Reclaiming Clarissa

The setting A country mansion in Devon England the1840s

I remember it well. It was a bright summer morning.

It was some six years since my marriage to Clarissa my beautiful radiant darling bride, and almost six years since she had cuckolded me and eloped to Brighton with one Colonel H.J.Pickering of the Avon and Somerset Yeomanry.

I had done the rounds of the estate, at least the Northern quarter and had returned to the mansion for lunch.

Cook was waiting. She wanted to speak to me. My heart sank. I knew what was coming.

“I’ve been caught again sir,” she said. “I thought I were past all that sir but I been caught again.”

I put my arm round her protectively. “Shall you see Mrs Jenkins?” I asked.

“If you please sir,” she said. “If you please sir I can’t carry on sir. Fucking you and that sir. The cooking I can do but the fucking and keeping getting caught. Well I’m not getting any younger sir.”

“I know,” I sympathised

“And peoples talking sir,” she added. “I’m not saying I don’t relish fucking with you sir because I do but I’m not getting any younger and with my back.”

“Yes Cook. I understand.” I said with a heavy heart. “If you’ll oblige me for the coming sennight I shall make alternative arrangements.”

Poor cook. She was nothing to look at. Fat one might say unkindly. But it was her big drooping udders which led to that impression. Her belly was surprisingly taught, not that I looked at her when we conjoined. It was generally a candles out business. I cannot to this day remember the colour of her hair, or her eyes. Her teeth were hardly memorable but for the gaps where several had been pulled. But we had an arrangement.

Cooks’ husband Bert had injured himself on the farm. He could no longer do his husbandly duties and could barely do half a days work in a whole day. So seeing their plight I arranged work for Cook, her given name was Molly but she always answered to cook, and she came to work in my kitchens.

Cook was a very fine cook, plain fayre, tasty plain fayre, but my neighbours had French chefs and she felt insecure.

Then my dear wife eloped with Colonel Pickering.

Two nights later cook seduced me.

It was not a romantic scene.

I lay abed near midnight. Reading by candlelight. Cook generally went home at eight. My door opened.

“Beg pardon sir,” Cook said as she stepped inside, “Might I have a word sir?”

I could see she had a crisp clean smock on.

“Yes cook, uh Molly, what troubles you.” I asked.

“Its the missus gone and that,” she said.

“Indeed a sad business,” I agreed.

“And you not getting none and that?” she said awkwardly.

I pondered “And your point is?”

“I ain’t getting none neither.” she admitted.

“Cook you are hardly a courtesan,” I laughed, “Udders like elephant’s trunks, gap toothed.”

She started crying, “Old enough to be my mother!” I laughed, “You do know why Clarissa eloped don’t you?”

“No!” she said, “I wish I hadn’t come if you’re going to be horrible to me!”

“We couldn’t conjoin Cook, we tried repeatedly.” I explained. “But Pickering had little difficulty!”

“Oh, dear, well if you couldn’t get it up for she you won’t for me and that’s for certain,” Cook admitted.

“On the contrary Cook, my member is rampant,” I declared, “See?” I pulled back the bedclothes. My member stood proud within my nightshirt, standing proud like a tent pole.

“Bloody hell sir if you’ll pardon my french, it’s huge!” she gasped.

“Uncomfortably large it proved for poor Clarissa,” I admitted, “So shall we conjoin?”

“I don’t think I can take all that sir.” she said awkwardly.

“Well do your best,” I suggested, “If your babies could come out I’m sure my appendage will slip in.”

“That were years ago, its healed up since,” she suggested.

Cook pulled her smock over head. She wore nothing else and she stood before me naked and slightly stoop backed with the weight of her udders which hung to her navel.

I slipped from the bed and let her sit on the bed edge, I eased her thighs apart and knelt before her and aimed my member at her womb.

The candle flickered casting shadows across the lips of her womb. My helmet brushed her flesh. Delicious sensations raced through my mind. She was moist. She was hot. She was willing.

I flexed my knees and she was mine.

“Oh good god sir you’ve ripped me in half!” she squealed.

“Shut your rattle woman, I’ll make some more room!” I laughed as I thrust again.

“Ooohhh,” she gasped.

I grasped her great left udder, raised it towards my lips and suckled the teat.

“Gor lumme sir, I be going to heaven,” she squealed, “I ant had nothing like it for ten year!”

“No?” I queried.

“Bert used the back passage,” she explained.

“Disgusting,” I declared and in a moment my seed was gushing.

“Oh gore lumme sir you should have pulled out, I’ll get caught you mark my words!” she cried.

“Well if you do I will see you right!” I promised as my seed gushed forth sating her and the world suddenly seemed a very much more pleasant place.

She tried to wriggle out form under me.

“No let it soak in,” I whispered.

“Oh sir!” she exclaimed and she held me to her.

There was no love. Just mutual need. She told Bert the walk home was too much and she would live at the Mansion and go home on Sundays. Her oldest also called Molly could look after Bert.

And thats how it was five years, one son. Innumerable visits to the Jenkins woman in town when she got caught and now she was calling a halt.

People thought it odd cook had a child at the mansion. They thought. They did not say if they valued their employment, and the years slipped past. Thoughts of running Pickering through with a sword or shooting the blackguard with my flintlock receded as Cook’s nightly visits soothed my anger and refreshed my soul.

It may be the fashion among ladies to claim they crave the biggest boldest longest widest member, but my time with Clarissa and cook convinced me this was aspiration, and in reality for a childless woman anything as fulsome as my member was beyond their means to accommodate.

I should only find happiness with a widow. A widow with children. Why if she was half comely and half her age and I were not already married I should have married cook.

I had but seven days to find a new bedmate but my luck was about to change.

A note arrived from Cousin Edmund.

“My Dear Charles,” he started. “I hope this finds you well,” he continued with the usual pleasantrys. Then he got to the point. “I am sorry to say Pickering has abandoned Clarissa in favour of one Henrietta Marchbanks leaving Clarissa in penury. I would Dear Cousin rush to her aid but I would not wish to do anything which would not accord with your wishes. She is at present lodging with Mrs Grimshaw in an insalubrious annex of Eastbourne known as Shaw Street, an area noted for ale houses and lodging houses and much noted for the ready availability of fallen women.”

I jumped up, where was the Bradshaw? I looked everywhere. “Hudson!” I bellowed, “My Horse, My Jacket, Now man!”

I threw on a smart jacket, grabbed my money belt and rushed from the house. I missed the train by two minutes and had to wait three hours for the next, so I went home and packed properly. I also replied to Edmund.

I spent a night in London. Took the Eastbourne train and found Clarissa’s lodging.

“No gentlemen in the rooms,” the landlady insisted when I enquired after Clarissa, she first denied Clarissa was there at all until I suggested the name Pickering.

“She owes a weeks rent, entertain some gentlemen I says,” then landlady explained, “But she’s too hoity toity for that. Its sixpence to go upstairs sir,” she added.

“And how much to fuck you madam?” I enquired, “To loft you onto the counter and ram a foot of good English meat deep in your womb!”

“Hansom chap like you I’d do it for free!” she laughed, “I’ll show you to her room, sixpence please.”

I paid her and followed her upstairs.

She knocked the door, “Gentleman for you,” she announced.

“Go away I’m not interested,” Clarissa answered.

“Clarissa, open the door!” I shouted.

“Go away Charles, I want nothing to do with you!” she replied.

“Then I shall break it down, how much for a new door Mrs Grimshaw?” I asked

“Oh there’s tradesmen and wood.” she blustered

“Ten shillings, a pound, have a guinea,” I retorted.

The bolt slid back. A child’s voice “No mama!” the door opened.

A sad faced Clarissa stood before me in a shapeless off white maids smock, “Hello Charles.”

“You look awful,” I said, “Your hair is a disgrace, have you no self respect left woman?”

“Tis not respect but funds Charles, I have asked everyone I know for more, but it never comes.” she said.

“So now you prostitute yourself?” I enquired. “Fuck anyone who has a two penny piece?”

“Smart girl like her would get a shilling,” Mrs Grimshaw chipped in.

“No!” she cried, “I have asked Mama for help and Nana but they have not yet replied.”

“And cousin Edmund,” I added, “Luckily my cousin Edmund has sympathy for you, so here are my terms I shall loan you a sum of money to cover your debts.”

“Loan? but I am your wife?” she queried.

“Which you shall repay by granting me favours at the rate of two pence per fuck!” I insisted.

“Charles don’t be so absurd,” she said, “You live miles away.”

“No, you mis understand,” I explained, “You are coming back to Devon, if you wish that is, otherwise I understand Brighton has an excellent prison especially for whores and adulteresses.”

“But Charles.” she pleaded. She retreated into the room where a small female version of Pickering stood watching us.

I followed and explained “If the debt remains unrepaid then you must stay until it is cleared, I don’t doubt we can find tasks for you, looking after cooks child perhaps?”

“It seems I have little choice,” she said.

“One pound seven and sixpence halfpenny,” Mrs Grimes demanded.

I counted out the coins. “One pound seven shillings and seven pence, you may keep the change.”

“I want you gone by tea time,” Mrs Grimes explained, “I usually lets the room by the hour or half hour.”

Clarissa sat down. Her knees were wobbling. “Charles,” she said.

“Save your lies,” I said, “Write them in your journal, write and re write until they sound plausible, but spare me.”

“Charles, nothing has changed.” she declared. “I don’t love you. I married you for your position. For security, I feel nothing for you, nothing but fear.”

“You have nothing to fear woman,” I declared, “Your child was born far bigger than my appendage and he fitted through your carnal canal so rest assured on that count.”

“You mean to make love to me?” Clarissa asked.as she went to collect up her belongings.

“Good lord no,” I laughed, “I just want someone to fuck now that cook has declared she will no longer accommodate me.”

“Molly, the cook?” Clarissa gasped, “You have fornicated with Molly the cook.”

“Indeed and we have delightful little daughter,” I confessed.

Clarissa looked stunned “But she’s old and fat and ugly, gap toothed, common.”

“And willing, and her cunt would swallow a bookcase let alone my appendage.” I averred.

“It was his mother,” Clarissa said, “She threatened to disinherit my beloved if he did not finish our liaison and marry someone else.”

“Never speak of your beloved, his is the blackguard Pickering, or worse in my hearing.”

“He loves me, he only wished to help by easing my passage so you could mount me,” she said.

“Clarissa, Cook may be ugly and fat and stupid but even she is not stupid enough to believe that package of lies, now hold your tongue and collect your things.

Clarissa collected her bags and pulled an old black coat over her smock, “Surely you’re not going abroad dressed like that?” I asked.

“I had to sell my clothes, for food,” she admitted.

“Oh well if you can bear the humiliation so can I,” I admitted and with no more ado we departed from the lodgings.

I had an altercation with the ticket inspector on Eastbourne Station, “Where in the regulations does it say whores may not travel first class?” I demanded.

It was on page 127 and said whores may not travel other than by the parliamentary train and only in third class when fourth class is unavailable.

So she travelled on the bare wooden seats in a carriage or truck open to all winds while I rode in some style in first class.

We fought our way across the sewer they call London and arrived at civilisation in the form of the Great Western railway which sped us on to Bristol and on to Devon.

Cook was delighted to see us when the carters cart deposited us at the house shortly before supper.

“Oh Madam I am so pleased you’re back!” she said delightedly.

“It is Clarissa, cook, she is to be employed as my mistress, not mistress of the house,” I explained.

“Oh Mistress,” Cook gasped. I gave up. Stupidity is incurable.

“Move her things into my room, put the child in the nursery with Aurora,” I ordered, “My daughter with Cook,” I explained, “They can be brother and sister.”

Clarissa looked unsure but Cook swiftly seduced the child from his mother with a chocolate pudding and Ginger Ale.

We ate a hearty supper. I read for a while and as the clock struck ten I announced it was bed time.

Clarissa looked ready to demur but she held her tongue.

She followed me to the bed chamber. She waited while I lit the oil light. She watched as I bolted the door. Her eyes followed me as I hung my jacket and carefully folded my trousers and shirt. She watched as I slipped my nightshirt on and slipped my undergarments down.

“It is time,” I announced as I threw back the bedclothes.

She sat on the bed edge, nervously, decorously. She waited for my kiss.

“Legs apart,” I said coldly, “Lift your smock.”

She was bare beneath it, no pantaloons. No corsets. She was thin from lack of food, her ribs were plainly seen. I felt nothing.

“Just on the edge there, that’s right,” I judged and I knelt before her as I had so often done with Cook. I eased the purple tip of my member within the soft pink folds leading to her womb.

I felt moistness. I pressed. She protested as always but this time I was deaf to her cries.

“Ugh, Ugh, Ugh,” I grunted gaining an inch each time, “Ugh Uuurrrggghhhhh,” and I was fully sheathed and she screamed wordlessly in unbearable agony.

“Oh god!” she wailed, “Your monster.s in me, Charles, the monster is inside me!” she wailed in disbelief.

“So?” I queried.

“Charles,” she said. “Ohhhhhhh.”

“See, it fits!” I snapped icily.

“Charles, be careful, you are breaking me in half,” she complained.

“All right turn over,” I ordered.

“Oh no Charles, for pities sake not up there!” she protested, but I withdrew my glistening shaft.

“Turn over, bend over the bed. Now!” I ordered.

She did as I said. Tearfully. Fearfully indeed, but she bent over the bed as bidden and I rammed my meat forcibly within her woman’s parts again.

“Oh!” she gasped as she realised it was her womb I had speared not her backside, “Ohhhhh.”

“Hold still while I loosen you some more,” I demanded as I thrust mightily both straight up and up and sideways. Always easing her passage, moulding it into something more amenable.

She cried out.

I cursed her. “Bury your head in the pillows woman, your caterwalling is unseemly!”

“No!” she pleaded. I pulled from her again.

“On your back now woman,” I insisted. “Let me take my pleasure now I have loosed your innards a touch.”

I manhandled her around to be flat on her back in the middle of the bed, something I could never have done with cook, and then I spread her leg wide and plunged my member into her once more.

This time my member speared her easily. My crotch against her loins, against the nub of her loins from which pleasure flows and oh what pleasure.

She kept up a pretence. “Aghhhh, it hurts, you monster!” she complained but I was moving easily inside her now grinding my loins against hers. “Ohhhh,” she gasped, “Oh no please no! You cannot!” she pleaded, “Noooooo,” she gave a despairing wail as sensations overcame her.

A moment later I too reached my moment and my member convulsed and flooded her parts with my seed. Gushing and rushing into every nook and cranny.

Like cook she tried to escape me but I held her down, kept my recovering member inside her and when a moment had passed he swelled again.

“Charles,” she protested, “Let me go!”

“No let it sink in,” I said angrily, “I have waited so many years for this!” My member stiffened and I started to grind against her.

“Oh no please,” she pleaded, “Not again I can’t bear it,” she exclaimed. But it was not pain that she feared but that her body would betray her again.

“Did Pickering ever make you feel like this?” I asked, “Did he ever fill you like I fill you?”

“No!” she protested, “That is not fair.”

“No, exactly,” I insisted, “If only you had persevered we might have reached the height of pleasure some many years ago.”

“It was agony!”she pretended.

“You did not appear to be in distress, quite the contrary,” I opined.

“Oh do your worst I am past caring,” she replied and she lay flat and immobile upon the bed.

I took her at her word. I slammed into her brutally like I would a whore. But she gasped a few times and then said, “Kindly Charles, stop jabbing, nice and slow,” she urged, “We have plenty of time.” and then she said, “Can we get under the bed covers my feet are getting cold?”

“Oh if you must,” I agreed and I let her squirm out from under me. She threw open the bedclothes and simply laid in the middle of the bed, and allowed me to join her and pull the bedclothes over us .

“You are an animal!” she informed me, “Do your worst.”

I ploughed her tenderly for a while.

“Charles,” she said quietly, “Kiss me.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Tell me you love me.”

“I don’t,” I explained.

“Liar,” she said, “Now do your duty husband and kiss me, and then and only then,you may fill me with your juices again.”

“You called me an animal!” I protested.

“It is a woman’s perogative to change her mind,” Clarissa informed me.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you fill me Charles,” She explained,”And you came to find me and rescue me, and you must love me because you thrill me you animal!”

“Clarissa!” I protested, “I brought you to be my whore not my wife!”

“But I am your wife Charles,” she insisted, “A very bad wife I confess but I shall be an equally bad whore Charles.”

“No we cannot turn back the clock,” I explained.

“Well if you won’t kiss me I shall kiss you!” she insisted and she pulled my face down and raised hers up so our lips entwined.

My seed burst forth instantly and we kissed with a burning passion as my member subsided.

I woke with the morning. She was awake before me. “I need new clothes, you must lend me some money,” she insisted.

“Lend?” I queried.

“Ten guineas, I shall bay you back,” she insisted.

“How so?” I asked.

“Two pence a time, shall you spend twopence before breakfast?” she asked as she swung into the bed and straddled me.

“Indeed,” I agreed, and in a moment my member was rampant and she had slid down upon it.

And nine months on she delivered me an heir.

To be continued.

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