Clarissa, Masters wife, Worker’s whore pt1

Yorkshire UIK after the general strike of 1926.

I stood idly on the weed strewn platform with the blustery wind ruffling my thin summer suit, as it rattled the locked waiting room door and rustled the lush cow parsley on the now neglected station garden and I watched the little train which brought me chuff busily away up the steep sided valley as I fretted and wondered why Brabbinger my chauffeur was not there to pick me up in the Rolls Royce.

Old Ted the toothless ex stationmaster looked out from the old station house across the road wearing shirt and braces where once he stood resplendent in dark serge and gold braid as he waved away the London train but today times were hard, the station was now but a halt and he eked out an existence opening and closing the level crossing gates for the occasional one coach Railmotor or rare train of coal wagons from nearby colliery.

“Bit blustery Mr ‘Ardhaker sir,” he shouted, “You could wait in by here sir if you was minded to.”

“No, I thank you, Mr Cardle,” I said, “My man is informed.”

“Very good sir,” he said.

Curtains twitched upstairs, Molly, Cardle’s eldest looked out, poor Molly, such a sweet girl when I knew her, fresh plucked and working at mill when I sampled her, but fat as a pig now, and working flat on her back all the hours of the day and night to put a crust in her brother and sisters mouths. Cardle knew, even then he knew and he spent on the horses what she earned in trinkets on her back but the general strike killed our valley, our steam mills lay idle and when the mines reopened our trade was gone and the miners stayed home and drank away their troubles while their wives went to work the streets of Leeds of an evening, coming home on the midnight train the whore’s express instead of working our looms.

But that was not my problem, not any more, I had reached the end of my tether, had given up the unequal struggle and sold my shares in the family firm to group of London businessmen, idiots to a man I believed, sold out for a tenth of what they were once worth and I now waited to face Clarissa.

My beautiful but flawed darling, so graceful, elegant, charming but cold, icily cold, frigid, she knew I married her for her money, she didn’t love me and neither did I love her, and while I spent Sunday night through Saturday morning working in Leeds or London, going down on sleeping car train of a Sunday and back of a Saturday on the Pullman so it was just the Saturday night when we lay lovelessly back to back in our loveless bed.

She was always so, she had a substantial dowry, we needed the money, her father believed she was a fragile soul unsuited to a full marriage and thus from number of suitors he chose me for her husband as he believed I was a sodomite, lord knows why, there was hardly a mill girl I hadn’t shafted when I worked in the office as a lad, back before my father gave up the struggle and passed on and so propelled me into trying to keep his crumbling business empire afloat and give men who as youths had fought in the Great War a chance to feed their families despite the strikes and economic depression,

But it was done now, all was sold and if she didn’t like living in a four bed house in Leeds with only a cook and two servants then she could damned well join the convent, because that was all that was left, yes her dowry of a hundred thousand pounds was gone, just one house that was all we owned, a fortnight was all we had to vacate the gothic monstrosity of Barnestone Hall.

I telephoned Mrs Boyd at the post office to say I would be on the two fifteen from Leeds, and she assured me she would send word for Brabbinger to collect me, yet five minutes I had been waiting and there was no Rolls nor anything to be seen.

“You sure Mr ‘Ardhaker,” Cardle asked wheezily as Molly waved at me from the upstairs window.

“Yes thank you Mr Cardle and it’s Hardacre, Hard Acre,” I said.

“Very good Mr ‘Ardhaker sir.” he said and I so nearly threw my hat on the floor and stamped upon it I was so frustrated, damnit if Molly’s little sister had been abroad surely I should sampled her without a second thought, but Molly, uddered like a cow and bellied like one two I could no more stiffen my member to sample her than fly to the moon.

“I think I shall walk,” I said icily, “Good day!” and crunching the gravel beneath my patent leather shoe’s soles I set to walk through the village and up to the Hall one last time.

The serried rows of houses looked unaccustomedly clean, pristine almost, shorn of their cloak of smoke and their dusting of smoke dust now the Mill had fallen silent and the coal mine worked only one shaft on one shift and that half manned.

Serried ranks, a serried rank of workess men queued outside the Miner’s Arms waiting for Ted Harrods the Landlord to open up, each in their clean freshly laundered white shirts, dark trousers and flat caps, a uniform dress if ever there was one, jobless lads, lads thrown on the scrap heap, spending the kiddies charity money on ale, what a waste.

I walked on, I knew eyes were upon me, I expect they was wondering why I was about, I had a position do you see, respected by all, or so I thought.

Serried ranks of houses, some beside the roadway with nothing but enough space for a push bike for a path but some with steep front gardens reaching up to the street as it climbed while they sat beside the canal, some like twenty six and eight with the bedrooms level with the road it so steep was the rise.

There was a little Morris car, outside number twenty eight I fancied, all in black, like our estate run about, hard topped, and four seats not two and a dickie like the old ones, it took my eye, debt collector no doubt, I thought, yet there were curtains at the window of twenty eight and patterned not just cheesecloth, and yet it was number twenty eight that he was outside, definitely.

It came apparent that the driver’s seat was occupied though with facing away from me the car hid him except his arm which was upon the window ledge.

All I had to do was remember the number of the estate car and I should have behaved otherwise but I failed to recognised it and sprang upon the rogue as if he were a debt collector or debt collectors man.

“State your business!” I said.

“Whup,” the rogue said, a familiar rogue indeed.

“Brabbinger,” I gasped, “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, oh, ee,” he said using every vowel but making no sense at all, “Tis the missus.” he said.

“What missus, have you married surreptitiously,” I asked.

“Ah, no, I,” he blustered.

“So, take me home!” I ordered. and I swung round to the other side and squeezed through the door to join him in the cramped interior, “Drive man!” I ordered my humour now moving from black to inflamed.

“But,” he said.

“I left word,” I said, “Two fifteen from Leeds,” I explained, “Even the London and North Eastern Railway can get here in under the round hour from Leeds!”

“But the missus sir,” he said, his tunic undone and his collar and hatless he looked a complete slop – about and a disgrace.

“Just drive damn you,” I insisted and he pushed the self starter and it just ground uselessly.

“Wind it man,” I said, “Use the handle.”

He honked the horn, I though it most odd, and he stared anxiously at number twenty eight.

“What exactly is the problem?” I asked, “What is this?” I added as a man buttoning his shirt opened the door and another was there behind him.

“I say,” I said straightening, “You there!” and he slammed the door.

“The missus,” Brabbinger explained.

“It’s a damned brothel!” I said, “Out with it!” I snapped, “There’s a damned brothel in Barnestone!”

“No!” Brabbinger tried desperately to lie, but the horror of the situation was too much, it might be but two weeks more that we owned the row of houses but a brothel!

I threw the gate wide and I stormed down the cinder path, between neatly tended grasses, and banged the door, “Open up!” I ordered, “Open up for your Land Lord’s inspection!”

A woman squealed, a man chided her, “What?” a fellow asked as he opened the door, “Well if it ain’t the man!” he said sarcastically.

“I am the Land Lord,” I reminded him, “Mr Weighton, is it not,” I said recognising the fellow.

“It’s Bond!” he said, “Jimmy Bond!”

“Right,” I said, “Right, oh yes, I know you,” I agreed.

“You know my missus,” he said, “And me sister,” he said.

“What?” I asked, “Yes of course.”

“Biblically!” he said, “One and tuppence you paid you bastard!”

“Look, it was a fair price,” I explained.

“Fair, yes fair,” he agreed, “You know my wife, well I knows yours!”

“Everyone knows Clarissa,” I said uncomprehendingly.

“Biblically!” he said, “And not just me Mr ‘Ardhaker sir, ‘alf the bloody lads in village Mr bloody ‘Ardhaker sir.”

“What!” I expounded.

“Poked her Mr ‘Ardhaker sir,” he said, “Do you hear that sir, that’s Wally Bulstrode up there right now poking her Mr ‘Ardhaker sir!”

“What are you blethering about man?” I demanded.

“You’re a cuckold sir!” the man behind said, “Begging your pardon Mr ‘Ardacre sir, but like Jimmy says, well, she been,” he said, “Ent she Jimmy”

“Upstairs now, you hear that Mr ‘Ardhaker sir, that’s your missus being poked that is sir!” he leered.

“I’ll deal with you presently!” I stormed, “Let me past!”

They stood aside and I ascended the mean, narrow, bare boarded stairway, a lout lounged at the top, “Two shillings for a fine gentleman such as you sir,” he said briefly before the impact of my right fist on his jaw raised his skull a full six inches and he collapsed moaning.

I tried the door, twisted the knob left and right but it was locked so I put my shoulder to it and my entrance was in a shower of splinters, two lads stood beside the bed, their rough workmans overalls undone and hanging about their knees and their appendages rampant as they stroked them idly as they looked on while their friend ploughed a painted whore who lay in her white underthings upon a stained striped mattress upon an iron bed frame.

A slim dainty elegant whore, her elegant legs wrapped around the coarse fellow with a hairy ass that would have been the pride of any baboon which bobbed rapidly and inelegantly up and down as his penis slammed into and squelched out of her.

A golden haired whore, her locks expensively coiffeured obviously at my expense as evidenced by the ivory comb that was my mother’s and her silver ear rings, a birthday present from myself.

“Clarissa!” I wailed, “What is the meaning of this!”

She jerked her head forward as Bulstrode, for it was he that was ploughing her, had his head go down and they impacted with a clop, “Ohhh!” she wailed, “John?”

“You bust Jimmy’s door Mr ‘Ardhaker,” said the more stupid of the two oafs as they stood rampant and naked still.

“John, oh god John, but you’re not due until Saturday!” Clarissa protested,

“No dearest,” I said, “I’m sure there is an excellent and completely reasonable explanation!” I shouted, “For your appalling behaviour!” She looked horrified, “In your own time, take your pleasure first my dearest.” I said patronisingly.

“We thought, begging your pardon sir, that you would be more upset sir,” Bulstrode said as he looked at me over his shoulder as he continued to poke her.

“Upset Mr Bulstrode, oh no share and share alike,” I snorted, “For when I rip out your entrails with a rusty fishplate I’ll be sure the dogs and rats each have fair shares of your gizzards!”

He leapt from her with alacrity leaving Clarissa lewdly displayed, her breasts aroused but though perfectly formed sadly deficient in volume and her cunt as the common workmen have it, gaping the lips slightly open, well used, glistening with her juices and near as damnit hairless like a whore’s.

Bulstrode grabbed for his coat missed his footing and fell sideways taking one of the oafs with him and they crashed into a corner of the sparsely furnished room entwined together like a pair of poofters.

“Are you free Clarissa, have you time to explain your conduct before you fornicate again?” I asked, “You whore!”

“You never come home early,” she protested.

“And that’s you excuse?” I asked, “That I never come home, then my apologies,” I added and I stepped forward and took her hand, “Come!” I demanded, and pulled her up to a sitting position.

“I, can’t,” she protested.

“Yes you can my darling,” I said, “Come with me!” and I pulled until she was bent painfully double and she had to slide around to get her feet to the side of the bed or I would have dragged her head first to the floor.

“John!” she wailed, “Stop, I am not decent.” she protested, “I need Harry!” she insisted.

“Who the blue blazes is Harry?” I asked.

“My prophylactic,” she said, and there was Bulstrode peeling a rubber prophylactic off his penis, a genuine heavy duty reusable prophylactic like the lads would have used in the great war.

“Oh, I’ll buy you a box of new ones,” I agreed.

“My clothes!” she said, as apart from her under shift which was open down the front revealing her breasts and sex she was entirely and deliciously naked, “John No!” she wailed as I dragged her from the room and onto the stairs, I almost sent her reeling with a knee in the small of her back but at the last moment I forced her hand up her back instead.

“John for pities sake!” she wailed, “I am all but naked!”

“Oh yes!” I agreed and I just ripped the shift away completely, “Now you’re naked, as befits a whore!”

“No!” she wailed and as the men looked on I dragged her naked and shivering from the house.

“Look,” I said, “Not one person lifts a finger to help you, is that not truly amazing?”

“Please my shoes!” she wailed.

“I’m throwing you out, with nothing, you’re to be a whore, whore’s can’t afford shoes, you’re going to be a barefoot whore so get used to it.” I railed, “I’m cutting you off without a bean do you understand?”

“Yes, anything, but allow me to dress,” she protested, as she stood nakedly pleading, her golden hair cascading to her pale pink shoulders and her free arm trying inadequately to cover her breasts and her sex.

“No, let everyone see you,” I snapped as I pushed her up the cinder path towards the asphalt road.

Men watched from upstairs as they dressed and those from downstairs as they waited their turn, knowing now their turn was denied, their free fornication denied for this afternoon at the very least.

Brabbinger watched us approach and opened the car door for her, but I pushed her past the little Morris and on up the road, as a gaggle of young men filed from the house and were following us at a respectful distance.

“John No!” Clarissa wailed as the harsh road cut her feet but all she achieved was more faces staring from the roadside houses.

Miss Farmington was walking towards us, a spinster of some sixty years, dedicated to her mother and the church dowdily dressed and untouched by man she admonished me saying “Mr Hardacre, you should be ashamed of yourself!”

“I,” I said, “Have nothing to be ashamed of, she is the whore, fornicating with all comers!”

“He has gone entirely insane Miss Farmington,” Clarissa insisted.

“No, I’ve seen the light, at last!” I countered and I stormed along walking so briskly that Clarissa had to half run to keep with me.

The houses soon ended and the view of the valley over the allotment gardens and the canal beyond opened and deprived of the shelter the houses provided the gusting wind seemed ever stronger as the road climbed steadily up the valley side, a few rain drops spattered the road and in the distance a train was rattling back towards Leeds, I should have chained her to the crossing gates for all to see but we had gone the wrong way but by then the houses were far behind us and the men had stopped following.

“My feet,” she protested, “My poor feet!”

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I’ll find you a nice cheap back alley to lay on your back in,” I said, “You little whore!”

“But they hurt John!” she said.

Brabbinger was following in the little Morris. I beckoned to him, and when he accelerated towards us and then slowed I ordered him to “Fetch the Rolls.”

I watched the car disappear and continued to push Clarissa with a hand forced up her back, finally we breasted Maggie Allthwaite’s tump and the houses began to sink from sight over the fresh horizon.

“I sold the company,” I told her.

“Hardacres?” she asked.

“Barnestone colliery, Barnestone estates, Hardacres and The Hall.” I explained, “I came home to tell you.”

“Sold, is there anything left, after debts I mean,” she asked earnestly.

“Nothing much, a house in Leeds.” I told her.

“Thank god, I’ve been so worried!” she said.

“Yes, it looks like it!” I agreed.

“I thought you might, you know, like Duffy Harrington.” she said.

“Top myself!” I snorted, “No!” we had stopped now, I let her sit on the grass verge to massage her feet and then the rain started.

“There’s a barn,” she said pointing, “We could shelter.”

“Yes, why get wet,” I said and I swept her up in my arms, suddenly aware of her sexuality, for the smell of sex pervaded her and my appendage stirred as I carried her to the old stone barn. I fiddled with the door catch but she knew how the old door opened with a wire and then we were inside.

I set her down on a straw bale.

“No John don’t,” she said.

“What?” I asked,

“Don’t force me, please, I’ll go, I’ll stay with Aunt Matilda,” she said.

“No, you’re going on the streets, a cheap whore, a penny a time,” I said. “Newcastle maybe, London docks.”

“No, it will ruin you,” she said awkwardly, “If word got around, you cannot!”.

“Leeds then, I shall advertise your services and convert the basement into a dungeon.” I explained and my thumb was between her legs probing.

“Go on,” she said, “I’m listening.”

“You’re excited,” I said, “Actually excited!, all those bloody years using jelly and lord knows what so we might conjoin and you’re excited.”

“I can’t help it!” she admitted.

“Of course you can, show some decorum!” I ordered.

“And you, you’re excited too!” she said and she reached out and rubbed the bulge in my lightweight trousers.

“Clarissa,” I protested, but she was undoing the buttons on my fly and then my belt,I should have protested and stopped her but then my trousers were down and she bent her head and took the tip of my tool into her mouth.

I pulled away, “No downstairs!” I said.

“No, I don’t have Harry,” she said, her damned prophylactic.

“You are my wife,” I reminded her, “So behave like one!” and I forced her knees apart forcefully and pushed her onto her back as she lay on the straw and guided my manhood within her.

“John!” she said and I was siding easily within her and she was as shocked as I that our union was so easy so smooth, so natural.

“Whore,” I chided, “Milk me, work your muscles and milk me you whore.”

“You will withdraw won’t you?” she asked, “I need my Harry.”

“Why?” I asked, “When you can be a barefoot whore with a child in tow.

“Your child,” she said, “And mine,” and her muscles rippled.

“Stop that,” I ordered.

“No,” she replied, “I shan’t,” she insisted, “Do your duty!”

“Very well,” I said, “Then I shall use you like a whore!”

“Without a Harry?” she asked.

“We don’t have a,” I said but the familiar rush had started, my balls churned and my cum boiled from me.

“Ohhhhh,” she gasped, “That’s so good, do it, do it now, OOohhhhhhh!” she wailed and I started to cum.

She gasped and as I pumped her full of my juices she held me tightly

“Oh,” she said, “I forgot, you had no Harry, I didn’t mean it to happen!”

“It matters not to me,” I admitted, “Whether you’re filled or unfilled, I care nothing for you, nothing!”

“But, oh my, surely, surely that meant something to you?” she asked

“Nothing, but I am grown soft, suck me,” I ordered, “It meant nothing to me, you’re a whore so earn your tuppence and suck me!”

“What?” she asked.

“Suck my appendage, suck it hard.” I proposed.

“It’s slimy and gungy,” she protested lemely.

“London whores don’t object,” I said, “So suck!” I ordered and I grabbed her hair and forced her head into my crotch.

“Please, don’t tear my hair out!” she protested and she took my penis and began to lick the tip.

I stiffened immediately, “Lie on your back,” I said, “I always ejaculate too soon the first time so make yourself comfortable because this could take some time.”

“Yes sir,” she said respectfully and she started to unbutton my shirt, “Can I feel your manly chest sir?” she asked as she played the whore now.

“Of course you may my dear,” I agreed, as I aimed my appendage at her sopping wet vagina, and pressed myself firmly upon her, “There’s an extra threepence for you if your very, very nice to me.”

“Oh, thank you sir,” she simpered as she opened my shirt and pushed it down off my shoulders and then with her hands upon my back she held me to her.

The unaccustomed ease with which I ploughed her, the feel of her unimpeded by prophylactic, and even the thin London Rubber company sleeves I habitually used spoiled my pleasure to an extent, but glans to womb and slippery with desire I was in heaven.

“What’s you name girl?” I asked her.

She looked confused, and then understood “Lola sir,” she said, “I call myself Lola.”

“I shall ask for you particularly,” I said, “When I have need of a whore.”

“I thank you sir!” she agreed, and then asked, “Can you finish sir, please, my back is breaking.”

I looked her in the eye and took the comb from her hair and threw it in a corner, and the ear rings, gently I extracted them and threw them away.

“I shall divorce you, and you shall be Lola my whore,” I said firmly.

“But John!” she protested.

“You want the life of a whore then have one, cooking cleaning and children for your day and on your back of an evening,” I snapped.

“For you?” she asked.

“And my friends,” I said, “What say you?”

“Yes,” she said, “Shall I live in Leeds with you?”

“Indeed for nothing else is left.” I said and forgetfully I let my guard slip and the moment of ecstasy was upon me and my seed boiled from me forcibly making her squeal with delight.

We lay a moment and then I withdrew, took my jacket and offered it to her and after wiping myself on a handkerchief I dressed and looked for her, she had found her ear rings and was looking for the comb, “Leave it!” I ordered, “Come!”

It was raining harder now, “Come here,” I ordered and I swept her up into my arms clear of the ground, “I’ll carry you,” I said and with a hand on her bare backside I carried her to the road and turning to the left carried her back to the hideous gothic Barnestone Manor.

“Oh my lord,” Mrs Bridges my cook/ housekeeper exclaimed, “What happened?”

“I found this whore fornicating in the village, have her washed and find her a smock would you.” I asked.

“But Madam!” Mrs Bridges protested.

“Enough,” I said, “Do as say we cannot have naked whores upstairs.” and I left them.

The Brandy bottle in my study was empty, I threw it against the wall in frustration and watched the brown shards glisten in the sunlight.

It was six o’clock, the telephone exchange would be shut by now, there was no supper and Brabbinger was nowhere to be seen with the Rolls, I realised I had left my left my paper case at the brothel house, I cursed and went downstairs to the kitchen, Clarissa was in a hip bath before the kitchen range as Mrs Bridges bathed her.

“I have business in the village,” I explained.

“John please, don’t do anything foolish!” Clarissa warned.

“As if you care!” I said, “Whore!”

The Morris car was there still, I went to start it but the battery was dead and I had no stomach for cranking it with the handle but there inside was my paper case which Brabbinger had saved for me.

Faithful yet disloyal Brabbinger, had he enjoyed Clarissa I wondered, his stinking fat pot belly crushing her slight form to the filthy stained mattress as he ploughed her.

I knew he undoubtedly had and then I saw the Rolls approach, “I couldn’t find you sir.” he apologised.

“Did you poke my wife?” I demanded, “Or were you just my wife’s pimp!”

“Chauffeur sir, nothing more sir, nothing less sir, Chauffeur sir.” he said firmly, and probably insincerely.

“Take me to the colliery,” I ordered.

“It’s tea time sir,” he said.

“Damn it, I’ll drive!” I said though I hadn’t driven for years and flung his door wide.

He stepped down, “As you wish sir.” he said and I climbed in and I set forth in an approximation of a Kangaroo’s gait a series of bone jarring leaps and bounds as I wrestled with the throttle and the clutch pedal.

There was a gaggle of men outside number twenty eight, I swung the Rolls to a halt, “Have a good laugh at my expense,” I suggested, “But you’ll be laughing the other side of your heads come next month,” I added, “Colliery’s sold, Mill’s sold and Estate’s sold, you won’t have need of a whore, you’ll have need of a bed for to sleep in!”

I punched the self starter and lurched away, grinding to the Colliery to spread the news then onto the Mill.

“I’m not surprised,” Greerson the colliery manager said, and he extended a hand, “We appreciate your efforts sir,” he said, “No one could have done more,” and at the Mill they were equally unsurprised.

I returned home, Clarissa was nowhere to be seen, but a simple dinner was simmering and I ate ravenously.

Mrs Bridges brought my dessert, a raspberry tart.

“My wife and I shall divorce,” I said, “Have her things moved to the Blue room forthwith,” I ordered, “I shall not share a bed with that trollop ever again.”

“What, tonight sir?” she asked.

“This night, have that trollop Lola help you,” I ordered.

I pushed my plate away and retired to the study, then as night fell I went to the garden, I fancied I heard the colliery brass band playing but it was an illusion, they had played their last when the coal strike started and we had the instruments back to languish unused in the foreman office.

I walked the unkempt gardens, one gardener now idled where six had formerly toiled, and in the moonlight I returned for my supper.

“Have warm milk sent up, I shall retire,” I told Mrs Bridges and I went to my bed bathed in the bathroom adjacent though in cold water, and dressed in my simple night shirt.

There was a faint tap upon the door, timidly so, “Come,” I said and the door opened, Clarissa stepped in, barefoot, wearing a simple white shift and carrying a jug of warm milk.

“Mrs Bridges sent me sir,” she said, “Will there be anything else sir begging your pardon.”

“You are Lola are you not?” I asked, “The trollop I sampled earlier?”

“Oh yes sir, indeed sir,” she said mimicking a servant, “Did I give satisfaction sir.” she asked.

“Indeed, but my bed is cold, Lola, warm it for me,” I ordered, she pulled open the covers and slid in, “Nakedly girl, warm the bed with your warmth!” I ordered, “Off with it girl,” I said and I grabbed her shift and lofted it over her head.

“OOhhh sir!” she trilled and her hands were upon my nightshirt lifting and my appendage released was swelling and, “Yes, do it!” she said her eyes aflame, “Love me!”

I held her and swung onto the bed, slipping my feet beneath the covers before pulling the blankets over us and covering her even as she guided me inside her.

I kissed her neck, “John no!” she said.

I kissed more firmly, “I wish to mark you as my own,” I said as I left love bites on each other shoulders where they became her neck and I kept kissing as I ploughed her and she for her part raked my back and buttocks with her finger nails as I took my pleasure as great white clouds of ether seemingly engulfed me until at length pounding rushing relief came like the freshness of a mountain waterfall and in the moistness and pleasure and relief as I held her so we slept.

The sun was high in the sky when I woke, Clarissa was looking out through a chink in the curtains, “Come back to bed,” I said, “We need to talk.”

“But I need to think,” she said evasively.

“Come to bed Clarissa,” I said, “Please.”

“Clarissa, not Lola?” she asked.

“You choose,” I suggested, “
“Then we will talk,” she said, “And yes I choose silks and satins and soft yet hard intrusions that make my whole being cry out with delight,” she said as she came to the bed, “It is not I John, Clarissa and Lola are one and the same, it is you, from where did your passion come, you have barely touched me before, preferring the sodomy of boys hitherto while I remain unrelieved.”

I stared at her, “I chase whores, I admit, but ladies, girls, never boys, never sodomy, how can you think that of me?”

“So how can you spurn me,” she asked, “A perfunctory union of a Saturday, it cannot be sufficient.”

“And relief, you seek it now?” I asked.

“No I am quite sated,” she said, “Do you?”

“I do,” I said.

“Then rape me sir, I cannot resist,” she said.

“And you Clarissa?” I asked.

“I shall do my duty,” she replied,

“And for threepence will you pretend to love me Lola?” I asked.

“If you promise to wrap me in silks and satins sir,” she said, “Oh god John, just take me, take me to heaven!” she demanded, “To your duty sir, you have need of an heir!”

I took hold of her by the shoulders and eased her down the bed until I could cover her, my parts slid within her parts and our union was complete and we cared not that the servants heard every creak of the bed and every exclamation of love.

And then we lay sated, “Lola,” I whispered, “Fetch my wife Camilla.”

“Yes sir, she said, certainly sir.” she said and when she returned she was dressed in her own long white nightgown.

“Sit down,” I said, “We need to talk.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “I won’t change you know, I have cravings,” she explained.

“Cock?” I asked, she nodded.

“Cock,” she agreed, “It builds up, you know?”

“Yes,” I agreed, “But not all the time?”

“It builds up,” she said again.

“I need,” I explained awkwardly, “You know, a woman, every night,” I looked into her eyes, she looked interested.

“A woman?” she said, “I thought?”

“Whores, always whores,” I said, “I would never have an affair and.” I thought before I said, “Humiliate you.”

“While I have had all the men in the village very nearly and cuckolded and humiliated you, is that what you are saying?” she asked.

“If you say so,” I agreed.

“It’s only occasionally, not every night,” she said, “But, well, there were quite a lot of them.”

“Days mainly,” I surmised.

“Yes, days mainly,” she said, “But I was always careful.”

“I should thrash you, but to be fair it’s a huge relief, ” I said. “I didn’t know how to tell you we are ruined but it doesn’t seem so important now.”

“And you’ll give up the whores now?” she asked.

“When you are available to me,” I said, “And you, the workmen?”

“If you satisfy me, yes,” she agreed, “Satisfy me now John, I demand satisfaction.”

“You little strumpet,” I declared, and I took her by the shoulders and prepared to plough her anew.

To be continued.

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