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From: thedisciplen@yahoo.com (DiscipleN)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 15 Jan 2002 02:10:40 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Mr. L. Breeding, Esq. (2/2) [rape, m/f, M/F, impreg]
Date: Tue, 15 Jan 2002 14:10:04 -0500
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The following is a work of FICTION.

Mr. Lawrence Breeding, Esquire (2/2)
by DiscipleN

Copyright (c) 2002, by DiscipleN. All rights reserved.
This work may not be used for any commercial purposes without prior,
documented consent from the owner.




Once the master was confident the door was secure, he made his move.
Rising to his feet, he began his speech.
"I am the villain in this story you speak so well." He confessed
overtly. "Yet even a villain has some motive that once revealed
explains much, sometimes causing great sympathy. However obscured by
time, buried through conscious effort, or even masked by pain, such a
motive must withhold all temptation of repentance."
"You have described many times, your headaches, Mr. Breeding. I
understand your use of what many people consider to be immoral agents
of relief. They consume you as much as you them."
"That is not the sympathy to which I refer."
"Then what, why have you led my husband to his present state?" Mrs.
Caravell accused loudly.
"It was never my intention for harm to ever befall you. Your husband,
he ruined it all. I would no more sacrifice the bullock in your field
than scratch your lovely hand, were I to kiss it." Lawrence stepped
once, closer.
"Sir, you become most familiar."
"Penelope, are you so blind, you see the ruins but not the glory they
once beheld?
"I-I..."
"You are my light, my joy. The pains of my mind are empty this day.
Look at my eyes. Drugs have not touched them. Light does not injure
them. You fill them and bless them all the way through my mind and
into my heart. I have fallen in love with you, and I am a miserable
coward, simpering and impotent. I could not even help your husband
extract himself from petty vices. Let me fall at your feet and soil
your hem with my tears."
"Mr. Breeding!" Penelope leapt to her feet as he kneeled before her.
"Please, sir. I need air."
"You are my atmosphere. Let me breathe you." Lawrence grabbed a
handful of her skirt and held it to his nose. Did he detect the
faintest hint of her sex?
"Sir! This is most peculiar! You must release me."
Mr. Breeding's skill at seduction never failed to fail. Only one woman
had ever swooned after his oily words, and he had dismissed her
without a moment's hesitation. If he were lucky, this one might pose
especially difficult.
 "I can release you less easily than I can pluck a stone from my gall.
I say I love you."
"You are mistaken. I am here only to hear your confession. If this is
true, then I must leave you. I could never own feelings for you sir. I
love my husband."
There it was, the final key that released the battering inside his
skull.
"Then I will send you to him with that which his love failed to
achieve."
"Unhand me!"
"Any man who forgoes his bride's fertility for the folly of status is
not worthy of generating his kind upon the world."
Mrs. Caravell naturally underestimated her situation. She kicked all
too slowly at the hand upon her dress. Lawrence caught her foot
easily. He tugged the shoe off in one breath.
"Yes, let me kiss your feet and adore you from the lowest of places." 
"You are mad!" She surprised him by cuffing his temple, but the pain
that freed his repressed migraine only enraged Lawrence Breeding. He
tugged her ankle, and her precarious stance collapsed. Skirt and
bloomers offered little cushion to break her fall.
"You should not have done that, wench." He stood holding his throbbing
skull. "I shall tear your hymen with a dagger once I defrock you."
Still she fought him. She rolled over the Persian carpet as he fell
upon her, but her petticoats were too voluminous to avoid capture.
Lawrence dragged her across the floor by the hem of her dress.
"Help me, someone!" She shrieked.
The cry pierced his weak brain, and he momentarily lost his grip to an
unendurable bolt of agony which flashed through him.The woman leapt to
her feet and raced to the door. She failed to move it.
Lawrence captured her by the waist as she pounded at the lacquered
maple wood. Once again he transported her to the divan. Its red velvet
alone could not disguise the many tortures dealt upon it. Repeated
cleanings refused to lift all discoloration.
"Oh sir, set me free, and I promise I shall never trouble you again."
The physical fight had exhausted her, a woman accustomed only to the
efforts of setting tea.
"Trouble yourself to remove your bodice, else I set a metal edge to
your calicoes."
"God rescue me!"
Lawrence pulled her train with the might of the damned. It tore clean
away. The skirt separated at the waist and white undergarments sprung
out like daisies beneath a handkerchief lifted. Pomegranates revealed
their fruit more easily than common women.
"I plead you for mercy, sir!"
"I commanded you to disrobe, wretched harlot!" He cuffed her cheek
vehemently.
"Ooouuuhh!" Still she failed to move, fright anesthetizing her
muscles.
Lawrence was forced to pull the short blade hidden in his boot. He
could not last long as pain mounted within. His fight to maintain his
erection cost him important attention. He could barely see the blade
he flashed before her bosom.
"I shall cut them and anything obstructing, even flesh."
"Please, no!" She wailed, but her hands finally jumped to the task of
unhooking her top layer.
His other hand reached into her skirt and drew it crudely down her
thighs.
"I beg you! I beg you!" Her last hook released.
"SHUT UP!" Again he cuffed her. At her screeches, pain reared above
his tolerance. Lawrence turned her sideways to remove her bodice and
access her corset. To the straining cords, he applied his sharp edge.
They snapped like bullets.
Penelope, reduced in her defenses was reduced to whimpering. Tears
flowed into her remaining, thin chemise.
At last, her bloomers were accessible. Lawrence ripped them with two
hands. His knife clattered to the floor. He sank his face to breath
the perfume of her secret place. It was a musk that never failed to
harden his cock to iron. Even the pain reeled at her smell. Few
seconds passed as he freed his strengthened manhood.
Mrs. Caravell saw man's ugliness for the first time. Her one
experience with her drunken husband had occurred in darkness as was
proper. She recoiled at the snake.
"Anything, sir. Please, anything but that." Her voice was barely that
of a mouse.
Lawrence Breeding crawled on top of her and whispered. "Now is the
angel fallen, her screams unheeded, her tortures only begun." His
fists beat her thighs to release her instinctive tensing. She was
tight. The outer folds of her cunt resisted, dry as grandmothers. He
cupped a palm to her mouth and commanded her.
"Spit."
"How could I possibly... ?"
His other hand grasp a thinly veiled breast, and fingers dug their
nails in. She howled. The aristocrat smiled at her pinhole eyes as she
worked to produce the fluid he required. His cupped hand reached
between her legs and applied her spittle directly upon her lips there.
Slippery fingers worked their way through them. They found her bud
shrunk and hidden deep.
His splitting brain could not be restrained a second more. Lawrence
thrust his cock forward and embedded himself into the woman's pit.
Halfway, his decent slowed at her hymen's resistance, but like all
others it died, tearing into bloody strands from his momentum. The
sensation was worth twenty lungfuls of poisonous smoke. Her howl was
the first to bemuse him.
Released from impending unconsciousness, he brushed his lips against
the fair skin of his victim's cheek. They spoke in her ear. "Hold me
secure, and I shall bring desire to your heart."
"You are," the proud Mrs. Caravell sobbed, "a fiend."
"If a fiend I must be to open your eyes to my longing, then may devils
dance around us. Love shall ward them back to hell upon our
completion."
The woman sniffed.
Lawrence withdrew the length of his horn and pressed it inside for a
second time. Her body shuddered from it's unexpected gentleness. He
had learned much of the ways of women, in order to extract the maximum
dose of their drug. With power and despoilment he would claim them,
but through slyness and corruption did he break them.
His fucking started as a groan might. Out of nothing at all, barely
perceptible pulses grew into deep rumbles. His face was upon her
breasts kissing them, moistening her chemise in two circular blotches.
His cock dived like whales in winter, slow and continuous. She would
have had to have been made of stone to resist.
"Lawrence." It was all she said.
"My dearest Penelope." He kissed her lips, offering his tongue to
mimic the probe engaged beneath her. It slipped through, delighting at
the softness yielded unto it.
His prick sang like a needle dragged across canvas. It splayed her
flesh and aroused the bud of her sex. Her lubricious spittle was
increasingly renewed from within, and his plundering hastened.
Lawrence felt the first signs of semen marshaling in his loins.
"Soon, my dear you will step from maidenhood into motherhood."
"Let it not be. My house is a pauper's, and the doctor might claim
rent equal to your theft."
"There fear not. I mean to see you through your troubles and past the
dawn of your delivery. Let your concerns wither with your shame. This
can be no theft if you give it willingly." Lawrence smiled and closed
his eyes from warm pleasure soaking into his plundering manhood.
"You have been so cruel."
"Tis a doctor's prick to bleed ill humors. To your health, I drink
deeply. Glorify me Penelope, and accept my love."
He listened to her breath and knew she would not fail him. Her bosom
rose in time with his thrusting. Two mounds slid up and down - nipples
erect felt wet linen's grate. Her arched and her hips greeted his
pulse.
"Ooooooohhh." Penelope's sex flowered. It's bud was full in blood and
sang to her lustily.
The salt of his buried sea roiled as her cunt welcomed his piston. He
pushed in and dredged, additional slime coated his shaft and glistened
in the gaslight. She trembled beneath him. Her body shifted on the red
velvet and her hands fell away.
Penelope gripped the hilt of his dagger. Her hand accidental struck it
as she swooned beneath her forceful lover. Her thoughts were so
entwined by fear and hope and desire she hardly remembered the
weapon's function. Only the tiniest corner of her true character
remained to refute the criminal act commenced inside her. Truth clung
to the blade and survived.
Semen stirred at her swoon. Lawrence willed himself to continue. He
plumbed his passion to greater heights, but this woman had traveled
her journey like none other. Even her breasts heaved for him. She was
his, body and soul.
Behind his back, her arm raised. A gleaming pinpoint aimed shakily.
Penelope knew this was her last chance before she was bred with child,
a demon spawn to be. Evil pleasures surging out of her womb harbinged
of apocalypse secreted behind an opaque curtain sweeping through her
torso. Its color was unknown. Black or white, it would destroy her
forever.
"Love's love let love enter thy fruit and multiply." Lawrence spoke as
if dreaming aloud, and he erupted inside her with white lava.
The dagger fell upon his back, ignored. His mind had escaped the
earthly realm.
Penelope cried out joyous. Floods of heaven's ocean filled her and
transported her beyond any escape. Her body convulsed, and her cooz
rippled her lover's anointment along to it's destination.
Lawrence continued to plunge his cock through her folds , release
after release. White spume squirted out of her from the pressure. The
inner mouth could not deny it's passage and boiling semen rushed to
the egg hidden deep within.
Like animals, they rutted long after their divine purpose was
fulfilled. They kissed and held one another dearly. At long last their
bodies stilled, and only the hiss of gaslight disturbed the silent
library.
"Shhh." He stroked her hair.
------
Thus, had the right and proper Mrs. Caravell become his. They met
every day thereafter and cavorted until certainty revealed her
impregnation. In joy, Penelope told a complement to him, their first
joining having conceived their child.
In return he had marveled to her that he was cured, and she was the
blessed goddess whose miracle had found him. He told her they would be
together in love forever, and he refreshed her husband's finances.
In one of daily notes of love's affirmation, delivered by his man,
Smith, Mr. Breeding, Esquire cut her off completely. Come the day of
his first headache, he ceremoniously extracted himself from all
concern for Mrs. Penelope Caravell. Sitting upon his library chair he
paged through The Times to the society column listing the happy
announcements of weddings.
Letters arrived, telling of disbelief and shock, then of heartbreak.
Lawrence tossed her every note until one burned with venom. Month's
passed before the woman had become truly desperate again. Only then
did he entertain her request for an audience.
---------
Smoke, held thick in his lungs, released as he laughed at the
thunderous ramming upon maple wood doors. Smith, having exited as
politely as possible with a hysterical woman perched on his shoulder,
could not withstand nature one step further. His servant prick pinned
her to the doors and his passion drove right through her expectant
frame. Lawrence listened to her shrieks and sighed.
Yes, she had been quite good.

END

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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