He turned too soon, as soon as Mr Cambridge cried out “Turn” so he turned and fired his piece, fired while I was but half turned, my side presented to him but even yet he might have prevailed had he judged the weight of the shot properly, but he aimed for my head where eight inches higher might have done for me, and instead slowed by the sleeve of my stout leather jerkin the ball merely pierced my upper arm in an explosion of utter agony.

“No!” Miss Harcourt cried, “For gods sake No!” as I levelled Mr Cambridge’s antique duelling pistol to aim not at Mr Simon Harcourt’s head but instead the imaginary spot eight inches above his head whereby the ball would drill a third hole in direct line with his eye sockets.

“Why should I spare him?” I demanded, “He has wounded me with his tongue and now his piece.”

“He, he is young and foolish,” she shouted, “And noble in defending my honour!”

I held the piece levelly, “You mis understand, what price do you offer for his life?”

“I have no price,” she said, “Nothing I may offer.”

“The your life for his, your virtue, your freedom, you shall be my chattel henceforth, my servant, my whore.”

“No!” Simon gurgled rather than said, but he said it with buckling and shaking knees a broken man.

“What say you Miss Harcourt,” Mr Cambridge asked, “An answer quickly now.”

“No,” she said, “You can not.”

“And I shall take your virtue here and now, upon the grass in this wooded glade, before witnesses. and transport you hence lewdly displayed in nakedness?” I asked.

“I should rather die.” she replied her eyes seemingly ablaze with hatred.

“You would rather your brother dies?” I asked, “For it will be a head shot and I shall not miss.”

“Oh!” she gasped, “Then,” she paused her voice quavering, “I must concede.”

“Disrobe then, only when you come to me in nakedness shall I relent.” I demanded.

“Never!” she cried, but my life blood was leaking away, time was on her side.

“So be it!” I agreed and I brushed the trigger. ‘click’ a misfire, no third eye hole opened in Simon Harcourt’s forehead but still he collapsed as if he he died upon the spot.

“No, dear god, no!” Miss Harcourt railed, and she rushed towards her stricken brother.

“A misfire!” I averred, “Stand up man!” but he was was broken, and in that same instant was I made, for the word spread like wildfire, John Carter was not to be trifled with.

“Stand up!” I repeated.

“He cannot!” she replied.

“Then stand aside and I shall shoot him like a rat!” I insisted as I struggled to recharge the pan of the pistol.

“No!” she cried as she attended her brother, she peered up at me determinedly, “Mercy I pray.”

Simon suddenly moved, opened his eyes and said, “No!” even as I approached.

“Stand!” I said, “Die like a man!”

He stared into Miss Harcourts eyes pleading.

“No,” Miss Harcourt said quite suddenly, “I cannot allow this, I submit.”

“Then disrobe,” I said and quite suddenly the world swam before my eyes a red mist descended and I knew nothing further of events.

I think my second Mr Davidson from Davidson and Davidson solicitors helped me from the field for it was many days later that I next remembered anything and that was in the cold drab depressing edifice known as the Poundbury infirmary where with my arm bound I woke to find a surgeon bleeding me with a legion of leeches.

“Lie still!” he cautioned, “You have been near deaths door.”

“I’m not surprised,” I told him, “For heavens sake man I need more blood not less, get those damned things off me!” and I continued to rant in a similar vein whilst being held down by two burly doctors assistants for some time until Mr Davidson was sent for and later arrived.

Davidson reasonably explained that if I was fit enough to need two men to hold me down then I was fit enough to go home, and as the surgeon reasonably enough surmised I was more that ready to lay him out with my good arm he relented and soon enough I was away to my lodgings near Weymouth.

Mrs Meadows scolded me as if I were a naughty child not her employer when I arrived tired and irritable with my jerkin still bloodied and my arm far from healed, “Miss Harcourt came yesterday,” she said, “Asking after your health.”

“Was she disappointed?” I asked, “That I still live?”

“Ah,” Mrs Meadows agreed, “She did seem pleased that you were still away.”

“Then send word that I shall return to London and shall see her here on the first day of June.”
I ordered.

I set forth for London upon the morning train from Dorchester Station and went about my business and the wound was soon forgotten, but not the manner of its acquisition as I set about enjoying the social whirl of the metropolis once more.

Miss Phelps was among the first to refuse my invitations, Miss Thirsltaine, Miss Daniels, Miss Cathcart even, and when I enquired I was told, “But you ravished poor Miss Harcourt,” I was told, “How can any respectable girl be seen to be in your company?”

I returned to Dorchester on that last day of May, again by railway, along the Southampton and Dorchester railway and fully healed now I sent for Miss Harcourt.

It was a sunny morning when Miss Harcourt arrived, she came by carriage, a hired carriage, four in hand, not a cab, and she came alone unchaperoned, it surprised me greatly, and she was changed, she regaled me with a steady stare, no fear present in her countenance whereas in my mind I had it that the thought of being ravished would terrify her, but no.

“Are you well?” I asked.

“Indeed, entirely well,” she said with a wicked smile which I later found concealed a devillish secret.

I waited for her to ask after my own health but nothing came, “And your brother, Simon” I enquired.

“Gone away,” she said with a knowing smirk, “Far away beyond your trickery.”

“Will you take luncheon with me?” I asked, “Before we discuss matters?”

“Indeed, but what is there to discuss?” she asked, “I am your chattel, slave, whore am I not?”

“Ah, I was hasty.” I said guiltily.

“No, I have witnesses,” she averred, “I am your responsibility now, you must ravish me and then deport me naked, is that not our bargain?”

“I,” I said, in concern, “I though, I thought we might discuss the matter.” I explained.

“Oh no,” she insisted, “I am your problem now Mr Carter.”

“Indeed, and if I decline?” I suggested.

“You are too late Mr Carter,” she insisted, “The bargain is sealed.”

“Then shall we away to the bed chamber?” I asked seeking to shock her.

“Oh no, to the woodland glade,” she insisted with that wicked glint in her eye.

I should have sensed the danger, but I had no inkling of what she had set in train.

“Then shall we dine?” I asked.

“Afterwards,” she said, “I do believe it will rain later, we should go now.”

“Very well,” I agreed and quite promptly I pulled on my galoshes and with a word to Mrs Meadows we were away.

She was quite hansom, Miss Harcourt, I fancied her breasts swelled nicely, her waist was trim and neat and yet her hair flowed unruly across her shoulders in a mass of chestnut and her eyes chilled me to the core with her stares, and yet still I sensed no danger.

I don’t remember what was said as we made our way up the hill towards the hilltop copse wherein the glade where Simon Harcourt and I fought our duel lay but I remember entering into the glade along the narrow path between the ranks of bushes that hid the secluded grassy area where lovers from the village had consorted from time immemorial, and what happened next is indelibly inscribed upon my memory.

“Here?” she asked, and she lifted the hem of her gown, revealing nothing, above her boots her legs were entirely naked, I stared as higher and higher she lifted the gown revealing shapely calves, delicate knees, creamy thighs and unbelievably her womanhood came into plain sight, a womanhood shorn of the dark fur I had expected and then up and up to reveal a trim belly and her shapely breasts and her prominent teats which reared enticingly as her gown up and over her head to be cast aside upon the soft grass leaving her standing naked but for her boots.

“Miss Harcourt!” I protested.

“We have a bargain Mr Carter, to your duty sir.” she said, and laying her gown upon the soft grass she lay down beside it and with legs spread wide revealing all invitingly.

“To your duty sir.” she said again and she smiled with her mouth while staring icily at me.

I stared at her, not mouth nor eyes but her breasts and her womanhood, and unwisely I released my belt and lowered my breeches and under-breeches and my manhood sprang rampantly to life as I knelt between her knees and aimed my shaft at her softness, the target the soft cleft hidden between her peach like lower lips, which even now seemed to glisten with moistness.

I paused manhood in hand for a brief moment expecting her to cry “Rape” but she regaled me with that icy stare and I instead guided the purple tip of my rampant shaft between her soft pink lower lips probing for her maidenhead.

“Take me,” she said huskily, “I am yours,” I sank deeper within her, she laughed “I am anybody’s” and she clasped her hands around my bottom cheeks and drew me to her until my balls were against her, “Anybody with the price of a tankard of porter,” she said, “Seamen, Fishermen, Porters all have used me Mr Carter,” she husked, “I am soiled goods!”

“You have become a whore especially for me!” I gasped as I understood in an instant the depths of her hatred for me, “You wonderful girl!” I gushed.

“No I am diseased,” she said, “Worthless!”

“Perfect!” I said and with no consideration for her pleasure at all I released my pent up cock-cream in a solid gushing jet within her with such alacrity that she screamed and cried out in surprise.

She seemed shocked as I withdrew, her eyes betrayed her bewilderment.

“When a fine lady becomes a whore to the lower classes,” I explained as I wiped my manhood on her gown, “She is treated with the utmost consideration, but when she is ridden by an equal,” I averred, “Mere contempt is her lot.”

“I care not,” she said, “They are diseased and now I am diseased and you too shall be diseased and die horribly!”

“In Weymouth, where the fishing fleet barely venture beyond the bay?” I laughed, “You needed proper sailors from the Tea clippers from India where sailors disease is rampant in every port,” I told her, “But Weymouth, oh dear god what a silly goose you are!”

Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, “And what other tricks did the sailors teach you?” I asked, “The use of the mouth or the brown cleft when babies are to be avoided?”

“Beast!” she snapped.

“On your knees then, I feel arousal renewed coursing through my veins.” I ordered.

“No!” she demurred so I began to unthread my stout leather belt from my breeches, “It pains me so!”

“The belt, or the pronging?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said ambiguously.

“Then,” I said as I slapped the belt against my palm, “Try the belt and when it becomes too much you may submit!”

She stared at me with her icy stare, it unnerved me, something was wrong even now she baiting me, daring me to abuse her, triumphant in the knowledge I should suffer for my boldness.

“Then I shall kneel, do your worst,” she said, and she turned over and rearranged herself and knelt on her hands and knees waiting me, but she was undone, for before I could advance the hiss of breaking wind escaped her, it was abundantly clear that she had made sure such entry should afford the least possible pleasure and greatest possible degree of disgust to me.

I laughed, her eyes blazed in indignation, “You young lady have more tricks of the courtesan to learn if you are to be my whore,” I explained, “But come, sustenance awaits.” I exclaimed and raising my breeches I gathered up her gown and set forth for my lodgings.

“Mr Carter, please!” she called after me but I was gone and left was she trapped on the hilltop, “Mr Carter,” she cried, “Come back!”

I laughed at the thought of her being ravished by gamekeepers, then thought of the snakes and biting insects that might bite her and was almost persuaded to return when I heard swishing and on looking back saw the most beautiful sight I had ever seen, that of Miss Harcourt running naked through the short grass of the meadow, more lithe than a deer except her breasts swaying obscenely and her slot so amply displayed with the lips swollen and bruised through our recent union.

“My gown please!” she requested.

“No, whore, naked whore, that was our bargain,” I reminded her, “Come,” and I took her arm and led her onwards.

All would have been propritious had not the Rev Peasbody taken the same instant for his daily constitutional, and quite suddenly from nowhere he was upon us, a holy man with the simple white collar band of the priest in charge climbing a wooden stile his robes of black pulled up revealing pink hairy legs devoid of leggings which struck me as quite odd.
Peasbody, balding greying a male, one could hardly call him a man, of some thirty and five years, wifeless with just a young and altogether too pretty boy curate and an elderly housekeeper for his comfort he lived discreetly at the Parsonage at the edge of the village some miles hence.

“Good Afternoon,” I greeted him as his eyes bulged at the sight of Miss Harcourt’s beauty, he near choked, and he struggled to loosen his white reversed collar as he gasped for breath.

“By all the saints you will rot in hell for this outrage!” he railed, breathessly, but his robe strained showing he wore little beneath as his appendage swelled, “Cover up woman for pities sake!”

“But reverend, Miss Harcourt is a trained whore,” I explained, “Trained among the seamen at the waterfront brothel at Weymouth.” I continued, “For a small consideration she shall deflate your snake, I suppose sodomy would be your preference?”

He said nothing, “Bend Miss Harcourt,” I ordered, “Quickly now!”

She did my bidding and with the stile as support she bent over it from the waist, and there with her brown sodomites paradise displayed among her pinkness and the village spread out before us with the sea twinkling in the far distance and her peering at us as her hair cascaded down there was laid before us the picture of perfection, more lithe and succulent that even the choicest choir boy poor Peasbody had no choice.

“You shall rot in hell for this,” he said as he raised his black robe to show an angry if modest appendage, circumcised with a huge purple helmet and rearing to it’s utmost as he succumbed to primeval urges which by scripture he should never have entertained.

Beauty and the beast indeed, I watched in fascination as he lubricated his shaft with spittle as if it were naught, and then taking himself in hand he rammed his appendage hard into Miss Harcourt’s unyielding orifice.

She cried in displeasure, and I felt suddenly guilty, or was it jealousy, how dare he use my whore I thought unreasonably, I fought down the feeling, she was nothing to me, nothing I told myself as Peasbody made a renewed assault upon her backside.

“Well, I shall leave you two lovebirds be,” I said and I climbed the wall beside the stile and made my way to the lodgings stopping only to leave Miss Harcourt’s robe.

Progress was discomfort indeed, my appendage seemingly reared down the leg of my breeches to my knees, and each step was a torture.

Mrs Meadows greeted me, “Why sir whatever is the matter?” she asked, motherly concern etched on her lined face, her motherly breasts heaved, her motherly hips beckoned and before I knew we were in the kitchen.

“On your back woman I have need of you,” I ordered.

She knew better than to demur, she knew my moods, and she knew I would buy her a new smock when I tore the old one from her as was my wont, and as decorously as one as fat as a pig may lie so she deported herself on the flagstones of the kitchen floor and stared as I struggled to release my shaft from my breeches, indeed so much did that involve that she had pulled her smock over her head before I succeeded and lay like a mound of voluptuous pink flesh smiling in anticipation of my entry.
I eased into her soft yielding flesh easily without effort though it must be admitted without the excitement or pleasure of a real lithe whore or even of Miss Harcourt, but as we rocked and wallowed together so were my needs assuaged with a swift emission and then we were back to the business of the day except Miss Harcourt burst in upon us.

“Quick, come quickly for the Reverend is!” she cried and we looked up to see her robed and decent but in great agitation, and she paused on seeing us, “Quite mad, as are you, quite insane!”

“The Reverend?” I demanded as I pulled my breeches too once more.

“He has seen the devil!” she averred, “He wishes me burned as a witch please come.”

I did as she asked, but the Reverend was long gone, so I ran the mile to Farmer Thomas and stole his cart and horse for to chase the fleeing holy man.

He was stood beside the railway in trembling and shock, “I have seen Satan!” he averred.

“Indeed?” I enquired, “Where?”

“Why in your whore of course!” he said.

“In eyes, mouth, countenance, where?” I demanded.

“I committed the sin of sodomy,” he admitted, “And when I withdrew there he was, hissing and stinking and slithering from her body!”

“From her brown hole, a great serpent emerged?” I queried.

“Yes it was so, and is so,” he averred.

“Then you must be baptised again!” I cried, “Come, away to the river at once and cleanse thyself!”

He drew his wits about him and mounted the cart whereupon we drove hell for leather or as near thereto as such lazy beasts could manage, along the twisting lanes and past meadows and water meadows until at length we came to the stone built bridge of our ancestors which spanned the river by two arches.

I halted the cart and ordered the reverend to the river whereupon he cast aside every stitch of raiment from his body and plunged headlong into the cool clear water heedless of its mere nine inch depth, of water that is, of slime there was another foot and more.

I sat upon the cart absolutely shaking with mirth as he stood nakedly and cleansed himself, for with every wipe he added more mud than he cleansed the water being so shallow and full of silt.

It took an age before he was satisfied that he was safe from Satan’s grasp, and it must be admitted, he was filthier than the vilest tramp as he dressed and climbed aboard the cart once more.

We set forth from the place directly and headed back the way we came, “Where was Satan seen?” I asked and no sooner had I said it than Miss Harcourt appeared rushing towards us all unwomanly and sweating profusely as she hurried along.

“Witch!” the Reverend cried, but I gave a solemn assurance that I should protect him and he let her climb aboard with us, as so away to the farm and after profuse apologies, on again to where the Reverend had mounted Miss Harcourt.

The Devil still lurked, a brown serpent coiled around on the grass coiled and immobile, but headless, “There, in the grass!” the Reverend whispered as we approached, an we crept up on it silently.

“It’s Pooh,” Miss Harcourt said finally, “Sorry.”

“What!” the Reverend cried.

I explained, “She sought to disgust me by failing to evacuate her bowels.”

“Mr Carter!” she protested, “Please!”

“Deny it then!” I challenged. She blushed, shook her head making her hair sway and I wanted her, wanted her with a passion which over ruled all commonsense.

“Oh no, not again!” she protested, but it was too late, “Mr Carter has the needs of a buck rabbit I am afraid Reverend, would you excuse us,” she requested as she saw me undo my belt and pull at my breeches, “And I must perforce practice that I may serve the whole fleet or a Frigate’s crew at the very least.” she added.

“You are disgusting!” the Reverend averred as he stumbled away even as Miss Harcourt raised her smock and sank back that I might mount her.

I knelt and guided myself within her moist cleft and pressed him fully home into her warmth and when enfolded entirely I began slowly to please her, she tried to resist but soon she was transported to a world of shared delight, and then I began to woo her properly, with sweet kisses as we conjoined, she resisted at first but submitted when her body betrayed her and the waves of pleasure swept resistance from her mind.

We knew something profound had occurred, she was changed, she helped me fasten my breeches, smoothed her smock, flicked her hair, smiled a shy smile, and wordlessly we made our way to my lodging.

She stared out of a window for a long time, as if in confusion, “It is called love,” I told her, “We made love, not quick groping fornication but real passionate love.”

“But you don’t love me, it is but a sham!” she protested.

I thought hard, “But I like you, I like it when you are happy, when you make those little mewling noises when you are excited, and damnit you are the finest whore I have ever ridden, there I’ve said it, hansom enough to be my consort, rampant enough to satisfy my every need Miss Harcourt you are perfection itself.”

“But that is not love.” she said.

“Is it not?” I asked, “Then what is?”

“Commitment,” she said, “You shall cast me aside when I am fat with child!”

“Ah, well, are you sick of a morning?” I asked.

“No!” she said.

“Then to bed, we have no time to lose!” I insisted.

“So tell me you love me!” she said.

I stared at her, such beauty and desire blazed from her eyes, “I believe I do.”

“Then Marry me!” she said.

“I need a whore not a wife!” I reminded her, “Rampancy on demand not merely fornicate once each Friday.”

“I expect no less,” she said suddenly more self assured, “More if it is required, I can serve ten men between luncheon and dinner Mr Carter your potency has no fears for me.”

“Really?” I queried.

“Indeed, though not so potent nor rampant as you,” she said, “For some I admit are so over wrought that a fountain erupts before they are even sheathed whilst others make so little effect that I might read a book for amusement as they are even embedded.”

“To bed then!” I ordered, and thus went, nakedly this time, and as lovers did we consort and between times we spoke of my plans, a weekend’s wenching in soho.

“But am I not the finest whore you ever rode?” she asked.

I had no answer, “So stay here, plough me, sate me,” she said, and therein I had a vision, myself at the church altar and she approaching in a dazzling white gown, or perhaps a scarlet one and the Reverend joining us.

“I shall expect the highest standards,” I warned her, “Polished shoes, clean teeth, the children must be scholarly and well behaved, and there shall be many of them, are we agreed?”

“Why yes,” she said, “I should have it no other way!”

But in the night she reflected upon her brother, “I cannot marry you for you cheated my brother.” she said quietly.

“Tosh,” I replied, “I say you shall and there is an end to it.”

“No, I cannot.” she said again.

“On your back then,” I ordered, “I need relief.”

“Yes, of course,” she said automatically though she was already lying upon her back.

“Spread yourself woman!” I ordered, “That I might be afforded ease of entry.”

“I am already!” she exclaimed in the darkness, “Just take me can’t you and be damned!”

I touched her hot wetness with a finger tip and explored further.

“Take me!” she said.

“No!” I refused, “You are my whore, remember.” I told her as I eased my fingers ever deeper inside her.

“No!” she protested, “I forbid it!” she insisted but her body had betrayed her and she gasped as I squeezed that special place between finger and thumb, “Please!” she protested once more but in the darkness she lapsed into the stupor of warmth and pleasure that is normally the realm of the lovers of lesbos.

She gasped, moaned, writhed even, “Do you submit?” I asked.

“Noooo!” she whispered and then subsided with a contented sigh.

“Then tomorrow I shall convince you, but first.” I told her, “Suck my appendage.”

“No, take me,” she said, “I deserve that at least.”

“Suck woman!” I replied.

“No,!” she demurred, “Mount me, please, the moment is right, mount me I say!”

I am only human, how could I resist, “Mmmm,” she moaned softly as I found her in the darkness guided my appendage between her hot moist lower lips and made her mine once more.

She seemed troubled when at length my seed oozed forth to sate her and as the grey light of dawn showed her furrowed brow I asked what troubled her.

“I imagine my hero is mounting me,” she said, “But tonight he has your face.”

“I imagine you have blonde hair,” I lied, “or are a negro, or a.”

“Liar!” she said, “You don’t do you?”

“Indeed,” I said, “I close my eyes.”

“Am I not beautiful?” she asked suddenly affronted.

“No, well yes,” I said, “But if you sate me what care I?”

“No,” she said quietly, “I see.”

“But when you dress like a whore, cut your hair like a whore,” I suggested, “Display yourself like a whore, allow my friends to mount you then,” she forgot her place and slapped me, I grabbed her and bit her breast until she yelped, then I grabbed her hair and dragged her head back, “Know your place,” I told her, “Do you understand?”

She shook her head, “Then you shall,” I warned and with that I turned on my side, pulled the bed clothes over me and drifted off to sleep.

=========================================================

The morning shocked Miss Harcourt to the core, she had thought to die of the seaman’s disease contracted by excessive fornication, then she thought she might marry me but then when Mr Brown came and I offered him the chance to sample her mouth or brown hole she realised her life was indeed to be one of menial depravity.

Her relief at his decline to sample her was profound but in turn I took her to Dorchester to the cabinet maker Mr Downs to ask him to adapt certain of the furniture he had made for sale for the purposes of debauchery.

She shook with fear and humilliation as I made her strip naked and sit upon the dining table I had selected while he marked places for holes for wrist and ankle straps so that she might be restrained displayed to the utmost, and then the smaller table whereby she might be strapped down while she was sodomised.

The smaller table was but a formality, quickly was the wood rasped away and made ready for french polishing, and then she was strapped down for a final check. “I cannot do it!” she said.

“Such a shame, he had his whole life before him,” I reminded her, and when she shook her head I invited Mr Downs to mount her.

Much to my surprise he agreed, though he was fat, near hairless and what hair he had was near white and he would not see fifty years again, and quickly he dropped his breeches and went to mount her.

“Hold!” I said, “What say you that we alter the arrangement?”

“Sir?” he asked.

“Lengthen the legs on the head end,” I suggested, “And cut holes for the teats.”

“But sir that will spoil it for eating!” he said for some unaccountable reason.

“I have one already!” I said, “Let us set the thing on blocks and try it!”

“Very well sir,” he said as he rearranged his attire to shroud his appendage.

“You may still mount her for a trial,” I promised.

He smiled through his row of broken and yellowed teeth and hurried away to return with blocks and with a great drill and a narrow bladed saw.

The works took an age so I took pity upon him and partway through I again instructed Miss Harcourt to deport herself upon the table that Mr Downs might use her sweet brown hole for his pleasure and having done so with commendable elegance she steeled herself for his assault.

And assault it was, his energy was prodigious as he proceeded to pound into her, once, twice, fifty times and more until he withdrew his seed expelled and a stinking mess oozed from within her, but throughout despite her greatest efforts her pleasure was unmistakable, a moments reflection made me realise no one man could sate her now, but an apparatus might suffice.

And so it was that later that same day, with the table now angled with holes for her entire udders to fit through that Mr Downs expertly turned an exact replica of my appendage upon his lathe, and not just one but several.

A wooden appendage with a long wooden shaft, such that she might slip within herself when she felt the need or when I felt she should be subdued, and as afternoon turned to evening with great precision was an hole drilled in the table for the shaft of such an appendage that it might fill her womb even as she was sodomised through the brown hole.

She feared the thought of the table when she realised my plan, but she had agreed to submit and submit she did sliding first up the slope to take the wooden appendage, then down to be fully sheathed and then forwards so her udders were guided carefully through the holes and when all was ready and her teats strained I borowed gypsy clothes pegs for the teats and instructed Downs to mount her brown hole once more.

She screamed with pain instantly, “Aggghhhhh,” she cried.

“Desist!” I ordered, and Downs backed away.

“I am sorry but it is unyielding within me!” she cried.

“Leather?” I queried, “Should we sheath a smaller wood with leather?”

“Tightly bound and ridged like a whip handle?” she said, “Why not a whip handle?”

“What!” I demanded.

“Some flexibility husband!” she said, “That is all.”

A delay ensued, Downs found an old horsewhip and working with his attire in disarray he made a stem or some such form wood and swiftly contrived a flexible leather clad protuberance upon which Miss Harcourt impaled herself ready for Downs to mouth her brown orifice.

This time her cries were of unconstrained ecstasy as the whore within was released entirely.

I drew up a chair and as Downs pounded her I looked her in the eye and then kissed her, “Do you love me?” I asked ironically.

“Yes!” she said.

“What?” I demanded.

“I am fulfilled!” she said by way of explanation and as her eyes glazed over she fell by way of an overexcited stupor to the land of dreams.

Downs exertions were finished soon enough but Mr Trevellyan who had stopped by for to order a new chest took up the invitation to sample Miss Harcourt’s rear cavity as did his man Manders while Downs held the horses head and by turns with some chap I scarcely knew mounting her before Downs was recovered and mounted her anew was the apparatus thoroughly tested and my darling whore removed and carried exhausted to Mr Downs’ parlour whereupon she was laid upon the hearth rug and I gently spread her legs and mounted her properly.

I used her to the utmost, raping her mouth with my tongue allowing her no secrets, showing not the least consideration, pounding her bruised and sore passage wherin had laid the whip handle whilst she was used like a beast by all who attended, and when I was sated at last ugly red marks upon her neck bore testimony to my passion. And yet when all was done she smiled smirked and silently laughed at me.

I paid Downs hansomly, and arranged not only for to take delivery of the table at my lodging but that he should craft three more the same, identical in every detail, at least the essentials, the matter of decoration or details of the french polish being utterly unimportant, and then with Miss Harcourt sated and incapable of stirring unassisted I took her by hired carriage to my lodgings.

The mornings were a trial for her, the sickness debillitated her though she was hardly swollen, but it mattered not for Mrs Meadows capacious womb offered a suitable alternative and a tug on the bell rope to her attic or Kitchen soon brought her to my bed or floor beside thereof where we conjoined pleasantly enough while Miss Harcourt looked on in utter disgust.

The table was a problem, but we resolved it by stripping the room behind the kitchen of its lifetime’s accumulation of rubbish and installing the table there, which was a great boon as with it’s own back door servants and the like might come and go unseen.

Miss Harcourt had still not got the measure of me, she had debauched herself to shock me, I had made her debauch herself similarly yet more basely as all were allowed to mount her brown hole at Mr Down’s establishment and then she found I had ordered additional mounting tables prepared for her, but though curious she held her tongue.

We waited Mrs Meadows and I for the sickness to subside and then we took Miss Harcourt to her duties, but straightway we realised she would be afforded great discomfort as she knew not what to do with her arms.

A hand hole was the answer, two hand holes with a cross piece below on which she might raise herself of take her weight, and finding this Downs was sent for and arrived before dinner.

The holes were duly cut, the edge polished, the cross bar inserted and secured, the dimensions faithfully recorded and with disappointment writ large Downs was sent forth unrelieved.

For Rev Peasbody was to dine, and with him Alex Chambers and Will Biggins stone merchants from Weymouth. Miss Harcourt dined with us and then instead of withdrawing I took her to the table room and assisted her to mount it, to mount the padded spindle bound with leather, and when she was sheathed I drew away her raiments to leave her debauched in the most complete manner.

“I have an entertainment for you gentlemen, my new invention demonstrated by the delectable Miss Harcourt.” I explained.

“My God Carter, you’ll rot in hell for this!” Peasbody averred, but already his appendage swelled obscenely for he wore naught beneath his black priestly robes and her backside invited him as surely as the most comely choirboy.

“Father forgive me for I have sinned!” he added as gathering his robe he eased his purple headed appendage into place against her brown bud and pushed firmly, she writhed at his assault and the movement excited her, she gasped as I found the clothes pins for her teats and then I invited my friends to sit and watch as Peasbody ground her against the unyielding board and scarcely yielding wooden appendage until he forgot all shame and cried out.

“For pities sake have mercy!” she cried and when quickly was Peasbody sated so in turn my friends mounted her and when all was done she still pleaded,”Please!”

“Yes my love?” I said with sarcasm.

“Sate me, please!” she said.

I was dumbstruck, “You had three men!” I averred.

“No, I need you, properly, John, please, quench me.” she said, and seeing her I realised I too was ready to burst.

“Then so be it,” I said, “Assist us gentlemen, if you please.

It took the three of them to release her, Alex carried her not to the kitchen but to my bed chamber, and carried her easily for he was twenty stone if an ounce and she like a feather to him and there laid upon the counterpaine legs spread wide and her orifi displayed lewdly I had no resistance and with a second to disrobe I leapt upon her and speared her.

My seed erupted almost in an instant, “Yes oh yes!” she cried, “Oh you are perfection, I love you John Carter,” she said and I believed she said it sarcastically.

That was when I decided she must be broken, and I knew in an instant how it should be done.

It needed preparation, I ascertained that Miss Harcourt had given her clothing to the poor of the workhouse near Weymouth bridge and so I went there to retrieve it, and, as I thought,the greater part of it was still on the premises for sale to the lesser gentry instead of given freely to the poor.

Agreement was swiftly reached, the warden retained most of his teeth an I reclaimed my whore’s wardrobe though as it transpired scarce anything would fit her so greatly had she swelled, and then to London I despatched my spare tables, to an establishment wherein Gentleman’s needs might be assuaged and where indeed Mr Harcourt, the father and Mr Simon Harcourt the brother might be on occasion found.

She was confused, Miss Harcourt, I showed her kindness or so the thought, yet I abused her abominably, and indeed allowed all comers to abuse her for sodomy, indeed I sometimes charged a farthing for her services to humiliate her further but I became accustomed to her and she accommodated me in the night readily enough and indeed she tried vainly for civilised conversation, but to little avail.

I would break her, of that I was determined.

It was a little leather headpiece that did for her, shaped like a horses head with plumes, it disguised her utterly and with Mme Richards aid at the London Club was my trap sprung.

I took her on the forenoon train from Dorchester, she attired as near as we could contrive as a respectable young woman, yet she knew from the outset that I was taking her to a London brothel, and yet she did not demur.

The hustle and bustle of the metropolis might have frightened her but to the outside she was calmness itself even as Mme Richards had her disrobe before a coterie of Gentlemen who thereupon were able to sample her delights though with hands, indeed with fingers alone and consider how much they might offer for her.

I let them continue but the purpose of my visit was other than this, in one sense it was the table which I had sent before, angled and with holes for insertions and for arms and udders to hang through it afforded a great degree of security and convenience for the avowed sodomite and his mate, and that I claimed was my reason for attending.

I was surprised that Sir Timothy offered two hundred guineas for my whore, not withstanding that she was with child, but I decided to wait and perhaps he would offer more as she swelled.

I let her dine, she dined naked with seven Gentlemen, a spindle inserted within her and securely strapped to afford access to only the brown hole, and of course her teats which bore their now usual clothes pins, and when it was done I had her don her horses head mask and she was securely strapped to the table.

My table was the sensation, my whore just a means to demonstrate its features and so her leather headpiece and face – mask went unremarked even as I stood aside and let her be used.

The room was an ordinary room, a study perhaps in the architects eye, too small for dining but with size enough for the table and ten or more to stand and observe, meanly appointed but wall papered, the table and a wash stand with bowl and towelling the only furniture, that and a thing of hooks for to take jerkins and breeches.

I stood aside, I am unremarkable I admit and this I turned to advantage as I donned unfashionable attire and unshaven I lurked and waited as Miss Harcourt was thoroughly debauched, and unknowingly since I drew Miss Harcourt’s eye patches across to afford her no view of her tormentors.

She was as always impaled upon the leather clad spindle which afforded her unavoidable pleasure and a pleasure she had long since abandoned any pretence at denying and at eight minutes to ten o’clock my trap was sprung.

Mr Harcourt and Mr Simon Harcourt entered, not just the establishment but the room wherein Miss Harcourt was, not that her father and brother would recognise her, her head hid and body swelled.

“See father, the apartus Richard,” Simon cried.

“A Sodom-easy,” Mme Richards corrected him, “Twenty five guineas and a bargain!” she explained, “Shall you try it sirs?”

“Indeed,” Harcourt the elder replied, “The whore seems well used and plump enough,”

“Then use her sir, tis free this evening,” Mme Richards averred.

I watched in fascination as the elder Harcourt dropped his breeches and advanced upon his daughter, appendage in hand, rampant if modest, he paused while Mme Richardsused a small brush to lubricate Miss Harcourt’s rear cleft and her brown orifice with soothing cream.

He thanked her and then advanced until the tip of his appendage began it’s journey within her, sliding easily along that well worn path, until when fully sheathed he began to hump furiously, animatedly so for one so aged.

He had no notion so as he humped like a arthritic jack rabbit I nodded to Mme Richards, “Monsieur,” she addressed Mr Harcourt, in the French accent she had adopted in her ascent from life as a street whore in Rotherhithe, “Please for the peak of pleasure now withdraw and allow Fifi to suck your filthy appendage clean while you spend your cream within her, how do you say, ah, gob.”

“Yes father step aside for have a fearful thought that I may explode directly!” Mr Simon Harcourt explained.

The older man agreed and stepped aside for his son to mount her, brown trails spreading from their discontinued union washed away in a flash by the ever attentive Mme Richards with her moistened cloths, and so Mr Simon Harcourt mounted his sister with the grace of a pig mounting a sow.

I waited on the moment, the flash of recognition but it did not come, even when Miss Harcourts head cover was opened at the mouth and she took Mr Harcourt’s brown streaked member therein was no recognition, so on my signal Mme Richards removed the headpiece entirely, still Miss Harcourt did not realise, and nor did her brother and father.

“Hose her filthy face with your pure seed,” Mme Richards whispered in Harcourts ear and in a trice he had extracted himself and gripping his member it pumped once twice and again and again oozing his filthy slime over Miss Harcourts unbelieveing face and up her forehead to congeal in her beautiful flowing hair.

“Hold Hard Harcourt, you’ve soiled me whore!” I charged, but he did not need my words.

“Verona?” he muttered and staggered backwards in shock until the wall behind arrested him with a thwack to his head.

“Father!” Simon cried as helplessly he forced his gushing seed into his sisters intestines.

“It’s Verona!” the older Harcourt cried, “It’s your sister!”

“And quiet delightful is she not?” I asked, “Though I grant I take her on her back.”

“I, hate you!” Miss Harcourt said thoughtfully but I grinned.

“Madame, the whore has two orifi unfilled, surely there are Gentlemen in need of relief?”

She busted away, and Miss Harcourt challenged me, “I had no idea how low you could stoop!” she said, “But this I promise, I shall not see the sunrise tomorrow.”

“Kill our baby?” I asked, “I think not.”

Harcourt had regained some equilibrium, and upon prompting Simon challenged me to, to my great surprise, a duel.

“Not again!” I said, “Last time your sister debauched herself to save you, so who this time, your mother?”

“So you refuse?” he asked.

“Yes!” I stated, “It was your lewdness led you to sodomy with your sister, your false allegation of cheatery that led to her decline, covered in filth abused by all as well you knew, she should be a fine lady not a filthy whore but for you.”

“It was you did it, Carter,” he said, “You spurned her.”

“Hold hard, I scarce met the wench!” I protested.

“You regarded her as a frump and bean pole!” he challenged unjustly.

“Never,” I protested, “She is a perfectly comely wench and as perfectly at home on the arm of a Colonel or a Prince as that of a night soil man.”

“Pistols at Dawn!” the elder Harcourt added, and so it was done.

We met that morning, Miss Harcourt stood aside, bathed, perfumed and dressed in such finery as Mme Richards could find ready for a return to the bosom of her family or the alternate life in Mme Richards establishment for which Mme Richards would pay me thirty guineas.

Harcourt whispered a last instruction to Simon as we stood back to back and as dawn broke we paced away, “Turn!” Mr Grey ordered, and around we went, there was no searing pain this time, just the hiss and bang of a shot twelve inches wide.

“Oh no!” Miss Harcourt cried.

“Shall I shoot you instead Miss Harcourt?” I asked.

“It would be a kindness.” she said.

“But I am heartless,” I admitted and levelled my piece and fired.

Harcourt screamed and fainted to the ground, a bloodied hole in his breeches and when they were dragged aside it was seen I had missed his prong by a millipede, though blood gushed from the sac where from one of the balls lay separated upon the ground.

“I win, I think,” I added.

“Then I am released,” Miss Harcourt exclaimed as she approached, “Father shall pay my release from Mme Richards.

I looked at her, “Raise your skirt, I have need of you.” I said, “Do it woman!”

She stared at me, “No I shall not!” she insisted, “Honour is satisfied!”

“I have need of you,” I repeated, “Verona.”

Dr Rochforth was attending to Simon Harcourt when Miss Harcourt went to assist, so finding herself superfluous she stood beside her father.

“Take me home,” she said to him.

Harcourt stared, “Don’t be a fool girl, you have committed the vilest debaucheries such that no decent man would look at you, no, I cannot have you in my house you whore!”

“Raise you skirts,” I whispered, as I approached and stood beside her, I saw tears streaming down her face, but her hands stole automatically to her skirts and began to lift them.

“No, perhaps we should repair to our lodgings, come.” I ordered and she followed meekly behind me.

We called on Mme Richards but briefly to collect Miss Harcourt’s things and she was perplexed when I kept the carriage waiting, “But where am I to go?” she asked.

“Home of course!” I explained and with a rush we were at the station in time for the last train to Dorchester.

Mr Allenby and his wife Gladys spoiled our plans by accompanying us within the carriage compartment but eventually we were alone.

“Shall you sell me to a Weymouth brothel?” she asked.

“Lord no,” I replied, “No on your knees woman, lift your skirts that I might enjoy some relief.”

She did as I bade her and soon with the rocking of the train I sought her softness with my manhood and enjoyed her warmth and wetness as we sped through the Dorset meadows at thirty miles an hour and more until I was fulfilled and she in turn was filled with my seed.

“We need to consider the baby,” I told her, “I think you should be confined forthwith.”

“Confined?” she queried.

“Yes confined, looked after.” I said, “As any other expectant mother.”

“But I have no husband!” she complained.

“Then lodge with me, send for your mother.” I suggested.

“She will not come!” she insisted but she was wrong, as soon as she received a communication she came post haste by the afternoon express train.

“Simon has become a laughing stock!” Mrs Harcourt protested as she arrived by Carriage with her ladies maid Mathilda.

“He is pathetic,” I agreed, “But I have greatly enjoyed your daughter, Mrs Harcourt,” I added, “In fact she is as accomplished a whore as I ever sampled.”

Mathilda tittered and blushed beetroot. “Send that simpleton hence!” I insisted, “Before I make her a woman!”

Mrs Harcourt stared at me but Miss Harcourt intervened, “Yes go while you are still intact,” she said, “And lodge with a decent family, show her Mrs Meadows if you would.”

Mrs Meadows agreed, “Very good Ma’am.” she said in deference to Miss Harcourt’s suggestion as Miss Harcourt was for once decently attired, and with much hustle and bustle they were away.

We sat in the parlour, “You lodge here Mr Carter?” Mrs Harcourt asked.

She was perhaps forty two years, comely once, but greyed now, “I say lodge, but I own it, and two hundred acres here abouts.”

“Oh?” she queried, “Is that it Verona, do you hope this oaf will make you an offer?”

“No, Mama, I am his whore,” Miss Harcourt reminded her.

“Indeed and she served an apprenticeship in the brothels of Weymouth where all and sundry used her copiously.” I explained.

“Liar,” Mrs Harcourt rounded on me.

“No. it is true Mama.” she said, “But Mr Carter has reserved my womb for himself since I last bled and the child is his Mam.”

“Debauched yourself, in a brothel?” the older woman questioned.

“She sought a disease that might slay us both,” I explained, “But as it was I am such a proficient whore chaser that it matters not a jot.”

“Am I to understand,” Mrs Harcourt asked, “That you treat my daughter as your mistress?”

“Oh no, like a whore, my friends may use her for sodomy and use her mouth as they will whilst I reserve her womb alone for my pleasure.” I explained.

“My beautiful daughter!” Mrs Harcourt, “Your whore, I thought it were said in jest, she had expectations of Mr Winslow.”

“Indeed?” I enquired, “And what has he to offer above what I can provide?”

“Propriety!” she announced boldly, “Marriage!”

“I think the Rev Peasbody would oblige us if we had need,” I said.

“Mr Carter?” Miss Harcourt said, “Marriage?”

“Well, with the child,” I admitted, “It would be seemly.”

“Oh,” she said, “Oh.”

“We sleep together,” I explained, “And when did you last protest at being mounted?”

“I gave my word,” she said.

“Well there shall be no more mounting, not until the child comes” Mrs Harcourt averred, “No you shall employ a paid whore.”

“Mrs Meadows obliges on occasion.” Miss Harcourt explained, “My Mr Carter would mount anyone when he feels the urgency.”

“Surely not that aged hag, can you not send out for a comely wench?” the older woman asked as she looked at me quizzically, “Or arrange her attendance on the days when an urgency is expected.”

“Oh no, John becomes rampant in an instant, three times the last night we conjoined,”
Miss Harcourt explained.

“Oh Verona, you poor poor child.” Mrs Harcourt cooed.

“When I wake with your hand stroking my appendage what do you expect.” I asked, she blushed.

“Do you welcome his attentions?” Mrs Harcourt asked, and when her daughter blushed she said, “Oh dear lord, let me free of this mad house for you are entirely evil.”

“But Mama!” Miss Harcourt protested, “Of all the men I have endured only Mr Carter makes me feel, ah.” she paused, sought for the word and then said, “Loved.”

“Pah, love!” Mrs Harcourt scoffed, “Pergatory, no my girl, when you marry you shall be spared the marital bed, we shall find comely wenches that he may sate himself elsewhere.”

“Am I to take it Mr Harcourt shares his lack of prowess on the card table with his lack of prowess with the wenches?” I asked.

Mrs Harcourt rounded on me, her bosom heaved with indignation, “Mr Carter!” she railed, “This is unseemly.”

“And arousing,” I added, “So which one of you will relieve me?”

“Mama!” said Miss Harcourt triumphantly, “Mr Carter has need of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Mrs Harcourt snapped, “I am a respectable woman.!”

“Yes, what use is a middle aged frump to me.” I replied.

“Frump!” she snapped, “How dare you, I am considered elegant, indeed I have many admirers who would snap me up in an instant.”

“I mean you are too, ah,” I sought the words, “Old for.”

“Old, me!” she snapped her bosom rising and falling.

“For lust,” I explained.

“Never!” she snapped, “It is her father that is too idle for lust, too set in his whore chasing ways while I lie idle and neglected.”

“Then lie back and raise your skirts that I may sample you.” I suggested.

“No,” she demurred her brave face deflating, “No, you shall not I am a married woman.”

“My Mr Carter takes No for Yes, Mama,” Miss Harcourt averred, “But the pain subsides soon enough, and I think I shall prepare something to eat,” and with that she slipped away.

“The cold floor or my warm bed, Mama?” I queried.

“You will not take No for my answer but will force me?” she asked.

“Indeed, I am master in this house.” I explained.

“Then your bed may be easier,” she said quietly.

I showed her the bed chamber and she began to disrobe, I fancied she wished my approval but as I disrobed myself I scarce noticed her until she stepped nakedly across to the bed.

“Usually I pay the servants a small consideration when they mount me,” she explained, “I shall pay you a farthing if you please me.”

“And I should willingly pay a whore like you a halfpenny,” I laughed, “Shall we?”

She eased her legs apart, trailed her finger between her lower lips to show the extent of her moistness, and said, “Do your worst Mr Carter.”

I stepped towards the bed, she showed the lines of age, sagginess where Miss Harcourt was taut, but she had a pleasant matronliness about her and as I sank myself within I realised there was no babe to consider, just my own pleasure, as with any ordinary whore, and so with no consideration at all I commenced to assuage my needs.

A moment was all before Mrs Harcourt cried out,”Please, please be gentle,” but I ignored her entirely, and as I thought it was the unaccustomed rampancy of my unrelieved manhood within her little ploughed slot that caused her apprehension, half erect fearful decorous servants and a barely erect semi flaccid husband had been her lot but now with my rampant manhood in full cry she found herself as a woman once more.

“Oh you are an animal,” she cried as I took my pleasure heedless of her declarations and protests until at once my seed began to bubble forth within her, and at once sated I sank down upon her warm breasts for a moment.

“You are an absolute animal!” she said appreciatively, “Look how you have bruised me, now shall you marry my Verona or shall I inform the High Sheriff that you have ravished me?”

“A bargain, madam,” I suggested, “If I wed your daughter, I shall expect you madam to fulfil those wifely duties which my dear whore Miss Harourt cannot due to her condition.”

“Oh!” she said, “I, ah.”

“Say yes, it is quite simple!” I suggested, “I need a whore you need a paid lover, and you cannot deny we lie well together.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “But I have such slender evidence upon which to base my opinion.”

“Then I shall mount you anew!” I suggested.

“Later,” she said, “For I am ravenous,” she paused, “For food, not for,”

“Fornication?” I queried.

“Quite so!” she agreed, “Let us dine and then,” she smiled shyly, “We shall see if we are indeed compatible.”

To be continued.

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