A Victorian Tale

A Victorian Tale!

Part Nine - Missionary!

Jennifer lay on her back, on the mattress, in Lord Falterham's dining room under the huge black man, Peter. Her arms were trapped by her sides, her body held down by this weight, and her legs forced wide by his muscular thighs. And, between them, resting against her soft belly, and his hard abdomen, was his enormous, hard manhood. Her head, under Peter's massive hairless chest, was facing towards Falterham's face as he crouched down, talking.

But it seemed the talking was over.

"Time for you to start entertaining us," grinned Falterham. "Thrust Peter, I want to see the expression on her face. Let the singing begin."

The Lord returned to his seat at the dining table and he was replaced in Jennifer's field of vision by the sight of Paul, the other huge black man. Paul was rubbing his gigantic manhood, long slow strokes that covered the full length, and Jennifer had no choice but to watch as the organ rose to full erection. As it stiffened the fat, rounded, head slowly pushing out of the thick foreskin like a jungle python, she thought, emerging from its burrow. The message was very clear. One like this is already ready to rape you, if necessary. And, when its brother has dealt with you, this one is ready to take its turn.

Jennifer could not see Peter's strong, hard buttocks as they tensed and lifted up but she could feel the tension in his muscles and the movement as his manhood started to move. The guests all recognized he was getting ready to penetrate her, and cheered. As his hips rose ever higher she felt the weight of his manhood as it slid across her belly, then dropped between her thighs. The movement took the head over her clitoris. The feeling was delicious and, if she had been faced with a normal-sized manhood, she would, at this point, be desperate for penetration. But this great log of a thing was terrifying her.

Now it nudged at the entrance to her vagina. Jennifer felt a liquid sensation. It must, she thought, be making copious amounts of the lubrication that oozes from the hole in a manhood when the man is excited. She dismissed the possibility that she might be contributing. For a brief moment the idea that her small, pale body was making his enormous dark bulk desire her was exciting, then the fear returned to wash over her. Like an ocean wave on the beach that erases footprints in the sand as if they had never existed.

He gave a grunt and the pressure between her thighs grew and grew.

"Ayeeeeeee," screamed Jennifer as Peter thrust in. One, long, slow, remorseless push. It felt like she was being torn in half. "Ow ow oh oh... help me... oh please don't.... please stop... it will not fit... I cannot take it... oh oh Iamtaking it, though it tears me apart!"

Then he pulled out and it felt like her innards were being dragged around.

"Aaargh... oh please stop... this is not possible!" she wailed. "But it is happening, it must be possible. Urghh!!"

Back in he went, causing the gasp. And, within seconds, he was thrusting faster and faster. His hips pulled up, and then down, which translated into a horizontal movement of his phallus. And each thrust pressed her down into the mattress and forced a cry from her lips.

"Ow oh ow oh... oh that hurts!"

Paul watched his brother hammer at Jennifer and reached out to adjust her legs to help ensure Peter was going deep.

"No no no... I cannot... it's too.... aaaaaah!!!" screamed Jennifer.

Falterham's guests started their first course and it was obvious that most of them were pleased how vocal Jennifer was going to be.

Jennifer heard one comment, "Some of the girls just break down and weep. And they're a lot less interesting. This one is going to learn to enjoy it, and then we will really hear her sing!" She wasn't impressed with this talk of her learning to enjoy this pounding. As if she was being trained.

Peter was crushing her into the mattress, his arms each side of her torso held her close, and when she kicked her legs Paul grabbed her ankles so she was unable to escape. Though with Peter's manhood deep inside her she was definitely going nowhere, except to shake and shudder with each powerful thrust.

This is the missionary position, thought Jennifer, as Peter continued to ram his manhood into her. A simple horizontal thrust with the woman trapped under the man. Why was it called this? Was it because the missionaries who travelled the world considered this the most suitable position for the woman? The most Christian of positions that did not encourage lust in the female. Or was there a darker meaning?

Was it because, when the female missionaries arrived in a remote village to preach the Word of God, they quickly found the male missionaries put into the pot for the evening meal, and themselves on their backs underneath a huge and well-endowed man like Peter? To scream and scream until they were thoroughly broken in, and willing slaves to their ebony masters. Oh dear, she thought, I am being trained.

"Oh mother!" she screamed. "Let me go! Aaargghh! Slow down. Please slow down."

Peter didn't slow down, in fact he sped up a little, and Jennifer could feel his manhood dragging against her clitoris. That feeling was pleasant but did not compensate for the agony of feeling stretched beyond her limit. For ten minutes, then fifteen, and twenty, he continued to thrust with seemingly no signs of becoming tired and Jennifer understood that Falterham had not exaggerated when he said these men could continue for two hours.

Then, quite suddenly, she found her insides had somehow adjusted to Peter's girth and length. She was still filled more than ever before but now the friction on her body, inside her fanny and on her clitoris, was pleasant and she began to moan with satisfaction.

"They're gonna make you sing soon," laughed one of the men. And Jennifer began to feel a warmth in her sex that said she was, indeed, becoming increasingly aroused. Inexorably moving in the direction of a 'let go' as Hazel called it. This was the singing they were talking about, she had guessed correctly. And she was going to have a climax under this black giant and in front of all the Lord's guests.

She looked up at Peter, crouched over her, and he smiled. Then, holding himself up on one elbow, he put his thumb onto her clitoris and started to rub as he thrust.

"Oh," she cried. "That's a bit rough... you're pressing too... too... aaaargh."

Her climax was unavoidable and she jerked and juddered under him. Peter waited until she had finished, pulled out, and then dragged her to her feet. He presented her to Falterham's guests, for them to see her expression, and her sweat drenched body, then he threw her back onto the mattress, kneeling on hands and knees this time.

Paul immediately approached her from behind and held her hips. His manhood nudged at her. He adjusted her position by using his knees to move her's out a little. He was lining up her fanny for perfect alignment, then he thrust in. Lubricated by her juices this was an easier task than her first penetration, except he was definitely longer than Peter. He pushed in, further and further, until Jennifer felt him hit something deep inside her. Then he started to make long, swinging, movements with his hips, using all his manhood in all her fanny.

"Urgh urgh urgh urg!!" she shouted as Paul filled her and Peter held her arms so she could not try to get away. He turned her face so that she was looking at Falterham and the Lord smiled.

"Ah... you're so big too... aaah... too hard... please stop," she begged.

Whereas she had been mostly hidden under Peter the position adopted by Paul meant that all the guests could see his manhood pounding away, and her face was exposed. They could see every pained expression each time he thumped into her cervix. After ten minutes of energetic thrusting he and Peter dragged her round so that her face was pointing at the guests. So they could see her expressions even better. They could see less of the action, but by now every man knew this was not simulated sex, such as might be seen at an illegal music-hall show, but the real thing. A woman taken to her limits directly in front of them.

Every thrust made her thighs quiver, her breasts and tummy judder and squashed her buttocks so that ripples like waves ran across them. And her head was bounced about so her vision was blurred. Then Peter started to maul her breasts. To do this he had to let go of her hands and he did this tentatively at first. Perhaps he thought she might try to escape but Jennifer had given up trying to run away or ask for them to stop. It was clear to her that they were strong enough to force her to do anything they wanted, and the only person who might stop the abuse was Falterham. And it was obvious the Lord wasn't going to change his mind about his entertainment.

"Urgh urgh urgh urg!!" she shouted as Paul continued. He had his hands around her thighs and was remorselessly pounding away and Jennifer was starting to feel weak at the knees. The pounding was very pleasurable but was going on too long.

Paul slowed and Peter took over, there was barely moments between one man withdrawing and the next pushing in. Jennifer's elbows gave way and she collapsed down until her face lay on the mattress. This seemed to make little difference to Peter's thrusting and she watched as Paul lay on his back with his manhood waving in the air, gently stroking himself. She reached back in a vain attempt to stop the thrusting and felt Peter's immensely strong thighs. They felt like solid muscle, or perhaps carved from the very ebony they resembled. Peter hammered hard as her fingers explored his hard muscles and she came a second time. Her vagina was somehow adjusting to accommodate both these men. She screamed out her second climax to a round of applause by the guests. And a cacophony of suggestions from the guests as to what Peter and Paul should do next.

Now Jennifer's calls were changing entirely. No longer a grunt of pain but a loud gasp of pleasure, and finally a great moan of desire and passion.

"Oooooh aaaah yyyyy... yyyy... yes... Oh Yes... Oh Yes! YES!!!!"

Her body wanted nothing more than for the two men to continue to plunder her. And, finally, she earned Falterham his wager.

"Oooooh ooooh yes... oh more... don't stop... give me more."

"Shit," said a man.

"Pay up," replied Falterham.

Paul had lain down next to the copulating couple and Peter pulled out and lifted Jennifer up, then lowered her down onto the phallus of his companion. She was facing away from Paul's head, and towards the guests, and she shrieked in surprise as the phallus impaled her. Then Paul grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up and down. All the guests could see his manhood penetrating her, and the expression on her face. He was immensely strong and it was as if he was using her to pleasure his phallus, in the same way a man might run his hand up and down it.

"Help him, slut!" shouted one of the guests. "Let's see you dance upon his cock!"

Jennifer could see a man counting out five pound notes onto the table in front of Falterham and it was a watershed moment as she abandoned herself to the men. Miriam wanted me to have an adventure, she thought, and this is an expedition to darkest Africa. Perhaps I can do this.

"Aaah aaah aaah aaah," she moaned. The moans were coming out voluntarily with every thrust. No longer as if Paul was forcing them from her. She pushed up with her arms and legs, then let herself fall down his phallus. It was rather nice. She repeated it a dozen times and then was waving her hands as the pleasure increased and she learned to use just her thighs to perform the movement. This was dancing on his cock, she decided.

The remaining part of the two hours she spent in a blur of fornication as the men had her individually, together, and in more positions than she believed could exist. Standing up straight, bent over, kneeling, on her back, on her front, standing with one foot upon a chair, and even face down over the dining table in front of Falterham at one point.

She started to have dark thoughts about missionaries. Did the pious women, who campaigned for funds to take Christianity to the heathen of Africa, do it for spiritual reasons? Or did they collect money so assiduously so that they could visit their ebony skinned lovers deep in the jungle and be impaled on thick black manhood's until they screamed out their delight in God's design of the human body? As Paul carried her around the chamber on his phallus, showing her to each guest in turn, she could quite imagine herself in a jungle paradise under a tropical moon. Lost to civilization forever, small, pallid phalluses no longer adequate to satisfy her.

The time was nearly up when they laid her on her side on the platform and Paul approached her from behind. Jennifer had experienced this before and, as his manhood pushed into her vagina, was looking forward to steady strokes and her breasts being caressed. Then Peter lay in front of her and rubbed his manhood up and down her crack. The pressure of his giant helmet on her clitoris was wonderful.

"Uhhh," she gasped. "Oh yes... do more of that... please don't stop."

Then he pressed his manhood against Paul's and started to push into her vagina using his companion's phallus as a guide.

"Aaaargh!" she shouted. "It won't fit. I can't take both of you!"

"Two hours ago you said you couldn't take one of them," shouted Falterham. "You were wrong then and you will be wrong this time."

"Yaaaah! Yaaaah! Nooooo!!" screamed Jennifer as Peter pushed in. He did it in stages and soon was as fully inserted as his friend. Then, to Jennifer's surprise, the two men stopped. The scraping of chairs told Jennifer that the guests were getting up from the table and soon she was surrounded by a sea of faces looking down at her.

"You may take her to heaven," instructed Falterham.

Jennifer's vision became blurred and she screamed as the two men started to thrust. A double manhood stretching her beyond endurance. She had her orgasm, possibly twice, perhaps three times, it was difficult to tell in the middle of the intense sensations. And, as they pounded at her, she felt faint, then all was black, lit briefly by the flash of magnesium as Lucien took the final exposure for the night. Jennifer had only moments to speculate on the exposure before she fainted.

--o--

Peter and Paul were gone when she came round. She was lying on her side on the platform. Someone had tied her ankles together and ropes held her wrists behind her back. Hazel was similarly bound and lay next to her. The dining table had been cleared and the men were playing cards.

All the men were playing except for Sir Rupert. He was sitting on a chair near the platform and leaning on his stick.

"Urgh," grunted Jennifer. "What happened?"

"They made you pass out, dear," said Sir Rupert.

The round of cards finished and several men left the table, disappointed. Cards were dealt to the remaining men and the game started again.

"Can I go home now?" she asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"You and the little one have not yet fulfilled your agreement to entertain us," grinned Sir Rupert. "There's a little matter of the ritual."

"Oh."

"They're playing cards for the honour of being the one to have the pair of you," explained Sir Rupert. "The winner gets to choose which of you to have, and the runner up gets the other girl. The rest of us watch and say the sacred words."

Four players was reduced to three, and then three to two. The two final men, Falterham and the cruel man, sparred for dominance, and Falterham lost.

"I will take Andromeda," said the cruel man. "If that pleases you my lord."

"You won fair and square," replied Falterham.

"I'm glad you think so," grinned the cruel man.

"She is yours upon the altar," continued Falterham, seemingly not hearing his friend's comment. "I will take the skinny waif."

Somewhere in this house, thought Jennifer, there's an altar. I can only hope it's comfortable. She thought about the church back home, the stone slab altar, hundreds of years old, covered only with a small cloth. That altar cloth would be barely big enough to cover my bottom, she thought. And you'd have to remove the big brass candlesticks and the wooden cross or they'd really get in the way.

Perhaps this Manor has its own church, she wondered, and Falterham has had it deconsecrated and turned into his own den of sin? She lay next to Hazel and watched as the men stripped off and servants brought in long, dark, robes. Soon all the men were wearing what looked like monk's attire. A dark robe, tied with a scarlet cord, with a deep hood to cover the face.

"Are we ready?" asked Falterham. There were nods and grunts of assent. The servants withdrew. The athletic man picked up Jennifer and the handsome man grabbed Hazel. Jennifer found herself held unceremoniously over the shoulder and completely at these men's mercy. She had a single, distressing thought. Altars are used for other sorts of sacrifices other than wafer and wine - the body and blood of Christ, fruit and flowers on Harvest Sunday and, on the Pagan one's, sex and something else. What if Hazel and I are about to disappear permanently? A human sacrifice. What if, after the sex, they slit our throats and bury us somewhere on the estate?

Then common sense prevailed. The Professor knew she had been working for Lucien, and she trusted him. And Lucien knew she had stayed behind in Falterham's manor. He might even be somewhere around, waiting for transport home once they'd finished the ritual. And she trusted Lucien. Nobody was going to kill her.

Sir Rupert was leaning on his stick, and there was no sign of Tak, which made Jennifer sad. Strangely she would have preferred him to be there. But he was not part of the Hellfire Club. Merely a servant.

The men followed Falterham, to the great fireplace which seemed unusual. It was a typical vast medieval style open fireplace. No fire, since the evening was so warm. Falterham stepped inside and pulled a chain dangling from the ironwork. There was a click and the back of the fireplace moved aside.

Ah, a Priest's Hole, thought Jennifer. This must have been a Roman Catholic house. Many of them had a secret chamber to hide a priest from Protestant searchers. Falterham entered and, moments later, a lantern was lit. A small chamber was hidden in the thickness of the walls, and from the side of the chamber there was a flight of stairs downwards. An escape passage for a Catholic, should things go very wrong.

The air in the passage was a little chill on her bare skin and she clutched at her ride as the men descended. The lantern cast strange shadows on the rough walls as, with twists and turns, they descended into the earth. To Hell?

"Behold!" shouted Falterham. "The Pit!"

Jennifer heard Hazel moan in fear and then could see it herself. In a great round chamber there was a large well. This must be under the manor house, possibly under the cellars of the manor house. We are deep under the ground and about to go deeper.

The Pit was a thirty feet wide hole lined with stones with sturdy steps built around the edge. Possibly so that the water engineers could descend easily to perform inspections and repairs. And it was occupied by a stone that was similar to one on her family estate. That one was called Long Alan. A standing stone, thirty feet tall, that had always been there and was surrounded by legends and dire warnings not to disturb it. It was difficult to judge, because Jennifer could not see the bottom of the pit, but the one here seemed a bigger specimen. The tip almost reached to the top of the well.

Now she was being taken down the stairs into the pit and the men had started to chant. Nonsense words, or a language that Jennifer had never come across, they echoed around her. Hazel was crying now and Jennifer wished she could touch her, give her courage. Then they were at the bottom of the pit. It was dry, not a well but a similar construction, and torches were lit.