Jane was beautiful. Not just attractive in the plebeian sense, but a noble beauty. She stood five feet-four inches, with golden hair and striking blue eyes. Her symmetrical face possessed the angles of a classic, from her high cheekbones and small, well shaped nose, to her full lips. Her body was shapely, well contoured to her frame. Her breasts were on the small side, but suited her body perfectly. Suitors had called on her in droves from the time she had reached the age of marriage.
Her father had arranged a marriage to the son of a wealthy land owner nearby. It included a substantial dowry, including a large parcel of land. The union would have elevated the entire family.
Jane had flatly refused.
Arguments broke out in earnest until she had beaten her father into submission. She would choose her own husband. Nothing would alter this fact.
Jane wanted the wealth of a nobleman. She thought she had found this in Robert. She had met him at a dance. He was a Viscount of a very wealthy house. He had told her stories of his life in Sutton House. The fine food and drink, the servants, the utter opulence of all in the great stone mansion. She took him at his word, a mistake she had been paying for, for the last four years.
To add insult to injury, Jane was barren. She would have no son to stake a claim to the Cross fortune. Robert regarded her as broken goods, despite her beauty.
Jane could bare this life no longer. She vowed to herself she would find the life she had always dreamed of–regardless of the cost. She had heard Robert, in one of his drunken tirades, speak of a masquerade ball unlike no other. There, nobles and men of means purchased women to be their brides.
He spoke of the “Parade", an intimate and sadistic exploitation of the women available for purchase. The touching. The probing with fingers and objects. The abuse of a girl's body, as she stood bound.
“This is where I will find my new husband,” Jane thought to herself.
Jane cared not what she would undergo at the hands of many men. To her it was a means to an end. She would do anything asked of her and submit to any cruelty the men wished. She knew in her heart, at the end, she would find a husband, and his wealth.
From Robert she had pried the date, place and time of the parade. It was only a few days from now. She planned carefully how she would add herself to the other women to be purchased.
Nothing would stop her now.
**********
Lord Edward Cross passed the days until the parade with monotonous, mundane tasks. He worked, he whored, he read. Day after day this cycle of the ordinary repeated.
On the eleventh day of June, Edward rose spry and full of vigor. He had not visited the brothels in the prior three days, preferring to hold his essence for this evenings festivities.
He had given Nigel strict instructions on his evening apparel. It would be a black suit coat and pants. The pants with the least buttons. He would enhance this with a wide, black ascot, slim silver stripes angled across it. A loose linen shirt, white, and black shoes, polished to a mirror finish. Gold cufflinks, stick pin and pocket watch rounded out his wardrobe. He would also wear his signet ring. This was a must.
Men of Lord Edwards wealth seldom dealt with coin or note. A piece of paper, terms written upon it, was all that would be required. A wax impression of the Lord's signet ring and his signature turned this mere paper into currency as sound as the British pound sterling. A man could take this to any bank and receive payment, without question. This was the method large sums of money changed hands among the elite.
**********
It was ten after the noon when Lord Edward Cross, third Earl of Sutton, entered the comfortable interior of his carriage. A bottle of fine brandy would help him pass the journey. His man servant, Nigel, who he trusted implicitly, was at the reins, perched high above the carriage roof, on a flat wooden bench seat. It was from here he would navigate the cobbles and dirt to Windsor Mansion, a good hour and a half away.
Edward had settled into the plush bench of the carriage, placing his feet up on the silver plated foot rail, a gold rimmed snifter of brandy in his hand, the lamps dimmed.
Nigel cracked the short whip and the midnight black stallion pulled the carriage into motion. Edward envisioned what awaited him at the end of his journey. His heart began to beat to a faster tempo.
**********
Jane had made her way from the place that had been home for the last four years. She was dressed all in black. She wore a black corset, bodice showing from her sleek, black gown. These clothes were for another life. She had never worn them since her marriage to Robert.
Jane had left Robert a letter, penned in her own hand. After discarding all the detail it gave Robert two demands: he would divorce her immediately, posting the papers within the next three days, and he would never attempt to seek her out. Never. Should he acquiesce to her demands, she would never speak ill of him. If he decided he would not divorce her, she would tell all stories of perversions with the animals, during his many drunken stupors, and she would be believed.
She would tell their friends, few in number. She would tell the Magistrate, her tears flowing. She would even write his brother, Lord Edward. He would be tried, humiliated and jailed. He could never remain in the county after this. He would lose everything he had, as meager as it was. Everywhere he attempted to start a new life, the name, “bestial pervert” would find him. Jane was sure Robert would do as she had told him. He knew to a certainty her threats would not be empty ones.
With the few coins she was able to gather, she acquired a conveyance to Windsor Mansion. She had the driver leave her at the entrance to the lane leading to the mansion. It was lined with drooping willows on each side, creating the effect of a tunnel through the trees.
She began her walk down the long, dark lane.
**********
She had no way to know that, on the grounds of the Mansion, her brother, George, herded women from pen to stage, binding them to the dozen posts and racks secured to the boards of this raised platform. He had worked as a handler here for the past three years. For his work, and discretion, he received one hundred pounds sterling. A small fortune to him. He did as he was directed and never told a living soul what transpired here. He knew it would cost him more than the hundred quid. It would cost him his life.
**********
Jane worked her way down the long lane to Windsor Maison. She kept to the trees, not wanting to be discovered even before she entered the grounds. The lamps of a carriage broke the night as it entered the lane. Jane scrambled to the cover of the trees.
Lord Edwards' carriage had just made its way onto the willow bracketed lane to Windsor Mansion when he saw movement. Something had dashed from the far shoulders of the lane, deep into the trees.
A fox, he thought. Snifter in hand, he thought nothing more of it.
Jane peered from the trees as the carriage passed. She could not make out the occupant of the carriage's interior, as the lamps had been dimmed, but by its style and accouterments, and with its impeccably dressed driver, she knew this was a conveyance reserved for nobles. After it had passed, she continued her way to the mansion's grounds.
**********
Edwards' carriage entered through the open gates of the mansion were two men, dressed in black, stood as sentinels on each side. His carriage did not pull up and stop in front of the grand doors, rather, it bypassed the mansion entirely, stopping on a flagstone pad at its rear. From his vantage point he could see the large, raised platform, lined with it were poles and racks.
Great iron torches blazed everywhere as men herded nude women from pen to stage. It was Medieval.
**********
Jane watched as the carriage drove through the open gates unaccosted. She would not be granted the same courtesy. She weaved her way through the groves bordering the mansion's grounds. She saw herself at a break in the hedge groves, stripped naked and slipped onto the grounds themselves. Great torches illuminated a large number of men at the foot of a raised platform.
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On this platform, bound to any number of sinister devices, were women. They were completely naked, with the exception of a mask covering their forehead, eyes, the bridge of their nose and ending after covering most of their cheeks.
Men strode the stage, touching and probing with fingers the girls tied in submission. She heard both low moans and sharp, quiet gasps from the girls bound there. A cold shiver ran through her naked body.
“I can do this," she thought to herself.
She kept her mind on the prize she would gain after the ordeal ended. She realized she needed one of the masks, but how to find one?
**********
The Earl of Sutton was led from his carriage by two naked and masked girls, to a small group of men, sipping champagne. The Duke of Windsor's profile, illuminated from the side by a black iron torch, was unmistakable.
“Edward," came the greeting from the Duke.
“Thomas," Edward replied in the same formal tone.
The men shook hands. Most formalities were dropped at this event, but respect could never be.
“A beautiful cavalcade you have arranged," said Edward to his host. “The masks are most intricate,"
“A most appealing bevy," returned the Duke. “All free women from all corners of the realm, wanting to elevate their station and are most willing to use their bodies to this end."
A shark-like smile appeared on the Duke's face. He had hired the best mask makers in France to fill his unique order. They had delivered a superior product.
The masks were black, some matte, some gloss, some both. Intricate pattern of gold and silver leaf emblazoned each, creating a unique form for each mask. No two were the same.
Edward found a flute of champagne in his hand while his eyes had been taking in all the wonders of the Parade.
“To our fifty-seventh 'Parade of Masks'," the Duke said, flute raised. “Let it be the most pleasurable yet."
A round of “here, here!" and sounds of glass being struck filled the air.
**********
Somehow, by slipping through the shadows Jane found herself in the strangest of places. Here, an outbuilding stood, side door open. She could hear sounds of all types emanating from its interior. Cries of pain and pleasure, and there, piled neatly on top of one another, were perhaps a dozen black masks.
She knew not why they stood where they did, she simply helped herself to the topmost one and bound it to her face. It fit as if made for her. She made her way in stealth to the pens where the woman were being held. However, before she had made it a dozen paces, a man seemed to appear magically from the shadows between torches.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
It was her step brother, George. Jane could hardly believe her eyes. She was astonished to find a relative by marriage at this event. She tried to hide her surprise and pretend she did not know him. She knew if she were to marry by sunrise, she would have to uphold this facade, no matter the cost.
Grabbing her upper arm roughly he pulled her toward the pen.
“You were to remain as you were," George hissed. “What part of this was in any way unclear?"
**********
They reached the pen, an area of grass surrounded by ominous, black iron torches, between them rails.
George swung open the door and tossed his captive inside. He came close, staring at her face.
“Am I discovered?” Jane thought.
She had not been. In the flickering light, her brother etched the defining features of her mask into his mind.
“You will see me again," he told her, leering.
**********
On the platform droves of men surrounded the girls bound there. A wealthy merchant had taken a liking to one of them.
The girl was bound by wrist and ankle to a post, arms and legs spread wide. A wheel placed on it allowed a person to increase, or decrease, the distance between the two fixed bindings. A vertical rack, of sorts.
The girl was, as all, naked except for her mask. On inspection it could be seen she was of swarthy completion, comely, with large, firm breasts and deep brown saucer eyes. She looked at the merchant, eyes pleading. He was drunk and cared not for her comfort. He took the wheel in hand and turned.
The girl screamed as she was pulled to the point of breaking, arms threatening to leave their sockets, bindings cutting deep into her wrists and ankles.
“Mercy, Sir, mercy. I beg of you," she spoke to him, head forced back, neck pulled taunt. The merchant and his cronies burst into laugher.
“Here girl, feel my mercy," He told her, venom in his voice. He ran his hand down her stretched body. So firm, he thought. Hands cupped her breasts, squeezing hard. The girl let out a short scream of pain, then fell silent. One of the man's hands slid down her body, over her belly and onto her cunt lips. He found them wet. Grinning widely he gathered she drew pleasure from pain.
He would pleasure her now.
He thrust three fingers into the wet darkness of her vagina. She moaned with the pleasure and screamed with the pain. The man's member was alert and erect, seeking to exit its fabric cage. The man stepped to the girl's side. Another finger passed her anus and entered her rectum without warning or gentle touch.
Again she screamed, this time, no moan escaped her. The merchant began to finger fuck her cunt and anus rapidly, his thick cock now free of its cover.
The girl had little range of motion, pulled tight on the De Sade device. With will, she relaxed the holes that were being so roughly penetrated. The merchant felt this, along with the flow of her fluids, and finger fucked her that much harder. The girl had come to a place in her mind where only pleasure existed. She began to moan softly and repeatedly with each plunge of the man's fingers.
The merchant felt her wetness as it became a torrent. In short order his fingers, hands and forearm were covered in the girls ejaculant, her sweet, sweet, honeydew. Withdrawing his fingers, he dropped to his knees, mouth suckling her cunt, drinking down every drop of her elixir he was able.
“Loose her," he bellowed. A companion did so. As the tension on her body lessened, he was able to press her thighs open wider.
His tongue began its assault.
The merchant had the girls cunt lips open far, his tongue lashing the small bud he found inside. The girl showed her appreciation through low, sultry moans and another discharge of sweet honeydew.
The man gorged himself on the sweet liquid flow, fresh cum, sweet, slick and warm. His tongue divided its efforts between her sweet budding clitoris and her interior. His tongue fucked her as his fingers had. He drove his forefinger past her anus and deep into her rectum.
There was no scream this time, only a loud moan.
His swollen member, hot in the night's air could take no more.
“You," he bellowed to one of the handlers on the stage.
"Release her ankle shackles, now!” his breathing was rough and unmeasured. Lust cast its haze over him.
The handler obeyed, releasing the girl's tiny ankles from their iron bindings. As soon as they had been freed, the man pushed the handler aside. A compatriot produced a silver coin, one pound sterling, and pressed it into the handlers palm. No words were exchanged.
The merchant spun the girl around, wrist still bound to the pole. Kicking her legs open wide, he entered her as a sailor entered a cabin boy. His thick, taunt cock spread open her anus with force and drove itself deep inside her rectum. Even here she was moist. His hips pushed and pulled like a locomotive wheel, in and out to a distinct rhythm. His hands cupped her tits, thumbs rubbing the hard, erect nipples they found there.
“Yes, My Lord. Do what you will with me. I am yours," the girl exclaimed.
The man fucked her faster and faster, she moaned with each thrust, her anus growing wetter with each passing moment. The man's entire body quivered as he spew his thick, milky seed inside her. She gasped and pushed back against the man's hips so as not to lose a drop of his hot, viscous cum. Her back was arched to its break
ing point, her moans like cannon shots.
The merchant removed himself from her. He could see his heavy, white cum accumulate on her anus, then run down the inner portion of her legs to the ground. The handler had not moved far from the man. He handed the man a moist cloth to clean himself.
“The price?” he asked the handler after replacing his cock into its cloth pouch.
The handler looked to the girls mask. A series of small circle, squares and triangles, oblivious to anyone who did not know what to look for signaled her price. A gold circle represented a hundred pounds, a silver circle a single pound, squares, shillings and triangles, pence. Each were laid out in rows of ten.
“Three-hundred and twenty pounds sterling, even," The handler informed him.
The merchant fumbled with his suit coat until a fat wallet appeared. He counted out three, one-hundred pound notes, then two tens.
“Here," he said, shoving them into the handler's hands.
“No Sir," The handler told him immediately, refusing to hold the notes. “There," he pointed to a large man, sitting behind a desk, two similarly large men on each side. “He is the man who handles all transactions. Once you have paid in full, he will present you with a sheath of paper. This I take and you are given possession of the girl," he explained.
“A most cumbersome method," The merchant replied, already moving toward the paymaster.
Edward had watched the entire interaction between the merchant and the girl intently. He was hard and full in his pants. None of the girls currently splayed out for inspection had peaked his interest. He was looking for a very particular type of girl. Slender with gold hair and blue eyes.
Just like Jane. He was beyond infatuation.
**********
Once a girl had sold, she was unbound and taken from the stage to an area near an outbuilding. Here, they could be married. It was not until a marriage was consummated did the mask come off. A rule the Duke enforced most vigilantly. There were no exceptions.
Entire SMUT CATALOG: Volume 1 Page 11