Diva The Girl who tried to break Ben s Dick
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A Compromising Marriage free porn video
Helena waved off the happy couple as they departed down the rutted driveway in the somewhat old-fashioned carriage and as she went indoors she felt a sense of dread falling upon her. The preparations for her sister’s wedding, modest though the occasion was, had distracted her from the consequences of that match.
She looked around the shabby drawing room, now empty of revellers as they were still outside chattering. Despite the floral tributes she had arranged in honour of the celebrations, the empty room looked tired and ill-cared for. She sat heavily in the one good chair, ignoring the fact that the stuffing was escaping the cushioned seat and pondered over her fate.
It was all very well for Miss Mary Wollstonecraft to have expounded on the on the vindication for rights of women in the dying years of the eighteenth century. But some years later such modern-minded theories did not apply to rural gentlewomen in the depths of Wiltshire.
Despite being five full years her junior, her sister Catherine had married before her. This very fact was something that was somewhat frowned upon in the polite society their family clung to the fringes of. However, the main problem was that Catherine has married purely for love and a complete disregard for money. In any other gentleman’s household, this would not be regarded as disastrous, after all, she had married respectably enough to the son of a nearby gentleman-farmer. However all this domestic bliss this left Helena is a very tenuous position.
The bleak reality was that her own family faced financial ruin; not a discreet and gradual slide into genteel poverty but precipitous disaster. Her father and her oldest brother were both cursed with the disease of gambling. Again, this was not an unusual habit of the times, especially in the great houses of the land and she had heard tales of the scions of many a noble family who had squandered thousands of guineas in one night at the tables.
However, her family’s means were comparatively modest and her father’s and her brother’s extravagant habits had reduced them to penury. While her mother had been alive she had tried to keep some control over the spendthrift ways of her menfolk, but her final illness had stopped even those modest economies and now they were facing what was popularly known as an execution in the house; the threat of bailiffs coming to take away their worldly possessions, shabby as they were.
She thought of her farewell with Catherine, the bride’s face glowing with happiness under her bonnet as she kissed her sister’s cheek and whispered her hope that one day Helena would be as happy as she. The irony was, that in choosing to marry her true love and childhood sweetheart, Catherine had actually robbed away Helena’s chances of choosing a marriage partner for affection’s sake. If both daughters of marriageable age had wedded a modest fortune then the family would be back on its feet again, at least temporarily, but as Catherine had chosen to marry purely for love it was up to Helena to marry only for money.
Her Great Aunt Mathilda had made this very plain the day before the wedding.
“This is a very pretty pickle,” she said in her acerbic way. “It’s all very well for your sister to be floating about like love’s young dream, but that does not provide for any of you.”
And she took a sip of tea made with twice used tealeaves, one of the family economies, trying to hide her quirk of distaste before setting down her china cup and saucer with a rap.
“It’s a shame that you did not have your chance at the Season and were not presented at Court like all the other debutantes.” She said with a degree of asperity, but then her voice softened.
“I am well aware of the sacrifices you made to nurse your dear mama in her last ailment, which is a credit to you. However;” her voice grew business-like again. “You are past your first youth, which narrows your chances in matrimony.”
As her aunt looked at her critically, Helena knew that she was saying nothing but the truth. At the age of twenty-five, she was no longer considered in her prime, and her lack of dowry did not help her marriageability. She knew without her aunt having to tell her, that the best she could hope for would be an older man, perhaps widowed and with a family who would be grateful for a “sensible sort of girl,” as her aunt referred to her, to run the household. Hee duties would be to look after the offspring of the previous marriage and, although this was not mentioned explicitly, occasionally share the marriage bed to ensure children of her own.
This eminently practicable plan made her heart sink, but there was nothing for it. Although she despaired of her feckless father and scapegrace brother who was fast following in his elder’s footsteps, she loved her smaller brothers and sisters dearly and would do anything to secure their futures. Her two younger brothers would need entry into some kind of respectable profession, as there was no provision for them to lead the life of the gentlemen they were born to be. And Helena would make any sacrifice to make sure that her two younger sisters, who were still only children, could have all advantages that young ladies should have and not have to make the compromise that was now required of her.
So within a few weeks of her sister’s wedding she had followed her aunt’s plan and leaving that good lady to care for the household in her absence, Helena had made the journey to Bath by public coach. This location had been chosen both for convenience and economy, as her aunt had reasoned it was much closer and far less expensive than London.
There she was placed with a Mrs Warner, of a modest address just off Princes Street, just far enough away from the poverty of Westgate to be considered respectable. As Aunt Mathilda had informed her, this lady of limited means managed to supplement her late husband’s income by specialising in finding indigent young women like Helena entry into society with the hopes of finding a suitable husband.
Helena had thought that under different circumstances she might have enjoyed Bath, despite it having fallen out of fashion with the highest of society who followed Prinny’s inclinations for seaside watering places. She admired the elegant, flat-fronted facades of the golden stoned terraces gleaming in the early spring sunshine, and found Mrs Warner’s modest home which was tucked in a side street behind the Theatre Royal both comfortable and conveniently placed. It was within walking distance to the Abbey, the Pump Rooms and even the Assembly rooms; all the more vital since that worthy lady could not afford her own carriage.
Helena learned from a welcoming Mrs Warner that due to the close proximity of the London season, everyone who was anyone would be repairing to the capital within a matter of weeks. In Mrs Warner’s experienced view, this made time an important factor and so Helena was thrown into the social whirl as soon as she was declared presentable. Her clothes were looked over carefully to assess what could be re-trimmed or refreshed. As her wardrobe was lamentably short of occasion wear, inexpensive but pretty muslins were bought from the market and made up by a local woman, who no doubt had much of her regular custom from Mrs Warner and her charges.
Despite it falling from high fashion, Bath, and especially the Pump Room was still was popular with the ailing and those who imagined themselves to be so; and amongst them were powerful dowagers who could make or break a young woman’s reputation and entrée into society. Mrs Warner was careful to be on the best of terms with these ladies and due to her influence, Helena had passed muster in the Pump Rooms, that watering place that was the hub of Bath gossip. Although privately Helena found the waters disgusting to taste and the company dull, she fixed a polite smile on her face and let herself enjoy the elegant proportions of the room and the sound of the violins as the musicians performed in the upper gallery.
When she made a passing comment to Mrs Warner about the music the subject had turned to the one defect in social Helena’s armour.
“You can’t dance?” She exclaimed as though Helena had suddenly sprouted two heads.
Helena explained patiently that her years when she should have taken up such accomplishments were occupied with caring for her ailing mother until her passing. Mrs Warner clucked sympathetically, but her face showed her alarm at this deficit.
However, her eyes flicked over the Pump Room crowd and on finding her quarry she took off into the scrum and within seconds she was talking animatedly with someone that Helena could not quite see, so great was the press of people there. The mission must have been successful as Mrs Warner came back to her side wreathed in smiles.
“We are blessed by good luck indeed! The best dancing master in town and he is free!”
As Helena said what was appropriate, she hoped that her aunt’s dwindling supplies of money would be well spent. Then, when he arrived at the house at the appointed time, she was taken aback that the dancing master was not only young and dashing, but also French!
Despite this defect, M. Ambroise was an efficient teacher, and led her round Mrs Warner’s rather cluttered sitting room with ease, patiently taking her through all the dances that would be necessary at the Assembly. Although he was handsome and charming, even when he took her into his arms for the daring waltz she felt no flutter of the heart, merely pleasure at following the steps correctly.
He seemed to enjoy her company in turn and as they were of a similar age, they chatted easily together. So when they arrived separately at the Theatre Royal or the Pump Rooms they looked for each other to engage in some lively conversation amongst the tedium of the spa.
She was faintly puzzled that she felt so hint of romantic attraction for such a debonair gentleman, nor did he show any such interest in her, but all was explained when she perceived Jean-Claude (as he had insisted she call him) exchange discreet but impassioned glances with a handsome young man who was waiting on his extremely rich grandmamma who was there for the waters. Jean-Claude caught her looking at him in mid-glance and with a rueful shrug of his shoulders he grinned at her, and the incident cemented their friendship.
And now, after all the preparations that Mrs Warner had gone to with such attention, it was the night of the Assembly Ball. Helena felt unaccountably nervous as she regarded herself in the mirror. Her straight dark hair was not cropped in the latest fashion, but put up in a simple and elegant style, which gave her an air of dignity. Her skin glowed and her inexpensive but well-cut gown showed a decotellage that Mrs Warner judged was sufficient to attract the gentlemen but not too revealing to gain the disapproval of the dowagers.
She had remarked during a dress fitting that Helena was fortunately slim enough to suit the high-waisted gowns of current vogue, and regretfully mentioned a young lady who had been in her care the year previously, who was as wide as she was tall; and so unprepossessing did she look in the prevailing fashion that she went on her way home again husbandless. But the approving looks she gave Helena’s appearance and demeanour made her feel as though she would be of some success. Mrs Warner called her from her thoughts and affixing her mama’s good pearl necklace around her slender throat, Helena descended the stairs ready for the ball.
It should have been an exciting night, with the bustle of the well-dressed crowd filing into the magnificent building. But although she smiled charmingly as she was introduced to one gentleman after the other Helena felt privately as if she were a prize steer in her local cattle market as she was being eyed up and assessed at every turn. The room glittered with candlelight on the gleaming chandeliers and the musicians played as Helen accepted dances and thanked heaven for Jean Claude’s expert teaching; she spoke when spoken too and smiled until her jaw ached.
Having been leered over by an ancient dandy in far too tight clothing, with what she suspected was neither his own hair or teeth, Helena was rather relieved when a respectable looking man claimed her attention and was introduced as Colonel Matthews. He was an older man, perhaps in his late forties or early fifties, and deeply tanned, which Mrs Warner explained away later by him having spent some time in India during his career.
The very next day, the good Colonel left his calling card at the house, along with a pretty nosegay of flowers for Helena; and given an obvious sign of interest, this was efficiently followed up by a formal visit. Mrs Warner provided her with any details she had gleaned on her inquiries. That Colonel Matthews was twice widowed; his first family quite grown up and the second still mere children in the nursery of his country home just outside Richmond.
Although he had retired from active service he spent much of his time in London at Whitehall and the Horseguards giving military advice during the longstanding war with France. He seemed to find Helena very much to his liking and his attentions led to being accompanied to the theatre or a musical evening at the Assembly Rooms and even a ride in his barouche up to Lansdowne Hill accompanied by an eagle-eyed Mrs Warner.
However, Helena was only mildly flattered by all this. She was all too aware that if his attentions were serious, it was not because he was smitten with her but because he wanted a housekeeper, a nursemaid and someone to look elegant and fitting on his arm at state occasions. His attentions remained steady in the days following and an understanding was established between him and Mrs Warner. Helena’s opinion on the Colonel was never requested.
During this critical juncture, Helena felt de trop to the conversation between her elders and was walking dejectedly along Milsom Street when she found herself being hailed by Jean Claude.
“Why is such a lovely lady promenading toute seule?” He asked with his usual charming smile.
Helena explained the situation in slightly downcast tones and he looked puzzled.
“Are you not pleased?” He inquired, and Helena felt safe enough with him to be honest about her feelings.
“I am resigned to the idea.” She said with a shrug, trying not to sound petulant.
She had heard Jean-Claude’s life story; how with Revolutionary fever rife in France he had fled as a child with only some of his family. His lands and title had gone and the rest of his relatives having met their fate at the guillotine. He dealt gracefully with the fact that he was only a Comte in name and in reality a mere dancing master in a fading resort. She felt churlish to compare her relatively comfortable fate with his difficulties.
Jean-Claude paused, his hand on her gloved arm, his face showing genuine concern as he persisted:
“But don’t you like him?”
“I don’t dislike him,” Helena said, which was true enough.
Her possible future husband had a loud voice, a braying laugh, he talked over her and had no interest in what she had to say. However, he was not a leering jackanapes, and he definitely had his own teeth. He was not unkind, and seemed a sensible man. He had not been put off by Mrs Warner’s delicate hints about Helen’s family circumstances and she knew as instructed by her aunt, her hostess would be diplomatic but honest about her family situation and pitiful dowry.
Jean-Claude looked at her thoughtfully, a concerned frown on his handsome visage as they continued to walk along together.
After a while, he said ruminatively, “But there are compensations a la marriage, are there not?”
“You mean children?” Helena asked, slightly puzzled.
Jean Claude grinned at her, and said; “Après les enfants.”
She looked at him curiously, and he continued smoothly.
“You are acquainted with Madame Rakesfield?”
Helena nodded her head, as it dawned on her as to what Jean Claude was hinting. Of course, as an unmarried lady, she should not know about such things, but Bath society was small, some dowagers slightly deaf and spoke too loudly for discretion over the sounds of the violins in the Pump Rooms. There was much talk of one grand lady’s third son who did not resemble her husband at all but another gentleman entirely.
And Mrs Rakesfield was another slightly scandalous character. She was well-born and wealthy enough to be accepted into polite society. However, there was much speculation that she and her husband kept completely separate households and acid tongues wagged about the entourage of young men she kept about her.
Helena was not such a child that she did not know that many men had mistresses, especially those who resided in London where such things were the norm, which might be a reason why Colonel Matthews spent so much time in the capital. But the thought that women could enjoy such freedoms had never dawned on her. Before she had a chance to ask any more questions, they were back outside Mrs Warner’s house and that lady was peeping through the curtains awaiting her charge and beamed brightly when she saw her.
“I am to wish you happy it seems,” Jean-Claude said with a rueful smile and a graceful bow.
And on taking her leave of him and entering the house she found that this was so. The Colonel looked very pleased with himself, as though he had struck a good bargain and as a consequence talked far too loudly and heartily for such a small room. He left in high spirits with a chaste embrace on Helena’s cheek and more shouted goodbyes.
Mrs Warner sat back down in her chair, her face wreathed with smiles, and patting Helena’s arm she praised her success. It was only when Helena reached the privacy of her own chamber that she realised that everything had been agreed without a word from her.
Once her aunt had been written to and the lawyers had been referred to she realised, after all, that there was nothing to complain of. The marriage terms were more than generous. She understood that the most pressing of her family’s monetary problems were discharged, and her own allowance, once married, was to be more than ample, and she started to get used to the idea of living in relative comfort.
Finding the most auspicious time to speak with her fiancé, she dropped hints about her young brothers and with his usual efficiency the colonel made inquiries about a career in the military for them both which gave her peace of mind. And when he talked of his younger family with distant affection, she mentioned her sisters, who saw her as more of a mother than an older sibling and broached the possibility of their extended visit to the marital home to which her husband-to-be readily agreed. Having her precious brothers and sisters established more than helped her get accustomed to the idea of this marriage.
Now the couple were affianced they were allowed more freedom without such close chaperonage from Mrs Warner. The colonel continued to prove to be gentlemanlike, and his occasional embraces were not over-amorous. Helena found she had no reaction to his kisses; neither disgust nor pleasure and this lack of reaction made her all the more curious about the conversation with Jean Claude.
Having wrapped up his affairs of the heart neatly, the Colonel left for London for more important affairs of business and state. Helena felt guiltily relieved and enjoyed a few days of freedom in Bath before her return home to prepare for her marriage. Mrs Warner, now her duties had been discharged, was a pleasant and relaxed companion which meant that Helena could enjoy her daily wanders of the parks and terraces of Bath without constraint. It was after one of these walks that she returned to the house to find Jean-Claude in animated conversation with Mrs Warner in her sitting room.
”Oh, my dear!” That lady exclaimed as Helena entered the room. “Monsieur has invited us to a soirée this evening!”
Helena recalled that Mrs Warner was already going out visiting and so Helena nodded politely, assuming that Jean Claude’s invitation had been turned down. But to her surprise, Mrs Warner continued:
“Of course I am already engaged, but I am sure there can be no objection to you going in such company.”
She smiled at Jean-Claude, who looked so very modest that Helena was vaguely suspicious of his motives.
Helena was happy enough to be out for the evening, rather than retiring to her chamber with a book in the absence of the lady of the house. She was puzzled when Jean Claude came to collect her, that although they walked in the direction of the Assembly Rooms he led her past the building without hesitation and on to The Circus, most of that circle of elegant houses being closed up for the London Season.
They continued walking briskly, and Helena’s puzzlement grew when they stopped at a grand house close to the Royal Crescent. Although the windows were lit, indicating that someone was at home, the door remained firmly shut as if barring visitors. Jean-Claude rapped at the door, which was opened with alacrity by a footman.
As they entered the magnificent hallway, Jean-Claude murmured something to the footman, who handed them each a mask. Jean Claude put his on, which covered the top part of his face, his eyes gleaming naughtily behind it. He then helped Helena don hers, tying the ribbons firmly at the back of her head.
Still wearing their outdoor evening cloaks Jean-Claude took her hand led her up the central staircase that was discreetly lit at intervals.
“Where are we?” She whispered as they came to a landing, above which she could hear music and the murmur of voices.
Without letting go of her hand, Jean-Claude replied, “We are at a very private party. I wanted to show you a little glimpse of what you might taste later in life.”
His eyes were serious behind the mask.
“We are to here to observe only and you will be safe at all times, cherie, as I will stay with you.”
She squeezed his hand, a sense of intrigue and excitement growing in her as they came across to the first revellers ensconced on a sofa in an alcove. The couple were unmasked and attired as if for an evening party. Surprisingly, the woman’s low cut bodice was pushed down over her breasts, which the gentleman was feasting on hungrily with his mouth as his hand moved under the skirt of her dress, sliding it up over her knees.
They continued to pass other alcoves where couples were embracing as amorously. Amongst them was Jean-Claude’s handsome friend from the Pump Rooms kissing another young man deeply. Jean-Claude paused for a moment, unnoticed, a smile of lustful pleasure on his masked face as he watched.
They approached the open double doors of the vast and elegant drawing room and Jean-Claude hesitated as he said to her softly, ”What happens in here is much more lewd than you have seen so far. If you have had enough, we can leave now.”
And Helena, knowing he had entrusted her with a secret world that he evidently belonged to, shook her head firmly and they crossed the threshold together. It was a dreamlike atmosphere, a parody of a polite evening function as the musicians played from a hidden gallery and the guests disported themselves freely in the candlelight.
As Jean-Claude had warned her the ardent couples in the alcoves in the corridor were merely a polite introduction to the wantonness of the main room. Helena accustomed herself to the display of naked flesh, both male and female in full arousal as she and Jean Claude started to explore the room, their masks and cloaks making them seem invisible to the revellers. As they wandered, pausing at each masque of pleasure, Helena recognised one or two familiar faces from the theatre or Assembly going crowd and marvelled at how their expressions seemed so much more vivid and alive here.
Still hand in hand, Helena and Jean Claude stayed at whichever grouping they wished to watch for a moment. Helena’s judgement was suspended as she watched the endless giving and taking of pleasure. The variety was dizzying, and later she could only recall a few of the many sights she had seen.
They passed a plump young woman sitting astride a man, whimpering with excitement, her full breasts bouncing as his large hands gripped her fleshy bottom so tightly that he left red marks on the curve of her buttocks as he thrust up eagerly into her again and again.
In another grouping two partially clothed women were kneeling in front of a standing man, both of them running their tongues up and down his engorged manhood as his eyes closed in utter bliss, his muscular thighs trembling. Further on, a naked woman was lying on a sofa, her legs wide apart, another woman bent over in front of her, with her face buried between her legs, while a man eagerly plugged the second woman from behind, riding her rhythmically as his eyes were fixed on her flickering tongue and the other woman’s open, gleaming sex. The sights and sounds and scents of lust filled the gracious proportions of the chamber to intoxicating effect.
It was only when Helena lifted her eyes from all these distractions that she realised that the piece de resistance was taking place on a raised dais at the far end of the room. She and Jean Claude drew closer to see the figure of a bare and voluptuous woman surrounded by male bodies. She was crouched on a makeshift bed, which together with the raised platform gave the impression of a stage. Helena recognised her to be Mrs Rakesfield as Jean Claude murmured in her ear;
“And this is our hostess in performance.”
In that moment, she realised that this tableau is what he had brought her to this house to see. She watched the scene unfold as two young men on either side of Mrs Rakesfield eagerly sucked on her reddened teats, their hardened cocks giving them the appearance of satyrs. Another was lying down in front of her, as if in obeisance, his mouth engaged on her clitoris, as the Adonis behind her caressed her hips, his beautifully erect phallus pounding her repeatedly and tirelessly. The act played out to a rising tempo of urgency and the music of the hidden violins seemed to swell as the woman looked towards Helena blindly, her eyes wide in utter, mindless ecstasy.
It seemed like no time at all before it was Helena’s turn to be whisked away in a carriage down the rutted driveway of her childhood home as a new bride, as her remaining family waved and called out their goodbyes. Her husband looked at her elegant profile in repose and felt heartily pleased with life.
The two well-behaved little girls sitting quietly opposite the newly married couple were a fine example of what a good mother Helena would be to his own children, and having her sisters with her would help his new wife settle her in and keep her busy, he thought with satisfaction.
No need for her to pine when he was away in London, and there he could renew his association with the lively lady who enjoyed being frequently boarded, given her husband was a naval officer and often at sea in these troubled times of war, which proved to be a most convenient arrangement. He admired the slight smile on Helena’s lips and ascribed that to her joy at being wedded to him.
However, his bride was not thinking of him at all. She had already resigned herself to the comfortable tedium of her wedding night to come, and her obligation to be the mother of children she had not yet met and the mistress of a home she had not seen. But her mind’s eye was in the far future, a time of duties discharged and responsibilities fulfilled.
She remembered the magnificent chamber, the platform, the handsome, virile men and the woman’s expression of complete sexual euphoria. But in the privacy of her imagination, Mrs Rakesfield’s ecstatic features were replaced with her own face, alight with a surfeit of wild and sensual fulfilment.
Barbie
- 05.01.2022
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