The Travels of Richard William Poole
Chapter, the First - My early years and subsequent entrance into the trade.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Fiction, Historical, FemaleDom, Light Bond, First,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter, the First - My early years and subsequent entrance into the trade. - I, Richard William Poole, was born in the year of our Lord, sixteen hundred and ninety one. Though my father was of the landed gentry, his lands would transfer to my older brother Arthur while I would receive only sufficient funds with which to conduct a nominal existence. To improve my situation, Father had, through his business relationships, secured me an apprenticeship with a master carpenter in Leichester. So began the story I relate here, a story of eleven parts.
I, Richard William Poole, was born in the year of our Lord, sixteen hundred and ninety one, a year unique by virtue of it's being read the same if right side up or upside down. My childhood was not so unique, I being a normal boy save for the lack of a mother. My dear mother, I am told, was of delicate constitution, and was often taken abed with weakness. That weakness took her life whilest she gave me mine, a fact of which I was often reminded when, in the exuberance of youth, I transgressed some rule of my father's.
From early on, I was conscious of another fact. Though my father was of the landed gentry, having under his ownership Clairbourne Manor comprising eight hundred and twelve acres of land, I was the second of two sons. His lands would transfer to Arthur while I would receive only sufficient funds with which to conduct a nominal existence.
I did not bode Arthur ill. He was, from the earliest time I can remember, somewhat of a sickly child, apparently having taken after our sweet mother. The life of a landed gentleman would suit him well, for his only exertions would be lifting pen to paper in the accounting of the affairs of Clairbourne.
My constitution was exactly opposite to that of Arthur. If not wealthy, I was at least healthy. Though six years my senior, Arthur barely attained a stature of five feet and four inches by the age of twenty. I entered my thirteenth year standing as tall, and by twenty, measured a full six feet and one inch. Arthur was thin and frail; I was muscular and strong. Arthur spent his days reading and studying the mathematics of accounting. I could be found during the daylight hours roaming the manor grounds in search of excitement.
The other trait which rendered me unfit to be a gentleman of the manor was the wanderlust with which I was chronically afflicted. Father strove to educate me as well as he did Arthur, and I was required to read the volumes in his modest library. Many were thick tomes of a religious nature, and I found little interest in them. A few were the recounting of journeys to large cities and to foreign lands, and I absorbed these with a fervor.
I resolved to leave the manor as soon as I was able in order to commence a journey to these and such other strange places of which I might learn. An opportunity for such a journey was presented to me by Father when I was at the tender age of thirteen and six months.
Knowing my desires, and understanding the futility of my continued residence at Clairbourne, Father had, through his business relationships, secured me an apprenticeship with a master carpenter in Leichester. On the first day of June, I arrived at the workshop that was to be home, school, and employment for my next seven years of life.
My master, a kindly appearing man with a great belly and hair as white as the snow that covered the fields at Clairbourne in winter, was named Robert Goodsell. Master Goodsell, as he wished to be called, proved not quite so kindly as my first impressions indicated. He was stern taskmaster, and proclaimed to me seven rules that his apprentice was required to follow, those being scribed upon a plaque in the workshop, and enumerated below.
1. Work hard from daybreak to dusk, for in work is the mind gainfully occupied.
2. Eat what is given you at mealtimes and wish not for finer fare. Simple food fills the belly without making one lazy.
3. Sleep is the time for rejuvenation of the body and spirit. Go to your cot tired and wake refreshed.
4. Make every attempt to be perfect in all you do. Such is the mark of a master craftsman.
5. Sunday is a day of worship, not a day of ease. Occupy your time in matters of piety.
6. Strong drink is the sap of the devil. Honor him not by partaking of this evil brew.
7. Do not consort with or think of the fair sex. Such thoughts rob one of concentration and direction of mind and body.
As I reflect on those early years, I realize he was strict due to his responsibilities of both instructing me in the trade and providing for my moral development as well. His methods, while seeming harsh to one so young, have been tempered by my age. Going without my supper, the usual punishment for an infraction, seems now not the torture I once thought.
Under his tutelage, I became adept in the various skills required by the trade, namely, a high level of mathematical computation skills, the manual dexterity and control required by the plane, saw, and other tools of the trade, and what Master Goodsell deemed "an eye for the wood." By the age of twenty, my duties were much the same as his, and my work brought nearly the same accolades.
Master Goodsell was not so successful with molding my moral character, though he was unknowing of this even to the day of his passing. The story causes me no small amount of mirth as I remember it today.
Master Goodsell had a fine wife who was unfortunately stricken with palpitations of the heart just as I entered the sixth year of my service. The surgeon prescribed bed rest and a strong medication from the Orient as the only cure. Master Goodsell was therefore in a quandary. His business demands and the requirements placed upon him as my master occupied nearly every waking hour. The responsibilities of the household, the laundry, the preparing of victuals, the cleaning, all required a woman to complete.
After much thought, Master Goodsell hired the services of one Molly Brinard. Molly was a jovial soul in her fifty-fourth year of life, or so she allowed. Her appearance was somewhat less than attractive due to a rather large nose, but her figure was very distinctive. While the women who came to visit Mrs. Goodsell often wore garments designed to reduce the dimension of the waist and accent that of the bosom and hips, Molly needed no such appliances. Her simple working garb, a loose dress over a chemise, was fairly bursting at the top, and well filled at the bottom.
I attempted to ignore these attributes in accordance with Master Goodsell's rules, but at the age of twenty, a boy's mind has more room for worldly things than those of work and worship. I observed Molly at every opportunity, and apparently, she also kept a keen eye on me.
A carpenter works with that warmest and most beautiful of all Nature's production, that being wood. There were timber sellers in the city, but in the opinion of Master Goodsell, only a master carpenter could determine the suitability of a particular stick. It was his custom to travel to the sawyer in the nearby forest at regular intervals to select the lumber that would someday become a stair rail, a door, or a window sash.
On one such day, I was left to sweep out the workshop, the current contracts all being filled and the new awaiting a fresh supply of good English oak, beech, ash and maple. This task was intended to occupy me until his return that evening, but I had, over many days of sweeping up, developed a method that was as efficient as it was effective. By noon, every nook and cranny was cleaned of even the smallest sliver of wood chip. I was free to do as I pleased for the remainder of the afternoon.
Molly prepared a noon meal of the pease porridge from the night before. It was usual for her to serve Master Goodsell and I first, and then have her meal when we returned to work. On this day, however, she dipped my bowl and then one for herself, and placed them one on each side of our table.
"The Master is away. Might I be your company while you eat in his stead?" she asked.
"I would indeed enjoy your presence, Molly. Please, do join me."
Molly waited until I took my chair, and then proceeded to sit herself down opposite me. I say, proceeded, because she made great ado of bending over as she took her chair. In the process, her bounteous bosom welled forth from her dress, and a slight arc of darker skin peeped from the folds of her chemise.
To say I was stricken by the sight would be as to say a rainstorm is rather damp. A stirring in my loins, one I usually only felt upon waking, became a raging swelling. My manhood strained against the lacing of my breeches, and when Molly looked away for a moment, I was forced to relocate my enraged member to an upright position. Upon returning her eyes to mine, Molly seemed to notice nothing amiss and I was relieved that she attempted to begin a conversation.
'You will soon become a journeyman, I reckon. Will you be staying or leaving?"
"Yes, in six month's time, I shall be on my own, if I wish. I have not yet decided the course of my future. Master Goodsell is a good man and I would not like leaving much."
"Aye, a good man he is, but a bit stuffy for my likes, I think."
"Stuffy? Whatever do you mean?"
"Why, his rules about drink and women. There be no wrong in a dram or two of Speyside on occasion, I think. It lifts the spirits and frees the mind from the cares of life. As for his rule about we women, well, he's fortunate his dear father, rest his soul, had no such belief."
"Else the old buggar would not be here, now would he?"
I was forced to chuckle too.
"No, I suppose he would not, and then where would the two of us be?"
"Likely someplace or other, being the same as we are today."
Molly absentmindely scratched an itch inside her chemise. She saw me watching her motions, and laughed again.
"Young man, do you not ever have an itch that must be relieved?"
"Yes, but I do not have such places to scratch."
"You mean my pillows? Of course you have none. You would surely be strange were you to, but you have places I have not, I think. Do those places never need attending to?"
"At times, I would suppose they do."
Molly wiggled in her chair and reached over her shoulder to her back.
"Drat, another tingle and this one outreaches my arms. Would it be unseemly to ask if you would relieve it?"
Without waiting for an answer, Molly rose and walked around the table. She turned to place her back within my reach, and in so doing, her posterior was only inches from my face.
"In the center, boy, near the top."
I hesitated, and Molly asked again.
"Do not fear. We be the only souls here save for the Missus, and she is in deep sleep caused by the surgeon's medication. No one will be the wiser."
I reached up and placed my hand on the spot I believed her to desire.
"A bit further South, if you will, and rub."
I moved my hand.
"Aye, that was the pesky place but the tingle has raced away to my side now. Perhaps I have got a flea. Pray chase the beggar down and rid me of this torture."
I moved my hand again.
"More toward the front, if you please. 'Tis a nasty one, this, and is fairly driving me insane."
This time my fingertips touch a yielding softness such as I had never before felt, and my manhood fairly leapt up past the waist of my breeches.
"You are nearly there, but I fear I have outstretched your reach. Turn your chair that I may move closer."
As soon as I moved my chair away from the table, Molly plopped down on my lap. She wiggled her ample bottom a few times and then directed me again.
"Where you were, kind boy, but a little more forward, please. Oh, and hurry. It must be the devil's own itch that has attacked me."
I believed I had discovered the source of Molly's discomfort. There was a large teat, as I had learned to call them when discussing cattle and sheep, 'neath my fingertips, and the teat seemed to enlarge as I rubbed it.
"Ahhh. That be the place where the itch stopped. Rub it well, that the itch may not return for some time."
I rubbed for a few moments before Molly sighed.
"Alas, it has twinned itself and now my other side is in torment as well. Would you relieve that one also?"
The teat was still growing and as soon as my other hand began it's work on her other side, a teat arose there also.
"Molly, it would appear you must have two fleas."
"Oh my, perhaps I do. I must look at once."
With that, Molly pulled her dress from her shoulders and then down to her waist. Her ample bosoms fell against my hands, whereupon Molly grabbed both them and placed them on her softness. Her teats were as stiff as green grapes, but much larger and not nearly so smooth. My fingertips felt all manner of ridges and little bumps. Molly sighed.
"I see no flea, but I cannot be sure. Perhaps it is hiding beneath your hands. If you were to move your hands about, the beggar would be uncovered and I could be more certain."
I moved my hands over her soft globes and then squeezed them, and Molly moaned.
"Mmmm. You have nice hands, boy."
She then chuckled.
"I do believe you have a growth as well, unless my backside is feeling things that are not there. I must do for you as you have done for me. 'Tis only right and fair."
With that Molly jumped off my lap, turned around, and reached for the bulge in my breeches.
"Aye, 'tis as I thought. Do you not know this affliction will bring the demon witch to your bed at night?"
I allowed as I thought it was not an affliction and spoke of watching livestock mating at my old home.
"It is but the spigot which guides the man's essence, just as the bull's would serve him."
"That is true, but it is also true that men who remain in such a state find their night clothes damp with their juice. Allow me to give you the cure of which I told, and you shall have no need to worry."
The gullibility of my youth caused me to relent. Molly bade me accompany her to her chamber behind the kitchen where she pulled the shirt from my body, unlaced my breeches, and then pulled them to my knees. My manhood, freed from it's confines, bobbed in the air. Molly grasped it gently.
"Aye, I thought so. Such a root I've not seen in a while, and this root is stiff and swollen, and must be attended to lest the demon witch visit you tonight and steal your seed. Has this fate befallen you before?
I said it had happened, but I had no recollection of any witch.
"She is a sly one, that witch, and sneaks into your cot when you slumber. Her hand moves like so and soon your seed erupts."
Molly was stroking my shaft slowly but firmly, and it was without any conscious effort that my hips began to push my manhood into her fingers.
"Boy, you are in a worse state than I had thought. I must relieve your condition at once."
With that said, Molly pulled her dress over her head and followed the dress with her chemise.
I had not until that time seen a real woman without clothing, my only experience in the matter being the artistic etchings in one of Father's books, and my swollen manhood seemed to rise even more at the sight. Molly's "pillows" as she called them, were large, round, and tipped with large, dark pink areas. Upon these darker areas were her teats. These were as large as my thumb was across and nearly as long. At the juncture of her belly and legs was a large patch of dark, coarse hair and just at the edges of those short tresses, I saw the twin folds of her nether lips.
I was unsure of what would be the proper course of action for the event, for Father had been neglectful in that area of my education. Molly was evidently prepared for my lack of learning.
"Lay yourself on my cot and do as I tell you, for you are not the first boy I've made into a man and I am quite skilled at the task."
I did as Molly asked, and when I was fully reclined with my manhood pointing to the ceiling beams, Molly smiled.
"I shall call your root my charger, on account of his thickness and strength. My charger shall give me a nice ride, I think."
"Perhaps since he is such a young steed, he shall give me two before the Master returns."
Molly threw her leg over me and placed her knee at my side, then lifted the other to the bed.
"This furry saddle for my charger is called a cunny by some men, and as I fancy that name, so I call it."
I watched with great interest as she grasped my manhood and guided the tip into the thicket of dark hair. I felt a warm, softness slowly swallowing my shaft, then Molly rose back upon her knees.
"My portal is willing, but the passage is not yet glib. I shall teach you the way to make it so."
Molly lifted my hands to her pillows again.
"By what name do you call my pillows, boy?"
I gave her the only name I knew.
"That is a common name used, but you shall call them my breasts."
Molly flicked her teats with her fingertips.
"On cattle and sheep they are called teats."
"On a woman, they are nipples, and they dearly love the touch of a hand or to be suckled. See the way they swell when touched?"
Molly leaned down and her left nipple brushed my face.
"Catch the bud in your mouth, boy, and do as when you were a babe."
The thick, stiff nipple caused a nice feeling in my mouth, and I did as Molly directed. Presently a low moan slipped from her throat, and I feared I had done her harm. I apologized immediately, and Molly laughed.
"Boy, I am far from feeling ill. You have as much talent at this as you do with your tools. Continue with your efforts, for I feel the stream beginning to flow."
After several minutes of this most pleasant task, Molly again grasped my throbbing member and brushed it through her curls. This time, upon its cleaving of her opening, I felt a slippery, wet warmth. As Molly slowly lowered herself over me, that wonderful sensation surrounded my manhood and caused me to thrust up and into her.
"Ohhhh. 'Tis a wonder to feel my cunny filled again, and filled to such an extent. My charger is such a thick, strong horse. I hope the ride will be as enjoyable for him as for his rider."
As the owner of Molly's "charger", I could vouch for his enjoyment. Molly was riding my manhood with all the energy she could muster. I could see her nether lips devour it with each downward thrust, and it would then reappear, shining with her juice, when she arose. From time to time, she would bend down to offer me one nipple or the other. I gladly engulfed the swollen nub as eagerly as her passage devoured my shaft. Each time I did, Molly shook as if chilled and I observed a strange rippling in her belly.
The closeness of her closet and the slipperiness therein soon resulted in an eruption of my seed deep within her. Molly did not stop her actions, instead chuckling, "It seems my charger has finished the ride before me, but unless I reckon wrongly, he will be ready for another very quick."
And so it was. My manhood had not shrunk enough to escape Molly's clasping passage before it rose again to the occasion. I was somewhat accustomed to the wonderful sensations now, and determined to make them last as long as possible. I was quite successful until Molly began to ride with great vigor. Her breasts began to sway from side to side and back and forth as she rose and fell, and her face grew very flushed. She spoke, but her words were interspersed with small moaning sounds and whimpers.
"Aye ... that is the way, boy ... my little cunny be on fire ... mmmmm... 'tis near ... mmmmm ... aye ... thrust hard my charger ... Oh-h-h-h-h ... it ... it ... it comes."
Molly thrust herself down over my manhood and I felt a gripping around my shaft that caused me to spend my seed again. As my loins emptied into Molly, she collapsed on my chest, her heart beating wildly and her breath coming in the gasps. Presently, she rose on her hands and smiled.
"I can no longer call you boy, for you have filled this woman with your seed and made the passion carry her away. I shall now call you Richard, the man, and I think we shall ride together again if you are willing."
I was most certainly willing, and ride again we did. In actual fact, we had two more rides before the sun set. Then, Molly cautioned me to say nothing of our tryst, and to return to the workshop to appear occupied when the Master arrived.
As the last six months of my apprenticeship passed, Molly and I had more than a few rides. She was a proficient instructor in the arts of making love, and quickly became a severe addiction as well. If the Master was away seeing to the wishes of a customer, Molly would find me and ask if her charger was ready for a ride. I always accepted the invitation to her chamber, and always left with a thirst for more.
As with my first "ride", Molly always assumed a position on top. I thought this curious, for it seemed there must be many ways for a man to dip his wick. One day, after a particularly vigorous romp, she opened her lips and displayed to me a small, pinkish nub of flesh at their cleft. Strangely, it reminded me of my own manhood, but of course it was very much smaller, and I remarked so.
"Aye, 'tis much like your pricker; it too swells with the passion, and is just as sensitive. This nubbin is the seat of my pleasure, and when riding on top, I may cause it to glide along the rod that fills my passage. That filling is a great pleasure also, but not nearly so strong as that produced by the careful rubbing of this. I know not the proper name, but I call it my pearl, on account of the size and how it shines when wet."
I touched the swollen fleshy lump which glistened with her juice, and was astonished at Molly's reaction. Though just filled with my seed, and still breathing heavily, she made a small moan and bade me continue. I did so, and scarcely had five minutes passed until her hips began to rise off the cot. Molly began to pull upon her nipples, and in another short time, gasped and shook as she always did when our ride was nearing its conclusion.
From that day forth, our riding commenced with a massage of her little pearl until Molly cried out and shuddered. Upon only a slight recovery of her senses, Molly would then mount her charger and ride me to the emission of my essence, on some days as many as three times.
Upon more than one occasion, Master Goodsell arrived home ahead of the time expected and I was forced to escape Molly's chamber through the small window that looked out on the woodshed. From behind the lumber drying there, I would rearrange my garments, and then carry in some sticks of wood. I would tell Master Goodsell the color of wood in the workshop did not match that of my latest project, and I had gone to search for more. Because of his training that a craftsman only accepts the highest standard in his material as well as in his work, he always nodded his head in agreement.
At last the day arrived when my training period had expired. Master Goodsell announced me a fit journeyman, and said I should receive payment in coin for my work from that day on. He was as good as his word, though he now required that I pay him rent for my cot and boarding for my supper. It was a good life, though, for a young man. I had work I enjoyed, the continued advice of a master, and, of course, the wonderful attentions of Molly.
As with many things in life, this course would not be stayed. Master Goodsell was on in years, and one day complained of pains in his chest. He took to bed in order to rest, but only an hour later, Molly found him dead as a hammer. It was I who built his coffin, and Molly who summoned the gravediggers. The day after that, Master Goodsell lay resting in the churchyard.
Some weeks later, Master Goodsell's wife summoned me to her chamber. From her bed, she informed me that Master Goodsell had a brother, one William Goodsell who was also a master. She had sent him a message telling him of his brother's passing and had received his reply that very day.
William had no shop of his own, having just been granted the title of master, and would soon arrive to take Master Goodsell's place. He was to bring with him another journeyman, and there being insufficient work for three, I must find employment with another. It was with a heavy heart I received this news, but my spirits were gladdened with her next statement.
As part of my training, I was instructed in how to fashion the tools used in the trade that I might make my own. I did so, although my first efforts were barely functional. My second attempts were guided by the lacking of the first, and my planes and brace worked very well. In times of slow business, I had taken to adding small carvings to them that pleased me, and though I had no knowledge of his attention, Master Goodsell had noticed these additions.
His wife explained that Master Goodsell had an acquaintance in Birmingham whose specialty was the carving of wood. He had confided in her that I seemed to have a talent for that artisan work, and would be well advised to pursue training in those skills to compliment those I had already learned. Master Goodsell had written to this man, one Samuel Johnson, and had received the reply that his workshop would welcome a journeyman with my skills. She gave me a paper signed by herself as a letter of introduction, having confirmed the position was as yet unfilled and would be given to me were I interested. The next week, I packed my tools in my tool chest, said my good-byes, and boarded a coach for Birmingham