I came home around seven of the clock that fateful evening following a brisk canter around my estate. The sun was setting over the far horizon like a glowing orb on that warm spring evening. I handed the reins of my steed to my ostler and made my way indoors seeking my dinner.

Cook was waddling around as was her her wont, her pendulous bosoms swaying and copious buttocks wobbling. My thoughts turned to a lonely evening. She sensed my mood.

“Look I ent sucking your nob,” she insisted, “No offence but I be a cook not a blinkin’ ‘ore.”

I hadn’t even thought of asking her. “Nor fucking me before you ask.” she ranted on, “I ent that old. I might still get caught.”

“I’ll just have my dinner then if you please,” I ventured.

“And you leave poor Bessie alone and all.” Cook continued, “Poor girl. She ‘ent quite the ticket and the last thing her needs is your brat.”

“Yes very well cook I will bear that in mind.” I agreed.

“You needs a wife that’s what you needs,” she pointed out rather unnecessarily, “You ‘ent no batchelor and that’s a fact.”

“Yes thank you cook, when I need your advice I will ask for it.” I advised.

“Don’t stop you wanting your nob sucked though do it?” she came back. “You find a nice wench and woo her, if you want’s my advice, you ent bad looking, and you ent short of a shilling, there’s lots of wenches would jump at chance.”

“Really? Here? Twenty miles from civlisation?” I queried.

“There’s the vicar’s daughter.” she said.

“Dear god she’s fatter than you, and uglier,” I pointed out.

“I spose it be a back hand compel-ment when you says it like that,” she agreed and she waddled off to dish up my dinner. I sat down for a moment. I knew full well that come bedtime Cook would relent, “I spose I better have a suck or you won’t get no sleep and be like a sore with a bare head in morning.” she usually opined, between regular disappearances to check on her baking.

Some time later she came to find me, “Why don’t you buy an ‘ore?” she asked.

“Disease, Cook, Disease.” I explained.

“Then get a pure ‘un, some gentlewoman fell on hard times,” she suggested.

“Oh wonderful, shall I advertise in the Harrogate times, ‘Whore required, suit fallen gentlewoman,” I enquired.

“Don’t be a pillock, advertise for a Governess!” she suggested.

“Right some prim virginal impoverished girl,” I sighed.

“What’s her going to do if you takes her eh?” she asked, “Tell her mommy? I don’t think so, her best bet will be to have you make her an offer see?”

“Cook you have a nasty devious mind,” I agreed, “I shall write the advertisment forthwith.”

I did as she said, ‘Governess required for single gentleman situate in a quiet country estate, would suit a well educated gentlewoman of tender years. Please apply… etc…etc.’ and I sent it the following morning with the carter for delivery to the Flying Horse to catch the post coach to Harrogate.

I was not exactly deluged with responses, despite two visits to the post house in Harrogate to check for replies but then my luck changed. Not one but three respondents. Fortunately each gave her age so with application of a modicum of logic the elder two were put aside and Miss Fortesque was selected and an invitation to an interview at my humble abode was arranged.

She arrived on Monday forenoon, a slender person riding in a two wheel trap with the Blacksmiths’ lad from Froxby. A slender damsel as far removed from from Cooks ample personage as one might imagine.

“Miss Fortesque,” I greeted her, as I heard the clatter of their arrival over the cobble stones. “You found us then.”

“Indeed though I own I thought at one stage we shoud fall over the edge of the world,” she admitted, “I have never been so frightened in my life.”

“Ah Aimscott scar, not for the faint hearted!” I agreed, “But come on in, send the cart away for now and I shall send the lad to recall it when we are done.”

“But my bags,” she protested.

“I shall get the boy to help you with them,” I said and ordered the Blacksmiths Lad, “Boy, luggage, inside, now, chop, chop.”

“Are you always that rude?” she asked.

I went to hold the horses head. “Yes, concise and to the point I am afraid,” I admittted.

The lad scuttled to and fro with a copious quantity of baggage and then finally the task was done and he swung up into the cart and cracked the reins and wheeled away.

I took Miss Fortesque inside, “How do you like my humble abode?” I asked.

“The views are stunning,” she agreed, “But I have seen little of the house.”

I showed her into the study, “Please take a seat. May I take your hat and coat?” I asked as the heat from the coal fire blazing in the hearth struck us.

“Yes, I suppose,” she said nervously, “I thought, er, I didn’t expect to be interviewed by you alone.”

“Have no fear,” I said as I gently took the dark grey coat from her shoulders and hung it on the stand together with her wide brimmed hat. She sat nervously upon the small upright cane chair.

With her coat removed a clean though worm grey dress was revealed, together with modest cleavage. Medium length nut brown hair, a slender neck. My member stirred.

I slid the door catch, she looked alarmed, “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Oh I just don’t want us to be disturbed,” I said and I walked behind her and made my move. I stood behind her chair and thrust my hands down her cleavage spreading her dress and releasing her modest mounds.

“No, stop!” she protested and she fell sideways as the chair toppled. I held her and tore the dress wide as she fell.

“Dear god no!” she wailed but my thumbs were in her underskirt and underthings pressing them down to reveal her most private place. Soft pink, yielding with just a light covering of nut brown down.

“My apologies,” I explained, “But conjunction is not readily achieved in such lonely places as this, so I had to resort to subterfuge. Just lay back and think of the glory of old England.” I counselled.

“Unhand me!” she cried and she fought me even as I undid my belt. I managed to kick off my boots and drop my breeches she tried fought to free herself and to pull up her skirts to cover herself.

It was hopeless I was vastly stronger and larger than her and her efforts were quite ineffective.

“Lie back you foolish wench,” I ordered and I forced her legs apart with my knee as a precursor to entering her.

Suddenly my member exploded in a cataclysm of agony, somehow she had contrived to thrust her knee right into my rampant pole and even as I doubled in agony she smashed her other knee into my jaw bone.

I must have passed out.

“Sir John?” a distant voice enquired. “Sir John?”

“My head,” I complained, “My jaw. My member, What happened?”

Miss Foresque was beside me, my face was soaking wet, flowers were strewn across the flag stones, an empty vase discarded.

“You fell Sir John, I only meant to push you away,” she admitted.

“Dear god my head, my member, where are my breeches?” I demanded.

“You tried to ravish me,” she explained, “But you hit your head.”

Her dress had fallen away from her chest showing her small but perfectly formed breasts, “Oh?”

“You tricked me into coming here, you have no children do you?” she challenged.

“No, no I don’t, nor a wife nor have I had,” I admitted, as I sat up my head throbbing. “It is lonely here, I have needs, manly needs, I need a whore, but not a diseased whore, a gentlewoman to train as my whore.”

“So you saw me as a whore did you, to use and cast aside like an old stocking?” she queried.

“No, yes, sort of,” I agreed.

“And what do you offer,” she enquired, “Slavery or is it to be a modest salary until I fall for a child and then the workhouse?”

“Marriage,” I suggested, “If we suit.”

“Then we have an accord,” she agreed, “Shall I lay for you now or wait until this evening?”

“Excuse me?” I exclaimed.

“An impoverished gentlewoman such as myself does not get an offer from a Lord every day so I accept,” she agreed, “Shall we consort here or in your bed?”

“I own I am nonplussed,” I explained.

“Oh very well, lie back and I shall please you as our chambermaids were wont to do to father,” she explained.

I lay back and stared at the celing as she came forward, straddled me and began to sink down towards my member. She had to adjust her position a number of times but finally she was poised above my rigid pole. Slowly she sank down, the soft moist lips of her womb gently engulfed my member and with but a single stifled cry she slipped the last few inches until entirely sheathed and then started rocking back and forth.

“Do I please you?” she asked.

“Please me?” I agreed, “I am in heaven.”

“Good,” she agreed, “For I find your pole most agreeable.”

I went to sit up to kiss her, but she shook her head, “Later.”

My balls were churning, “Time to withdraw I believe,” I announced.

“No, please, not yet, tis too soon,” she replied but all at once my seed erupted wthin her. “Oh good lord I am transported, oooohhhh.” she gurgled in her ecstasy. And then it was done.

We both in disarray, her dress torn, my breeches discarded.

“Now you may kiss me,” she admitted, “And next time ask leave to mount me.”

“I shall mount you when and where I please,” I countered.

“When we are lawfully wed perhaps but until then beware.” she warned. She stood up letting her dress fall. She walked to the window, “How far does your estate stretch?” she asked.

“Why, to the copse atop the hill, and beyond the corner of the valley side,” I explained.

“It is important for a woman to understand what her son shall inherit,” she admitted, “I do believe if I rest my elbows on the window cill you might pleasure me as father pleasures the scullery maid when she bends over the sink.”

“Do you spend every waking hour watching your father fornicate?” I asked.

“Of course not,” she insisted, “My brothers do it far more frequently, its so unfair that they may consort freely and I might not for fear of falling for a child.”

My mind reeled, she looked round at me as she rested with her elbows on the wide window cill and her buttocks pleasantly deported and displayed, “So shall you mount me?” she asked.

“Why yes, but pray give me a moment to recover,” I replied.

She wriggled her buttocks delightfully, “Oh well if you cannot oblige I shall seek an Ostler or gardener or some such to serve me.”

“No, I will serve you, have no fear,” I asserted as I approached her, my member rigid in my hand once again.

Her quim was still moist. I teased her with the tip of my pole against her slot and then oh so gently eased inside her. “That is most agreeable,” she agreed, “Most agreeable!”

I grasped her breasts and pulled her firmly towards me pressing my member even further inside her, “Oh my lord, oh that is heavenly,” she gasped, “Don’t stop.”

I could no more stop than fly to the moon. Her face reflected in the window glass was a vision of pleasure, beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead. I rested my head on her shouder between thrusts trying to prolong the pleasure but the forces of nature could not be restrained and soon my balls expelled a surging tide of cream to blast into all her most secret parts and seek to fertilise her.

“Ohhhhh,” she gurgled as her fires were thoroughly and entirely quenched.

I waited a moment and withdrew, “I own it must be nigh on dinner time ,” I opined, “Cook!” I shouted.

“I ent sucking your nob,” Cook insisted when she waddled in and she exclaimed, “Oh, oh I see you found somewhere else to stick it,” she said, “You wan’t to watch out girl you’ll be caught you mark my words.”

“Cook Miss Fortesque has consented to be my wife,” I said proudly.

“Its all right for you, what about me?” Cooks asked, “Where am I going to get another job at my age?”

“She will share my bed not take over your kitchen,” I explained.

“But I likes a fuck now’n again,” Cook said sullenly.

Miss Fortesque came to the rescue, still with parts displayed she held up her dainty fist, “Mama used to have a servant girl pleasure her when Papa was away, her fist was much the same size as mine.”

“You ent sticking no fist up my twat,” Cook said defensively, “What ever next.”

“Cook get the Dinner, whether my angel sticks her fist in your admittedly cavernous womb is not a matter of the greatest urgency,” I opined.

“Not to you mebbe, but I sin you two a fuckin and I’m all hot and bothered now.” Cook insisted.

“Sit on the window cill and let us see what we can do,” Miss Fortesque suggested.

Cook sat on the wooden chair instead, “I ent having no,” she said as Miss Fortesque pushed Cooks knees wide and thrust her dainty fist up under Cooks smock.

I could not see Miss Fortesque’s fist slide into Cooks innards, but Cooks eyes were wide as saucers and she gasped at the intrusion,”Ohhhh!”

I stared in frustration, “Oh hang the both of you, I’ll get my own Dinner,” I snapped and I left them to their conjunction while reflecting it would indeed be a bonus and I mused if Miss Fortesque could satisfy Cook with her fist, then maybe she coud satisfy young Bessie as well and avoid her falling from an unwise union with an Ostler, Gardener or some such.

I retrieved the roast leg of pork from the range oven, found the vegetables and plated up a large portion for myself and a smaller one for Miss Fortesque. I ate mine. However hers was stone cold by the time she finished pleasuring Cook but that as they say is another story.

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