Chapter 2

There was much more to Mistress Penelope's plan than merely filling her bed ... and body ... with vibrant, willing, lusty young men. I was not to learn her entire plan in only one day. Perhaps it evolved, for that matter. But my part in things was to accede to her wishes, and somehow hold scandal at bay.

You may argue that it was not my duty to assist the lady in her obdurate intentions. Her clandestine plan lacked any shred of moral underpinning, and she planned to make our lord and master into a common cuckold. That was undeniably a serious situation. But pause with me for a moment, to think what would happen if there was no heir. The land would return to the crown, and be awarded to some other family. The staff would lose their homes and livelihood. All would be lost, quite literally. I argue that saving the estate was my ultimate duty. I convinced myself that, if Lord Malcom ever experienced a moment of sobriety ... he would agree with me.

My first project was easy. That very day I instructed Nigel that Her Ladyship wished to explore the roads through the forest, and that it was time for him to resume his duties as footman. To avoid the complication of a driver, I simply promoted him. To his credit, he was still consumed with guilt concerning his previous encounter with our mistress.

"Are you sure, Wadsworth, that I have the skills necessary to perform such an honor?" he beseeched, suggesting that the normal driver, Charles, was probably available. Charles was available because he was even older than me, and had been more or less retired to a cottage on the grounds for a decade. The only thing he ever did was occasionally drive the coach. And even then, he required assistance to mount the driver's seat. He prepared his own meals and Nigel kept him supplied with firewood. I hadn't even seen Charles in a fortnight.

But Nigel's driving skills weren't really at issue.

"I am sure, Nigel, that you have talent in the area in which Her Ladyship's interests have been piqued." He stared at me, askance, and I said, "A servant's duty is to please his master and mistress. Go and please your mistress."

He ducked his head, even though I am not worthy of such honor. I saw no little astonishment in his eyes, along with suspicion that, somehow, I knew what had happened, though he could account for no way in which that could have happened. The only witness to his infidelities with our new mistress had kept his counsel before driving the coach away.

"I will," he said.

"Be sure you do," I replied.

Sometimes I blame myself for how poor Nigel ended up. I fear it was my instruction that drove him to perform, shall we say, above and beyond what might be expected?

At any rate, as they drove off, I tried to calm my flustered state, and think of ways to involve the others in her nefarious machinations without raising suspicion.

Why was I flustered, you ask?

That's simple. Mistress Penny kissed me on the cheek as I assisted her into the carriage, and said, "Thank you, Wadsworth. I am in much need of Nigel's services. I shall have to think of some way to reward you for your quick and most satisfactory service."

It would be some time before I began to collect details about Her Ladyship's activities while she was off with Nigel or one of the others. Not that I tried to collect such information. Gossip is a dirty thing, and I try hard not to let it soil my ears. But a young man who has a few tankards of ale in his belly will often reflect on the better things in his life. And when it came to the young men employed by Lord Farnsworth, one of the finest things in their lives was climbing between Mistress Penelope's wide-spread, welcoming thighs, and rutting in her as if she were the cow, and they were the prize bull.

You think I jest? You think that callow young men would refer to their mistress in that manner? If so, you haven't spent much time in a tavern.

In any case, my purpose for this aside is to inform you that, on that first trip through the forest, Nigel was instructed on lying on his back while Her Ladyship rode him, as if he was a hobby horse or some such thing. Her ride was both lengthy and energetic, which would have been enough to get any man's issue to leave his balls and enter her body. But she teased him the entire time. Rather, I should say she terrorized him with her words, at least until he began to understand that her words were not threats.

"Nigel?" she cooed, rocking back and forth rapidly. His eyes were pinned to her breasts, which were full, but firm, and yet wobbled in a most delightful fashion as she jerked her hips forward and back.

"Mmmm?" he managed. I should have been required to discipline him for such laxity, had I been there, but Penelope wasn't interested in the proper nature of his reply.

"Your prod goes more deeply into my belly than any other man's ever has," she said, happily.

"I'm glad," he gasped.

"I fear the tip of your manhood pries at the very gates of my womb," she said, and then her fingers tightened, gripping the skin of his chest painfully. He had sported before this, many times, in fact, but in that moment he felt like this was his first time. Never had he felt a sheath clamped so hotly around his prick as it rippled wildly and seemed to suckle at his member like a newborn lamb might.

"Such a delightful cum," she panted, when her fingers relaxed. "You haven't done that, have you, Nigel? You haven't spent inside me, have you? You haven't filled my fertile womb with your manly seed, have you Nigel?"

"No, Mum," he gasped.

"That's good," she said, resuming her rocking. "I am quite fertile at the moment, and should you leak even one droplet of your manly milk, I should be ruined by being impregnated by a mere groom."

"Footman," he corrected.

I know Nigel, and I am quite sure that the only reason he was so brazen as to correct the mistress was because he was desperately trying not to commit the particularly egregious sin of impregnating his mistress.

"Footman," she said, leaning over to brush her hanging breasts across his chest. Her ruby red lips hovered over his. "I seem to remember, Nigel, that your footman's balls deliver prodigious amounts of warm, slippery liquid. You aren't going to do that to me again, are you, Nigel? You aren't going to fill me to overflowing with your hot, common spunk ... am I correct?"

She then sat still again, and her pussy again writhed, though this time her eyes were clear as they stared down into his. She literally pulled the fluid from his body, as a milkmaid pulls the milk from the cow's udder.

"Mistress!" whined Nigel, as he felt her rippling inner muscles defeat his attempt at control.

"Ahhhh, there it is," she sighed, as he spurted within her. "So hot. And so much of it. You're not only longer and thicker, you've quite a lot else I require, my lusty young servant. Give me every drop, you rascal."

It wasn't until she had gotten him to deposit his third load in her that day, that he finally figured out her threats about him impregnating her, were actually a reflection of her desire to be impregnated.

By then, his penis was as limp as a noodle, and every drop his balls had struggled to produce had been delivered in terror.

"A footman you may be," sighed Her Ladyship, relaxing after her enthusiastic exercise. "But a better term would be cocksman, if such a term existed. Perhaps I have just invented it!" She grinned. "If I should call urgently for my cocksman, Nigel, then you alone will know to whom I refer. Wouldn't that be fun?"

It's not fair to say he didn't have a good time. But it's eminently understandable why Nigel tried his best to steer clear of Her Ladyship after that. Later, of course, when he became an ardent and effusive co-conspirator in her plan ... he stopped hiding from her ... and had a lot more fun. And I should say that, apparently, her enthusiasm at inventing a new word waned. She never used that word again and, thankfully, its brief exposure to the light of day was forgotten for all time.

While spending the better part of four hours "riding" in the forest appeared to satisfy the woman's craving for carnal pleasure, it only moved a portion of her plans forward. I was told to stay near her chambers that evening, as she might have need of me.

As stated before, the bits of the puzzle eventually came to me, one by one, until I could assemble a clear picture of the things that happened in the manor over the next months. And so I shall, from this point, intermingle those parts of the tale to which I was a direct witness, with the parts in which I was elsewhere. It becomes tedious to document how and when I found things out. So I shall just write what I know to have happened, and let you contemplate on how I knew it, in some cases.

Jenny and Sally, the lady's maids, were already aware that their new mistress was something other than ordinary, or restrained. They were to become much changed by the mistress of the manor, and it started when she returned from her tour of the forest with Nigel.

As they helped her change out of clothing that seemed rather more rumpled than expected, Jenny saw the copious amounts of semen that leaked from Her Ladyship's overfilled sex. Being the third child of the blacksmith, she had two older brothers. As her mother died delivering her, the only influences in her life until she began working for the previous mistress were the men of her family. She was, of course, a virgin. Aldo, the blacksmith, had obtained the services of Mrs. Wallerton, the old woman who supported herself by selling potions and salves, to fill the breach left by the loss of his wife, concerning what to do when Jenny entered puberty. But learning what to do when she bled was about the only thing Jenny learned from a woman until such time as she became a lady's maid. Her mentor at that point, as described earlier, was a humorless and stiff old woman who, if she had ever engaged in things carnal, had not enjoyed it. She certainly never taught Jenny anything about carnal knowledge. On those rare occasions when the master required his wife to sleep in his room, Jenny was not privy to why, or what went on in that room.

And so Jenny, being uneducated on what milky-white substances might leak from a woman's vagina, assumed it was the kind of discharge that required the attention of someone like Mrs. Wallerton.

"No, silly girl," laughed Penelope. " Tis but the milk of a lusty male, trying its hardest to ferret out an egg to fertilize. I was fortunate enough to receive a more than adequate dose, so losing so much isn't anything to be concerned with."

"Milk?" Jenny's eyes were wide.

Sally, who was the miller's daughter, and who had one brother a year younger than she was, leaned over to whisper in Jenny's ear. Sally had come upon her brother, some years past, while he was wrestling with the thing that hung between his legs. Curiously, she had watched from hiding as he appeared to try to jerk the thing off his body. Instead, he produced a long stream of something white, appearing to be a thin rope or thick cord, but made of something liquid. Then he manufactured another, shorter one, and a still shorter one after that, all in a row. Her curiosity drove her from hiding to investigate this strange phenomenon. After a rocky start, she began a new relationship with her brother, in which he performed this feat of amazement for her regularly. She was well aware of what that white, viscous stuff was leaking from the mistress' pussy, even if she'd never had any of it inside herself.

She had tried to describe such events to her best friend, Jenny, who had tried to grasp the concept. Jenny had seen animals mating, of course, but had never seen anything white being produced, shot, or dripping from anywhere. Finally, with the help of Her Ladyship's visual aid, she finally grasped the concept fully.

"Oh my!" she squealed, covering her wide open mouth.

Her Ladyship cocked an eyebrow at Sally.

"You've had experience with this delicious treat?" she asked, scooping a fingerful of the "man milk" onto her finger from her thigh.

"No, Mistress!" said Sally. "I'm a good girl!"

"A lie, I'll wager," said Penelope calmly. "But a lie to be expected. We'll change all that, we will."

"I'm sorry, Mistress," cried Sally, falling to her knees. "I didn't want you to think badly of me. I swear I'll never prevaricate again!"

"I'm not angry, you silly wench," said Mistress Penelope. "I'm simply going to help you understand that doing what nature intends us to do is not reason to feel shame. Milking a man is something we women were made to do. I only require to know the level of your experience, so that we may move forward as sisters, and seek our natural destinies together."

"Destinies?" asked Sally, who was relieved that her mistress wasn't angry, but confused at the conversation.

"I'll explain all that later," said Penny. "Tell me. How did you know what drips from my body?"

It took almost ten minutes, and it wasn't until Penelope stamped one pretty, naked foot in irritation, that Sally confessed all.

"Your brother, you say?" mused Penelope. "And he is but a year younger than you?"

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Penelope, Mistress of the Manor

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