Hirst Hall

Chapter 6 – I am cleansed in a most upsetting way

The following morning I awoke as the room slowly warmed from the revived fire.  As soon as I heard the faint sounds of Rose pouring my bath next door I arose and made my way through to my own room.

I was naked as ever, or even more so as I glanced down to note the complete absence of my bush.  I had had hair there for twenty years and its sudden absence was unsettling in the extreme.

Rose’s eyes opened in surprise as I entered and I glanced behind me to see Sir Thomas padding through the door as nude as I.  Rose could not keep her eyes from him and blushed a shade of pink.  I have described my husband as lupine for it seems to suit his rather long-limbed and powerful figure as well as the look of the hunter in his face.  He is more hirsute than any man I have known (and that is of course just my previous husbands).  His dark hair is not just confined to his chest but to his belly, back, shoulders and upper arms. His member swung about quite uncovered, half erect and quite large as it seemed to be every morning.  He made no attempt at decently covering himself.

“Morning Rosie!”  His voice was cheerful and hearty.  She curtseyed to hide her flush and to avert her eyes.

“As you are to keep Lady Caroline as smooth as a little girl down below I wanted to give you a second task. This one is to be performed every morning.”  With this he produced a strange-looking instrument from behind his back resembling nothing so much as a hand-pump of the sort on occasionally sees in houses together with buckets of water and used to fight small fires caused by an upset candle or a leaping spark from a fireplace.

“This is a clyster.  Have you used one before, girl?”

“No, Sir Thomas,” stammered to poor maid.

“Well, it’s easy enough.  I’ll demonstrate.  Bend over the bed, my dear.”

At this point I thought I understood his intention.  He meant to irrigate me down below so as to keep my sex clean.  This was hardly necessary as I have a bath every morning and I told him so.

“Not there, you silly goose.  Now bend over the bed.”  Then it really did dawn on me what he planned.  This was unspeakably vile.

“No, Sir Thomas, you cannot.  I will not allow it.  You are most offensive.”  I wanted to run for the door but was quite naked and would make a strange spectacle running down the passages to goodness knows where.

“Rose, your mistress’ behaviour is going to leave a sore ruin of your arse.  Ask Mrs. Jones to join us and tell her to bring the crop.”

I stood there irresolute as my maid went for the door.  I had no choice: I did not want Rose beaten again, nor did I want the housekeeper to witness this latest appalling indecency.

“No, please don’t.  I will submit.  Do not send for Mrs. Jones.”

Rose hesitated, her hand already on the handle.

“Come back, Rosie.  Her ladyship has decided to be wise after all.   Now over the bed with you, wife.”

Reluctantly I leant myself across the bed, burying my face in my hands so as not to witness what was about to happen.

“Bring that little jar of salve from yesterday, Rosie.  Now, first you fill the clyster like so.” I could hear him over by my nightstand where the ewer of water stood.  “Then dip the tip in the ointment and insert.”

I heard his bare feet behind me, felt his hand parting by bottom and then the tip of the diabolical device was at my bottomhole.

“It will be easier if you ask Lady Caroline to open the way for you.  My dear, please pull your cheeks apart a little way.”

Burying my sobbing face in the bedcovers I reached back with both hands a gently parted myself only to feel the tip of the thing, as thick as a finger sliding into me.  I wailed quite helplessly.

“The clyster holds about one pint and it is best to insert it with one firm, but not too fast, motion.”

With this I felt a great surge of water up into my entrails. It felt horrid and filthy, not to mention cold as the water had been standing there all night.  I was immediately plunged into deep discomfort with an intense need to void myself.  This actually increased as the nozzle was withdrawn.  I had to clench my bottomhole to hold the liquid in.

“Now count to fifty out loud and then you may release it into your pot.”

“Onetwothreefour…”  I had never counted so fast in my life.  I gabbled through the numbers in a blur in my eagerness to evacuate my unnatural and perverse load.

“Fortyeightfortyninefifty.” I scrambled for the chamber pot on this side of the bed and squatting released into it.  The relief was intense and I stayed there gasping for several moments.

“Back over the bed, my dearest.  Now Rosie, one flushing is not likely to do the job satisfactorily.  I recommend three, unless the second one comes out clear.  Caroline, please pull your buttocks apart once more.”

Twice more I sobbed into the covers as I was forced to hold myself open and the refilled machine was implanted in my behind and the water surged deep into my bowels.  The final time it was Rose who performed the task under my husband’s direction. Twice more I had to count to fifty before letting go.  The last time I released the water into the pot from the other side of the bed: it was only slightly discoloured.  Sir Thomas was satisfied and with a pat on my bottom he left me to my bath with a cheerful farewell.

“Well done, beloved, well done!   And Rosie, tell Mrs. Jones you are to be allowed drawers for the moment.  You have earned them.”

I lay in the bath unable to meet Rose’s eyes as she busied about laying out my clothes for the day.  Escape from my torments was now imperative.  I decided to focus on local charitable works until I had bent someone to my purpose sufficiently for a letter to Georgina to be safely delivered.   Under no circumstances was my daughter to come and see me in this state of sin. But how was I to achieve my purpose?

In the event, Sir Thomas made all my feverish planning obsolete as we had breakfast together.  I was ravenous, whether from the coupling of the night before or the morning’s flushing it was impossible to tell.  As I was enjoying a second helping of poached eggs I was astonished to hear him suggest that in mid-April we should have a house party at the Hall to let our friends see us enjoying married life.  He asked if I wouldn’t mind drawing up the guest list, making the arrangements with Mrs. Jones and sending out invitations.  I knew then that I could invite Anne Graves, a close friend from Ludlow, together with Major Graves, and she could deliver letters safely for me.  It meant enduring another six or seven weeks of this debauchery, but this route was safer than trying to find another to trust.  Besides the charitable works method might take nearly as long.  I agreed with a slight show of indifference so as to disguise my purpose.  It was with a lighter heart that I went out for a long and vigorous ride, accompanied as always by young Ralph.

However no amount of vigorous exercise would put off the summons for afternoon tea in the Yellow Salon.  I entered with trepidation to find that Sir Thomas was somewhat delayed from inspecting farmland on the estate that had been damaged in flooding caused by the late winter rains.  I sat there with Mrs. Jones and Rose standing nearby.  I wanted to ask my maid if she now had her drawers but could not say anything before the housekeeper.  In any event Rose still wore her scandalously abbreviated maid’s uniform.  I engaged Mrs. Jones in a discussion on the house party and she agreed that the house could comfortably have a dozen couples to stay and I decided to make up the guest list on that assumption.  Then my husband entered, changed from his riding clothes and full of cheerful apologies.

“I have been thinking of you all day, my dear.  You make even all that mud down at Ford Farm bearable.  We will have to let the tenant there pay half-rent this year; he won’t be able to plough for at least a month.  But the thought of you waiting here kept coming to my mind.”  Something in the teasing way he said it made it clear it was not just conversation he was anticipating.

“Mrs. Jones, Rosie, please dispose your mistress as yesterday.  I did admire that particular view.”

I stood and allowed Rose to undress me while Mrs. Jones placed the cushion in the centre of the sofa and affixed the cords to its corners.  I was shivering and it was not from cold as the room was pleasingly warm. I dreaded what might happen, partly from the humiliation of being so displayed but also the memory of the incredible shame of yesterday as I had been made to climax before my own servants and the sheer intensity of that loss of control.  My maid easing me back onto the sofa brought me out of my reverie.  All too soon my legs were being lifted and spread and I was on show as I had been the previous afternoon.

“How are your drawers, Rosie?”  Sir Thomas was now teasing the girl as she tied off my ankle.

“Nice, Sir, thank you,” she replied humbly.

“Well, you will be happy to hear that today’s lesson for Lady Caroline does not involve any possible forfeit on your part.  So no more stripes for your pretty backside.  I imagine you’ll be grateful for that judging by her ladyship’s inattention in the previous days?”

“Yes, Sir Thomas, I’m very grateful.”

He sat before me as he had yesterday so that his face was just above my exposed mound. I quailed inside, what would he do to me?  At least I had the relief that no misbehaviour on my part could lead to my maid being beaten further.  I was worried though that he was manipulating her so that in future her loyalties would lie with him rather than with me, her mistress.  I resolved to be as kind as I could to her as I needed an ally at Hirst Hall.

Then Sir Thomas did a remarkable trick.  He stuck out his tongue and, pointing it, touched the tip of his nose with the end.  It looked like the sort of manoeuvre a wild animal such as a ferret or stoat might manage.  I have tried since to do it and cannot even reach my nose let alone the end of it. 

“An amusing and unusual talent that runs in my family, my dear!”

Then as I stared at him he reached out with that long tongue and ran the tip of it along the slit in my shaven sex before finishing by planting a little kiss on my bud.  I wailed out loud.  No one had ever kissed me there, ever!  In fact I had not even imagined it might happen.  It was unspeakably rude and indecent.  Proper persons just did not indulge in such depravities.

“No!  Please don’t do that!  Please, Sir Thomas, please stop!”

“Absolutely not.  I believe you are going to taste every bit as good as you look and you look very fine opened up like that.”

I brought my hands up to protect myself and to prevent him, but he simply shook his head and I let them fall again.  I did not wish to be bound further nor did I want him to change his mind about beating Rose.

He leant back in and began planting little kisses up and down my sex but, except for that very first time, he avoided my bud.  The touch was so gentle and so pleasant that I could not help but enjoy the sensation.  His lips were warm and smooth (despite his abundance of hair his face was always clean-shaven).  I tried to think of household things that needed doing so as to resist the insistent little feelings that were beginning to permeate my loins.  For a little while this worked.

Sir Thomas beat these defences with ease: he reached out with his fingers and spread my sex open before using his tongue to explore its inner folds.  I was defeated: the sensations swamped me like a spring tide.  When his long fiendish tongue entered me I cried out in shame and in pleasure.  I felt it wriggling about like a cut worm in my innermost being.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh.”  I was letting my breath out in short gasps as a way of keeping some semblance of control.  If I was to climax again in front of Rose and Mrs. Jones then I wanted it to be with as much dignity as I could muster given my appalling position.

Repeatedly he withdrew his tongue from inside me only to send it questing into every crevice of my now drenched sex except one.  My tormentor steadfastly kept away from my little bud (or not so little as it was now quite swollen).  Then the darting little organ would return to my core and tease me there.  Finally I felt a finger from the hand that was not engaged in spreading me touching my bottomhole.  So indecent, so sensitive and now so liquid from all the saliva and from my own wetness.  He rubbed this hot warmth in little circles on my clenched aperture and all vestige of control was lost like chaff in autumn winds.

“Please, please, please,” I moaned.  There was no use in pretending even to myself that this was anything except a plea for release from the tumult of sensation I was feeling. 

“Please what, my dear?”  The tongue only stopped for the moment it took to say this.  The finger below did not even pause.

“Please!”  I could not say it but knew that if I didn’t the maddening teasing would merely continue.  I wished I could just faint away.  “Please touch my clittie!”

“Touch it, kiss it or suck it, wife?”  Intolerable question, impossible answer.

“Suck it, suck my clittie!”  I cared for nothing except release now.

And suck it he did, taking the entire hot swollen little bud into his mouth and engulfing it.  Tugging it with those gentle lips.  I was completely annihilated; my climax actually shot bright little stars against my firmly closed eyelids.  I know I was squealing joyously and with complete abandon but had no idea what sound I was actually making.

And as the intensity slowly faded I realised he had not stopped.  His lips were still nibbling at my poor bud before moving lower again.  And the finger that had been rubbing my bottomhole was now actually inside it, the tip of the digit was really inside my bottom and still wiggling around.  No! Surely he couldn’t mean to?

“Please stop, please husband,” I begged as sweetly as I could.

“A little while longer my dear, I know you’ll like it!”  With that the terrible tongue went back to its task.

Twice more he made me erupt like some Plinian volcano.  I was beyond caring by then, almost beyond reason.  It seemed to go on like a Bach fugue, repeating and extending itself forever.

And then he finished and released me from my bonds.  I was barely aware of Rose dressing me and I sat slumped in the sofa as a cup was passed to me from the afternoon tea that I had no recollection of having been laid out.  I watched as Sir Thomas dried his face with a napkin, it had glistened with our mingled wetness.

“Well Mrs. Jones, what do you say to that?”  Sir Thomas was addressing the housekeeper’s back as she and Rose were about to leave the room. She turned and I saw the ghost of a smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes.

“Most impressive, Sir Thomas, when I climb a hill I am generally too pleasantly fatigued to immediately ascend another.  I need to rest before a further attempt can be made.  Her ladyship seems to be one of those rare souls who can assault even the steepest of summits, climbing ever taller mountains.  I wonder how high she can go.”

“I am sure that in time we will find out.  Thank you Mrs. Jones.”  And with that we were left alone to our tea, though in truth I was too fatigued to do more than pick at it.  Sir Thomas seemed pleased with me or perhaps it was just satisfaction with the degree to which he had just debased me.