A Secret Desire

A Secret Desire

The Widow Walters looked out of her window, down at the London street below. She watched the people hurry and scurry up the street: urchins with torn clothing and no footwear; smart businessmen in bowler hats; a costermonger pushing his barrow of fruit. It looked cold outside, this January morn. But the widow was warm, as a log fire roared in the hearth in her living room.

The room was full of all the things which appealed to the widow, for the Victorians were collectors, and they liked amassing items of importance to them. On the white, veined marble mantelpiece above the hearth a carriage clock ticked off the seconds of her life. Beside it, on the mantelpiece, there was a genuine mediaeval set of thumbscrews, acquired at some cost to the widow. Beside the widow’s favourite upholstered armchair there was a rosewood occasional table. On that table was a porcelain plate, with the crumbs from some sweet patisserie, and a green glass cup and an opened bottle of Ambrecht’s Coca Wine. On the walls of the room there were several framed black and white lithographs, albeit not of a sort that you would find in polite society. These “artistic” prints showed semi-nude women either tied down, waiting for the whip, or with the evidence of some encounter with a flagellant marking their broad derrieres. They were, of course, a private printing. As were the books in a small bookcase against one wall, containing tomes with titles such as “Lesbia Brandon” and “The Mysteries of Verbena House.”

The widow was dressed all in black, as she had been ever since the death of her late husband. If black was good enough for the queen then it was good enough for her. Her two “French” waited nervously at the back of the room, having been summoned by their mistress. Each was wearing a rather revealing French maid’s outfit, and not the sort which a normal chambermaid might wear in these times. Marie – real name Mary Tanner – was one maid. Margo – real name Maggie Jones – was the other. Both maids were in their twenties. Both were brunettes, and they had another feature that they shared: the prominent size of their busts, almost spilling out of their tops. These two had been selected not for their skills in housework, but for their beauty and bustyness. And they were required to take part in activities at which most chambermaids would balk. The Widow Walters was a demanding mistress. But the maids earned twice as much as they would earn in any other placements. And, besides, they enjoyed most of the activities.

The Widow Walters was dressed all in black. But, this morning, she had exchanged her long, black dress for something a little different. She had one jodhpurs made out of black cloth, which hugged the widow’s derriere; knee-high black leather riding boots; and a black riding jacket. Underneath the riding jacket the widow wore only a tight, whale-boned corset, which made her feel wonderful, and gave her an hourglass shape that many people found desirable – and two of those people were the widow’s maids. They were no strangers to Sapphic pleasures – not since coming to work for the Widow Walters.

The corset did not restrict the widow’s generous bosom, the equal to the mammaries of her servant girls. Her erect nipples brushed against the silk inside of the hunting jacket. The widow’s hair had been pulled back into a rather severe bun, with a pair of pearl-handled long needles helping to keep the hair in place. The widow had a riding crop in her hands, which she absentmindedly swished through the air. The widow’s secret lover would arrive, later that morning. But not yet – not soon enough for Widow Walters. She needed to play.

The mistress looked from one maid to the other. Which one would she pick? Marie bit nervously on her bottom lip as she felt the widow’s cruel gaze fall on her. As well as secretly being a lesbian the Widow Walters was also a sadist of the highest order. With her husband safely under the ground the widow could now indulge all of her desires, with nobody to gainsay her.

“Come here, Marie, you little doxy.” the widow said. “Come and kneel at my feet like the strumpet you are.”

“Oui, Mistress.” Marie said, using one of the few French words she actually knew. She ran over to the widow, and dropped to her knees at her mistress’s feet. There was fear in her eyes, yet also arousal, mirrored by that sadistic desire in the glittering eyes of the widow.

“Pull down your top.” the widow commanded, in a tone that warned that she would not tolerate any delay. Marie pulled down the top of her French maid’s outfit, revealing a most magnificent set of breasts, large yet with very little sag, and wonderfully perky light brown nipples, centred inside large areolae. Her skin was the pale milky collar of a person who was no sun-worshipper. Yet that paleness was not complete, for there were still a few darker, fading marks, evincing where her breasts had been most fervently cropped at some stage in the past.

The Widow Walters touched Marie’s left nipple with the tassel at the end of the riding crop. Despite the prospect of pain the nipple began to harden. Marie was scared of pain. So why was she so excited at its prospect?

“The marks have almost faded.” the widow said. “It is time to renew these brands of love.”

She touched the end of the riding crop to Marie’s other nipple, as that, to, became a hardened bud.

“See how aroused your teats have become, lusting for the caress of the whip. You know what to do.”

Marie, breathing heavily, laced her fingers together behind her head, pushing out her large breasts, offering them up for the whip. She caught her lower lip beneath her teeth, as she stared up at her mistress with her big, brown doe eyes. The only sounds in the room were Marie’s heavy breathing, the crackling of the logs in the hearth, and the ticking of the clock.

And then there was a brief whistling sound as the widow brought the steel-cored riding crop down with no small amount of technique. The Widow Walters knew how much force to use to cause mind-shattering pain, and create lovely, red marks, without drawing blood, or causing permanent damage to this masochistic slut. Marie had been neither a lesbian nor masochist when she had come to work for the Walters. But she was both of those things now. She desired Sapphic love of a most indecent sort, and to be cruelly punished for such unnatural desires.

Standing near the door, Margo looked on at this tableau vivant with lust, wishing that it was she having her tits whipped. It would be her turn soon enough. She wished that she could finger her slot. But she did not dare, for that would have brooked a real punishment, not these chastisements of desire. Only with the permission of Widow Walters were these two maids allowed to bring themselves to those wondrous peaks of feminine desire. Margo’s hands remained by her side, although she did dig her nails into her palms, needing to feel something.

Again and again the riding crop whizzed down, sinking into the flesh of Marie’s breasts. Time and time again little, involuntary cries of pain were wrenched from her throat, as she bit into her lower lip, so that she would not scream. No screaming, the widow had ordered, and the maids did their best to obey. The maid’s face reddened and – barring the tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes – a person looking at her face alone would not know whether she was in pain, or the greatest of pleasures.

The widow said nothing as she beat her maid’s tits. What was there to say? This was not punishment. It was only pain for the love of pain, and a cruel desire to hurt that which she loved. The widow stayed in control, although she was highly turned on. Ah, but if she but once lost control, if she gave in to her darkest, most Sadean desires, then there might have been nothing left of Marie’s voluminous breasts.

“Oh.” Marie gasped, as red stripe after red stripe lined her flesh, from the upper slopes to the underside. No part of the breasts was neglected, not even the nipples. On and on the beating went, until every inch of the tits had been turned a darker hue. And then the widow stopped, still in control.

The widow looked down at her willing slave. The only blood which had been drawn was on Marie’s lower lip, where her teeth had bitten just a little too hard. Despite the agony of the breast beating, the widow had not cut the flesh. She did not want to break her toys.

“You may pleasure yourself, slut.” the cruel/kind mistress said. Immediately Marie lifted up her maid’s black skirt, to reveal that she wore no underwear. Her pubic mound had been completely shaven (and Marie was very glad of the invention of safety razors a few years back). The Widow Walters insisted that all of her submissives shave off that unnecessary hair – not for any reasons except that, when the widow decided to punish those feminine parts, she desired to see the marks inflicted, and not have them hidden by hair.

The widow knelt down, and lowered her face, so that she was no more than a foot away from the maid’s hairless cunt. The widow liked to watch. She stared as the maid inserted a finger into her steaming slit. Wetness leaked out. One finger became two, became three, as the maid pistoned her hand in and out. It did not take the maid long to cum.

The widow stood up, as Marie, overwhelmed by her orgasm, lolled on the floor. The widow slid off her beloved boots, and then her tight, black jodhpurs. It revealed that she did not shave like her slaves. She had a big, full black bush of pubic hair. She sat down in her favourite upholstered armchair, but with her bottom at the edge. She spread her legs, and leaned back. The air was now heavy with the heady scent of female arousal, from both Marie and the widow. A pink gash could be seen bisecting the widow’s black thatch.

“You may thank me, you slatternly tart.” the widow hissed. Marie crawled over on all fours, to bury her head between the widow’s widespread thighs. The widow gasped in pleasure as Marie’s tongue sought out all of the secret places.

There was a ring of the doorbell from below.

“See who it is, Margo.” the widow said. Margo went to the window and looked down at the person waiting.

“It is your niece, Ann.” Margo said.

“Go and let her in. Bring her straight up here.” the widow said, as Marie tickled the widow’s clit with her skilled tongue.

“Yes, mistress.”

A couple of minutes later Ann Balfour entered the widow’s chambers. Ann Balfour was but nineteen years old, but already had a more than generous bust which, one day, would make some husband very happy. She was slim, but with wide hips. She wore a dress down to the ground, so that even her dainty little shoes were not on show, let alone her legs. The dress had a bustle, as was popular in those days. It gave her a callipygian figure that she did not possess in real life. Her waist had been drawn in by a most severe corset, so that her breathing was restricted. Her dark grey shirt had lamb’s legs sleeves, and it covered all of her, down to her wrists, and up to her neck. Her light brown locks were up in a bun, although one not quite as severe as that of her aunt.

As soon as Ann – the widow’s favourite relative – walked through the door, the young woman was face by the sight of her aunt with nothing covering her legs or hairy cunt, and the semi-naked maid Marie between her aunt’s legs, giving the best cunnilingus in London. Marie gasped at this milieu of lesbian abandon, and she drew in half a breath, the most that she could manage in her punishing corset. Yet it was not a sight which Ann had never seen before, for, ever since the widow’s husband had become the widow’s late husband, the widow had got her claws into her niece. Still only nineteen, Ann had already been moulded into a more than willing slave, in orgies of lesbian abandon.

Ann felt very guilty about such incestuous couplings. Such lesbian desires, by themselves, were bad enough (so she had been raised to believe). But this was incest, which was even worse. But Ann could not help herself. She was a willing sinner, as addicted to such secret desires as her aunt was to her cocaine wine.

Ann looked into the cruel eyes of her aunt, as her aunt gazed back, her black pupils penetrating her soul, igniting her spirit of lust. The widow looked into her niece’s eyes even as the widow reached a most wonderful orgasm.

Ann was still a virgin. Her hymen had not been breached, although everything else had been done to her, on past visits. Well, she though that everything had been done to her, for she had engaged in cunnilingus, as both giver and receiver; had her breasts, arse and cunt flagellated by her aunt or the maids; and even had her anus penetrated by a carved Japanese godemiche (dildo). But her cunt had not been penetrated, by finger or fist or artificial cock. That would have ruined her for marriage. Yet it was what the widow desired to do. It was something which she would not suggest, however, let alone command. No, it would have to come from her niece. Ann would have to beg for such a penetration, one which would ruin her forever. There would never be marriage then. No, Ann would be ruined, and would have no choice but to move in with her dominant aunt, and become her slave forever.

“Undress, slut.” the widow commanded. The Widow Walters took off her jacket, but eased her riding boots back on. Now she was dressed only in her boots and corset. Her large breasts were fully on display, and they were magnificent.

Ann took off her dark grey shirt, revealing that she only wore a tight corset beneath it. The corset brought in her already narrow waist to a ridiculous eighteen inches. It made her look almost as though she would break. Then came her skirt and bustle, revealing that she was nude underneath it. She was now dressed only in light blue little ankle boots and that restrictive corset. She slipped off her boots, as they did not match her persona of sluttiness and submission.

There were still faint marks on Ann’s breasts, her buttocks and on her shave pubic mound. Like the maids Ann had been commanded to be shaven at all times. And, like the maids, the widow liked to beat her, and see the marks inflicted. They made Ann more beautiful.

“I think that you need more pain to those nipples of yours, before we commence your whipping.” Widow Walters remarked.

“Yes, Mistress.” Ann said, softly, lowering her gaze to look at the floor. She had already slipped into her submissive personality, where she would suffer any indignity, any torture, as long as she was eventually allowed to cum. Raised prim and proper by the widow’s sister (and the sister’s husband) Ann had not experienced a single orgasm before coming to see her aunt. Now she was addicted to them. Such pleasure could not be denied. That pleasure was worth any pain. But Ann was well on the way to being an utter masochist, and taking pleasure in the pain, in and of itself. It was the aunt’s intent that, one day in the future, her niece would be able to orgasm through pain alone.

“Get down on the floor, on your back.” the widow said. “You will bring Margo to that sweet surrender, while Marie torments your breasts.”

The widow felt that it would be more demeaning for her niece to bring a servant girl to an orgasm, while being tortured by the other chambermaid.

“Yes, Mistress.” Ann said, demurely. While she was in her submissive persona she did not know the meaning of the word “No.” She lay down on the carpeted floor of the room.

Margo had an eager look on her face, as she sat on Ann’s face, making sure that her cunt was over the mouth of the widow’s teenaged niece. Ann had already proved herself to be a skilled cunnilinguist, after but a few months’ instruction.

“I have some new toys, based on that thumbscrew.” the widow told Marie. She opened the front of an escritoire, and took out to adjustable devices. Each device, made by a master craftsman, had a ring which would slip over Ann’s nipples. Set in each ring were three flat-headed metal screws, which could be tightened by hand. The three screws could be tightened slowly, crushing anything caught between them. There was a third of these clamps, but the widow was saving that. “Tighten them slowly. Make her nipples hurt.”

Marie smiled, and took the clamps. She was more than happy to hurt this wealthy young woman. Marie, as Ann tongued Margo’s slit, slipped the first screw clamp over Ann’s right nipple, and tightened the three screws a little, so that it would not slip off. Ann gasped as the screws tightened on her fat, already erect nips. But she did not complain, or cease how tonguing of the maid’s cunt. Marie put the other clamp on Ann’s other nipple, and twisted the three screws, so that that nipple was also captured. Then, as Ann continued her task, Marie had great fun, slowly tightening the clamps, bringing more pain to those big, brown teats.

Margo’s face was red. Looking down at these clamps on Ann’s nipples was a big turn on for her. She wanted to see the slut suffer. The screws were tightened even more, their flatheads not quite meeting as they crushed the flesh of the nipple. The nipples were in agony. But the pain only spurred Ann on, to tongue the proffered slit even faster.

Margo looked up at the widow, She had not yet been given permission to cum.

“No, not yet.” the widow said. “Marie, move out of the way, there is another refinement to add.”

The widow retrieved the final screw clamp from the escritoire. Then, moving between her niece’s legs, the widow reached for her niece’s clit, already trying to escape its protective hood. Ann froze, when she felt the cold, metal ring push down around that most delicate nubbin of flesh. Then Ann relaxed, knowing that there was little point in saying anything. One way or another her clitoris would be tortured.

The widow pushed the ring down to the very base of a red, engorged little clit. Then the widow began tightening the screws, the flat screw heads coming closer together. They dug into the flesh. Because of the size of the screws, and their triangular position, the clit would not be deprived of blood flowing in or out. There was no danger of that little bit of flesh being killed off. No, what the screws would do is to cause the cruellest of agony, as they were tightened to the utmost, crushing Ann’s nub. Ann was in great pain. A normal slut might have screamed her head off just then. But she needed this torment of her genitalia, on some level, the crueller the better. Deep in mental submission Ann imagined even worse things, like red hot irons or needles, or whips which would tear the flesh away.

“You may come, Margo.” the widow said. Margo had to put a hand over her mouth as she shrieked out a wonderful, satisfying orgasm.

The Widow Walters, once Margo had recovered, had Marie remove the clamps from Ann’s nipples. But the widow left the clamp tormenting her niece’s angry red clit. Ann moaned in pain, but did not ask for a mercy that would not be granted.

“Time for a little whipping.” the widow remarked. There was a black beam bisecting, and supporting, the room’s ceiling. There were two tough little hooks set into the wood of the beam. Ann was helped to her feet – still with the clamp on her clit – and commanded to raise her arms above her head. She did so. Meanwhile, Marie had placed a small stool next to Ann. Marie had two sets of manacles, attached to chains that a carthorse could not have broken. Marie put the first manacle around Ann’s left wrist, then put a chain link over the hook set into the beam.

“No, the next link, I think.” the widow set. “We need to move forward with such pleasures, do we not? Things should get a little harder. Ann, you must go on tiptoe.”

Ann did as commanded, going en pointe, to use a ballet term. Each arm was chained above her head, so that she had to be on tiptoe, or not on her feet at all.

Margo, meanwhile, had rolled black two sections of carpet, to reveal two hidden rings set into the wood of the floor.

“As wide as possible, Margo, let us see if we can make her feet dance on the air.”

Chains, attached to the rings, soon had Ann spread-eagled, her toes now inches off the floor of the room. It was a very uncomfortable position. Ann moaned, as her arms were already in considerable pain. But she did not say anything.

“Margo, you may return the favour.” the widow said. “I am intrigued to see if the slut can come in such a position. I suspect not, so do not feel aggrieved if your considerable skills fail to make her come.”

Marie nodded, and got between Ann’s widespread thighs. In fact the widow did not want her niece to cum. She wanted the teenager to be in such a state of horny, tortured denial that she would beg for anything – that she would beg to be ruined. Perhaps, one day, she would cum with her clit martyred by that clamp. But not yet.

Just to make sure, as Margo tickled that crimson clit, the widow began cropping her niece’s plump, white buttocks. Again, not for the first time, the widow felt it hard to hold back, and not inflict some serious injury. No, better not, it would be hard to explain such things to a doctor.

The crop struck with precision, slow and deliberate, turning the buttocks deep pink and red with lines of pain. There was sexy little gasp after sexy little gasp from Ann, her breathing restricted not just by the corset, but by the position in which she hung. She was in a lot of pain: the ache of her widespread limbs; the tattoo beaten by the crop on her fleshy buttocks; and that cruel little clamp exposing and crushing her dainty little clit. Had it been the clamp alone then, perhaps, she might have been able to orgasm. But with the crop as well it was too much for her to achieve that secret pleasure.

Wilhelmina Walters, the widow in black, only stopped beating her teenage niece’s buttocks when she had lined them from thigh to just below the corset. The widow moved around to the front, and did a few more practice swings, indicating that the flagellation was not complete. Ann looked down at her large, defenceless breasts, her skin the colour of milk. But she did not ask for mercy, for part of Ann desired this pain. Part of her – a part that she would not yet admit to herself – desired torture and ruination. She wanted her breasts whipped. She wanted them whipped so that blood ran in rivulets, and they would be scarred, so that no man would have her, for what man would want such a slut like that?

Whiiiip! The crop slashed down, both cruel and kind, a partial answer to Ann’s secret desires. As the steel-cored leather sank, with each strike, into those fleshy mounts she was granted the severe pain she secretly wanted. But there was no blood, only bruises and marks where it had struck. Her breasts would recover. There would be no scars today.

The widow only stopped when Ann’s breasts had been turned the same crimson shade as her buttocks.

“Take her down, Margo.” the widow commanded. “And take that clamp off her button. It has been on long enough. After all, it would be no fun if she lost feeling there. Marie, go and fetch Brutus. It is time for a new lesson in subservience.”

Ann was released from her bondage, after the clamp was removed. She collapsed onto the carpet, barely able to move. She wondered why Marie was fetching Brutus. Brutus was the only male member of this household, a friendly Great Dane. Why her aunt might bring a Great Dane into this chamber of desire did not occur to this still naïve young woman.

Marie returned with Brutus on a lead. Brutus was a little frisky, for he knew this room, and he knew the pleasures which the two maids had taken with him. Both maids, in the past, had had Brutus’s massive cock, and knot, buried inside their cunts, as he pumped his doggy sperm inside them. The dog cock was the only cock which the widow allowed her maids to experience. And, although the widow did not partake of such bestial pleasures, it aroused her to watch the beast to bury its cock deep in girlie cunt.

Ann stared at Brutus. His thing – his cock – was coming out of its furry sheath. Ann had only seen male penises on animals, on statues, and in the paintings in the National Gallery. But she had never seen one as big as this cock, or such a crimson colour. The dog was clearly aroused.

“Ann, you are to suck off Brutus.” the widow commanded. “Crawl over to him. Use your mouth on him, for Brutus has been a good boy and deserves his pleasure.”

Ann stared at the cock, thinking that it would never fit in her mouth. She almost balked, for it was said in the Bible that men should not lie down with beasts. This was wrong. It was a sin. Yet that also aroused her, the fact that this was such a transgression against all that she held natural and decent. Despite herself she crawled over on all fours, to have her head no more than a foot away from Brutus’s large, red penis.

“Put it in your mouth.” the widow commanded. She came over and bent down to watch, as did the two maids. All three women were eager to see Ann abase herself in such a manner. And abase herself Ann did, wrapping her sweet little lips around the dog’s member. She was instructed by the maids in how to give head, so Ann began moving her head back and forth, taking as much into her mouth as possible, although it was less than half of the cock. Ann did not know how to open up her throat, or not gag. But that would change, given enough training – and it was the widow’s intent that, in future, her niece humiliate herself in such a manner on a regular basis. Yes, the widow though, Ann would suck Brutus off a lot.

Marie carried holding Brutus’s lead, making sure that he stayed in control. But he was a good dog, happy to stand there and let this human bring him pleasure.

“Margo, make sure that she swallows.” the widow said.

“Yes, Mistress.” Margo took hold of Ann’s head, moving it back and forth on the doggy cock. Ann’s head was held onto the cock when Brutus began to spurt his doggy seed into Ann’s hot mouth. Ann had no choice but to swallow, or choke. She swallowed down the viscous canine cum, feeling as though she had crossed some sort of boundary, behind which she could never retreat. A personal, sexual Rubicon had been crossed.

Brutus was led away, once he had finished spending. Ann did not move from where she was on all fours. She knew that her aunt had not yet finished with her, if the past held any truth.

“Are you thirsty, dear?” the widow asked. “I promised my dear sister that I would feed and water you.”

“Yes, I am thirsty.” Ann said, getting down on her back in the centre of this room. She knew that there was only one acceptable response.

“Good.” the widow said. “Margo and Marie have been drinking a lot of Earl Grey tea this morning, and I am sure that they are desperate to go. Margo, you go first, then Marie.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Margo said. She was really looking forward to this – the chance to piss in the mouth of a young, female member of the upper classes, while she was nothing but a chambermaid. Margo squatted over Ann’s face, her urethra positioned over Ann’s wide open mouth. Margo pissed, just a little, rather than everything she had, giving Ann the chance to swallow. Margo and Marie were both excellent at pissing in bursts, filling Ann’s mouth several times, watching the teenaged slut swallow it all.

When Margo had finished she reluctantly got off Ann’s face, to be replaced by Marie. Ann opened her mouth wide, revealing her pearly white teeth. Her mouth was filled, several times, by Marie’s foul-tasting yellow liquid. But there were worse things than piss.

“Are you hungry, dear?” the widow asked, after Marie had got off Ann’s face.

“Yes, aunt, I am hungry.” Ann said, giving the only acceptable response. This was the one thing she hated most. Even sucking the cock of Brutus was better than this.

The widow knelt down with her big arse hovering above the face of her niece. Ann watched as Widow Walters bore down, and her anal ring expanded, as a great, hard turd began to poke out. Ann raised her head, and bit off a chunk of the human waste, before any more came out. Somehow she managed not to vomit, as she chewed and swallowed the shit. Then, as the widow bore down again, Ann bit off the next part of the turd. Wilhelmina was in total control of her body, and could force out a turd just partway, allowing a section to be bitten off, and then somehow suck the waste back up into her arse. Three times Ann had to bite off a section of turd, and chew and swallow, and somehow not vomit it back up.

“Clean me.” Wilhelmina Walters commanded. Her niece could not see the beatific look on her aunt’s face. To shit directly into the mouth of a slave, and have them willingly consume it, was true dominance, as far as the widow was concerned. It turned Ann into a lowly receptacle for human waste.

Ann licked her aunt’s anus clean, pushing her tongue as far in the asshole as it would go.

“And something to take away the bad taste in your mouth.” the Widow Walters said, as she pissed in her niece’s mouth. That, too, was swallowed down.

The aunt was not yet finished with her niece. There was another play to make in Ann’s submission. The widow had a groaning Ann strung up again, hanging from the hooks set in the oak beam, her legs again chained wide. Ann looked exhausted. The widow summoned Margo over.

“Margo, I want you to bring the slut to the edge.” the widow whispered. “You are to take her to the edge of a come. But you must not take her over. If you do that I will take a pair of scissors and snip your button off, so that you never come gain.”

Margo blanched. The widow did not make false threats, and Margo was very attached to her clitoris. She had never had an orgasm before coming to work for this woman. He sexual experiences had been limited to some midnight fumble with naïve and sexually ignorant young women. Now Margo was addicted to sweet orgasms – them, and to the pain, as well.

Margo knelt between the young brunette’s widespread, aching thighs, using all of her skill to bring Ann to the edge time and time again, but not allow her a much-needed orgasm. And Margo was so very skilled.

Meanwhile, Wilhelmina Walters had produced a device made for her by a saddle maker. It was a collection of leather straps and buckles. The widow slotted a large, wooden godemiche into a slot. The dildo, Japanese in origin, had relief carvings along its length, ones which would not have disgraced any pillow book. The widow strapped it on, so that she had a long, hard wooden cock, smooth yet unyielding, poking out from her groin.

“On all fours, Marie, please.” the widow commanded, making sure that she and the made would be in the field of vision of Ann, and her niece would see everything that transpired. And Widow Walters began a long, languorous fucking of Marie’s dripping cunt. All that Ann could do was stare at the fucking of the maid, while being denied her final pleasure.

“Please, please, take me with that thing.” Ann gasped eventually.

“Are you asking me to fuck your cunt?” her aunt said, being deliberately coarse. “Are you asking for that, knowing that, taking your virginity in such a manner, will ruin your prospects for marriage? If I do that, then you will be an outcast, having no choice, as a ruined woman, but to come here and join my household forever?”

“Yes, yes…” Ann gasped, as Margo’s tongue flicked her erect clit.

“Then BEG!” her aunt commanded. And Ann begged to have her hymen broken, knowing what the result would be…

Many months later…

Ann hung in a spread-eagle, chained in the middle of the room, her toes not quite touching the floor. Every day she ate the shit of her aunt. She did not drink water, or tea, or coffee, but only the piss of the maids and her aunt. She had sucked off Brutus on many occasions, watched with perverted desire by the other three women. And she was tortured on a daily basis.

Ann’s clit was held turgid and crimson by that cruel clamp, tightened as much as it would go. For hours Ann’s clit had been torments, but the young woman had not been allowed to cum. The clit looked more like some disfigured raspberry, than that most feminine organ.

The Widow Walters was holding the end of a long, pearl-handled hatpin in the flame of a candle. She held it there until the pointed metal began to change colour. And then, with sadistic desire, the widow slowly thrust that hot metal down into the heart of Ann’s clit.

Ann screamed, and came from pain alone.

The End.