Lady Pennington's Manor

Eliza screamed at the size of the audience her humiliation had drawn, dropping to her knees to cover herself when her arms were released. Soon the offers of spare cardigans and coats to cover herself were coming thick and fast, Eliza wasn’t sure if she was more or less embarrassed at her audience’s understanding and pity. She pleaded with them not to tell anyone, selling the story that her boyfriend had done this because he thought she was cheating, and that if the National Trust found out she would be fired. The old ladies were the picture of virtue as their swore not to get this poor young lady in trouble. In fact it was never mentioned again as Eliza returned from her bedroom to give the tour, wearing a Lady Pennington original dress with pegs built in to pull on her nipples any time she didn’t stand up straight.

That evening, the front door had barely swung shut when Eliza rushed up to Lady Pennington’s bed, activating the dildo platform and lowering herself down onto the waiting cocks. As the smooth lacquered wood eased into her holes she closed her eyes and felt a deep connection to the past. She was fucking the same cocks Lady Pennington had fucked all those years ago, more than ever she was bonded with the nineteenth century pervert and couldn’t wait to find out which adventures they would go on together next. That night Eliza felt climax after climax dreaming of following the dark path laid out before her in the black book of Lady Pennington’s secrets.

...

Fucking the bed kept Eliza satisfied night after night, keeping her brain in the right amount of fog to push herself with the outfit choices for the occasional tour. She discovered a new favourite, a heavy dress with cuffs connected to drawstrings in the skirt. If Eliza had her hands in front of her, the dress hiked up at the back exposing her bottom, if her hands were placed behind her back the dress would open exposing her pussy. If she lifted her hands above her head her bottom half would be exposed completely. This turned every tour into a risky dance of sexuality, Eliza constantly hiding her exposure from every group. She was mostly successful although she felt she should stop waving goodbye to people in the car park.

It was after another heavy session on the bed cocks, that Eliza decided tonight was the night to read the next diary chapter and see the next step on her erotic journey.

~~~

Oh my dearest diary tonight has been a whirlwind of action. The construction of the manor is complete and I was able to fulfil a fantasy I had been planning for since building plans were first drawn up.

My husband, a man with an obsession with status to match any of my myriad obsessions laid out in this diary, has decided that now completed, this manor should play host to a party. This was of course a way for him to display his wealth and generosity to those who already have an excess of both. Naturally as head of the household, the organisation of the party fell to me. I decided on the theme of “Venetian Masquerade Ball” and my husband showed the greatest interest in me that I had ever seen.

Three hours later when he had finished elucidating on his passion for the themes of merchants and monarchs in far off lands he collapsed into bed with an intellectual petit mort that clearly was beyond my femanine frame.

A month later I graciously stood at the front door of my manor as the carriages pulled up outside. My dress was an over the top white and gold number, enhanced by yours truly in a number of ways beyond the matching gold and white mask on a stick. I had ruched some fabric across the bust, then trimmed a line across the bust points with white toggles from which dangled a series of diamonds on the end of tassels. Such was the nature of the toggles that it would be unthinkable to an outside observer that two of the toggles prominently on display were my nipples, poking through a covert hole in the ruch, whitened with makeup power and squeezed by tassels tied tight around them. This alone kept my mind clouded enough with lust to spur myself on for what I wanted to do later.

There was dancing and merrymaking as the who’s who of business and aristocracy arrived. My husband at one point would even pull me to one side and breathlessly point out a stern upright man as 7th in line to the throne. I made sure to curtsey as part of my welcome, the diamond tassels shaking in my movements, punishing my poor nipples.

Once the building was sufficiently full of well-wishers I put my plan into action. I joined the queue for the women’s powder room, relishing those that joined behind me who would act as my alibi. I entered the powder room and no sooner had the door shut then I sprung into action (my speed essential to my plan.)

Pulling on a hidden clasp I was able to remove my dress in an instant. (I was very proud of the feats of haberdashery I had committed to pull of this miracle.) With no underclothes to speak of I was stripped to my purest form the moment I spent some time removing the toggles from my nipples and rinsing off the makeup powder. It was an unlikely occurrence that someone would recognise my nipples from a feature on my dress but not one I could risk. I used a brief moment to admire my nudity in the mirror, effectively giving snuff to the butterflies in my stomach.

Pulling on the right sconce opened the first of the secret passages I had ordered built. Inside was the new mask I would be holding to my face, a full face mask with pale complexion broken by deep red lips and smokey black eyes, bringing to mind the ladies of the night I often spotted out of carriage windows in London. Alas it was home made from hastily moulded clay dried by the fireplace and not of a high quality like its face concealing predecessor. Next to the mask I had also left a wig, dirty blonde hair tousled and uncurled, certainly not the hair of a noblewomen.

I emerged from the passage into the servants privy, gratefully unused at the moment. I clicked the secret passage’s door closed and sealed my fate as it could only be opened from the inside. The other secret passageway could be accessed from storage cupboard in my dressing room. This meant that my naked journey was set, through the kitchen, out into the dining room, through the adjoining ballroom, into the hallway past the queue for the lady’s powder room, into the parlour room, across to the dressing room and into the cupboard. I had also taken the liberty of leaving a window open in the parlour room, which would allow the gathered to think the lady of ill morals had fled into the night. This was a journey designed with the destiny that as many of the gathered guests see my naked form as possible.

I took a few deep breaths before bursting into the kitchen, the servants were the first to have the privilege of gazing upon my form. I had precious little time to drink in their stares as the success of my endeavour replied on my continuous haste, it was imperative that no person had time enough to collect their wits and expedite my capture.

The mask gripped tightly in my shaking hand, I ran as fast as I could towards the door to the dining room, the butler was the only one of quick enough wit and sound enough mind to attempt to stop me, but he was unable to traverse the busy kitchen quick enough and soon, through the eye holes in my mask I was looking at the shocked faces of the gathered well to do, picking at the laid out party food.

Not letting my momentum falter I began to make for the door, choosing to traverse the far side of the room, behind a table sparsely populated by partygoers as it held the deserts that few had started on so early in the party. The mask did not allow me a clear view of the room and so I hoped I would make the door with enough haste to be clear of the rapidly gathering group of good Samaritans determined to put a halt to my devious display.

It seems fitting that the manor that had provided so fruitfully towards this experience would also fire the first salvo in counterattack. The carpet, not yet firmly nailed down came loose, my foot colliding with a sudden excess of ground brought my weight tumbling down.

My heart beating, I knew I would need to recover quickly, as servants and gentlemen were closing on me fast, but as I gathered my limbs I looked in horror at the shards of broken mask clinging to my torso. My mind awash with fear, in an instant I ran through every possible mode of concealing my identity. I kept my face in my hands as I stumbled to my feet, as my eyes crested the table my salvation was waiting for me.

My husband had been highly complimentary of the many designs I had on his party, when showing him the spread I had planned for the desert table he was overjoyed at the variety, the sponges and meringues, the tartlets and cakes. But his eyes positively lit up when I told him the planned centerpiece, a mighty blancmange trifle, layered with such rich cream and indulgent custard as to provide an exquisite dessert for all who wanted a scoop. It would have been one of the highlights of the party, if a depraved naked lady had not pushed her face into it to use the sticky desert as a disguise.

I felt every inch of my face become wet and cold, slimy desert immediately began to drip down to my shoulders and breasts, it was not an unpleasant sensation per se, but I couldn’t stop to indulge it while I was still the centre of attention. I scooped the trifle away from my eyes and rubbed it off on my breasts, took a quick look around before once again making progress on my adventure.

The shock of my actions on the desert table bought me enough interventionist inaction to make it to the ballroom door with minimal resistance, one Lord looked ready to stop me but his feinting wife drew his attention. I threw open the doors to the ballroom and began a sprint down the centre of the dance floor, drinking in the wave of gasps that rippled out from me. I was about half way across when the band stopped playing which really drew attention to my commotion and ensured all those in conversation paused to decipher what was transpiring.

With this amount of attention, escaping capture became more difficult, instead of speed I now had to rely on finesse, dodging hither and thither around those attempting to restore decorum. I felt no small amount of pleasure watching my husband try his hand at catching the deviant and falling flat on his face, ripping his pantaloons in the process. In the end it became clear that formal wear was not designed for agile pursuits such as these, and my unencumbered state gave me such an advantage that I was out of the ballroom while my pursuers were still trying to rally the forces so to speak.

I had only a passing moment to observe the queue for the powder room, my sweet alibi, as I sprinted across the hall to the parlour. I flung open the parlour door and was relieved to find the room empty, checking behind me I had a few sweet seconds before my pursuers would get to the room. Thinking quickly I wiped some of the trifle that clung to my face on the window sill and made my escape into the secret passage.

Once back in the powder room my mind raced with what was still left to do. Firstly I had to thoroughly wipe the trifle off my face, next I put my dress back on, my miracle clasp allowing for a speedy and independent robing. Finally I reapplied the makeup to my nipples and re-tied the tassels on the end, thrilled at the prospect that a small part of me was still on display without the others knowing. A quick but thorough check in the mirror later and I was ready to rejoin the party, making a show of emerging from the powder room demanding to know what the commotion was.

The spectre of my naked body hung over the rest of the event, gentlemen with a passing interest in these new Sherlock Holmes novellas immediately got to work trying to “deduce” the deviant responsible. Their eventual conclusion was a vagrant had snuck in with the servants with the intention of bringing the gathered guests into disrepute before fleeing into the countryside. The stern gentleman in line to the throne sagely remarked, “trade unionists” and as far as anyone else was concerned that was the end of that.

Frankly I’m looking forward to our future parties.

~~~

Eliza marvelled at the diary’s latest offering, she had no idea how she was going to be able to match that, but her first thoughts were to go to the powder room and scope out these secret passageways.

It took a while to figure out which room was which from the descriptions but Eliza soon figured out that the former powder room was now the female toilets, with the servants toilets now designated as the men’s. Eliza soon found and pulled on the correct sconce and discovered the interlinking passageway.

Lining the walls were a series of outfits on hooks, unlike the outfits in the wardrobe there was nothing subtle about these, there were leather harnesses, hemp sacks with degrading phrases on them, even fancy dress outfits designed to look like a dog or a deer, all with bits cut out to allow clear sight of the chest and pussy. As well as this there were a series of masks and wigs, cheaply made to conceal a lady’s identity. Eliza quickly worked out that the account she just read was not the only time Lady Pennington would use the tunnels to organise a streak in a degrading outfit.

Eliza immediately stripped down in order to try on a tight leather harness she liked the look of. It had been made to measure to be tight on Lady Pennington but Eliza was slightly larger so her breasts bulged further and the bit pushed deeper into her mouth (Eliza considered this a cross-generational kiss with Lady Pennington.)

At the end of the corridor, just before the door leading to the servants privy, there was a small pedestal with a slot for a candle. On this pedestal was a book. Eliza opened the door at the other end of the corridor to let in some light that would allow her to investigate this book, in gold calligraphy the front page read “initiants’

Eliza opened the book and was struck by the opening page. A swirl of creative black ink spelled out the purpose of the book:

The Lady Pennington society for the moral corruption of the sexually repressed Ladies of standing.

The following ladies have completed the necessary tasks to gain entry into our secret society of sexual liberty.

The next page carried the signature of Lady Rosetta Pennington, below which was a pool of wax in which Lady Pennington had clearly pressed her pussy into, creating a new and intimate twist on an official seal. On the next page there was the signature of a different woman, Lady Eileen Northumberland, above another wax impression of a pussy. On the next two pages Countess Isabella Saffenburg and Duchess Elizabeth Dorchester. As Eliza flicked through the pages she couldn’t believe it, Lady Pennington had created a club for women as deviant as her which eventually ended up with nine members.

The first thing Eliza did was run to her records of nobility to check off the names. Lady Northumberland was slightly higher status than Lady Pennington, but the jump to the next names was dramatic, the wife of the man 7th in line to the throne had joined, as had a lady who had married a future prime minister.

All sense of pacing herself through Lady Pennington’s discoveries was now lost to Eliza’s desire to know how this club had been set up and which tasks needed completing to join the society. What Eliza wished for more than anything else in the world was to become the tenth member of Lady Pennington’s society, and press her pussy into the hot wax of the membership book.

The next chapter of the diary covered another streak at a party, this one more uneventful than the last, but the following chapter told the story Eliza was dying to hear.

~~~

Things have indeed taken a turn for the strange. As I write this, Lady Eileen Northumberland stands unclothed, shackled to the wall in my secret room, a circumstance she finds herself in completely of her own volition.

It turns out my last foray into unclad socialising at my party had more effects than just my husband’s new and even deeper hatred for trade unions. After my first time where I ended up a trifle nude, Lady Northumberland insisted on attending my next party in the hope of running into this deviant who stalks my parties. On heightened alert for a nude adventurer, she was able to calmly take in the sights and prove herself a better detective than any man with Sherlock Holmes gracing his lips like a new monarch. Being of a feminine perausation, she was much more capable in differentiation between the kind of heavy breathing done in shock and anger, and the kind from enjoyment and physical exertion.

After she calmly informed me that she knew of my activities I decided to sit down and talk it through with her. Relieved at having a living being to share my thoughts with (no offence intended diary but you are hardly a purveyor of creativity when it comes to my journey), I shared with her all I had done to that point. In a promising turn of events the young lady expressed that she is eager to recreate all I have done. My husband and I are next hosting a party two months hence and Lady Northumberland has pointed out to me that were she to run the naked gauntlet, it would provide me with an alibi strong enough to counter the suspicions that have arisen from a deviant woman exposing herself exclusively at my address.

But for now I have locked her to the wall for a couple of hours and lent her a few of my outfits. The workmen are returning to the manor next week to dig a wine cellar (and a secret adjourning room). I’m sure they will be more than happy to observe two noblewomen swimming nude in the lake.

I think the most exciting part is that Lady Northumberland is convinced she is not the only member of our social circles intrigued by my activities. I confess I have never been at the forefront of a movement before, but with a shared journey, a support network and spirited competition I think I could do things to myself previously only in my dreams.

...

Dearest diary.

Today Lady Northumberland brought round two nervous looking ladies. It had been decided that we form a society for the well-to-do to do the unthinkable. For our first meeting, I had sent the household staff home. Lady Northumberland had gathered our two new deviants in the parlour and in order to make a good first impression, I opted to attend the meeting naked.

The shock from the gathered women was palatable. I caught Duchess Saffenburg trying to surreptitiously stare at my exposed body without creating a fuss, so I made a point of pausing the conversation and walking over to her to allow her to analyse every inch of my flesh, even instructing her to grab my breasts and bottom. After such a dramatic show of confidence it was not long until the entire gathered entourage had shed their clothes and we sat giggling at our brazen rebellion and embrace of femininity.

It was decided that there should be a series of criteria to be met in order to join our secret society. They are as follows.

Must be a Noble Lady of title and no motivation to degrade herself beyond the thrill of it.

At least 24 aggregate hours secured to the brick wall (with one session lasting at least 4 hours)

Swim naked in the lake near Pennington Manor while workmen watch.

Spend three separate 24 hour periods wearing outfits from the society’s collection.

Run naked between the two secret passageways during a party at the Pennington Manor.

Once a member has completed the final task, their name will be added to the book of initiates, and in a stroke of genius by yours truly, sealed with a wax seal of their intimate lips. As the first and only lady in the room to meet all the criteria I lead by example, while Lady Northumberland updated us on her progress towards being the second member and the other two ladies fought to be the first secured against the wall.