📚 franengeld Part 38 of 44
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Frankengeld Pt 38

Frankengeld Pt 38

by narrantem
20 min read
4.81 (542 views)
adultfiction

Previously in Frankengeld. The testing of the Elixir of Pleasure has resulted in Gerda stealing a red dress from Helena's wardrobe and going out into the streets as if she were a common whore. She pleasured a merchant in the nearby tavern and then accepted his offer to visit the Black Bull. There she was indulging in a gangbang. Helena and Damion rescued her with a combination of burning rushes and an empty wine bottle. Back at number 34 she has just woken from her wine bottle induced sleep and has demanded Damion pleasure her. She remembers everything about the test and had threatened to tell... people... if he does not comply.

Now read on...

25th June in the year 1784, before dawn.

When I hesitated she continued.

"Am I not pleasant to look upon? Am I not willing? Has my husband not told you to do this? What is your problem with me?"

As she talked I could see her getting increasingly distressed. My hesitation, the possibility I might refuse, was clearly painful to her.

"Yes Damion," said Helena, standing at the door to the bedroom. "What is your problem with this?"

I looked at Gerda, she was on the point of tears, then at Helena who stood inclining her head repeatedly towards my sister-in-law, as if to say 'get on with it'.

I turned and took Gerda's hand and kissed it gently, then leaned over and kissed her on the lips, as delicately as I could. If this was going to happen then I was determined to be as kind as possible. To give Gerda the experience that a loving husband might have offered her. I was being naughty, in a nice way, by showing the contrast between my cruel brother and myself.

I think Gerda was shocked. I think she expected me to jump into bed, to push her down, and to plunge my phallus into her like the brutes at the Black Bull. We kissed for several minutes, she under the covers, me above. Helena closed the door and left us to it.

I got into bed and lay down close to her, reaching out and gently pulling her close. We lay side by side and I drew her towards me until her wonderful breasts made contact with my chest. Then I kissed her again.

"You are a fine person, Gerda," I whispered. "I do not deserve you. You are generous and, I believe, want to be with child to do your duty for our family."

"You are clever, Damion," she whispered back. "It is as if you see my soul. Such kindness that you show me tells me you deserve everything I can give. Fuck me now. I am your whore..."

I stopped her with a finger on her lips.

"Do not say those words," I whispered. "They do not describe you. They tell me only that men have been cruel to you. I refuse to be cruel."

She looked concerned and clung onto me in desperation. I think she thought that, at the end, I would leave the bed. That my refusal to be cruel was also a refusal to pleasure her. She looked very sad, until my hand slid down the curve of her abdomen and across her plump quim. I proceeded to use every skill that Helena had taught me in the touching of a woman's quim. Every stroke, every delving between lips, every circling of the secret nub, until she gasped and groaned and clutched at me.

She offered to suck me, but again I told her that her pleasure came first. I wriggled down under the sheets and, this time, I performed every trick with lips, teeth and tongue that Mother had taught me when I lay under her on the Bench of the Great Mother. She ran her fingers gently though my hair as she again gasped and groaned her climax.

Only then did I allow myself to penetrate her. My member had swollen to full size by now and I asked her to open her legs and guide me in. She gave a gasp of anticipation when she took hold of my phallus, and gave a groan of great satisfaction when I entered her. I pushed in gently, slowly, responding to her hands on my buttocks. We were conjoined.

Her vagina was much like Helena's, and other women I had pleasured, who had been enthusiastic about the act. They had moist love tunnels because of their desire for pleasuring. Gerda's was warm, wet, and welcoming. I used my knowledge of pleasuring, that I had gained mostly from Helena, to give her the best feelings I could. For example Helena had told me that it was the entrance to the vagina that was most sensitive. That deeper penetration could be fun, but for greater love in the lovemaking, I should concentrate on stirring near the entrance. And I thrust slowly and made her pleasure my goal, and not ejaculation.

After a while we turned and twisted in the bed and I pleasured her while she lay on her side, with my hands caressing her breasts. Then she clung to me and we rolled over with her on top so that she could control the pace. And, unlike the earlier frantic copulating with my elixir in her veins, she was loving and warm and we kissed many times.

As she started to approach another climax I put her gently on her back and thrust more powerfully, but still with care and tenderness, and we both came at the same moment. My seed flowed into her and she held me close, and wept.

"Damion," she said, afterwards, wiping the tears from her eyes. "That was the nicest pleasuring I have ever had. I am so grateful to you. Please give me some privacy and send Una up with hot water. I will join you for breakfast soon."

I retreated to the kitchen. And organised the water so she could bathe, reassuring Una that Gerda was back to normal. It was an hour before Gerda finally appeared, back in her blue dress, with her bag, hat and gloves, looking every inch the respectable woman.

The late breakfast was full of apologies. For an Elixir that went wrong, for hitting people on the back of the head with wine bottles, for the abuse of a scarlet dress, for chloroform. There was an unspoken pact between us that meant certain other subjects were not discussed.

"I will hire a trap to take me home, dearest Damion," Gerda smiled. "Fret not, for I will mention nothing of yesterday's events. I stayed late to play cards."

And with that she departed. There were no patients that morning so, after sitting for a while in expectation, I gave up and went round the house tidying up. Anya had cleaned the withdrawing room. There were no more squashed chocolates.

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"Anya?"

"Yes, Herr Doctor?"

"Did you tidy away a jam jar and silver spoon?"

"No Herr Doctor."

"I left it here on this shelf."

"There was no jam jar, master. Unless you count the one in your sister-in-law's bag. I noticed it when she departed."

"Oh dear!"

Normal work in the laboratory kept me busy and it was late afternoon when a knock came upon the door and Stephan brought me a letter. He had driven to Carlsbruck in the cart, evidently in haste and he stood, alert, waiting for me to read it. It was clear from his posture that he expected me to go with him, or at the very least give a reply.

The letter, from my Mother, read...

Dear Damion

Please attend Durishaus immediately. Your sister is unwell and we need you to put things right.

Marianne Von Frankengeld

I grabbed my medical bag and glanced around. Helena was away for the afternoon. Una was at the market. Anya was visiting relatives. Only Yani was at home with me.

"Yani," I instructed. "Tell everyone, when they return, that I am gone to Durishaus, my sister is ill. I will be back soon."

He nodded and I ran to Stephan's cart and was soon on my way. I tried to enquire about the nature of the illness.

"What is wrong with Elodie?" I asked.

"I do not know," he replied, flicking the reins to adjust the path of the cart. "Your parents have visitors but we servants have been instructed to keep away from the guests unless sent for. Only Bruno has been allowed near the festivities."

It sounded like a masked ball was underway. These things sometimes got a bit rowdy as people became intoxicated. Perhaps Elodie had slipped and twisted her ankle during a dance. Or perhaps she had eaten something that had not agreed with her. There were so many possibilities, it was valueless to speculate.

The light was beginning to fade a little by the time we got to my family mansion and there was the golden glow of oil lamps from the windows. All except for the Blue Room on the first floor. This room contained the relics and historical artifacts that my family has collected over the years with stained glass from an obscure shrine being one of the things purchased, or more likely stolen, by my family. This window, in contrast with the others, shone with all the colours of the rainbow.

Inside that room cultures clashed in a muddle of items large and small. The biggest were two granite statues of Egyptian gods. Una had been tied to them when my Father abused her. Greek vases, Roman coins and Egyptian jewellery languished in cases mixed with European items and the whole lot was overlooked by the coffin of some ancient priestess. I remember thinking, when I was young, that the expression on the painted face on the coffin looked like they were surprised, as if the occupant had been astonished to suddenly discover themselves to be dead.

Bruno was standing by the front door waiting to conduct me to the patient. Stephan allowed me to alight then swept the cart away. I could see the stables were overflowing with coaches and two-wheelers.

"Ah master Damion," said Bruno. "Give me your medical bag. I shall carry it for you. Please follow me."

I gave him the bag, glad to be freed from its weight for a few minutes. Up the main staircase we went at a rapid pace. I felt happy that my family had acknowledged my medical skills and soon we were at one of the doors into the ballroom. Bruno opened the door for me and stepped aside. I entered.

The room was noisy, a hubbub of sound, of people conversing, of the chink of glasses, and it was warm. There was a faint odour of musk, the sort of aroma that the male member can give off when aroused. I looked around to find my patient, and was astonished by what I saw.

In the middle of the dance floor was a set of wooden stocks, the sort of thing that might have been displayed in a village square for the punishment of minor offences. It had the necessary holes for the heads and arms of four criminals. In the first place was Elodie, next to her was Gerda and the third location was filled by Mother. And they were all stark naked!

The stocks held them with their backs horizontal and their bottoms on display. Ready to provide gratification to any guest who was feeling in the need of pleasure. Their heads were also held up with a shaped piece of wood under the neck so they could not droop. So that their mouths were similarly available for use.

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A male relative, that I vaguely recognised as some sort of distant cousin, was pleasuring Gerda, his trousers around his ankles. She was grunting each time he thrust and squirming in the embrace of the stocks, unable to free herself. Next to Elodie an elderly man, his wrinkled penis large but flaccid, seemed to be fingering her quim as he watched Gerda being roughly pleasured.

"No Damion, no!" cried Elodie. "Run! Run!!" She looked distressed and her comment got her a very stern look from Mother. But because Gerda, her grunts becoming louder and higher pitched by the moment, was between them, Mother was unable to make direct eye contact with her daughter.

My mind was struggling to take this in. If Elodie was sick or injured why was she still in the device? The old man must be the Duc de Halville, the lastest suitor chosen for Elodie by my mother. But if she was ill why was he still permitted to finger her quim? And, most importantly, why did she say I should run?

Then I was grabbed by strong arms.

Two men, who must have been standing either side of the door waiting for me, stepped forward and held me tight by my forearms and shoulders. I was unceremoniously pushed towards the raised dais at the end of the room. And, as I was frog marched across the dance floor, I looked around, confused, taking in more of the scene.

The guests were masked, wearing costumes suitable for a fancy dress event, and barefoot. Several of the ladies had chosen outfits that exposed extreme amounts of bosom, and some had their skirts hitched up at the front to reveal their quims. Some of them had gone as far as to dye their pubic hair a bright colour for the occassion. Many of the men were bare chested and most were wearing tight pants or codpieces that emphasised the size of their genitals. My father was principal in this, wearing soft leather trousers that revealed the size of his member, even if you couldn't actually see it. He stood on the dais dressed in a pirate outfit complete with a baldric, four, twin barrelled, pistols, and a cutlass. Stood next to him was a man wearing old fashioned Medieval garb, and between them stood a plump woman whom I recognised. It was Katy, the daughter of a family we occasionally did business with. They were rich, but not noble, the new breed of upper middle class anxious to better themselves.

She stood wringing her hands nervously. Whoever had chosen her costume had decided she would look best in something historical. It was the costume of a Cretan priestesses. For those who aren't familiar with this ancient race I will describe. The Cretan priestesses wore a sort of corset or bodice that pulled the body in severely at the waist. Below there was a layered skirt, and above? Well above there was nothing, the corset both revealed the breasts and supported them so that they pointed forward, a position helped by the fact that Katy's breasts were moderate in size, firm and very rounded in shape with very little sagging. A little conical flat-topped hat, a bit like a fez, finished the look.

Oh, and with two snakes. The statuettes discovered at Cretan dig sites showed the priestesses grasping a snake in each hand, with the tail wrapped around the forearm. Katy's snakes were made from cloth, cunningly sewn to do the same trick. Though some of the mystical effect was lost by the fact that she was cuddling them like a child might hug a doll.

Katy was around twenty years old but did not behave her age. Her mother had been killed by a bear in front of her when she was fourteen, she barely escaped with her life. I believe the family gamekeeper had rescued her, but not before she had seen the bear start to eat her mother while the poor woman was still alive. The terrible experience had driven the fourteen year old's mind back to days when she was happy. To avoid the memory of her mother's death, the Alienist said. She became a child of seven. And, ever since, as her body matured she had stayed - in her mind - just seven years of age. This created a strange juxtaposition, her body was mature, very much so with well developed curves and all the healthy glow of a twenty odd year old woman, but her speech and behaviour was as a child.

The men either side of me steered me to the steps and I mounted the dais. These must be Katy's brothers, I decided, and had a very bad feeling about what was going to happen next. I looked around for someone to rescue me. My brother was sitting at one of the small tables at the side of the room. Astonishingly, in the middle of this licentious scene, he seemed to be doing some accounts. He had a quill pen in hand and was working his way down columns of figures, whilst dressed as Il Capitano from the Commedia dell'arte!

"Stop... oooofh!" I gasped. My attempt to speak had resulted in an elbow in the ribs. It hurt and I could not draw breath again for a few moments.

I was now directly in front of Katy. She looked up at me and giggled. The laugh made her breasts jiggle in the corset, they bounced with the firmness of youth and I could see that rouge had been applied to the aureoles and her fat nipples to make them more pronounced. She took her thumb from her mouth and lisped, "Hullo Damion. Daddy thays there's going to be fireworkth."

"Oh there's gonna be fireworks, sis!" laughed one of the men holding me. "Once we get you in the stocks you'll get fireworks all right. Everyone is gonna take you, hard and long. You'll have fireworks - in your head - all evening."

"Shut up Costache," said the old man standing by Katy, whom I recognised as her father, Matei. "You'll frighten her." I noted that he did not contradict his son about what was going to happen to his daughter. Only that he did not want his daughter alarmed at this stage. He pulled a ring from his pocket and gave it to Katy. "Put it on Damion, my little darling. That finger, there."

Costache shifted his grip and bent my finger out so that Katy could push on the ring. She did so with her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as if the act required great concentration. Then my Father took a ring from his pocket shoved it roughly into my hand and steered me until I had slipped it onto Katy's chubby finger. I tried to resist but against three strong men it was futile. Katy laughed and then held the ring up to the light to admire it.

"They are engaged!" shouted my Father, there was a cheer from the guests. "We will now wait an acceptable interval before the wedding. Abbot! What is the minimum acceptable period between engagement and marriage?"

I watched as the Abbot of Gelenberg approached the dais. He'd been trying to get his hand inside the costume of one of my younger and more nubile relatives, but now he strode forward with a self important air.

I remembered Helena saying she was engaged to Justin for a month before they married. In contrast, for one of the local royal weddings had been a six year interval between engagement and marriage. This was because the girl had been just twelve when promised. But, even a month would give me the chance to leave Gelenberg and set up somewhere else. Paris is supposed to be nice at this time of year.

Then I became hysterical. I can only call it that. I was trying desperately to avoid this fate so I came up with a calculation based on Katy's mental age. She's seven now, I thought, so eleven years before she becomes a respectable eighteen years old and can wed. That would mean I wouldn't have to marry her until 1795! I ignored the fact that her mental age did not seem to have shifted one day since the dreadful events that scarred her. In fact it was an advantage, I thought, she might never be old enough to marry me.

"The minimum interval," said the Abbot, raising his finger to point at heaven. "Was established in 1653 when the Lord Franco of Ulm married his concubine Henrietta Yallingerberg. That was... " he paused for effect, "... one hour!"

"Then we will wait one hour," said my Father to the room.

He then leant in close and whispered in my ear so that only I could hear, "You're going to be married, my son. No point in resisting. And once you've married stupid Katy here, and done the duty of the bridal bed, we're going to have a party. Then, tomorrow, we will do the same with Elodie and the Duc de Halville. Though we might have to help the Duc consummate the marriage, he's a bit old for her."

He grinned, watching my expression of horror, and continued. "And then I'm going to deal with that mistress of yours in the town. The one you call your Medical Assistant!"

He saw my eyes grow even wider with fear, "I'll be civilised, to begin with. I will send her some money. And, if she takes the bribe, gives you up, and returns to Engolstadt, then that will be the end of it."

"And if she does not?" I whispered back. Helena, I feared, would reject the bribe.

"Then I will rape her, and get Bruno and the staff to do the same. Then I'll thrash her with a split rod, choke her until she is weakened, break all her limbs with a warhammer, and throw her in the river to drown."

I tried to protest as Costache and his brother, who I had just remembered was called Bogdan, dragged me away. They were clearly not going to allow me the opportunity to escape. And, after me, it would be Elodie's turn to be forcibly engaged, and then married, to the ancient looking man still hanging around the stocks, watching the action through rheumy eyes.

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