Bend Over Jessica

As the rain poured from leaden skies as we left London, my thoughts ran ahead to the weekend festivities. Was all prepared? Were the staff in place? Was the champagne on ice and the oysters fresh? As the carriage took me towards Lord Fawcett’s rural retreat, I turned my thoughts inward. It had been a trying week….

Despite a successful share issue of my new company, The Iron Horse Steamboat Company, to build iron-clad ships, powered by steam to bring my goods quickly from the American markets to the British ones, intrigue was afoot. I, or rather my new subsidiary had been the subject of a ‘concert party’, where all the shares available in the issue has been bought, directly or indirectly, by the Conningsby Iron and Steel Company. In addition, the bounder in charge of the company, Mr Fenwick T Conningsby I, had also bribed and bullied the directors of my main company, Maskell Enterprises, into selling him their interests of 40%, a substantial stake. I felt trapped and betrayed, like a bird in a cage. And worse still, I had to spend the weekend being pleasant to the very man who I felt was trying to orchestrate my downfall, Mr Conningsby himself.

This was in addition to thinking through how my chaperonees, Lady Grace Altamont, Lady Francesca Aubrey and The Honourable Dorothea Latimer were going to fare at the house party. I was already deep in discussion of matters matrimonial for Lady Grace and had hoped to close the deal by breakfast on Sunday. I was also sure that the lovely Miss Latimer, the toast of the season, had caught the eye of The Earl of Dorchester, the most eligible bachelor in Society. I hoped that this weekend, he would have a chance to admire her in a more rarefied setting.

All in all, I had a lot to think about as the carriage rattled towards its destination.

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Whilst dressing for dinner, I was surprised to receive a heavy legal folder from Mary-Frances, 2nd housemaid. On examining it, I discovered it appeared to be documentation from Mr Conningsby. Damn the man I thought irritably can’t he hold over his business for the weekend? Lord Fawcett, made cross by tying his stock, was brief.

“Don’t worry your head Juliet” he said. “You already worry about business far too much, it’s not ladylike”.

But when he vanished to the bathroom, I quickly examined the parcel. It was a note from Mr Conningsby – and a single share in The Iron Horse Steamboat Company, the casting share! There was also a charming note from Mr Conningsby, explaining that he had nothing but admiration for my skills as a businesswoman, as well as a more personal interest in my more feminine attributes. I was at once both confused and pleased.

At 7.30pm, the gong rang, summoning us all to a champagne reception in the drawing room. I had already inspected my chaperonees, who all looked radiant and in fine fettle. I carefully progressed about the room, welcoming guests, chatting, enjoying the champagne. Everything was running smoothly. I did feel a frisson of nerves as Mr Conningsby entered, but I was protected by Lord Fawcett’s reassuring presence and Mr Conningsby went immediately to speak to Viscount Fitzwarren, of whom he was inordinately fond. When we did speak, he was nothing but charming to me, complimenting me in so many directions that I felt quite flushed and we were then thrown together when a guest dropped his champagne flute, causing glass to scatter and enabling Mr Conningsby to protect me and two other ladies from going near the scene of the accident. Very gentlemanly behaviour – for an American!

The gong rang for dinner and as the hostess, I was escorted in on the arm of The Earl of Dorchester, a charming young man with a twinkle in his eye and excellent legs in his breeches. Lucky Dorothea! I thought! The moment of lazy lust made me realise that whilst I might be a sad widow, I certainly wasn’t dead yet! We dined like kings on spiced herrings, hare soup, stuffed quail with jewelled Persian rice and a lemon posset with lavender shortbread.

After dinner, the evening festivities began. The ladies withdrew and the gentlemen began their private devotions as members of the Hellfire club. As a novice of the order, I knew what ordeals awaited two of my chaperonees as they were initiated into the order, along with Lady Cecily and Lady Charlotte. I, as a more senior member of the order, would have my own ordeal to come as the gentlemen began their night’s gambling.

When the time came, I was escorted into the chamber. The gentlemen were now anonymous as the order demanded, masked in black. My lot, for which the gentlemen would bid, afforded the opportunity to whip me soundly until satisfied then the winning bidder would then sign his name across my bare back in hot wax, to affirm that it was his own handiwork. The bidding was fast and furious and quickly reached the maximum bid available. I felt myself tremble with anticipation as the winning bidder stood and Lord Fawcett himself – for I recognised my former guardian, even through his mask – stripped me of my dress, leaving me standing in my stockings and drawers. I was laid over a bench and then the cat descended harshly onto my back and bottom, bring a blush to both sets of cheeks as the leather bit sharply into my pale flesh and I wriggled and gasped. It had been a while since I suffered this kind of discipline and it seemed to be somehow more humiliating for that, that I, a grown woman, should be so easily reduced to a quivering wreck. When the whipping stopped and the time for the wax signature approached, the Abbot ordered the gentlemen present to hold me firmly over the bench, preventing me from moving as the wax began its slow and torturous drip. I couldn’t help gasping and whimpering and was almost grateful for the restraint, even though I burned with shame at so many eyes upon me and my nakedness.

After the ordeal was over, I was escorted from the chamber and two of the maids picked the wax from my burning back before helping me to dress and restore myself a little dignity!

After my ordeal, I decided that a little night air was in order and I summoned Dorothea to walk with me outside in the damp country air. The servants fetched our cloaks and we gazed at the stars. Suddenly, with a burst of laughter, the gentlemen spilled from their meeting and several walked out onto the terrace. First among their number was The Earl of Dorchester, drawn like a moth to a flame at the sight of Dorothea, pretty as a picture in pale blue silk, sparkling in the moonlight. I conversed gently with them both, but then took pity on the two lovebirds and with a murmured apology withdrew to a discrete distance, close enough to observe any bad behaviour on behalf of the Earl, but far enough away that they might talk in private.

Suddenly then, Mr Conningsby was behind me.

“Defending your chicks?” he murmured.

“I’m sure Dorothea does not require defending from such an honourable gentleman as Dorchester,” I responded dryly.

“And do you need defending my dear?” he asked.

“I am a married lady and not someone who needs a champion.” I bit back.

“Oh really? Then I assume all is fair in love and war” he replied.

With that, I found his arm about my waist in a most intimate manner, which made the blood race to my face and to certain other parts of my anatomy. He went to kiss me, but I was painfully aware that we were in a public place…..

“Shall we walk inside? “ he asked.

With that, I found myself led away from the company and quickly found myself in Mr Conningsby’s private chambers. My heart pounded with a mixture of lust and embarrassment and I made little protest as his strong hands stripped me of my dress. He paused momentarily to fondle my bottom through my silk drawers.

“I look forward to riding with you this weekend Mrs Derby….” he murmured as he moved on top of me.

I felt his lust pressed against me and I knew that soon, his suit would be most firmly pressed…..it was a promising start to the weekend….and what followed on the remaining days proved to be beyond my wildest dreams….