Chapter 7

Two days later, a nubile young new wife arrived for a visit. She was coy about her age, finally admitting to sixteen; I guessed she was fifteen. In the morning, Maeve told me that she knew for a fact that Humility Brown was fourteen. She had been married to Humble Brown a year ago! It was in settlement, or part settlement, of a debt I believe. Mr Humble Brown had loaned Humility’s father a good quality boar to improve his pig stock; marrying Humility to a man three times her age was Mr Jeremiah Tolstock’s way of improving the Brown breeding stock. Humility naturally did as she was told. So she had married at ... thirteen. Surely too young? Even fourteen, had I realised, would have made me postpone the bedroom meeting.

Of course it isn’t entirely unknown for girls of eleven to be with child and even for some of them to survive the ordeal of child birth. It is also not unknown for them to be visited by many and various ills as a result – incontinence being one of the lesser ones.

Humility was lucky (or God is good, let us give Him the credit), her husband to be had agreed the marriage when he still had desires; he actually told her that he thought her young loins would be just the thing he needed to reawaken his full ardour. He told her he had been able to go all night in the past. She was not sorry to find his flag pole toppled and his interest likewise. Still she was more that willing to come to see me; I was not as old as her husband, but surely she would have preferred someone younger?

“Not so, Sir Peter. Mistress Wilton let it be known that you are considerate, kind, and patient. Whatever my hesitations in this matter, I must trust in my father, and my husband; if the match with Humble Brown is to succeed, we must bear children must we not?”

I wanted to know why he was called Humble Brown, but I didn’t need to ask. Puritans believe that aptonyms will guide a child the right way in life. I’m not sure it works, but I suppose there is no reason not to try. Still, it seemed perverse to punish the daughter of Angustina Luchard with the name Jezelbel because her mother wore the scarlet letter for being with child and unmarried. That had been back in my old town. The Good Book says the sins of the father (or apparently mother) are visited on the children through several generations, so the small community of Puritans decided that the innocent young child should be saddled with a name that all but guaranteed she would go astray. The Puritans all left not long after, and they and their ship were never heard of again; Angustina was not allowed to accompany them so she survived, switched to a more forgiving church and discarded the scarlet embroidery on her cape. I mention this because, of course, these fine believers were now falling over themselves to be cuckolded by myself. I was a scarlet man and no mistake; but this was ordained by God so it was accepted.

“Husband, I fear I shall have to sleep elsewhere, or not sleep anywhere. I am too big now to have copulatory activity keeping me awake. I do hope you forgive me.” But, I understood, forgive or not, she wasn’t joining us in the bed.

Humility told me that her husband had not even looked at her since the marriage. I was nonplussed, then understood, he had looked ‘at’ her, but never removed clothing to look at her in the marital sense. He had not even tried. She was untried. That knowledge made me stand hard and ready. How could it not? Perhaps that was her intention.

“You must lead me, I am an innocent.” She would do whatever I told her. So I did. I took her in my arms and undressed her to her skin and then did the same for myself, bidding her watch. She confessed that she had seen a naked man before – her father’s house lacked privacy and in times past he had still been intent on procreating a boy (now no longer interested). She then said that she was sure her father had not been so structured as I was. “It is like a lance of old, like the rod of our farm horse.” I can take flattery, but I assured her than I was not as impressive as the horse; they have a long way to delve a mare.

“It will work better if it is good and wet, which means can be achieved with your mouth.” I explained and then guided her to accommodate my weapon in her mouth. I am only human, a pretty, young, smooth skinned, naked, willing virgin was wrapping her mouth round my already throbbing cock. I fired. She pulled away, appalled.

“But, you have wasted such good seed! We should scrape it up and push it inside me.” With that she bent down to do just that. My seed was mixed with the dirt on the ground and probably splinters too.

“No! You will harm yourself. Calm yourself and rest easy. I will be ready again later. And you should be delighted that I find your ministrations so effective.” She bowed her head until I put my hand under her chin and raised her face that might kiss it. She informed me that when I was ready, she would not take my member in her mouth again, not for all the tea in China (which was an odd saying since she was a good Puritan and did not drink tea). She would demand I deposit all further spends into her receptacle that she might honour her husband with a child. I smiled and informed her that I would willingly do so; and that perhaps we could find various ways, so the seed had the best opportunity of landing on good ground.

So it was that, an hour later, she found her unused, virginal passage opened by my own self. She lay, as was her wont on her back with not a movement. She would neither allow me to encourage her to relax; pleading with me to enter her fully and deliver ‘the message’. I took her at her word; and found it good advice, for the act of opening such a tight and unvisited place gave me full excitement very quickly. Had I tried to take my time, I would have wasted my spend again I am sure.

An hour later I was instructing her on straddling a man as he lay back; but she was not strong enough to force my prick into her, she cried that the pain was too great and begged me instead to push my way in. I felt guilty as I held her rump and charged like a savage into her. She was grateful for the spend though I suspect there was little enough to insert, it was all my body going through the motions with little to deliver.

Maeve came in: “So? Should she stay longer? There is a queue; you need to be fit enough for Mistress Quickly this evening.” Mistress Quickly was a large; no, a well built, woman. She had been married for five years before her husband had been killed by an arrow whilst out hunting. The tribe nearby had checked the arrow and said it was not one of theirs, but I had little confidence. She had had two young children, and one had survived; and she and Master Quickly had been planning on conceiving again when he was killed. I did not mention how his death made no difference to whether they would be blessed, but I think she knew since her consoling visits from Reverend Wilton had not produced the hoped for progeny either.

“Perhaps one more delivery? Humility; this time I think you must obey me; I have given you several deliveries of seed. This time, you must take some pleasure first.”

“Sir? The Good Book says that a woman must have children in a veil of tears. It says -”

My wife interrupted her. “The Good Book is open to interpretation. Do you think that Mary ... or Elizabeth ... did not rejoice in bearing a child? No, no, I am NOT suggesting you are like them – though I think you were as virginal as Mary when she bore Jesus. No, I am suggesting that they were blessed. Look, my husband has many good points. One is that he likes to see joy in the faces of his lovers – yes, I call them his lovers because he loves them. Two is ... oh, husband why not get some air and I shall minister to this child a little.” I was dispatched. I dressed and took some exercise. I could have argued until tomorrow and Humility would have still resisted the idea that she should enjoy sex with me. But when I returned, I could see the look of satisfaction on her face; on both their faces actually. And it was true, the fresh air did me good.