"Oh, it's just a room," said Lady Cynthia airily to the visiting party of schoolgirls, "something the old Duke dreamt up."
She breezed on down the corridor anxious to show the old-fashioned bathroom she was sure would interest and amuse the girls a lot more - a lot more appropriately to her mind. Well, possibly. The enormous bath on its claw feet, the big taps, the black and white chequered tiling and, of course, the rather magnificent 'throne' with its high cistern and chain.
Natalie hung back. A stocky lass with solid thighs and breasts to match. The old Duke would have described her as 'black as the Ace of Spades' - not a phrase much heard these days. He would also have been very appreciative. He liked strong thighs. He liked girls to put up a bit of a fight. Even so, what with old Alfred the butler and Lady Cynthia to subdue the girl, there would not have been too much contest.
Lady Cynthia was rather protective about the old boy, the old Duke and his memory. Her marriage to his eldest son, Lord Molebury, had been a success, not least in the marriage being fruitful as the present young duke was clear evidence; but Lady Cynthia's fondness for the old Duke, her father-in-law had taken an unusual turn. Lord Molebury had not been interested in leather, whips and ropes. Lady Cynthia, on the other hand, was more than interested and it was not long before, dressed in soft black leather and with her hands securely tied, she had felt the firm flesh of the old Duke in many places. Indeed, had been roundly spanked by it -- and several other penises besides in that 'Rumpus Room.'
She had soon discovered it was not just pleasurable to be on the receiving end, have the leather pulled aside and a man or men's penises pushed within whilst she lay panting and helpless, but it was pleasurable to tie men and especially women tightly and undertake very sexual acts often involving strap-on appendages and gags with penis shapes without and within.
Her sex life with her husband was by contrast so normal. A fantasy of chiffon, rose and petticoats. Lord Molebury had revelled in feminine frippery, delighting in his wife wearing the most feminine of underwear, or rather partially wearing it upon the big bed in their room.
How often had she arisen as Lord Molebury fell asleep beside her, him tired after sexual intercourse and slipped out of their door and along the long corridors to the 'Rumpus Room' to exchange her silken nightdress, which Lord Molebury had so revelled in, drawing it up her body, to be replaced by very different garments or leather strapwork. How often had the old duke achieved what her husband seemed to fail to give her -- orgasm. How often had she dripped the warm seed Lord Molebury had placed within her onto the open lips of some servant girl the old boy had found or borrowed from a friend? How often might she have taken a similar draught, perhaps the old duke's or maybe one or several of his many friends directly or via the medium of such a servant girl? Yes, licked from the servant girl's sex where it had been deposited not long before. How often might she have pummelled a girl with a dildo strapped to her pelvis and forced her into orgasm where the old duke or one of his older or even young friends had failed by releasing his semen too early.
Well she remembered pushing open that door, that door to the Duke's special room and been greeted by more than one naked and tumescent man. She, fresh from her husband's bed, to be the helpless plaything of several, perhaps even as many as five aroused and capable men. All those lovely and so hard pintles. She could cope back then. Bound, gagged and roughly used before going late back to her marital bed, dripping with semen and thoroughly satiated, back in the frippery of her silken nightdress.
How she had enjoyed comforting a sweet young thing one afternoon whilst Lord Molebury had been away, telling her all would be fine as she gradually undressed her, putting kisses to her lips and then elsewhere before binding the girl helpless in the way the old Duke so enjoyed. His cock had been so hard, so very firm, at the sight as the sweet young thing was presented to him.
Sometimes she might even be the cause, sort of, of their undoing. She inserting the old Duke's or maybe another man's penis into the girl, perhaps stoppering her cries with another man's cock. Gagging the girl with a cock. What a thing! The old Duke would so have enjoyed that lovely black girl. Stoppering her.
Her memories flowed. That time she had been trussed and spanked by that handsome young man and his sister. That had been most unusual. And then it had been her turn the night after. Two upturned pink bottoms to redden... and more.
Of all this Lord Molebury had not the slightest intimation. Had no idea of his darling wife walking along the corridor from their room on so many nights, her naked feet on the carpets, her nightdress flowing and to knock and enter her father in law's bedchamber and find him with his cock so hard; and for Lord Molebury's so dear wife then to fall to her knees and suck, even as Lord Molebury's spunk ran down her thighs. Or a walk to the Rumpus Room unsure what, or rather who she would find. Just the old Duke or rather more? Maybe a double brace of penises with their men attached.
Natalie watched her friends disappear down the corridor, the sound of the old woman's voice -- Lady Cynthia was it -- fading. She had been fairly bored by the whole outing. Uninterested in old houses and talk of family ancestors and so on. All that nonsense about the family coat of arms and its shield. Heraldry! Why would that old bird have thought anyone was interested in that? What was it she had said -- 'the shield is charged with a argent stag rampant guardant on an azure field with two balls or.' Sounded very like a big prick with golden balls to Natalie. Balls indeed - to her mind! But 'Rumpus Room' -- what was that? It intrigued her and she intended to find out. A mistake of course, but how was she to know that? Her hand clasped the brass knob of the door and turned. It was not locked, a quick push at the door and she slipped between the gap between door and jamb -- she was inside. She heard a chuckle and then she passed out.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?"
Natalie opened her eyes, and found, looking down at her, an aged gentleman and a young woman; the woman looking, perhaps, no definitely and remarkably, like a younger version of that old woman who had been showing her friends and Natalie around the old house, Lady Cynthia wasn't it?
"What lovely skin, don't you agree, so dark and exotic. I shall enjoy..."
Natalie felt it was time to speak but, before she could, she found herself being gagged by the woman, a cloth gag pulled tightly between her lips and being tied around her head. Natalie struggled to her feet, her hand reaching the edge of a table for support but, disorientated and before she could locate the door, her hands were firmly grasped and tied behind her back. The door, the substantial wooden door with the brass knob she had come in by swam into view. It afforded no escape; with hands now secured behind her, there was no way she could turn the knob, no way she could open the door. Nobody stopped her trying to get to it but with gagged mouth and hands unavailable she could do little more than bang herself uselessly against the wood. The door was clearly thick and very solid. Escape was there if only she could turn the knob.
"Let the dear girl see what awaits her."
Natalie slowly turned and watched in disbelief as the young woman's hands went to the fly of the old boy's trousers. Surely not...
But yes, the woman's hands were sure. They had clearly unbuttoned tweed trousers before. Unbuttoned and opened. And what she extracted Natalie had not seen the like before. Well used to the cocks of black boys, long like salami, swinging this way and that, she was unprepared for her first sight of such a cock. It stood, which was just not how the cocks she was used to presented themselves, not an overheavy baton that needed supporting, but a cock that stood upright all by itself. Rigidly upright. The old boy's penis curved upwards at forty-five degrees, rather than hanging weighty and swinging, reaching up to a pale pink bulb with a remarkably purple band at the edge of the 'helmet.' Neither as thick nor as long as the boys she was used to but exuding authority and self-assuredness. Rigid and military in its stiff formality and rigidity. Natalie was captivated.
The young woman's hands were at Natalie's uniform blazer, the detested uniform, even at eighteen, she still had to wear, drawing it from her, off her shoulders and down her arms further encumbering her. It could not be removed with her hands tied. It was wrapped around her arms. The woman reached for the crisp whiteness of her uniform blouse, white buttons down its front beneath her school uniform tie. Was she to be undressed? Or at least partly? What was happening to her? Was she being prepared for the old boy's pleasure? It could not be. It just could not be. She was on a school trip. It was difficult to think. Though, the preparation was anything but... Her protests, her cries rendered silent by the gag. A hint of sound escaping -- the sound 'Mmpph!'
The tie loosened, one, two, three buttons of her blouse undone and then beneath the hanging tie, the woman inserted her slender hand, fingers slipping within the cup of her brassiere, sliding over the skin of her breast and moulding it within the cup, holding it. No woman had done that before, Natalie felt her nipple harden within the woman's palm.
