With great thanks to Cafterhomme for editing support, innumerable suggestions, and online conversations where these bizarre scenaria were mulled over and formed into something solid from the murky mass that existed in my mind.
Thanks also to Slothargy for the incredible artwork accompanying this tale.
Chapter 2
Caroline looked ravishing. The moment that she stepped into the room I realised why she had waited until then to make her appearance. She knew the gravity of the occasion and wished to dress appropriately to mark it. She was wearing a glorious, off-the-shoulder gown in sky blue which picked out her sparkling cornflower eyes. It was supported by an enormous crinoline some three metres across, before diving into a waist of such minuteness that it seemed as if it would snap at any moment, before blossoming out into her now enhanced bosom, largely exposed by the gown, and heaving ten to the dozen. The skirt was decorated by hundreds of tiny bows in white and navy blue, colours that suited her, but also that, I realised, were there to remind me of the blue pinstripe uniform that she had worn at the school where we had become acquainted. The bosom nestled in a delightful series of ruches whilst a scarlet ribbon with a large bow at the rear encircled and highlighted that incredible waist. Her arms were simply ensconced in a monoglove with separate fingers in white kid leather with red ribbons around the wrists and elbows whilst her hair was a delightful chignon and ringlet combination. Pearl earrings graced her lobes and a simple white choker with a gold crucifix circled her neck, highlighting both its swanlike grace and her faith – the faith that had brought us together. As she drew near, the scent of her perfume bewitched me and she smiled gracefully as she curtseyed and welcomed me to her home.
The dinner passed in a whirl, a blur of heavenly visions and polite smalltalk. Afterwards we retired to the ballroom and her husband unlaced her whilst a string quartet played Mozart and we danced several waltzes, her alternating between the two male partners on offer. Then she excused herself, saying that she must prepare for bed as she was expecting her husband to visit her and with a kiss on the hand and a whiff of her perfume, she was gone.
Lord Kildare and I retired to the men’s drawing room for cigars and brandy. He spoke naught of what was to come, but I could tell he was not offended by it. He was as immune to her charms as I am to those of Casanova. We lived in different worlds and that was fine. He did, however, wish happiness for his spouse, and he knew that I was the best route towards that. As we smoked and drank, I wondered at his state, being attracted to the same sex. How queer it was, and how denounced by the Holy Mother Church and yet, what harm was there in his predilections? Yet again, it was as if a storm was battering the fortress of my faith, and a powerful wave had swept away a rampart.
At ten we both turned in for the night.
I waited a full quarter of an hour before tiptoeing across the corridor – Hugh had ensured that my bedroom was strategically placed – to Caroline’s bedchamber. The door, as promised, was open, and I noiselessly entered, before carefully locking it behind me. I heard a shifting noise on the large four-poster and raised my lamp. The bed was shrouded by curtains, so I drew one back and beheld a sight that would excite any man, perhaps even one like His Lordship. Lying on the centre of the bed was Lady Caroline Kildare, but the vision presented was quite distinct from either the one I had known when she was a student in the school, or the regal figure whom I had shared dinner with that evening. The student had been all girlish innocence and youthful vigour; the diner had been the epitome of feminine elegance and beauty. What I saw now was more animal, an inciter of raw lust, a temptress in the mould of Jezebel, Salome or Bathsheba.
As when she had rested at school, her arms and legs were strapped into uselessness, her heels fast to her bottom and her wrists at her shoulders. Yet there was no teddy bear suit that night, with all the connotations of innocence and childhood which that brings. Her bindings were of tight white leather and then covered in smooth silk with frills at the ends. Around her middle was a matching corset covered in taut white silk, tightly-laced as ever. But unlike her usual stays, these ended below the breasts and those magnificent mammaries – for a split second I was reminded of those surreal milk sisters – stood form and proud, frilly elasticated garters around their bases to emphasise their incredible shape and size, each nipple topped with some incredible jewellery which circled the based and forced the nubbin into a golden tube so that the two blossomed out like a pair of peas at the end. There was a tightly-laced neck corset in matching white which held her head erect and an enormous white pear gag kept her mouth jacked wide open, but what grabbed the attention more than aught else were her most intimate parts.
I knew from my biology lessons that ladies have a slit down below, often graced with generous lips, into which the male member is welcomed. Caroline’s slit, or at least, its lips – was not visible, for it, like her waist and neck, was laced tightly. A series of piercings on either side held golden rings, through which a white ribbon was threaded and tied off at the head with a smart bow. I knew straight away that, if I was to have my pleasure that night, I first had to untie the present. In short, she was a vision of virginity and pure lust in one.
As I approached, she followed me with her eyes. I removed my own nightshirt to reveal my nakedness, naked that is, save for the cruel cage around my tortured member, who was straining with all his might against those confines. Yet where was the key to release that beleaguered captive? The answer I knew, would only come from her lips, so I climbed atop her and carefully removed the monstrous protrusion from her mouth, placing it carefully on the side table before fastening my own lips with hers and dissolving into a deep kiss, my tongue exploring her mouth and, in the process, discovering a fascinating piercing in the middle of her tongue whose purpose took little guessing and which excited me all the more.
Eventually, after an incredible embrace, I withdrew and whispered, “Release me!”
“Untie me!” was her only reply. Yet she did not mean her arms, with a coy eye downward.
I retreated down below, my hands hardly able to manage the ribbon, so fervent was my excitement. Finally, I managed to unfasten the pretty white bow and withdraw the ribbon. The slit opened for me like Aladdin’s Cave and there, nestled inside, like that cavern of yore, lay a most strange treasure. It was an egg of pure gold that, when I took it in my hand, seemed to have almost a life of its own. I realised with a start, that she must have been wearing it all evening, it jerking and twitching and stimulating her all the while we ate, talked and danced. What cruel provocation! What torture, so stimulating and yet never enough to bring her to completion. I removed the egg and held it aloft like young Aladdin with his lamp.
“Now do the job of the egg,” she commanded with the greatest urgency I had ever heard.
I moved my face to where the egg had nestled and indulged in a second kiss, this time with a most different pair of lips, my tongue darting in, out and around, her groaning in pleasure all the while.
This was the first time that I had ever seen, let alone stimulated the private parts of a woman, and I realised that I had much to learn. Some of my tongue-work elicited little response, whilst other bits made her shake in ecstasy. What seemed to please her most was when my muscle wrapped itself around a tiny nubbin towards the top of the slit, a nubbin that I had been pierced through and a golden ring fastened around its base. This was her pleasure centre and touching it brought her close to delirium.
“Withdraw!” she commanded.
I was confused, for I had felt in her movements that she was coming close to that completion which is so sought after, yet the moment had not quite arrived. Why did she wish me to stop? As if reading my thoughts, she said, “Not that way. Not for the first time. Take the egg.”
I picked up the egg and looked at it. It was smooth all over, yet at the rounded end there seemed to be a small button. I pressed it and a compartment slid out. It truly was a masterpiece of engineering, but that was not what grabbed my attention then. Instead, it was what lay inside the compartment.
The key.
Fervently, I fumbled at my lock, before finally fitting it in and turning the key. The door to the cell of my misery sprang open and I was free! My manhood sprang out, proud and firm. Impatiently, I climbed atop of her and thrust it into that waiting cavern of pleasures, thrusting in and out with power, pride and pure ecstasy, before erupting deep within the woman I loved, the most beautiful, most desirable, most incredible woman on the planet.
Then I collapsed into her bound arms and we recovered together.
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