Honeymoon Hell

Chapter 7 – Deflowering Gwyneth

      My mouth dropped open when I saw my darling wife trussed up like a lamb for the slaughter.  I had envisioned the worst when Jenny and Cora led her from the dining room before dessert, a most delicious strawberry trifle.  But I was in no way prepared for the elaborate bondage applied to her delicate virgin flesh.  I confess to my shame, I found it both horrifying and erotic.  My manhood twitched to life against the silk fabric of my lacy drawers.  It took all my willpower not to bury my face in her obscenely exposed vagina.

      The way her divine body was stretched and contorted would have aroused any husband especially one who had thus far been denied the enjoyment of such an exquisite creature.  My disappointment was exacerbated by the failure of my own plans for her deflowering.

      My original scheme was to begin with great care and gentleness on our first night on board ship.  Gaining the complete trust of such an unworldly and innocent female struck me as easily achievable.  I would play the role of respectful and considerate husband passionately but gently rupturing her hymen and spilling her virgin blood on the sheets.   How I longed to be the one to create the incarnadine trickle that would seep from her vagina onto the Belgravia’s bed linen.

     No doubt the purser and the maid observing the stains would spread the word through the ship’s crew that I had taken her virginity.  It would reach the ears of the captain who would congratulate me and promise to be discrete as he passed the gossip onto the other first class passengers.  If they observed Gwyneth’s gait on that first day, they would ascribe any awkwardness to soreness brought on by my successful assault on her virtue.

      The second night I would request her to perform orally on my member.  I would be subtle and indirect but make it plain that taking my penis in her mouth then using her lips and tongue to satisfy my lust would incontrovertibly demonstrate the purity of her love.  I would be romantic offering her a glass of champagne to wash down my semen.  With luck her appetite for the pleasures of the flesh would grow as she was exposed to more possibilities for the employment of her body.

      The third night would begin with me applying my mouth to her sex.  I would praise the taste and smell of her vulva to the heavens comparing her to mythological goddesses whose beauty and skill at love making attracted the attention of Zeus himself.  Each night I would go further into the world of passion and perversion until by the time we docked in Liverpool, Gwyneth would have all the skills of a common prostitute while retaining an aura of innocence. 

      Success in this endeavor had been encouraged by whispered remarks of Mrs. Abigail Drew, Gwyneth’s mother, who drew me aside right before the wedding ceremony.  Mrs. Drew was a formidable person in her own right; however, I was surprised at her commitment to Gwyneth’s being a successful partner in the boudoir.

      “I spoke with Gwyneth last night regarding her responsibilities toward the marriage bed,” said Mrs. Drew in a conspiratorial whisper.

      I had no idea how to reply but I was always the smooth one at such times.  “Thank you, Mother, I’d sure your advice would be most helpful to Gwyneth and myself.”

      She gave me a questioning look then spoke.  “I told her she was to refuse you nothing and acquiesce in whatever practices you desire.  She accepted the proposition that satisfying your appetites is her duty and responsibility as a wife.”

      I was still on my best behavior as far as Gwyneth’s family was concerned.  “I promise you I will always be the epitome of respect and consideration where Gwyneth is concerned.”

      “If my daughter takes after me and I think she will, a more direct and demanding approach will be called for.  Take the manly approach, Percy, and never accept her refusal to anything even acts not ordinarily required of a Christian wife.  You should command her willingness to perform in any fashion you desire, within reason of course.  If she refuses you, inform me and I will speak to her.”

      The choral music began, signaling we should take our places in the cathedral.  “Your assistance is greatly appreciated and I will come to you if I find my needs unmet.  Thank you, Mother.”

      Her remarks set me to wondering how matters would stand by the end of our honeymoon.  I am a patient man.  I would approach our lovemaking slowly progressing at a measured pace hopefully ending in the total debauchment of Gwyneth.  I had previously noted the saucy looks of Gwyneth’s servant, Cathy.  Money put in the right hands in the servant’s quarters of the Drew household had produced the knowledge that her personal maid, Cathy, was a wanton equally at home in the embrace of either sex.  In a month’s time I hoped to enjoy the favors of wife and servant together.  I would take great pleasure in observing the two of them performing the Sapphic rights before I joined them for the finale.

      However, rough seas delayed my scheme and the machinations of Harry Pelham rendered them obsolete.  The cad had seduced Gwyneth’s servant and arranged for our ill treatment at Ashcroft Hall.  Events had spun out of my control.  Even more surprising had been Gwyneth’s unexpected reactions to circumstances that would have rendered a weaker female hysterical.   I ascribed her resilience to her Christian upbringing.

     Her acquiescence in the guest’s digital violation of her sex and her willing participation in the perverted nature of the evening had come as a shock.  Her lack of hesitation in consuming the bride’s cocktail was undoubtedly the end result of the punishment she suffered for not complying with Mrs. Kline’s desires.  Harry had spared no detail in informing me of the many acts of a Sapphic nature performed in Mrs. Kline’s bed.  I took the news philosophically.  After all, engrossing her in sapphism had been my aim all along.

      Still she had proved her loyalty to me by downing the draught extracted from my bowels after the Dinkas had filled them with semen.  A goblet of nigger spunk and butt fluids is not to be consumed lightly even if it has been extracted from the ass of your beloved husband.  I had felt a full measure of pride and lust as she brought the goblet to her lips and consumed it in a single draught.  “Good girl,” I whispered as she finished it off with élan few women could summons for the occasion.  

      That gave me hope that she would overlook my own behavior and appearance.  I would attribute my moral bankruptcy to being both dressed and treated as female.  Lord Cranmere had repeatedly complemented my looks and expressed his desire to place his cock in my manpussy, a term new to me although I considered it apt.  I found myself looking forward to reclining on a sofa with my drawers dangling from one ankle as his Lordship and others violated my manpussy, what a delightful word. 

      Still upon entering the main hall it was a shock to find Gwyneth so utterly open and ready for what would be a singular event in our marriage.  I deduced there was a long history of deflowering at Ashcroft Hall based on the elaborate nature of the preparations.  Harry Pelham interrupted my ruminations.

      “I daresay Percy, not the way you pictured the consummation of your marriage,” said Harry observing my astonishment.  As we stood observing my wife, Harry lifted the back of my skirt and placed his hand inside my drawers.  His warm palm cupped my buttock making it difficult to concentrate.  

     That was when Harry pointed out the three men gathered around what I recognized as a film camera.  “Lord Walshingham was kind enough to bring a crew from his studio at Pinewood to record the event.”

     “Studio,” I questioned even though the intent of his action was rapidly becoming apparent.

     Harry smilingly revealed the nature of his perfidy. “My Uncle is a principal investor in Pinewood Studios.  He believes films will be the future of mass entertainment.  Mr. Grange and his helpers recorded your captivating performance in the dinning room.  Their task of the moment is to film the loss of Gwyneth’s virtue.  I intend to make a copy of the film available to you and dear Gwyneth as a wedding gift.”

     But I was not one to be flummoxed.  “Thank you, Harry, you are most kind,” I said as I pressed my buttocks into his hand.

     Blackmail was his intent.  Public viewing of such a film would ruin us in society.  We would have to leave New York and go live in the wilderness of California or some other unsuitable place.  Still, what was I to do?  Harry was always a clever one.  It was foolish of me to make him an enemy.  I saw a future in which Gwyneth and I were bound to his wishes.  I reconciled myself to my fate and resolved to enjoy life as best as I could.  That brought me back to the sight of my beautiful wife whose exposed state and whimpers of discomfort I found most enticing.

     Gwyneth was tightly bound in what could only be described as a leather swing suspended by chains at each corner. Her cries and whimpers led to the conclusion she was anything but comfortable. 

      “A Fordyce swing, only the best, eh, Walshingham,” said Lord Cranmere placing his index finger at the center of Gwyneth’s anus and pushing inward until he reached the knuckle.  The force of his fingers caused the swing to rock back and forth further embedding his digit in her rectum.

      “It’s their new model, just arrived this afternoon.  Makes all three holes accessible,” said Lord Walshingham.

      “Her butt is tight as a Chinaman’s,” said Lord Cranmere.  “No doubt, she’ll squeal like a stuck hog the first time a cock calls it home.”  Lord Cranmere demonstrated the degree of his perversity by removing his finger from my wife’s rectum and tasting it.  “Tastes like a Chinaman’s butt, too.” That occasioned laughter from the assemblage who were busily taking advantage of the sexual apparatus servants had moved into the main hall for the occasion. 

      “Daddy and I tried it out when it arrived. Didn’t we, Father?” said Lady Penelope as she stepped out of her dress leaving her in a corset that narrowed her waist while pushing her large breasts upward in a fashion that could only be interpreted as inviting access.  Lady Penelope’s hand moved immediately to her bare sex which she stroked vigorously.  Lord Walshingham’s daughter, an incestuous slut if ever there was one, had no compunction about masturbating in front of the other dinner guests.

      “Yes, we did Penny and one damn fine fuck you are.  Makes a father proud,” said Lord Walshingham as he finished undressing.  His lordship was formidably equipped.  Lady Penelope moved quickly to take her father in hand.

      “I’ve still got some of you in me, Daddykins.  See,” said Lady Penelope withdrawing her fluid-covered fingers from her vagina before ostentatiously licking her father’s essence from her fingertips.

     Harry attacked my buttons and in a matter of moments I stepped out of my dress into Harry’s arms for a long and wet tongue kiss.  The other guests shed any clothing covering their sex.  The women for the most part immediately fell to unlimbering the cocks of their dinner partners. 

     Most of the women wore French corsets that lifted their breasts and exposed their rouged nipples. Several of the men including Lord Cranmere were attired in various articles of female underwear.   I made a mental note to add to my collection of naughty undies during the Paris stage of our European idle.

     I watched as Lord Cranmere parted the slit in the rear of his midnight blue female drawers to reveal what must have been a frequently visited sphincter.

      “Where’s the French butt grease,” demanded Lord Cranmere of a passing servant who immediately took a small jar off a nearby table and handed it to his lordship.

     “Will you do the honors, Sarah?’ asked his Lordship handing me the jar as he bent over reaching back to part his ample buttocks. 

      “My pleasure,” I replied opening the jar and coating my fingers with the lubricant.  Lord Cranmere moaned as I first coated the region surrounding his anus then pushed a heavily lubricated finger past his sphincter.  I added a second digit to bring his sphincter into a relaxed state.  In spite of his age, his lordship tightly squeezed my fingers indicating a willingness to have more of Sarah Chapman in his aged asshole.

     “Easy there, Sarah.  My old bung hole has seen more action that most.  There’s hardly a peer of the realm that hasn’t had his dick up Billy Waycross’s bum.  I should mention that Billy and Lord Cranmere are one and the same.  I did not doubt the correctness of his remark.  The English public school system left no male member of the aristocracy unsodomised.

      Once his lordship was sufficiently lubricated, I helped him straddle one of the many odd shaped furnishing that had been placed in the drawing room for the pleasure of the guests.  Their construction was simple; but their purpose could only be divined by someone who had frequented houses of ill repute where similar pleasure devices were employed.  Mrs. Brophy’s House was equipped with several of the devices and I spent many a happy hour perched on board.

      In America, they were commonly called, “Nelson,” or “Nelson Horse,” because Nelson was the name of George Washington’s horse.  The father of my country is given credit by most scholars for inventing the device and was reputed to be an avid self-sodomite.  Other claim it had existed since the times of the Roman Empire and Washington only introduced it to the United States.  And there are those who claim that Benjamin Franklin brought it back from Paris after his stint as our ambassador to the Bourbons.  The appellation, “French Horse,” is favored on the continent.  Our British cousins refer to as a “Lady Hamilton” referring to Admiral Lord Nelson’s mistress.   Therein might lay the reason for the confusion over the use of the name Nelson.  To be polite to my hosts I accepted the English nomenclature.

      Each Lady Hamilton had four legs and stirrups whose length was adjustable.   Lord Walshingham’s servants were busy helping the guests establish a comfortable seat.  The horses were covered in the finest leather and heavily cushioned.  Black was the color of the male version of the Nelson and blue the female. 

      The operation was straightforward.  One mounted the Lady Hamilton as one would a horse placing one’s feet in the stirrups.  The stylized horse’s head moved forward and backward causing my means of a clever design of gears and levers a dildo to emerge and retract from the seat.  Move the head forward and the dildo slid deep into one’s rectum or vagina.  Pull back and it withdrew.  All the way forward resulted in the deepest of penetration; all the way back and it withdrew below the surface. 

      The female version had a curved dildo with a bumpy irregular surface designed to maximize the pleasure of vaginal penetration.  A rough patch of India rubber stimulated the female’s love button.  The male version was long and smooth with an India rubber ball on the end.   I made an on the spot decision to acquire several Lady Hamilton’s for our summer place in the Hamptons.   The estate was a wedding gift from my in-laws.  One of the ancillary purposes of our honeymoon travels was to acquire proper furnishings.

     At the moment, a drunken and swearing Lady Penelope was riding her Lady Hamilton with great energy slamming the dildo deep into her cunt.   None of the guests seemed unfamiliar with the device proving its widespread employment by the upper crust.  In a matter of moments, everyone was riding with considerable vigor.  Men stroked their cock as they rode while the ladies caressed their love buttons.  It was quite a sight as you can imagine.  When I went to mount a nearby Lady Hamilton, Cora Stapleton stopped me informing me I had a different role to play in the ceremony.           

      Gwyneth’s predicament is not east to describe.  She rested in the swing on her back.  It was tilted so her bottom was slightly higher than her top.

      Her exquisitely shaped legs were extended back almost to her shoulders in a V-shape.  Belting connected her ankles to the rear suspension chains.  Her sex was open and its beauty almost overwhelmed me.

     I must admit the Fordyce provided ready access to my bride’s vagina and anus in a fashion I had not witnessed before.  Based on the sheen surrounding her orifices, I concluded the Stapletons had lubricated her openings to facilitate penetration.

      Gwyneth’s loud whimpers brought my attention to the silver apparatus encasing her large breasts from top and bottom.  Cora and Jenny were tightening each side of the device slowly compressing her bosom from two directions.   Each swollen breast formed a large round orb with the nipple extended at least an inch, a most enticing sight.

      “Beautiful workmanship,” said Harry tracing his fingers along the design engraved in the bottom half of the device before giving Gwyneth’s right nipple a pinch.  “You can’t get that kind of craftsmanship these days.”

       “What is it, Harry?’ I asked amazed at the balloon like shape and wine hue my wife’s breasts had immediately assumed.  Blue veins and red arteries appeared along the surface of the exposed flesh.  Closer observation revealed the presence of rows of sharp teeth penetrating the base of the breast; no doubt causing hellish pain.  I did not doubt, dear Gwyneth would be writhing and screaming if she had not been tightly restrained.

       “A breast press, one with quite a history,” said Harry.  “Right Uncle?”

       Lord Walshingham had a keen awareness of the historical significance of Ashcroft’s Hall’s furnishings. “It was made by the silversmiths of Sheffield for the Lord Protector, Oliver Cromwell.  He used it to extract confessions of papacy from the wives and daughters of the cavaliers. The rings were used to suspend the female by her breasts until she implicated her husband.  Immediate castration and execution of the entire family followed,” said Lord Walshingham flicking the rings at the top of the apparatus.

      “Don’t be alarmed, Percy.  We’re not going to hang Gwyneth’s by her tits.  We’re not savages,” said Harry.

     “I’d love to hang her up by knockers and play with her pussy while she screamed,” said Lady Penelope as she slammed the dildo into her sex.  From somewhere she had acquired a pair of vicious looking nipple clamps.  Blood dripped down from the punctures they made in her areola.

      “Mustn’t behave like savages, Penny.  Your Mother wouldn’t approve,” said Lord Walshingham reproving his wayward daughter.

      “Of course, Daddy, but Mommy loved to watch a good hiding.  Especially if she was the one carrying it out,” said Lady Penelope.

      “Your mother was a very rare and gifted woman,” said Lord Walshingham.  “She derived her pleasure from other’s suffering but in a refined manner,” said Lord Walshingham.  “She could peel the skin off a poacher’s back like it was an orange and never break a sweat.”

      “What is that for?” I whispered as I pointed toward the peculiar positioning of Gwyneth’s head that was hanging off the back of the sling.  The crown of her skull was pointed toward the floor.  Some sort of fiendish metal device had been inserted in her mouth forcing it wide open.  Saliva flowed down her face.  Hooks inserted in her nostrils and secured to the flooring prevented her from raising her head.   The top of her skull rested above a small laundry tub.

      “That’s one of my family’s oldest traditions.  While a girl is losing her virginity, the other members of the deflowering party piss in her open mouth,” said Harry.  “As her husband, you get to go first.  I will piss on her when you run dry.”

     My first thought was that Gwyneth would never forgive me.  Upon returning from New York she would tell her father what had transpired and he would have me killed. 

      “A girl’s first time should be painful and nasty; else she forget all about it,” said Lord Cranmere joining our conversation.  “They brand their young bitches in Wales.  The feel of a red hot iron on their ass makes for a memory that can’t be forgotten.”

      It was at that point, all eyes turned toward the naked man who had just entered the room.  Rodney Strong was certainly worthy of the attention he drew.  Possessed of a magnificent physique, tall and blonde with piercing blue eyes, he had the largest cock I had ever witnessed.   I wondered whether after taking Gwyneth’s virginity he would oblige the groom with a bit of sodomy. 

     “Time to get on with it, Mr. Chapman,” said Cora Stapleton positioning me and my cock inches from Gwyneth’s open mouth.  Behind me, waiters were passing out glasses of champagne.

      Rodney’s cock was being noisily sucked by Jenny Stapleton to bring it to full extension.  His long powerful arms took hold of two leather straps attached to the swing.  He twisted the leather around his palms to provide leverage. Jerry placed his cock head at Gwyneth’s entrance.  Rodney moved forward slightly to bring the massive tool into contact with her hymen.  A nod to Lord Walshingham signaled his readiness.

      “Piss on your bride, Percy Chapman,” ordered Cora taking hold of my manhood to aim.

     It took only a second for me to summon the will.  My flow began weak then strengthened.  Cora proved adept at finding the target.  A golden stream of Chapman urine landed in her mouth.   The motion of her throat indicated that much of what passed through those beautiful lips was transferred to her belly.

      “Go to, Rodney,” bellowed Lord Walshingham.

      The muscles holding the straps contracted as he first back off an inch then propelled himself violently forward. There was a moment’s hesitation as his cock head encountered her membrane, slowed to stretch the flesh, then passed on in a flash once the tissue split.  Gwyneth’s beautiful violent eyes opened wide and she made to scream but the mouth brace prevented it.

      Rodney’s cock reached deep into her causing her belly to round.  As my flow reduced, Harry added his.  Behind us the guests were riding their Lady Hamilton as if they were in some mad race to the finish.

      Using a combination of arm and leg strength, Rodney savaged Gwyneth with considerable force.  The next day, she recounted to me how it felt as if someone was pushing a piece of firewood into her vagina. 

     Cries from the crowd encouraged Rodney to increase his pace.  It was only a matter of moments before he sounded a cry of success.

      “Too bad, Percy, I imagine your and Gwyneth’s first born will be Rodney’s bastard,” said Harry.  “He has an enviable record of impregnating other men’s brides.

      I ignored Harry’s hurtful remark.  Rodney was as fine a physical specimen as existed on the planet.  Calling his progeny son would not be a problem.  I lack the fussiness of members of my class when it comes to bloodlines.

     Rodney withdrew his bloody cock for all to see.  The Stapleton twins quickly freed Gwyneth from her restraints and offered her a tumbler of brandy to revive her spirits.

     My bride was a bit wobbly as she walked to me. 

     “At least you can be my second,” said Gwyneth taking my cock in her hand and guiding me to a nearby sofa. 

     We kissed.  I could smell and taste the urine.   It intoxicated my senses as I took position between her legs.  With Gwyneth’s help, my manhood located her entrance and plunged inward.  Anticipation had fueled my appetite.  It was not long before I added my seed to Rodney’s.  As I rolled off on to the carpet, Harry took my place.  I was surprised Gwyneth did not protest.  Her arms and legs wrapped around his torso pulling him deep within her.  A low moan escaped her lips as his manhood descended into her love tunnel.

     An orgy worthy of the days of Caligula or Nero took place that night at Ashcroft Hall.  It was indiscriminate coupling at its most extreme.  My English hosts showed their skill at multiple penetrations violating all three of my wife’s orifices simultaneously.  I found myself unmindful of the gender of my partners.  I recall accommodating Lord Cranmere’s cock in my ass while I sucked Sir Oswald’s dick.   Lady Guinness prowled the room orally administering to cocks stained from rectal penetration. 

     Exhaustion ended the affair sometime near dawn.  Coated in dried and drying fluids I struggled upstairs to my bed and collapsed.