MC

     I first saw her during my morning walk; it was along the

path to Nettlebed.  There was light rain, as there so often is in

June, and the poor young woman, who looked as if she had slept

under a hedge, was damp through.  I tipped my hat, as she stepped

aside to let me pass.

     "Good morning to you, Sir," she said, boldly.  Our eyes met,

and I paused in my progress.  Her hair was straggly and her face

was dirty, but under it all she was a comely lass -- thin, even

malnourished looking, but there was something attractive to me.

There was something about the lilt of her voice; she was not a

local girl.

     "Good morning to you, Miss.  Are you going far?"  I said,

foolishly.

     "As far as need be, Sir, even to London."  I knew in an

instant her circumstance.  The war between the American states

was choking off the supply of cotton.  Tens of thousands of

spinners and weavers, throughout the North, were unemployed.

Some had family to help.  Some went to the poorhouse or sank to

prostitution.  Others, of necessity, took to the road in search

of work.

     "You are looking for work."

     "Yes, Sir."

     "I cannot offer you employment, but as a Christian, I will

at least offer you breakfast and a warm fire, to ease your

journey."

     "I would be most grateful, Sir," she replied, and it seemed

to me she emphasized "most."

     "Come along, then.  It's not far.  My name is James Fairfax,

Major Fairfax."

     "I'm most grateful to you, Major Fairfax, Sir.  My name is

Marie-Cecile Stewart."

     I am not a handsome man.  My face is scarred, my nose

broken, my hair graying, and my speech is somewhat impaired, so I

am not attractive to women.  I was wounded out in India, and I

sold out of the army in '57.  Nor am I a wealthy man.  I have an

income, a few pounds annually, which would pay the rent for my

little cottage and pay Mrs. Trumble, my housekeeper, who came

with the cottage.  I keep no horse.  I dress plainly, and

whatever money is left over I generally squander on books and

newspapers.  White Ladies Bottom is a small village, and I seldom

attend the local church.  Everything considered, it may be the

only female I have occasion to speak to, for weeks on end, is

Mrs. Trumble.  You will understand, therefore, that I was

intrigued by this strange young woman who disturbed the routine

of my retirement.

     My home is on the edge of the village, the first cottage one

comes to, coming down the Nettlebed footpath.  Marie-Cecile

followed me through the low front door.  "Back so soon, Major

Fairfax?" said Mrs. Trumble.

     "Yes, I have brought a guest.  Mrs. Trumble, this is Mary."

     "Marie-cecile, Sir," she corrected me.  "It's all one name."

     "Umph," I said, momentarily at a loss.  "At any rate, Mrs.

Trumble, I should be obliged if you would feed this young person

some breakfast and let her warm herself by the fire.  Not just

porridge, Mrs. Trumble, a real, nourishing breakfast."

     Mrs. Trumble said, "Yes, Sir," and led the young woman into

the kitchen.  I retired to the front room, sat by the fire, and

tried to resume reading a novel, but I could not, for some

reason, concentrate on it.  I kept thinking of that young woman

in my kitchen.  I had never married.  I had, of course, in India,

a concubine.  The Hindoos have a real appreciation for the sins

of the flesh; some of the low-caste women are shameless.  Back in

England, all these years, now, I had been deprived of female

companionship.  The social gulf between myself and the farmers of

White Ladies Bottom is unbridgeable, and I seldom get into the

city.  Even had I found a suitable wife, I felt I could not

afford to keep her in the proper style.  I confess, thinking

about the young woman had aroused sexual yearnings that I had

tried hard to suppress.

     It was almost midday, and I had read but a hundred pages,

when Mrs. Trumble announced that the young lady was ready to

depart.  "Leave us, a moment," I said, as she ushered the woman

into the room.  Marie-cecile had greatly improved in her

appearance.  Her face was clean, her hair combed and pinned up.

I had meant to give her a shilling and send her on her way, but I

could not bring myself to give up looking at her.  For all that

she was fully mature, her thinness and frailty gave her a

childlike appearance.  Her small breasts, hardly filling the

bodice of her simple dress, would not have been out of place on a

girl of sixteen who had not yet begun her menses, which, as I

understand, is usually at seventeen or eighteen, in these parts.

     I've no idea how long I stared, but at last I said, "Won't

you sit down, Marie-cecile?"  She sat, gracefully, sitting primly

on the edge of the chair.

     "I wish to thank you, Sir, from the bottom of my heart, for

your charity toward a homeless woman.  It may be that you have

saved my life, for I was chilled through when you found me."

     "Umph," I replied.

     The wind had picked up, and it dashed rain against the

window, made the fire flicker in the grate.  Our eyes met, her

blue eyes shamelessly engaging mine.  "Major Fairfax, Sir,

could I ask you, please, if you might employ me as a domestic

servant?  I would work for food.  Mrs. Trumble is getting very

old.  She could use some help."

     I looked out at the atrocious weather.  "Well," I said, "I

can hardly turn you out into the rain.  You may stay until the

weather clears.  But then, I'm afraid you will have to go."

     "Thank you, Sir," she replied.  "I will do anything to

please you."  Anything?, I thought.

     "Mrs. Trumble," I said, "Marie-cecile will be staying until

the weather clears.  She has offered to be useful.  Can you find

her work to do?  I cannot get my tongue around that name.  I

think we shall call her Em-See."

     "Very well, Sir," both replied.

     Well, I had not noticed how Mrs. Trumble had been aging.

With MC around the place, it improved visibly.  The fireplaces

were swept out, the furniture dusted, and my clothes, such as

they were, brushed and pressed, mended and hung neatly.

     Come nightfall, it was still raining.  Mrs. Trumble came

into the front room to clear my supper tray.  The servants, of

course, had eaten in the kitchen.  "Major Fairfax, Sir," she

said, "where is MC to sleep?  Surely, you don't expect me to

share my bed, do you?"

     "Of course not, Mrs. Trumble.  Cannot you fix her a pallet

in the kitchen, where she can be warm, near the fire?"

     "Well, I suppose so," she said.  My humble cottage had only

the two bedrooms, mine and Mrs. Trumble's, and only the two beds.

     It was the middle of the night, when I was awakened by the

sound of my door softly closing.  The rain clouds had blown away,

and moonlight illuminated my room.  MC stood there, wearing one

of my old shirts, which Mrs. Trumble must have given her to sleep

in.  The sight of her, there in the dim light, her hair down, the

shirt tented by her upstanding little breasts, instantly aroused

my lust.  She came and stood, quite close to me, and said, "The

rain has stopped, Sir.  Does that mean that I must leave, come

morning?"

     "Umph.  I suppose . . . "  The thought of driving her away

was depressing.

     "If you keep me, I will serve you well, Major, Sir.  There

are many ways I can serve you."  She lifted the tail of the

shirt, revealing more of her lean, thin legs.

     "You have no references," I said, stupidly.

     "Cannot you judge me by my performance?  Do I not work hard?

As well, I offer you my body, to do with as you will."

     "If you have sold your body, why are you here, in White

Ladies Bottom?"

     "Sir, you misjudge me.  I have never sold my body.  I am not

a prostitute.  I offer myself out of gratitude, and affection,

Sir.  You have been most kind."

     "But, surely, you are not a virgin."

     "No, I have not been a virgin these past ten years, since I

was twelve."

     "Twelve!"  I knew that things like that happened, but they

are not supposed to happen in civilized, Nineteenth-Century

England, a Christian nation.

     "I have two older brothers.  They began to use me when I was

twelve.  No more, of course.  One is in the army, the other at

sea.  No man has used my body since I was sixteen."

     "And now you offer yourself to me."

     "Sir, I feel the time has come, to do this."  She pulled the

shirt up over her head, shamelessly exposing her most private

parts to my gaze, and she turned back the coverlet of my bed.

She climbed in beside me and snuggled close.  "Oh, Major, Sir,

this is nice.  It's nice to be warm."  She reached out and placed

her hand on my erect organ, stroking it through the cloth of my

night shirt.

     I rolled on my side and ran my hand along her naked body.  I

could feel her ribs, and I made a mental note to fatten her up a

bit.  I had not held a woman in my arms since '57, and I was

overcome with lust.  She kissed me, passionately, and I kissed

back, relishing feelings I had not felt for years.  Then she was

pulling my nightshirt up and begging me to use her.

     I made to put her on her back, to service her in the usual

way, but she got up on her hands and knees, throwing back the

bedclothes, and presented her behind to me.  I felt the lips of

her womanly cleft, covered with silky short hairs, and tried to

insinuate my tumescent organ between them, but without much

success.

     "Wrong hole, Sir," she whispered.  She reached back and

guided the tip of my tool toward the anal orifice.  I recoiled.

     "Major Fairfax, Sir, why do you hesitate?"  she said.  "I

put some butter on it, to make it easier for you."

     You must appreciate what a shock this was to me.  Buggery,

sodomy, is a capital crime in the British Army.  I had never

thought of using a woman in such a way.

     "Please, Sir," she said.  "I want to give myself to you.  I

want to please you."

     "Is this how men have used you?  They place their organs

there?"  I fingered the buttered orifice.

     "Isn't that what all men do?  I have known only my brothers,

and one friend of my father's, but I had supposed that husbands

and wives couple so.  I have seen dogs in the street mount a

bitch as my brothers mounted me."

     "MC," I tried to explain, "that is the wrong hole.  Here --"

I fingered her maidenly cleft, "is where I should plant my seed."

She was silent for some moments, as I stroked her, as my Hindoo

concubine had taught me, and felt her nether lips respond and

dampen.

     "Mmmm.  That is nice, Sir, but surely, with an organ the

size of yours, you could never put it inside the hole where I

make water.  It is too small."

     "Let me see," I said.  I got out of bed and put a log on the

fire, to take some of the chill off the room.  I lighted a candle

and held it close behind her, as she patiently stayed there on

the bed, with her rump in the air.  With my fingers, I explored

the cleft, expecting to find, perhaps, an unusually tough

maidenhead.  Gently, I parted the inner lips and peered into the

pinkness of her sex.  To my surprise, I found that, in fact, her

womanly sheath was very small.  I could not insinuate a finger,

and when I tried, with more force, MC cried out and begged me not

to hurt her.  To a certainty, this woman was a virgin.

     I put the candle on the bedside table and tried to think,

even as I pressed gently between her legs.  My manly tool raged

tall, lusting to be satisfied, but, clearly, there was nothing

for me to do.  Even if my moral sensibilities had not forbidden

my deflowering an innocent virgin, it was a physical

impossibility for me to sheath my sword in her minute vagina.

And yet, the alternative presented to me was, it seemed, equally

impossible, morally repugnant.

     "Sir," she said softly.  "I am ready, whenever you are." Her

delicate fingers tried to guide my organ toward her anal opening.

May The Almighty forgive me; lust overcame conscience, and I

thrust against her.  After a second's effort, my organ slid into

her warm back channel.  It felt so good!  Shamelessly, I thrust

deep, then partially withdrew, to and fro, revelling in the tight

warmth of her, and the incredible deliciousness as her muscles

gripped my shaft.  Too soon, I expelled my seed into her.

     For a moment, I was overcome with guilt, for I had ravished

a virgin.  And yet, I had not.  And there could be no scandal, no

love child, for, in truth, she was still a virgin!   MC thanked

me for my attentions, thanked me!  I put her on her back and

thanked her as best I could, by performing cunnilingus, another

secret of the mysterious East.

     Needless to say, I did not send MC away.  She stayed on, to

help Mrs. Trumble.  It was so nice to have her around the house,

sometimes singing in that strange north-country accent of hers.

When Mrs. Trumble sickened, MC was an invaluable nurse.  When the

old woman passed on to her reward, in August, MC was promoted to

become the new housekeeper, to be paid the same as Mrs. Trumble

had been.  Of course, as head housekeeper, she is entitled to be

called, "Mrs. Stewart," though she is, in actuality, Miss

Stewart.

     I had not, since that first night, permitted MC in my bed,

though she was willing enough to come, had I asked.  Somehow,

shame, and the fear of discovery, had held my appetites in check.

However, as soon as the watchful Mrs. Trumble was in the

churchyard, Mrs. Stewart and I were overcome by debauchery.

     I have become a confirmed sodomite.  Several times a week,

sometimes even in the middle of the day, since no one can

observe, Mrs. S. will confess to me that she has transgressed.

Perhaps she has spilled the tea, or dropped a book and lost my

place, or failed in the performance of one of her usual duties as

my housekeeper.  Well, of course, she must be punished, which she

implores me to do, that she might be forgiven.

     Somehow, in the context of my duty to discipline her, I can

forget that I commit a mortal sin.  It is always the same; she

has prepared herself by cleansing her bowels and lubricating the

orifice.  She bends over the table, or the arm of my chair, or

the foot of the bed.  I throw her skirts over her head.  The

beautiful globes of her behind are presented to me -- she has

filled out a bit, with careful feeding -- and I spank them, or

even cane her, which excites her terribly.  Inevitably, as the

ultimate punishment, I beat her with my meaty club, burying my

pillar in her forbidden pit, to our mutual relief.

     She dares not sleep in the dead woman's room, so she shares

my bed.  Oft times, late at night, or even in the morning, I will

devote myself to licking her naked body, all over, as if to bathe

her with my saliva.  Her little breasts, still girlish, are a

perfect mouthful, and, when I lave her lower labia with my

tongue, the taste of her juices is heavenly to me.  She tells me

I make her utterly content, and I have never been happier, never

in my lifetime.

     I have, from a physician in London, a mahogany case.  It

contains a graduated set of ebony rods, ranging in diameter from

one eighth inch to an inch and a half.  It is a medical

appliance, specifically manufactured and widely used, I am told,

to treat conditions such as the vaginal inadequacy of Mrs.

Stewart.

     All day, as she works in the kitchen or garden, my

housekeeper carries within her, there, between her legs, one of

the ebony rods, which I personally remove at night and replace in

the morning.  Already, she can contain the seven-eighths inch

diameter rod, and tomorrow, perhaps, I will try to insert the

one-inch rod.  It will not be long before I will be able to

couple with her as God intended.

     The question is: will I want to?  My intellect can

rationalize our unnatural relationship as long as the natural sex

act is impossible.  Would it be fair to Mrs. S. to use her like a

common whore?  Dare I to expose her to the risk of a scandalous

pregnancy?  I think not.  Dare I risk the possibility of her

marrying one of the young lads she encounters when shopping in

the village?  I think not.

     I think that, perhaps, tomorrow, I will "forget" to insert

any ebony rod at all.  May God forgive me.

                                   [END]