Assholes and Our Souls

I recognised the woman as Tabitha the nursemaid. She was even more gorgeous with her clothes off than she was fully dressed. Her body was slender and graceful, her limbs well-made and elegant. Her breasts were exceedingly large, but they were firm and buoyant, so they did not look out of place on such a slim and delicate body. Her long dark hair was untied and fell in chestnut cascades around her shoulders. I marvelled at the beauty of this buxomly boobed young lady.

I was even more surprised at the second figure I saw there with her, locked in a passionate embrace with her, also nude was a young man I recognised as Duggan the stable lad, his stocky muscular body looking ferociously strong and handsome. The staff at Stanley Hall called him Donkey Boy Duggan, and I always thought this was because he worked with animals, but I now realised it was due to the dimensions of a certain part of his anatomy, and the similarity of this to the corresponding appendage of the named quadruped. Tabitha was busily playing with his ponderous organ while he squeezed and mauled her fat udders.

I felt embarrassed and ashamed to be spying on the couple during such an intimate moment, but I knew I had to do as Eric had asked me. I looked over at him, and his face was a picture of jealous rage as he watched the two of them.

Tabitha lay down in the straw on the floor of the stable pen. I noticed it had obviously not been cleaned since its previous equine occupant had vacated it, as there were several large, black horse turds steaming amongst the straw, but this apparently did not bother Tabitha or Duggan. The lad went to mount the young woman, kneeling between her spread legs, but she told him to do otherwise.

"Go the other way around," she said. "I want to suck it first, and you can lick me." The young man knelt over her face and guided his erect member down into her pretty mouth, which was hungrily open to accept it. I was horrified to see this prim and proper lady sucking and licking that turgid shaft, but she seemed incredibly pleased to be doing so. She licked it all over and crammed it into her mouth. Duggan meanwhile was busily licking and fingering the delicate pink flower that blossomed between her succulent thighs.

Duggan was bent forward, his muscular rump in the air and on display to me and Eric. Eric blushed with anger as he stared at the firm buttocks of his nursemaid's lover. She put her delicate hands on his muscly buttocks and parted them, exposing his brown arsehole to the view of everyone present. She tickled his bum hole with the tip of her finger.

"Now sit on my chest!" urged Tabitha. To my amazement, the young lad did as she asked him, squatting over her beautiful bosoms, his bottom resting on her fleshy chest-pillows.

To my great surprise, the handsome young man then broke wind very loudly on the beautiful lady's bust, the sound of his fart reverberating off of her soft skin. To my even greater surprise, rather than being disgusted or horrified by this, she seemed incredibly pleased and excited by it.

"Oh yes, I love it when you fart on my titties!" the gorgeous young lady cried. I gasped with astonishment. Eric had clearly seen enough. Furious, he stormed from the stables. "Do it again! Do a big, smelly fart on my big titties!"

The stable lad obliged, farting boisterously on her beautiful breasts, laughing as he did so. She was enraptured.

"That feels so good," she moaned. "And it smells incredible."

"You really are a dirty bitch, aren't you?" he chuckled.

"Just keep doing it, just keep farting on me you filthy boy," she urged him.

He squatted over her, and she rubbed one nipple and then the other against his splayed arsehole. He continued to fart on her and rub her pussy with his hand, quickly bringing her to a very noisy orgasm that made the horse in the next pen whinny loudly.

The lady now satisfied, her lover now wished to have his turn. He climbed off of her and then forcefully rolled her over on the strawed floor, so she was led face down on the ground with her breasts and face resting on a large mound of horse pooh. He slapped her across the behind, producing a loud smacking sound and a squeal of pleasure from the young lady. Then he firmly pulled her legs apart with his strong hands, then climbed onto her, mounting her from behind and feeding his fat rod into her. As he mounted her, he put his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the horse shit.

This was the first time in my life that I had seen two people having amorous congress. I was transfixed, horrified and fascinated. I knew it was indecent for me to watch, and I knew it was wrong for them to be doing it without being married, and here in the stables, amongst the filth and the ordure rather than in bed. But I found it hypnotic. I could not look away. There was something animalistic in their lovemaking, their hot sweaty bodies entwined on the floor of the stable. He was rough with her, and she liked it, encouraging him to be even rougher. He pulled her hair and slapped her as he aggressively thrust into her from behind. I felt a thrill of nervous excitement as I watched. She was grunting like a pig while he fucked her. "Oh, it's so big it hurts!" she panted. "Hurt me more," she urged him. He rolled her over and held her ankles up above her head while he re-entered her. Her face and breasts were smeared with the filth from the floor, mostly the horse shit but also straw and dust and dirt. Her hair was untied and in disarray. Tabitha was usually a very neat and tidy person, so it was a shock to see her in this state and apparently revelling in it.

Later on that morning, Watkins the valet appeared and asked me to accompany him to Lord Stanley's study. I put down my book and followed him.

Lord Stanley was sat behind the desk in his study when I entered. Tabitha was sat on a wooden chair in front of the desk, holding a white handkerchief to her face and crying. Eric was pacing up and down in the middle of the carpet, and Aunt Dru was lounging on a sofa by the window.

"I am afraid that when I spoke to the stable lad, he ran away," said the valet.

"The coward!" sneered Eric.

"He'll be back, he's only making his punishment worse," said Lord Stanley. "Now you, girl, whatever your name is," he glowered at me as he said this. "Tell me in your own words what you saw in the stable this morning."

"Well, your lordship, I saw um, the nursemaid and the stable boy together."

"And what were they doing?"

"I'm not sure, your lordship. I guess they were cuddling. They had no clothes on. They both seemed very excited. She said, 'I love it when you fart on my titties.'"

Tabitha sobbed loudly as I said this.

"And did he? Did he fart on her titties?" asked Lord Stanley sternly.

"Yes," I squeaked. "Several times, your lordship."

"The bloody outrage!" roared Eric.

"Calm yourself, sir," said Lord Stanley firmly to his son. Then to me, he asked "And after that, after he farted on her titties, what happened?"

"Well, the lad made Tabitha get on all fours, and she was mucky from the straw and the horse dung, and he got on top of her and well, he was sort of thrusting at her." I realised I was blushing.

"It sounds like he gave her a jolly good seeing to," said Aunt Druscilla.

My testimony was enough to seal poor Tabitha's conviction. Lord Stanley decreed that as an adequate punishment for her transgressions, she should be whipped. The valet fetched a riding crop.

"Now then young lady, lift up your skirts and bend over the desk," instructed Lord Stanley coldly. Tabitha gasped with fear, but she began to reluctantly lift her skirt and petticoat in obedience to his lordship's cruel instruction.

"Reginald," interrupted Druscilla. "I wonder if instead of whipping her behind, you could whip her tidbits instead? Her boobies so big and fat they look quite like a bottom."

"An excellent idea!" cried Lord Stanley.

They made Tabitha undo her blouse and corset and bare her breasts, those beautiful, bountiful, buoyant bosoms that had brought young Eric so much joy and nourishment over the proceeding weeks. The unfortunate lady was made to sit the wrong way round on the wooden chair, with her plump milk glands hanging down over the back of it. The poor woman was so nervous she was shaking. She looked even paler than usual, and the expression on her face gave me the impression that she was about to burst into tears at any moment. The valet stood to one side of her, brandishing the riding crop and awaiting Lord Stanley's instructions. Eric was leering maniacally at his wet nurse's mountainous milk makers. Lord Stanley nodded to the valet, who brought the riding crop high in the air and prepared to strike.

Bartram sat staring into space for a few moments.

"What happened then?" asked Phoebe.

"What happened when?" asked Bartram absently, looking a little confused.

"You were in Lord Stanley's study, and the valet was about to whip Tabitha's big breasts with a riding crop. What happened next?"

"Hmm? Oh, I don't know. It was a long time ago. And I've been dead since then. I can't really remember to be honest."

"I thought you had perfect recall of your previous life?"

"Well in a sense I do. I don't remember every minor detail though. You yourself don't remember everything that has happened to you in this life, do you?"

"I want to know what happened to the wetnurse though," whined Phoebe.

"Well, I'll try and remember, and I'll tell you next time. But now, I must be going. And I'm sure you have other clients to see."

Bartram arrived as soon as the brothel opened for business. Phoebe showed him in and took him up to the bedroom on the first floor that they had used before.

"We're going to do something a little different today," announced Bartram.

"Oh really?" said Phoebe with interest. "Have you finally decided to lose your virginity? I'd be more than happy to take it off of you, I'm gagging for a shag."

"Insatiable tart!" scoffed Bartram. "No, I'm interested in a quite different urge this morning."

He had her fetch a plate from the kitchen. He led on the bed, fully clothed apart from he had taken his brogues off, with the plate held over his chest. He had Phoebe take her knickers off, and then squat over him on the bed. As he watched, Phoebe curled an enormous, steaming turd onto the plate that Bartram was holding. It all came out of her as a single log, a long, fluffy log that plopped onto the plate in front of him. He watched with interest as her asshole opened to squeeze out the big slimy shit. Once she had finished, and Bartram had watched her arsehole closing up, she wiped her bum with a wet wipe and climbed down from the bed.

Bartram sat up, holding the plate and examining what Phoebe had deposited on it.

"Such a beautiful thing," he said in hushed tones, appreciating the attractiveness of what she had produced.

He stared at it with fascination for ten minutes or more, contemplating its shape, size and colour. He held it close to his nose and sniffed it to enjoy its pungent scent. But at no point did he allow himself to touch the turd. It was very large, and dark in colour. Phoebe explained that she had drank a bottle of red wine the night before and this always made her pooh darker. Bartram noticed that there were pieces of red pepper, chickpeas and black olives studding the greasy log, and Phoebe said she had eaten paella the previous evening. Bartram sniffed deeply through his large beak-like nose, inhaling the scent of the warm turd. Phoebe found it fascinating to watch him, she had never known anyone to be so interested in her shit before.

Once this close inspection of her excrement had finished, Bartram put the plate down on the mattress and undid his fly. He had Phoebe bend over next to the bed and hold her bum cheeks apart, so he could now look at the turd and the hole it had come out of. He pulled his stiff prick out of his pants, knelt by the plate and masturbated vigorously, now looking at the turd, now looking at Phoebe's bum. After a few minutes of forceful self-love, Bartram ejaculated onto the turd with a shuddering cry of satisfaction. Plentiful spurts of ropey white spunk leapt from Bartram's penis hole and splattered over the large brown pooh. To Bartram's mind, it looked like a delicious chocolate cake covered with white icing.

He sighed happily. "That was good." He was still staring at the turd, his de-tumescing penis still in his hand. Suddenly he said to her "I'll give you a hundred pounds if you eat it."

"Ugh gross, not a chance!" said Phoebe.

"Two hundred. I would love to watch you eating it."

"No way, Jose," she said firmly.

Realising that he was unlikely to persuade her, he led back on the bed. Phoebe took the plate away and disposed of the cum covered turd in the toilet, then came back and lit two cigarettes, handing one to Bartram and lying on the bed next to him. They smoked together in silence for a few moments, Phoebe stroking Bartram's silver hair.

"So does everybody have a past life then?" asked Phoebe curiously.

"Yes, of course. Everyone alive today will have a soul that transmigrated from a previous life in a previous body," explained Bartram.

"And can everyone remember their past lives?"

"Theoretically, with the correct training and the right amount of head-work, anyone should be able to."

"So, could I?"

"Are you willing to devote yourself to a lifetime of meditation and study, to seek out knowledge at any cost, to unlock the very mysteries of life and explore the hidden continents of the human consciousness?"

"No, not really."

"In that case, you will probably never achieve perfect recall of your former life, as I have. But, with some simple hypnosis exercises, I should be able to regress you far enough to give you a brief glimpse of your former self. What you see in the shadows, I see in bright sunshine."

"OK, I'll give it a go."

Phoebe led on the bed and closed her eyes. Bartram sat next to her and said in a quiet, low voice "Imagine you are stood at the foot of an enormous staircase, that reaches up into the sky. You step forward and begin to climb. Further and further, upwards and upwards, up into the clouds, the world below is very far away now, the ground disappears, but you carry on ascending, floating up through the air, upwards and upwards, further than you have ever been before, keep going, you are almost there. Upwards! Ever upwards!"

Phoebe was lulled into a trance as she lay on the bed. When Bartram could sense that she was fully under the influence of his mesmerism, he asked her: "Where are you?"

"I am on Hampstead Heath," said Phoebe in a dreamy tone. "It's evening, the sun is going down."

"And who are you?"

"My name is Bunny Montaine."

"Bunny, are you a boy or a girl?"

Phoebe giggled. "I'm a man, and I'm the most fashionable young gentleman in town. I looked absolutely ravishing when I left the flat earlier."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going across the Heath. There is a building there, a public lavatory. I'm going in, but I don't need to go to the toilet. It's dark inside. There's someone there with me. I can feel something warm and stiff in my hand. I have an unbelievable urge to put it in my mouth. It's big and thick and it's in my mouth and it feels fantastic..." Phoebe began slurping and sticking her tongue out.

"OK, that's enough for now," sighed Bartram. "You're coming back down the staircase; you're returning to the present. Bunny is going to sleep, and Phoebe is waking up. Wake up, Phoebe."

Phoebe opened her eyes and sat up on the bed. "Wow, that was incredible!"

"Just as I suspected," said Bartram, shaking his head. "You were a knob-gobbler. That explains why you have reincarnated as such a dissolute woman."

"I'm not dissolute!" protested Phoebe, not sure what the word meant but aware that it must be something bad. "Anyway, that's enough about my previous life. You were going to finish telling me about yours. What happened with Tabitha the nursemaid? Did she get her thrashing?"

"Yes, she most certainly did. The valet whipped her breasts most cruelly. It was an appalling sight, seeing those big, beautiful bosoms being mercilessly whipped until they were red and bruised all over."

"Oh yes," purred Phoebe. "I can imagine. Did they make you watch while they whipped her?"

"Yes, I had to watch the whole thing. It was very upsetting. She was in a terrible state, sobbing and screaming and begging for mercy while her luscious, soft breasts were vigorously whipped with the riding crop."

"Oh yes, it must have been very painful for her," murmured Phoebe, her eyes widening with delight as she imagined the large-breasted nursemaid being tormented. "Bartram, are you sure you wouldn't like to find out what it feels like to have it off with me?"

"Be quiet, you naughty lady," said Bartram sternly. "I am trying to educate you on spiritual matters. Try to control your base lusts. Now, I had not realised to begin with, but my fate, and the eventual destiny of my soul, was intimately bound up with that of Tabitha from the first moment I met her."

Phoebe lit another cigarette for both of them, and listened as Bartram continued his narration.

After he had caught her in flagrante with the stable boy and had her whipped, Eric could not bring himself to look at Tabitha in the same way. She went from being his constant companion and his prized possession, to being reduced to working as a scullery maid in the house's kitchens. Lord Stanley was a little annoyed at his son's fickleness and at having spent a considerable amount of money on this large-breasted woman who was now only fit to work as a common drudge, but he understood Eric's reasoning, so he let it be.

Eric, however, was not satisfied. Seeing the woman whipped and her loss of status was not enough to recompense him for what he perceived as the great wrong she had done to him. He still plotted revenge on her. Duggan the Donkey, the well-endowed stableboy, had returned to the estate the following week after his hasty exit. To my knowledge, he never faced any consequences for his fornication. All of Eric's ire was reserved for the woman who had wronged him.

Consequent to Tabitha falling out of favour, I now had to spend a lot more time with the young lord. For the first few weeks after Tabitha's whipping, he was in a foul mood most of the time. Nothing I could say or do would lift him from this low state. He didn't even seem to take any real pleasure in the cruel tricks he would play on me.

One day, I went on a daytrip with Eric to Pumpsham, the market town that was about six miles from Stanley Hall. We travelled using Lord Stanley's carriage, Watkins the valet acting as the driver. It was a long journey, and the carriage was uncomfortable to travel in, I felt like I was being shaken to pieces as we bounced along the country roads. Eric seemed moody and pensive during the journey, and I could tell that thoughts of his former nursemaid were still playing on his mind. I was hoping that a day out in the town and visiting the market would help take his mind off of his recent troubles. I had a lovely day, being squired around by Eric. I bought some new linen, and a new dictionary from the booksellers.

We had lunch in a tavern, a simple repast of bread, cheese and pickles. Eric drank ale, and I had a cup of tea. Eric did seem a little happier. But then, at the end of the afternoon, we saw something that really lifted his spirits. We were walking through the main market square, and we saw a crowd of people and heard a commotion. We stopped to see what was happening. Eric enquired of an elderly gentleman who was also observing.

"It's a hanging!" cried the man cheerfully. "Some churl was found stealing from her master, so the assizes decided that she should have her just desserts. They're going to string the little wench up!"