Chapter 10: Beautiful Etta

Madam Von. R-- took me aside, holding my arm very firmly, and pointed with her fan. "See that girl, the dark-haired one?" she said.

I looked where she gestured and saw a young beauty with shining eyes laughing with a gray-wigged man who had a drink in his hand. I nodded and found it hard to take my eyes off her. She was young and succulent. My cock twitched.

"You are to leave her completely alone, understand?" The little woman looked at me with her steely eyes. "She has been a marvel. In two months she has produced more useful information than most of my girls do in a year. And I do not want her ruined."

"Ruined," I protested with my best smile. "How have I ruined your fine flock of lovely nieces?"

"Hah," she said, flailing the air with her fan. "Once they sample your outsized wares, m'boyo, no one else will do. They then become, for a fortnight or more, demanding lovers rather than complimentary and their paramours go off disappointed with themselves. It is not healthy, not useful. So just leave her to me."

"What's her name?" I asked, curious about this obviously-luscious but forbidden fruit in the madam's wonderful garden.

"Henrietta," she said, "but the girls call her Etta. You need not even know that. Take my warning or you shall be banned from my home, useful though you may be."

Since that was a most serious threat, I did as I was told, and it was perhaps a week later when the warning next came to my mind. I was sitting on my cot in the cellar late one night, pulling off my boots, when the girl appeared, a small lamp in her delicate hand. She did look like a porcelain doll, a living and breathing doll with soft lips and flowing tresses who was dressed for her bed, pale as milk. I immediately considered tucking her into mine and hoping no one would ever know.

"Sir," she said very quietly, "We have not met properly, but I know who you are." She bent her knee and ducked her head, holding back a smile.

"And you are Etta, am I right?" I nodded and smiled in return and taking her offered hand.

She smiled back, a wonderful smile. "The girls say you may be able to help me."

"I cannot," I said, "I must not. The madam forbids it. You should leave right now."

"But why?" the girl asked, sitting down beside me. Our legs touched. She smelled wonderful, and my unruly root stirred. I had served a number of the girls on my sturdy cot and was certainly ready to enjoy this sweet morsel for the rest of that evening.

"I'm not sure. You must ask her." I tried to put my mind on other things.

"But my problem is very private. A person her age might not understand."

I put my hand on her thigh and rubbed a bit, trying to feel fatherly. "Well, tell me," I said, "but it must be our secret."

"Of course," she said, and leaned her head against my shoulder. "It has be do with," she put her hand on my foreflap and palmed my tumescent root, "with this." She actually patted the fat thing as one might a dog.

"Really," I said, startled and stimulated.

She nodded. "The men I have been with, the English and their friends in the city, old men mostly, one was seventy-something, they have not been able to," she stroked my shaft in an exploratory manner, "to penetrate me, to have successful relations, at least not to my satisfaction. You understand? They seem to enjoy themselves, most do, but not I."

"Say more," I said, covering her prying hand atop my swelling yard and then holding it on her mounded thigh, our fingers linked. I was doing my best to control myself and failing as usual.

"I'm too small, or perhaps too tight, too deep or poorly shaped or something. I spread my legs and guide their hard member to my passage, tip myself up for them. They can't get in, not completely. They just poke and batter and grunt and push and curse, but nothing happens. Or at least very little does except they usually squirt on me while running up and down my slit." She sniffed.

I put my other arm about her slim shoulders, and she looked up at me, a tear on her cheek.

"They are often embarrassed, full of excuses."

"Are you a virgin?"

"Oh no," she said, sitting up very straight, her young breasts poking out the filmy cloth of her shirred nightdress, upright nipples clearly defined, just mouth-sized, very hard, highly tempting. My palms itched. "Not since I was twelve, and our gardener caught me out in the potting shed. He said what he did was punishing me. It hurt, too. Later that summer, two of my friends, two boys a little older than I was, we played games, fascinated with each other's bodies, and they put their things in me, their members, oh ten or twelve times I think, maybe more. It was exciting. I still dream about them. But they were small, the size of your little finger perhaps."

"And now, how old are you?"

"I'll be eighteen next month," she said, wiping her face with the back of her hand and sniffing again, tugging at my heart. "Most of my friends are wed."

"So for almost six years you were a virgin, sort of a virgin," I said

She laughed quietly. "I suppose."

"Well then" I said, "you are now dealing with men and not boys. You may need to get used to a different size of pintle, of pleasure weapon, if you will, ; whatever you wish to call it. Men, obviously, are larger than boys, at least most are."

"I don't understand."

"You might need some stretching to get used to men, for the efforts of older men especially, young ones likely would not have the problem. They might hurt you."

"Then will you? Yours is surely big enough." She glanced up at me shyly and put her hand back on it. "Oh," she said, looking up at me, eyes wide.

"Oh no," I told her, "the madam has expressly forbidden it. But I will do something for you. I promise." I urged her to her feet and pushed her to the foot of the steps, my hand cupping her buttock.

"All right," she said, turning on the first step and holding high her lamp. "But the girls said you could open any woman's doorway." She grabbed my head with her free hand, kissed me hard and then ran up the stairs in flurry of legs and ruffles.

I relieved myself with my fist, spurting off in the dark corner of my cellar, slept without dreams, and went about my work in the city. I met with a carpenter I knew toward day's end and bought him a few ales. He produced, from under his workbench, a box filled with wonderful dildoes of various woods, sizes and types. He must have had a hundred that he had turned out in his spare time on his foot-treadle lathe; some were even curved and a few were ribbed or knobby.

I chose a smooth and headless prod of six or seven inches, not too thick but tapering to decent size, paid his price and went back to Madam Von R-'s manse, very pleased with myself. I told one of the maids to tell Etta I had something for her, and the girl appeared in my hideaway that evening, all aflutter with knots of cloth in her dark mane.

"Do you know what this is?" I asked, producing the rosewood object in its slim velvet bag.

She shook her head and smiled at me, her beauty shining out of her eyes.

"It's a woman's true friend, carved in wood. It's a man's pride that she can have any time she wants it without putting up with the brute." I pulled it out and put it in her hand. "Some women tell me they prefer it to mine or any other man's." She turned it over and stroked it, feeling the soft surface of the carefully finished wood. She rubbed it along her cheek and smiled.

"It is lovely," she said, "but..."

"Be gentle with yourself, lubricate it with something, spit at least, oil would be better I think, maybe butter or grease, and do not hurry. Play with yourself first, before you put it in, tickle your fancy a bit, get the juices flowing, rub it on your breasts. Be patient and after a while you should be able to move it in and out without using your fingers at all. You must train your muscles."

She looked up at me with disbelief.

"It will take time, but it will stretch you if that is what you need. I can get you a bigger one later, if you wish."

"But you could do it better and quicker," she said, putting the glowing thing in its soft bag and drawing tight the string.

"Perhaps," I admitted with a smile, "but I promised Madam I would not. And I might hurt you."

She went up on her toes and kissed my cheek and then fled.

Two nights later I was summoned from my sleep to the madam's sitting room. She was very agitated.

"They have snatched her," she said without preamble.

I waited.

"She did not come back last night, but I was not told until this evening. I sent out my men. There is no sign of her."

"Who?" I asked.

"Etta, of course," the irate old lady said. "My prize, you fool. They have her and lord knows what they may be doing to her. Go find her. Bring her back."

I stood gawking.

"Get!" the madam cried, swatting me with her ever-present fan.

I saddled my surprised horse and went into town, calling on every tavern and source I had until I got a whisper of devilment with a dark-haired young woman on the part of one of the King's most highly-placed and well-hated ministers in the colonies. He was a man with a thoroughly foul reputation when it came to women, a man of vulgar tastes and noted rapacity who was said to derive sexual pleasure from the pain of others, especially young women and younger boys.

I rode directly into his stable, asked the boy on duty what was going on while putting a coin in his hand.