Frankengeld Pt 04

Previously in Frankengeld. Damion von Frankengeld, has returned home to Carlsbruck, with his housekeeper Helena. Mother has made him sit on the Bench of the Worship of the Great Mother, and his sister Elodie has regaled him with her poetry, and demanded a quick fuck. Over dinner Damion has met, for the first time, his sister-in-law Gerda whose pneumatic breasts and evident lusts have led to orgasms at the dining table. And, after dinner, he has been invited to collect the deeds to his new medical practice from his Father in the Red Room. Here he finds his Father in a state of undress with Una the housemaid kneeling between his thighs.

Now read on...

5th June, in the year 1784, after dinner.

I had never seen my father naked before. All my life he had been fully dressed in formal garb, or perhaps leather hunting gear, never appearing even stripped to the waist. So his appearance fascinated me, this powerful being that was my progenitor. His broad chest was muscular, with bulging biceps, triceps and pectoral muscles, his skin smooth and completely hairless. But from the waist down, my father was covered with thick, curly, black hair, almost like the representations of classical satyrs. My thoughts flew from classical statues to the statues by the gates to the estate, and the man-beast with its enormous phallus.

Father was pleasuring himself with Una's mouth. His grunts, and her moans, blended into a symphony of lust. She had lost her housemaid's cap, the little white frilly decoration falling to the floor to reveal her auburn hair tied up in a bob on the top of her head. I could see that Father had run his fingers into Una's hair, tangling and twisting it so as to get a good firm grip. Then, as I watched, he reached down with the left hand to pull the top of her uniform down, revealing her small but lovely breasts, which he proceeded to roughly maul as if he were kneading bread rolls.

"Ah Damion... Uh! Uh!... We are not yet finished," he snarled.

"Sorry father! Very sorry! Should I return later?" My mind was a whirl, and apologising was always a habit with me when I met my Father.

"No need, soon done," he said. "Uh! Yes! Good! You could pour me a glass of port and... Uh!... lift her skirts and join in."

There was a squeak of protest from Una.

"I am too full of delicious dinner to indulge at the moment, Father," I said.

"You should be welcomed back by the servants, Damion."

"I'm sure Una will welcome me in her own good time, Father," I excused myself.

"Then bring... uh... me a port and cigar, useless boy!"

I was not averse to having sex with servants. I call as witness to this my twice-weekly romps with Helena during the years I was at university. But I prided myself that I had never forced my attention onto anyone, preferring a mutual pleasuring. In fact, in the case of myself and Helena, it had been Helena that had initiated sex claiming that she had a need that had been mostly unfulfilled since her husband had died.

Moving over to the side table I poured two glasses of port from the cut-glass decanter, and prepared a cigar, trying to avert my eyes from the sight of father abusing Una, even if I could not block out the sounds. Then I realised I could delay no longer and took him his goblet of port. The deep red liquid swirled in the golden bowl, like a blood sacrifice in a pagan temple, the image in my mind strangely mirroring the brutal sex before me. It was as if we had been transported to some ancient temple, a shrine to the violence of war and the worship of lust. Father took the goblet in his left hand, allowing Una's breasts some relief. His right hand was pumping her head faster now and the movement jiggled the port so that a little spilled down her chest. Una's face was flushed and red and, increasingly so, was my Father's. The pace of the violation of her mouth increased again, then he roared.

"Yaaaaaaaaaah! Take it, bitch!" he snarled, spittle splashing from his mouth.

He held Una's head down hard as his seed flooded into her mouth. I could see his balls twitching and wondered just how much sperm he could ejaculate - a considerable amount if the animal nature of his lower half was any indication. Una choked as she tried to pull away and found herself unable to do so. Father held her in place and took a long draught of his port. Her hands tapped gently at his thighs, perhaps a hint that she needed air, but he made no response. Astonishingly I think he was still ejaculating.

Then she balled her delicate hands into fists and hammered at his abdomen, whilst twisting her body. He continued to restrain her.

"Father, I think Una needs air," I pointed out.

"Do not tell me my business, boy! Una is new to this household and needs to learn her place."

By now Una had slumped from her kneeling position as her legs jerked and kicked. Her toes curled under and her fingers were twitching spasmodically. I began to wonder if father was going to kill her in his lust. The only time I had seen a woman move like this was a thief who had been convicted at the assizes in Engolstadt.

She was a poor woman who had stolen food from a market stall for her family who were starving. This tragic situation had got her little mercy from the court, for a jury was typically made up of twelve wealthy gentlemen of status, more interested in maintaining their businesses than in the plight of the poor.

After she had been given the death sentence by the judge she was taken straight out of the courtroom to the gallows on the edge of town. This was the usual pattern, shock and disbelief making complaint, or escape, less likely. She had no money and the executioner was disappointed not to get a bribe from her for a quick death. So, annoyed, he gave in to the crowd who demanded to see her 'tits and fanny'. Once he had the rope around her neck, and taken up the slack, he took out a knife. Despite her desperate pleas he cut the clothes from her revealing her nakedness to the crowd, who cheered. She stood there with large and saggy breasts, a pot belly, and red hair on her quim. Her legs were trembling.

He tied her hands behind her back but with enough length between them to allow her a lot of movement, and left her ankles untied. Then he pushed her off the platform and she dangled there, her feet about two yards off the ground. She danced the hempen jig, as the broadsheet writers described it, for the crowd, kicking and spinning as she tried in vain to relieve the pressure on her neck and get some air.

She had no friend, no 'hanger-on', to help her to a quick death by pulling on her legs, so she suffered terribly. Her arms twisting grotesquely behind her back as she tried instinctively to lift them high enough to get her hands up to the rope, a manoeuvre that was impossible at the best of times. And her legs kicked out for solid ground that was forever denied her. The result was that her pendulous breasts jerked and swung to the obvious delight of the crowd. There was nothing I could do. I feared the anger of the crowd if I acted as her 'hanger-on'.

I passed on by, distressed by the pleasure the audience seemed to be getting from the poor woman's suffering, and as I left her legs were starting to jerk spasmodically, and her toes curl, just like Una before me now. I remembered that it took a very long walk in the woods before the image of the convicted woman's desperate gyrations faded from my mind.

"Please Father, let her go," I begged. "You're killing her!"

For that I got an furious glance from him but, at the point where it seemed Una must pass out, my father finally released her. She fell back and lay on the floor gasping like a caught fish on the riverbank. Father stood up and came to get his cigar. His phallus was stuck out before him, slick with saliva, and seemingly as hard as ever. He lent over a candle and lit his cigar then moved to the great leather covered desk and pulled out a bundle of papers and a leather pouch from one of the drawers. There was a robe over the back of his desk chair but he didn't bother covering himself but strode around like some mythological beast.

"Can I go now, my Lord?" said Una between coughs.

"No Una! Stand by the fire. I still have need of you," snarled my Father.

She obeyed trying to pull her dress back over her breasts. My father took me through the various papers and deeds relating to 34 Hilgenstrasse, then rammed them roughly back into the leather pouch. I tried to concentrate but my eyes kept flicking back to his phallus, my nostrils filled with an intense animal odour that drifted up with his body heat. My mind began to wander. It was as if I were under some sort of spell and I began to wonder if my brother, Karl, also had this appearance. My pubic hair was thick and luxurious but I had only light hairs on the rest of my body.

My father noticed where my eyes rested and remarked, with his cock twitching, "It is our family heritage. Our blood may be bad but our seed is good."

I started with surprise, here was the phrase written on the gatepost, a family secret I was not privy to. My father reached over, grasped my hand, and placed it onto his phallus. It was as thick as my wrist and twice as long as my own. It had a deep tanned colour like the phallus of an animal and was hot to the touch. I became fascinated with it and was leaning down to kiss it when I realised what I was doing. Another few seconds and I would have taken the tip into my mouth, such were the thoughts running through my head. And if I had tasted it, what more might I have done? I might have rendered my Father the service that Una had just performed, only I would have done it willingly.

Alarmed I took away my hand with a jerk, and backed away a step. I shook my head to try to clear away the weird lascivious thoughts I was having, with little effect. The scent of his musk filled my head, making logical thought hard, I took a long draught of my port which helped a little.

I was about to ask my father to explain the cryptic words from the gatepost when he swung the leather pouch at me, slamming it against my chest, hard, with the brief words, "Take the deeds to the property, and here is some money." He pointed at a bag on the desk. "To pay for expenses as you establish yourself," he explained. "Everything you need is here. You are to meet my agent at noon tomorrow at the property, there are directions in the papers. I must travel east, early, for I have a task to perform, but I am sure you can organise yourself. Now, are you sure you won't take Una?"

I glanced over at the tiny, slim, figure of Una clutching her breasts as she stood by the fire awaiting her fate. She returned a desperate look that spoke volumes, that she would be happier in my bed than here, in this terrible chamber dedicated to the violence of war, with this terrible beast of a man. My heart melted for her.

"Yes Father," I replied. "Perhaps Una should welcome me home."

Una gave me a weak, grateful, smile.

"Good man!" My father boomed. "That's more like a Frankengeld. Go then, I will send her to you when I've finished with her "

Una's expression of relief was replaced with a look of fear, as she realised that she wasn't leaving with me. My father turned to her, spun her round, and ripped at the cords on the back of her dress. They parted and it slipped to the floor leaving her naked, her slender body lit dramatically by the flickering flames of the fire. Then my father dragged her over to the campaign stool, sat himself down, and pulled her towards his lap. She moaned in terror at her fate.

I grabbed the documents and leather cash bag and headed for the door. Behind me Una was begging my Father to stop, to show mercy, then a great moan escaped her lips as he entered her. I took one glance backwards. Una was sat on my Father's lap with his cock halfway into her. He was pulling her down, and she was pushing upwards with all the strength in her legs. It was not enough against his great vigour. Though I had the impression that he was not using all his strength, that he was playing with her. His pulling at her waist, and her pushing with her legs, resulted in his giant phallus moving up and down inside her. Her eyes widened with the shock.

"Ah! Ah!" she gasped. "Oh my Lord. It is too much! I cannot take it. Ayeee!"

"You will take it," Father replied. "It is your duty to serve this family and this is the way I insist on being served this night."

He pulled harder and she was dragged down until her slender thighs were sitting on his hairy, beast-like, legs and she was fully impaled on his member.

She threw her head back and wailed, a long cry of despair, "Aaaaaargh!" Then she gurgled and thrashed about screaming, "Oh Lord! Oh Lord! No! No! Urghhhhh!"

Father held her there as she waved her arms, trembled, and gave a series of spasms. I stood paralysed with shock. I couldn't look away from her. Her mouth was wide in a great rounded O that spoke of overwhelming sensations, of a phallus deep inside her, possibly pressing hard against her cervix. Then he started to move her on his phallus. He lifted her, slowly, gently - almost lovingly - then rammed her back down with a brutality that shocked me, and forced another cry from her. The pace quickened and soon he was lifting and lowering her at a furious pace. Her arms flapped in the air, she was helpless against him.

And then, to my surprise, her expression changed from pain and fear to something that spoke of pleasure. She was still crying out but she seemed to be actually starting to enjoy her impalement. It was too much for me to watch and I stepped outside, closed the door, took three steps down the hallway, and then halted and leant against the wall to steady myself. I felt sick, and swore at myself for being so weak that I had fled and left this woman being abused. Though what I could have done to save her from my Father I did not know.

I now understood why we kept losing chambermaids if this was typical of the abuse my Father heaped on them. I also had much to think about with regard to my family. For the first time in my life the statues on the gateposts were more than fantasy. My father, Kurt, resembled one, does my brother Karl, also have that grotesque satyr form? And would I become the same as I aged? Were we cursed? Before I left to go to university life had seemed quite ordinary. It was true Mother had required me to lick her to orgasm on a weekly basis, and Elodie had demanded occasionally that we lay together, but at the time I thought these things were normal in a loving family. I knew no different. It wasn't until I revealed these facts to Victor, who seemed singularly disinterested in sex, that I was given an alternative point of view. He doubted that many sons, and brothers, did what I had done.

I needed the safety of my room, for I was feeling tired and confused. But to get there I had to pass my brother's chambers. The sounds of passion, and Gerda loudly encouraging Karl to greater efforts, leaked into the hallway and, as I drew next to the door, I could see it had not been properly closed. This might have been accidental, or perhaps Gerda wanted passing family to hear the noise, to witness the passion she evoked in their firstborn son. Whatever the reason, it afforded me a tempting opportunity to check if my brother resembled my father. Perhaps the strange mind-bending effect of my Father's musk was still affecting me and the sounds of coitus were impeding my judgement but I made the insane decision to take a look at my brother in his nakedness.

Not knowing what on earth I would say if they caught me being voyeuristic I gently opened the door and slipped into the outer bedchamber. Carefully manoeuvring around the furniture I gained a vantage point where I could see into the inner bedchamber. The position gave me an uninterrupted view of my brother's bed.

"Gerda, you are my slut! You are my whore," my brother said in a stilted manner with little acting skill. It was as if he had been instructed by someone to say such things, but had no personal feelings in the matter.

"Karl! Oh Karl! I'm your slut. I'm your whore. Fuck me. Fuck me hard," she replied. In contrast Gerda's replies were full of desire.

The bedclothes had been torn from the bed and lay untidily across the floor. This was no quiet, restrained, under the bedclothes, lovemaking of a civilised couple. Gerda was on her back with her plump thighs spread wide, her feet bouncing in the air near her shoulders. It was difficult to imagine a position more open and inviting. Her gigantic breasts jiggled and bounced with each thrust Karl made. He was crouched over her and I could see that his penis was a very ordinary size. Smaller indeed than my own and, like mine, perfectly normal colouring. But, and this was significant, he had fur from his waist down just like father, and Gerda had her fingers tangled in the curly hair on his buttocks as she pulled him into her to the hilt.

He was sweating and his face was flushed, clearly he was getting close to his climax. But it was all mechanical, the simple breeding of a wife, the duty of a man who has a noble family to preserve. Brutally hard thrusts into her welcoming vagina that must be painful for her. There was no evidence of any joy in him. Karl started gasping and then fell forwards on top of Gerda, I could tell he was pumping his sperm into her vagina, I would have said womb but I suspect he fell short, though if they were strong spurts he should have placed his seed at the entrance to her cervix. Gerda hung onto him and wriggled her legs.

"Oh yes Karl! Yes! Yes! Yes! Wheeeeeee!" she cried.

Karl lay inert, his head cushioned in her bosom and, luckily for me, facing away from the door. Gerda smiled at her husband, though I thought I could detect a little expression of disappointment. She relaxed, lowered her legs, and turned her head, to look straight in my direction! I became sober in an instant. Here it comes I thought, the scream, the angry words, the recriminations and the label of 'pervert' which Karl would repeat at every opportunity for years to come. Gerda looked at me, smiled, and winked, then turned her attention back to her exhausted husband, holding his head so he could not see me. As I crept quietly out of their chambers, relieved that I had escaped disaster, I thought I could hear her trying to get him to go again.

Back in my room I threw my clothes onto a chair and the documents onto my desk. Here were the papers that said I owned The Doctor's House. But now I was worried about how the property had come to be on the market. When I left for university the Old Doctor was still hale and hearty, and Stephen's gossip had not included his regrettable death. Had my father made him an offer for the house which he had taken, or had something more sinister happened?

I slid into bed. The sheets, initially cool, slowly started to warm and I lay with my thoughts circling like crows. Today had been a day like no other with an arduous journey, a wounded man, a dead highwayman, a lusty Sister-in-Law, a demanding Mother, a tempting Sister, and a dreadful revelation about my Father and Brother. And about myself for I was convinced that I would have sucked his phallus if I had not got control of my thoughts.

As I relaxed into the soft sheets I started to doze, drifting in and out of near sleep. Then I heard the door softly opening and closing, the sound of clothes dropped to the floor, and someone joined me under the sheets.

I lazily stretched my arm out and touched a slender body with small breasts, Una. She moved across to me and clung on as if I were a life raft on a stormy sea. I now understood why our servants preferred to be out of the house overnight. What I had put down to superstition turned out to have some basis in fact, and they were truly frightened of us. Or at least, some of us. Una seemed happy to share my bed, or was I just the lesser of two evils? I determined I would treat her well and simply give her gentle cuddles.