A Rake is Made
“I’ll have another flagon of your finest ale, wench, and look sharp about it.” With a ringing slap to her ample rump, the tavern girl scurried off, giggling, to furnish the customer’s requirements.
Having just that afternoon been expelled from his illustrious school in the town of S_______, young James Prince was of a mood to celebrate, and how better to do so than to indulge in the very same offences for which he had been castigated – boozing and whoring? He cast his by now slightly addled mind back to that momentous encounter in the Headmaster’s office. Offered a choice between twelve strokes of the cane before the assembled ranks of his fellow pupils or dismissal, he had stepped forward, smartly wrested the cane from the authoritarian’s hands and snapped it in two. His decision was clear. He could cheerfully forego the final few weeks of term. His parents were dead and his guardian scarcely cared what his young charge became extricated in, being himself far too occupied with matters of politicking than James’ moral welfare. The dons up at
So here he was, his tall and elegant frame beginning to slip sideways on the tavern bench while young Molly beamed at him from behind the counter. He gave her a wink, then looked up as another tankard banged down on the table in front of him, slopping beer on to the worn deal surface. James slid along the bench to accommodate the newcomer, who tipped his cloth cap in a gesture of seeming respect neutralised by the cheery wink that accompanied it.
“What’s a fine young gent like you doing in a place like this in broad daylight eh? Cutting classes?” he enquired pleasantly.
“Most assuredly not,” said Prince, with the suggestion of a slur. “My uniform misleads you; I am no longer a pupil of that establishment. I am a free man of the world.”
“Ah, then we have that much in common. Watkins, Sir, pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I am James Prince, heir to the estate of the Dorsetshire Princes.”
They shook hands, Watkins’ face avid with curiosity. “I know of them,” he said. “Their property up at Casterbridge is long vacant, so I’ve heard.”
“They’re dead,” said Prince unemotionally. “The fortune and property is held in trust for me until I am twenty-one. My guardian lives up in
“Well, I am mixing with grand company today and no mistake,” said Watkins, with an ironical edge to his voice. “Might I buy you a beer, young Sir? You have a thirsty look.”
“Thank you, my needs are being seen to,” he replied, leering at Molly as she set his drink down. “But you may stay and talk with me if you wish. I am in a holiday mood, and I would have company for my high spirits.”
“Then company I shall provide,” grinned Watkins, and the pair toasted one another many times over before evening came.
Watkins was confounded by his young companion’s seemingly limitless capacity for strong ale, having expected by six in the evening to have accompanied his weaving form to a nearby secluded alleyway, relieved him of his coinage and pocketwatch and left him to sleep it off with the rats.
Yet the youth continued to raise the flagon to his lips, regaling the tavern with accounts of his many run-ins with the venerable staff of the institution he had so lately departed, all coloured to paint Prince as the nonconformist hero he considered himself, rather than the spoilt whelp his masters knew. Everyone in the inn hung amusedly on his every word as the tales grew more extravagant and the form of their telling more slurrily grandiose.
“They must be relieved to see the back of you, young Sir,” simpered Molly, edging past on her way home after a long day’s work only to find her waist seized and her skirts flying up around her as she was pulled backwards on to Prince’s lap.
“You impertinent little hussy,” he hissed into her reddening ear. “I think I may have to make you pay for your cheek.”
She squirmed joyously on the young man’s lap; many a time she had admired his aristocratic bearing and eloquent flattery on a long Saturday afternoon serving in the public bar. Indeed, they had kissed and fondled more often than she could count, though she never imagined he would think her worthy of more ardent attentions.
“What do you say, Watkins? Shall we take a room upstairs for the evening and show Miss Molly here the error of her ways?”
Watkins brightened at what sounded like a definite thieving opportunity with a tumble thrown in; it was funny, he reflected, how your luck could change in a heartbeat. Molly looked alarmed at Prince’s suggestion for her evening’s employ, but he put a finger across her protesting lips.
“Come, Molly, do not seek to feign this veneer of outraged virtue. I know you for what you are and I know you are willing.” He took a handful of coins from his pocket and dropped each down into Molly’s generous decollètage, kissing the spot behind her ear as he did so. “Now get upstairs and earn your money, girl,” he growled, guiding her towards the staircase with a firm hand on her bottom and another on her shoulder, Watkins following behind, bristling eagerly like a dog who has scented a bone.
Once the door had shut behind the trio, Watkins went and sat on the bed, watching his young friend gather the voluptuous girl up into his arms and kiss her soundly as she wriggled and giggled against his long, lean frame. With startling sure-footedness for one who had imbibed so much, Prince danced the girl round and round, never breaking the kiss, until they arrived by the bed and fell sideways into its feathery embrace, coming apart with much excited laughter. Molly moved on to her back, lying spread in wanton rapture with her dark hair tumbled from its clips and the exposed parts of her flesh jiggling temptingly. The men seated either side of her looked down with undisguised hunger.
“Did you ever see such succulence, Watkins?” murmured Prince, tracing a finger from her throat and along her collarbone, then dipping down to the cleft between her heavy breasts.
“No, I confess I should like to see more,” replied Watkins, pulling at the laces of her bodice until the enticing brown nipples popped free of their confines. He scooped up one mound in a reverent hand, his action mirrored on the other side by Prince, so that each man had a titty of his own to play with. And play they did, while Watkins fixed his mouth to Molly’s and Prince worked her lower garments down over her waist and hips so that her cotton pantalettes were all she wore. The expelled youth lowered his lips to suck and nip at Molly’s perky nub, all the while slipping his hand under the waistband of her undergarments, stroking the fleecy triangle with slender fingers until…ah…there…her secret place, hot and wet to the touch. She moaned into Watkins’ questing mouth, rotating her hips to welcome Prince’s explorations.
“Lusty little slut,” he commented, relinquishing her nipple and moving down to wrench the pantalettes off with unseemly haste. “You love it, don’t you, Molly. I’ve heard all about you.”
Molly was beside herself, only able to sigh and twist when Watkins moved to straddle her waist, unbuttoning his britches and resting his cock between the valley of her breasts. “Squeeze them together, girl,” he commanded, “nice and tight, so they rub against my John Thomas.” Molly obliged, pressing the twin pillows together and pulling them back and forth so that Watkins’ member was gently stroked. He flicked his thumbs across her nipples as she worked, giving her rough commands and words of encouragement throughout. Prince, meanwhile, knelt between her parted thighs, imparting a similar kind of stimulation to the little pearl at her centre, standing up from its hood and begging to be touched. The fingers of his other hand rummaged and plundered her intimate space.
“’Tis true she’s no maiden,” he remarked to his companion with a laugh. “I’ll wager she’s had half the farmhands in the county up here. Are you clean, Molly? Do we brave the pox when we both fuck you later?”
“No indeed,” Molly assured them, her voice weak and breathy. “I am without disease.”
Prince bent his considerable nose to her dripping love purse. “It’s true, you don’t smell like a stinking whore, even if you are one. I’ll take my chances.” He traced the outline of her sex delicately with his tongue, sending her over the edge of oblivion, yelling until she was hoarse. Watkins followed in short order, splashing his seed all over her tits, neck and chin.
The two men edged away from her body and looked at the picture she made, spread on the bed with her lips wide and breasts glistening with pearlescent semen. Prince was achingly hard, but he had more plans for her before he pursued his own release.
“Look at you,” he said derisively. “You naughty, naughty little trollop. You would let us do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Sirs,” she confirmed, her eyes shut in rapt afterglow.
“That makes you a very sinful young woman, Molly. I feel chastisement is in order, to show you the error of your ways. Now come and lay yourself across my lap, young lady, and I’ll explicate my lesson on your wicked bottom.”
Molly prised open her eyes and crawled reluctantly over the young master’s waiting lap, presenting her soft white bottom to his appreciative view.
“Now watch this, Watkins, for I’ll need you to take over when my arm tires.” Prince began to apply his large hand to Molly’s quivering globes. The first few smacks left pink impressions of his palm on her skin, but very soon the area was covered in a warm rose blush. Molly squirmed and yelped under the force of Prince’s steady assault, but there was no relief for her.
“Please, Sir, it burns so much, I’ll be a good girl and do whatever you want,” she pleaded, but Prince would not be diverted until her entire arse was a deep shade of red, from the crest of her buttocks down to mid-thigh, and she would be aware of the tight swollen skin for some hours afterward.
He let a hand drift across her backside, impressed by its heat and aware that he would need to use her for his release very soon.
“Are you very sore, Molly?” he asked softly.
“Oh yes, Sir, it stings so badly.”
“Good; then the lesson is beginning to take effect. To continue it, you will need to kneel on the floor and take my cock in your mouth, my dear.”
Molly tumbled off Prince’s lap and did as he asked, watching while he unleashed his considerable prick from the tight school britches he was still wearing. It was impressive both in length and girth, its empurpled head pointing almost skywards.
“He is very pleased to see you, Molly,” murmured the youth. “Be kind to him.” She took the tip into her generous mouth and begin to lick and suck at it, moving slowly down the shaft. Prince growled with pleasure. “I always like to put my cock in a girl’s mouth after punishment,” he noted to Watkins. “It reinforces the lesson, I think. Take my riding crop from my valise and give her ten hard strokes, would you? Good man.”
Molly’s eyes stretched wide with alarm at Prince’s laconic words, but his response was to shove her head further down. “Keep it up, Molly. There will be extra strokes if I feel your teeth, by the way.”
The unfortunate girl pleasured Prince for all she was worth, though it was so very difficult not to stop as each blow of the crop fell squarely and harshly on her already well-reddened behind. Her cries of pain vibrated against her master’s tool, causing him to roll his eyes back in his head with ecstasy, and when Watkins landed the tenth biting lash, Prince could hold back no longer and shot his load far down Molly’s throat before she could even try to draw back.
“Good girl, brave girl, Molly,” crooned the younger man, ruffling her hair soothingly. “You did very well, my dear. I am pleased with you. Now your punishment is done, we can give you more treats.”
Watkins was back at half-mast now, the cropping combined with the sight of her plump lips pumping Prince’s weapon having sent the blood rushing to that part. His companion pulled Molly up for a long and intense kiss, tumbling with her back on to the bed, tasting himself on her tongue with relish and feeling the crop welts on her bum as they tangled. Watkins waited patiently for Prince’s next instruction, accepting his subordinate position with alacrity in the knowledge that he would be off into the night with the haughty lad’s worldly goods before midnight struck.
“Well,” chuckled Prince, seeing the condition of his new friend, “it seems our Mr Watkins might appreciate a demonstration of your oral talents, my dear. Come and sit on the bed, my fine fellow.”
Watkins sat, legs splayed, on the mattress while Molly was manhandled on to all fours, her north end hovering over Watkins’ eager cock while Prince remained behind her, bringing his virile young sword back to full tumescence, which he was able to manage with comparatively little effort.
“Suck him, Molly,” commanded Prince, and at the sight of her obedient, bobbing head, he knelt behind her and plunged his steely hardness straight into her gaping pussy, grasping her hips for purchase and penetrating her very depths. Molly gurgled with delight over the crown of Watkins’ member, delighted to be filled at last, and so comprehensively. Despite the ache of her cheeks and face from all the suction, she felt gloriously stretched and used and wriggled backwards to meet Prince’s savage thrusts, disregarding the additional sting to her sore bum that entailed.
“Egad, you know how to milk a man dry,” gasped Prince, feeling her tight cunny muscles clamp against his surging rod. He reached around to tickle her clit, banging into her frantically until she began to shake her head from side to side, Watkins pulled out of her mouth and spurted across her face, then she and Prince both roared together into an unforgiving climax, their cries flying out through the window to the street outside, alarming passers by and horses alike.
“Oh Sirs,” she wailed, falling forwards limply. “I am undone.”
James Prince lay down at her right side, while Watkins flanked her at her left. “You are our sweet, sweet slut, Molly,” whispered Prince, tracing patterns on the skin of her back and buttocks. “You are doing so very well, my dear. Watkins, would you be so kind as to call downstairs for a spot of refreshment?”
Watkins grinned – these two would sleep very soundly tonight, he would bet – and pulled on his britches, returning shortly afterwards with a platter of cheeses, meats and bread and a jug of water. The debauched trio tore into the food and drank thirstily, then Watkins took Molly into his arms and gave her a long kissy caressing while Prince watched with detached interest, chewing at the last of the bread.
“Watkins,” he said suddenly, “you haven’t had the pleasure of her juicy pussy yet, have you? Why don’t you fuck her while I play with her arse?”
“Gladly,” said Watkins politely, stretching out on the bed. “Hop aboard, my sweet. John Thomas is ready for you.”
Molly mounted the upright shaft, bouncing up and down with glee while Watkins fingered the jiggling breasts. Prince watched from behind awhile, enjoying the scene as the base of Watkins’ shaft played peek-a-boo in and out of Molly’s hole. Well, one of her holes, at any rate.
Prince crept closer and began to massage her still warm derriere, moving his inquisitive fingers ever further in until he had her cheeks prised well apart and a thumb against the little pinky pucker between them.
“Oh Sir,” said Molly brokenly, bending forward so her tits squashed against Watkins’ chest and her rear was even more prominently displayed. Prince exerted gentle pressure to the tight ring of muscle, then he wetted his finger in the juices of her clit and spread them around the target. “Oh, Siiiiir,” she gasped again when his thumb pushed a little harder. She tried to clench her buttocks against him, but he was firm and persistent.
“Surely you have been touched here before, Molly?” he questioned her and she shook her unruly locks.
“No, Sir, I haven’t. That’s what men do with boys, I thought.”
“They can do it with girls as well,” Prince assured her. “It is greatly pleasurable.” At least, so he had heard. The hard truth was that no girl had allowed him to go so far as yet, not even a whore. He found himself obsessed by the idea though, and lustful thoughts of packing his hard cock into a girl’s tiny arsehole consumed his days and nights.
“I…don’t know, Sir,” demurred Molly. “I don’t think it’s quite nice.”
Prince snorted. Who was this trollop, to be talking about what was ‘nice’?
“Try it at least,” he coaxed, and he pushed his thumb down so it broke through the muscular defences.
“Please, Sir, no, Sir,” she cried agitatedly, trying to climb off Watkins’ cock in her alarm, though he held her down. “I’ll scream! I’ll call the innkeeper!”
Prince scowled, defeated. “It’ll cost you a hard spanking, Molly,” he warned her.
“Then a hard spanking I will take,” she said. “Anything you want, Sir…just not that.”
Prince had to content himself with stroking the head of his shaft up and down her rear cleft while Watkins finished off.
She was laid down on her back and each man took a turn on her once more in the missionary position, chafing her bottom against the coarse linens with each thrust, before they fell to sleep in a mess of limbs and kissing mouths, sticky, sore and sated.
It was an hour or maybe two later when Prince suddenly awoke to find the candle guttering and Watkins gone. He sat up sharply, extricating the limbs that were mixed up with Molly’s, and padded over to the open door. His valise was gone but he sensed that Watkins had only just left the room. He peered down the dark stairwell but could neither see nor hear a thing.
Then he closed the door quietly and chuckled. He checked to make sure his belongings still lay beneath the bed, where he had hidden them when Watkins was fetching the dinner. Then he pictured the journeyman thief’s face when he opened the valise to find nothing inside but a cushion and a few old textbooks. He latched the door and returned to Molly, sound asleep after her exertions, her round face flushed as she dreamed.
So there you go. A fun experiment in period voice for me - hopefully a fun read for you.