Lady Wycherley's Secret

Chapter Two-2

As she subsequently related to Lydia, in a series of conversations, it had taken several weeks of difficult discussions with Gerald before they could work out some sort of modus vivendi. Gerald was both wracked by guilt and at the same time defensive about any implied criticism of his s****l preferences. Guinevere did her best to understand that Gerald’s preferences for boys over girls was not a matter of choice. It was the way he was, always had been and always would be. He could not, but nor did he want to, change his s****l orientation. Guinevere realised that for better or worse she would have to come to terms with that.

There were two main problems, as she saw it. The first was that despite everything Gerald insisted that he still wanted children, When Guinevere suggested that she should find another man to father them, Gerald was outraged. “No,” he shouted. “They will be my children, mine alone, or there will be none.”

Guinevere thought long and hard about this. She too much preferred that any children be fathered by her husband. But how would Gerald manage to f**k her? As a first step she asked him a series of questions about the exact nature of his sexuality. Was it young boys he fancied, or did he also like men of his own age? When they had s*x, did one of them take the male role, as it were, and the other the female? In what circumstances did Gerald think he might ever get an erection in an intimate situation with her?

It turned out that Gerald preferred younger men, though not little boys. And he preferred them to look “feminine”, as he put it, by which he apparently meant that they were not too hairy, had pretty round bottoms, and kissable mouths. He liked them to have a “feminine” manner too; that meant being soft spoken, graceful, eager to please, amenable to playing the female part.

“What is the female part exactly?” Guinevere asked.

Gerald blushed a little. He found such explicit questions difficult to deal with. But Guinevere had persuaded him that there was no alternative. If she didn’t know exactly what he wanted, she would never be able to provide it.

“I like to take a boy from behind, doggie-style as they say. It’s the best way to penetrate his ass. Though sometimes I will have them lying on their back, legs raised right up, thus uplifting their ass and making it accessible. The boy will never be on top.”

Guinevere had started to have thoughts about being on top. She had realised that she did not much relish the idea of being the underdog, as she thought of it, with a man bearing down on her. If she straddled the man, lowering herself onto his c**k, she had more control. Though as she later discovered, there was even more control if you didn’t let the man f**k you at all, but instead if you f****d him. But that was a pleasure she was still to experience.

“Do you think,” she said to him one evening as they sat by the fire after dinner, “that I could in some sense imitate a boy for you? Could I excite you like that?”

“Like what?”

“Suppose I dressed as a boy. Put my hair up, maybe covered it with a cap. Suppose I didn’t smell like a woman but like a boy – whatever that means,” she added with a laugh. “Suppose it was all in the dark, so you couldn’t really see me, only imagine what I looked like. And you could f**k me in the ass like a boy.”

She had started to use frank language such as this. She felt she couldn’t come to terms with her situation if she was constantly reduced to circumlocutions. Gerald didn’t like her to use what he called “coarse” language, but she said she wasn’t going to talk like that in mixed company, or in front of the servants.

“But,” said Gerald, making the obvious objection, “f*****g you in the ass, even if pleasurable, wouldn’t give you a baby.”

“Of course not,” she countered. “But that’s a technicality which we could deal with when the time came.”

Gerald looked dubious. “We have to try something,” Guinevere said. There was a note of desperation in her voice.

She worked out a scenario. She would come to Gerald’s room late one evening. She would knock on the door and be admitted to a room with no lights. She would wear a shirt, trousers, men’s shoes, and she would use some of Gerald’s eau de cologne. Under the shirt she would bind her breasts. Gerald would have been instructed not to touch her body at the beginning. She would seduce him, as it were, playing the part of an experienced and eager young boy. “You will only be aggressively masculine when we get near the point of intercourse,” she said.

She realised this was the weirdest thing she had ever done, perhaps ever would do. But it was surely worth a try. Even though the room would be dark, she took care with her appearance. She’d bought some clothes in a second-hand shop she visited, incognito, heavily veiled. The shopkeeper gave her a funny look, as if he suspected her of some deviant s****l motive. “He’s not wide of the mark,” she said to herself.

She had chosen Johnson’s night off. She looked at herself in the mirror after she had dressed in the clothes she had bought. She thought she looked strange, neither a real man nor a real woman. It would have to do. She crept down the corridor to Gerald’s room and knocked, then went in without waiting for an answer. In the gloom she could just see Gerald sitting on the bed. She crossed and stood in front of him for a moment, then she knelt. She reached out and unbuttoned his trousers. Gerald did not move. She put her hand inside and found his c**k. It was soft. She pulled it out and put it to her mouth, peeling back the foreskin as she had with the butcher’s boy, kissing the tip, running her tongue over it. Since she’d never done such a thing before she wanted to take her time, get the most out of the experience. She bent her head lower and took Gerald’s c**k further into her mouth, sucking gently. He made a soft sound in his throat and his c**k started to swell, getting longer, thicker, harder. It was working. She felt the power she had, the power to impart pleasure, but also, if she chose, to withhold it. She had no intention of teasing him, because she was all too well aware that he might lose his arousal. But some other time, with a different c**k, she saw the possibilities.

She took her mouth away for a moment. “You have a lovely c**k, sir,” she said, in a low voice she hoped sounded a bit like a boy. Then she sucked the c**k again, taking it deeper into her mouth, all the way. She put a hand around his balls, feeling their size and weight; she felt him tense and she remembered her sister had told her how vulnerable men were, how exposed and tender were their balls. She had an urge to squeeze tight, but she dared not. Instead, she continued to suck. Gerald had leaned back on the bed, but his feet were still on the floor and Guinevere knelt between them, sucking diligently. Then she raised her head again.

“Sir,” she said in her throaty voice, “will you f**k me? In the ass? I want your lovely c**k in my tight little ass.”

She was completely taken by surprise when Gerald suddenly stood up. He grabbed hold of her and pushed her up onto the bed, lifted her hips, putting her on all fours. Roughly, he began to undo her trousers, pulling them down, so roughly that a button or two was ripped off. She heard the sound of his own clothes rustling, and a noise which sounded like spitting, and then Gerald put his hand to her ass and began to lubricate her anus with his spittle. Almost before she knew what was happening, she felt his c**k pressing against her opening. She almost panicked at this point; was anal r**e to be her first introduction to intercourse with a man? But she realised the importance of not breaking the spell. He wanted her, or him, or whoever he thought it was. So she did her best to bear down and open herself. But after all, she was a virgin, in both orifices, and his c**k was hard and his blood was up, and so when he forced himself in, it hurt. She pushed a corner of the sheet into her mouth to stifle her cries, as he rammed his c**k in deep. It took only a few thrusts before it was over. He collapsed on top of her, breathing hard, and his c**k slid out.

One day, she thought, I’ll take a boy like that, in his ass, roughly, without a thought for his pleasure. But right now she was thinking mostly about what to do next. She decided a speedy exit would be best, before he was forced to face the reality of what had happened. She wriggled out from under him and made for the door, closing it quietly after her.

She spent the next few days thinking about what to do next. They didn’t discuss it. Gerald was obviously too embarrassed, and she was not sure what to say. It was clear the she would have to make the running. It would be up to her to devise a scenario in which he ejaculated into her cunt, not her ass.

The first thing she decided was that since she was still a vaginal virgin, she had better take care of that for herself. She didn’t want any pain and blood which might result from breaking her hymen to distract from the act itself. She went to the kitchen and found what she was looking for: a large fork used for carving meat, which had a six-inch long bone handle. From her minimal experience of the male organ, she thought that was about the right length and girth. She went to her room in the middle of the afternoon. One of the advantages of being married to Gerald was that from the start he had insisted on separate rooms, though at the time she didn’t understand why. She got a bottle of scented oil from the bathroom and spread a towel on the bed. She used the oil to make her v****a nice and slippery, enjoying the sensation of slipping her fingers inside. When I’ve finished, I’ll give myself a nice orgasm, she promised herself. She spread oil on the fork handle too and then began to slide it in. When it was two or three inches into her, she felt resistance. She took out the handle and spread more oil, then reinserted it. She lay back, her legs wide apart, her knees bent. Slowly she pressed the fork into herself, this time continuing to exert pressure even when it started to hurt a little. She gritted her teeth and then suddenly it felt as though something gave way and the fork went in further. Gently she eased it back and forth, and after a while the sensation changed from being uncomfortable to being mildly pleasant. She experimented with using her free hand to rub her c**t, just the way she liked it, round and round, nice and slow but getting faster. She held the fork in place and then she began to feel the familiar sensation of an orgasm building inside her, like a wave of the sea, getting bigger, coming closer, then washing over her as she tightened the muscles of her cunt around the fork, gripping and convulsing and gasping with pleasure.

After a while she carefully pulled the fork out. There was a little blood, but not much. So now I’m a woman, she thought ironically. Now I can f**k at will, if only I can find a man to do it. She washed the fork and put it back in the kitchen. She smiled at the thought that if she ever saw it again, being used for its proper purpose, she would get a twitch of desire.