Lady Laura

"Oh, Reggie, I really don't think I am ready for this!"

"Come dear. Every family has its peccadilloes. I think you'll soon be enjoying ours."

My husband of six months slides back a large door and flips a switch. The barn-like space illuminates and there in suspension harness hangs a girl. Her developed torso is really that of a woman. She is naked except for a full hood along with ankle and wrist cuffs.

I close my eyes in disbelief. Reggie briefly described the facility and its uses on the drive from London. But I still am not mentally prepared.

"Well, you didn't think our marriage would be mundane, did you?

"Surely you had some inkling concerning the odd penchants of the Winthrops of Bellingham."

Yes, I did. But I thought, hoped actually, that it was a penchant for abundant sex. Instead, months after our marriage and a wonderful world cruise honeymoon, I find myself visiting my husband's family farm for the first time, and discovering that a large barn is not used to harbor animals but instead to conceal human beasts of burden.

Sir Reginald Winthrop is the sole remaining heir of the incredibly wealthy Winthrop family. Since the family was prolific in making money but not children, the vast wealth all came to Reggie when his aunt died a year ago.

Now there was a woman with 'odd penchants'... at least such were rumored. She was rarely seen. But on occasion a person of high social standing would be visiting Bellingham and later report over cocktails at a prestigious London club that Reggie's aunt was spotted dressed in masculine riding attire, donning a crop and ordering about a page dressed in frilly silk.

None of the stories or rumors ever stuck to Reggie. He was thought of as a typical wealthy English boy who found the major challenge in life to be selecting the preferred sport upon which to spend his vast monthly income... golf, yachting or polo.

I open my eyes to find that Reggie has left me at the door. He has entered and is standing before the languishing naked form hanging by way of formidable steel chains. When the woman moves, causing the chains to sway and highlight the thoroughness of her bondage, I find myself strangely relieved. She is alive. At least the 'peccadillo' does not include the macabre.

"Come dear. She can't hurt you."

Reggie completely misinterprets my concern, speaking in a condescending tone as if he was introducing a timid child to a man-eating beast at a zoo.

I approach with trepidation and am amazed to see hanging from parallel overhead beams dozens of pairs of chains similar to those holding the woman. At one time the large structure evidently provided the hanging woman with much company. Yet, the building is quite clean and though cool is much more accommodative then a regular barn.

As I near, I begin to realize that the woman is huge. Since her ankles are cuffed and drawn up behind her, her size is deceptive. But I judge that if she were standing she would be very close to my husband's height at just over six feet.

"This is 'Honor Girl', Laura. She can't hear us. When Theresa puts her up for the night, her ears are plugged and she listens to soothing music. She is worked hard during the day. It's best that she not be distracted from her rest."

Theresa? Worked hard? My mind races with the amazing scene and the unfamiliar references and people.

"Honor Girl is the only one left. After Aunt Grace died, I auctioned away the rest. Since I grew up with Honor Girl, I just couldn't let her go. I thought you'd understand and hope you'll indulge me. Over the weekend you may even come to enjoy her as I do."

While Reggie speaks I cannot help but stare at this 'Honor Girl'. Normally, modesty would force me to look away from the naked form, but since only my husband is present and the hooded woman can neither hear nor see, I find myself staring intently.

Her weight is supported by two soft but strong cloth slings encircling her thighs and leading upwards to the chains. It appears that they most comfortably support her weight and also serve to force apart her massive well-muscled thighs. Her pudendum has been carefully shaven and I am shocked to see a huge clitoris thrust forward like a small penis. It is the size of a cigar tip. Equally shocking are bright pink inner labia, which loosely dangle outside and below meaty outer lips.

Reggie notices the direction of my stare.

"Hormones and my aunt's curious proclivity. Auntie had all the clitoral hoods trimmed back. In the pony world, a Winthrop Farm girl was immediately recognizable. She considered it better than a brand or tattoo."

The pony world?

"I don't think Theresa would mind if I say hello."

My husband supinates his right arm and extends his hand. The palm presses against the woman's mons and the index and pinky finger dexterously splay her outer labia, opening her most feminine passage. With a single uninterrupted motion, his middle and forefingers slide between the prominently displayed pink inner lips into a woman's most intimate grotto. It is apparent that my husband has explored there many times. I am stunned into silence.

"Don't be alarmed, Laura. It's like petting a cat or dog. A symbol of affection."

I watch in amazement as my new husband pushes with his hand causing the massive woman to slowly swing to and fro in her bonds and ensuring that his fingers have deeply penetrated. 'Honor Girl' stirs from her somnolence. Obviously my husband's unseen but alacritous fingers are diddling within her vagina. It seems to be a most pleasant way to awake.

"You'll soon be learning this. It's customary after a good performance. 'Honor Girl' likes the attention, yes don't you girl?"

He knows she can't hear and speaks as one would talk to a beloved animal, fully aware of the limited cognition on the part of the listening beast.

My eyes divert to the woman's hooded head. Two small cords run from the top of the hood to the large chains bearing her weight. Such evidently assure that the woman is held upright and limit the movement of her head. A wire also is strung from above, apparently delivering the aforementioned soothing music. Her mouth and nose are uncovered to provide air, and beneath a sizable ring penetrating her septum, her lips slowly open widely in an exaggerated expression of ecstasy.

"This is the only way she experiences pleasure and with my absence I am sure Theresa has been parsimonious in dispensing it. She tends to work a girl hard and reward lightly."

The woman's wrists are cuffed behind her back causing her chest to be thrust forth. For the first time I notice her breasts. The nipples have crinkled and stand in salute to my husband's skilled fingers. But the body of each mammary gland is surprisingly limited. They appear firm and round but without softness. One would expect to see similar sleekly shaped glands on the chest of a male body builder or professional wrestler, not on a woman. But then Reggie did say the woman was worked hard...