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.