It was towards the end of Queen Victoria’s time. We were in my club, having a round of cards as one does. I am a very conservative gambler generally but the cards were falling my way that evening. I always set myself a limit but for once I was winning. One hundred pounds I had wagered and after some wins I now had some ten thousand pounds in chips before me.
Lord H to my right was the greater loser but Harry Marchbanks and Tom Clancy had also lost quite heavily. Their losses and my gains continued until Lord H asked, “Will you take my marker?”
“Afraid not sir, club rules.” I demurred fearing my hand was weak.
“Take me daughter then,” he suggested, “What’s she worth?”
“Which one?” I asked, “The pretty one?”
“Damn you she’s but sixteen, no Rose, or Beatrice.” Lord H suggested.
“Ten thousand for either!” I agreed and I added “All in!” and I pushed my remaining chips in.
“Capital!" he cried, but his elation turned to despair. We turned the cards. He had mistaken a five for a seven. I won.
“Collect her at your convenience tomorrow old chap!” I laughed.
I went round the next day, clearly I had no intention of taking his daughter, some lesser sum would be agreed and honour would be satisfied.
The daughters were present, the voluptuous Rose, darling of every soiree, and the studious Beatrice.
“So which shall you choose?” Lord H asked. I sensed the trap. He wished to marry off the wench without a dowry.
“Either,” I said, “I just need a whore for my needs.”
Rose looked shocked to her core. Beatrice held me in an icy stare.
“Which one will it be?” I asked.
“I shall if Rose will not.” Beatrice announced.
“You? Be my whore? Are you sure?” I asked.
“Indeed, the offer is made, refuse it and the wager is void,” she insisted icily.
“I need a whore mind you, not consort or mistress?” I queried.
“Indeed,” she replied, “That is understood.”
“Then disrobe and let us seal the bargain!” I insisted, taunting her.
“What here?” she queried.
“Indeed, that is if you agree?” I suggested, “I believe the sum of ten thousand pounds was the forfeit?”
“Then so be it,” she declared.
Now one accustomed to whores divesting themselves of clothing, or actresses stripping in a back street revue might well have died of boredom as the lady Beatrice hurriedly and ineffectively stripped off as many layers of clothing as a cabbage has leaves.
Eroticism it was not. I almost felt sorry for the wench, indeed my member lost interest before she was half bare. I near sat down for a cigar and to read the newspaper it was such tedium.
Finally she was down to her corsets and underskirt, “Leave the corsets on!” I ordered.
“You said bared and bared I shall be!” she insisted and she loosed the corsets and stood in just her underskirt. “Your turn!” she announced, “Do your worst sir!”
“And the underskirt,” I insisted.
She lowered her petticoat. Her woman’s parts were exquisite.her . Her breasts acceptable, her thighs shapely, The finest of down adorned her pleasantly flat stomach. Bared she had an elegance that robed was entirely lacking. A confidence befitting a whore. But her thin lipped face and cold eyes let the illusion down. The way she fixed me with her gaze was intimidating.
“On the table my dear let us settle the matter forthwith,” I ordered.
“Papa do something,” Rose the elder and voluptuous more desirable sister cried.
“I cannot dearest, I do not have the funds,” Lord H admitted.
I slipped my hand made tweed trews down to my pigskin brogues, and my Indian silk under shorts and my member sprang free. Free and proud. A member known to cause hardened whores to gasp, except today he was distinctly indifferent to the fare offered.
No matter, even at three parts hard he was man enough for any woman, “On the table edge clear a space!” I ordered. Only then did I notice Lady H had fainted and slumped across the table. “Attend to my Lady!” I ordered, “Don’t stand on ceremony.”
I thew off my jacket and shirt and kicked off my trews as Parker, Lord H’s butler. deftly slapped Lady H across both cheeks. This revived her, so I returned to the fray.
Beatrice sat awkwardly upon the huge oaken table. She shivered though it was quite warm. Shivered with fear no doubt.
I advanced member in hand, and went to mount her dressed in naught but my undershirt.
I gently placed my hands between her knees and eased her thighs apart. Her parts were strangely devoid of hair, shaven almost. It should have provided a warning, but I was to intent upon my goal.
Her eyes were wide and her teats hard, she was excited in her way. I felt her woman’s parts. I explored with a finger tip.
“No!” Lady H cried. “For pities sake!”
Beatrice shook again, “Yes?” I queried.
She nodded.
I aimed my member at her softness and thrust.
He slid in readily. She smiled. She had bamboozed me. She had lost her honour elsewhere!
“Bitch!” I whispered.
“Grrrr,” she whispered back, “Oooh it hurts!” she complained theatrically.
But notwithstanding riding her was quite delightful, and an opportunity to prove my reputation as an expert cocksman to a new audience.
“Quite delightful my Lady, you are to be complimented on your bloodline,” I exclaimed.
“Really!” Lady H snapped and she stormed from the room. Parker followed obsequiously.
“Hold me,” I ordered and as she held me I grasped her breasts. I squeezed her teats. She squealed. I silenced her with a kiss on her mouth and then I held her close as I expelled my seed deep within her womb. I knew instantly she was to be with my child. The realisation shocked me.
“The deed is done,” I stated. “I thank you my Lord, very pleasant, you may dress again my dear, rejoin your sister.”
“Oh no you don’t you strumpet!” Lord H cried, “You won her man, Now it is for you to clothe and house her!”
“Indeed, in that case you can earn your keep at Maison L’Oiseaux!” I suggested quoting Lord H’s favoured whore house.
I picked up my jacket, “Put this around yourself to hide your nakedness. I would not wish to purloin any clothing your father purchased!”
I led her outside barefoot and jacket less. She was laughing.
“What exactly is so funny!” I demanded.
“I am free at last!” she squealed delightedly. “Free!” she exposed her naked breasts to the evening air.
“You may be free, I am sadly lumbered!” I retorted.
“Take me to the whore house,” she said. “I shall relish all those delicious appendages!”
“Indeed?” I queried. “In your mouth and up your backside three at once?”
“Oh, surely not!” she bridled, “You jest surely?”
“Indeed not, the life of a whore is full of indignity,” I explained, “As you will soon discover.”
The road was rough, I swept her up into my arms and carried her. “Who took your honour, your father I’ll wager, or a servant?”
“I did, with a candle.” she said awkwardly. “You were my first man.”
“Oh,” I queried, “I thought you accepted me rather readily for one unused to coitus?”
“It was a very large candle,” she said and laughed delightedly, and she whispered, “And my friend Cassie’s fist!”
“You’re a follower of lesbos?” I queried.
“Indeed,” she agreed, “Do I shock you?”
“Indeed not, there is little more beautiful than two divine creatures pleasing each other.”
“Am I a divine creature sir?” she teased.
I looked at her. My plan to take her to Maison L’Oiseaux was now in tatters. My intent to take her in na back alley among the rubbish like she was a base street whore paled and all I could think of was her and her lover in my bed with myself choosing which to plough first.
“I will make you a bargain!” I promised. I hailed a passing hansom cab.
“No whores in here sir,” the cabbie shouted as his horse fretted.
“Ten shillings,” I offered, “Manchester road number 12.”
“Shall I go round over the cobbles sir, some gents like that.” he suggested.
“Quick as you can man,” I ordered, “Quick as you can.”
The old horse trotted slothfully towards my humble abode, “Mrs Bridges a robe if you please!” I ordered my housekeeper as I threw the door wide.
“What scrapes you been in now master?” she queried, “Got a whore have you?”
“She likes women Mrs Bridges,” I explained, “Play your cards right and she may consent to fist you or suck your pendulous teats for some strawberry cheesecake.”
“Won her at cards I’ll wager?” Mrs Bridges complained as she produced a dressing gown.
“Yes and I think it would have been better to have lost to be honest,” I confessed.
Mrs Bridges fussed around Beatrice like a mother hen, “Carry her in sir,” she ordered. “She hasn’t got no shoes on.”
I carried her indoors, rather too much like carrying her over the threshold for my liking and left Mrs Bridges to find her a room.
I read for a while and then went to find them.
Mrs Bridges had wasted no time. My Beatrice was on my bed with her fist deep in Mrs Bridges pelvis and Mrs Bridges left teat in her mouth.
“Damn you!” I swore. My member reared. I stripped off my clothing entirely.
“Ohh master you member is so hard!” Mrs Bridges cooed but it was my Beatrice I was hard for.
She was bending over Mrs Bridges with her buttocks raised, her woman’s parts displayed like a split peach and I covered her like a stallion and a mare and rammed my meat deep inside her womb.
“Oooh sir she near bit me titty off!” Mrs Bridges cried as I pounded my member between Beatrice’s moist pink pussy lips. She never said a word, she just worked away pleasuring Mrs Bridges with her fist and mouth as I in my turn pleasured Beatrice with my member.
I kissed Beatrice’s neck, fondled her teats held her tenderly and gently but firmly pumped her womb full of my creamy seed.
She gasped and writhed with pleasure. Mrs Bridges squealed with delight and I sighed with relief and we all subsided into a warm pink heap upon the bed.
“I said find her a room,” I reminded Mrs Bridges.
She thought a moment, “I knew you’ll be wanting to mount her so it just saves a bit of washing if she sleeps here.”
“Supper if you please Mrs Bridges,” I requested, and I turned to Beatrice, “And you, what a wanton strumpet. I have seldom seen anything the like of it!”
“She’s nice,” Beatrice said, “I like her.”
“Oh, really?” I queried.
“But I think I prefer your member,” she said and she kissed me.
“Oh well, I rather enjoyed exploring your parts,” I confessed.
“Mama says when a gentleman takes a girls honour then he is honour bound to make her an offer,” she said quite unexpectedly.
“I did not take your honour. I have merely sampled you twice, at great expense,” I pointed out. She lay on the bed and stretched like a cat. Her eyes were bright now. Her lips red with excitement. Her cheeks flushed.
“There must be some clothes around somewhere, I trust you have some skills with needle and thread?” I suggested, “Not that I do not find you attractive bared, but for the street perhaps.”
“An offer?” she prompted, “Or no more sampling my womb.”
“I’ll make you an offer,” I retorted, “Spread you legs for me now or its the whorehouse for you my girl.”
“Oh husband you say the sweetest things,” she said and she did indeed spread her legs wide. She then spread her lips apart. Wide apart so I could see down inside her womb. “Just two little words and I am all yours for ever.”
“Good god woman I am a gambler and womaniser, for heavens sake. I bedded Mrs Bridges not a week ago,” I railed. “You cannot want me surely?”
“Well no one else will want me now I am ruined will they?” she suggested. “So make me an offer.”
“So it’s the whorehouse for you then,” I opined. “Though on reflection perhaps your request has merit. Why you will be too busy seducing ladies to cuckold me or bear another man’s child.”
“Is that an offer?” she asked.
I thought for a long moment. Her eyes were bright with anticipation. Her cheeks flushed. She was actually rather comely when she smiled. I liked putting a smile on her face. She pleased me.
“No, I am not ready to settle down just yet,” I replied.
“But think of my social station. My father is a lord, that must hold you in good stead?” she pointed out.
“Yes damn it, why not.” I responded, “I’ll put a ring on your finger and a child in your belly if that is your desire.”
“Say it,” she insisted.
“Beatrice, will you marry me?” I asked.
“Of course I will!” she said delightedly and she hugged me to her and kissed me, “Now take me to heaven again.”
I held her close, “Are you sure?” I asked.
“Of course I’m sure,” she said, “Now mount me. I wish to go to heaven again.”
And she was a very good wife indeed, she even shared her best friend Cassie, The Honourable Cassandra Dixon-Green with me. Indeed in the strict pursuit of economy we three shared a bed on many a cold winters night. But that is another story.
As for Lord H his losing streak continued and eventually he not only wagered his other daughters honour but also his wife. But that too is another story.