Sarah’s honour wagered and lost.

It is 1803 and the scene an English Country house in the home counties.

Sunlight filtered through the green canopy of overhanging branches dappled the coach and four as it swept down the long straight drive from the gatehouse to the arched porte cochere on the east frontage of our house.

I stood there with my parents waiting to greet our arriving guests and my heart sank as I watched Lord Marchington’s matched team of greys swing up the ramp to halt more or less opposite the doorway.

Father sighed, mother kicked his ankle and put on her best crocodile like smile and stepped forward as Lady Marchington stepped down from the carriage.

“Marigold!” Mother exclaimed.

“Charlotte!” Lady Marchington replied though mother’s name were actually Pamela, Eugenie and May.

Mother ignored the slight, “How delightful, and this must be Sarah!”

Sarah scowled, perhaps had she smiled she could have been a beauty but scowling was her favoured expression.

“Have you met Charles?” she asked.

“Delighted,” I stammered, awkwardly.

“Huh,” Sarah snubbed me yet again.

“Indeed, we met at Albrighton Ball,” I replied, where she refused my invitation to dance though she had no partner for two dances in succession.

“How could I possibly forget!” she sneered and she swept past me.

“Feisty little filly,” Father muttered, “Needs breaking in, good breeding stock though.”

“Yes Father,” I agreed sarcastically.

“Ah Claud!” Father said as Lord Marchington eased his considerable bulk from the carriage.

“James!” Marchington exclaimed, “Old pile hasn’t collapsed yet then!”

“No, sound as a rock!” he replied, “Come in, come in, you must see Charles’s latest contraption!”

“A parking break for a carriage, is he completely mad?” Marchington exclaimed when father told him.

“So it seems,” Father said, “Says he’ll make his fortune with contraptions.”

“Damned well need to with this pile to upkeep,” Marchington agreed, “Henry’s executors still determined?” he asked.

Now that was the rub, for the house had actually belonged to Uncle Henry who having no issue had entailed the property upon father and indeed allowed Father the use of the property where we resided, but he had then quite suddenly ordered that instead of father it should jump a generation so to speak and it should instead devolve to myself upon maturity.

Father was livid, half the property was promised as gambling debt already but such was the situation, and tonight being my twenty first birthday was the day I was to inherit it.

Dinner was intolerable, seventy guests crammed into a space enough for forty, father made a speech, I tried to make one but the laughs were at me and not at my jokes.

The tedium was intolerable, even before the minstrels arrived and started to play their intolerable dirge like reels and square dances.

I of course struggled for partners, only the fattest and ugliest young women and the most desperate elderly unmarried women gave me any cognisance as their eyes lit up at the sight of a military uniform or the latest style of frock coat, while I hated every moment.

I longed for the local hostelry where the landlords buxom daughter accomodated my every whim for a small consideration, or Broughton or Flaxley or Harrogate, especially Harrogate where in the smart houses of the Madames lay girls beautiful enough to be courtesans in Paris who often were mine, for a rather larger consideration admittedly, and no chance of rebuttal what ever.

From the scent of rose petals and french water to the stench of unwashed nobility the full gamut pranced and lurched ludicrously about their mating ritual called ‘Dance’ in our barn now used as a ball room and as soon as I might I escaped to safer climes where father shared a few hands of cards with his cronies. Fitzroy, Grey, Marchington, Hendrick and father sat around the card table while a dozen others were drunkenly observing from their arm chairs.

Father was drunk, Fitzroy was drunk, Marchington was drunk.

The game was poker and the table groaned with every marker imaginable, “I’ll raise you my house!” Father said as I entered.

“You have no house Father,” I said determinedly, “So stop this nonsense forthwith.”

“I say!” Marchington exclaimed, “Dashed unsporting!”

“None of your business!” said Fitzroy.

“Well,” I said, as I examined the markers, “What have you wagered, father’s non existent house against the lands you no longer own in County Wicklow Mr Fitzroy, Your town house, mortgaged to three different lenders Lord Marchington, and Mr Hendrick what have you chipped in?”

“A gold bar,” he replied.

“So it seems Mr Hendrick wins the hand,” I said amiably enough, “As your other bets are void.”

“Hold hard you young whipper snapper!” Marchington declared, “It is not your place!”

“That’s just it, as of today it is my place, my house, my lands.” I declared.

“Then have a hand of cards with us,” Marchington invited.

I looked around, weighed up the odds, and agreed.

Hendrick knew better than to play on, father had naught to wager so I sat down.

“East Lancashire Regimental Rules,” Hendrick reminded me.

“Indeed,” I agreed, five cards each and two community cards best five cards to be counted.

I won the first two hands easily, massive bets on useless cards.

“Damn it that’s unsporting,” Marchington exclaimed.

“My apologies, I did not realise we had to take turns to win!” I retorted

“Charles, this is a friendly game among friends,” father reminded me.

“That father is why you so frequently lose,” I reminded him, “Shall you win your markers back gentlemen?”

Marchington agreed, “Will you take my note?” he asked.

“No,” I replied.

“Well dash it man!” he said.

“You already bet things that are not your own.” I assserted.

“Steady on Charles,” father declaimed, “Sorry old boy,” he said to Lord Marchington.

“You do the same, you’re as bad!” I scolded father.

“Do you dispute my honour!” Marchington exclaimed.

“Indeed,” I replied, “I make it my business to know who owes what sir,” I averred, “Why you wagered your daughters honour to Toby Francks at Garrads did you not?”

“Ah, had a Brandy too far,” he admitted.

“So wager it again, Charlie would relish a gallop I’ll wager.” Hendrick chipped in.

“No, I merely used it as an example,” I blustered.

“Don’t like girls eh Charlie?” Harry Mumford suddenly commented from the depths of an armchair, “I heard you prefer page boys.”

“That is a scurillous lie!” I insisted, “The boys assist with my contraptions, as do milkmaids and chamber maids and all manner of such,” I blustered.

“Never seen him kiss a girl though have we gentlemen?” Mumford replied, “Marchington’s daughters honour against the pot Charlie, or are you a mans man?”

“No!” I said.

“Then deal the cards!” Marchington said drunkenly.

Father squealed delightedly, “Oh what fun!”

I had been bamboozled, I sighed, the cards were dealt, Jack 10 and 9 all of hearts, 7 of Diamonds 4 of Hearts, King of Clubs, Queen of Hearts were the communal cards. I shook my head.

“Oh well,” I said but with that father seized them and set them down triumphantly.

“A flush!” he said delightedly.

“Four Aces,” Marchington laughed and went to grab the ‘pot’ as we called the pile of markers.

“East Lancs,” said Hendrick, “Aces low old boy.”

Marchingdon was aghast, “I challenge you!” he said trying to draw an imaginary sword.

“Pipe down you fool,” father said, “Hendrick, be a good chap and fetch the wench.”

“Indeed,” he beamed.

Sarah scowled at us as we waited, “You summoned me father?” she declared.

“Yes thing is,” he said.

“Marchington wagered your honour and lost!” father laughed.

“My honour, to you, I would rather die,” she said disdainfully.

“In lieu of his house, would you see your family homeless living upon charity?” Mumford asked, “And it was not he but.”

She glowered angrily, “You, I would rather die than,” she asserted.

“No,” Hendrick said, “Not Mumford, I.”

Sarah became red with anger, “You, I should rather die than submit to you!”

“No, it was I,” I agreed.

“Oh, hand me the dagger, stab my beating breast, I should rather cut out mine own heart and feed it still living to the very crows than submit to a sodomite and man chaser!” Sarah averred.

“Verily you have a great aptitude with words Sarah but fear not,” I said, “For I shall not,” and I meant to say despoil you but instead Father declared.

“Prolong the agony,” and added, “On the table with her lets see the deed done!”

“No!” Sarah protested but there were Mumford, and Grey, and Challoner all still near sober and she had no chance, and in a trice was she lofted upon the table and her things rucked up.

“No!” she wailed and flailed her legs determinedly.

“Do a chap an injury,” Father said, “Face down and bare those udders,”

They tried to turn her but contrary ways and her gown tore and slipped from her shoulders to about her waist and her mounds were revealed and the teats thereon.

I looked mesmerised at her beauty, the faintest golden down only covered her mound below with the lips so pink and inviting between those flailing thighs.

Urges so strong I could scarce repress them coursed through my loins, my manhood became enmeshed agonisingly in my underthings, I reached down to free him.

A moment and the view was gone, and Sarah was face down, her buttocks at the table edge, her feet now wedged and her womans lips to be seen below her brown bud.

The urges became ever stronger, my manhood swelled and reared expectantly within my constricting breeches.

“So take her,” Marchingdon sneered, “Take that which is most precious from an innocent girl.”

My manhood throbbed, my eyes affixed upon her sweet pink lips which were now moist or so I perceived.

Marchington’s tone was that of a rebuke, “Take her like a choirboy if you may,” he added drunkenly.

“No!” she cried.

“I have no intention,” I declared though I knew I had to release my manhood before the agony fainted me.

“See he is a man’s man!” Sarah declared, “Now unhand me.”

“Are you a man or a mouse?” Father enquired, “For if you’re a man’s man I disown you!”

“Oh father you fool, the house is mine now damn it!” I averred, and I tore my breeches open releasing my manhood to sweet relief of his constriction.

“Good god,” Mumford cried, “Look at the size of that!”

“Up and at her lad!” father cried and he pushed me forward, I fell, steadied myself with a hand on her bare back and slipped as she twisted,

My hand slipped down beside her breast. Soft yet firm, the feel aroused me further.

I stepped back, and even as Mumford and Challoner on one side and Grey on the other held her I explored her firm unblemished white buttocks with outstretched fingers and then slid down to the peach so wonderfully displayed.

Her lips parted like a flowering petal, moistly, she wriggled and renewed her protests, I trailed a finger between her lips, reached around with the other hand to squeeze her mound and found her teat, I squeezed it, it seemed to grow, “Ugghh,” she exclaimed so I drove my finger deeper into her peach and squeezed her teat at one and the same time.

“No, oh lord no!” she cried.

“Take her lad, my arm is aching,” Mumford protested.

“Oh no!” she moaned and I tried another finger and another.

Maidenhead there was none.

It shocked me, my mind reeled and then I decided I would take her anyway, soiled she might be but my need was excess.

I took away my hand and held my manhood, easing its tip among her lips and pressing, then I leant forward placing my arms beside her and took both teats between my fingers before I thrust mightily and squeezed her teats at the same time.

She squealed and I was sheathed, sheathed entirely ball deep in a thrust, why she was looser below than the common whores I used in Harrogate, and I had no skin for protection, but for all that the feel of her was exquisite and as near perfection as might me.

Her golden hair cascaded to her shapely neck as I ground my self against her buttocks in a malestrom of urgency. Her parts were as moist as the ocean and they welcomed me like as if my manhood was made especially to fit therein.

I was in escatasy oblivious to all around save the heavenly sensations coursing from my manhood to pervade my very soul as I rhythmically pounded her an squeezed her ever hardening and lengthening teats.

Clouds and ocean waves swept over me until a mighty wave unstoppably gushed from my very balls and flooded forth in a riot of ecstasy. Another and another and another gushed forth and I sensed her craving more as my flood dimmished until finally I was spent.

“Good god, it’s like matinee at the whore house playhouse in Covent Garden,” Grey averred and blushed heartily as he wished he had used more discretion.

“Take a glass of Brandy lad,” father said proudly as I stepped away from her finally.

“Who’s next?” Chamberlain asked.

“No one you fool, he’s taken her honour, tis done.” Marchington declared, “All debts discharged, where’s the Brandy?”

Sarah, stood, desperately smoothing down her gown and struggling to cover her breasts again at the same time, she stared at me strangely, not scowling but in hope to a degree, it took a moment but I twigged soon enough, the maidenhead.

I stepped close, helped her with the shoulder strap of the gown and whispered, “Your secret is safe with me.”

Reassured she scowled disdainfully, “God have mercy on you all, if I had half the decency I should, then I shoud take a knife and cleave out my whole heart.”

“And kill our child,” I whispered, “Murderer!”

She stared wide eyed, she had not even considered, “My god, surely not!” she thought as she realised although one could not get a child at first coitus it had not been her first.

“Brandy!” Grey exclaimed.

“Rejoin the ladies!” father cried and then there was just Sarah and I.

“I was, I am,” she said, “Pure.”

“Then why?” I asked.

“Rolling pin,” she said, “Soothing myself and suddenly, do you see.”

“I don’t believe a word,” I said.

“Carsson the under butler, Christmas eve,” she admitted, “It was a moment no more, a minute, agony then stickiness then he was gone.”

“Thank you,” I said, “For honesty.”

“And Scrubditch the gardener, that Polish ostler fellow,” Marchington added as he returned for the bottle of port, “She’s had more men than a Paris whore!”

“She has needs,” I conceded, “A milkmaid can sate her desires with a bevvy of lusty lads so why not a lady?”

“Charles!” she exclaimed.

“Well, I have sampled enough maids in my time,” I said, “Fat, thin, servants, whores it matters little for when I explode it is ever the same, disappointment, constriction by a skin but tonight My Lord Marchington I have found perfection.”

Sarah gasped open mouthed.

“Hold hard young Potterton,” Marchington said, “I wagered her honour, not her future.”

“And it was gone,” I said, “And now all know it is gone,” I added, “So what future has she?”

Marchington’s mouth opened and shut wordlessly.

“So Sarah and I tie the knot, she has her servants and I have my whores,” I said reasonably.

“Charles,” Sarah replied, “You said it was perfection, that I was perfection!”

“Not having a skin on my manhood was perfection, not you.” I said heartlessly.

“No!” she said hopelessly, “You said!”

“What?” I demanded.

“You said I was perfection,” she said.

“That’s what you said young Potter,” Marchington said, “I’ll wager you’ll not have the juice for whore chasing by the time you have sated my Sarah.”

“Woo me then,” she said and she actually smiled, she had a wicked smile, like a witch, all flashing teeth.

I thrust my hand up the skirts of her gown, speared her lips with three fingers and drew her to me to kiss her lips.

“Are you recovered?” she asked.

“Very nearly,” I answered.

“Then mount me!” she whispered, “Make love to me!”

“Ugggh disgusting!” Marchington declared, “I’ll wish you good evening.”

“Take me to bed Charlie,” she said as I kissed her, “Let me lie comfortably.”

“Very well,” I agreed as I released her, “Up the stairs fourth on the right.”

“That is much too far,” she replied.

“No, control yourself,” I insisted, “And come quietly.”

She giggled but I took the five candle candelabra from the sideboard and we sneaked past the dining room and up the servant’s stairs to my room.

“What a horrible mess,” she exclaimed as she stepped inside to be confronted by my latest invention which took up a considerable amount of the floor space.

“It is my latest contraption,” I explained.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Later,” I insisted and I set the door latch to lock it , placed the candelabra on the tallboy drawer unit at the bedside and ushered Sarah to the bed.

I grasped her gown at the hem and lofted it to bare her parts, “Charles make love to me,” she said softly.

“Oh,” I said, “But I am rampant already.”

“Oh, so you merely wish to use me?” she whined.

“Indeed,” I said as her gown came up to her waist and beyond to reveal her corsets, then changing course I slipped the gown from her shoulders and pulled it to the ground.

She stood in her corsets and silk stockings, “You said I was perfection,” she pleaded.

“You are perfection Sarah, why in a line of whores I should choose you any day,” I assured her as I pulled at the lacing of her corsets.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Baring you entirely, like a serving maid,” I explained.

“Charles,” she said, “Can you not just make love to me.”

I pulled the last of her laces and peeled away the corset, slipped her stockings down, slipped her dainty shoes off her dainty feet and finally tore at my own clothes to bare myself.

She climbed beneath the bed clothes complaining she was cold and then I too dived nakedly beneath the bed sheets and reached out to grasp her.

She went to resist but a knee firmly between her knees and a brief fumble and my fingers had spread her womanhood anew, I followed swiftly with my manhood pressed against the spot and she devoured my length with a contented sigh, “Ohhh Charles,” she gasped.

“Good?” I asked.

“Mmmm,” she said.

“Kiss?” I asked and I kissed her forehead.

“Yes,” she said, “Make love to me.”

“I am,” I said.

“Tell me you love me,” she said.

“Let me show you,” I said and I grasped her left teat and squeezed.

“Charlie!” she gasped, “Oh Charlie! ride me Charlie, please!”

I redoubled my efforts thrusting against her.

“Yes,” she said, “Harder, please, ohh that’s so good!”

The clouds in my mind were rushing as I flew high above the woods, the sun came out, a brilliant orb of gold and then the waves were breaking and again they overflowed gushing and pumping.

“Tell me you love me,” she whispered.

“I love you,” I said.

“Oh Charlie,” she said and I realised that this could be mine henceforth every night and day should I desire. I felt content, more than content.

“Do you love me?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“No matter,” I admitted.

“Not yet,” she said and then she asked

“Charles,” she said, “Do you really, you know, with whores?”

“Indeed,” I exclaimed, “Why?”

“And do you love them?” she asked.

“Lord no,” I exclaimed, “I just sate my needs.”

“And how do I compare?” she asked.

“You do not,” I admitted, “You, ah, we, we didn’t use a skin, and without a skin,” I said, “It is perfection.”

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” she said, “When you flood my parts, oh Charles my heart leaps!”

“You will be with child,” I cautioned.

“Your child,” she said, “I know.”

“Good,” I agreed, “Good night.”

“Charles,” she said, “We cannot sleep with your member inside me.”

“A great shame,” I agreed and I slipped from her and peeling back the bedclothes I wiped myself on a towel and rejoined her in the bed.

“Are you restored?” she asked.

“No,” I confessed as she reached out and felt my member.

“When will you be restored?” she asked.

“Morning,” I admitted though I felt stirrings.

“I want you now Charlie, please?” she whispered.

“But I cannot,” I declared though with her fingers around the root of my manhood such a claim was manifestly false.

“I think you can,” she giggled, “Can we, please?”

“It is unnatural,” I protested, “I have never seen such wantonness, nor felt it,” I declared as my fingers soon established that her teats were roused already and her womanhood was moistened once more.

“Very well,” I conceded wearily and I dragged myself upon her and her fingers guided me easily within her.

“Charlie,” she said, “Am I the first, ah, woman that you have spent the whole night with.”

“Yes,” I said, “If I do not even now cast you out that I may sleep.”

“Nor have I,” she said, “Slept with a man, is it not wonderful?”

“Damned exhausting,” I confessed, “But it has its compensations.”

To be continued?

---