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Lady Annabelle & Kate
Two stories from 3 centuries, about one English mansion.
By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
An aristocrat has an exciting encounter with a highwayman
It is the Year of Our Lord 1760, and the roads leading to and from
London be the most perilous for any traveler. Hounslow Heath being a
favorite haunt of the highwayman and footpad. Folly indeed, for the
unwary to wander alone. And London be a very wicked place, so it hath
been told, with whores, beggars and cutpurses on every street corner,
The journey of Lady Emily Arundel and her daughter Annabelle had been an uneventful one so far.
"And when we arrive at Mablethorpe Hall, be sure to show your
appreciation to Lord Barrington-Smythe. His son, William, wishes to seek
your hand in marriage," Lady Emily began.
"Yes Mother," her daughter replied, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
"His estate comprises over a hundred acres of land,"
"Well, hark at that!"
"owns several horses related to Whistlejacket,"
Annabelle struggled to contain a sigh.
"properties in the colonies,"
"How glorious, Mother."
"knows a clutch of fashionable London society in beautiful silk suits
and powdered wigs attended by almost equally well appointed valets!
Whom are accompanied by gorgeous ladies in even more elaborate wigs and
dresses in the latest Paris fashions,"
The corpulent gentleman sat opposite them in the coach was Lord
Bracewell, an old and dear friend of Lady Emily. He grinned at
Annabelle, sensing her discomfort.
"Your Ladyship, it may please you to know, that we are but a mile
from our journey's end." And thank heaven for that, Bracewell thought to
himself, now feeling the great need of a chamber pot after drinking an
excess of ale. He adjusted his periwig.
"Erm, perhaps an opportunity at this gathering for a, f, er, you
know, eh?" He gestured something and Lady Emily quickly tapped his leg
with her foot.
"Shush. Manners, Cuthbert! Later, perhaps,"
At that moment the coach lurched as it hit a particularly large pothole. This stretch of road was notoriously bad.
Suddenly, the coach shuddered to an uncomfortable halt and the horses squealed. Other hooves could be heard alongside.
"Stand and deliver!"
"Oh dear God!" Lord Bracewell exclaimed, crossing himself. "I fear we are about to be robbed!"
The masked stranger yelled at the coachman. "Throw down your weapons my bonny boy, or I'll spill your guts on the road!"
There was the sound of muskets hitting the ground.
Inside the coach, Lady Emily trembled and uttered a prayer. A robber might take more from a lady than her silver.
Annabelle should've been as terrified as her mother, but her wildly-beating heart was more out of excitement.
"Perhaps this man may be more merciful than we give him credit for?"
"Hush, my dearest daughter. These bandits are without scruples! Pray to the Lord!"
A bay-colored horse's head and then its rider appeared outside the
window. The figure who leaned down to peer into the window appeared
tall, wearing a cape, a three-cornered hat and a black handkerchief
across his mouth. Dark brown eyes.
"Well now, what fabulous treasure do I find?" The highwayman pointed a
flintlock pistol inches from Annabelle's face. He leaned forward and
with a move of his wrist he flicked back her hood with the muzzle of the
pistol.
"Ah. A true English Rose."
"Sir, I beg of you, do not harm my daughter," Lady Emily intervened.
"She is but eighteen, an innocent child, she has no silver!"
"Her fortune awaits at Mablethorpe Hall no doubt. But it is she I am
taking, not her money. Come." And he beckoned, the hand still held out
to help Annabelle down.
"Why, what foul swine would take a young lady's honor? I forbid you
to lay one finger on her!" Lady Emily yelled. "Take me in her place."
"No Mother, I shall do as he asks," Annabelle interrupted, taking his hand.
"My child, no!"
"It shall be alright Mother," Annabelle replied.
"Your daughter knows her own mind, Madam," the highwayman said. "So
now, I must ask you to keep thine own counsel. It would give me no
pleasure to shoot your coachman and your gentleman companion."
Lady Emily could do nothing but remain in the coach as the mysterious
stranger led Annabelle away and into the trees at the side of the road.
"Sir. If I may be so bold, may I request a merciful death?" The damsel inquired.
This rather caught the highwayman off guard. This young lady
intrigued him far more than the other wealthy folks he'd ambushed in the
past. How the ladies had screamed like banshees and pleaded for their
lives. The simpering, periwigged dandy who'd pissed his breeches when a
gun was pointed at his head. Aristocrats. The damned preening lot of
them! How he loathed these ruling peacocks. Oh, he hadn't always been a
highwayman. Back in his old life he'd fought for king and country. Until
good fortune and those he looked up to had betrayed him,
He had planned to kidnap the girl and hold her to ransom. Lord Arundel's daughter would command a high price.
"You are indeed bold. And, I have no wish to kill you. Your beauty
and grace are extremely attractive to young men and it is bound to rouse
their passions."
Annabelle thought for a moment. "Since I am without silver or jewels,
perhaps I could offer you a gift of a different kind? If I were to
sufficiently please you, would you let my mother, Lord Bracewell, the
coachman and myself go free? I'll do anything, to please you."
He blinked. "Even the most unladylike of things? Do you realize what you are saying?"
"Sir, I am shortly to be married. It would be most helpful if I were
sufficiently skilled in how to pleasure my husband on our wedding night.
I have no experience whatsoever in meddling with a man, perhaps if I
could, practice somehow." Those less-than-polite urges that had been
assaulting her body recently, had now found the perfect outlet.
"Will you service my prick like a common whore?"
"Yes sir," Annabelle replied, kneeling before him.
"Let's see you try then." He kept his pistol in his right hand. "No teeth."
Annabelle unbuttoned the highwayman's breeches slowly, her careful
motions at odds with the look in her blue eyes and pulled out the large
and swollen member. She couldn't help but stare at his impressive
length, simultaneously afraid and eager. A man's weapon in all its
hardened glory. A thing she'd previously glimpsed from afar, now in her
hands.
He expected her to hesitate, but to his surprise, she leant forward
and ran her tongue up the shaft. With all haste, she opened her mouth,
allowing him to move it inside. He began to thrust his cock inside her
mouth, holding her head steady. Shocked at herself, Annabelle couldn't
deny that as she heard him pant and moan, she felt somehow strangely
empowered. She began to suck, working her tongue around his member. The
highwayman cursed and blasphemed holding her head firmer as he began to
thrust faster.
Eventually, he grasped her blonde hair tightly as he groaned, pushing
his entire length down her throat and shot his seed into her. She
swallowed every drop of it, rather liking the taste.
"Impressive," he panted. He'd enjoyed that a lot more than he was
willing to admit, but wasn't done with this little rich girl just yet.
"Have you had enough yet, Marchioness Whore?"
Panting she replied, "I think not. Please."
"Please?" He ran his hand under her dress and up her thigh. "Please what?"
"Please sir."
He fingered her tantalizing wet womanhood. "Louder, if you please."
"Ah, Please sir!"
He chuckled, and withdrew. She was ready to beg him, but before she
could he had her up against a tree, hands tied then the rope wrapped
hight around the thick trunk. With swift action he pulled up her
skirting and down went her petticoat. Pulling her ass out to meet him,
had entered her virgin cunt from behind, feeling the satisfying
tightness of a deflowering. She winced and made a squeal similar to
those a fox makes when mating. It hurt, but at the same time it felt so
good. The highwayman withdrew until just his cockhead was still engaged,
leaving Annabelle feeling a little disappointed. But then he pushed
back in, all the way and in one go.
His animal instinct had kicked in and he had one overriding desire;
to plant his seed in this nubile young lady. He picked up speed,
plunging deeply each time.
Annabelle's own arousal was equally uncontrolled. She knew what was
about to happen after her recent voyeurism of Lord Bracewell fucking her
mother across a grand piano one afternoon. A more amusing rather an
arousing spectacle that brought to mind an overfed pug mounting a chair
leg. This time the explosion was even more powerful - and it was
accompanied by the highwayman's roar as she felt him fill her passage
with his issue. It seemed to go on forever and she felt it leaking out
around his shaft and down her legs.
"God," he gasped as he finally withdrew from Annabelle. He untied her and helped her stand.
"Did I, please you sir?" Annabelle inquired in her refined & well-bred cadence.
The highwayman finally removed his face covering. Annabelle was
surprised to see a weathered but good-looking man, with cheeks bearing
scars. Under his cape, she had glimpsed a torn and darkened coat, that
had been, long ago a Redcoat officer's uniform. This man was no stranger
to battle, and had a long history that he wasn't prepared to reveal.
"You and the others have earned your freedom Your Ladyship." He said
with a bow, removing his 3-point hat in the process. Her charms
prevailing to ransom her entourage.
His siring became her own treasure, preparing her for yet more charming accomplishment in the upcoming matrimonial bedchamber.
A Night at Mablethorpe Hall
Two millennials Ravished by the ghost of a Redcoat on Halloween.
"Don't you just love a Halloween-themed tour and a meal at an English
country house?" Kate said to her friend as the minibus they were in
pulled into the grounds of Mablethorpe Hall.
"Yeah, these old places have a real atmosphere!" Chloe replied.
"I've wanted to do something like this for like, forever. Stay
overnight in some old place, pretend I'm lady of the manor. I'm so glad I
booked this trip."
"Kate you are such a history nerd. Lucy Worsley has a rival."
"My heart is in the 18th century. Seriously. I just love anything from that time."
Kate had often been described as an atypical millennial.
They got off the bus and collected their luggage.
"Come on, the tour is about to start. Let's dump our luggage. Apparently this place is haunted."
Kate smiled. "All good English manors should have at least one ghost! Three hours in a minibus. I'm stiff from sitting so long."
They collected their room keys. The Hall had not yet upgraded to the
modern electronic key cards. Kate liked that. A traditional brass key
was more in keeping with the decor. The receptionist looked worried.
"Are you ok with having Room 13?" she asked.
"Sure. I'm not superstitious. Don't tell me it's haunted?"
"Well, some guests have reported that really strange things happen in that room. And the wi-fi doesn't work in there."
Kate just assumed the woman was joking. "In that case, it sounds like
my kind of room! Think I can last a few hours without wi-fi."
The room was large and splendid. "Seriously? I get a king-size four
poster bed?" Kate exclaimed as she gazed in awe. "This is so fantastic! I
feel like Queen Anne."
The bed looked so inviting, Kate couldn't resist just flopping back on it and spreading out.
"Bliss!" she sighed. So much better than the single bed back at her cramped one-bed flat. She closed her eyes,
Abruptly, Kate was overcome by a bizarre horniness, and masturbated
more than she'd done in a long time. She was getting so wet, so hot and
in a rush to give herself the release she so desperately needed. She
hitched up her dress and pushed her panties down just a bit, then shoved
her right hand down to her cunt. She used her left hand to push up her
nightshirt and play with her breasts, pinching her nipples hard, making
her moan with pleasure. Kate's right hand was busy with her cunt,
alternately slipping down between her cunt lips and inside her hot, wet
core, fucking herself with fingers, then pulling out to rub her clit.
Back and forth, over and over. She was moaning, fantasizing about being
pounded, pounded by an unknown uniformed man. Begging him to fuck her
harder and send her climaxing in ecstasy,
Kate was screaming. Suddenly her orgasm peaked and hit full force.
She stopped all movement with her hands momentarily then began again, at
first very fast and hard, then slowing as her orgasm began to subside.
She lay there as her breathing slowly returned to normal.
"Jesus," she muttered, when she could finally catch her breath again. "What the hell just happened?"
The tour had already begun when Kate arrived to join the others.
"What took you so long?" Chloe asked. "Thought you'd got lost."
"Oh I just, er, oh wow, check out that tour guide!"
"Mablethorpe Hall, one of Berkshire's finest country estates back in
the day," the tour guide began. He was dressed in early 18th century
period costume, with a long wig, frilled cuffs and breeches.
"He looks just like John Hurt did in Rob Roy. I love the costumes in that movie." Kate whispered to Chloe, who rolled her eyes.
Kate listened intently as every detail of the building's history was described.
"But the most fascinating story of Mablethorpe," the guide continued,
"is that it's said to be haunted by Major Robert Wolfe, a British Army
officer."
The was a chorus of "oh!" from the assembled tourists.
"The Major is said to return to Mablethorpe every Halloween night, in hope of seeing the woman he once loved."
"So the poor sod just wants to get laid?" a middle-aged bloke at the front said, and everyone burst out laughing.
The tour guide evidently took this old legend extremely seriously and did not see the funny side.
"As I was saying, the Major was in love with Lady Annabelle
Barrington-Smythe. That in itself was a scandal, for she was married to
William Barrington-Smythe. Rumor has it that the Major was actually a
notorious highwayman known as The Fox, "
Later, the guests were treated to a Halloween-themed meal in the
Hall's grand banqueting room. There were the usual things adorning the
tables - Jack o' lanterns, candles everywhere, fake cobwebs. In the
background, a string quartet dressed as witches played a medley of Bach
and Handel.
"Not as spooky as I was expecting," Chloe said as she sampled the
pumpkin pie and spiced rum. "I was hoping the lights were going to go
out and there'd be a jump-scare or something. Like two years ago when we
went to that zombie-themed night at Castle Howard. That was creepy as
hell!"
"This is nice though. Lots of atmosphere. I like it here. I'd like
to, get married in a place like this. Have a historical-themed wedding.
That is, if, "
"When, Kate. When you meet that ideal guy. And you will. He's out
there. Plenty of fish. Steve was a complete areole, but he's ancient
history. A bit like this hall."
"True!"
After the meal concluded, there was more live music and dancing.
"Think I'm going to call it a night," Kate said.
"Oh you lightweight," Chloe replied, already tipsy. "Aren't you going
to stay up for the midnight ghost walk in the grounds? You might see a
good-looking highwayman."
"No, I'm totally exhausted. Really. You can tell me all about it in the morning."
"Fine, whatever. I know you're too afraid!"
Kate headed up to her room, surprised at being overcome by such
tiredness. She hadn't drunk that much, and it had hardly been an
energetic evening. The glorious king-size bed and it's luxurious
blankets beckoned,
Sometime after midnight, Kate was in a deep slumber, but also in the throes of a nightmare.
He's coming,
Kate did not dream often, and she was even less often plagued by bad
dreams. Several times she stirred, came half awake, and heard herself
gasping in panic. Once, drifting up from some threatening vision, she
heard her own voice crying out wordlessly in terror, and she realized
she was thrashing about in the bed.
Suddenly the air was oppressively heavy, hot, thick; as if it were
not air at all but a bitter and poisonous gas of some kind. She tried to
breathe, couldn't. There was an invisible, crushing weight on her
chest. The unmistakable smell of gunpowder. Hoofbeats, many horses. Some
kind of battle?
A murderous barrage of lightning crashed like a volley of mortar
fire, seven or eight tremendous bolts; and woke her from sleep in an
instant.
"Holy shit." Kate gasped as the storm made her sit upright in bed.
She remembered what Chloe had said earlier, about the tour not being
scary. Evidently, nature had now delivered a jump, a scare of its own.
Already her memory of the nightmare had begun to dissolve; only
fragments of it remained with her, and each of those disassociated
images was evaporating as if it were a splinter of ice. All she could
remember was that she'd been in a battle of some kind, and there had
been many men - soldiers on horseback. They'd been pursuing her. Firing
guns.
As the nightmare receded, Kate became uncomfortably aware of how dark
the bedroom was. Before going to sleep she had switched off both the
bedside lamps. The curtains were all closed, and only thin blades of
moonlight were visible between the gap she'd left. She had the
irrational but unshakable feeling that something had followed her up
from the dream, there was another presence in the room, oh God! She
fumbled for the lamp switch, damn, where was it? Groped around, switched
it on. Relief as golden light flooded the room,
And then she saw him. Stood at the side of the bed. He was dressed in a Redcoat uniform, just calmly standing there.
She gasped, but was so shocked, she couldn't utter a sound for a
moment. Then her initial shock turned to anger. Was this part of the
Halloween tour? Having re-enactors actually enter the guest bedrooms was
completely unacceptable.
"What the hell are you doing?" Kate yelled.
He seemed taken aback by her reaction. "Who are you?" She demanded once she had caught her breath again.
"I beg your pardon, Miss," he began. He removed his hat as he moved closer.
"Major Robert Wolfe of His Majesty's 58th Regiment of Foot."
"What are you doing here?"
He smiled politely. "Where I come from, when a gentleman introduces himself, a lady generally responds in kind."
Kate was about to respond with a sarcastic remark, but then she
noticed that he was surrounded by a faint, silver glow. Her heart began
to pound like crazy. Gathering all her courage, she decided to ask him
directly.
"Are you, dead?"
The Major's face relaxed into a smile. "Oh indeed. Q
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88 ratings
Two stories from 3 centuries, about one English mansion.
By Blacksheep. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
An aristocrat has an exciting encounter with a highwayman
It is the Year of Our Lord 1760, and the roads leading to and from
London be the most perilous for any traveler. Hounslow Heath being a
favorite haunt of the highwayman and footpad. Folly indeed, for the
unwary to wander alone. And London be a very wicked place, so it hath
been told, with whores, beggars and cutpurses on every street corner,
The journey of Lady Emily Arundel and her daughter Annabelle had been an uneventful one so far.
"And when we arrive at Mablethorpe Hall, be sure to show your
appreciation to Lord Barrington-Smythe. His son, William, wishes to seek
your hand in marriage," Lady Emily began.
"Yes Mother," her daughter replied, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
"His estate comprises over a hundred acres of land,"
"Well, hark at that!"
"owns several horses related to Whistlejacket,"
Annabelle struggled to contain a sigh.
"properties in the colonies,"
"How glorious, Mother."
"knows a clutch of fashionable London society in beautiful silk suits
and powdered wigs attended by almost equally well appointed valets!
Whom are accompanied by gorgeous ladies in even more elaborate wigs and
dresses in the latest Paris fashions,"
The corpulent gentleman sat opposite them in the coach was Lord
Bracewell, an old and dear friend of Lady Emily. He grinned at
Annabelle, sensing her discomfort.
"Your Ladyship, it may please you to know, that we are but a mile
from our journey's end." And thank heaven for that, Bracewell thought to
himself, now feeling the great need of a chamber pot after drinking an
excess of ale. He adjusted his periwig.
"Erm, perhaps an opportunity at this gathering for a, f, er, you
know, eh?" He gestured something and Lady Emily quickly tapped his leg
with her foot.
"Shush. Manners, Cuthbert! Later, perhaps,"
At that moment the coach lurched as it hit a particularly large pothole. This stretch of road was notoriously bad.
Suddenly, the coach shuddered to an uncomfortable halt and the horses squealed. Other hooves could be heard alongside.
"Stand and deliver!"
"Oh dear God!" Lord Bracewell exclaimed, crossing himself. "I fear we are about to be robbed!"
The masked stranger yelled at the coachman. "Throw down your weapons my bonny boy, or I'll spill your guts on the road!"
There was the sound of muskets hitting the ground.
Inside the coach, Lady Emily trembled and uttered a prayer. A robber might take more from a lady than her silver.
Annabelle should've been as terrified as her mother, but her wildly-beating heart was more out of excitement.
"Perhaps this man may be more merciful than we give him credit for?"
"Hush, my dearest daughter. These bandits are without scruples! Pray to the Lord!"
A bay-colored horse's head and then its rider appeared outside the
window. The figure who leaned down to peer into the window appeared
tall, wearing a cape, a three-cornered hat and a black handkerchief
across his mouth. Dark brown eyes.
"Well now, what fabulous treasure do I find?" The highwayman pointed a
flintlock pistol inches from Annabelle's face. He leaned forward and
with a move of his wrist he flicked back her hood with the muzzle of the
pistol.
"Ah. A true English Rose."
"Sir, I beg of you, do not harm my daughter," Lady Emily intervened.
"She is but eighteen, an innocent child, she has no silver!"
"Her fortune awaits at Mablethorpe Hall no doubt. But it is she I am
taking, not her money. Come." And he beckoned, the hand still held out
to help Annabelle down.
"Why, what foul swine would take a young lady's honor? I forbid you
to lay one finger on her!" Lady Emily yelled. "Take me in her place."
"No Mother, I shall do as he asks," Annabelle interrupted, taking his hand.
"My child, no!"
"It shall be alright Mother," Annabelle replied.
"Your daughter knows her own mind, Madam," the highwayman said. "So
now, I must ask you to keep thine own counsel. It would give me no
pleasure to shoot your coachman and your gentleman companion."
Lady Emily could do nothing but remain in the coach as the mysterious
stranger led Annabelle away and into the trees at the side of the road.
"Sir. If I may be so bold, may I request a merciful death?" The damsel inquired.
This rather caught the highwayman off guard. This young lady
intrigued him far more than the other wealthy folks he'd ambushed in the
past. How the ladies had screamed like banshees and pleaded for their
lives. The simpering, periwigged dandy who'd pissed his breeches when a
gun was pointed at his head. Aristocrats. The damned preening lot of
them! How he loathed these ruling peacocks. Oh, he hadn't always been a
highwayman. Back in his old life he'd fought for king and country. Until
good fortune and those he looked up to had betrayed him,
He had planned to kidnap the girl and hold her to ransom. Lord Arundel's daughter would command a high price.
"You are indeed bold. And, I have no wish to kill you. Your beauty
and grace are extremely attractive to young men and it is bound to rouse
their passions."
Annabelle thought for a moment. "Since I am without silver or jewels,
perhaps I could offer you a gift of a different kind? If I were to
sufficiently please you, would you let my mother, Lord Bracewell, the
coachman and myself go free? I'll do anything, to please you."
He blinked. "Even the most unladylike of things? Do you realize what you are saying?"
"Sir, I am shortly to be married. It would be most helpful if I were
sufficiently skilled in how to pleasure my husband on our wedding night.
I have no experience whatsoever in meddling with a man, perhaps if I
could, practice somehow." Those less-than-polite urges that had been
assaulting her body recently, had now found the perfect outlet.
"Will you service my prick like a common whore?"
"Yes sir," Annabelle replied, kneeling before him.
"Let's see you try then." He kept his pistol in his right hand. "No teeth."
Annabelle unbuttoned the highwayman's breeches slowly, her careful
motions at odds with the look in her blue eyes and pulled out the large
and swollen member. She couldn't help but stare at his impressive
length, simultaneously afraid and eager. A man's weapon in all its
hardened glory. A thing she'd previously glimpsed from afar, now in her
hands.
He expected her to hesitate, but to his surprise, she leant forward
and ran her tongue up the shaft. With all haste, she opened her mouth,
allowing him to move it inside. He began to thrust his cock inside her
mouth, holding her head steady. Shocked at herself, Annabelle couldn't
deny that as she heard him pant and moan, she felt somehow strangely
empowered. She began to suck, working her tongue around his member. The
highwayman cursed and blasphemed holding her head firmer as he began to
thrust faster.
Eventually, he grasped her blonde hair tightly as he groaned, pushing
his entire length down her throat and shot his seed into her. She
swallowed every drop of it, rather liking the taste.
"Impressive," he panted. He'd enjoyed that a lot more than he was
willing to admit, but wasn't done with this little rich girl just yet.
"Have you had enough yet, Marchioness Whore?"
Panting she replied, "I think not. Please."
"Please?" He ran his hand under her dress and up her thigh. "Please what?"
"Please sir."
He fingered her tantalizing wet womanhood. "Louder, if you please."
"Ah, Please sir!"
He chuckled, and withdrew. She was ready to beg him, but before she
could he had her up against a tree, hands tied then the rope wrapped
hight around the thick trunk. With swift action he pulled up her
skirting and down went her petticoat. Pulling her ass out to meet him,
had entered her virgin cunt from behind, feeling the satisfying
tightness of a deflowering. She winced and made a squeal similar to
those a fox makes when mating. It hurt, but at the same time it felt so
good. The highwayman withdrew until just his cockhead was still engaged,
leaving Annabelle feeling a little disappointed. But then he pushed
back in, all the way and in one go.
His animal instinct had kicked in and he had one overriding desire;
to plant his seed in this nubile young lady. He picked up speed,
plunging deeply each time.
Annabelle's own arousal was equally uncontrolled. She knew what was
about to happen after her recent voyeurism of Lord Bracewell fucking her
mother across a grand piano one afternoon. A more amusing rather an
arousing spectacle that brought to mind an overfed pug mounting a chair
leg. This time the explosion was even more powerful - and it was
accompanied by the highwayman's roar as she felt him fill her passage
with his issue. It seemed to go on forever and she felt it leaking out
around his shaft and down her legs.
"God," he gasped as he finally withdrew from Annabelle. He untied her and helped her stand.
"Did I, please you sir?" Annabelle inquired in her refined & well-bred cadence.
The highwayman finally removed his face covering. Annabelle was
surprised to see a weathered but good-looking man, with cheeks bearing
scars. Under his cape, she had glimpsed a torn and darkened coat, that
had been, long ago a Redcoat officer's uniform. This man was no stranger
to battle, and had a long history that he wasn't prepared to reveal.
"You and the others have earned your freedom Your Ladyship." He said
with a bow, removing his 3-point hat in the process. Her charms
prevailing to ransom her entourage.
His siring became her own treasure, preparing her for yet more charming accomplishment in the upcoming matrimonial bedchamber.
A Night at Mablethorpe Hall
Two millennials Ravished by the ghost of a Redcoat on Halloween.
"Don't you just love a Halloween-themed tour and a meal at an English
country house?" Kate said to her friend as the minibus they were in
pulled into the grounds of Mablethorpe Hall.
"Yeah, these old places have a real atmosphere!" Chloe replied.
"I've wanted to do something like this for like, forever. Stay
overnight in some old place, pretend I'm lady of the manor. I'm so glad I
booked this trip."
"Kate you are such a history nerd. Lucy Worsley has a rival."
"My heart is in the 18th century. Seriously. I just love anything from that time."
Kate had often been described as an atypical millennial.
They got off the bus and collected their luggage.
"Come on, the tour is about to start. Let's dump our luggage. Apparently this place is haunted."
Kate smiled. "All good English manors should have at least one ghost! Three hours in a minibus. I'm stiff from sitting so long."
They collected their room keys. The Hall had not yet upgraded to the
modern electronic key cards. Kate liked that. A traditional brass key
was more in keeping with the decor. The receptionist looked worried.
"Are you ok with having Room 13?" she asked.
"Sure. I'm not superstitious. Don't tell me it's haunted?"
"Well, some guests have reported that really strange things happen in that room. And the wi-fi doesn't work in there."
Kate just assumed the woman was joking. "In that case, it sounds like
my kind of room! Think I can last a few hours without wi-fi."
The room was large and splendid. "Seriously? I get a king-size four
poster bed?" Kate exclaimed as she gazed in awe. "This is so fantastic! I
feel like Queen Anne."
The bed looked so inviting, Kate couldn't resist just flopping back on it and spreading out.
"Bliss!" she sighed. So much better than the single bed back at her cramped one-bed flat. She closed her eyes,
Abruptly, Kate was overcome by a bizarre horniness, and masturbated
more than she'd done in a long time. She was getting so wet, so hot and
in a rush to give herself the release she so desperately needed. She
hitched up her dress and pushed her panties down just a bit, then shoved
her right hand down to her cunt. She used her left hand to push up her
nightshirt and play with her breasts, pinching her nipples hard, making
her moan with pleasure. Kate's right hand was busy with her cunt,
alternately slipping down between her cunt lips and inside her hot, wet
core, fucking herself with fingers, then pulling out to rub her clit.
Back and forth, over and over. She was moaning, fantasizing about being
pounded, pounded by an unknown uniformed man. Begging him to fuck her
harder and send her climaxing in ecstasy,
Kate was screaming. Suddenly her orgasm peaked and hit full force.
She stopped all movement with her hands momentarily then began again, at
first very fast and hard, then slowing as her orgasm began to subside.
She lay there as her breathing slowly returned to normal.
"Jesus," she muttered, when she could finally catch her breath again. "What the hell just happened?"
The tour had already begun when Kate arrived to join the others.
"What took you so long?" Chloe asked. "Thought you'd got lost."
"Oh I just, er, oh wow, check out that tour guide!"
"Mablethorpe Hall, one of Berkshire's finest country estates back in
the day," the tour guide began. He was dressed in early 18th century
period costume, with a long wig, frilled cuffs and breeches.
"He looks just like John Hurt did in Rob Roy. I love the costumes in that movie." Kate whispered to Chloe, who rolled her eyes.
Kate listened intently as every detail of the building's history was described.
"But the most fascinating story of Mablethorpe," the guide continued,
"is that it's said to be haunted by Major Robert Wolfe, a British Army
officer."
The was a chorus of "oh!" from the assembled tourists.
"The Major is said to return to Mablethorpe every Halloween night, in hope of seeing the woman he once loved."
"So the poor sod just wants to get laid?" a middle-aged bloke at the front said, and everyone burst out laughing.
The tour guide evidently took this old legend extremely seriously and did not see the funny side.
"As I was saying, the Major was in love with Lady Annabelle
Barrington-Smythe. That in itself was a scandal, for she was married to
William Barrington-Smythe. Rumor has it that the Major was actually a
notorious highwayman known as The Fox, "
Later, the guests were treated to a Halloween-themed meal in the
Hall's grand banqueting room. There were the usual things adorning the
tables - Jack o' lanterns, candles everywhere, fake cobwebs. In the
background, a string quartet dressed as witches played a medley of Bach
and Handel.
"Not as spooky as I was expecting," Chloe said as she sampled the
pumpkin pie and spiced rum. "I was hoping the lights were going to go
out and there'd be a jump-scare or something. Like two years ago when we
went to that zombie-themed night at Castle Howard. That was creepy as
hell!"
"This is nice though. Lots of atmosphere. I like it here. I'd like
to, get married in a place like this. Have a historical-themed wedding.
That is, if, "
"When, Kate. When you meet that ideal guy. And you will. He's out
there. Plenty of fish. Steve was a complete areole, but he's ancient
history. A bit like this hall."
"True!"
After the meal concluded, there was more live music and dancing.
"Think I'm going to call it a night," Kate said.
"Oh you lightweight," Chloe replied, already tipsy. "Aren't you going
to stay up for the midnight ghost walk in the grounds? You might see a
good-looking highwayman."
"No, I'm totally exhausted. Really. You can tell me all about it in the morning."
"Fine, whatever. I know you're too afraid!"
Kate headed up to her room, surprised at being overcome by such
tiredness. She hadn't drunk that much, and it had hardly been an
energetic evening. The glorious king-size bed and it's luxurious
blankets beckoned,
Sometime after midnight, Kate was in a deep slumber, but also in the throes of a nightmare.
He's coming,
Kate did not dream often, and she was even less often plagued by bad
dreams. Several times she stirred, came half awake, and heard herself
gasping in panic. Once, drifting up from some threatening vision, she
heard her own voice crying out wordlessly in terror, and she realized
she was thrashing about in the bed.
Suddenly the air was oppressively heavy, hot, thick; as if it were
not air at all but a bitter and poisonous gas of some kind. She tried to
breathe, couldn't. There was an invisible, crushing weight on her
chest. The unmistakable smell of gunpowder. Hoofbeats, many horses. Some
kind of battle?
A murderous barrage of lightning crashed like a volley of mortar
fire, seven or eight tremendous bolts; and woke her from sleep in an
instant.
"Holy shit." Kate gasped as the storm made her sit upright in bed.
She remembered what Chloe had said earlier, about the tour not being
scary. Evidently, nature had now delivered a jump, a scare of its own.
Already her memory of the nightmare had begun to dissolve; only
fragments of it remained with her, and each of those disassociated
images was evaporating as if it were a splinter of ice. All she could
remember was that she'd been in a battle of some kind, and there had
been many men - soldiers on horseback. They'd been pursuing her. Firing
guns.
As the nightmare receded, Kate became uncomfortably aware of how dark
the bedroom was. Before going to sleep she had switched off both the
bedside lamps. The curtains were all closed, and only thin blades of
moonlight were visible between the gap she'd left. She had the
irrational but unshakable feeling that something had followed her up
from the dream, there was another presence in the room, oh God! She
fumbled for the lamp switch, damn, where was it? Groped around, switched
it on. Relief as golden light flooded the room,
And then she saw him. Stood at the side of the bed. He was dressed in a Redcoat uniform, just calmly standing there.
She gasped, but was so shocked, she couldn't utter a sound for a
moment. Then her initial shock turned to anger. Was this part of the
Halloween tour? Having re-enactors actually enter the guest bedrooms was
completely unacceptable.
"What the hell are you doing?" Kate yelled.
He seemed taken aback by her reaction. "Who are you?" She demanded once she had caught her breath again.
"I beg your pardon, Miss," he began. He removed his hat as he moved closer.
"Major Robert Wolfe of His Majesty's 58th Regiment of Foot."
"What are you doing here?"
He smiled politely. "Where I come from, when a gentleman introduces himself, a lady generally responds in kind."
Kate was about to respond with a sarcastic remark, but then she
noticed that he was surrounded by a faint, silver glow. Her heart began
to pound like crazy. Gathering all her courage, she decided to ask him
directly.
"Are you, dead?"
The Major's face relaxed into a smile. "Oh indeed. Q
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