Hirst Hall

Chapter 11 – My obedience deepens dangerously

A few days later found me bound once more on the sofa in the Yellow Salon.  I was as always quite naked.  While I was seated on the sofa in a normal upright way, my arms had been bound along the back and my legs were on the sofa with my ankles spread and tied to opposite ends.  Sir Thomas stood before me teasing my nipples with his fingertips.  They were hard already.

“I do think you had better put a cloth under Lady Caroline’s cunt, Mrs. Jones.  I fear it may leak a bit today.”

The housekeeper hurried to obey.  I felt her fingers brushing my spread sex as she pushed the cloth under me.  I guessed it was deliberate and wondered if she wanted me in the way she had wanted her very first mistress.  Would she like to sit on my face and use a candle in my sex?  The thought made me shudder: not if I had any say in the matter.  But I had sworn to be obedient and only Sir Thomas knew how far that might go.

My husband wandered over to the chest of drawers and returned with a new instrument of chastisement.  This was a simple little flogger: a woven leather handle with a dozen thin strands of the same material at the end that was to be applied to me. Random along those strands were little knots.  With a sudden flick of his wrist he brought them down across the top of my left breast.

“Aaaah,” I moaned.  It was painful but not agonising.  I stared down to see if my poor bosom were marked.  It was reddened but not striped.  I supposed there were too many strands and not enough force to leave individual marks. I was grateful as I did not want to be walking around the house with stripes across my breasts, displayed as they were in my obscene dresses.

“Unggh!” A second blow landed on the right side. Exquisitely painful and I felt an immediate corresponding throb in my sex.  It was no less fierce for being unbidden.  Sir Thomas was right: I was going to leak, if not outright gush.

Swish followed swish and soon I was begging for a break.  My tops of my breasts were now scarlet and in awful pain. 

Sir Thomas kindly stopped and asked Rose to get me a drink.  His fingers returned to my nipples while my maid helped me to drink the sweet wine.

“Here next, I think,” and with that he brought the flogger down right across the centre of my right breast making my nipple scream in pain and making me howl in agony. He repeated this back and forth from one side to another till I was crying and begging for mercy.  Finally he paused.

“Is her ladyship wet, Rose?” I saw my maid approach and felt her fingers on my sex.

“Very, very wet, Sir.”

“So, my darling, you are begging for me to stop but your little cunt just can’t switch off.  Well, a few more minutes and you can have your tea.  Ring for Mary, Mrs Jones, please.”

As the housekeeper rang the bell, Sir Thomas went over to the cabinet and returned to me. He held a pair of wooden clips connected by a fine silver chain.  He rubbed one of my already taut nipples and then affixed the clip to it.  I howled, my teats were already so, so sore.  This was just cruel, yet my other, more southerly and even more sensitive, nub gave a definite throb in response.  The chain was pushed around the back of my neck beneath my hair.  As Mary entered I guessed what he planned to do.

“No, please, no…” I begged.

“Come lift your mistress’ tits, Rosie.” She came and lifted my sore breasts upwards.

“Higher.” She pushed them up more and flattened them against my chest.  Sir Thomas now attached the second clip to the other nipple.

“Aaagh! Please…”

“Let go now, Rosie.” And I felt her hands withdraw. My breasts barely fell at all, they were held upwards by the clips and the chain.  The pain in my nipples was indescribable as they took the weight of my breasts.

“What do you think, Mrs. Jones?  Her tits aren’t as high as Lady Anne’s, but they are bigger and so the same chain seems to work.  Wasn’t sure it would though.”

“Yes, I am surprised.  But then, as you say, her ladyship’s tits are quite a bit bigger than Lady Anne’s.”

Mary was staring as she laid out the tea. How I hated her. Still tomorrow was Friday and at 10 in the morning she would be under the housekeeper’s skirts.  Perhaps I should go and watch her humiliated for a change.

Swish!  I squealed as the damned little whip lashed into the tender undersides of my breasts. This was worse than across the nipples and after ten minutes I was sobbing and pleading.  Finally Sir Thomas tossed the martinet away and turned to Rose.

“Release your mistress’ titties, Rosie.  And her right arm.”

I wailed as the clips were removed and the blood returned to my poor crushed nipples.  Looking down my breasts were a uniform hot swollen red and the teats seemed to stick out a full inch. I wondered how long they would take to recover.

“Touch your cunt, wife.  Are you wet?”  It was a question to which I knew the answer only too well.  But I lowered my free hand and delicately touched my sex.  It was well beyond wet.

“I’m…  I am wet, Sir Thomas.”

“Then you must want to finish off.  Go ahead.  Then we can have our tea.”  He was smiling.

“No…  Please not in front of them.”  It was too humiliating; no matter how much I ached for release.

“You forget, Lady Caroline, Rose and Mrs. Jones saw you begging to climax like the lowest strumpet last Sunday.  Do it now!”

I was obedient.  I touched myself.  I frigged my little nub hard.  It took so little time before I could see the sparks behind my closed eyelids as my pleasure suffused me.  I know that humiliation does not excite me, but obedience to him, to my husband, does.  Is there a difference?  I am not sure.

A few days later and I sat at breakfast in the most scandalous of my dresses.  Rose had laid it out for me and I had not demurred.  Her position was so much stronger now: the clysters, the shaving and the dresses.  I submitted to it all.  I was obedient.  While all the dresses were cut low this was by far the worst; I was capable of popping out of it just by breathing too deeply.  And whereas the others ended at the knee this one finished a good three inches above it.  This morning Sir Thomas was staring at my terribly exposed breasts.

“I see you are fully recovered my dear,” he said amiably.  He was right the reddening and swelling had faded over two days and was now quite vanished.

“Yes, Sir Thomas, quite recovered.”

“Perhaps you would like to go riding today?  I have not seen you on horseback since before our agreement.”

He was right; I had not been riding since the day of my failed escape.  I had seen my abbreviated riding habit in the dressing closet and had no wish to be seen in it.

“I am ashamed of my behaviour in front of Ralph and have no wish to scandalise him further.  Perhaps in a few weeks.”

“What nonsense.  He will not be scandalised; he is merely a groom.  I think you should go riding today.  Go and change.”

I obeyed.  In truth compared to my other dresses the riding costume was least changed.  Rose helped me on with it.  The upper half remained in every way unaltered.  Even the brown serge jacket and matching hat were allowed as before, at least my breasts would be decently covered for a change.  But the long skirts and petticoats, which before had reached the ground, were gone.  The new skirt with its single underslip reached only to just above the knee, leaving an expanse of bare flesh before the boots began at mid-calf. I picked up my gloves and crop and marched down to the front steps. 

Sir Thomas was waiting there with Ralph and our respective mounts.  They both could not help looking at my bare knees as I came down the stone steps.  I felt the air blowing up under my skits to my drawer-less private parts

“You look lovely, my dear.”  Sir Thomas was cheerfulness personified in the warm late-April sunshine.

“Ralph, please hobble her ladyship.”  The groom moved to pick up a black leather device from the bottom step.

“That will not be necessary, I have promised obedience, Sir Thomas.”

“My dear, you will be hobbled until you have proven yourself cured of wilfulness.  Ralph, hobble her ladyship.”

Ralph knelt and affixed the device which left him uncomfortably close to my naked legs.  The hobble consisted of two wide leather cuffs which were wrapped around each of my ankles over my boots, joined by a thick strand of cord about eighteen inches in length.  With this I would have to ride side-saddle.  As a proper lady I, of course, ride side-saddle at all times in polite company.  However like many other ladies who are good horsewomen I ride astride whenever I am on mine own or in the company of only women.  There is no way that a horse can be controlled at speed without being astride it.  Side-saddle I would be confined to walking or a light trot.  And even sitting sideways on my mount my knees and part of my thighs were going to be visible.  I resolved to keep the ride to the parts of the estate where I was least likely to see any other people.  I made my way to the little stone steps at the side of the carriageway, specifically put there to allow ladies to mount side-saddle.

“First I should like you to apologise to Ralph for leading him on such a wild chase last time,” my husband said genially.

“Ralph, I am most awfully sorry for the trouble I put you to when I was so foolish,” I replied obediently.  It was humiliating and I blushed but it was merely words.

“It was nothing, your ladyship,” the young man replied quietly.

“And to show there are no hard feelings, Ralph, my wife will now fellate you.”

“No!” I was horrified.  He could not mean it.  Not the groom, not a servant.  And he was near young enough to be my son.

“Are you disobeying me?”  The question was swollen with meaning.

“No, I am not.  But please, husband, please not this.  Not one of the servants.  I beg you.”  I was crying now, in despair at the trap I found myself in.

“Obey then, Lady Caroline.  Now!”  His voice was implacable.

Reluctantly I slid to the ground before Ralph, feeling the hard pea-sized stones of the gravel path digging into my bare knees.  Still weeping I fumbled at his breeches. I was so upset that he had to help me open them. His organ leapt out, fully erect.  I suppose the thought of what his mistress was about to do had made him completely hard.  He was not as large as my husband and he must have washed that morning as I could smell little odour apart from the vague smell of horse that seemed to permeate his clothing.

I gave one last look at my husband, hoping for a reprieve, but saw only his amused smile. I licked the organ with my tongue and so for the first time in my life I touched a man to whom I was not married in that most private place. 

“Suck him, dearest.”  And I opened my mouth and took him inside me. He uttered a loud groan.  This would not last long; he lacked Sir Thomas’ control.  Indeed, no sooner had I thought this than his seed began to explode into my mouth.  I pulled back quickly and spat onto the ground that which was on my tongue while the rest erupted in wide arcs from his twitching organ.  My God, that had been awful.  I had just taken one of the staff in my mouth.

“Next time Lady Caroline will swallow properly.  I do apologise for her behaviour, Ralph.”  Next time?  There was going to be a next time?  I moaned in despair.

As I awkwardly rose to my feet I saw a far away, beatific smile on the groom’s face. I guessed that no woman had ever done that for him.  In fact I wondered if I were his first ever woman.

“Off you go.  Enjoy your ride, my dear.”  And with that Sir Thomas swung a leg over his own mount, kicked her into a quick canter and headed off south towards the farms that had suffered the winter flooding.

After mounting much more awkwardly I rode west and kept my thoughts to myself.  Ralph rode just behind and the few times I glanced at him he still had that confounded smile of utter bliss.

In the next week this charade was repeated twice more.  The first time was once more with Ralph as Sir Thomas again insisted that I should go riding.  This time I did indeed swallow, obediently at my husband’s command while kneeling in the gravel before the house.  This time the young man did last somewhat longer, but not much.  The reality I suppose is that very few men have Sir Thomas ability to delay their climax indefinitely.  In fact very few seem to have the ability or inclination to withhold it at all.

The second time I was summoned to the front hall where, in the presence of both Rose and Mrs Jones, I was ordered to orally satisfy the three footmen: George, Hugh and David. Performing this act three times in succession while other women watched was appalling and I cried throughout.  Each time I swallowed as was now expected.  They had only a little more stamina than young Ralph. It did confirm one thing for me: I derive no pleasure from either fellatio or from being humiliated.  If Sir Thomas had thought I would be another Lady Anne then he was to be disappointed.

Two days after the latter episode I was summoned to the Yellow Salon.  I was still dressed in those damned shortened dresses, though Heaven knows I had proven my obedience.  I noticed the dreaded chaise-longue at once.

“Rosie, help her ladyship undress and arrange her on the chaise: on her back and with those lovely arms and legs bound to each post as before.”  It did not take long even though Rose was inexpert at tying knots and had to be instructed by Mrs. Jones.

Mrs. Jones, fetch the cases please.” And the housekeeper fetched the same two cases as before form the chest.  I quailed inwardly; I did not want to go through the debasement of that drawn-out stimulation again. 

“Now, young Rosie, I want you to exercise her ladyship’s arsehole using the dildoes.  I would prefer her not to climax and to that effect you may use the boars’ bristle brush in her cunt to slow her down.  But if you cannot stop her from reaching her peak do not worry too much: there is no punishment this time.  Have you a pot of ointment, Mrs. Jones?” The housekeeper passed a little jar to the maid.

“Now, wife, keep quiet please.  At least for as long as you can!”

I watched and felt as my maid’s fingers went to work.  This time she touched my sex and my bud not at all avoiding all stimulation there. Instead her finger entered my behind as soon as it had been greased. Then two fingers and soon after the smallest of the simulacra.  I felt my passion climbing steeply.  No matter how many times I have been touched or taken there the result seems never less strong. As Rose passed the second of the wooden organs into me she inserted the bristle brush.  Although by this time my sex was thoroughly wettened it hurt awfully as it burrowed its way inside.  I cried out and groaned despite all my efforts to remain silent.

“Now the next size, Rosie, and get it all the way in.”

This third one was as large as Sir Thomas himself and its insertion pushed me over the edge into ecstasy.  Even the bristles in my sex could not stop the inevitable.  With little squeals of pleasure I reached a deep rolling climax of release.

When the last wave had washed over me I opened my eyes and looked down my contorted body.  The twisted wire end of the brush poked out from my sex and I could see the end of the dark ebony rod that was fully buried in my backside.  I clenched my muscles there and felt little surges of pleasure radiate from the stretched flesh.  What would he do now?  I had no doubt that there was further torment to come.

Sir Thomas came and sat on the edge of the chaise and he gently stroked my face.

“Another drink, my dear?”

“Yes please.”  He fetched and fed it to me himself before leaning down and licking the last drops of wine from my lips.  His eyes were just inches from mine.

“Do you think you can take the biggest of the dildoes now?”  I shuddered, causing the muscles in my bottom to contract once more and reminding me that the third of those wooden carvings was still in place.  The last one though was considerably bigger, larger even than my husband, and I was scared of it.

“Please not that, Sir,” I begged.  “It is too big!  It will not fit and will hurt most awfully.  Please?”

“Well, alright then, we can save that amusement for another day.”  He stroked my face again tenderly.  “We’ll try something else.  Mrs. Jones, ring for James please.”

Soon a man came into the room and I recognised him as one of the gardeners.  I had exchanged a few words with him over the weeks.  He had struck me as a quiet, calm sort of man, given to few words. He was neither handsome nor ill-favoured, must have been in his thirties and was dark of complexion in a Welsh way.  And here he was in the house seeing me bound and offered up with a brush in my sex and a black ebony rod stretching open my bottomhole.  I blushed at the thought of what he must think.

“Thank you for taking time away from your gardening duties, James.  How are the roses going to be this year?”

“They should be good, Sir Thomas.  There are plenty of new shoots and as long as it does not become too hot in May we should have an excellent season.”

“Lady Anne would be happy, she did like her roses.”

“Ay, Sir, that she did.”

“Now I would be most grateful if you could help out this afternoon with Lady Caroline.  Perhaps you would like to show her your qualifications for the task ahead.”

With this he removed his work jacket and handed it to Rose and unbuttoned his breaches.  His organ swung free instantly, he was without undergarments.  It was massive and half erect, swinging back and forth with the momentum of a pendulum.  I gasped as did Rose.  It was so much bigger than Sir Thomas’, larger than any I had ever seen or even imagined.  I stared at it the way a hen stares at a fox that has broken into the coop.  It was still swelling, growing as it took in the air and as the gardener stared at my displayed private parts.

“Girl, take those objects out of your mistress.”  The maid hurried to obey, still glancing out of the corner of her eyes at James’ swinging organ.  First the dildoe was slid out of my bottom and then the brush out of my sex, making me wince as it scratched its way free.

“Now, my dearest, you are going to find out why James is called ‘Giant Jim’!  Biggest in the entire district I believe.”

“Please, no.  It’s too big.  It will hurt; it will tear me!”

“Nonsense, darling.  But just in case, Rosie, work another dollop of ointment into Lady Caroline’s arsehole.”

I would be dissembling if I wrote that her fingers did not feel exciting as they performed their task, opening my bottom as it tightened with apprehension.

And then the man was approaching me, holding his now swollen instrument.  It was so big that even fully erect it would never stand up along his belly as a regular man’s does.  It stood out at the perpendicular from his hardened stomach, stiffly muscled by his outdoor labours.

“I hope you have tossed off this morning, James?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas, not more than an hour ago.  I should be able to last a good little while.”

With this he placed the giant head of the thing against my bottomhole.  I stared in horror, there was no way that was going to go inside without hurting me.  I felt the pressure build and then, suddenly, it slipped into me.

“Aaaaah!”  It hurt; I could feel waves of pain radiating from my stretched aperture.  But it was the kind of pain that only seemed to make me hotter.  I stared at my sex, it was wet and opened and the huge member beyond was now clearly in me.  I caught a glimpse of Rose’s horrified looking face and Mrs. Jones’ amused one.

“Sooo big...  It’s so big.  Please, no more...”  I could not control myself.

“Is her ladyship tight, James?”

“Very, sir.  Most excellently.”

“Lean in then, man.  Lean in.”

And on this command the gardener began to push himself into me.  His weight sank a couple of inches of his organ into me, and then he stopped and worked it back and forth in little jabs as if to loosen up the path.  Then he leant in again for another couple of inches. 

The second time he made his little accommodating strokes I climaxed, mewling and groaning my pleasure to the whole room.  It felt so vast, even though less than half was inside me.  I was stretched and filled and pushed into a realm where the only sensations were the pain and pleasure surging from my bottom.

I have no recollection of how many times I reached the pinnacle of pleasure before the entire length was worked into me.  Indeed one peak blurred into the next as the stuffing of my poor bowels continued relentlessly.

“Well done, James, a sovereign for you!  You’ve got your entire cock inside her ladyship on the first attempt.  Remarkable!” 

I stared down the length of my bound body.  The man’s belly did now rest of against me and I could feel every fraction of him inside me.  My God, could I feel it.

“Thank you, Sir.  Can’t last much longer though...”

“Have at it, man, have at it!  You’ve earned it.”

With this the gardener gave a number of fast deep strokes into me.  It felt as if he was pushing his organ up into my lungs and I immediately climaxed once again even as he released his seed high up into my guts.

His slow withdrawal was intense in its own right.  It felt as if I were passing a veritable pole which, in a manner of speaking, I was.  Even now, as it slowly softened, his member was gigantic.  ‘Giant Jim’ indeed.   All four of them gathered at the end of the chaise and stared at my privates.

“Remarkable!” Sir Thomas was clearly impressed.

“Look at her arsehole, Rose,” said Mrs. Jones, “it has been so stretched it isn’t even closing properly.  No sign of tearing though, your ladyship.”

“Time you were unbound, my dear.  Thank you, James, that will be all for now.  Time for tea, I think.”

Later that night as my husband ravaged my bottom himself he commented that while I was still tight I was clearly easier to enter than before.  I moaned and climbed to another little peak of pleasure at the thought of what had happened to me.

And as I lay there afterwards, limp and happy in his arms he ventured, “Thomas Lawrence wrote me today.  He will be here next week to paint your portraits.”

I stared at the portrait of the naked Lady Anne in the half-light as the last of the candles guttered out.  How was I to be painted?  And what did that third risqué painting of her show?