London 1875

The steam train crawled into platform four of Euston Station and rocked to a gentle stop. Norville Wyke, seated in first-class, waited for all the other passengers to collect their luggage and alight the train before he moved.

He grabbed the headrest of the seat in front, hauled his bulky frame up and retrieved his black top hat from the rack.

Norville was small and round. He had to shuffle sideways along the carriage and squeeze himself through the door to step down onto the platform.

He headed towards the ticket barrier, walking carefully around the milling passengers, scurrying porters and stacks of luggage. He handed his ticket to the thin man at the barrier and made his way out of the station on to Cardington Street.

There was a row of Hansom Cabs lined up next to the station wall. Norville climbed into the cab at the front of the queue and sent it rocking.

'Sir.' The driver touched his finger to his cap. Norville took a card from his breast pocket and read the address that was printed on it; even though he had memorised every single word on the card since it had been placed, in its plain envelope, on his breakfast table two weeks ago.

'Yes Sir.' The driver gave a gentle shake of the reins setting the Cab in motion.

Norville Wyke was a long-standing customer at the plain fronted Kenton's Bookstore on Byard Lane in his home town of Nottingham.

The proprietor, young Mister Kenton, sixty-one years old and closed all day Wednesdays and half-day Thursdays, had a good and ready supply of erotic novellas and longer erotic stories from across Europe. Norville would visit Mr Kenton's shop on the first Monday of the month to purchase three or even four of these erotic works. He was especially fond of stories that involved women getting into trouble and suffering the consequences of their behaviour.

On his latest visit to the bookshop on Byard Lane, three weeks to this very day, Mr Kenton had slipped a note into the brown paper parcel tied cross-ways with string that held the purchases Norville had made that day; two tales of misbehaviour at a convent in Spain, a tale of harsh upbringings on a farm in the north of England and a tale of below stairs punishments on a shooting weekend in the country.

Rather than go straight home from the book shop, as was his usual habit, Norville stepped into the tavern on the corner of Byard Lane, ordered a tankard of ale and found a table in a quiet corner. He slipped a stubby finger under the brown wrapping of his parcel and slid out Mr Kenton's note.

The note was on thick, white, watermarked paper. In dark ink and a flowing cursive hand was written. FOR ALL LOVERS OF THE REAR VIEW OF THE FEMALE FORM, AND ALL THE POSSIBILITIES THAT THESE DELICIOUS CHEEKS CAN PROVIDE, YOU ARE INVITED TO ATTEND OUR NEXT PERFORMANCE.

In bold print of the same dark ink below the message was an address in London and a fee payable.

Without taking a single sip of his ale Norville scraped back his chair and bustled his squat frame out of the tavern, onto Byard Lane and scurried home.

On arriving home Norville went straight to his study. Without taking off his frock coat and with beads of sweat running down his forehead he wrote his name and address on the back of Mr Kenton's note. Norville stuffed the card and five pounds into an envelope. He called Eliza the kitchen maid and told her to stop whatever it was she was doing and run to the post box with this very important letter.

Three weeks since his visit to Kenton's Bookstore and two weeks after receiving a ticket on stiff card by return post, Norville was in a Hansom Cab pulling up on the cobblestones outside a town house in London. The very same house to which he had sent five pounds.

Norville pulled his fob watch from his pocket and saw that it was four minutes to four. He paid the driver, sent the cab rocking once more and climbed the three stone steps that led to a red door. He knocked twice; two solid bangs. A thin shutter opened and a pair of green feminine eyes were looking at him.

'Sir?' The lady asked.

'I'm here to...Erm.' The eyes behind the shutter stared at Norville. 'I have an invitation.' He said, reaching into his breast pocket.

The eyes disappeared from the shutter. Norville pushed the invitation through the opening and it was taken from between his finger and thumb. The shutter was replaced and Norville was looking at a plain red door once more. After a short wait there was the sound of a sliding bolt and the rattle of a key.

The young woman with the green eyes popped her head around the door and smiled, 'Please come in Mr Wyke.' She stepped aside to let Norville enter. The woman had dark curly hair that fell to her shoulders. She was wearing a gentleman's dinner jacket, starched white shirt and a black tie.

'Welcome Sir, it's always a pleasure to welcome new visitors.' She took Norville's hat and coat and hung them on a stand by the door. 'I'm Julie, if there's anything you need to know just ask.'

Julie looked at the grandfather clock that stood in the hallway. 'Things will be getting started in about fifteen minutes. In the meantime, if you will follow me, I will get you settled in.' Julie walked towards the staircase at the end of the hall. Norville followed three steps behind. After a couple of steps he let out a gasp. Julie's dinner jacket stopped just above her waist and from the waist down, save for a pair of flat slippers, she was naked.

Her bottom was alabaster white and flawless. The full cheeks jiggled slightly with each step. Without a backward glance Julie started to climb the steep, lushly carpeted staircase. Norville feasted his gaze on the toned legs and firm buttocks with their dark mysterious divide that were less than two feet in front of him. He had to steady his breathing as the naked rear view of this young woman was elevated to eye-level as she continued up the stairs.

At the first-floor landing Julie stopped and turned to Norville; giving him a glimpse of the dark pubic triangle at the junction of her thighs.

Julie tipped her head towards a door off the landing, 'The Theatre Room is behind this door. It's where most of today's activities will take place. You are not the first to arrive, there are gentlemen already in there so when we go in I'll show you to your table.'

Norville nodded and tried to smile. Julie looked as though she was about to turn to the Theatre Room when she stopped and put a delicate hand on Norville's forearm. 'Mr Wyke there is no need for shyness or embarrassment here. Your enjoyment is our priority today.' She smiled, 'Maybe this will help.'

With that the dark-haired woman turned her back to Norville, planted her feet apart and bent forward. The muscles in her legs stood out and the fleshy cheeks of her buttocks tightened. Norville could see the dark heavy lump of Julie's cunt between her upper thighs. Thick dark hair obscured most of the outer lips and pubis, but he could see her thin red inner lips, open and slightly moist.

Julie wasn't finished. She bent her knees ever so slightly, reached both hands behind her back and pulled her bottom cheeks apart. 'My Lord.' Norville whispered, bending forward.

'That's it Sir, look right up.' Julie's voice was slightly strained as she maintained her bent position. Her fingers digging into the inner slopes. The divide in between the pale bottom cheeks was hairy but the stretching of the skin meant that the hairs hid nothing. The divide was slightly red, probably sweat. However, the skin did darken towards the round spot of her anus. In this position, with her hands pulling hard Julie's reddish brown bumhole was slightly open.

'Anytime you want to look at me or any of the other performers just ask.'

'Thank you I will.' Norville said, continuing to stare at Julie's, white bum, hairy cunt and open sweaty areshole.

'I'll show you in now if you've finished looking Sir.'

'Oh of course.' Norville grabbed the hem of his jacket and tugged it as he stood up straight.

Julie stood and took the handle of the Theatre Room door with one hand while running two fingers of her other hand along the groove of her bottom. She brought the fingers beneath her nose and flared her nostrils, 'Clean for now.' She said.

The Theatre Room had sixteen tables facing a low stage. They were all occupied by single gentlemen, most of whom were sitting quietly. There were some leaning over and talking to neighbours but their conversations were hushed. They looked up when Norville entered the room but none looked at him. They were staring at Julie's bare bottom and hairy cunny as she weaved around the room to show Norville to his table.

Norville was offered a comfortable seat at a small round table about ten feet from the low stage. 'Can I offer you a drink?' Julie asked when Norville was seated.

'Brandy please.'

'Of course, Sir.' Julie walked towards a door at the side of the room. All eyes followed her. As they did when she returned with Norville's drink a couple of minutes later.

Norville sipped his brandy and looked around the room. There were gas lamps on the walls and a thick carpet on the floor. The stage, towards which all the chairs were facing, was raised only two feet from the floor and occupied one end of the room.

Movement from the side of the stage caught everyone's attention. There was a small burst of applause and the rustling of chairs.

A tall willowy young woman with pale skin and a shock of carroty red hair piled high on her head entered from the side and walked to the centre of the stage. She wore a white chemise that hung over her shoulders, it was tied loosely at the front and fell to a couple of inches above her belly-button. Her high breasts wobbled under the white semi-transparent material as she walked.

The only other items of clothing she wore were a pair of black hold-up stockings and a pair of black shoes.

She stood dead centre and right at the front of the low stage. Norville was in the second row, perhaps ten feet from the young semi-naked woman. He looked at her hairy cunny, which in her languid, loose-limbed stance was thrust to prominence.

Dark red hair covered her almost to her belly-button, the pink hanging skin of her inner labia and the solid button of her clitoris, lolling slightly to one side, emerged from the mass of hair. She stood unabashed and looking out to the faces of her audience, waiting for silence before she spoke.

'Good afternoon gentlemen,' She spoke with a thick southern Irish accent, 'I'm Rosie, welcome to our performance this afternoon. Our theme for today is London Life. There will be two performances reflecting contrasting aspects of life in our great city.' Rosie raised her hand to cut off a smattering of applause. 'And just to let you know that to finish off today's entertainments myself and Doris will be in the Tiled Room.' Murmurs of approval greeted this announcement. 'So, without further ado sit back and relax and let us take you Epsom Downs for the world-famous Derby.'

Rosie smiled, dropped a curtsy and left the stage, her white bottom jiggling as she walked away.

Thick purple curtains at the back of the stage parted to reveal a large mural of the green grass of the Downs and a stand full of faces beyond it.

Four women entered the stage; two from each side. They were crawling on their hands and knees and naked, but for a few pieces of costume that were little more than decoration.

Each young woman wore leather mittens that had no thumbs. The women's feet were bent back towards their buttocks and a thin leather strap tied their ankles to their thighs; ensuring that the only part of their legs that could touch the floor was their knees. It made for slow and awkward movements.

Fixed to the four women's backs, at the base of their backbones, was a horse's tail. The tails, black, grey, blond and ginger, rose upwards before curving downwards and fanning out above their buttocks.

Leather bridles were secured in their mouths causing at least two of the 'horses' to drool onto their chins and down onto the stage.

Each pair of horses were led by stable girls who wore brown leather boots and white jodhpurs. However, these particular jodhpurs had no crotch to them, thus exposing the buttocks and bushes of the two stable girls.

Norville joined in with the applause as each pair of horse girls were led in opposite directions around the stage. Due to the horses mittened hands and bent knees the progress of the parade was slow. Allowing the audience plenty of opportunity to take in the wobbling bottoms and hanging breasts.

The stable girl leading her two charges clockwise around the stage was a tall leggy blond woman. Her bush was also blond and formed a distinct triangle above her thighs. She was svelte, showed little excess fat, and moved around the stage with ease. Her two horses were having difficulty keeping pace with her.

The other stable girl had short mousy brown hair and although not fat, had a shorter, thicker build. Her pubic hair was quite wispy and so the solid lump and thick seam of her cunny was clearly visible. She led her charges to the front of the stage and then turned towards the centre and away from Norville, giving him a view of her solid bottom. She bent to whisper into the ear of her horse giving Norville a glimpse of the closed purse of her cunt lips visible between her solid thighs.

The two stable girls and their horses came to a stop at the front of the stage and faced the audience. Norville took great delight in seeing the obvious discomfort of the horses.

When the mutterings of the audience died down the taller stable girl spoke, "Gentlemen, here at Epsom Downs we take the welfare of our horses very seriously," this was greeted with nods and murmurs from the gathered. "To ensure the horses are fit and able to race today we invite a veterinarian to examine them."

This was met with applause. The stout stable girl took over, her voice was higher pitched, more of a screech, "I believe we are lucky to have Sir Arthur Collins-Cooper the esteemed veterinarian with us this afternoon."

A tall man with a straight back strode to the stage; he was carrying a leather bag with a brass clasp. Without acknowledging the stable girls, he grabbed the head of the nearest horse to him, the one with the black hair, and thrust a finger into her mouth; squeezing it under the bridle. The horse blinked tightly.

With his free hand the veterinarian pinched the horse's nose; holding on until she spluttered. He removed his finger from her mouth and wiped it on her bare back.

Collins-Cooper bent to the blond horse next. He spoke into her ear while feeling inside his bag. He brought out what looked like a large cube of sugar and held it in his palm under the horse's nose. The blond horse looked from the sugar lump to the veterinarian, then to the stable girl holding her reins. Collins-Cooper pushed his palm against the horse's mouth, crushing the sugar cube past the bridle and down her throat. A sour pinch crossed the horse's face. Collins-Cooper stood, ran his hands firmly down her naked flanks before moving to the next horse.

The ginger horse flinched as the veterinarian sunk to his haunches beside her. He pressed a hand against her hip and spoke in her ear. Chewing her bridle she shuffled around. Turning slowly on the spot until her bottom was facing the audience.

Norville craned his neck for a better view of the chubby buttocks and ginger motte of the horse girl.

Collins-Cooper gave the horse's bum a firm slap then a long rub. He settled a palm on each cheek and pulled. The audience chuckled as they were presented with the slightly yellow skin of her inner cheeks and the red spot of her anus.

The veterinarian ran his thumb up and down the open bum divide. He leaned his head back and rolled his thumb over the exposed anus. Letting the cheeks go he withdrew his thumb and thrust it under the nose of the unsuspecting black horse.

As Collins-Cooper took a step towards the brown-haired horse she tried to retreat behind the legs of her stable girl. He snatched her reins and wound them around his hand. He dipped his other hand into his leather bag and brought out a glass thermometer. The horse thrashed and clenched her cheeks as the veterinarian held the glass instrument above her buttocks.

The stable girl delivered a sharp slap to the horse's bottom, leaving a red hand print on one cheek. Nimbly the stable girl straddled the brown horse's back. Encircled her waist with her arms and lifted so that the horse's knees were unable to grip the floor.

"Hold her." The vet instructed as he let go of the reins and squatted beside the horse's raised bottom. With his finger and thumb he pried her cheeks open and took his time to study the most intimate part of the horse girl's anatomy. Leaning in he spat a stream of white phlegm into her exposed crack. Scooping the spittle from her inner cheeks with the end of the thermometer he tickled her anus. The horse girl shivered and bowed her head.

Collins-Cooper twisted spit onto the end of the thermometer before holding the end to the centre of the horse girl's pale brown bumhole and giving it a steady push.

The glass tube pushed through her anus and disappeared into her rectum. She gave a dull, "Oooff," and thrust out her chin. The stable girl continued to hold her charge's waist while the veterinarian counted the seconds on his watch.

Replacing his watch Collins-Cooper eased the thermometer from the horse girl's anus. Holding the glass instrument up to the light brought a furrow to his brow and he was feeling in his bag again. He removed a sugar cube, similar to the one he'd given to the blond horse, and spoke to the stable girl. Using both hands the stable girl spread the horse girl's bottom cheeks and once more exposed her arsehole.

The veterinarian took the sugar cube between his finger and thumb and pushed it into the anus of the horse girl. The muscle of her sphincter stretched around the cube. When it was half-way in Collins-Cooper let go, the cube stayed there, half in and half out. He watched it closely for a moment before pushing with his index finger to pop it past the muscle of her winking sphincter and into her anus. The brown-haired horse thrust her head forward, eyes bulging and neck straining.

The veterinarian snapped his bag closed and left the stage to applause; two gentlemen stood to shake his hand as he made his way to his seat.

Rosie returned to the stage with a red flag held against her bare hip, "With thanks to Mr Collins-Cooper I can report that all our horses are fit to take part in this year's Derby." When the cheers died down she told the stable girls to line their horses up at the start line.

The reins were unsnapped from their bridles and the horses ushered forward. The brown-haired horse, the one that not two minutes ago had had a sugar cube pushed up her bottom, bobbed her head and thrust out her rear.

Rosie stood in the middle of the oval circuit, feet apart, thighs taut and flag raised, "Read, steady," the horses jostled shoulders and bumped hips, "go!" The flag was waved and the race began.

In her haste to get a good start the ginger horse's leather mitts and bent knees lost their grip on the stage. Her legs went backwards and her elbows went forwards as she flopped belly down. Seeing her horse on the floor the stable girl gave her three cracks of the riding crop on her buttocks, "Aaagh!" Red marks flared immediately. Ginger, unable to get on to her hands and knees, tried to evade the crop by caterpillaring along the course. The stable girl took aim once more, this time more deliberately, and flicked three savage swats to the squealing horse's inner bum cheeks.

The other three horses were rounding the first bend and approaching the back straight. Brown, no doubt encouraged by her sugary suppository, was a length in front, staring dead ahead and biting on her bridle. Blond was moving steadily in second; putting distance between herself and the less fluid black horse, who grimaced with every forward movement.