Maxine Wentpole searched intently among the guests scattered across the gardens in front of Everington manor. There were several young gentlemen and ladies with mallets, strolling among the wickets set in a grassy area. Watching them carefully, and listening to the giggling and smack of the mallets against the wooden balls, were the older Wentpole and Teagarden women. They reclined under an open tent, and were certainly discussing the suitability of the young men for their daughters.
Most of the men were gathered near the large fountain. Their silk hats glossed in the afternoon sun, and the smoke from their cigars wafted in the slight breeze. They sipped at lemonade served by the attentive staff with sprigs of mint.
Maxine’s mother was told he had accepted the invitation to the Teagarden’s party, but she forbade Maxine to go near him. She said if she caused him any more distress, a man of such importance could ruin the family’s social reputation. Although the garden party was well in progress, she said a silent prayer that he might yet appear. Someone of his standing would be forgiven a late arrival.
She caught sight of a two horse phaeton proceeding up the drive, and then stopping at the portico. She recognized Lord Grantham stepping down as the footman held the door. He stood arrow straight in spite of his great age, as he looked over the many guests scattered about. A servant brought him a drink, and he strode toward the cluster of men. He was well met, and chatted amiably with them.
Maxine kept out of his sight, but followed his every movement, waiting. Finally, the group of men broke up, and Lord Grantham walked alongside the roses with another young man. She surmised Mr. Chalmers was trying to curry favor with him, and Lord Grantham would surely be glad to be relieved of his company.
Maxine conspired with her sister to separate the men by persuading Mr. Chalmers to entertain the young girl at croquet. Even at thirteen, Sarah was easily the most shamelessly flirtatious of the Wentpole girls, and the one who could be counted on to always get her way with any man, young or old. Maxine had her wiles, but Sarah could woo Prince Albert away from the Queen, if given the chance.
When Lord Grantham, now alone, neared the entrance to the maze, Maxine stepped from behind a hedge, and into his path. “Good day, Lord Grantham.”
He was startled, then he set his face in a grim pose. “Good day, Miss Wentpole. You will excuse me, as I believe my company is more desired elsewhere.”
Maxine spoke quickly, and moved closer to obstruct his retreat. “I assure you, none desire your company more than I at this moment. Will you not walk with me?”
The old gentleman looked around, possibly for hope of rescue. “You have done me ill enough. Thank you, no.” He tipped his hat, and made to move away.
“Lord Grantham, if you do not consent, I shall throw myself at your feet in front of all of the guests and beg you.”
He was quite magnificent when he was angry, his blues eyes still bright in his pale, lined face. His short mustache twitched under his lip, and his large teeth showed in a fine stare. “You are a wicked girl, Miss Wentpole. I wish nothing further to do with you.”
“I know this too well, Lord Grantham. Let us walk the maze, so that I may make amends.”
Their was more frustration in his voice than anger as he spoke. “There can be no amends. I shall remember what you have done to me for the rest of my days. I can only hope my remaining days are few, so that I do not have to bear the pain much longer.”
She stepped in front of him, her full skirt brushing the tops of his boots as she said, “I hope you live a great deal longer, Lord Grantham, for I do so like you.”
“Oh, Girl, do not prevaricate. You encouraged me to propose, and then you refused, and made a spectacle of me to all of the parish.”
“Please, Lord Grantham. If we could but speak privately, in the maze.” Maxine took his arm, and urged him down a path well-known to her, the high hedges on both sides obscuring them from all others. He was tall, and his offered arm was firm under her grasp. She entwined her other arm in his, as well.
She could see the overly familiar gesture inspired great discomfort in him, and he halted. “Miss Wentpole, I believe we are unchaperoned here. We must return to the guests, or there will be talk.”
“You are good to have concern for my reputation, Sir. But I will risk anything to explain myself to your satisfaction.”
“You seek to make more the fool of me, I think.”
“You are right to distrust me. But we have a new Vicar, Sir, and I have gone to confession, for confession is good for the soul. He has made me understand that I have done many wrongs, to men especially. He has put the spirit of God in me, Sir, and the will to follow His way, for I do not wish to suffer the flames of purgatory for eternity. The Vicar has made it clear that there can be no salvation for me without my making amends.”
“Then, I am afraid you are lost, for there will be no forgiveness here. And why do you clutch at my arm so?”
His anger instilled in her a sweet excitement. She imagined him in a fighting rage upon his horse, his sword flashing in the sun, stained with the blood of Russian soldiers. He did not need to brag his prowess as a calvary officer, others did it for him. Even Maxine’s father hailed him as a splendid soldier, and she overheard him say he had a great scar that stretched from chest to groin. She had never heard the word previously, and conducted many conversations with her sisters to discover it’s meaning.
“I fear if I do not hold tight, Sir, you will run away, and I will be lost to God. And I steal comfort from the strength of your arm, as well. Hear me out, I pray.”
“The deed is done. I wish to discuss it no further.”
Maxine would not be deterred, and she lead him into numerous turns paved with white gravel that crunched under their feet, eventually ending at stone bench in a small cul-de-sac. A fountain in a nearby path burbled, and birds squawked as they flitted from hedge to hedge. “Let us sit here as we converse, My Lord, where the fountain will disguise our voices.”
“To what end?”
She turned and sat on the bench, tugging at his arm, him resisting at first, then relenting, and sitting beside her. She looked into his pained, yet distinguished face. “I will make amends to you, Sir. I pledge it with all my heart.”
“For the last time, you cannot.” He turned away from her, his bitterness as plain as any scar.
“I beg you, Sir, upon my soul, tell me how I may ease your choler, for I desire nothing so greatly as to have you look upon me with the gleam you once did.”
“There is nothing, I tell you.”
“You are a man of considerable experience, Sir. Surely you have encountered such a trespass before, and know what can be done?
“When one behaves with such disregard for the feelings of others, the damage is too severe to repair.” His voice was commanding, and Maxine thought his officers must tremble in response. “Why do you sit so close?” he said. “It is most distressing.”
“I am on the brink of damnation, My Lord. If I let go of you, I shall fall to the fires below.”
“Miss Wentpole, you may as well have run me through the gut with a sword, for the pain is as great, and the slow death just as sure.”
“Had I used a sword, would I not be punished for my crime?”
“Yes,” he said. “You would hang, and deservedly so.”
“And would you look with kindness upon me in death?” His face turned full upon her, and she could see his eyes soften. At last, she saw a path to his mending. She said, “Then you must punish me accordingly, My Lord.”
“Hang you? You are a mere child? Unconscionable, even though your crime is great.”
“You are indeed a nobleman, Sir, to wish to spare my life. But perhaps there is an equally severe, yet less permanent punishment you could inflict upon me.”
“I should make you marry me, that might be punishment enough.”
Maxine drew herself together, her hands in her lap, her eyes straight ahead, and her spirit grown firm as never before. “If you command me, Sir. I shall do so.”
Lord Grantham was quiet, so quiet she soon sought his expression. It had softened even more, and there was a hint of his previous regard for her. She knew his decision would determine her fate for the rest of her days.
“Ahh! You are merely fifteen,” he said. “I was addled to ask you to consider an old fool like me.”
“Oh, no, My Lord. There are many girls who would be proud to take your hand. I am such a bad girl, not at all worthy of you. I wish for a husband as brave and fair as you, with a mustache like yours, who sits like a statue upon a horse, one who commands the respect of all those who set eyes upon him, as you do, only… a bit… younger.”
“Younger! Yes, of course, you wish him to be younger. A man who has distinguished himself, fought for Queen and country and bears the scars to prove it, and a man of considerable station, is too good for you. No doubt, you favor a fancy man who can dance well, and make witty remarks over tea.”
“Oh, no. I should gladly trade all the dances at all the balls for the rest of my life if I could find a husband to match your heartiness, Sir. Why, the fierceness in your eyes when you are stirred steals my breath away. It makes me want to fall into your arms as a child, and obey your every desire. It is just… ”
“Well, do go on, Child.”
It is… the skin, Sir. The way it… hangs about on a man of your age. I have seen my father, you see, quite by accident, of course, and unknown to him, and I was quite… disturbed by the looseness of it. And the wrinkles, rather like a large, dried fig, all shriveled, and– . Well, compared to the stable hand, who is only eighteen, who I have also had the opportunity to gaze upon with his shirt off, again, also quite an unforeseen circumstance, well the effect, was altogether different– ”
“Enough! Enough. I shall go mad, if I listen any more to any more of this childishness. There is more required of a good husband than the tight skin of youth.”
“It is a silly wish, I know, and my father has counseled against it, and thinks me a simpleton for it.”
“You’re father is right. You are a thankless child for turning a deaf ear to him, and his wise counsel.”
“I know it, Sir. There is no hope for me. I am destined to be in misery for all of my days.”
“But why, Miss Wentpole? Why did you seek humiliate me?”
“None can be as wicked as me, Sir. I thought to flatter myself by garnering your proposal. I had never had an offer of marriage, and I so wanted to tell my sisters I had one. Virginia positively gloated when Jeffery proposed to her. I did not imagine it would hurt you so.”
“Do not think me a fool. You knew well enough, but you blinded yourself to the consequences for the sake of your vanity. Such vanity is expected on a lessor woman, but is most unbecoming on one so fair.”
Maxine could sit straight no longer. As the tears ran freely she sought the comfort of Lord Grantham’s firm shoulder, resting her head upon it.
He offered her his handkerchief, which she accepted, readily, and he said, “There, there, My Child. Do not muss that pretty face. Let us return to the party.”
“Oh, no, My Lord. I must make amends. We must put our heads together, and devise a suitable punishment for my wrongs to you.”
“Tell your father of your contrition. He will set you right.”
“No, my Lord. It is you I have wronged, and you who must put me right.”
“I confess, Miss Wentpole, I have no taste for it any longer. Let us put it aside.”
“You think I try to escape my punishment through wile, and are too considerate to say so, but I assure you I will be punished.”
A different kind of frustration seemed to shape his face, “But how?”
“You must decide the method, Sir. I will accede to whatever you think just.”
“Hmm, a whipping would be in order, but you are so young, and your skin so tender. I could not bring myself inflict such pain upon you.”
“I do not deserve such kindness. Is there something else? Equally severe, yet not so damaging?”
“My hand, I suppose, upon you bottom, whilst over my knee… It would be a start.”
“My skirt is most cumbersome, how shall I manage it?”
“Oh, this is unseemly,” he said. “Let us forget the whole matter.”
“Help me remove it, Sir. Then you may have at me unobstructed.”
“What? Here? No, that is absurd. We shall be discovered.”
“It is a maze, Sir, and we are in the middle of it. Only Elizabeth Teagarden herself knows it as well as I, for we spent many hours here as children. I daresay you could not find your way out without me. We should not be discovered for days, if we did not wish it.”
He stood and looked about, his head attempting to see over the impossibly high hedges. He cast his eyes upon her, an altogether different look on his face than before. Less the spirit of anger, and more the spirit of a soldier about to do battle. She turned her back to him, and said, “Undo my buttons, Sir. Let us begin my salvation.”
Maxine waited, the warm air swirling about the hedges bearing the fragrances of the rose garden some yards away from the maze. She imagined him staring at her, the way the stable hand dared to, as though his desire was unquenchable. “Miss Wentpole,” he said, “It is most improper for a young lady to undress in front of a man.”
“Yes, I suppose it is, but only if my virtue was threatened. You would not take advantage of me in a state of undress and cause me to lose my virtue, would you, Sir?”
The man coughed, and said, “Certainly not!”
“Then all is well. If you can but reach under the dress and release the ties holding the crinoline, there shall be no obstruction to your hand striking my bottom. You may find it easier if you remove your gloves, Sir.” Momentarily, she felt the back of her skirt lift, and the brush of his bare hands on the drawers covering her bottom which sent a shudder down her spine, and a stickiness formed between her legs. When she felt the crinoline drop to the gravel, she asked, “May I hold your hand while I step out of it?” She grasped the offered rough, warm hand, stepped out of the circle the crinoline had become on the gravel, and said, “Now, shall I drop my knickers. Governess always makes us drop our knickers for a spanking.”
“Um, yes,” Lord Grantham said. “If that is the usual thing.”
“Now, I believe if you sit down, Sir, I can lay across your lap.” As he did so, she bent over his legs so that her toes and her fingers touched the gravel, and her bottom was situated in the position Maxine knew only too well. “How many, sir? Governess always tells us how many.”
He steadied her with his hand on her back, and said, “Until you cry, my dear girl. Until you cry the tears of the truly penitent.”
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed, flexing her posterior upon his lap. “I fear it will burn like hot coals, Sir.”
Seeming much less hesitant, he said, “Indeed it will, My Dear. Indeed it will.” Before his words had cleared his teeth, she felt the smack of his hand upon her right cheek. A yelp of surprise burst from her throat, but she stifled the sound for the succeeding blows as they alternated cheeks. His smacks grew with purpose, and his hand upon her back held her fast, and he began to grunt with each effort of his swinging arm.
Maxine found it quite unlike the governess’ punishments. Hers were delivered with a cold justice, a measured count upon the punishment horse, while Lord Grantham’s were rapid and angry. To feel so helpless in the hands of a man, a man of such importance, with her nether region writhing upon his legs, and her bosom against his knee, set her to tingling in a way never before experienced.
Smack! She could hear his breathing grow heavier with each blow, while her own noises grew softer, lest they take away from the sensation of the strike of his hand rippling her fleshy posterior. At length, his hand ceased swinging, but his rasping breath continued long after. She felt a confusion as she lay across him, not wanting to move for he might wish to continue with the blows, although she thought her bottom must surely be glowing from the fire she felt there. At length, she accepted that he would not deliver another, and she pulled herself upright, and stood before him. “I shan’t be able to sit for a week,” she said.
“I should be happier if it were a month,” he replied, then grimaced, as though he had spoken in haste.
“Oh, Sir. I have not alleviated your pain. You must continue with the spanking.” She delivered the words in a way designed to convey her complete willingness to suffer further at his hand.
He stood abruptly, “No, enough of this. I told you, the pain cannot be alleviated.”
She was truly saddened to hear this, and she looked to him for some sliver of forgiveness. “Sir, what is that protuberance from your trousers?”
Lord Grantham turned his chin away from her, as though there were birds in the sky, but there were none. “Pay no attention to it. Put yourself together before someone comes upon us.”
Maxine drew her knickers up, stepped into the crinoline and pulled it up by the ties, lifting her skirt high as she did so. “You must tie them for me, Sir.” Reluctantly, it seemed, he tied neat bows in front and back as she held her skirt near to her full bosom. When he was done, she dropped her skirt and smoothed it into place. Although he was till facing her, he would not set eyes upon her. However, his protuberance, were it an eye, could be said to be staring quite directly at her.
“I have never seen such a thing, Sir,” she said. “Does it discomfort you? What is the cause?”
“I should think you had seen a dozen for the way you behave around men. It is a cockstand, and you are the cause. You are the cause of all my discomfort these days.”
“And pray, tell me, Sir. What is a cockstand, and how can I alleviate the discomfort?”
“For the last time, you cannot.” His words were still gruff with anger. “It is a discomfort remedied only by a wife, or a whore.” He caught himself, “Forgive my unseemly words. I always seem to forget myself in your presence.”
“I see,” Maxine said. “I am undesired as a wife. You are too kind to wish me to be a… whore. Is there no middle ground for one such as myself who wishes to make amends to a gentleman for the great wrong she has done him?”
“There is nothing. May we not be done with so vexing a tribulation as this?”
“May I see the protuberance, Sir?”
Aghast, he said, “Certainly, not!”
“If I can but see it,” Maxine said in earnest, “I may be able– ”
“Damn you, Child! If I show it to you, I cannot be responsible for my actions. Your virtue would be in grave danger.”
Maxine straightened herself, and took a breath, “I fear not, Sir, for my need to make amends is great, and I believe my virtue is safe with a man of your character.” She took a step toward him in the gravel. “I should like to see it in it’s entirety.”
The Lord cast about as though to confirm none might be near, then undid the buttons of his trousers and the protuberance, the cockstand, as he called it, came forth into the sunlight like a great, red sausage. “Oh my, it is an ugly thing, Sir. Was it mangled during the war? Father said you were wounded.”
He gasped indignantly, “Of course not. Mine is much the same as any other man’s. Some say greater. My wound is upon my chest.”
“May I see that, Sir. I have long wondered about it.”
“My wound?” he said. “Good Heavens, why?”
“Your bravery is renowned, Lord Grantham, and your scar the proof. I would admire it, as I admire you.”
His eyes finally came to rest squarely upon her. “I will not undress for you. It is out of the question. However, you may see the tail of it, just above my… cockstand, if you are determined to expose yourself to such a grotesqueness.” He held his loose pants up with one hand, and pulled up the cummerbund with the other to expose the deep scar. The cockstand bounced as he did so.
To Maxine, it was a rough bit of work, indeed. The thick sausage was straight as though skewered on a stick, curly gray hair covered what she presumed were testicles beneath, and a wrinkled scar of discolored skin about two fingers in width near the base of the cockstand curving upward until covered by his garments.
“May I touch the scar, Sir?” Her desire propelled her to remove her gloves before he could mumble his assent. She drew her face near, and felt the rippled and coarse skin by dragging her finger upward, pushing it under his cummerbund until it would go no further. “It is a magnificent, horrifying thing, Sir,” she said, rubbing the scar gently with her finger. “Does it cause you great pain?”
“No. I am hardly aware of it any more.”
Her fingers slid down to the end of the scar, where they rested, and she looked into the face of the strikingly handsome gentleman, and, seeing no reproach, allowed her fingers to come to rest upon the cockstand. Unlike the scar, it was as hot as she felt her bottom to be, and she could see bulges upon it like the spreading roots of an old tree. The dark red color suggested a condition similar to the face of a man in great anger, and she wondered if the stiffness represented the Lord’s anger toward her.
It seemed quite alive, twitching as it were, as her fingers moved up and down it’s length. Ugly though it may be, she thought it was a thing to be admired, representing the strength of a man’s passion, in the same way his scar represented his bravery. She allowed her hand to caress it fully, wrapping her fingers around, noting that her fingers could barely touch as she encompassed it’s girth. The skin was loose enough to move if she grasped it tightly, yet tight enough to appear stretched to it’s limit. It was a remarkable appendage.
“Pray, Child. Leave off,” Lord Grantham whispered. “You will bring forth my seed, and there will be a great mess.”
Astonished, Maxine said, “Truly?” Her knowledge of such matters was haphazardly acquired from the downstairs maid, who was known to entertain one of the stable hands, and from her sisters, whose information contradicted each other considerably. “And would bringing forth your seed alleviate the discomfort?”
“Yes, it would, but… ”
She clutched about the cockstand with both hands, and said eagerly, “And would it allow you to forgive me?”
“Miss Wentpole,” he said gravely, “I assure you, you do not wish to do this.”
“I am in earnest, Sir,” she said, wringing and stretching it as though it were an old wash rag. “I will bring forth your seed to make amends. Tell me how to go about it.”
“You have the idea. Keep rubbing, with your hands around it,” he clasped his hands over hers, groaned, and moved them up and down the entire length of the rod more slowly and rhythmically than her own movements.
As his hands released she mimicked his stroking of the meaty thing. “Thusly?”
“Yes, indeed, My Child. A bit faster.”
“How long will it take, Sir?”
“Not long. Encompass it with both hands, if you please.”
“Am I doing it to your satisfaction, Sir?”
“Yes, quite. From the very top to the bottom. Yes, indeed. Excellent.”
“Sir, when your seed comes forth, what shall I do with it?”
“Let it spill on the ground. A little faster, now.”
“I believe the Bible forbids that, Sir. Is there no other way?”
“No. It is coming, stay clear, lest it soil your dress.”
Maxine moved to the side as she rubbed vigorously with both hands. “I do not wish to anger God, Sir. Shall I catch your seed in my hand?”
“No, attend to your fingers, My Dear.” She could see a strained concentration on his face. “Do not let your efforts flag,” he said.
Maxine found the activity quite strenuous, and unlike anything she had ever done, but it pleased her that the Lord enjoyed it. It seemed a great shame his seed should be wasted upon the ground, and she did not think the Vicar would approve. She continued with both hands, up and down the length of the shaft.
“Prepare, Child,” he said, his eyes closed, and his head fell back.
“I am ready, Sir, though I doubt the Vicar would want it to spill on the ground.”
“Concentrate, the time is near,” he said.
“You are a great gentleman, Sir. Your seed is precious.”
Oh, Miss Wentpole, it is coming.”
The desire to please both the Vicar, and Lord Grantham, caused her great consternation. Both hands, it seemed, were required to bring forth his seed, and letting it spill on the ground seemed an act against God’s word. She cast her mind about for a solution. “I shall drink it, My Lord.”
“What? No!”
Before the words had escaped him, she bent over and directed the cockstand into her mouth, wrapping her lips around the end of it tightly as she rubbed. There was a wet pulsing against her tongue, accompanied by simultaneous gasps from the Lord. She perceived a great quantity of fluid filling her mouth, warm and thick in texture. She had imagined his seed would be tiny hard things, like those of a flower, as the word suggested. Instead, it was a rich liquid, similar she supposed to the cream skimmed from cows milk. The seed continued to issue from the end of the cockstand, filling her cheeks to bulging, until her tiny mouth could take no more. She thought first to spit it upon the ground, but she did not wish to be responsible for such a blasphemy. Determined to set a righteous course for herself, she began to swallow the liquid, gulping most impolitely, until she found that her mouth had emptied, and no more was forthcoming from his cockstand.
The anticipation, the great effort on her part, the magnificent surprise of the result, the mad gulping to prevent a single drop from spilling on the ground, had created in Maxine an unexpected excitement. So frenzied was the stimulation that she could not bring herself to stop rubbing and swallowing in case there might be more of the same until long after the gentleman’s gasps had ceased, and the cockstand began to soften in her hands. She released her fingers from the drooping shaft and stood again erect, noting upon the gentleman’s face what she took to be a pained expression. “I am terribly sorry, Sir. I was in such a puzzle. You are such a grand and fearless man, and I stole your seed, and consumed it like a greedy child. I confess, I thought to imbue myself with some of your greatness by taking it inside me. I am truly a wicked girl and do not deserve forgiveness. No matter how I try, it is my fate to do men wrong.”
The Lord steadied himself against one of the larger branches of the hedge, still holding his trousers up with the other. “Do not fret, My Child, all is forgiven, all is forgiven.”
“Truly? Then you no longer wish to see me burn in the fires of hell?”
“I do not.” He buttoned his trousers and pressed the cummerbund into place over the waist.
“Oh thank you, Sir. Thank you.” She could not restrain herself from clutching at his arm with both of her hands. “I shall be ever so grateful, and dutiful, and I shall speak glowingly of you to all who will listen, I swear it.”
“I would not have thought so great a transition in my mood could have occurred in such short order,” he said, a smile upon his face. “I think it is safe to say, you have completely relieved the wrong you have done me.”
“Then I am indeed happy, Sir,” Maxine said, retrieving her gloves from the bench. “Yet– ”
“Have you come to regret your actions already?” asked Lord Grantham. “I assure you, the fault is mine– ”
“Oh, no, Sir. It was quite remarkably pleasing. I shall think of it often. I am sad only because I regret I shall not have the opportunity to make amends to you again.”
“You are a remarkable child, indeed. I believe I would have you wrong me once a week, for the joy of forgiving you is great.”
“You are too kind, Sir. It is unfortunate all men are not of your nature. The Vicar says I shall never wed, for, I have badly teased a great many men. I am quite known for it.”
“I do not doubt it. However, I believe you have the capacity to make any man forgive you.”
“If only that were true, Sir. Young gentlemen of standing have been so frightfully unforgiving of my flirtations.”
Lord Grantham offered his arm formally, and they began the stroll out of the maze. “Did you know I was stationed in India?” he said jovially. “A remarkable people, capable of amazing feats of physical prowess. I watched a man sleep on a bed of nails, and another pierce his skin with fifty needles and experience no pain. I also became acquainted with a woman who could swallow a sword.”
“I have seen illustrations of such in books,” Maxine said. “but Mother has assured me it is quite as impossible as it would seem.”
“I can assure you, Miss Wentpole, it is possible, for I have seen it with my own eyes. As I was curious, the woman explained her technique to me in great detail. Indeed, she could swallow completely any number of objects. You show a certain eagerness to learn, and I believe with persistence, I might be able to teach the technique to you.”
“Father would never approve of my swallowing a sword.”
“Rightly so,” he said. “However, what I propose is to modify instruction of the technique to suit your special… interests.”
“I am sure I would benefit from anything you have to teach me, Sir, but for what purpose?”
“Miss Wentpole, if you could learn to accommodate a cockstand in place of the sword sliding down your throat to the hilt, you would have within your power to draw, as it were, the bitterness from any man you have wronged, no matter how severely.”
“A cockstand, Sir?” Maxine grazed her throat with her gloved fingers, tying to imagine the sensation of such a thing. “All the way down my throat?”
“Yes, quite so. All the way, indeed. And of course, their seed would be deposited there, as well.”
“Oh, I see.” Maxine gulped at the thought of another mouthful of seed, remembering the taste and texture of Lord Grantham’s, and the sensation of swallowing his greatness. As though with his seed inside her, she could herself lead a calvary charge. “And you think this would inspire forgiveness in men?”
“I think you could achieve forgiveness for most any crime. And gentlemen of great stature and wealth, and youth, would lay their fortune at your feet.”
“Can this be true? Wouldn’t my sisters be envious? Oh, I should be very grateful to you, Sir, if you could teach me.”
As they exited the maze, and took in the ladies and gentlemen at leisure upon the lawn, he said, “I assure you, Miss Wentpole, all the joy shall be mine for the teaching.”
FINIS
My thanks to Brett Eastonfield for the inspiration to write this story, and the loan of a minor character from his Victorian period novel, A Merchant Of Virtue - Book One Of The Real Victorians, available from Apport Press.