The Gentlemen's Benevolent Society

by HAL

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft, .

Desc: Sex Story: A Victorian charity that raises money by less conventional means. Not a carefully honed story, just an idea that came to me if you extend the Victorian concept of 'ownership' of the female members of the family.

The girl was probably partly in shock. She had stopped crying and had the look of a rabbit caught in a poachers beam about her. She was displayed like one of the insects in the cases at the edge of the room. Glass exhibition cases of butterflies pinned out to show their vibrant colours to their best advantage; and she was similarly displayed.

Her arms were drawn back over her head and a rope, carefully attached to her wrists so as not to hurt or mark her, held them in place. Her ankles were pulled up hard against her thighs, cords again held her in the position whilst other cords prevented her loosening the uncomfortable position by moving up the table. Finally blunt metal hooks had been placed in the crook behind her knees, once again attached to ropes that led to further hooks attached to the sides of the table. These cords were drawn tight to pull her legs open to a wide degree. And she was entirely naked.

She had awoken like this and cried bitterly at what she assumed was an abduction for one purpose only. She was correct in that surmise, but mistaken in the detail. After crying for 30 or 40 minutes, she desisted, and then a woman came in and washed her face, making emollient noises. She begged to be released but the woman ignored her entreaties. Then the men began to arrive.

These were the men of the Gentlemen’s Benevolent Society, one of the town’s most respected institutions. They arrived in ones and twos and chatted about the weather and business, casting occasional glances at the exhibit. She was why they were here. All year they held small events, auctions and the like to raise money for the orphanage and the grammar school and the hospital. It was generally agreed by respectable society (and they of course were mostly members) that this was a very beneficial charity for the poor and needy.

Most years there would be a secret auction; when father deemed his daughter had reached an age of maturity, he would put her up for auction to raise funds for the charity. These provided a welcome and beneficial fillip to the funds, enabling some special project to be undertaken; last year the second operating theatre had been added to the hospital by just such an auction. There was a frisson of excitement today as the young girl with her pretty golden locks was sure to go for a good price.

In keeping with good taste and manners, the only man not present was her father. It would hardly be appropriate for him to see his daughter naked, and bidding for his own daughter would be unthinkable in polite society. It was tradition, therefore, to allow him to select one or two of the previous candidates, or the gentlemen’s wives for use. Normally, once the virginal evening had been completed, the daughter would be available for any gentleman to make use of for a fee – a fee which similarly swelled the coffers of the charity of course. Wives who married into this coterie were often shocked to discover that they were subject to the same terms. Only girls who married ‘out of town’ were precluded from continuing their fund-raising activities.

It had been surprisingly easy for the men – who as head of the family ‘owned’ their daughters and could give them in marriage to whom they chose, and similarly owned their wives who had promised to obey – to arrive at this novel arrangement for fund-raising. They were simply disposing of their assets as they saw fit, to mutual benefit and the advancement of society.

One might imagine the women of the middle classes would be uniform in regarding this usage with horror, but it transpired that many of the younger, unmarried, girls came to regard it as a competition. The more use they were made of, the more desirable they must be. Similarly the wives found, as they grew older, that to be desired by another man was a confirmation that they were still attractive. Not one of these would have been other than grossly insulted if they had been called prostitutes; after all they were not being paid to perform these services, the money was going to charity.

If any of the fathers found conscience troubling them, they soon assuaged it by arguing that all they were doing was bringing forward the inevitable pain, shock and discomfort of that first married night. The girls were often married to sons of the gentlemen here attending, the sons benefiting from a wife who already knew her place, her duties, and had abilities to deliver all efficiently. The sons mostly joined the society in time too, so those wives already knew what was expected of them. Wives from outside the society found the expectations more of a shock, but even the most rebellious were brought to heel by the administration of carrot and stick. ‘Just like breaking in a horse’ as more than one gentlemen had remarked on different occasions self-satisfiedly thinking they had made an original ‘bon mot’. Only one member had been sufficiently troubled by his morals to refuse to supply his daughter, and from then no business would deal with him. He was bankrupt within six months; a useful reminder to encourage the others.

The girl lay silent, exposed for all to see her pretty mound between her legs, bisected by a fleshy slit with a hint of pink in the middle. She was young, the rules suggested she should be no younger than 14, but 16 to 18 was the norm. This girl was 15 and only lightly covered by a few light curly hairs. Her breasts were still growing pyramids rather than full and curvaceous, the nipples still immature, the areoles not as prominent as these men’s wives. Several men found their ardour already hard to control, to have this girl for a night would be a delight worth paying for. She had pissed herself when she first woke up, but the women who wiped her eyes had wiped her piss away too; she had no more spare water to lose now. She had been force fed some sugar water to keep her energy levels up and prevent her slipping into complete shock. Raping a girl in semi-torpor was no fun.

Between her legs, and to either side of her were the well-used notices forbidding touching. She was there for display solely, only the winning bidder would have her flesh to feel, at least tonight. Some of the gentlemen had already accepted that they could not afford such a pretty, desirable virgin; they would have to wait until she was part of the general stock. Others were calculating how much they could manage to spend. “We must get some new signs made, these are looking a little tired I feel” commented Mr Blenkinsop, the secretary of the organisation for the current year.

“Gentleman? GENTLEMEN! Yes, thank you. Shall we make a start?” Mr Atkinson was a professional auctioneer, which always made for a professional approach. By tacit agreement, he was allowed to bid himself if he wanted to. “You have all had the opportunity to view the merchandise, truly an incomparable beauty I’m sure you agree. Mr and Mrs Wilson should be congratulated; I understand there are two more such pretty head turners in the making. Now, this girl is entirely untouched and unaware of the delights of the bedroom, whoever wins this auction has such a treat in store that I feel sure we will see a record price. Shall we start the bidding at 200 guineas?” There was a brief pause and then a hand was raised. That was always a good sign, the audience weren’t waiting, they were eager for the fray.

In leaps and bounds the bids rose by 25 and 50 guineas, reach 800 guineas in barely five minutes; now some fell away, they had never really thought they had a chance. Atkinson wondered what made people bid when they knew the price would end up out of their league. He looked down at the delicate white breasts that he longed to slap – he had a thing about slapping women’s breasts – and bid 850 guineas. Now the bidding fell to three or four more determined and rich businessmen. Finally, at 1850 guineas the bidding closed and the girl had been won.

“I thought we might hit a record” commented Blenkinsop to the chairman “I noticed you did not bid? Blondes not to your fancy?”

“Ah, I find I am mostly content with a fine port these days Blenkinsop” returned the 75 year old “I think if he had waited another year to present her, Wilson may have taken the cup; she is just a little small formed for some tastes I suspect – though not for others obviously” he looked at the winner, who was known to prefer his partners as young and lacking in pubescent appearance as possible. “Still, each to his own” There was a cup, currently held by Major Dent, for the highest price paid for virgin, currently that winning bid was 2025 guineas.

The girl was untied and led away to the bedroom by the winner; tomorrow, whether the evening was a success or not, he would pay the money into the charity account at the bank and the tellers would remark what a generous man he was. Being all honourable men, no matter how the night was, the money was always paid. There in the bedroom, she would plead fruitlessly again as the winner took off his clothes, she would try and run away but the door was locked and she could only run round the bedroom for a limited time before he caught her. Then, his blood up, he threw her on the bed, face down and forced her legs open with his knees. He knew if he got in soon, he could manage probably two more erections through the night so her thrust himself brutally in from behind, pushing hard and cruelly until he was fully inside her young body. Her screams of fear and pain were mostly buried in the pillows – there was a strict requirement that the girl was not suffocated or choked or in any other way done to death by design or accident – but he could hear enough to enjoy the knowledge that he was overpowering this pretty girl and rampaging into her vagina. He came with a rush and she dimly through her pain felt him pulsating globs of semen into her.

“Get up and wash yourself out. You don’t want to get pregnant.

Get up!” He grabbed her hair and dragged her stumbling to the wash basin. “Or do you want me to do it?” She shook her head, at last sense prevailed, she did not want his grubby, stubby hands anywhere near her. Carefully, wincing with pain from her torn and still bleeding hymen, she douched herself, aware even now that she had to take steps to prevent pregnancy. He watched her and, when she had finished, called her over. “You should know, I won you for the night; I’ll take more time next time; meantime I could do with being cleaned up too.”

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