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    Thumbs up "Avoiding The Missionary Position" (M+/F+: Reluc: Historical)

    I did not write this story ---found it on the Net---all credit to the Author David Shaw


    "AVOIDING THE MISSIONARY POSITION" (M+/F+: Reluc: Historical)

    By

    David Shaw
    david@f-e-mail.com

    www.f-e-mail.com

    THIS STORY IS INTENDED FOR ADULT READING ONLY

    -----------------------------------------------------------------------

    The Vicar's wife has a hard decision to make. Help the Duke's son
    enjoy his holiday or start packing her bags to spread God's word
    abroad. Which kind of missionary position will she choose?

    -----------------------------------------------------------------------

    "Now, my dear, I must tell you that I've come to see you about a most
    important matter. One that involves both the Duke and his son."

    Mrs Mason looked across the tea cups with an arch expression on her
    face which seemed to imply a hidden insight into the mystique of the
    nobility. Since Diane Mason's husband was the senior Steward of the
    Duke of Parsvale's estate, both he and his wife were really no more
    than glorified servants. Still, if a cat could look at a king then
    Diane Mason was certainly in a good position to hear any gossip about
    the Duke's doings.

    "Really?" Madelaine Swan-Smith answered vaguely.

    She wasn't particularly interested in the Duke's affairs but she was
    certainly wondering what had brought Diane out to visit her on a day
    when gusts of rain were pattering against the cottage windows. A
    miserable day here in Kent, a worse day yet for the British warships
    in the chops of the Channel keeping watch and ward for any signs of
    invasion by Bonaparte's ungodly Republican soldiers.

    "Yes, a matter concerning the Duke himself, and his personal wishes
    in respect of Lord Horace. Have you met his Lordship since your
    husband took over the living in this parish?"

    "No. He has been away at school at Rugby ever since we came here. But
    we have heard he is a sturdy and well set up young man."

    "Yes," Diane agreed, "Strong and well developed, and with an
    excellent opinion of himself. But before we discuss Lord Horace any
    further, my dear, let all be made plain between us. You are newly
    arrived, Madeline, and perhaps lucky to be here. After all, there
    were plenty of clergymen who would have been very happy to have been
    granted this living by the Duke. For this parish is part of the
    Duke's estates and he decides who preaches here."

    Madeline blinked in surprise at Diane's bluntness: "It is of course
    true that we were very happy to come here. It was due to some distant
    family connections with the Dukedom of Pursvale that Edward obtained
    his position here, thus allowing us to marry."

    "Precisely so. As I understand it, neither of you have much in the
    way of independent means and so you are financially reliant on your
    husband retaining his present position."

    Madeline's teacup rattled as she set it down angrily on the saucer:
    "Diane, is that why you've made such an uncomfortable journey on such
    an unpleasant day? Simply in order to insult Edward and myself?"

    "My dear, of course not. My husband and I are just as dependent on
    the Duke's good will as you are yourself. If it were not so I would
    not be running this important errand. I came here in both our
    interests."

    Madeline barely stopped herself from snorting in disgust at being
    addressed as a child by a woman who could hardly be five and twenty,
    and thus only a few years older than herself. But of course Diane had
    crossed the great divide of womanhood by having borne her first
    child, which doubtless made her feel able to adopt such a superior
    attitude towards a younger wife.

    "Perhaps you should explain what you mean."

    "Certainly, Madeline, certainly, but I fear what I may have to say
    will prove . . . unsettling for you. When do you expect Edward to return?"

    Madeline blinked: "Why, not until nightfall. He has gone to
    Staunton-Under-Stanton to spread the true word amongst the villagers,
    many of whom are having their silly heads turned by a local Methodist
    claiming that the word of God can come from a mere blacksmith."

    Both of the women duly smiled at such nonsense, although it crossed
    Diane Mason's mind that many people believed that the word of God had
    come from a mere carpenter. Still, she had far more important fish to
    fry than quibbling over religious matters.

    "Then, my dear, I can speak freely. I have been sent here by his
    Grace to request a favor from you, a favor which will be warmly
    appreciated and remembered. A favor, however, which you may find it
    difficult to reconcile yourself into granting. It has to do with Lord
    Horace and his desire for some obliging feminine company whilst on
    his school holidays."

    "Good Lord, Diane, whatever are you suggesting?"

    "At this precise moment, I am suggesting nothing," Diane answered
    rather sharply. "I'm attempting to explain to you is how things are
    done on great estates like this. You may have a notion that young
    aristocrats such as Lord Horace can pick and choose from amongst the
    local village girls for companionship, but that is certainly not the
    case. Not because the girls are unwilling, but because the Duke
    himself is. He believes that any such liaisons are inherently
    dangerous to the prestige of his family, and to the distance which
    the aristocracy should properly place between itself and the lower orders.

    "No, on that point the Duke is quite inflexible. His son is forbidden
    to lay a finger on any farmer's wife or daughter, be they ever so
    willing. You must understand how valuable these tenants are to the
    estate's rent-roll. Some of the families here have been farming these
    fields since the Doomesday Book was written. Their knowledge and good
    will is essential to the estate's wealth and not to be jeopardized
    for any fleeting carnal fancies."

    Madeline gaped, astonished at Diane's bold speaking: "But if Horace
    wishes to behave in a certain manner, then surely the nearest towns
    could provide any number of -- of ladies of convenience."

    Diane seemed amused: "My dear Madeline, his Grace has far too much
    respect for his son's health to expect him hire sixpenny slattons
    from local taverns. No, what is required are some respectable married
    ladies who would care to oblige him with discretion in these affairs
    of honor. Ladies who are willing to join a young knight for a
    pleasant joust in the lists of love."

    "But Diane, you cannot possibly mean to suggest that I should
    countenance any kind of improper behavior? I am the wife of a man in
    holy orders!"

    "Which is precisely why I thought of you. You are young, personable,
    pretty and, as you say, you are the Vicar's wife. Which means that
    the Earl could send your husband packing any time he chooses to,
    replacing him with any one of twenty other aspiring clerics the day
    afterwards. Your husband is not one of the farmers that the estate
    needs to keep it flourishing and his Grace couldn't give a fig whom
    attends to this spiritual needs of Pursvale parish, just as long as
    the sermons on Sundays are kept a short as is decently possible."

    Madeline could find no words to answer, could only sit there in the
    home she had worked so hard to make comfortable, rigid with terror at
    the prospect of having to pack her belongings and leave a place where
    she was completely content with life.

    Attempting to show some sympathy, Diane leaned closer as she
    continued. "My dear Madeline, I tell you again that I am in exactly
    the same situation as you are. My husband could be dismissed from his
    position at a snap of the Duke's fingers, so I too must do what I am
    told, or be turned out into the mud and rain. It is a situation of
    point nonplus. Let us be sensible therefore and see the thing through
    together, with never a hint of it to our menfolk, well remembering
    that what the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve over. Come,
    let's make a game of it and enjoy what we cannot prevent. I can
    assure you that Lord Horace has a very kindly manner towards those he
    partners in such ventures."

    Madeline almost spilt her tea: "You mean you've already . . ."

    Her visitor was apparently unmoved by the prospect of eternal
    damnation for the implied sin of adultery. Diane put her own cup back
    on its saucer without a tremor and answered calmly.

    "Madeline, there is no need at all for you to concern yourself about
    what has happened in the past. All you need to do is whatever is
    necessary to keep the Duke contented. Have I your permission to speak plainly?"

    "Yes, I suppose so."

    "Very well. To recapitulate, Lord Horace will be home from Rugby very
    soon. His Grace expects that whilst here his son will be given ample
    opportunity to enjoy himself in the ways that young men of his
    station are wont to do. I have been asked to make the necessary
    arrangements. Because you are so suitable in every way I am asking
    you to help both the Duke and myself in this matter. Can I take it
    you will be willing to do whatever is needful?"

    "Diane, I cannot be involved in any such thing. It could ruin
    Edward's career in the church. Caesar's wife must be above suspicion,
    and so must the spouse of a man of the cloth."

    Diane Mason rose from her chair and picked up her gloves: "As you
    wish, my dear, I'll ring no more peals over you. Where would you like
    your things sent on to? Africa, India, or China? His Grace receives
    many appeals from different missionary societies seeking to spread
    the word of God amongst the heathen abroad. Of course wherever you go
    there's bound to be malaria and yellow fever and sunstroke to endure,
    but what are such trifles to a lady of your high principles?"

    "Diane!" Madeline looked around her at her furniture, and at the
    walls of the cozy cottage she had already grown to love. "Very well,
    you have me in a hobble. Tell me what you wish me to do and I will
    pray for guidance."

    "What a wise choice, Madeline. England, home and beauty is always the
    best option and I think Edward would be much happier to continue
    dealing with the difficult natives of Staunton-Under-Stanton rather
    than those of Borneo. The Methodists may be a contumelious sect but
    at least they rarely carry theological dissension to the point of
    cooking and eating their opponents. So, let us discuss the arrangements calmly.

    "Next Thursday the Duke will send your husband on an urgent errand
    with some legal papers which must be hand delivered by a person of
    trust to his lawyers in Chancery Square in London. You will then wait
    to be collected at one o'clock in the Duke's coach and taken to
    Pursvale Park. Should anybody ask, you have been invited to attend a
    poetry reading that the Duchess is giving. There is nothing to fear,
    so remain calm. You will eventually return home safe and sound. In
    the meantime, say nothing about this to anybody else."

    "But, Diane, who else will be there? What is going to happen? I must
    have some idea of what to expect."

    Diane smiled as she prepared to take her leave. "An idea of what to
    expect? I can certainly provide that, my dear. Wait one moment."

    Diane went out to her gig and returned quickly, the shoulders of her
    dress damp with rain. She held out a small package to Madeline, a
    package neatly wrapped in expensive paper with a decorative bow.

    "Remember, one o'clock of Thursday afternoon and be of a cheerful
    mind. This is going to be an experience you will long cherish. And
    here is your clothing for the poetry reading. Wear your traveling
    cloak for the journey in the coach and what's in this box underneath
    your cloak. Nothing else but those items and your shoes. Not unless
    you want your last view of England to be over the stern of a foreign
    bound ship."

    The clergyman's wife had stared with puzzlement as she took the
    package. "But it weighs nothing at all."

    "Then now you know what to expect, Madeline, and I hope you may blush
    so prettily on Thursday -- 'twill look well!"

    As soon as Diane's cob had dragged the gig away down the muddy lane
    Madeline retired to the bedroom and opened the package. There was
    nothing in it but a long white robe made of pure silk. The luxurious
    feel of the robe in her hands made her gasp but not as much as the
    styling of it, for from the neckline down it was cut into strips, all
    the way around, and each strip no wider than a thumb's breadth. The
    only other item in the box was a belt of the same material as the robe, clearly
    intended to be tied around the waist. Even more obviously, any woman
    wearing such a garment could never make a single movement without the
    risk of displaying herself in the lewdest manner.

    Eventually, impelled by a fearful curiosity, Madeline took off every
    stitch of her clothing and slipped the gown down over her head and
    her arms, the silk caressing her skin with a sensuous smoothness
    which had her shuddering at the garment's disgusting lasciviousness.
    It was as if she was dressing herself in actual bodily sin. Yet
    surely, no man could take any pleasure in the sight of a female who
    permitted herself to be displayed in such an immodest manner?

    Never had she seen such an odd contrast between normality and
    singularity. The background reflections in the mirror were the same
    as always. The four poster bed, the small table by the window with
    her bible on top of it, the rather battered oaken wardrobe which was
    supposed to date back to the days of Queen Elizabeth. All this was as
    it had been ever since she and Edward had arrived her to make the
    cottage their home. And what had been a place of good works and
    Christian principles was now harboring a -- a courtesan, a lady of
    the night, who looked as if she was bound for one of the utterly
    shameless entertainments that the Revolutionaries held in Paris,
    whispered about behind her friend's fans as the most decadent
    spectacles to disgrace mankind since the orgies of Ancient Rome!

    Madeline's reflection passed its tongue over her lips as she saw that
    her left nipple was peeking out shamelessly between two of the silken
    strips. Instead of lifting her hand to re-arrange the gown Madeline
    tried to imagine what it could possibly feel like to be standing in
    front of the Duke's son in such a state of dress. A young man, a
    stranger, able to gaze his fill on a part of her body sanctified
    forever by her marriage vows as Edward's property alone. With an
    strange sense of
    detachment Madeline Swan-Smith noticed that the more she considered
    such a monstrous sin, the tighter and harder her exposed nipple
    became. Eventually her hand did rise, but instead of touching the
    robe it squeezed the tip of her bared breast. Madeline gasped and
    blushed when she realized what she was doing, forcing her
    mirror-image to cease its disgusting behavior immediately.

    Thursday, as it must, eventually arrived and was duly followed in due
    course by Thursday afternoon, which in turn brought forth the
    promised coach. It pulled up outside the Vicarage, the footman
    dropping from the driver's seat to open the door for the Vicar's
    lady. Madeline desperately clutched her traveling cloak around her
    body and hoped with all her heart that no word of the real reason for
    this summons to the mansion had reached the servants' quarters.

    "Come, Madeline, welcome aboard. Now our complement is complete."

    It was Diane's voice which greeted her inside the darkened interior
    of the coach. She was not alone though. Two other women were already
    seated inside, eyeing Madeline with open curiosity, in much the same
    manner she was also staring at them. A whip cracked outside and the
    coach lumbered into motion.

    "Madeline, I believe these are mutual acquaintances of ours. Edith and Yvonne."

    "Of course. How nice to meet you again."

    It was an absurd thing to say, as though they were all gathering on a
    normal social occasion, and Madeline saw wry amusement on the faces
    of the two other female passengers. Yet it was hard to believe that
    the other women were each so composed as they appeared to be. The
    logic of their presence was certainly as clear as her own, for Diane
    must be coercing them with the same kind of threats about the Duke's
    patronage as she had employed against Madeline.

    Edith Mason was married to one of the teachers at the local school, a
    school paid for by the Duke, and for which he chose the staff. She
    was about Madeline's age, a mother of a small daughter, the possessor
    of a good figure and a delightful fresh complexion. Though not
    exactly pretty her long nosed and much freckled face was one of those
    which always seemed ready to smile, as indeed Edith was smiling now.

    "Would you like a drop of something to warm the cockles of your
    heart, Madeline?"

    The offerer was Yvonne Talbot, a tall, dark and deep bosomed young
    woman, probably the youngest in the coach, recently married to a
    builder in the town who was himself deeply involved with the Duke in
    plans for building some expensive new stables. Yvonne was holding out
    the small leather cup from a traveling flask to Madeline.

    "Come, you'll find it a great comfort."

    Not wishing to offend, Madeline took the cup and swallowed some of
    the liquid inside it, then began coughing as it left a burning path
    down her throat.

    "Careful, my dear," Diane warned. "I fear that you are unused to gin.
    But Yvonne is quite right, we all need a little help to relax."

    "And to be on our best behavior," Yvonne cut in, making Edith giggle.
    Madeline began to believe that some appreciable amount of the gin in
    the flask must already have been consumed.

    "But now that Madeline is here," Edith continued, "Perhaps we can be
    told more of what you've planned for us, Diane."

    Diane shrugged her shoulders lightly: "All I know is that we shall be
    taken to the music room, there to await Lord Horace's pleasure."

    Edith giggled again at the implication in the words and Diane smiled:
    "I take it that you are all dressed in your gowns?"

    They all nodded and Yvonne said: "I hope there's a good fire in the
    room or else it may turn out to be a cold business."

    Diane reached out and patted her hand: "Be assured, my dear, you'll
    find it warm enough, I warrant. Let me simply add that I think it
    would be unwise not obey instantly any instructions you are given.
    His Lordship is a pleasant enough young fellow but there will be a
    cane in the music room and Horace, as a prefect in his school, is
    well versed in using it if he feels he's being disobeyed in any way.
    Is that all clear?"

    "Yes, but how will it all begin?" Edith asked.

    Diane shrugged her shoulders lightly: "Horace is the master of the
    hunt and we must follow whatever line he sets for us. I can only act
    as a whipper in to the pack, so to speak, so I ask you to do freely
    and willingly whatever you are told, otherwise I will have to play
    that role more realistically than I would wish to. As for you,
    Madeline, you've as much spirit as any of us, I know that, and I'm
    sure you can play your part full well."

    The conversation died away into a reflective silence as the coach
    turned underneath the twin rows of elm trees which shaded the
    driveway up to Pursvale House. Bright eyes, wary eyes, frightened
    eyes, excited eyes, they all shared a common view of the approaching
    mansion as the gin flask was passed around again. The coach stopped,
    the door was swung open, the step lowered and the footman stood
    stiffly with his hand extended to help each lady descend to the
    smoothly raked gravel. If he noticed how tightly each of the
    alighting passengers held on to her traveling cloak he gave no
    visible sign of it.

    Madeline kept her eyes downcast and walked closely behind Diane, up
    the flight of steps and into the great hall, onto a polished wooden
    floor which suddenly felt unsteady beneath her feet. Please God, she
    wasn't going to fall down drunk, not here on the Duke's own doorstep!
    Edward would be furious if such a thing happened and she could never
    explain to him how it was she had taken gin to deaden the dread of
    becoming involved in far grosser sins.

    Down endless passageways, a flunkey in a scarlet coat leading, Diane
    behind him, then Yvonne and Edith, and Madeline hanging back. There
    were faded pictures on the walls, swords and shields, a suit of armor
    at the junction of two corridors. Yvonne pointed to the sharp angled
    steel glacis at the crutch of the steel shields, both Yvonne and
    Edith apparently sharing some joke about the part of the male anatomy
    which merited so much protection. Edith looked back and smiled at Madeline
    with the clear intention of also involving her in the jest. But
    Madeline could barely make a nervous and tight lipped response of
    pretended amusement.

    Eventually they were shown through a door into a small room with a
    high ceiling decorated with rows of plaster of paris mermaids, wave
    tossed ships and dolphins. Even at this time of tension Madeline
    wondered that aristocrats with so much money should so often spent it
    with such bad taste. Yet the oak floor was a fine a piece of work,
    laid by long gone craftsmen and polished with beeswax by succeeding
    generations of kneeling maids to a sheen which reflected back the
    light cast down from the overhanging chandeliers. All of them lit,
    burning away a small fortune in candles as the curtains remained
    drawn against the daylight outside. The only pieces of furniture in
    the room were near the fireplace. The red glow of the flames merged
    into the scarlet silk coverings of the four chaise lounges set close
    to it. Madeline stared at each of them as if they were the Devil's
    footstools, yet somehow was still able to find it within herself to
    admire the style of the couches and the luxury of their coverings.

    Diane pointed to one of the chaise lounges, set back further than the
    others, one side almost touching the wall. Propped up against the
    raised end of the couch was a cane with a handle, such a cane as
    school masters used to enforce discipline. Madeline's stomach
    smoldered like a banked fire with fear and she wished she was
    anywhere else -- anywhere else except on the deck of a ship leaving England.

    "Now, ladies, I would have the three of you kneel down on this chaise
    lounge, all facing the wall. But first of all I should tell you that
    there are several chamber pots behind that screen. Perhaps this would
    be a good time to take advantage of them. Then pray kneel down here
    as soon afterwards as quickly as possible, for we must be ready on time."

    Having had great need of the pot and the relief of using it, Madeline
    afterwards knelt down on the couch between Edith and Yvonne, her
    knees sinking into the rose petal decorations on the chaise lounge's
    cushions. As she settled her weight back over her heels she was
    acutely aware of how the strips of her gown hung and clung around her
    posterior, probably revealing as much of her flesh as they concealed.
    'Oh, Edward, how shall I bear this shame?' she asked herself in
    despair.

    "Hands down by your sides, ladies. Straight backs, say nothing, no
    laughing and remember that if you dare to look back without leave
    it'll be the worse for you. You're on parade now, like the sentries
    outside Buckingham Palace, and under discipline. Very well, ladies,
    it's time to open the door for his Lordship."

    Nothing could be heard of Diane's bare feet moving on the oak
    floorboards but there was a faint rustle from her dress material as
    she moved, the gossamer light silken strips brushing the air as
    lightly as falling leaves. Madeline was astonished to be able to hear
    them even though her heart was thumping away in her chest like the
    drum of a German band. Then there was silence -- until they all heard
    a male voice at the door and Diane answering it.

    Madeline couldn't discern exactly what words were exchanged. What she
    did hear with a shock of stunned astonishment was another boy's voice
    overlapping the first one: then yet another one, talking and
    laughing. Unless her ears were totally deceiving her there were at
    least three boys entering the room. Madeline also heard Edith's half
    choked whisper: "He's bought some of his school friends with him.
    It's going to be all hands to the pumps, girls."

    Edith giggled uncontrollably for a second or so before succeeding in
    quenching her laughter.

    "I think there's another one as well," Yvonne whispered back. "Listen!"

    Madeline had been distracted by the other wives' surreptitious
    exchange, yet as she concentrated on the sounds of the approaching
    conversation she came to believe that Yvonne was correct. Diane's
    contribution to the mingled voices was clear, the intertwined male
    voices difficult to distinguish between, but certainly three boys and
    perhaps four of them were approaching the couch. Madeline imagined
    what their eyes must be seeing as they came closer to the semi-naked
    women kneeling and waiting in servile patience.

    "Oh, God!" the clergyman's wife whispered in her dry throat, praying
    desperately for the strength to get through this completely
    unexpected and terrifying addition to her coming ordeal.

    Bad enough to be forced to offer up her honor and marital virtue to
    Lord Horace; it had never once occurred to her that other boys might
    also be present to watch whatever obscene humiliations were to be
    practiced on her. Madeline knew she was about to become the stuff of
    which martyrs were made from: what she couldn't understand was how it
    was possible for Edith to be giggling again and almost half choking
    herself in a desperate effort to stifle the sounds. How could it be
    that a woman facing such a terrible fate would want to laugh?
    Madeline had no explanation for such behavior except perhaps the gin
    that Edith had drunk. Yet she was sure that she could have drained
    the entire flask on her own and still felt no desire to laugh.

    Madeline glanced to her right side, towards Yvonne, hoping to see an
    example of shared Christian fortitude as a support for her own
    weakness. Yvonne had her eyes closed, her head thrown back, and a
    look of anticipation on her face something like that of a child
    waiting to open Christmas presents. Far from appearing like a
    Christian waiting for the lions to be let loose into the Coliseum,
    Yvonne seemed much more nearly to resemble a lioness herself, a
    lioness crouched and tensed to spring.

    "No need to pray, Madeline," Edith whispered. "There's plenty for
    everybody." Incredibly, she still sounded as if she was struggling
    against an inclination to giggle.

    Madeline had no idea of what Edith could possibly find amusing in
    their situation and wondered if the young wife had already been
    driven mad by their circumstances. Perhaps it was more merciful if
    she had been. Behind them the voices had ceased, to be replaced by
    the pad of heavier feet on the floor until Diane spoke in a clear
    voice, as bold as if this was her home and she was the Duchess herself.

    "Lord Horace and gentlemen, these are the ladies of the estate who
    have been delighted to accept your offer of hospitality."

    "For which I thank them most heartily" The voice was young, drawling,
    a mixture of confidence and conceit. "Ladies, indulge our whims by
    staying in your present positions a while longer. Diane, pray tell
    me, whom do we have here?"

    Diane answered briskly: "On the left is Edith. Married for two and a
    half years and a mother of one child. A well broken in young filly
    who should give a good gallop for any rider once she's been properly
    warmed up. I think you should all know that Edith took very little
    persuading to join us today. I suspect the pleasures of the marriage
    bed are already beginning to bore her somewhat. If any of you young
    gentlemen wish to form consortiums to advance Edith's education in
    shared pleasures, I'm sure she'll prove an attentive pupil for your classes."

    A ripple of laughter came from behind the chaise lounge.

    "On the right, allow me to introduce Yvonne. Married for only six
    months and, I'm sure, has known no man except her lawfully wedded
    husband. It took me some time to convince her that it was in his best
    interests that she should be with us today. One look at her figure
    should be enough to convince any discerning eye that the effort to
    get her here was well worth it. I invite you all to peruse those well
    shaped crescents underneath the strips of her gown. Is there one of
    you who wouldn't delight in becoming the man in that moon?"

    That brought out another chorus of male laughter and sounds of approval.

    "The thing about Yvonne is that she needs to have her modesty
    forcefully taken from her by some lucky lads. But not until the
    ladies have had their own instruments of pleasure well tuned up. No
    doubt you will oblige them in so doing."

    To Madeline the noise from the pack of boys marked the advancing edge
    of an onrushing tide of evil. She felt her limbs freeze in terror as
    male voices hooted with laughter at each of Diane's jocular comments.
    The estate manager's wife seemed determined to let loose upon her
    victims every unbridled desire that this group of hot blooded youths
    could devise. And if Diane had known in advance about Horace's
    friends being present at her planned entertainment, why had she not
    told Madeline? The answer was obvious: if Madeline had known in
    advance that such an ungodly arrangement was in the making then
    nothing, no argument or pressure of any kind, would have induced her
    to leave the Vicarage and come here. It was beyond anything in
    Madeline's experience to conceive of how a church going woman like
    Diane could now be revealing a soul as filthy and twisted as
    Messalina's herself

    "Finally, gentleman, and Lord Horace in particular, we have the
    delightful Madeline in the middle. I have to confess that the half of
    this matter was not revealed to Madeline when I suggested that she
    should come here. She thought she was going to have to oblige his
    Lordship only, and now she's listening to me and discovering that
    there's going to be considerably more work than that involved. As you
    can see the prospect is causing her to blush somewhat -- or perhaps
    it's the thought of how you're all looking so closely at that plump
    little bottom of hers. What she doesn't know yet is how soon she'll
    be waggling it around in the air like a feeding duck for all of you to admire."

    This time the laughter was almost unendurable; Madeline gritted her
    teeth and tried to pretend she was a million miles away.

    "As you can also see she's built for comfort, not speed, with lots of
    curves positively crying out to be caressed. Which is what I suspect
    they badly need, for Madeline is the wife of the local Vicar, a
    clergyman who's far more clergy than man, if I'm any judge. But, no
    matter, I warned her that she had to do good works either here or
    abroad, and between us I'm sure we can teach her much today. At least
    she's already had plenty of practice in kneeling down and opening up
    her mouth in thanks for a bountiful harvest."

    Madeline couldn't understand what was humorous about that remark,
    although the youths clearly thought it to be so. Everything which was
    happening or being talked about was so strange, so inexplicable, that
    she felt she might as well be in a foreign country. Which was only be
    expected; the life led by a Lord and his aristocratic friends was as
    far above Madeline's level of society as hers was above a farm
    worker's wife. Even so, she still hated being used a butt for Diane's
    sharp humor and the boys' knowing laughter.

    "Thank you for introducing us to your friends, Diane," the same
    languid voice said. That must be Lord Horace himself speaking. "Can I
    also say that you look as attractive as ever, you minx. Gentleman, as
    a mark of approval for Diane's organizing efforts, why don't you
    gather around Mrs Masefield and give her a show of hands in the usual manner."

    The kneeling girls all heard Diane's voice become a parody of
    outraged modesty: "No, no! Unhand me, sir! Would you treat a poor
    defenseless female so, you villains! Oh, who did that? You rogues!"

    Madeline was consumed with curiosity about what was happening behind
    her, yet the memory of the waiting cane at the end of the couch
    restrained her from turning her head. There was movement, she could
    sense that, and excitement as well, as tangible as the electrical
    flux in the air before summer lightning. Whatever was happening to
    Diane, Madeline was sure it was only the first flurry of a gathering
    storm of unbridled passions.

    "I think that's enough for now, gentlemen." The same voice they'd
    already heard spoke again. Lord Horace was giving fresh orders. "Time
    to make the acquaintance of the other gals, I think."

    Still desperate to seek some shred of reassurance, Madeline looked to
    her left again, towards Edith. The other woman had turned her eyes in
    Madeline's direction in the same instant; both of the wives shared a
    fleeting moment of shared consciousness. As before, Madeline expected
    to see in Edith the same fear and confusion as was welling up inside
    her own mind, and, as before, she failed. Edith's eyes were alight
    with excitement, her mouth was curved in a broad smile, and between
    scarlet lips her breath blew out in gusts as if driven from a
    blacksmith's forge bellows.

    How could this be? Didn't Edith share Madeline's shock at Diane's
    betrayal of them? Instead of having to endure the foul attentions of
    a single boy the three of them had been delivered into servitude like
    the ancient Israelites, not only to serve Pharaoh but his nation
    also. Who knew what wickedness might be inflicted upon helpless
    females by these arrogant sprigs of the nobility? How could Edith
    seem to be pleased with the hounds of hell closing in on them so
    relentlessly? The confused thoughts inside Madeline's head spun
    around wildly, a garishly colored kaleidoscope of scarcely imagined
    images she could not believe were possible.

    "Gentlemen, stroke your mounts."

    What?

    Yvonne gasped and suddenly moved, her arm brushing against
    Madeline's. What was happening to her? The question was answered as a
    hand fell on the thin strips of Madeline's own dress, caressing
    without shame that very part of her anatomy which Madeline had
    already been so mortified to have displayed to the boys without a
    decent covering. She began to tremble almost uncontrollably as
    another hand began the same work as the first. Each of them, as if by
    agreement, had claimed one half of her posterior as its own territory
    to explore without let or hindrance.

    Madeline found herself whimpering with shock and disbelief. Somehow,
    she found herself holding hands with Yvonne and Edith. It was as
    though they were standing on the edge of a cliff and needed to share
    their emotions by touching each other before they were tumbled into
    the abyss together.

    The hands were now re-arranging Madeline's robe, separating out the
    silken strips to drape around the outside of her legs, so that her
    seat was completely exposed to the vulgar eyes of the watching boys.
    She felt her own eyes widen as fingertips lightly ran along the bared
    contours, down, down along the backs of her thighs and then up again.

    Madeline wondered wildly what the boy who was taking such liberties
    with her looked like. And what must be the expression on Diane's face
    as she watched these loathsome iniquities being practiced on her
    friends, the friends she had betrayed? It was as if they had all been
    flown by magic carpet to a Sultan's Palace beyond the reach of
    Christian civilization, a place where respectable English women could
    be treated as if they were mere playthings, slave women delivered up
    from a harem for the sole purpose of giving pleasure to men. Perhaps
    that was the only way to cope with this insane situation, to think of
    it as happening in some far off time and place.

    "My God!"

    If the caresses already lavished on her quivering body had been
    grossly impudent, yet they were as nothing compared to the place
    where an intruding hand was now moving, creeping over the fabric of
    the chaise lounge cushion and in between Madeline's opened legs. A
    sharp nail traced the hand's passage around her left inner thigh
    until she knew that the upturned finger tips were almost brushing
    that part of her body where she was most of all a woman and a wife.
    Then the fingers boldly struck up to complete their hideous trespass
    to full measure. Like conquistadors discovering a secret valley the
    fingers entered it and began searching for hidden treasures, a slow,
    careful but absolutely relentless search.

    Madeline knew the blood was rushing to her face; she also felt the
    pressure she was exerting on Edith and Yvonne's hands being returned,
    grip for grip.

    "Lord, Lord," Edith gabbled and each of the women knew they were all
    sharing the same experience, the experience of having their most
    private places fondled like kitten's ears. Madeline wondered wildly
    if the boy doing this to her was gently rubbing her swelling bud by
    chance or design -- did he really know why she was gasping so loudly?

    Oh God, she was becoming a wanton Jezebel at the touch of a boy she
    hadn't even set eyes on yet, some malevolent youth who was tightening
    up her body like a violin string as he thoroughly molested her maidenhood.

    "All change, please, gentlemen." Diana's voice was tinged with humor,
    as if she was smiling. "One place to the left, I think."

    The hand underneath Madeline withdrew. There was movement behind the
    chaise lounge. She didn't want to believe it was happening but she
    was certain that the boy who'd been touching her was now behind
    Yvonne, ready to do to her what he'd been doing to Madeline. Which
    also meant that the molester who had been drawing grunts and pants
    from Edith was now about to fondle Madeline in turn. It was true,
    exactly as Diane had said, the three young wives were being treated
    as nothing more important than penned animals in a public market place.

    Madeline shifted her eyes to the left and right again. Again she
    noticed the excitement evident in Edith and Yvonne's faces. She also
    saw that both of Yvonne's large bosoms had slipped through the
    restraints of her gown so they could be clearly seen, her nipples
    too. Brown, tight, jutting nipples which betrayed her heightened
    feelings just as much as the way Yvonne's hips swayed before even
    being touched again. Madeline would have thought it a shameful
    display if only she hadn't discovered that both of her own nipples
    had also slipped free from their silken restraints. They were poking
    out into the open like the heads of excited children hanging out of a
    galloping coach's windows, betraying her nakedness and bodily
    excitement to anyone in the room who cared to look in her direction.

    "Ah!" Edith gave a gasp, a giggle, and wriggled as if trying to
    squeeze through a gap in a hedgerow.

    "Oh!" Yvonne's hand grasped Madeline's even harder as she rose up on
    her knees and then sank slowly down, the tip of her tongue running
    over her lips.

    Another set of busy fingers crept in underneath Madeline, causing her
    to make the same animalistic sounds as her companions in distress,
    her sisters in these enforced carnal submissions.

    Enforced? Madeline abruptly realized that nobody was forcing her to
    spread her knees further apart, nobody was demanding that she rub
    herself so strongly against the fiercely probing fingers below her,
    nobody could have commanded her to light such a fire as the one now
    burning in a place where before there had only ever been a fireplace.
    These were all her own sins, these were her own devils summoned up
    from the inferno to trample her shame under their hoofs and leave
    only desire standing. Words from one of Edward's favorite sermons
    came rushing into her mind, written in letters of fire: 'I have come
    to the brink of utter ruin in the midst of the whole assembly.'

    Moaning, her head thrown back, flushed cheeks aware of all the eyes
    on her, Madeline writhed on the brink of she knew not what experience.

    For the very first time in her life Mrs Swan-Smith had cause to
    wonder if she was perhaps a shameless harlot at heart. How else could
    she be sighing in satisfaction because of the vulgar attentions of
    some disgusting boys? Though if it were gross impropriety to behave
    so, then Edith and Yvonne were proving every iota as guilty of it as
    Madeline was. All three of the aroused women were whining in
    excitement, all three of them were moving their bodies as if astride
    cantering horses. Then Edith let go of Madeline's hand and leaned
    forward until the upper part of her body was resting on her forearms
    and her bottom held up high for the boys in open submission. Like a
    feeding duck, exactly as Diane had prophesied that Madeline herself
    would eventually position herself for the boys' pleasure.

    "Yes, yes, come on, fuck me!"

    Madeline wondered what Edith was asking for. She herself had
    sometimes heard that word coming out of the tap room of the inn on a
    summer's night when the windows were open as she walked past: 'fuck'.
    Madeline had assumed it was another of those oaths impossible to use
    in polite society, another word like 'bloody'. But Edith seemed to be
    using the word in a different way. Madeline asked herself in
    astonishment if it could mean that Edith was actually inviting the
    boys to commit the worst depravity of all with her.

    "Yes, yes!"

    Yvonne was calling out as well, another hunted animal at bay on her
    hands and knees and surrendering herself to the pack's rough mercy.

    "Well now," a boy's upper class tones came from directly behind
    Madeline. "That only leaves the tart from the Vicarage. Let's see if
    we can get her in the mood to be mounted."

    Madeline half turned her head in an instinctive reaction towards the
    voice, then stopped at a warning cry from Diane and looked towards
    the wall again. She wished the oak panels were polished enough for
    her to see the face of the boy who had just spoken, the one who was
    playing Satan's own tricks with her womanly parts. Unable to contain
    her desires any longer, Madeline cried out in total abandonment and
    sprawled forward in the same position of prostrate capitulation as
    Edith and Yvonne, displaying herself naked and lustful, like a bitch
    in heat, with the boys' laughter sounding in her ears as she
    surrendered her last shred of decency to them.

    Worse yet, Diana was also laughing at the sight of the Vicar's lady
    displaying herself like a drunken dairymaid pushed head first down a
    pub well to have her skirts hauled up by a group of lusty revelers.
    Madeline wondered how she could ever live a normal life again, how
    she could ever attend another village church service without her
    guilty secret being obvious to all who saw her. To stand with Diane,
    sharing a hymnbook with her in the pew -- no, it was impossible, God
    would strike them down at the Church steps as wayward wives too full
    of sin to enter his house.

    "Sweet Jesus!" Madeline prayed as she was swept away into the unknown.

    Something warm and wet pressed against the damp curls of the patch of
    hair she was showing to all. It lapped around her cleft, found her
    rose bud and slid against it. For a second Madeline really thought
    some kind of a fierce animal was licking her -- and then she felt the
    hands gripping the front of each of her thighs and realized that it
    was a boy's tongue she was feeling against her. It was astonishing:
    did men do that to women? Lapping at their openings like a cat at a
    saucer of milk? Surely not, not down there? Did men enjoy doing that?
    Did women enjoy it?

    Well, yes, women did. At least Madeline enjoyed it, she was quickly
    becoming convinced of that. How strange this all was. If it was
    Edward doing this to her would it be counted as a sin? It certainly
    felt very, very sinful.

    The boy behind her held her open, held her private parts apart like
    an oyster and buried his face between the curves of her rump as he
    tasted her. Madeline squeaked as if she was a mouse trapped
    underneath a cat's paw. Neither her mind nor body was under her
    control anymore and suddenly the fit of madness she'd been expecting
    was upon her. It came like a spoonful of gunpowder exploding inside
    her body. The shock made her cry out and swoon into partial
    unconsciousness, sprawled out on top of the chaise lounge with her
    arms and legs flopping around her body like the limbs of a discarded
    rag doll. Vaguely, far away it seemed, Madeline could hear the boys
    laugh and applaud her as she waited to die.

    But she wasn't allowed to die. Instead, she was lifted up by the arms
    and found herself being led to another of the couches. Strands of her
    hair had come loose, falling across her face. She pulled her arm away
    from the light grip restraining it and brushed the loose locks away.
    Immediately the hand which had been on her arm settled around her now
    exposed left nipple.

    Madeline gasped, and then again as another guiding hand tugged at her
    right breast. She stared down at the hands and realized she was being
    held by a boy on her right and another on her left. The one on the
    right was about her height, with broad shoulders and an equally broad
    grin on a lightly freckled face under a thatch of ginger hair. The
    skin on his body from the neck up was tanned, and from the neck down
    completely white. Completely white all the way down to his feet, with
    not a stitch of clothing to cover it anywhere. Incredibly, he didn't
    seem at all concerned about his naked state. Not even ashamed that
    she could see his phallus sticking stiffly out of the patch of ginger
    hair in open and unashamed arousal.

    "You've got a fine pair of udders on you, Madeline," the boy said.
    "The clergymen in these parts must live off the fat of the land, hey, Algy."

    The boy on the other side of Madeline merely grunted and showed his
    assent by gripping her more tightly yet and twisting the captive
    flesh as if it were a handful of wet wool he was trying to squeeze
    dry. Madeline gasped with dismay and pain at the ruthless strength of
    the boy's seizure of her body, her frightened eyes fastened onto his
    face. A face which could have been lifted from a Roman coin, handsome
    with strength enough to demand obedience: flat sided cheeks, a strong
    jawline, sensual lips, fair hair cut en brosse. But no minted
    impression in metal could have conveyed the menace in eyes that were
    as blank of emotion as an hunting owl's. When he spoke it was in the
    same tone he might have used to ask for a salt cruet to be passed
    across a dining table.

    "I'm going to make a special point of fucking you, Madeline from the
    Vicarage. You understand me, you little trollop?"

    "Yes, sir, I understand."

    It seemed completely incongruous to address a boy several years her
    junior as in such a manner but he was undeniably in a position to
    demand Madeline's complete respect. But did fucking mean what she
    thought it did? Was this boy expecting to have dealings deal with her
    as if he were her husband?

    She gurgled deep in her throat as he twisted her even more tightly.
    In her mind she was shocked by the casual way he was helping himself
    to her body without even displaying the excuse of passion. Of course
    the ginger haired boy was doing the same thing to her as well but at
    least he was smiling and he wasn't deliberately hurting her as this
    other one called Algy was.

    Algy considered her words and then relaxed his grip a little, but
    tugged at the softness of her captured bosom to bring Madeline a step
    closer to him. For some reason he was poking his finger into the side
    of her thigh. Only it seemed to be a very big finger. Madeline looked
    down and saw that it wasn't a finger at all which was brushing
    against her. It was Algy's member, displaying itself as flagrantly as
    Ginger's, but even more puffed up with male pride.

    Madeline stared down wide-eyed at both of them, trying to understand
    how she could be standing between two naked boys, both of them
    fondling her exposed breasts and both of them rubbing against her
    like rutting stags. Surely she should have swooned away into a dead
    faint at finding herself in such a situation. Yet she was not only
    not fainting, but every nerve in her body was quivering in
    anticipation of further outrages upon her person. The tips of her
    bosoms were as hard as tiny crab apples against the hands which
    stroked her, and she knew why. It was because Madeline had
    become absolutely and totally convinced that very soon she was going
    to be forced down onto a chaise lounge and kept there as boy after
    boy coupled with her in front of his friends. A collar of hot iron
    seemed to have been clamped around her throat, her breathing had
    become long drawn shudders and in Madeline's mind was Algy's
    handsome, sneering face as he plunged his sword into her waiting sheath.

    Algy reached down and took her hand as if they were sweethearts on
    the village green. Except that instead of simply holding her hand
    Algy pressed Madeline's fingers down and around his manhood. To her
    the hot flesh seemed driven by an uncontrollable force, as if she was
    clutching a branch of a tree during a gale. Madeline wondered what
    she was supposed to do next. Whatever it was, it seemed that Ginger
    wanted the same thing for himself as well because he took her other
    hand and put it on his own full blooded appendage.

    Still puzzled, Madeline gave the organs a gentle squeeze. Somehow it
    seemed to her that both of them were bigger than her husband's. Of
    course she couldn't be sure because Edward had never exposed himself
    to her view in this way, nor would he have dreamt of allowing her to
    touch him in this totally unnatural manner. But these aristocratic
    youths seemed to have no shame at all, no more than Adam and Eve
    before the fall. Instead of being disgusted by her actions the boys
    seemed to be actively enjoying Madeline's hands touching the most
    intimate parts of their bodies.

    Even odder, both of them put their hands on top of hers and guided
    them so that her palms were rubbing back and forth along their
    members. They each seemed to want exactly the same movements from her
    hands and both apparently gained much pleasure from them. It occurred
    to Madeline that although Algy and Ginger hair were squeezing her
    bosoms she, in turn, was literally holding both of the boys in the
    palms of her hands. Strange and stranger, but before Madeline could
    think any further about what was happening there was a high pitched
    wail of feminine passion to distract her.

    Edith and Yvonne were still on their knees on the chaise lounges,
    seats held up high, though both their upper bodies had crept forward
    in the attitude of Muslims at prayer. Yet these were brazen
    travesties of any kind of religious activity. The strips of each
    woman's dress had been drawn aside to fully reveal both pair of
    smooth buttocks, and to allow unimpeded access to the probing fingers
    between each pair of opened thighs.

    Knowing fingers, skillful fingers, with the boys leaning forward over
    each female, the young male faces showing an expression of smiling
    deliberation as if they were tickling trout from a riverbank, nodding
    and adjusting their touch to every cry from their victims, probing
    and then employing their straightened fingers quickly and roughly as
    if striking fire with flints. Edith and Yvonne bellowed and twitched
    their bottoms like cows pestered beyond control by clouds of
    mayflies. Yvonne gave a great shudder and dropped her head on the
    couch; the dark haired boy who'd been manipulating her laughed and
    raised a set of glistening fingers as if they were trophies of the chase.

    Diane clapped her hands, moved to his side, took the boy's hand and
    put his fingers into her own mouth, apparently intent on sucking
    Yvonne's essence from them. The boy looked over Diana's shoulder at
    Madeline. His face was red and round like a evil omened harvest moon.
    It was also quite obvious from his coarse and ugly features that he
    was the Duke of Parsvale's son and heir. Therefore it was Lord Horace
    who was leering at Madeline over Diane's shoulder as Diana licked his
    fingers clean. Until she saw the interest showing on Lord Horace's
    face and half turned her head to see the scene of Madeline's
    humiliation. Then Diane spoke to Horace.

    "Come, sir, is it not time for a little game of chance to open the
    first round of the tournament?"

    "Aye, so it is," Horace said thickly. "Come on, lads, step up to the
    mark." He pointed to one of the couches. "Algy, Wendell, leave her be
    for the moment and take your chances on who gets their pricks tasted first."

    Madeline was surprised to find herself suddenly unhanded as both of
    the boys abandoned her much trespassed upon body to take positions on
    either side of the couch. They grinned amiably at each
    other as Madeline wondered what was afoot. Her cheeks scarlet in
    shame and her tightened bosoms still exposed, she tried not to stare
    at those parts of the boys which showed their rampant lust. Yet her
    eyes refused her directions; not only did they continue to look at
    what she should not be seeing, they seemed fastened on the sight of
    the rampant tower rearing up out of Algy's loins to a length she
    never thought possible. Indeed, she could not help but glance at
    other bared masculine parts and compare them to his, confirming her
    belief that Algy was definitely a fuller developed male than the other boys.

    Diane's voice broke in on the lurid thoughts in Madeline's mind.

    "Stand by, lads. Now, show!"

    Algy threw out his hand as did the ginger topped boy, who must be
    Wendell. Algy's fingers were flat, Wendell's bunched in a fist.
    Wendell shook his head in disappointment. It was clear they were
    playing the child's game of paper, scissors and stone, and that Algy
    had won by wrapping Wendell's stone.

    "Now you and I, Duncan."

    Lord Horace had the beginnings of his father's paunch around his
    belly. He stepped up heavily to the couch to take Algy's place.
    Duncan was even fatter, whey faced and white bodied, a trace of dark
    hair on his chest and a big bush of it around a thick arousal. There
    were veins on the appendage so thick that they seemed likely to burst
    at any moment, which would not have displeased Madeline, for Duncan
    was a match for Horace in ugliness of face, with a fine crop of
    pimples to further disfigure his already unappealing appearance. Both
    boys held their hands behind their backs and Madeline saw that Duncan
    had his fingers parted to make scissors.

    "Show," Diana called and both boys displayed scissors.

    "Again."

    This time Horace retained scissors and Duncan had a fist. His
    unpleasant face wreathed in a smile at blunting Horace's scissors and
    winning the game.

    "La, so now tis Algy and Duncan to decide first play," Diana
    declared. Both of the boys quickly stood to the couch.

    "Show!"

    Duncan had chosen stone again but Algy's flattened hand denoted
    paper, which wrapped stone and won him the round.

    "So, Algy goes first," Diana adjudicated. "Now the girls play with
    him. Come on, Edith, toe the line and show off your stakes."

    Edith was helped up off the couch, apparently trembling with unspent
    energy after being herself so thoroughly fondled. She went promptly
    enough to the couch and fluttered her eyelids at Algy as she hid one
    hand behind her back.

    "Show!"

    Algy had stone, Edith had scissors. It seemed to be a game she had no
    disappointment in losing.

    "You win first service from her, Algy," Diane said. "Do you claim a
    formal submission?"

    "Certainly," Algy answered.

    "Edith, kneel on the couch and acknowledge your master," Diana ordered.

    Edith quickly settled herself on the couch and Algy moved directly in
    front of her. Edith put her hand on his phallus and then put her lips
    to it. At first she seemed to be kissing the head of it. Then Edith
    opened her mouth and boldly sucked on the rampant organ as if it were
    a length of toffee.

    Madeline observed that Algy seemed gratified by Edith's action, and
    also that the other boys were plainly captivated by the sight. Yvonne
    caught Madeline's eye and gave a half smile with a fatalistic shrug
    of her shoulders, as if to show this sort of thing was to be expected
    from boys. A rough natured prank to be tolerated as long as needful.
    Madeline wondered if her own confusion was discernible. Did males
    like putting their aroused members into girls' mouths? Did it mean
    that she would have to do the same thing?

    Yvonne seemed to sense Madeline's puzzlement. As the boys remained
    firmly attentive to the activity on the chaise lounge Yvonne rolled
    her eyes and looked upwards as if praying -- but then she nodded
    towards Edith, as if conveying some secret message. Madeline looked
    in the same direction, at Edith with her head thrown, jaws agape to
    admit a surprising length of Algy's manhood between them, her breath
    snorting through her flared nostrils like a blown horse. Yet even so
    her eyes were as Yvonne's had been, cast up and fastened on Algy's
    features with complete attention. She seemed to be playing the role
    of a dog -- a bitch -- desperately hoping for a pat or a word of
    praise from her master as she performed her tricks for him. Her
    master indeed: presumably this was a part of the ritual of the formal
    submission that Diane had hinted at.

    Madeline felt a prickle of revulsion, a strong urge to resist such
    humiliation. Until she considered the sheer bodily strength of
    Horace's gang, and also the brooding presence of the cane. It was
    still on the couch, still within reach, and the slightest sign of
    resistance would likely bring it into use against the reluctant
    female concerned. Diane had warned them about that too and from what
    Madeline could judge of the situation, it was a warning to heed.

    Diane clapped her hands together: "Well done, Edith. Now move aside
    and let Yvonne seek her fortune."

    Some of the boys sniggered as Yvonne walked to the side of the
    elegant piece of furniture, each of them still as careless of their
    undressed state as a pack of monkeys. All their eyes were fastened
    upon the unfettered swaying of her naked breasts as she faced the
    triumphant Algy. Edith had risen from the couch and was standing
    beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder, her own interest also
    directed at Yvonne.

    "Ready?" Diane called. "Then -- show!"

    Algy's displayed hand displayed parted fingers, scissors, Yvonne's
    fingers were clenched into stone. The boy's face twitched in a flash
    of annoyance as his companions showed their evident pleasure at
    perceiving Yvonne to be a still unclaimed piece on the board. What
    Algy had lost one of them might yet win as a treat for himself.

    "Step aside, Yvonne. Tis another's turn now."

    Diane's face turned towards Madeline. The older woman's face was of a
    more heightened color than usual, her voice more pronounced, her
    attention focused on the events in the music room as avidly as a hawk
    preparing to swoop. Madeline suddenly realized that she didn't know
    Diane very well -- perhaps she didn't know her at all.

    Truth to tell, Madeline wasn't even sure she knew herself. Could this
    really be Madeline Swan-Smith stepping forward half naked, her own
    body as exposed as Yvonne's and swaying in exactly the same way
    before the gleeful eyes of the boys? Her face were burning, yet it
    was odd that the only boy she was really aware of was Algy. For his
    eyes were not intent on her bosom but staring into her own eyes, as
    if demanding the obedience due to a king from a subject. Madeline
    felt her legs trembling against the wispy lengths of silk of her robe
    as Algy made an ostentatious display of putting his hand behind him.

    "Come, Madeline, surely you know how to play the game by now," Diane
    urged her. "Hand behind your back, quick's the word and smart's the action."

    Madeline did as she was bid, concealing her right hand behind her back.

    "Have you made your choice?" Diane asked of her. Madeline gulped,
    hastily spreading out two fingers to make scissors.

    "Wait," Algy said. "Edith, give my beard splitter a rub for good luck."

    Edith laughed and quickly obliged by wrapping her fingers around his
    upthrust member and flicking her wrist to and fro with the expertise
    of a carpenter whittling wood. The round headed tip of Algy's sex
    seemed to be aimed at Madeline like an artillery piece. A sudden
    memory came into her head of a woodcut illustration she had once
    seen, of a mouse crouched in front of a cat, too frightened to even
    try to run away, or perhaps too wise to try to fight against an
    unavoidable fate. As unavoidable as her own fate seemed to be.

    "Make a wish, Madeline," Edith said and a couple of the boys sniggered.

    "Enough," Algy ordered. "Ready, Diane."

    Edith removed her hand, Diane nodded, looked carefully at both sides
    of the chaise lounge, and then her voice cracked like a coachman's
    whip: "Show!"

    Madeline's hand shot out, two fingers opened. His lips stretched out
    in a triumphant grin as he held up his clenched fist. Stone breaks
    scissors, game and prize to him.

    "You serve me first, Madeline, now."

    Hisses of disappointment came from his friends, as if a nest of
    serpents were seeing their prey escape them. Then the boys moved
    forward, around the couch, each jostling for the best view of what
    was to happen next.

    "Do you claim formal submission?" Diane asked, the question directed
    at Algy but her gaze fixed on Madeline.

    "I do."

    He moved towards the chaise lounge until his legs were brushing the
    side. The only gap in the crowd around the couch was the one
    carefully left by the boys for Madeline.

    "On the couch, Madeline. On the couch and greet your master."

    Diane's tone was that of lady to servant girl, yet imbued with a
    sense of excitement seemingly akin to that displayed by the
    schoolboys themselves. Madeline didn't understand that at all. Yet,
    to her own surprise, she found she was able to take the half step
    which put her against the couch, so that only the width of the seat
    was left between herself and Algy. She dared exchange glances with
    him no longer, but kept her eyes on his shoulders and arms. Even so,
    the sight of the taut bulges in his well muscled limbs set her heart
    thumping inside her body like a hare's leg beating the ground.

    "Kneel, Madeline."

    To kneel down in a position of worship in front of the very emblem of
    fornication made flesh? Yet there was nothing else she could do,
    nothing that any frail woman could do under such compulsion. This
    sinful behavior was not of her making and heaven would surely punish
    those who paid no heed to its plain warnings: 'Can a man walk on hot
    coals without his feet being scorched? So is he who sleeps with
    another man's wife; no one who touches her will go unpunished.'

    Yet she had to admit that the ungodly boys around her seemed not a
    whit worried by any prospect of divine revenge as she placed one knee
    and then the other on the silky smooth fabric of the chaise lounge.
    She felt their eyes upon her wantonly displayed body and the
    slightest of creaks from the wooden joints of the couch as her weight
    settled upon it. Now, just in front of her mouth, was the strangely
    shaped head of Algy's phallus, that instrument of sin which she was
    now required to serve in any way demanded of her.

    "Open wide, Mrs Swan-Smith, and preach us a sermon. I'm sure your
    husband would oblige us with one if he were only here to see this."

    The words were Lord Horace's, the laughter came from his friends. The
    pack of boys were looking down on her as if they were dark angels
    rejoicing in the imminent fall of yet another pure soul into the
    depths of degradation. Madeline felt her face flaming in shame as she
    parted her lips. Algy's right hand reached out, past her, gripped the
    nape of her neck, urgent fingers entwined themselves into her hair.
    Then his palm pressed against the back of her head, pressed with a
    strength and assurance there was no denying, no point in even making
    a futile struggle against.

    Perhaps that was what Algy wanted, what the boys wanted, to see her
    make one last desperate attempt to escape. It might even be what
    Diane wanted. At least Madeline could deny them that satisfaction, if
    no other. She obeyed Algy's guiding hand, parted her lips, bent
    forward and accepted the helm of his sex between them.

    The first impression was of the smoothness, of saltiness, of heat, of
    a rubbing sensation against the roof of her mouth, of the pulse
    within the phallus she could feel through the softness of her own
    mouth. As if tasting a new dish she tentatively rubbed the top of her
    tongue against the undercurve of the boy's arousal. The response was
    immediate and unnerving. The serpent's head nestling in the back of
    her mouth slithered forward as Algy's hand forced her head closer yet
    to his body, until her nose was almost pressed into the patch of
    coarse blonde hair at the bottom of his stomach. From it protruded
    that instrument of Adam which it was required of her to accommodate,
    accommodation she was finding increasingly difficult in providing
    without becoming completely choked.

    Madeline tried to recall how Edith had dealt with the same situation,
    presumably as a result of previous experience. Like Edith, Madeline
    closed her lips entirely around Algy's shaft, whilst yet taking care
    not to nip it with her teeth. Next she drew deep on the proud flesh,
    sucking it until she could feel her cheeks dimpling as Edith's had,
    the breath snorting through her nostrils. Then she began, as far as
    she was able, to slide her mouth up and down the phallus.

    Algy immediately responded by removing his hand and letting her lips
    retreat to his tip and then slip back down the length of his organ
    like a ring sliding onto a finger. The final part of a mockery of a
    marriage ceremony, the open display of a woman showing her burning
    eagerness to be mounted by a man. Madeline suddenly had the odd
    thought that all the white gowns and formal ceremony of a Christian
    marriage perhaps meant no more than that either.

    "Hey, the vicar's floozy is a genuine cock smoker!"

    "Look at that plump little prick jockey taking the jumps."

    "Playing a good tune on your pink piccolo, is she, Algy? I'll make
    her yodel with mine, you wait and see."

    Madeline suddenly remembered what else she had seen Edith do, and
    copied the action. She paused in her work, her head tilted back with
    the tip of Algy's manhood nestled between her opened lips. Her
    upturned eyes stared at his face as Edith had done, in the same pose
    of adoration and readiness to obey any order given to her.

    "Enough", Horace's voice boomed out. "I'm as randy as hell from
    watching that Vicar's piece of cunt perform. Move aside and let me
    try my luck against this dark bitch's."

    Algy laughed and tugged at Madeline's hair, bringing her to her feet
    then moving her backwards as Horace pushed Yvonne forward and then
    took position opposite her across the couch.

    "Hands behind your backs," Diane ordered. "Now, show!"

    Horace laughed as his scissors came out against Yvonne's flattened
    hand. "Down on your knees and submit, wench."

    Yvonne sank down on the couch. Diane nodded to Edith and then at
    Duncan. Edith went to the boy and knelt down at his feet. Diane
    walked over to Wendell and did as Edith was doing. Eager fingers
    reached down and clutched at long hair as each boy urged on the woman
    pleasuring him. Algy's arms came around Madeline from behind and
    squeezed her breasts so fiercely she felt her aching nipples were
    going to pop like chestnuts in a fire. Algy moved her forward towards
    the chaise lounge.

    "Down, Madeline."

    Madeline knelt next to Yvonne. Algy spoke over her head: "Here,
    Horace, your turn for some Christian charity."

    "By God, and so it is."

    Horace stepped back from Yvonne, withdrawing his saliva coated length
    from her mouth, then sidewards, like a dance partner in a polka. One
    of his hands grabbed at the top of Madeline's head, twisted up
    strands of hair between his fingers and forced her to lift up her
    head as he moved closer. Unwillingly but without hesitation Madeline
    parted her lips as she had done for Algy and used her fingertips to
    hold Horace's sex steady as she swallowed it. But there was no pause
    here, no chance to settle herself into the rhythm of the other body
    before Horace thrust himself so deeply down her throat that pain and
    want of air forced tears to her eyes.

    "A little more restraint, my lord," Algy suggested as he casually
    allowed Yvonne to take a turn at sucking him. "The lady is still more
    used to psalm singing than swallowing man mutton. Give her a little
    space and a little time and we'll have her doing tricks that would
    make a Haymarket whore blush."

    "She'll blush right enough. To hell with it, Algy, I want my parish
    clergyman cuckolded right now, to the count of four and without
    stopping. Who'll help me in fucking the Vicar's wife until she hears
    the angels sing?"

    The other two boys whooped out in approval, as if they were followers
    at a hunt seeing a fox caught in the jaws of the hounds. "Set her up,
    Horace, set her up."

    Horace removed himself from her mouth and lifted Madeline up. There
    seemed to be boys all around the chaise lounge, all knowing what
    needed to be done. Yvonne was brought to the unbacked end, and then
    pushed face down on top of it, her upper thighs splayed out and
    digging into each corner of the couch's end. Her hands were held flat
    on the polished floorboards on each side of the chaise lounge, her
    head resting on one cheek, eyes wide with apprehension.

    "Relax, my girl," Diane said. "His Lordship has need of a cushion and
    you'll serve well enough with Madeline on top of you."

    "What . . . ?"

    Madeline's arms were seized, then her legs as she was pushed over
    backwards, thrust down on top of Yvonne's body, hearing the girl
    below her gasp as the weight fell on her, spine pressing against
    spine. Horace and Algy knelt down, still holding one of her arms each
    and hooked them through Yvonne's, elbows against elbows. Duncan and
    Wendell had her hands on Madeline's calves now, using their grip to
    lift her feet high up and wide apart. Duncan and Wendell then moved
    forward, forcing Madeline's legs back until they were pressed against
    their chests. Their hands disappeared out of sight, fingers plunging
    into Madeline and Yvonne's private places. Both captive girls called
    out and jerked against each other. Then the boys moved aside, but
    still holding onto Madeline's ankles to keep her pinioned and
    exposed. As they moved, they revealed Horace's leering face and the
    raised cane in his hand.

    "Please, no, my Lord!"

    Madeline's cry for mercy was instantly followed by a shriek as the
    cane lashed across her bared bottom, and then by another from
    underneath her as Yvonne was given a cut. Another slash at Madeline's
    buttocks and she begged again for mercy, to no avail. Horace swept
    the cane down again and again, sometimes aiming several times at
    Madeline and then applying himself vigorously to Yvonne for a series
    of cuts. As he did so the writhing body underneath her set Madeline's
    breasts quivering and shaking, the encircling boys leaning forward to
    twist her nipples between his fingers.

    Then Horace hung the cane from one of Madeline's ankles to free both
    his hands and reached down. Each set of fingers probed much deeper
    than either Madeline or Yvonne could have supposed possible. Each
    girl heard the other call out in part anguish and part ecstasy, not
    only hearing the cries but feeling them through their areas of shared
    body pressure where sweat was sticking skin to skin. The Duke's son
    lifted his hands up again, pressing them against the inside of
    Madeline's legs as if to spread them further, though she was certain
    that was not possible without tearing some of her thigh muscles
    apart. She called out in her distress, elbows clamped hard against
    Yvonne's, as open as a church door to any man who wanted to enter
    her. Edith and Diane were standing at each side of Lord Horace,
    reaching down to guide him into her. Random hands were kneading every
    square inch of her breasts . . .

    Madeline threw her head back, opened her eyes and mouth and cried
    aloud to the watchers around the chaise lounge as Horace took her in
    great thrusts on top of Yvonne. Algy's blank eyes looked down on
    Madeline's debasement with mild interest.

    "Brought like a lamb to the slaughter, hey, Mrs Swan-Smith?"

    THE END

  2. #2
    Man, why did you shortened the last part....,the first part to thre middle was awsome though.It was all good,man. Keep it up!

  3. #3
    faker
    Join Date
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    Thanks for the reply but I did not write the story ---I found it on the net---

  4. #4
    Administrator Blue Story Forum Perverts
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    A bump for a highly viewed story.....;)
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