Assholes and Our Souls

For a few moments there was no sound in the room apart from the small grunts of exertion Walter let out at the end of each strenuous push of his bowels. I could feel his asshole flexing and pulsating against my mouth.

I opened my eyes again, I could see Walter's spotty buttocks over my face, and Eric and a couple of his friends looking down at me and grinning. The tension got too much for me, it seemed to be taking an age for Walter to fart, and I began to blubber. Immediately after that, I felt Walter's asshole open and a great rush of foul air poured forth from his guts and into my mouth. It was accompanied by a loud booming roar and a disgusting wet squelching sound. I felt his hot gases blowing against my tongue and filling my mouth with their awful flavour. It was a sulphurous, bitter taste. If you have never had someone fart in your mouth it is hard to describe how disgusting it is.

The young men cheered, and Walter knelt up, lifting his bottom off of my face. Immediately, Eric clamped one hand over my mouth and pinched my nose closed with the finger and thumb of his other hand. I could not breathe, and the deadly fart was trapped in my mouth. Eric held his hands in place over my face for several long moments, looking down at me and smiling wickedly. Walter stood up off of the bed, and the other men were stood around, whooping and cheering and laughing at the disgraceful scene. I panicked, thinking I might die, suffocated by a fart, and I began to struggle and try to scream. Eric held his hands in place a few moments more. "Did you enjoy that, you little bitch?" he hissed at me. Then he let me go.

I gasped for breath, desperately sucking in the urgently needed air. I sat up, my head was spinning and the awful cloying taste of fart was still in my mouth. As I sat up on the bed, I felt my gorge rising, and then I vomited. The tea and crumpets I had enjoyed for supper earlier that evening now leapt back up from my stomach and poured forth from my mouth. The vomit splattered wetly down my front and over my legs, soaking my night dress and the bed sheets. Some of the boys laughed and some screamed when they saw me being sick.

"Come on, let's go, I want another drink," said one of the boys loudly.

Eric looked at me as I sat there on the bed, covered in my own vomit. He snorted with laughter, then turned and left my bedroom along with the other young men.

"I could tell you more about the odious tortures and exquisite humiliations I suffered at the hands of the Stanleys, but it is getting late, and I need to be going."

Phoebe hadn't realised how much time had passed since Bartram Snargs had started talking. It had been almost an hour. She was supposed to be home by now.

"I would like to tell you more, about how I was mistreated in my former life. I feel I need to unburden myself while I still have time. Also, I want to explain to you about the transmigration of souls and the opportunities of rebirth given to those willing to take them. I am old and lonely, I don't have many people I can explain these things to. But you seem bright and understanding. When are you working next? I would like to tell you more."

Phoebe told him she was working the next day. He said he would be there at three in the afternoon to continue his narration.

The next day, Bianca and Phoebe were sat in the front room of the house eating lunch. They had ordered pizza as neither of them could be bothered to cook, and Bianca had bought a bottle of wine from the corner shop at the end of the road. Bianca was about ten years older than Phoebe, she had been on the game for a long time now. Phoebe liked working with her because she had so many stories about strange punters.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. It had been a very quiet morning. Phoebe had only had one customer, and Bianca had received two. The sound of the bell made them both jump as they sat on the sofa munching cheesy garlic bread. As Phoebe was closest to the door, she got up from the sofa and went and peeped through the spy hole. Stood on the doorstep was a man with short ginger hair wearing a grey tracksuit. Phoebe opened the door and greeted him.

"Hi, would you like a massage?" This was her usual greeting for customers who she did not recognise as regulars.

The man stared at her with a blank look of confusion on his face. "Who are you?"

"My name's Phoebe," she said. "Would you like to come in?"

"He said we were getting burgers," said the man. He seemed confused.

"Um, we don't do food here. This is a massage parlour."

"Here," said the man and he held out a piece of note paper. She took it and read it. It was a note addressed to her.

Dear Phoebe,

The bearer of this note is my new friend, Mungo. He may seem a little slow but be assured, he has a heart of gold and talents in enormous quantities. I want you to treat him as well as you treat me. In fact, I want you to ask Bianca to take him up to the room on the top floor, she has entertained my friends before and will know what to do.

I will be along shortly. I have sent Mungo ahead of me so you can all get acquainted. Do not let anyone else into the house until I arrive!

Warmest Regards,

Bartram Snargs

Phoebe showed Mungo into the front room of the house. He sat on one of the sofas and seeing the pizza box, grabbed a slice and began devouring it. Bianca scowled at him.

"Hey!" she snapped at him angrily. But he didn't seem to notice, he was preoccupied with the pizza.

"A friend of Bartram's," Phoebe said to her, and handed her the note. Bianca read it, looked at Mungo and shook her head.

Bianca guided the man upstairs. At first, he did not want to go, but she said he could take some pizza with him, and this convinced him.

Phoebe was about to sit down to finish her glass of wine when the doorbell rang again. She went and looked through the spy hole. Bartram Snargs was stood on the doorstep, wearing a tweed jacket over a black turtleneck jumper.

Phoebe opened the door and said hello.

"Is Mungo here?" he asked her with a grin.

"Bianca has taken him upstairs," she replied.

"Excellent," Bartram said as he stepped into the front room. "We should go on up, they'll be getting started."

Phoebe turned the sign on the door round so that it said closed and showed Bartram up to the top floor of the building. The top floor was divided into two bedrooms. Mungo and Bianca were in one, Bartram and Phoebe were in the other. Bartram knelt down by the wall, and removed a panel, revealing a hole in the wall. He crouched by the hole and looked through it, watching the couple in the next room. Phoebe sat on the bed behind him. She could not see into Bianca's room, but she could hear her and Mungo through the wall.

Bartram seemed very excitable while he watched them. He was muttering in an agitated manner.

"I met him in the gents at the community centre. I always like to have a quick peek over a chap's shoulder to see what he is carrying. Look at the size of it. Twice as long as my own, I would have thought. I asked his carer if I could bring him here. She was quite happy, said she could go and do some shopping and I was welcome to take care of him for the afternoon. So naturally I brought him here. Look at him go. I wonder when he was last with a woman? Young chap like that. Low IQ. Subnormal intellect. Learning difficulties. That's right, right up her arse. My goodness. Look at the size of it. She's taking it like a true champion, though."

From the next room a grunting and a squelching, and Bianca's moaning could be heard as she accommodated Mungo's large prick in her anus.

Bartram continued to watch them through the hole in the wall, clearly enthralled by what he was witnessing. Phoebe stayed sat on the bed, bored by the whole thing.

Eventually, Bartram put his mouth to the hole, and hissed to Bianca. "That's enough of that for now. Bring him over here."

Bianca was coaxing the imbecile across to the wall, and he was confused and muttering. Bartram sat down on the floor. Having positioned Mungo by the wall, Bianca guided his erection into the hole in the plasterboard. It emerged into the room, an impressively large prick.

Bartram muttered to himself. "Oh, magnificent cock. Proudly standing erect. Splendid cock, pointing through the hole in the wall. The dullness of the man contrasted with the brightness of his member. Tremendous appendage. The soul squashed in the brain is alive and well in the loins. Powerful creature. Virile monstrosity. Magnificent construction of gristle and blood."

Bartram closely examined this large prick, but was careful not to touch it, so as not to sully himself by contact with another man's sexual organ. He did sniff it though, holding his nostrils a few inches from the twitching phallus and inhaling its musky scent. Then he had Phoebe pull back the foreskin so he could smell underneath it. As she rolled back the loose skin from around the bulbous purple crown, a good deal of white residue was revealed. Bartram sniffed with interest, sampling the cheesy aroma. Bianca pushed Mungo's bulging bollocks through the hole in the wall too.

"Would you like to suck it?" Bartram asked Phoebe.

"No. Would you?" she countered.

"Certainly not!" Bartram sounded appalled, but he was smiling broadly. "Suck it just for a little bit, while I watch."

"No!"

"Come on, you little cock-sucker!"

"I don't normally mind sucking cocks, but this one has just been up Bianca's arse," explained Phoebe.

"There's nothing wrong with my arse!" Bianca's voice called from behind the wall.

"I'm not saying there is. I just don't want to suck a cock that has just been up it."

"Fair enough, just give him a wank then," said Bartram. "And lick his bollocks too."

Bartram watched while Phoebe licked the balls and wanked the shaft. On the other side of the wall, Bianca was fingering the lad's asshole. Bartram knelt down with his face next to that great big dick, and Phoebe kept wanking it until it came. The jism squirted out in great gouts and spattered across the floor as Bartram watched, smiling broadly.

The cock was withdrawn, disappearing back into the hole in the wall. Bartram sat on the bed then lit a cigarette and continued his narration of his past life to Phoebe. Bianca took Mungo downstairs to feed him more pizza.

I was sat in the living room, brushing my hair and putting it into plaits on either side of my head. My aunt Eunice had always said that a lady's hair was her most important adornment. My hair was long and auburn and curly. I usually wore it in a plait or a bun. Eric came in and invited me to come for a stroll with him around the grounds of the estate. While walking through the kitchen garden together, Eric pointed to a cucumber plant that was laden with ripe fruits.

"See those?" he said pointing at the big cucumbers. "My prick is the same size as one of those when it's hard."

I did not fully understand what he meant, but I knew it was something indecent and I blushed.

"I'll show you one day, you lucky tart. The old man says we have to get married first, but we'll see about that. He'll probably snuff it before long anyway."

"Eric, please don't talk about his lordship like that, he's your father."

"He's bloody well not. I'm adopted. My real father was hanged for piracy. He wasn't an embarrassing old cripple like the old man. Anyway, why are you sticking up for him? He despises you."

Later that day, I was in the orangery, working on a particularly tricky piece of cross-stitch, when Eric came in looking flushed.

"Oh, thank goodness I've found you. I've been looking all over for you," he sounded flustered, which was unusual for him.

"Good afternoon, Eric," I said. "Would you like to see the tabard I'm embroidering?"

"Yes, very nice," he said dismissively. "Never mind that for now. The old man is looking for you. You're in trouble. In fact, we both are. But especially you. Whatever he says, don't tell him anything. We've never done anything improper, have we?"

"Why am I in trouble?" I was shocked and a little bit scared too. "I haven't done anything."

"Yes, exactly." Eric looked dead serious. "And I haven't either, have I?"

"Why would his lordship think we've done anything improper?"

"I don't know. Idle gossip, I guess."

Suddenly, the valet appeared at the door of the orangery. He stared at us with his grim expressionless face and said "Master Eric, Miss Sexton, Lord Stanley wants to see you both in his study immediately. Come with me please."

We followed the valet to the study. Eric gave me a look which I took to signify that I should not reveal anything to Lord Stanley when questioned, although I could not think of anything I could have revealed even if I had wanted to.

In the study, Lord Stanley was sat at his desk. He told Eric to sit down on an armchair, I stayed standing in the middle of the room. The valet lurked in the corner.

Lord Stanley gave me a leather-bound book. A diary. Eric's diary. He told me to turn to the entry for last Tuesday and read it aloud. I began reading.

"Dear diary, today I pushed a fine, ripe cucumber up the bum hole of that silly tart..."

I stopped. I was shocked. I read a few more lines silently.

Dear Diary, Today, I pushed a fine, large cucumber up the bum hole of that saucy tart that has been brought here. She loved it, the dirty mare. Said she had never had anything up there before, but I think she enjoyed it far too much for it to be the first time. Intend to get in that tight little hole myself as soon as the old man lets me. Give her a right proper buggeration. Although, now it might not be as tight as it was before today. Cucumber wasn't looking so fresh afterwards, returned it to the vegetable rack in the servants' quarters. I hope they enjoyed their sandwiches!

"It's not true!" I squeaked. I started to cry. "Eric, why would you write this? It's not true at all."

Eric shrugged. Lord Stanley glared at us both in turn.

"I didn't write anything," lied Eric. "Someone else must have stolen my diary and written it in there."

"Don't lie, boy!" roared Lord Stanley, making me jump. "It's in your handwriting."

To establish whether what Eric had written was true or not, Lord Stanley decided he needed to examine my anus. He made me bend over the desk and lift up my skirts and my petticoat and lower my bloomers. I blushed crimson as I bared my bottom to the elderly lord, his valet, and Eric. The old man told me to pull my cheeks apart to display my hole to him, and I reluctantly obeyed. He carefully scrutinised me for several minutes but could not decide if the hole in question was in a perfect virginal state or not.

"It does look larger and darker than I would have expected for such a young woman," mused the old man as he closely inspected my fundament. He called the valet over to have a look too.

I pleaded my innocence, I insisted that my bottom had never been used for such vulgar passions, but I was harshly told to be silent.

Eric was sweating heavily.

The valet was of the opinion that my arsehole was much too large to be virgin, however he did point out that this did not mean that the diary entry was true.

"True," said Lord Stanley thoughtfully. "It is a large arsehole though. How old are you, girl?"

"I'm twenty-two," I whimpered.

"And has anything ever been up this hole that shouldn't have been?"

"Certainly not, my lord!" I pleaded.

"Bend further forward, and hold your cheeks apart wider," he snarled at me. "I want to be able to see your cunt as well."

I did my best to fulfil his request, arching my back and spreading my legs, to show him my most intimate part, the hole that I had hoped no-one would see until one day the midwife would deliver my and my future husband's first child.

"Quite a tight twat she has though. Girl, the woman who sold you to me said that you are a virgin. Did she mean that you are a virgin in both holes?"

"Oh, I certainly am, your lordship." I was mortified as I stood there being examined by Lord Stanley. He carefully scrutinised everything, the flaps, the slit, the crack and the hole.

"Watkins, fetch me my speculum," he said.

I felt him pinching the lips of my poor little pussy, and pulling them apart so he could look inside of it.

Satisfied that my vagina was virginal, but unsure about my anus, Lord Stanley decided it was best for me to be punished for my prurience just in case, quoting the old maxim "it is better that the innocent are punished than to risk the guilty going free."

Having finished the close examination of my anus and vagina, Lord Stanley told me to put my hands on the desk, which I did. Eric was told to go and fetch a cane from the rack in the hallway. Eric did so, and the valet took the cane and gave my bottom a very vigorous flogging while the other two watched. He gave me ten strokes of the cane, making me shriek at first and reducing me to sobs by the time he had finished. The cane cut through the air with a fearsome swooshing sound, and a terrible smack followed when it made contact with the bare flesh of my buttocks. The pain came an instant later, a sharp stinging that sent a shock through my body. The worst part for me was the pause the valet left between the strokes. It would have been easier for me if he beat me quickly, but my caning was slow, methodical and drawn-out.

Next, his lordship ordered his son to whip me. Eric took the cane from the valet and gave my bottom thirteen strokes in quick succession. Eric was not as strong as the valet, and he beat me much faster, not able to contain his lustful excitement.

Lord Stanley watched the two other men caning my bottom with a wicked grin on his face, enjoying my pain, relishing my tears, exulting at my sobs. When the caning came to an end, he had me keep my dress held up so he could gaze at my sore ass-cheeks.

"Excellent work, gentlemen," he said.

That evening, I was led on my bed up in the garret, crying to myself. There was a knock on the door. I wiped my eyes and shakily called "Come in."

Eric came into the bedroom looking guilty.

"Bethany," he said. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry that you got caned earlier. I can't help but feel that I was partly responsible."

"Eric! Why didn't you tell him that what you wrote wasn't true?"

"It wouldn't have done any good. He's been looking for an excuse to thrash you for a while now. I must say, I got quite a boner watching you get spanked."

He made me lie face down on the bed and pull up my dressing gown and night shirt to show my bruised bottom to him. He examined the marks on my behind with great interest. He and his father both had the same fascination. But whereas the elder Stanley had only wanted to watch me being caned and to look at my bruises, his son had wanted to cane me, and now he could see the bruises he wanted to touch them.

I tentatively said that he could, but he had to be gentle as my bottom was very sore. He spent an hour or more gazing at, stroking and kissing my bare bottom.

One morning, during the spring after I started my stay at Stanley Hall, a carriage arrived at the front of the house. The whole household went out to greet this new arrival. The servants stood in a line, and I stood next to Eric. He seemed excited. The carriage door opened, and, with the help of the valet, a beautiful young lady stepped down from the carriage to the driveway. She was elegant and charming looking, with lovely almond shaped eyes, long chestnut hair, skin that was smooth and fresh looking, gracefully tall and with the poise and baring of a true lady, a dark eyed beauty with looks that bordered on divine, I was a little in awe of her from the first moment I saw her.

"Would you look at the tits on that," hooted Eric unpleasantly. I was embarrassed and worried that the young lady had heard his young lordship's crass comment, but she gave no indication that she had. "Now that's what I call a pair of jugs!" I had to admit that she did seem very well furnished in the mammary department, her fine, plump breasts gracefully bulging under her pinafore.