Hirst Hall

Chapter 18 – Another Wedding: At which my daughter is married and my future is assured

The day of my Georgina’s wedding dawned clear and warm, a perfect autumn’s day in which the heat of the summer could still just be felt. 

Hirst Hall was absolutely full with our family and friends.  My brother and his wife were here with their children and all were suitably overawed by my home.  The Devernes were here in force to see their lady (as they liked to call her) given away.  Even Sir Thomas’ brother, who was Dean of Lincoln cathedral was here to perform the marriage ceremony.  On the groom’s side all the Hawardens were here.  We had squeezed people in wherever we could and the inn in Hirst village held some of the younger married relatives.  Miss Emma and Miss Hailsham were sharing a room as were James and Edward.  I had even offered my bedchamber but Sir Thomas had insisted that I should retain my own private space.

The Old Nursery was now the dressing room for the bridal party and it seemed as if all the ladies had spent the last week in there making sure our gowns were perfect for the big day.  Georgina’s was an off-white creamy colour and sewn with pearls.  Mine was the same colour but plainer so as not to distract from her, but the sheer quality of the cloth made it quite impressive.  Miss Emma and Miss Hailsham were to be the bridesmaids and their dresses were in the same style as mine, but in still plainer style.  There had been a question from the Hawardens as to whether Miss Hailsham, as a mere governess, was suitable in this role.  Georgina had simply taken her future husband for a quick stroll around the garden and he was quickly assuring his parents that he was sure she was a perfect choice.

There were so many guests that even with the dining table opened to its fullest extent it was impossible to seat them all.  Those under eighteen years of age were required to eat separately in the drawing room, which removed just enough for the rest to squeeze into the dining room.  James and Edward were not particularly happy about this, but put up with just barely enough good grace.

Breakfast was an informal affair with family and guests coming down whenever they felt inclined.  Everyone was eating as much as they could as they knew the wedding feast would not be till late in the afternoon and would be the only other meal of the day.  I took my time in a leisurely fashion greeting one and all and savouring my triumph:  by the end of the day my only child would be Lady Llanbedr and so in time would be a viscountess.  When the King died and the Regent assumed the throne she would be in Westminster Abbey for the coronation (assuming Lord Llanbedr had inherited of course).  With these visions in my mind I was genially disposed to all.

Later in the morning we all scattered to our various rooms to dress for the ceremony.  The bride and her close family and friends were using the Old Nursery and I went there to be dressed and to help Georgina.  To my surprise, my husband was there as was Mrs. Jones.  I was immediately apprehensive, surely not today of all days?  He smiled his predatory grin at me and I knew at once, he planned something humiliating for me on my daughter’s wedding day.  I wanted to beg him for mercy but knew that would serve no purpose except to increase his triumph.  In the end I would have to submit, come what may.  I shivered at the thought.  Please let it not be too extreme.

To make it all worse was the number of people in the room.  Besides myself there were Georgina, Miss Hailsham and Miss Emma.  At the end of the room stood four dressmaker’s dummies which held our gowns for the day, fussed over by the seamstress who was on hand to make any final adjustments required.  Also there were Eliza and Rose to help with dressing as well as Mrs. Jones and Sir Thomas.  Nine of us in total and the windows looking south over the orangery and west over the park were thrown open to let in fresh air.  Fortunately our hair had already been arranged.

“I thought I might come and help make sure you ladies are properly prepared for the big day,” said my husband cheerfully.

We all stared at him awaiting his wishes.  I quailed inwardly.  What manner of preparation?

“Perhaps we should begin with Lady Georgina, as we will all be calling her from this afternoon.  Please prepare her except for the dress.”

Rose and Eliza scurried to obey and Georgina was swiftly stripped before having all her linen undergarments replaced with the most delicate silk ones: stockings, garters, drawers, chemise and corset.  All were in cream with little hints of red piping.

“Your husband will no doubt find you entirely ravishable tonight, Lady Georgina,” teased Sir Thomas.  And he was indubitably right: she did look heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Now we need to stoke up those fires a little to keep you hot for Lord Llanbedr.  First I think you should say goodbye to your Sapphic friends.  Who will begin?  You, Mrs. Jones?”

The housekeeper nodded and gave a little smile.  She moved to the settee and reclined upon it before tugging up her skirts and loosening her drawers to reveal her neat bush.  Quite without shame she spread her legs and beckoned my little girl.

Open-eyed Georgina approached and falling to her knees, began her task.  She was utterly skilful and soon lost herself completely between the other woman’s thighs.  Swiftly enough there were a series of short gasps as Mrs. Jones took her pleasure.

Twice more this was repeated on Miss Hailsham and then Miss Emma until all were satisfied and Georgina was left with a very sticky face.

“Now it is the turn of your friends to kiss farewell to your sweet young cunt.  But ladies, please ensure Lady Georgina is kept as hot as possible.  No climaxes till tonight please.  We need our little virgin to be steaming for her lord.  Eliza, remove Lady Llanbedr’s drawers please.”

Georgina was soon laid upon the sofa as the three women took turns to kiss, lick and finger my daughter’s spread-eagled sex.  I saw the pleasure mounting in her face, the flush spreading across her shoulders and neck and her breath begin to come in short little moans.  But these women knew her only too well and teased and tormented her without letting her have any relief.

Eventually Sir Thomas commanded her to stand and her drawers were put back in place.  She was gasping and rubbing her thighs together as if to bring herself relief.

“Now the dress please,” said her stepfather.  “And no sneaking off to use those nimble fingers of yours for illicit purposes, young lady.  Keep it warm for your husband.”

I imagined that although she was not particularly partial to men, she would be only too pleased with his attentions that evening, which I suppose was my husband’s intention.

The bridesmaids were soon dressed which left only my own person.  I gathered my courage; this would probably be unbearable and yet have to be borne.

“My dear, would you mind changing your undergarments now?” Sir Thomas said sweetly.

Rose helped me out of my dress and my underthings.  Suddenly there I was, stark naked before them all: maids, seamstress, housekeeper, bridesmaids, bride and my husband.  They were all dressed and ready to go whereas I was completely vulnerable.  My sex had been freshly shaved that morning and shone in the September sunlight.  I was proud of my body but had no wish to display it in this perverse fashion.

Rose slipped on my silk stockings, boots and corset.  I noticed immediately that the luxurious silk drawers and the chemise that completed the set were no longer visible.  Surely he did not mean me to go drawerless on Georgina’s wedding day?  And without my chemise my breasts were naked above the corset, though they would at least be covered by the dress.

“Now, my dearest, I am sure you will wish to keep your beautiful daughter company in her state of febrile expectation.  And we all know just the way to get you warmed up.  Please go and bend over the back of that chair.”

Reluctantly I complied letting my breasts swing free, how I wished I had a chemise on.  Protesting or begging would be only too useless and only cost me my dignity.  I saw him handing the tawse, which my feet had become so acquainted with, to the housekeeper.

“Twelve across Lady Caroline’s arse please, Mrs. Jones.  Lay them on good and hard, I need to know that she will feel them for the rest of the day.”

I clenched my teeth and braced myself.  The sound of the first blow echoed like a gunshot.  I was instantly grateful that our guests were all in the main and north wings.  The pain lanced through my behind, the agony skewering me in its intensity.  The damned woman left me for a whole minute which meant that the agony had time to wash back and forth over me.  The response was utterly unavoidable: my sex erupted in heat and longing even while my bottom burned.  Eleven more blows landed, each with a long pause to let me feel it to the limit.  By halfway through I was begging for it to end.  Each blow hurt more than the one before and my lust was climbing intolerably in league with the agony.

When it was over my bottom was one big flaming bruise.  I knew that every time I sat for the remainder of the day (and indeed for days thereafter) I would be in pain and that the discomfort would transmit itself straight to my poor sex.  He clearly wanted both Georgina and me on edge for the entire wedding.  Well there was no doubt he was going to be right. 

I saw from the look on Georgina’s face that watching me humiliated had only served to excite her further.  What a strange pair we were, both held captive by our weakness and carnality.  Worse, even were our captors to allow it, I was not confident that we would break free if the opportunity presented itself.  I knew I could not leave Sir Thomas and was fairly sure that Georgina would not leave Miss Emma behind even though she had no real need for a companion now that she was married.

I moved to where my dress hung to get myself ready.

“Not yet, wife, we still have to get you ready.”

Surely there wasn’t more of this?  “Please, Sir Thomas, please.  That is enough.  My bottom is on fire.  Please?”

“I am sure that it is not the only part of you that is hot right now!  But I want this day to be a day you will never, ever, forget.  And so I think we need to ensure that every bit of that gorgeous body of yours joins in the celebration.”

Every bit?  God, please not that.  I wanted to enjoy my daughter’s wedding, not endure it in a haze of sexual torment.  I was about to protest when he came over and kissed me, there in front of them all.  His tongue conquered me, thrusting into my mouth and capturing my very breath.

“You will be obedient, wife, utterly obedient,” he whispered as he broke our embrace.  One glance in his eyes, those wolf-like eyes, and I was lost.  I would submit as a dutiful spouse.

“Yes, husband,” I gasped almost silently, but he heard.  I felt as if I might climax just from submitting to him.

“Excellent, Lady Caroline,” he said heartily.  “Let’s have you back over the chair again.”  He waved me back to the position I had so recently vacated.

Once I was leaning over it again he approached and showed me a round black ball.  He let it rest in my hand for a moment.  It was about the size of a billiard ball, made from the densest ebony and perfectly smooth.  It was so heavy I was sure that it would sink in water, unlike normal wood.  I knew it had not come from the billiard table downstairs, where all the balls were made from ivory.

“Now that we have heated up your arse,” Sir Thomas said jovially, “it is time to entertain that hole between the cheeks you love so well.”

Oh, Dear God, not there.  Not that thing, in there...

“Mrs. Jones, would you mind inserting this for me?” And he passed the ball to the housekeeper.

“Your ladyship, would you mind assisting me by yawning your buttocks apart?”  The woman’s voice was polite but teasing at the same time.

Helplessly I complied, pulling myself open to make the task easier.  I felt the huge ball pressed up against my little aperture.  It felt slippery so she had clearly greased it first.  Slowly but surely she applied more and more pressure to the object.  I groaned as I sensed myself beginning to open for it.  Then with a sudden searing pain it slipped into me.  It felt huge in there; it was going to be hellish walking about all day with that thing in me.  But it made me terribly aware of my bottomhole and that was my husband’s obvious desire.  I wondered how I was ever going to get the ball out of my behind...

“Here you go, Miss Emma, why don’t you put in the second one?” And Sir Thomas passed an identical sphere to the bridesmaid.

No!  There couldn’t be!  But there was.  Reluctantly I held my position as the young woman approached behind me.  She seemed much less sure than the housekeeper and it was Mrs. Jones who gave the instructions.

“Pull your cheeks apart again, Lady Caroline.  Now, Miss Emma dip the ball in the lotion and present it to her ladyship’s little hole.  Don’t worry, it will go in.  Now apply pressure, slowly and evenly.  There, see how she opens?  Now, keep pushing...  You are having to push the first ball up as the second goes in.”

And she was quite right.  I could feel myself being stretched apart a second time and could sense the first ball being pushed in further by the second.  I was so uncomfortably full and I suddenly wished my corset was not so tightly fastened.  Suddenly I felt the piece of wood slip past my ring and up inside.  I gasped out loud.  I was not sure that I would be able to walk properly with these things inside me.

“Stand up, my darling,” said my husband, “and walk round the room.  I t will help you accommodate them.” 

I obeyed and made a little tour of the nursery while everyone watched me parading like a prize filly.  I took little steps and I imagined that I could feel the two balls rubbing against each other in my poor bottom.  Whether I could actually feel them moving was not important: what mattered was how very full and uncomfortable I felt and how it seemed to focus my entire consciousness on that terribly sensitive part of my body.  When I finished my little circle I was before my husband.  He reached down and once again he kissed me with a lover’s touch.  He knew I had no way left of fighting him at all.

“Once more of the chair, my dear.”

Oh, please, no.  Not a third!  It wouldn’t fit...  and if it did, I would be unable to walk.  But I took my position once more and looked over to see what he had planned for me.  From behind his back he took a strange looking object, definitely not a ball.  It took me several moments to even register what it was.

“Nooo!  Please, husband...  I am begging you...  Please not that!”  I was quite beside myself. 

He was holding a strange little carving.  Like the balls it was made of ebony and it represented the fist of a girl.  It was skilfully carved and one could make out the individual fingers and thumb and all the knuckles.  The wrist was represented and after that it ended in an oval base.  I had seen it sitting on the desk in the library and had assumed it was a native carving from the Gold Coast in Africa, brought back to England by some curious traveller.  In my husband’s hand in this situation it clearly had a much more sinister purpose.

“Miss Hailsham, your turn I believe.”  And with this Sir Thomas passed the infernal object to the governess who gave a little smile.

“Open yourself again please, Lady Caroline,” came her curt instruction.

“Nooo!  Please...”  I just could not do this humiliating task, not for that thing.

“Pull your cheeks apart or I shall ring for the footmen to come do it for you, dearest.”  My husband was not to be balked in this.

I pulled my buttocks apart slowly and reluctantly.  I immediately felt the clenched fingers of the carving presented to my hole.  The pressure began to mount.  While the width of the widest part was no bigger than the preceding balls, it was the knobbly nature of the knuckles that made it far more painful to accept, not to mention the fact that it now had to push the other objects up my passage in order to be accommodated.  I groaned and wailed without any pride or dignity.  Suddenly when I could stand it no more it slipped past my poor little ring.  Except this time my hole did not close behind it but was held open by the wrist of the damned thing.  The discomfort was intense but was swamped by the indecent intensity of the sensations it provoked.

“Parade for us, my dear.”

Once again I was required to make my tour of the room.  Even taking the tiniest of steps I felt nothing put waves of sexual pleasure from my distended bottom hole.  I would be able to think of nothing else all day.

“Sit for me, wife.  Just for a minute in the chair.”  His voice tormented me with its sweetness.

Gingerly I lowered myself into the seat.  The effect was appalling: the wooden fist was shoved up into my bottom in turn pushing the balls up my stuffed back passage.  I whinnied in despair: this was beyond sexual torment, it was torture.

“Stand now, dearest, and put one foot up on the seat of the chair.”

Slowly I complied.  In fact for the remainder of the day my every movement was perforce to be slow and measured so as to control the intensity of my body’s response.  Eventually I was left standing with one leg bent at right angles up on the chair.  What next?

I looked over to see Sir Thomas passing a strap to Mrs. Jones.  “Please give her ladyship half-a-dozen on top of her thighs.  And make sure it wraps around to catch the soft inner flesh.”

I gritted my teeth and prepared myself.

The first blow landed just above my knee and the leather left a red band across my leg.  As my husband had desired the end bent round and caught my inner thigh, increasing the pain. I gasped but stopped myself from crying out.  Each successive stroke moved up my leg towards my most sensitive area. With the fifth blow I cried out in pain despite my best intentions.

I looked down.  There was now just the width of the strap left between the last mark and my sex.  I glanced at the housekeeper’s face and saw her smiling at me.  She would have to be so accurate here, if she missed by just a fraction of an inch or if I moved at the last moment then the strap would land on the lips of my exposed sex. 

“Waaah!” I howled.  She had been utterly precise in her blow, but still the softness of my flesh in that spot made the entire thing agonising.  I doubled up and held my seared leg.  I could feel the heat radiating from my thigh.

“Change legs please, Lady Caroline,” said Mrs. Jones.

It took me several minutes to obey as I wrestled with my pain and the discomfort in my behind.

Just as the implacable woman was about to begin again my husband came over and ran his fingers through my slit.

“Dripping wet, Lady Caroline, dripping wet!” I could not deny the evidence on the fingers he held up for all to see.  Had he touched me for more than a few moments I would have reached my climax.

The second set on my other thigh was if anything worse than the first.  I felt as if every nerve in my body was tingling now, sensitive to the least stimulation.  I desperately craved my release and was tempted to just disobey him and seize my bud and rub myself to a climax.  But no, I was obedient.  By now I had no ability to balk his desires.

“Parade for us once more, dearest,” came his command and I did, feeling the heat radiating from my thighs and buttocks and the exquisite discomfort in my bottom.  I could feel wetness beginning to seep down my legs.

“Just a couple more accoutrements and you may dress.”

Accoutrements?  What could he mean?  What more could be done to me?

“Stand still, my darling, and move your legs apart a foot or so.”

Nervously I complied, each shuffling movement rearranging the objects inside me.

“The chains please, Mrs. Jones.”

I shivered at the words and looked over to the housekeeper.  Surely the did not mean to have me manacled today?  I would be unable to walk without everyone knowing.

Mrs. Jones approached me and knelt before me.  I felt her warm breath on my naked sex and on the reddened skin of my thighs.  I looked down and saw her take from her pocket a thin gold chain ending in little golden clamps at either end.  Quite gently she took hold of the left lip of my sex and tugging it slightly she began to affix the clamp to it.

“No,” I moaned, “oh please, no.”  But my entreaties made not a jot of difference.

When she had firmly attached the little device to me, she passed the chain around the outside of my leg and began to affix the second clamp adjacent to the first.  I immediately discerned its purpose, with every step I took, with every movement I made the chain would tug my lips apart and open my sex.  It was disgusting and humiliating and I knew that this continual torment would drive me far beyond the limits of sexual desire.

“Please, husband.  Please, Sir Thomas, it is too much.  I will not be able to stand it.”  I begged him surrendering the last shreds of my dignity.  Mrs. Jones was now attaching the second, matching chain to the other side.  I moaned in desire and despair.

“You will be able to stand it, wife.  But it may make you come spontaneously.  Perhaps during the service?  Perhaps when your daughter says ‘I do’?”

I looked over to where Georgina was staring at me, opened-mouthed and with eyes lidded with her own wanton needs.  Knowing her nature, she probably wished the chains were being clamped to her sex rather than mine.

Mrs. Jones was finished and slowly stood.  I could see the desire in her eyes too.

“Once more around the room for us, Lady Caroline,” teased my husband.

I walked and this time each little step pulled my sex apart, making my innermost self gape open.  As I passed the open window I felt the cool outside air flowing over the wetness of my sex.  I shivered in a paroxysm of lust.  My needs were spiralling in the warm September air.

“Miss Hailsham, just your piece to add then,” said Sir Thomas.

We all turned to look as the young governess approached where I was standing.  She was holding a little cornflower blue ribbon I recognised from before.

“Oh God, oh My God,” I moaned.

Slowly the young woman knelt before me with everyone watching her intently.

“Open yourself for me please, your ladyship,” she said in a clear commanding voice.

Desperately I looked at my husband but only saw the wolf in him smiling back at me.  With trembling fingers I spread my lips.  I might have done this just by spreading my legs and letting the chains do their work but that would have been consenting to my degradation and that, despite my wanton needs, I would not do.

Miss Hailsham knelt before me and I now felt her warmth breath on my sex.  Gently she teased out my bud.  In truth, this took but little effort as I was so excited that the poor little nub was as hard and swollen as it had ever been.  Then she brought up the thin little ribbon.  I wanted to look away but found I could not tear my gaze from my sex.  I watched as she put a little loop about my bud and firmly pulled it tight.

I orgasmed there and then, squealing my pleasure before them all.  I could no more control myself than I could stop the sun from rising.  My legs buckled and I found myself sliding to my knees.  I moaned and gasped as the tremors shot through me.

“Stand please, your ladyship,” said the governess.  “And spread yourself.  I need to finish off the bow.”

With supreme effort I stood again to let her finish her task.  I thought I would climax again as she adjusted the bow to perfection.

“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue!  I know that is for the bride, but it works for you too, darling,” teased Sir Thomas.  “The carving of the woman’s fist is quite old; the billiard balls were made just for you; the chains we can call borrowed as they must be returned this evening and the bow is a beautiful blue.  Now you may put on your dress.”

The seamstress helped me on with my dress.  The final surprise was when the dress was buttoned up.  Without a chemise my breasts were naked against the bosom of the dress and I found that two patches of rough canvas had been sewn over where my nipples, stiff with desire, would be.  The hard little teats would be tormented as the dress moved over them.  Truly my husband had found a way of torturing every feminine part of my body.

When I was dressed I looked at myself in the long mirror.  I looked perfectly respectable but felt utterly indecent.  My eyes had a desperate and haunted look.  I tried smiling and could see the strain on my face.  This was going to be impossible.  With every beat of my heart I felt an echoing throb in my bound bud and a twitch in my poor bottomhole.  Every little step I took made the fabric rub over my beaten bottom and thighs as well as tugging my sex open.  I knew I would not make it through the day without some form of relief.

Taking the smallest of steps I followed my daughter down to the chapel, escorted by Sir Thomas.  How I managed to greet the assembled guests there and make light conversation I do not know.  I just wanted to howl and beg my husband for relief.  By the time I managed to reach the front pew I could feel a trickle of my female wetness running down my thigh and soaking my stocking tops.  I gingerly sat myself down and stifled a gasp. The wooden fist shoved its way into me and the balls jostled as they moved up my back passage in response.  The wrist of the damned carving opened my poor little hole so very wide.  I was by now desperate for relief but before I could whisper a begging entreaty to my husband he left me to go back down to the main door so as to prepare to escort Georgina up the aisle.

The bridegroom’s family came over and I endeavoured to make polite conversation.  I sat as still as was possible and hoped that they put my distressed state down to nervousness about the day.  Finally the introduction to the bridal march began to play and I was left by myself in the pew as they retreated across the aisle to their places.  It was at that point I discovered that by clenching and relaxing my bottomhole I could drive the fist and balls up and down my backside. And by gently moving my legs apart I could stretch my sex open too.  It felt so good and I could not resist it.  I was determined to find some relief.

Suddenly the music changed to the full march and my daughter was coming up the aisle on my husband’s arm.  If I were quick I could just manage it before they arrived at the altar.  Furiously I clenched and relaxed my little ring.  I was practically bouncing in my pew.  As my daughter passed me I saw her glance in my direction and her eyes open in surprise.  Was it that obvious?  As she climbed the steps the music reached its peak and so did I, the sounds from the organ covering my short gasps and moans.  I saw both my husband and my daughter glancing over and watching me as I climaxed in the chapel and on her wedding day.  I could not have felt more disgusting and ashamed. But I had to find some measure of relief from my torment.  I hoped my oozing sex would not leave a damp patch on my dress.  Fortunately I knew the fine cloth to be quite thick.

When a little while later my husband finished his part in the ceremony and came to sit beside me, he kissed me on the cheek and whispered, “Filthy trollop!”

Just the words made my poor sex twitch anew.  My desire was once more stoking itself.  My bottom was so appallingly full that I could not take my mind off it for more than a few moments at a time.  And each time I let the sensations down there wash over me my need for relief rose again.  If I squirmed in the slightest, in an effort to find a more comfortable position, it just made the cloth move over my enflamed skin, the chains tug at my opened sex or the blood throb in my bound bud.  It was utterly, desperately unbearable.  I didn’t actually climax as my daughter said her vows but by then I was desperate to do so.  When Sir Thomas rose to go sign the registry as a witness he once more leant in and, while kissing my cheek, spoke quietly into my ear, “Try not to come while I’m away, slut.  Talk to our guests instead.”

With a barely stifled moan I swivelled in the pew so that I could try to converse with my brother and his family who, together with my stepsons, were in the row behind.  They must all have seen that I was in a state; I just prayed that they took it for excitement at Georgina’s marriage and not something more.  I am not sure that Edward was fooled; he was too like his father.

When the ceremony was finally over I processed down the aisle on my husband’s arm, following Lord and Lady Llanbedr as everyone tossed rose petals over them.  I was glad that all eyes were on them as I was sure that no one would be fooled by my smile if they looked too carefully.  I didn’t want to smile and nod and walk daintily behind the bride and bridegroom.  I wanted to lie on the floor, spread my legs, pound my stuffed bottom up and down while playing with my swollen little bud till I climaxed again and again.  I was almost beyond caring and beyond reason.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of unsated lust.  Amid my polarised urges to keep a respectable facade and to achieve some sort of relief for my base desires a few scenes stand out in stark relief.

Sitting at the wedding feast between Lord Llanbedr and Viscount Hawarden and making polite conversation while wishing I could bounce myself up and down in wild abandon instead.

Dancing with Sir Thomas in the second dance.  It was vigorous and, as he moved me powerfully across the floor of the ballroom, the jolting in my bottom and the tugging on the lips of my sex meant that I exploded in ecstasy, moaning my demented release into his shoulder as he whispered in my ear, “Filthy, filthy whore.”

Sir Thomas ordering me to visit the library with my stepsons.  I remembering lowering myself carefully to my knees and frantically engulfing their members with my mouth.  By that stage I was so desperate for carnal pleasure that I actually enjoyed the feeling of their organs as they were thrust into my face.  I was terrified that some other guest would enter into the room and went through the humiliating task with alacrity.  I recall their grins as they said “Thank you, Stepmother” and departed.

My sister-in-law cornering me and asking if I was quite all right as I was clearly completely overcome with the emotion of the occasion.  She suggested that I should go and lie down for a few minutes to calm myself.  I wanted nothing more than to do just that, but my husband wished me to stay by his side.

My husband and I standing side-by-side on the steps of Hirst Hall in the twilight and waving goodbye to the carriages holding the Hawarden party.  Georgina, Lady Llanbedr, sat there beside her new husband and waved sweetly and tearfully.  Miss Missenden sat in separate coach with the family servants and much of the luggage.  I wondered how she would get on in her new home.  I was sure she and my daughter would manage their Sapphic trysts once the honeymoon was over.

Following the departure of the bride and groom the party repaired to the Hall and quite swiftly began to leave for their various rooms.  It had been a long and exciting day (more so for me than anyone else) and I was grateful when my husband took my hand and led me to the stairs.

I was surprised when he led me to the door leading to my bedchamber rather than his own.  My heart jumped as we entered the room.  It was well-lit and Rose, Mrs Jones and Miss Hailsham were all in attendance, the latter still in her bridesmaid’s dress.  Immediately I was apprehensive; I had hoped that it would just be Sir Thomas and that he would release me from my torment and take me to bed and satisfy me.  I ached for his touch in every scintilla of my being.

“Undress your mistress please, Rosie,” came my spouse’s command.

And so my dress was removed leaving me once more on display for all to view.

“Turn for us, my dearest, nice and slow.  And put your hands on your head.”

I obeyed, letting each of them view my abject shame.  My stiffened nipples had been rubbed till they were red and sore.  My poor, delicate little bud was by now grotesquely swollen and a livid purplish colour.  It throbbed visibly.  The lips of my sex were puffy and wet and still gaped wide apart.  The end of the ebony carving protruded between my red flaming buttocks. I wondered if that sensitive little aperture would ever recover.  My thighs were a darkened red colour from the strapping.  With each little step I took I groaned as the chains tugged and the wooden objects moved about inside me.

“Lovely, darling, now get over your bed and let’s get those things out of you.  Mrs Jones?”

The housekeeper took me by the hand and let me to the bed.  Soon I was stretched out on the counterpane.  I felt one hand on the tender flesh of my bottom to steady me while the other gripped the base of the carved fist and pulled.

“Aaah, aaah, oooh!” I wailed as the thing was extracted from me. The pleasure and pain mingled inextricably and I nearly climaxed.  Then it was out and I saw the cursed object being passed to Rose.

“Clean that, Rosie, and place it on Lady Caroline’s mantelpiece.  I am sure she will want to admire it daily.”  Sir Thomas’ voice was teasing me cruelly.  I actually wanted to burn the thing.

“Lift your bottom please, your ladyship.  I need to get the balls out,” said the housekeeper in her business-like tone.

Slowly I complied, helplessly making the chains pull on my sex as I did so.  I felt a couple of fingers slip into my behind.  I wailed at the humiliation of this woman, any woman using me so degradingly.

“Now push down, Lady Caroline.  Bring the balls to me.”

I moaned and pushed the wooden spheres backwards as best I could.  Suddenly I felt Mrs. Jones’ fingers hook around the first ball. If the pain of the balls being inserted had been appalling, the agony of her fingers extracting the pair was infinitely worse.  My stretched ring of muscle was so sore and so sensitive that I could not help but squirm away from her.  In the end Sir Thomas ordered pillows put under me so that my bottom remained up high, while Rose and Miss Hailsham held me down.  After the last ball had reappeared I was released and lay there moaning and scissoring my legs in pain, not caring at the further distress this was causing to my sex.  Gently I felt hands rolling me onto my back.

I opened my eyes and through my tears saw Mrs. Jones gently raising and spreading my legs.  With a gasp I noticed that she was now more than half naked; her clothes and undergarments were draped over a chair.  When had that happened?  Oh, Dear God...

Carefully the housekeeper undid the clamps and I groaned as the blood returned to these abused spots.  Then finally she loosened Miss Hailsham’s bow as that woman watched.  The governess too, I saw, was now half-naked.

The blood surged into my little bud and the agony was far beyond description.  Despite its searing intensity I climaxed helplessly and more intensely than I ever had before, thrusting my naked sex up off the bed as if offering it up to the entire room.  I collapsed down as surge after surge of pleasure and pain bounced about my body.  In the throes of my extremis I opened my eyes to see Mrs. Jones above me.   She had straddled my head and was slowly lowering herself upon me.  As I looked down I saw my husband smiling and noticed the housekeeper had a candle in her hand, a candle she was bringing towards my sex.

Helplessly I licked her sex as it touched my mouth.  It felt so strange and so disgusting and yet I climaxed once again as I felt her slide the length of wax into my sex, loudly moaning my pleasure into her mound.  I licked and sucked and tried to forget what I was doing while they all watched me.

As the housekeeper finally lifted herself off so that the governess could take her place on my sticky face, I saw my husband watching me with a mixture of lust and amusement.

“We must take you down to London for the Season next year, my dear.  There are so many interesting people I want you to meet.”

I might have replied but suddenly my mouth was full once more.

The End (for now).

Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to read this careless magnum opus.  Somehow it growed like Topsy.  Your comments and reviews are always welcome.