretty
female. When I caught his eye, he smiled encouragingly at me and blew me a kiss. My duty as a
wife required that I return his smile. Regardless of circumstance I was still Mrs. Percy Chapman
and I owed him my loyalty.

I could only assume that just as I had fallen under Satan’s spell so had Percy. His sweet
innocent nature had been overwhelmed by the tortures and blandishment of Lord Walshingham’s
staff. That brute Mr. Hornsby had sodomised my husband and forced him to dress and be
treated as a woman.

“A toast to the bride and groom,” said Lord Walshingham rising to his feet. Everyone else
started to stand, myself included, but Harry put his hand on my shoulder and pressed me back in
my seat.

Lord Walshingham raised his champagne glass and spoke the most singular toast ever heard
by human ears. “Family, friends, and honored guests, tonight, we are here to witness the taking
of Mrs. Gwyneth Drew Chapman’s virginity. We are honored that she and her husband, Mr. Percy
Chapman have chosen to share this solemn occasion with us. I’m sure we all agree as to the
extraordinary beauty of the bride. Her spouse who has favored us by dressing as his alter ego,
Sarah, is equally attractive. My old friend, Lord Cranmere, informed me minutes ago, that before
the night’s done, he intends to enjoy Sarah’s charms to the fullest. Good health and long life to
the bride and groom.”

A chorus of, “Hear, hear,” filled the room as the assemblage finished their champagne and
tossed the glasses in the grand fire place shattering them.

At that moment, a servant placed a soupcon of lobster bisque before me. This was followed
by sorbet then a plate of fruit and cheese. I was almost afraid to look at Percy. I didn’t know what
to think. Lord Cranmere had his arm around my husband drawing him close for kisses of the
least respectable sort. Percy did not object, intertwining his tongue with his partners.

Wine glasses were kept full as the guest imbibed alcohol on a monumental scale. The
conversation was less than edifying, consisting of accounts of orgies and other deflowering.
There was much talk of sexual practices of the heathen lands in the far reaches of Britain’s
empire.

It was after the excellent fruit course consisting of pears in a Madeira cream sauce that Cora
and Jennifer conducted me around the table so that each guest could feel my hymen thereby
assuring them that I was virgin. Several of the guests remarked upon its thickness and even
questioned whether Mr. Strong’s cock was capable of penetration.

Lady Smythe who I took to be in her eighties informed me about a niece of hers whose
deflowering had not gone well. Her description did not shy from blasphemy. “All the male guests
gave her a go, but their dicks bent like willow branches when they thrust inward. The poor girl
shrieked like a banshee as her virtue was assaulted. Who would have thought a fifteen year old
capable of developing such a cover. We all laughed that she must have been destined for a
nunnery since there she would find in Jesus Christ, a groom capable of breaking down her door.
Fortunately, Lord Marston, a surgeon, was present. It took four men to hold her down while he
carved out her hymen with a scalpel. It was thick as shoe leather and just as tough. He
preserved it in formaldehyde and sent if off to the British museum.”

I resolved to be polite in view of her advanced age. “That’s a very intriguing story, Mum. I
pray I will not be of similar difficulty.”

Lady Smythe’s hand caressed my breast as her finger tested my virginity. “I am confident that
Mr. Strong will split you open like a melon, My Dear.”

I was finally introduced to Mr. Rodney Strong. He was a most handsome young man with
golden blonde hair similar to my own. His visage and physique reminded me of the statutes of
Greek gods found in New York’s Museum of Fine Arts.

“She will be a challenge,” said Mr. Strong his fingers delicately touching my maidenhead.

“Rodney, show Mrs. Chapman, your cock,” said Cora.

“Yes, show her, Rodney, it is most impressive, the first time Rodney fucked me I could barely
walk the next day,” said Jennifer.

With obvious pride, Mr. Strong unbuttoned his trousers and extracted a penis of such length
and girth, I felt faint. I could not imagine how such an object could possibly fit inside my opening.

“Give it a kiss, Mrs. Chapman,” said Cora placing his penis in my hand which was not able to
encompass its girth. It felt surprisingly heavy and its warmth and energy radiated up my arm. It
struck me as more of an object of the devil than one for procreation. Still, it was marvelously
smooth with a helmet whose red hue bespoke its ferocity. My knees weakened as I contemplated
penetration by such a weapon.

Mesmerized by contact with such a formidable appendage, I leaned over and took the tip in
my mouth and flicked my tongue across the hole where urine was expelled. Its heat was
palpable and I found myself seeking to take more of it into my mouth.

“That’s enough for now,” said Cora pulling me away. “After dinner, you will take all of it.”

My presence did not prevent the company from speaking ill of America. I ignored their lack of
good manners.

“America will never be a great nation as long as they allow their women to avoid intercourse
until they’re married,” said Lord Cranmere whose one hand was working mischief in Percy’s lap. I
could see that Percy’s skirt was pulled up and the head of his erect cock was visible. Periodically,
his lordship bent over to take it in his mouth making loud sucking sounds that filled the room;
when not thus engaged, his hand was sliding up and down the shaft. “What say you,
Walshingham?”

“It’s a nation of whores and whoremongers,” said Lord Walshingham reaching into my gown to
pinch my nipple. “Present company accepted.”

“I’ve heard young Harry here has a taste for blacks,” said Lord Cranmere.

“Their earthy nature I find highly attractive,” said Harry fondling my other breast.

Around the table, male guests were taking advantage of the females, kissing and feeling their
breasts. Lord Walshingham and Harry made free use of mine, commenting on their beauty as
they pulled my nipples and fondled my bosom. Frequently, the females would lean into the laps
of the males and take their cocks in their mouths. Caligula, himself, could not have designed a
more orgiastic scene.

Many of the women had shed their gowns, leaving them clad in what I later learned was a
French corset that narrowed their waist while thrusting their breasts upward exposing the tops
and in many cases their nipples; which like mine were rouged to make them more visible. The
bottom of the corset was trimmed in marabou. Lace garters supported their stockings. The
underpants were scandalously sheer and barely covered their sex. It was the attire of the
bordello.

Still the debauchery of the dinner guests knew no bounds as they competed in
outrageousness. A strikingly attractive woman I later learned was Lady Guinness announced she
preferred to dine in the nude. Without the slightest hesitation, she climbed on the table and
undressed, leaving only her stockings and shoes. Her figure was extraordinary with long limbs
and a most unusual sex whose labia seemed missing while her love button protruded in an
unnatural way. I was later to learn this was not an accident of nature.

Taking her stance in the center of the long table, she demonstrated extreme flexibility by
bending at the waist and placing the crown of her head on the table. Her graceful arms reached
back to separate her buttocks exposing her pink anus to the diners. To the guest’s amusement,
she broke wind producing a volume of sound I considered extraordinary. I could not recall its
superior other than the time I visited a dairy farm in Vermont and heard the milk cows producing
vast quantities of gas. Lady Guinness curtsied to loud applause and shouts of, “Well done,
Diana,” before resuming her seat.

It as at this point that I observed Lady Atherton and Lady Penelope Beaconsdale, respectively
Lord Walshingham’s sister and daughter, moving from one male guest to another performing oral
sodomy. As each man was brought to orgasm, they captured his ejaculate in a crystal goblet.

It was after the fish course that I was able to observe this at close range as they first exposed
then applied their mouths to Lord Walshingham’s manhood which was every bit as large as Cathy
had illustrated. Incest was no impediment as Lady Atherton took one of her brother’s testicles in
her mouth while Lady Penelope engulfed her father’s penis. The efforts were neither subtle nor
ladylike. Lady Penelope, for example, kept looking her father in the eye as she ran her tongue
over the head of his penis all the while urging him to stand and deliver a sizeable volume of his
essence.

It was my first opportunity to view the act that my mother in her premarital talk had stated I
must be ready to perform in order to keep Percy’s love. At the time, I considered her information
along with the implication that she often performed such an act upon my father shocking. I had
hoped that Percy would not require my participation in such an unnatural act.

However, their obvious pleasure in its performance made me want to join them, further proof
that Satan had his talons in my soul. I resolved that in the future should Percy request I perform
oral sodomy I would eagerly agree in my role as his loyal and faithful wife.

After Lord Walshingham, the pair performed their act of dual sodomy on Harry who quickly
contributed to the goblet bringing it to one third full. That these two women, members of the
aristocracy, had elicited upwards of twenty donations without the slightest concern for morality I
found amazing. Added to my amazement was that one of the guests was a local vicar.

Harry took the goblet from the two ladies who seemed disappointed they were finished and
climbed onto the dining table. He had not redone his trousers and his manhood, still glistening
with his relative’s saliva was fully exposed.

I watched transfixed as he aimed his penis toward the goblet and proceed to urinate. He
stopped several time to check the goblet’s fullness ending at the two thirds level. He then
proceeded to pour champagne into the glass until it was full then stirred the concoction the
purpose of which I was about to learn.

“Stand up beside me, Gwyneth,” said Harry reaching his hand to mine. Lord Walshingham
lifted me to the table and once again I found myself the center of attention.

Harry whispered into my ear. “You must drink this.”

His suggestion was revolting and I replied in that vain. “Absolutely not!”

As Cathy had pointed out, resistance was useless. “If you don’t, I’ll hang you by your tits and
whip you until you beg me to drink it. Or maybe you would prefer I string Percy up by his balls
and see if they rip off?”

I was not prepared to endure such a horrible punishment for myself or Percy. “I’ll drink it.”

Harry made a show of my humiliation. After calling for everyone to be quiet and pay attention,
he made his announcement. “It is time for our bride to consume the Virgin’s Potion which every
man here has contributed to.” He held up the goblet for all to see then handed it to me.

Realizing I had no choice, I smiled at my audience then raised the foul concoction to my lips.
Determined not to allow Harry Pelham to get the better of me, I steeled myself to the task and in a
single long draft consumed the goblet’s contents then tossed it into the fireplace. The taste was
not as bad as I had thought.

Once more, Lucifer played a role and I felt warmth between my legs for having performed
such a perverted act in front of others. While I drank, he guided my hand to my sex for a vigorous
stroking. The pleasure of my own touch created a wave of pleasure so profound I would have
fallen unless Harry held me up.

Cries of “Well done,” “Here, here,” and “That’s a girl,” filled the air as I performed my own
curtsy.

I had barely taken my seat when Lord Walshingham announced that after the beef entrée, Mr.
Percy Chapman would be entertaining us.

Chapter 6 Percy Entertains

I believe in giving the devil his due. While Percy Chapman was a cad and a false friend, he
did not lack for theatrical talent. With perfect pitch and phrasing, he’d entertained us with two
Irish ballads. Percy’s Mother Macree brought tears to the eyes of his audience including yours
truly. I fought the urge to embrace him and ask for forgiveness for his old friend, Harry Pelham.
Fortunately, I stifled the urge.

Mind you, this was not a gathering given to sympathy for the filthy potato eating scum whose
failure to show proper gratitude for upright British rule was the cause of unending criticism.
Nothing was as likely to bring a smile to his lordship’s face as learning another IRA man had gone
to the gallows.

In the House of Lords, my Uncle had argued for interning IRA families in concentration camps
as he had done the Boers in the war. His arguments that watching their women and children
starve would soften Irish resolve had not been well received. He’d been circumspect in not
calling for the women and boys to be raped in front of their families by natives, a practice he’d
followed religiously in the Transvaal.

His Lordship assigned much credit for the eventual British victory to his strategy of starving
and raping the women and children to break the back of Afrikaner resistance. Those in England
who criticized such brutal tactics he characterized as cowards and sissies who lacked the balls
for war.

Lord Rowley, a dandy if ever there was one, was accompanying Percy on the piano. The
Lord, known for his dedicated pursuit of young men who dressed well as women, seemed to be
on the verge of declaring his love for Percy as he played with enthusiasm if not skill. Perched on
the piano with his well turned legs dangling provocatively only a few feet from the randy
nobleman, I feared Percy would find himself with an invitation for marriage from the bedazzled
peer of the realm.

Always a showman, after a quiet start, Percy launched into a spirited version of I’m a Yankee
Doodle Dandy from Mr. Cohan’s recent Broadway hit. At the finale, with skirt hiked up to show his
lacy knickers, he kicked to a height enviable by a Broadway show girl as he used the small stage
to maximum advantage.

My Uncle had decreed Percy’s performance as an opportunity for group masturbation, a

practice he first mastered in the dining hall at Eton and since adopted world wide by Anglophiles.
My cock rested in Lord Cranmere’s aged but soft and warm hand while my fingers were busily
engaged in stroking Gwyneth’s impressively wet vulva while my lips formed over her nipple
holding it in place for my tongue. I suckled her boob with the noisy desperation of a hungry three
month old infant.

My God, the woman’s cunt performed like an artesian spring excepting that her liquor was
viscous and strong to the taste, reminding me of the purest Vermont maple syrup. I was of a
mind that upon returning to New York I would find occasion to compare her output to that of my
black mistress Simone whose production was equally copious. I could picture the two stacked
upon one another with their faces married to each other’s sex imbibing great quantities of
womanly fluids until their bellies became erotically rounded. I would then join them on the bed for
a good frolic.

That morning Mrs. Kline had delivered her surprising report of Mrs. Gwyneth Drew
Chapman’s behavior. My worries that she would be unhinged and possibly driven mad by the
erotic attentions of Mrs. Kline and her helpers had proved wrong. According to the worthy Mrs.
Kline, Gwyneth, after a little knocking about, had joined in the activities with enthusiasm,
repeatedly reaching peaks of pleasure that would not have been thought possible for a daughter
raised in a family where the bible was read daily and the bishop a frequent visitor.

While I digitally manipulated Percy’s bride, she was turned toward Lord Walshingham. Both of
her exquisitely delicate hands were stroking his manhood as she bent over to envelope it in her
perfectly formed lips. I was astounded at the practiced manner her tongue roamed over the head
causing his Lordship to exclaim, “That’s it, Mrs. Chapman. You suck cock like a Cheapside
strumpet.” His Lordship alternated exceedingly wet kisses between Gwyneth and my cousin
Penelope.

It was truly a delicious moment especially when I observed that Mr. Grange and his two
helpers had set up their equipment in an unobtrusive manner and were busily filming Percy’s
performance. I felt a touch of regret that his fine voice would not be captured for blackmail and
posterity’s sake. There were news reports that films would someday provide sound but I am
afraid that is decades in the future.

The average woman must be taught the finer points of providing a man oral pleasure. Upon
occasion at Mrs. Brophy’s house, I participated in training sessions where young beauties fresh
from the coal fields of West Virginia were educated in the art of sucking cock. However, there
infrequently appeared the rare female whose talent was natural and no acts of learning were
required. I recall a raven haired minister’s daughter, barely sixteen, who showed unusual native
skill. She was born knowing all there was to know about making a man ejaculate using her
mouth. Nor did she hesitate at the indelicate aspects of female service such as applying her
tongue to the anus. To me, that is the true test of a harlot.

Mrs. Kline had been crudely complimentary regarding Gwyneth’s prowess in mouth worshiping
her bottom. “She sucked my pucker so hard it turned inside out for a nice rose bud. Once I was
hanging out all loose and juicy, she opened me up with the tip of her tongue. I bloomed open like
a morning rose. Then she swabbed out two inches of the inside. My shitter was spotless when
she finished.”

Observing the manner that dear, sweet, and pious Gwyneth attacked his Lordship’s member
reminded me once more of the Chapman luck. His bride was not only as rich as Croesus she
was a lusty whore of strong appetites and easily trained to perform the most perverted and
bizarre acts know to the human race.

Percy finished Mr. Cohan’s tune to loud applause. He bowed most graciously to the audience,
even exchanging a kiss with Lord Rowley before the curtain closed.

The success of the next act depended on the skill of Mr. Hornsby in convincing Percy to
undertake the lead role in my one act play. I had spent some time with the supporting cast who
though untrained for the stage showed great enthusiasm for the performance. I titled my scribble,
Rape of the Minister’s Wife.

The curtain reopened with Percy alone on stage seated at the piano playing and singing a
dirge from the Methodist hymnal. Percy performed the first two verses before the tiny stage
became crowded with the arrival of the three male members of the Dinka tribe dressed in native
garb. The three along with their wives and children had recently been transported to Ashford Hall
by Lord Walshingham from his 6,000 acre tea plantation outside Nairobi.

Although well acquainted with the English language and customs, they retained enough of
their former savage natures to put on the show I required. Percy for his part acted properly
terrified as the extraordinarily tall men surrounded him brandishing spears and pangas.

It began with them lifting his skirt to marvel at his underwear. Lord Walshingham had informed
me that Dinka women were not inclined to undergarments and often went naked for days. Typical
of uncivilized people, the women were willing at any time to be taken by the hand and led off to a
hut or even the nearby jungle for a quick fuck. This included not only the unmarried females but
the married ones as well.

My Uncle recounted how on occasion he dropped by their cottages on his estate where he
would unbutton his trousers and hoist the nearest female onto his manhood for a good rogering.
The wives delight at serving his Lordship resulted in great enthusiasm and energy on their part.
“They expect this attention from the master. It’s considered polite to screw the man’s wife when
you come for tea.”

Decorated in paint and feathers of the wildest colors and acting with great ferocity, they lifted
Percy off the ground and removed his drawers. Percy feigned fright and fell to his knees begging
the Dinka to spare him. As they bent him over the piano stool he cried out for the Lord to save
him. His naked rear faced the audience as he implored the natives to spare his honor for Jesus’
sake and out of respect for the wife of a man of the cloth. Unfortunately, the Dinkas were having
none of his palaver.

I was pleased when I looked around the table and saw that my little tableau had captured the
rapt attention of all diners. Every eye was on the stage as Percy begged his attackers to spare
him the ignominy and shame of rape. Of course, rape is the one thing that most easily captures
the attention of the English nobility.

But according to my play, the minister’s wife was not to be spared. After some preliminaries in
which the Dinkas exposed and explored Percy’s bottom pressing the fingers into his bum, one of
the warrior dropped his cloak to reveal a heavily tattooed body and a long thick cock. Women in
the audience licked their lips and smiled as they marveled at the warrior’s physique.
 No doubt those such as Lady Penelope who often visited Ashford Hall had already sampled
the Dinka’s charms. Percy screamed most convincingly as the Dinka forced his sphincter.

After loud and convincing cries of pain, Percy commenced a tearful rendition of Amazing
Grace. The impact on the audience was most immediate. Sir Oswald Mosley pitched Lady
Guinness on the top of the table then threw himself on her with the abandon of a lion on a
wildebeest. Grunting and groaning, he savagely thrust into her. Lady Guinness responded in
kind, adding her own animalistic cries of the female panther being savagely bred. Others joined
in the attacks on their dinner companions.

My Uncle took a firm grip on Gwyneth’s temples and forced her to swallow his cock to the
maximum depth achievable. He began a noisy plundering of her throat that coated her face with
saliva. I was once more amazed to see her quickly adapt to the rape of her gullet. Her neck
expanded and contracted as Lord Walshingham’s cock entered and exited the passageway. It
was a sight rarely seen outside of a brothel catering to extreme tastes.

On stage, the first Dinka had filled Percy’s canal with his spunk. His mate immediately refilled
the hole. All the while, Percy maintained his A Capella rendition of the famous hymn. Lord
Cranmere requested I finish in his mouth and I gladly obliged as Percy’s rear became a semen
receptacle for the second time.

The orgy had pretty much run its course when Dinka Number Three exploded down the tunnel
of manly love. It was time for the finale.

Two of the natives lifted Percy off the ground, held him upright and pulled his legs apart. The
third placed a goblet under his downward pointing ass then pushed on the groom’s abdomen.
The reaction was immediate. A good measure of Dinka spunk squirted into the goblet. A second
push almost filled the glass.

I stepped forward smartly to take the glass from the native allowing the curtain to close to great
applause. I fancy myself as one with some talent as a playwright.

Gwyneth’s head had barely risen from this Lordship’s lap when I handed her the glass with
the caveat, “This is from your beloved husband’s body and he entreats you to drink it quickly as a
sign of your true love.”

Cries of approval rose from the diners as Gwyneth’s placed the glass to her lips and
consumed the contents. Her nose did not wrinkle at the aroma nor did her taste bugs cringe at
the flavor. She savored the drink licking her lips after the last swallow.

I found her lack of hesitation amazing. She was either not as smart as I thought or the events
of the last twenty four hours had eradicated a lifetime of stern moral upbringing. As time went by
and I got to know Gwyneth better, I concluded I had awakened her true nature that of a cruel,
wanton perverted whore, the American equivalent of Lady Diana Mitford Guinness.

Percy with his knickers restored rejoined us then announced there were still dinner guests
whom he had not had a proper chance to exchange pleasantries. With that he began to circulate
around the dining table.

It was at that moment I observed Percy introducing himself to Sir Oswald Mosley. As the two
shook hands, Percy passed Sir Oswald a note the lord slipped into his pocket unread. The two
conversed quietly before parting. No one else except yours truly noticed the exchange. I was left
to ponder what Percy Chapman, son in law of America’s richest man had in common with the
most notorious fascist politician in England.

I shot a quick glance in Mr. Grange’s direction and he signaled success with thumbs up. I now
more or less owned the Chapmans. Percy’s gleeful and willing sodomy was captured on film
along with the moment his wife swallowed the contents of his bowels. A copy of the film would be
placed in my safety deposit box at Manufacturer’s Hanover Trust. With the exceeding rich and
influential Chapmans as my sponsor my re-entry into New York society was assured. The
celluloid also guaranteed my access to Gwyneth’s orifices and on the occasion when I felt the
desire for a change, Percy’s.

While the rest of the diners attacked the last course, a strawberry trifle, the Stapleton twins led
Gwyneth from the dinning hall to prepare her for deflowering. Mr. Grange and his crew followed
along to acquire footage of the preparations.

Chapter 7 – Deflowering Gwyneth

My mouth dropped open when I saw my darling wife trussed up like a lamb for the slaughter.
I had envisioned the worst when Jenny and Cora led her from the dining room before dessert, a
most delicious strawberry trifle. But I was in no way prepared for the elaborate bondage applied
to her delicate virgin flesh. I confess to my shame, I found it both horrifying and erotic. My
manhood twitched to life against the silk fabric of my lacy drawers. It took all my willpower not to
bury my face in her obscenely exposed vagina.

The way her divine body was stretched and contorted would have aroused any husband
especially one who had thus far been denied the enjoyment of such an exquisite creature. My
disappointment was exacerbated by the failure of my own plans for her deflowering.

My original scheme was to begin with great care and gentleness on our first night on board
ship. Gaining the complete trust of such an unworldly and innocent female struck me as easily
achievable. I would play the role of respectful and considerate husband passionately but gently
rupturing her hymen and spilling her virgin blood on the sheets. How I longed to be the one to
create the incarnadine trickle that would seep from her vagina onto the Belgravia’s bed linen.

No doubt the purser and the maid observing the stains would spread the word through the
ship’s crew that I had taken her virginity. It would reach the ears of the captain who would
congratulate me and promise to be discrete as he passed the gossip onto the other first class
passengers. If they observed Gwyneth’s gait on that first day, they would ascribe any
awkwardness to soreness brought on by my successful assault on her virtue.

The second night I would request her to perform orally on my member. I would be subtle and
indirect but make it plain that taking my penis in her mouth then using her lips and tongue to
satisfy my lust would incontrovertibly demonstrate the purity of her love. I would be romantic
offering her a glass of champagne to wash down my semen. With luck her appetite for the
pleasures of the flesh would grow as she was exposed to more possibilities for the employment of
her body.

The third night would begin with me applying my mouth to her sex. I would praise the taste
and smell of her vulva to the heavens comparing her to mythological goddesses whose beauty
and skill at love making attracted the attention of Zeus himself. Each night I would go further into
the world of passion and perversion until by the time we docked in Liverpool, Gwyneth would
have all the skills of a common prostitute while retaining an aura of innocence.

Success in this endeavor had been encouraged by whispered remarks of Mrs. Abigail Drew,
Gwyneth’s mother, who drew me aside right before the wedding ceremony. Mrs. Drew was a
formidable person in her own right; however, I was surprised at her commitment to Gwyneth’s
being a successful partner in the boudoir.

“I spoke with Gwyneth last night regarding her responsibilities toward the marriage bed,” said
Mrs. Drew in a conspiratorial whisper.

I had no idea how to reply but I was always the smooth one at such times. “Thank you,
Mother, I’d sure your advice would be most helpful to Gwyneth and myself.”

She gave me a questioning look then spoke. “I told her she was to refuse you nothing and
acquiesce in whatever practices you desire. She accepted the proposition that satisfying your
appetites is her duty and responsibility as a wife.”

I was still on my best behavior as far as Gwyneth’s family was concerned. “I promise you I
will always be the epitome of respect and consideration where Gwyneth is concerned.”

“If my daughter takes after me and I think she will, a more direct and demanding approach will
be called for. Take the manly approach, Percy, and never accept her refusal to anything even
acts not ordinarily required of a Christian wife. You should command her willingness to perform in
any fashion you desire, within reason of course. If she refuses you, inform me and I will speak to
her.”

The choral music began, signaling we should take our places in the cathedral. “Your
assistance is greatly appreciated and I will come to you if I find my needs unmet. Thank you,
Mother.”

Her remarks set me to wondering how matters would stand by the end of our honeymoon. I
am a patient man. I would approach our lovemaking slowly progressing at a measured pace
hopefully ending in the total debauchment of Gwyneth. I had previously noted the saucy looks of
Gwyneth’s servant, Cathy. Money put in the right hands in the servant’s quarters of the Drew
household had produced the knowledge that her personal maid, Cathy, was a wanton equally at
home in the embrace of either sex. In a month’s time I hoped to enjoy the favors of wife and
servant together. I would take great pleasure in observing the two of them performing the
Sapphic rights before I joined them for the finale.

However, rough seas delayed my scheme and the machinations of Harry Pelham rendered
them obsolete. The cad had seduced Gwyneth’s servant and arranged for our ill treatment at
Ashcroft Hall. Events had spun out of my control. Even more surprising had been Gwyneth’s
unexpected reactions to circumstances that would have rendered a weaker female hysterical. I
ascribed her resilience to her Christian upbringing.

Her acquiescence in the guest’s digital violation of her sex and her willing participation in the
perverted nature of the evening had come as a shock. Her lack of hesitation in consuming the
bride’s cocktail was undoubtedly the end result of the punishment she suffered for not complying
with Mrs. Kline’s desires. Harry had spared no detail in informing me of the many acts of a
Sapphic nature performed in Mrs. Kline’s bed. I took the news philosophically. After all,
engrossing her in sapphism had been my aim all along.

Still she had proved her loyalty to me by downing the draught extracted from my bowels after
the Dinkas had filled them with semen. A goblet of nigger spunk and butt fluids is not to be
consumed lightly even if it has been extracted from the ass of your beloved husband. I had felt a
full measure of pride and lust as she brought the goblet to her lips and consumed it in a single
draught. “Good girl,” I whispered as she finished it off with élan few women could summons for
the occasion.

That gave me hope that she would overlook my own behavior and appearance. I would
attribute my moral bankruptcy to being both dressed and treated as female. Lord Cranmere had
repeatedly complemented my looks and expressed his desire to place his cock in my manpussy,
a term new to me although I considered it apt. I found myself looking forward to reclining on a
sofa with my drawers dangling from one ankle as his Lordship and others violated my manpussy,
what a delightful word.

Still upon entering the main hall it was a shock to find Gwyneth so utterly open and ready for
what would be a singular event in our marriage. I deduced there was a long history of
deflowering at Ashcroft Hall based on the elaborate nature of the preparations. Harry Pelham
interrupted my ruminations.

“I daresay Percy, not the way you pictured the consummation of your marriage,” said Harry
observing my astonishment. As we stood observing my wife, Harry lifted the back of my skirt and
placed his hand inside my drawers. His warm palm cupped my buttock making it difficult to
concentrate.

That was when Harry pointed out the three men gathered around what I recognized as a film
camera. “Lord Walshingham was kind enough to bring a crew from his studio at Pinewood to
record the event.”

“Studio,” I questioned even though the intent of his action was rapidly becoming apparent.

Harry smilingly revealed the nature of his perfidy. “My Uncle is a principal investor in Pinewood
Studios. He believes films will be the future of mass entertainment. Mr. Grange and his helpers
recorded your captivating performance in the dinning room. Their task of the moment is to film
the loss of Gwyneth’s virtue. I intend to make a copy of the film available to you and dear
Gwyneth as a wedding gift.”

But I was not one to be flummoxed. “Thank you, Harry, you are most kind,” I said as I pressed
my buttocks into his hand.

Blackmail was his intent. Public viewing of such a film would ruin us in society. We would
have to leave New York and go live in the wilderness of California or some other unsuitable place.
Still, what was I to do? Harry was always a clever one. It was foolish of me to make him an
enemy. I saw a future in which Gwyneth and I were bound to his wishes. I reconciled myself to
my fate and resolved to enjoy life as best as I could. That brought me back to the sight of my
beautiful wife whose exposed state and whimpers of discomfort I found most enticing.

Gwyneth was tightly bound in what could only be described as a leather swing suspended by
chains at each corner. Her cries and whimpers led to the conclusion she was anything but
comfortable.

“A Fordyce swing, only the best, eh, Walshingham,” said Lord Cranmere placing his index
finger at the center of Gwyneth’s anus and pushing inward until he reached the knuckle. The
force of his fingers caused the swing to rock back and forth further embedding his digit in her
rectum.

“It’s their new model, just arrived this afternoon. Makes all three holes accessible,” said Lord
Walshingham.

“Her butt is tight as a Chinaman’s,” said Lord Cranmere. “No doubt, she’ll squeal like a stuck
hog the first time a cock calls it home.” Lord Cranmere demonstrated the degree of his perversity
by removing his finger from my wife’s rectum and tasting it. “Tastes like a Chinaman’s butt, too.”
That occasioned laughter from the assemblage who were busily taking advantage of the sexual
apparatus servants had moved into the main hall for the occasion.

“Daddy and I tried it out when it arrived. Didn’t we, Father?” said Lady Penelope as she
stepped out of her dress leaving her in a corset that narrowed her waist while pushing her large
breasts upward in a fashion that could only be interpreted as inviting access. Lady Penelope’s
hand moved immediately to her bare sex which she stroked vigorously. Lord Walshingham’s
daughter, an incestuous slut if ever there was one, had no compunction about masturbating in
front of the other dinner guests.

“Yes, we did Penny and one damn fine fuck you are. Makes a father proud,” said Lord
Walshingham as he finished undressing. His lordship was formidably equipped. Lady Penelope
moved quickly to take her father in hand.

“I’ve still got some of you in me, Daddykins. See,” said Lady Penelope withdrawing her fluid-
covered fingers from her vagina before ostentatiously licking her father’s essence from her
fingertips.

Harry attacked my buttons and in a matter of moments I stepped out of my dress into Harry’s
arms for a long and wet tongue kiss. The other guests shed any clothing covering their sex. The
women for the most part immediately fell to unlimbering the cocks of their dinner partners.

Most of the women wore French corsets that lifted their breasts and exposed their rouged
nipples. Several of the men including Lord Cranmere were attired in various articles of female
underwear. I made a mental note to add to my collection of naughty undies during the Paris
stage of our European idle.

I watched as Lord Cranmere parted the slit in the rear of his midnight blue female drawers to
reveal what must have been a frequently visited sphincter.

“Where’s the French butt grease,” demanded Lord Cranmere of a passing servant who
immediately took a small jar off a nearby table and handed it to his lordship.

“Will you do the honors, Sarah?’ asked his Lordship handing me the jar as he bent over
reaching back to part his ample buttocks.

“My pleasure,” I replied opening the jar and coating my fingers with the lubricant. Lord
Cranmere moaned as I first coated the region surrounding his anus then pushed a heavily
lubricated finger past his sphincter. I added a second digit to bring his sphincter into a relaxed
state. In spite of his age, his lordship tightly squeezed my fingers indicating a willingness to have
more of Sarah Chapman in his aged asshole.

“Easy there, Sarah. My old bung hole has seen more action that most. There’s hardly a peer
of the realm that hasn’t had his dick up Billy Waycross’s bum. I should mention that Billy and
Lord Cranmere are one and the same. I did not doubt the correctness of his remark. The English
public school system left no male member of the aristocracy unsodomised.

Once his lordship was sufficiently lubricated, I helped him straddle one of the many odd
shaped furnishing that had been placed in the drawing room for the pleasure of the guests. Their
construction was simple; but their purpose could only be divined by someone who had frequented
houses of ill repute where similar pleasure devices were employed. Mrs. Brophy’s House was
equipped with several of the devices and I spent many a happy hour perched on board.

In America, they were commonly called, “Nelson,” or “Nelson Horse,” because Nelson was
the name of George Washington’s horse. The father of my country is given credit by most
scholars for inventing the device and was reputed to be an avid self-sodomite. Other claim it had
existed since the times of the Roman Empire and Washington only introduced it to the United
States. And there are those who claim that Benjamin Franklin brought it back from Paris after his
stint as our ambassador to the Bourbons. The appellation, “French Horse,” is favored on the
continent. Our British cousins refer to as a “Lady Hamilton” referring to Admiral Lord Nelson’s
mistress. Therein might lay the reason for the confusion over the use of the name Nelson. To be
polite to my hosts I accepted the English nomenclature.
 Each Lady Hamilton had four legs and stirrups whose length was adjustable. Lord
Walshingham’s servants were busy helping the guests establish a comfortable seat. The horses
were covered in the finest leather and heavily cushioned. Black was the color of the male version
of the Nelson and blue the female.

The operation was straightforward. One mounted the Lady Hamilton as one would a horse
placing one’s feet in the stirrups. The stylized horse’s head moved forward and backward
causing my means of a clever design of gears and levers a dildo to emerge and retract from the
seat. Move the head forward and the dildo slid deep into one’s rectum or vagina. Pull back and it
withdrew. All the way forward resulted in the deepest of penetration; all the way back and it
withdrew below the surface.

The female version had a curved dildo with a bumpy irregular surface designed to maximize
the pleasure of vaginal penetration. A rough patch of India rubber stimulated the female’s love
button. The male version was long and smooth with an India rubber ball on the end. I made an
on the spot decision to acquire several Lady Hamilton’s for our summer place in the Hamptons.
The estate was a wedding gift from my in-laws. One of the ancillary purposes of our honeymoon
travels was to acquire proper furnishings.

At the moment, a drunken and swearing Lady Penelope was riding her Lady Hamilton with
great energy slamming the dildo deep into her cunt. None of the guests seemed unfamiliar with
the device proving its widespread employment by the upper crust. In a matter of moments,
everyone was riding with considerable vigor. Men stroked their cock as they rode while the ladies
caressed their love buttons. It was quite a sight as you can imagine. When I went to mount a
nearby Lady Hamilton, Cora Stapleton stopped me informing me I had a different role to play in
the ceremony.

Gwyneth’s predicament is not east to describe. She rested in the swing on her back. It was
tilted so her bottom was slightly higher than her top.

Her exquisitely shaped legs were extended back almost to her shoulders in a V-shape.
Belting connected her ankles to the rear suspension chains. Her sex was open and its beauty
almost overwhelmed me.

I must admit the Fordyce provided ready access to my bride’s vagina and anus in a fashion I
had not witnessed before. Based on the sheen surrounding her orifices, I concluded the
Stapletons had lubricated her openings to facilitate penetration.

Gwyneth’s loud whimpers brought my attention to the silver apparatus encasing her large
breasts from top and bottom. Cora and Jenny were tightening each side of the device slowly
compressing her bosom from two directions. Each swollen breast formed a large round orb with
the nipple extended at least an inch, a most enticing sight.

“Beautiful workmanship,” said Harry tracing his fingers along the design engraved in the
bottom half of the device before giving Gwyneth’s right nipple a pinch. “You can’t get that kind of
craftsmanship these days.”

“What is it, Harry?’ I asked amazed at the balloon like shape and wine hue my wife’s breasts
had immediately assumed. Blue veins and red arteries appeared along the surface of the
exposed flesh. Closer observation revealed the presence of rows of sharp teeth penetrating the
base of the breast; no doubt causing hellish pain. I did not doubt, dear Gwyneth would be
writhing and screaming if she had not been tightly restrained.

“A breast press, one with quite a history,” said Harry. “Right Uncle?”

Lord Walshingham had a keen awareness of the historical significance of Ashcroft’s Hall’s
furnishings. “It was made by the silversmiths of Sheffield for the Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell.
He used it to extract confessions of papacy from the wives and daughters of the cavaliers. The
rings were used to suspend the female by her breasts until she implicated her husband.
Immediate castration and execution of the entire family followed,” said Lord Walshingham flicking
the rings at the top of the apparatus.

“Don’t be alarmed, Percy. We’re not going to hang Gwyneth’s by her tits. We’re not
savages,” said Harry.

“I’d love to hang her up by knockers and play with her pussy while she screamed,” said Lady
Penelope as she slammed the dildo into her sex. From somewhere she had acquired a pair of
vicious looking nipple clamps. Blood dripped down from the punctures they made in her areola.

“Mustn’t behave like savages, Penny. Your Mother wouldn’t approve,” said Lord
Walshingham reproving his wayward daughter.

“Of course, Daddy, but Mommy loved to watch a good hiding. Especially if she was the one
carrying it out,” said Lady Penelope.

“Your mother was a very rare and gifted woman,” said Lord Walshingham. “She derived her
pleasure from other’s suffering but in a refined manner,” said Lord Walshingham. “She could peel
the skin off a poacher’s back like it was an orange and never break a sweat.”

“What is that for?” I whispered as I pointed toward the peculiar positioning of Gwyneth’s head
that was hanging off the back of the sling. The crown of her skull was pointed toward the floor.
Some sort of fiendish metal device had been inserted in her mouth forcing it wide open. Saliva
flowed down her face. Hooks inserted in her nostrils and secured to the flooring prevented her
from raising her head. The top of her skull rested above a small laundry tub.

“That’s one of my family’s oldest traditions. While a girl is losing her virginity, the other
members of the deflowering party piss in her open mouth,” said Harry. “As her husband, you get
to go first. I will piss on her when you run dry.”

My first thought was that Gwyneth would never forgive me. Upon returning from New York she
would tell her father what had transpired and he would have me killed.

“A girl’s first time should be painful and nasty; else she forget all about it,” said Lord Cranmere
joining our conversation. “They brand their young bitches in Wales. The feel of a red hot iron on
their ass makes for a memory that can’t be forgotten.”

It was at that point, all eyes turned toward the naked man who had just entered the room.
Rodney Strong was certainly worthy of the attention he drew. Possessed of a magnificent
physique, tall and blonde with piercing blue eyes, he had the largest cock I had ever witnessed. I
wondered whether after taking Gwyneth’s virginity he would oblige the groom with a bit of
sodomy.

“Time to get on with it, Mr. Chapman,” said Cora Stapleton positioning me and my cock inches
from Gwyneth’s open mouth. Behind me, waiters were passing out glasses of champagne.

Rodney’s cock was being noisily sucked by Jenny Stapleton to bring it to full extension. His
long powerful arms took hold of two leather straps attached to the swing. He twisted the leather
around his palms to provide leverage. Jerry placed his cock head at Gwyneth’s entrance.
Rodney moved forward slightly to bring the massive tool into contact with her hymen. A nod to
Lord Walshingham signaled his readiness.

“Piss on your bride, Percy Chapman,” ordered Cora taking hold of my manhood to aim.
 It took only a second for me to summon the will. My flow began weak then strengthened.
Cora proved adept at finding the target. A golden stream of Chapman urine landed in her mouth.
The motion of her throat indicated that much of what passed through those beautiful lips was
transferred to her belly.

“Go to, Rodney,” bellowed Lord Walshingham.

The muscles holding the straps contracted as he first back off an inch then propelled himself
violently forward. There was a moment’s hesitation as his cock head encountered her membrane,
slowed to stretch the flesh, then passed on in a flash once the tissue split. Gwyneth’s beautiful
violent eyes opened wide and she made to scream but the mouth brace prevented it.

Rodney’s cock reached deep into her causing her belly to round. As my flow reduced, Harry
added his. Behind us the guests were riding their Lady Hamilton as if they were in some mad
race to the finish.

Using a combination of arm and leg strength, Rodney savaged Gwyneth with considerable
force. The next day, she recounted to me how it felt as if someone was pushing a piece of
firewood into her vagina.

Cries from the crowd encouraged Rodney to increase his pace. It was only a matter of
moments before he sounded a cry of success.

“Too bad, Percy, I imagine your and Gwyneth’s first born will be Rodney’s bastard,” said
Harry. “He has an enviable record of impregnating other men’s brides.

I ignored Harry’s hurtful remark. Rodney was as fine a physical specimen as existed on the
planet. Calling his progeny son would not be a problem. I lack the fussiness of members of my
class when it comes to bloodlines.

Rodney withdrew his bloody cock for all to see. The Stapleton twins quickly freed Gwyneth
from her restraints and offered her a tumbler of brandy to revive her spirits.

My bride was a bit wobbly as she walked to me.

“At least you can be my second,” said Gwyneth taking my cock in her hand and guiding me to
a nearby sofa.

We kissed. I could smell and taste the urine. It intoxicated my senses as I took position
between her legs. With Gwyneth’s help, my manhood located her entrance and plunged inward.
Anticipation had fueled my appetite. It was not long before I added my seed to Rodney’s. As I
rolled off on to the carpet, Harry took my place. I was surprised Gwyneth did not protest. Her
arms and legs wrapped around his torso pulling him deep within her. A low moan escaped her
lips as his manhood descended into her love tunnel.

An orgy worthy of the days of Caligula or Nero took place that night at Ashcroft Hall. It was
indiscriminate coupling at its most extreme. My English hosts showed their skill at multiple
penetrations violating all three of my wife’s orifices simultaneously. I found myself unmindful of
the gender of my partners. I recall accommodating Lord Cranmere’s cock in my ass while I
sucked Sir Oswald’s dick. Lady Guinness prowled the room orally administering to cocks stained
from rectal penetration.

Exhaustion ended the affair sometime near dawn. Coated in dried and drying fluids I
struggled upstairs to my bed and collapsed.
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