Three Knaves 1860ish

"She never wears jewellery," snapped back Lucky.

The Jerseyman smiled and said, "You misunderstand me. I mean, could you not put up your wife to cover the balance?"

"What are you saying?" asked Lucky.

Dénaturer replied slowly, "What I am saying is, if you win, you take everything in the pot. You seem pretty confident of your hand.

"If I win, I get everything in the pot and I get to take your wife into the bedroom for one hour and make free with her in whatever way I choose.

"Oh, and I would expect you three gentlemen to witness the event.

"But it is still your choice if you would rather fold."

"No Rolf," gasped Rose.

"Shut up woman," shouted Lucky, "I'm trying to think."

And he did think. He thought about losing. It wasn't the money. It was even about Rose.

It was about the Jacks. But mostly it was just about losing. He couldn't lose. He wouldn't lose. He refused to lose.

While he was thinking about not losing, Rose was thinking about the consequences of him losing. She felt the rush of excitement low down in her body.

Lucky had a red fog in his brain that he'd never experienced before. It was the fear of coming second to a man who he thought would enjoy winning so much.

In desperation, he looked at the other two men. They both shrugged their shoulders. Those shrugs conveyed a whole paragraph. Even if they had enough banknotes with them to cover the bet they would not lend them to him without a promissory note. He had insisted that promissory notes weren't allowed.

"Damnit, my hand is better than yours, I'm sure," he said to Dénaturer, "I agree to your outrageous offer."

"You understand precisely what you are agreeing to?"

"Yes, yes. We will both show our hands at the same time," said Lucky irritably.

"One, two, three turn," said Dénaturer as he laid his cards face up to reveal a prial of threes.

At the same time Lucky showed his three Jacks. His face went white. Ashen white. Death white.

Dénaturer said, "I believe that a Pair Royal of Threes beats a prial of Jacks or any other hand."

As a hardened brag player Lucky should have seen the beauty of the hand. He knew that the chances of getting three cards of the same value were 460 to one. While the chances of three threes was 5,525 to one. He couldn't begin to calculate the odds on two prials being dealt.

But, for him beauty didn't come into it. Not the beauty of the cards. Not the beauty of his wife. For Lucky there was just pain. The bitter pain of losing.

Rose was thrilled. She always knew that one day Lucky's luck would run out. But there was another thrill coursing through her veins. Would Lucky welch on his bet? Or would she be the bizarre prize in a game that she hated.

She already knew the answer. A man would rather it be known that he watched another man fuck his wife than for people to think that he reneged on his bets.

Without any prompting Rose walked towards the bedroom.

By the time that the four men had followed her she had removed her dress and was standing in her underthings. Rose had a plan. She would make Lucky suffer.

Rose's mind whirled. She recalled every story that Cherry had told her of whores' trickery. Her husband had whored her by putting her up as a wager. She would play the whore now in front of the men whose estimation he valued most.

She beckoned Dénaturer over to her as she sat on the edge of the bed. He took off his jacket as Rose undid his trousers. His semi-erect penis flopped out as she pulled down his underwear. Without hesitation Rose slipped it between her lips, sucked and bobbed her head at the same time.

This wasn't a completely new experience for her. When Cherry had first told her that it was what harlots did, Rose had said, "Disgusting!". That very night she had tried it out on Bas. She did the same thing nearly every time that Cherry had told her a new one of her tales.

Dénaturer's old cock soon became ramrod rigid. Time had made it knobbled and veiny. Now that was a new experience for Rose.

Rose reached into the top of her corset and pulled out each tit at a time. At the moment Dénaturer wasn't in a position to appreciate it but she had done it for the benefit of her audience. It added to the whole wanton impression she wanted to give them. They smiled. Lucky just stood with his mouth open.

Fearful that Dénaturer would explode before he had fucked her, and she so wanted Lucky to see her being fucked, Rose pulled her head back just allowing herself to lick the head of his prick a few times.

She laid back on the bed and spread her legs wide. With her drawers parted, giving the watching men a clear view of her glistening cunt framed perfectly by its silky black pubic hair.

"Monsieur, your prize awaits," she said to M.Huître.

While he was removing the remainder of his clothes, Rose had licked her fingers and was enthusiastically jabbing them into her fanny.

As Dénaturer crawled between her legs, Rose lifted her knees to give him easy access. The old man immediately started to pump her for all his worth. He held his arms straight so that he could see Rose's ample tits wobble with every thrust.

Rose was impressed. He was only the third man she had had sex with and she thought that he was probably the second best.

All the while her eyes flitted from watcher to watcher. Making eye contact with each in turn. Everytime her eyes met Lucky's she held it just that little bit longer.

Pleasure mounted inside Rose as Dénaturer banged away at her. For a while she thought that he might drive her over the edge. But it became obvious that he was about to lose his load although he was doing his best not to.

Cherry's mother had been on the game for many years. Cherry had once told Rose about her party piece. She now used it on Dénaturer. Grasping his buttocks, she pushed one finger into his asshole. It was all too much for the poor man. Rose had no idea how long it had been since he last emptied his sack but he was doing it now. Every last drop.

Panting like a greyhound, Dénaturer rolled off Rose. She remained just as he left her, knees akimbo, revealing all. She revelled in the sensation of the slightly cool air in the room against all that wetness.

Rose spoke directly to M. Enfoiré and M. Huître, "I used to charge quality gentlemen, like yourself, a sovereign each but if you gents are happy to 'double up' you can both fill me for a half-sovereign a piece.

"Now, hold on! She's not doing that," exclaimed Lucky Howlett.

Dénaturer retorted, "No, you hold on. I think that you will find that my hour is not yet up. Your wife will do any damn thing that I say. And I say that these gentlemen will have the use of her. Anyway, as you are potless at the moment, the sovereign may prove useful."

Rose turned onto her hands and knees, so sealing the deal. The two Jerseymen made straight towards the bed, dropping their trousers as they went.

Huître went for her backend. M. Enfoiré was content with the front.

Rose parted her lips slightly and her knees slightly and was delighted when the two men synchronised their entry.

It had worked out perfectly. M. Enfoiré had fallen in love with Rose's lips as soon as he had seen them and M. Huître had fallen in love with Rose's fanny as soon as he had seen that.

Like two Woodlanders going at a two-handed saw each of them pushed and pulled in turn with a steady rhythm. When Huître pushed, Rose's hanging tits did their best to reach M. Enfoiré and when Enfoiré pushed they crashed back against the top of her corset.

It won't surprise you to learn that Huître folded his hand first. He shuddered, threw back his head and gripped Rose's corset.

Unfortunately, whilst Rose knew that she was getting a delivery just before it arrived, Enfoiré had no prior warning. Huître's sudden withdrawal of cooperation came as a complete shock to him. Only Rose's quick thinking saved her from having his bollocks crashing against her chin and his knob down her throat. Firmly, she clamped her teeth onto his axe shaft. It hurt a lot but it stopped him like a brake on a stagecoach. He rather thought that the pain was all part of the service.

As Huître plopped out of her fanny, Rose let the brake off of Enfoiré's cock and spun around to face the other way. She wiggled her ass against him leaving Enfoiré in no doubt what was required. He gapped two handfuls of her linen drawers and pulled himself into her sloppiness.

On each thrust, as the sore ring in the centre of his dick was engulfed in soft silky wetness, the pain hit him. Anywhere else it would have been a most unpleasant experience but circumstances are everything. The thought that he was shafting Lucky's wife, while he watched, made the discomfort an almost mystically erotic event.

He spunked.

Not designed to take that sort of abuse, when Enfoiré pulled himself forcefully against Rose, her drawers gave way. He yanked them clear and used one half to wipe the amalgamation of three lots of semen and Rose's creamy juices from his penis.

Dénaturer laughed loudly, "Well Howlett, now that we have all cuckolded you, I like you more than I did before. I am a generous man so I will give you a choice.

"You can wait until my hour is up or I can allow you to fuck your wife right now.

"By the look of the lump in your trousers, I would accept my charity before you go off accidentally."

Animal passions are animal passions after all and Lucky knew that a stiff cock trumped all other hands.

Rose had risen from the bed and was heading towards the washstand. Lucky trapped her from behind and bent her forward. She managed to support herself against the stand.

Lucky released his throbbing dick and plunged himself into Rose. He tried to take out every bit of his rage and anger on her buttocks. Water from the wash bowl slopped out and onto the floor with every thrust.

Juices slopped out of Rose with every thrust. His beastial humping excited something deep inside her and for the first time in their marriage Rose orgasmed.

Orgasmed hard.

Orgasmed long.

Lucky Howlett added his contribution to the pot.

Red faced and still incandescently angry he lifted his trousers and left the room.

Rose remained as she was. The sheer force of Lucky's fucking had left a large pocket of air inside her. She battled to keep it in but lost. The air escaped, much to Rose's embarrassment.

The Jerseymen dressed and left. As they reached the door, M. Dénaturer said in a

very loud voice, "I feel a little short-changed, I believed that my prize was to be the honour of a virtuous wife but she was just a high-class trollope.

"But imagine how Howlett must feel, he pursued her for months thinking that the only way to have her was marriage. All he needed to do was to spend a sovereign."

The two half-sovereigns were left on the card table.

Rose smiled to herself. She had achieved her aim.

The door clicked shut. Lucky rushed back into the bedroom. "You have shamed me," he shouted!"

"You shamed yourself the instant you made that bet," said Rise softly.

He slapped her hard across her cheek. Hate burned in Rose's eyes.

.....................................

The journey from Jersey to Bridport Harbour is not long but it is tricky. Sailing from south to north is not easy in the Winter months. The wind blows from the North. The wind blows from the East. Often it blows from the North West but mostly it comes in from the South West. To go North you have to travel North West. I don't know much about sailing a ship but I suppose that you have to tack back and forth a lot just to go in the right direction.

Sailing men are a special breed. They know not to fight the sea but to woo, romance, and seduce her into doing what they want. This could be why they are so popular with women in ports across the globe.

The two man crew of the 'Brave Judy' worked hard to keep her on course. She was the best of Lucky's three boats. Hold and deck packed high with baskets of fresh Jersey Oysters, she was making the return trip to Bridport Harbour.

The bracing South Westerly had done little to subside Lucky's ill-temper. The events of the previous evening still grated rawly.

He stood on the leeward side of the boat gazing up the English Channel.

Rose watched him. Rose watched the crew. She also had one eye on the several oyster shucking knives that were jabbed into the hatch cover.

They have a short broad blade and sharp point. The crew were adept at prizing open the shells of sample oysters for prospective buyers on the quayside.

Her eyes darted left and right. Rose awaited the precise moment when the crew were all out of sight and Lucky had his back to her. Clinging on to avoid siding down the sloping deck she waited.

It didn't require much time before everything aligned.

One final glance left and right. A shucking knife grabbed. Her grip released, wind and gravity propelled her towards the gunwale. She crashed into the back of the unsuspecting Lucky. All was nearly lost but Rose gripped the rail with her left hand, raised her right arm and plunged the knife into the base of his neck.

Lucky issued not one sound. He just slumped forward over the rail. She put her hand under his knee and tipped him over the side.

Cold? Probably. Premeditated? Undoubtedly. Murder? You judge, I'm not going to.

"Avast! Avast! Man overboard!" shouted Rose.

Two heads appeared above the great pile of oyster baskets at the stern of the boat. Rose nearly toppled over as the vessel lurched to starboard. She gripped the rail and ducked as the sail lost the wind and the boom swung across the deck.

The younger of the two crewmen, Judd, rushed forward and was about to drop the sail when he said, "Who is it?"

"Who's not here, you dummy?", said Rose.

"The master? But he says that we must never stop her for anything when we're on the 'Oyster Run' home."

"Under the circumstances, I don't suppose he will mind just this once. Drop the fucking sail!", screamed Rose.

Jen did just that.

Sailing boats don't stop quickly. Wind and momentum drive them onwards.

When the 'Brave Judy' had slowed sufficiently for him to leave the tiller, Old Dan made his way forward. "Can you see he? What occurred?" he asked.

"No, he must be over there," said Rose, waving in a vaguely Southeasterly direction. "He stepped on one of those loose oysters there and just slid against the rail. How he managed to topple, I don't know."

Normally, Rose groaned at the incompetence of the two men but today it was a blessing.

By the time they had raised enough sail to crawl forward, in the direction Rose had indicated, there was no sign of Lucky Howlett. They circled for another hour and then gave up the search. At this season no-one survived in the Channel for long.

The Coroner accepted her account of the accident without question. Rose was a little surprised when both men confirmed her story as if they'd actually seen it happen.

.............................

Rose wrote to M. Huître to inform him of the sad loss of her husband. Now that she was in control of the business it was her intention to give up the Jersey trade. She would confine her efforts to the South Coast of England.

She received a very pleasant reply in which Huître fell just short of commiserating her on her loss. He said that the three Jersey gentlemen felt that they had dishonoured themselves on her last visit. Their intention had been to punish Lucky for his arrogance not to harm her. He asked her to accept his assurance that nothing had been said, or ever would be said, to tarnish her reputation.

There was an astonishing amount of money deposited in a Bridport bank all of which became Rose's. She carried on the business for three months. It did well but she had no enthusiasm for it so she sold the whole thing.

Much to everyone's amazement, she sold the big house and bought a smaller one.

Rose returned to the only work that she had ever truly loved. She rejoined Cherry behind the bar at the Bridport Arms.

Every Friday night she smiled to herself as the men played Brag. Now, every fool had an equal chance of losing his money and sometimes winning some.

Being a generous person, Rose Howlett would occasionally offer a warm bed for the night to a foreign sailor, or two, at her house. But that was her privilege and no concern of ours.

All the money in the Bridport Bank meant little to her, other than the fact that she never ever feared the Workhouse again. Not one sailor's widow in Bridport Harbour went without a roof over her head, nor food, nor fuel, nor clothes to wear. Not one of them gave a thought to a death in the Workhouse.