index


Message-ID: <50009asstr$1104160205@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: david@f-e-mail.com (David Shaw)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 27 Dec 2004 04:01:19 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} RP:  "AVOIDING THE MISSIONARY POSITION" (M+/F+: Reluc: Historical) By David Shaw
Lines: 1396
Date: Mon, 27 Dec 2004 10:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

"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

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+