PART ONE

The wind blew with ill intent, the unseasonably heavy snow pelting the windows of the More House. Mrs. Molly Rollins gasped. Not so much at the volume and aggression of the storm but rather the aggression of her newlywedded husband driving his impressive manhood into her lady tunnel. It was already half seven and the day's work awaited them downstairs, yet Miles insisted on a morning love session. He was insatiable.

Molly loved the early morning attention he gave her. More focused, his cunnilingus skills were at best performance between the hours of five and eight. Today was no exception. She had hit her peak twice already and was climbing toward a third.

"Oh Darling! I am nearly there! harder please, Love!"

Miles Rollins was more than happy to oblige; he pushed her petite legs up toward her head and slammed home. Within three strokes the couple hit synergy and climbed the Devil's ladder to heavenly delight. The sheer volume of his spend had her marveling at his masculinity. It was more than enough for her to orgasm.

As their denouement took hold, he abruptly disengaged and grunted in satisfaction. "That’s the stuff! Well…Best get to it. This snow won't shovel itself." With an annoyingly chaste cheek peck he fastened his trousers and pulled up his braces. "Don't dawdle, Mrs. Rollins." And he was gone.

She lay for a moment, her legs flopping back down and open. She had been training up her ignorant husband on the many nuances of love making she had learnt as a wanton teenager of stern parents. And he was a willing pupil. Post-coital affection, however, was a complete disaster. She was willing to overlook it for now if the orgasmic satisfactions from his member continued to improve.

She rolled off the bed and pulled her bloomers over her dripping hairy pudenda and sighed at the snow-covered window. This past three months had been a wonder of love and sexual satisfaction she had never dreamed of as a girl. Now at twenty-four, she was married to an older man her parents disapproved and co-managing a country guest house. More House was a venture they also militantly disapproved, and Molly loved that they did.

Mundane preparations of meals for the day, had her wondering how many of their four scheduled guests would actually persevere through the storm. "Horrid weather," she said to Miles as he bundled up, downing the last of his toast. "Does it not know this is our premiere weekend for bookings?"

Miles slipped on his gloves and chuckled, "We shall soldier on, Love." He grabbed the shovel leaning by the tiled entry. "The drive awaits!" The door let in a chilling gust, and he was swallowed up by the white of the storm.

Now on to straightening the parlor and checking the apparatus and tools cupboard, Molly had a slight fear that they had overestimated the need for a sheltered country inn for the sexually adventurous. It was 1949 and things were modernizing all over post-war Britain, and despite having met her husband at an exclusive London men's club where she served as a pleasure girl, she feared his desire to open his "Horny House" was pie-in-the-sky. Thank god she had convinced him to change the name.

Located on a remote country road north of Bamford Edge, More House had innuendo but only if you knew its true purpose.

At precisely ten forty-five the chime of the door pulled her back to the moment. A guest! This was it. All of her plans, years of working to please others, parental disapproval, would all converge today like a storm of snow.

Two minutes later, the impressive Judge Bearle was handing Molly her coat, scarf and hat as the two exchanged introductions.

"Dreadful weather," the older sharp-faced woman complained as she adjusted her dress, "I feared the Major was going to slide off the drive. Your hired man had only half of it cleared."

"Oh, that was my husband, Miles." Molly chirped in a tone designed to cheer. "I have tea prepared in the kitchen. Here, sit by the fire and warm yourself. Our accommodations are not modern, but they are comfortable," she stoked the logs, "and discreet."

Judge Charlotte Bearle surveyed the parlor declaring it clean and simple. “It is the country; one must allow for...quaint and cozy." The rather tall fifty-three-year-old justice removed a black glove to run her finger over the edge of a chaise lounge. Victorian, sturdy, adequate. Replacing the glove, her tall and curvaceous frame filled a wingback, her trademark green colored riding crop at her side. She dramatically sighed.

Molly made for the kitchen and tea, then paused. She took down one more button on her blouse and smiled as best she could. Arms behind her, standing tall, her delightfully youthful decolletage was on display for the formidable Judge. She knew from her three years in the clubs that people of power enjoyed a submissive at attention. She stepped closer. "I hope you find them to your liking, My Lady."

"I prefer Mistress, in settings like these. Well, not exactly this." She looked the newlywed up and down in lurid evaluation. Molly found her already warm crotch to be stoked to flame again. She instinctively pushed her bust upward to allow for her cleavage to fully blossom.

This was not the first time the two women had met, yet the way the judge looked upon her made Molly certain the judge did not remember.

The older, stronger, woman purred as she ran her crop down Molly‘s neck and across her ample offering. "You are an attractive thing. I will enjoy bringing you under my persuasion.” She ended with a crop flick across the left nipple that made Molly start. “Now, the tea you promised? And do make note, as stalwart as he may appear, my slave does have septic reactions to certain seeds and nuts. He is partial to Scottish shortbread."

Her face flushed from her stinging teat, Molly nodded, “Indeed; duly noted, Mistress.” She exited just as the front door opened.

"Ghastly's not 'n' adequate word!" the booming baritone brogue of Major Frederick Firmcalf offered.

"I appreciated the assistance with the walkway." Miles said as he set down the bags from their car. "The second clearing just this morning!"

The Major hung his coat. "Gladly, old chum."

Hands clapping for warmth Miles greeted the Judge. "Good day, Ma'rm. I apologize for the weather. I hope your stay will be satisfying." He laid into the last word as if it needed to be emphasized. It was a sex inn after all.

The Judge rolled her eyes. 'Amateur,' she thought. One of the many she had tolerated in her years as a Dominatrix, and a municipal justice: social fodder who attempted worldly confidence and eventually dissolved into sycophants wanting her to control them.

"Satisfaction is elusive, Mr. Rollins. Unless one has the skills to ensnare. Major, my feet." The order was plain, the result expeditious. The veteran commander of three tours on three different continents dropped to his knees and deftly removed the Judge's boots, carefully placing them near the fire to warm. She then lifted her black stockinged foot. They older man proceeded to bring it up to his mutton-chopped face to suck on nylon-clad toes, all the while massaging the arches. "Yes, just like that. Good soldier. You may engage."

The major's eyes grew wide then narrowed in sexual hope. Without removing his mouth, he unbuckled his waistcoat, then his trousers. He slipped his right hand in and found his sturdy staff. He groaned and the judge pushed more of her foot into his mouth. He gagged a bit but adjusted quickly. A grunt of discomfort came from the foyer.

"Rude to self-abuse in front of guests, Mr. Rollins. Standing in the center of the archway trying to hide your pleasure is not hiding at all."

In reflex, Miles yanked his hand away from his bulge and blushed. "My apologies, Ma'rm, ern, Mistress. I am pleased you find our establishment comfortable enough to...indulge. I will leave you - " He was cut off by the door flying open.

With a zephyr chill, the storm blew Christie Lark in on a whirlwind, appropriate for the flamboyantly verbose man in his twenties.

"’Took the storm as reason to let myself in. If you tell me there is no brandy, I shall faint on the spot." He dropped his case and tossed his coat and hat to a startled Miles. "You must be Miles Rollins, the innkeeper. Christie Lark, socialite and madcap. Ohhh, this is lovely." With scarf still on neck, the well-dressed man flew about the room in delighted glee. "Like something from a quaint novel we were forced to read at school." He ended at the fireplace and stuck out his round bum to warm it. "Oh! And who do we have here? Oh! It can't be. My Lady Charlotte,” he mockingly curtsied, “your reputation proceeds you." He went to take her hand, and she refused him.

"And your cheap toilet water proceeds you. As for brandy, I am sure the house has something, though it is just eleven."

Christie laughed heartily and boldly grasped the Major's shoulders in massaging admiration. "You do not disappoint, M'lady. Oh, my dear Major, I hope you have some time for my little trouper later this evening. I so love a mature mouth." No one in the room saw the riding crop emerge from the Judge's side. But they heard its voice as it struck the young man's left fingers.

"SHIT! That was harsh, even for a world class pain maiden as yourself!" He sucked his fingers to soothe them.

The judge abruptly pulled her foot out of the Major's mouth and pushed him down to all fours. She stood before Christie and her formidable presence made him gulp. "Find yourself lucky that I do not enjoy training fops and nonces, or you would be regretting touching my property without permission. Major, upstairs. Prepare for me."

"Aye Judge, my pleasure to serve." The tall man rose and turned to a stunned Miles who gestured and then led the way to the stairs, bags in hand. As they ascended, the major slipped Miles a bank envelope.

The Judge was a book's width from Christie. She loved being taller than most and used it to her sexual advantage. Without breaking eye contact she snagged his bulge and squeezed. The young man screeched then fell silent as his body clenched. Her growl was flat in affect, deadly with intent. "I hope this weekend's dynamic is clear to all. I am in charge. Full stop." She released him and he crumbled to his knees groaning in pain. Satisfied she turned and followed up the stairs. "Have the hausfrau bring the tea to my room."

Christie moaned and rolled, "...bitch...fuck..." He then saw a pair of shoes approach from the kitchen.

"You poor man! Here, let me help you!" Molly was assisting Christie to the settee. "Can I get you a compress for the pain? I heard the whole interaction from the kitchen but was dumbstruck to help. My apologies."

A wincing Christie attempted a smile. "She is....ungh...intimidating.”

“Quite…” Molly remained flustered by the older woman’s mystique.

“You must be the 'Hausfrau.' I'm oomf, Christie, Christie Lark." He awkwardly sat.

She was wiping his sweaty brow with her apron. "Charmed. Molly, or Mrs. Rollins if you prefer surnames." She sat next to him, concern painting her expression.

"I prefer confidant, if you are up for it. I could use a friend in the worst way." He then smiled, feeling better already.

“Ready and right! considering we appear to be the two youngest in the house for the weekend you can count on me!” She sounded sincere.

“I would love that, my dear. Why, don’t you just look ravishing? Such a delightful neck, and your bosom is alluring to say the least.”

Despite her past as a pleasure girl and her expectations to serve this weekend, the fit young woman found herself blushing at the sweet words. “Oh, aren’t you the charmer! And I will risk being presumptuous: do you not prefer the other side of the street?”

Despite it being mid-twentieth century Great Britain it was still illegal and a perversion for men to love other men. To be involved with them sexually was a jailable offense. He appreciated her respecting the common 'fear of exposure' for the modern homosexual.

“Oh, you have found me out! I wear it on my sleeve like a banker's garter. That does not mean I cannot appreciate you. If I may be so bold.” He leaned slightly towards her and planted a wet kiss directly on the curve of her right breast. It garnered a giggle in response as he popped back up, giggling himself. “Oh, there is plenty more where that came from, Luv. Yes, we are going to be best of friends.” He leaned in and used a conspiratorial tone. “And we will need to be allies if we are to tolerate the judge for three sordid days!”

As if to remind them a heavy gust blasted snow against the parlor window. They both gasped and turned their heads. In an act of reassurance, Molly jumped up and checked the locks and shutters. “It might be quite longer if this storm does not let up soon. Come, let us go to the kitchen and I can get you some hot tea and perhaps a nip to go with it. Would you like that?”

Her voice was slightly maternal, and he enjoyed the comfort it gave him. “I would, however, her Majesty upstairs has requested you bring tea to her room. Apparently, she is going to be using the Major quite vigorously, and perhaps your husband if she has her way.”

Molly’s eyebrows charged for her scalp and her feet raced to the kitchen. “Will you help me? I fear I will need more than two hands to please her!” Christie guffawed at the double entendre and followed.

***

Trays in hand, the two stood outside the large ornate door of the first of five bedrooms. The painful masculine noises emanating from inside made the two of them giggle a bit.

“Seems our Major is having a minor breakdown,” Christie offered.

Molly countered, “I know those sounds very well. In fact, they are making my nethers tingle. Shall we?” Christie nodded, and she knocked.

“Come!” was a gruff command from the judge. The two paused, both thinking the same thing: was it a directive for them or the major?

Molly took a took a deep breath and opened the door. As this was a place for free sexual expression, the tableau that greeted them was no surprise. But it did take her breath for a moment.

Major Firmcalf was naked except for a black collar. He was laying on his back, his hands and feet tied to the four posts with silken ribbons. Molly was glad she had stocked each room with fresh cut cloth just this past week. In each bedroom cupboard there were also pairs of police grade handcuffs, and several different blindfold and mouth apparatus. The amenities also included several styles of edible and medically approved personal lubrications.

The judge stood at the foot of the bed, riding crop striking the insides of the older man’s very red thighs. She had removed her dress and was colossal in suspenders, holdups, and a black bustier. She had on tall-heeled boots and her requisite black gloves. Her slave and driver had an adequate erection that bounced with impact. It was nearly the same darling pink as his tortured thighs, having been likewise abused.

None of this truly surprised Mrs. Rollins as much as her own husband standing naked near the head of the bed, wearing nothing but a silk gag and his socks and garters. Molly had never seen him thus, and she was amazed by the amount of pleasure it gave her.

Without taking focus off her slave, the judge issued directives whilst smacking the major's pectorals. “Place the trays on the dressing table.” Smack, howl! “And do service your husband. The pitiful creature has been begging for stimulus since we entered.” Smack, cry!

Quickly following the orders, Mrs. Rollins approached her gagged groom and saw that his protuberance was dripping in want. Its foreskin showed a pink friction had been applied and his tear-streaked cheeks showed it had been painful. Yet, as with many a newly christened submissive, he was craving more. Showing her years of training. Molly opened her blouse, revealing a lacy brassiere in light beige. Miles sighed at the comforting sight. "You can stop at any time you know," wife whispered to husband. He nodded then looked to his aching need.

"Oh, for the love of all that is evil, suck the man!"

Molly bristled at the directive but also moistened further. She knelt before her husband and smiled up at him. Grasping his decadence, she pulled the foreskin down and took him into her mouth. He shuddered and let out a soft yelp through the gagging cloth.

Christie Lark was disgusted by her immediate compliance and set his own tray down with a clank causing the biscuits on it to jumble away from their perfect arrangement. Despite his deep dislike for the judge, he was mildly bothered that the order hadn’t been given to him. He would gladly have taken Mr. Rollins into his wet and talented orifice.

“Well, you four deviants enjoy your session of carnal pursuit. I shall be engaged in self-discovery in the bath.” As he went to leave, the doorbell could be heard faintly tolling downstairs. Molly pulled off of her husband‘s delicious sausage and sighed in exasperation.

“Let the fop answer it!” The judge blurted, “you are otherwise occupied.” She grunted as she slid her wet and hairy maw up and down the Major’s aching penis, all the while scratching his chest with her nails.

Christie scoffed. “Did we not have an agreement that I was not going to be serving you, my dear judge?” The cheek in Christie’s voice should have earned him a crop lash across his cheek. He was already to the threshold sniggering as he went. Molly’s voice caught him as the doorbell repeated.

“Could you be a dear? I would be ever gratefullfff,” her voice muffled from the thickness of her husband promptly filling her mouth.

Without turning around, he nodded and headed down the stairs, his bitter mind alight with twisted imagery.

In the entryway a rather striking woman of mid-thirties was dusting off the snow and doffing her coat etcetera. She had a rather athletic figure encased in a tight pair of trousers and a firmly fitted jacket and blouse. Her ginger hair was tied up in a sensible bun. Christie loved her masculine beauty already.

“Welcome to More Whore House! I am Christie Lark. The landlady is otherwise occupied.” He made a lewd stroking gesture with his hand in the shape of a C and his tongue pushing against his cheek.

She was unbuckling her snow boots and donning a pair of house slippers pulled from a satchel. “I can imagine without charades. You must be Christie Lark.”

Christie stood with hand out a bit dumbstruck.

“I am Rebecca Bracewell. I rang Mrs. Rollins to enquire who would be in attendance this weekend. I have certain proclivities I wish to have satisfied and needed to know the roster of possible partners.”

“Fair enough! May I call you Becky?”

Rebecca passed through to the parlor.

“Only if you wish to feel my heel in your arse."

"Yes, well, fair warning then. Can I help with your - " Her strong hand grabbed his reaching for her satchel.

"I have it. There are...delicate items within." She released him and he rubbed it to ease the discomfort.

"My, this hand has seen its fair share of abuse today!"

She walked into the room, a firm grip on the bag's handle. "I am in the yellow room, I was told."

"Up the stairs second on the right, I believe. And do not mind the noises, the innkeepers are entertaining the other guests."

She simply nodded and headed up the stairs. Christie looked at his fingers and shook his head. "Time for that brandy." He found some in the library and sat near the fire.

Ten minutes and a second measure later she entered the library. "Cozy...Is there tea?”

“I might be able to scrounge some. Care to help in the kitchen?"

She scoffed, "Never." Christie admired her directness, and her bum as she bent to stoke the fire.

“Oh, that’s lovely!" he purred, cocking his head for a better view. She rose a wry smile on her plump lips. He comically pivoted. "The radiators are adequate, but nothing beats a roaring fire on a snowy day wouldn’t you agree? I shall endeavor to be speedy."

"No need. I see there is brandy. It will warm me quicker." She took a glass and poured then refilled his.

"How kind. Shall we?"

They sat on the comfortable chairs chatting on with stories of past partners and sexual conquests. Like many in the more clandestine sexual underworld, Rebecca was a committed, bisexual, enjoying “vulva and penis in equal measure” as she put it. There was quite a revelation when it was discovered they had a street in common in their childhood. Christie’s family had lived there for only two years, but it was where Rebecca had been raised. Their laughter and aroused moods were interrupted by the sliding door and the disheveled figure of the landlady.

“Hello! oh lovely! You’ve become fast friends. You must be Rebecca!” She stepped towards the other young woman and extended a hand.

Rebecca took it, offering a bit of advice. “Best to button up properly before greeting new guests if you want this to be a going concern.” The comment rang stern, but in a playful way. The three laughed heartily as it was obvious that Molly’s blouse had been buttoned lopsided. She turned away and blushed as she corrected the problem. “No need to turn away on my account. You have a lovely bosom.”

As if placing punctuation on her comment she used a long finger to sweep across Molly’s cleavage similar to the judge earlier, yet a different predatorial. Molly went scarlet as she realized Rebecca was scooping up some of her husband’s fluids. The young woman put finger to mouth, sucked it clean and hummed with a smile.

Christie was slack jawed and half smiling, “Oh yes. Shall we all get naked?”

Molly looked at him wide eyed, “I was about to prepare lunch. and I thought you did not enjoy the company of women.

“Oh, I enjoy their company, just not their bits." Molly let out a girlish squeal. Christie continued, "Based on the fit of her trousers, I believe our Miss Bracewell is hiding something I would very much enjoy.”

The woman in said trousers looked completely shocked. She thought her tuck was adequate to keep prying eyes and inquisitive minds at bay. There was more to this Mr. Lark and his powers of deduction.

“Well played Mr. Lark. I am what is often called a tranny. However, I prefer the provocative term 'she-male.' You see,” she stepped closer to Molly until the younger woman could feel warm breath on her neck. “I went to Constantinople several years ago and had my breasts…augmented. With injections and pills,” she began to unbutton her blouse and waistcoat. "I have grown what can only be called…" with deft long fingers, she slid the garments off her shoulders to reveal a wonderful pair of D cup breasts encased in a French-made black lace brassiere, “a grand pair of knockers.”

Christie was beside himself with laughter and clapped his delicate hands together. “Oh my! yes, yes, yes, please may I do the honors of unwrapping the rest of your surprise?”

Rebecca‘s answer was to shift her body slightly to allow the man access to the placard of her trousers. He deftly unbuckled, unbuttoned and began to slide them down her hips. In the meantime, Rebecca had wasted no time in grabbing hold of Molly’s shoulders and pulling her into a tight kiss. The landlady sighed and her body seemed to fall into a trance. Rebecca’s fingers removed the recently ill-fitted blouse and slid her fingers into the cups of Molly’s bra. She was delighted to find erect and perky nipples waiting for her.

Down below, Christie had slid down the support girdle that Rebecca had been wearing and discovered a quaint belt device. He had seen the like before and very easily unclipped, unzipped, and slid off the harness. There before him was a beautiful uncircumcised and growing appendage that he immediately took into his mouth.

***

In the meanwhile, upstairs had progressed. The major had satisfied his mistress to her liking, and she had granted him access to the landlord. Miles had not indulged in same sex intercourse in quite some time and was taken aback by the judge’s command that he take care of her slave. He would need some coaxing to enlarge again so soon after having his full pleasure with his own wife’s mouth and breasts.

After a spot of tea and two scrumptious shortbreads (all he was allowed) the major was up to the task. As the judge sipped her tea and languidly stroked her recently flushed pudenda, the major took hold of Mr. Rollins’s wilted wonder and began to magically bring it back to life with lip to its tip. Several well-placed slashes on his arse from his mistress' crop spurred him on.

***

Back in the library, more was heating up than just the radiators. Christie pulled his mouth off of Rebecca‘s cock with a lewd pop and began to stroke it as he addressed the two women who were in the process of removing the rest of their own clothing. “Perhaps the settee or chaise would be of greater comfort for the next stage of discovery?” With dancing hips, he stepped towards the couch. He removed his own shirt and tie, and with sultry adagio slid his trousers down over his protruding bum. Dramatically, he revealed no knickers whatsoever to hold in his impressive rump nor, as he turned to reveal, his lengthening male appendage.

Both women stared with lust at the revelation of this man’s beautiful body and his more than adequate assets. He turned away again, took hold of the couch arm, and spread his bum cheeks, revealing a completely shaved and very clean, arsehole to match his genitalia. He spoke with a little bit more urgency, “Well it won’t fuck itself.”

Rebecca disengaged with the disappointed Molly, who decided that sitting in a chair opposite and pleasuring herself would be how she would stay involved. She stepped to a nearby cupboard and removed one of her brass phalluses she had ordered from Amsterdam just this past year. Along with it was some Chinese lubricating cream. From her club days she knew it would come in handy for her guests. She knelt next to Rebecca, who was face-first in the bum crack of the extremely excited and moaning Christie Lark.

Boldly running two fingers down the side of Rebecca‘s dangling right breast, Molly was soon circling the nipple of this quasi-gendered goddess in front of her, amazed at how natural it felt in her hand. “I believe this cream will come in handy in a few moments.” Rebecca turned and gave her a resistance-melting, sultry stare.

Molly gulped and continued, “May I say, Miss Bracewell, you are the most exciting sexual being I have ever…” her voice hitched as Rebecca bent to take nipple to lips, “laid eyes upon. I’ve, oh my, never had a…” Rebecca pulled off and smiled. With more adorable blushing Molly moved to the chair, sat with legs spread and began to rub her lightly furred lust pocket with the end of the brass phallus.

“What an endearing compliment Molly, may I call you, Molly? You have delectable breasts and obviously a treat between your legs that I will be excited to sample when not otherwise occupied.” With that she stood and opened the lubrication cream applying a generous dollop to the head of her impressive impulse. She rubbed it up and down the bum crack of the desperately shallow breathing Christie Lark. And with firm grip upon hips slowly slid into the young man. From Molly‘s observation, it was obvious this was not the first cock this man had taken into his cellar, nor would it be the last. This was only the third time she had seen it done to a man, and it sent her into a rising tide of orgasmic arousal.

The three younger occupants of the snowbound house began to hum, groan and gasp in synchronous sexual abounding. Rebecca was getting close to what she had hoped would be the first of many orgasms this weekend when she reached around and began to stroke the erect penis of Christie Lark.

He moaned then took in a rasping breath. “Oh please! Take me! I am undone, you are a remarkable lover. Oh, I am so close!”

Through a fog of arousal, Molly caught the sounding of Christie’s warning bell. She grabbed a small hand towel nearby for the purpose of catching his spend. When she bent to prepare, she saw the delicate manicured fingers of Rebecca, stroking faster upon the beautiful now pink and red penis. Rather than catch it into a towel meant for the washing Molly wrapped her puffy lips about it in preparation for effusion. That was enough for Christie. He grunted and fired off six quick shots of ejaculate.

Molly did her best to swallow as it hit her tongue and tonsils, feeling the flex and pump of his whole body. Rebecca felt it too as she pushed in all the way, her own testicles slamming against her partner's. She shouted out, "YES!" her head pointed to the ceiling, and she released an impressive amount into the man.

As the two began to return to an earthbound state, it was not lost upon Molly that she had received a load from a man who also received a load. As the three began to disengage and lay about the settee, they could not know that the pose they took looked like bathing nymphs in a classic romantic painting.

“I do not know about you ladies," purred Christie, “but that was a lovely first course.”

The three of them chuckled, then giggled at the silliness of his statement. Christie and Rebecca were now in a deep kiss. The two friends stroking one another to revitalize, when a piercing scream erupted from the upstairs!

“That sounded more than a climax!” Christie yelped as his red-headed lover abruptly withdrew.

“That sounded like my husband! Dear God!” Leaping up, Molly grabbed for her skirt and blouse, foregoing undergarments and shoes, and raced out the door, attempting to dress as she ran.

Wearing only his shirt and the socks he had not removed, Christie raced after her. “Molly! We don’t know what’s going on. Wait!”

A stunned Rebecca stayed in the library and quickly began to dress herself again, forgoing the harness as her truth had been revealed. She took a deep breath wondering if this was the place to take a holiday after all.

Molly rounded the stair top to see her own bedroom door fully opened. Her naked husband leaned on the doorjamb, his hand covering his mouth. He was alabaster with shock. Molly reached him and gripped his arm. She then let out a loud scream just as Christie arrived behind her, shouting, "Dear God!"

Laying on the quilter's chest at the foot of the bed, a very naked and pale Major Firmcalf lay on his back unbreathing, his eyes wide open and his mouth drooling white foam.

Molly sputtered through gasping breaths, "is he...is he...?"

Christie gulped to steel himself to approach and verify if the soldier had expired when another figure flew past him. It was the half-dressed form of Rebecca Bracewell.

"Stay back. I am - I am trained in these unfortunate..." Her voice trailed off as she shockingly recognized the dead man before her. Her heart rate increased, and she whispered, "it can't be..."

"What was that?" Christie asked, holding Molly, who was holding a still quite shocked Miles.

Rebecca stood and surveyed the body of a man she had not seen since... His skin was greying despite the redness of his testicles tightly bound in a silk scarf. "Mr. Rollins, I presume? Tell me everything that transpired." She knelt and saw that the major had recently ejaculated. There was still moist residue on his incarcerated erection.

Molly was now looking at Miles with grave concern. The shock was wearing off and a bit of color was returning. "Darling? Can you answer her?"

Miles suddenly was wide-eyed with confusion looking at his wife. "What is...? Molly?"

Molly continued, "The major. What were the two of you doing when he...?" her voice caught, and Christie held her firmly by her upper arms.

He spoke softly to the newly revealed investigator. "Are you sure he is...that is to say...oh it so dreadful!"

"What is so dreadful?" The booming irritated voice of Judge Bearle made them all start. The woman was pushing in and stopped in her tracks, her own breathing halted. "Oh my God! Whuuhhhh..." her voice trailed off as her amazonian body collapsed like a marionette with severed strings. A deft Rebecca was able to catch her nearly naked form as she dropped. With a small struggle she laid the judge down on the floor.

"Never saw that coming...," Christie muttered with ill-timed sarcasm.

PART TWO

It was a proper thirty minutes later that a reposed Judge Bearle began to stir on the parlor sofa. As her eyes began to focus, she saw four figures. Mr. Rollins sat in a dressing gown at the window staring out into the snow. His wife sat across on the sofa, bolt upright, a look of relief on her face. There was another woman, trousered and stoic just behind her staring at the judge with an inquisitive annoyance. The last was the ever-irritating Christie Lark who was being surprisingly kind.

"Here, drink some tea. You have had quite a shock...we all have."

Judge Bearle sat more upright and took the tea. The warmth and comfort washed over her countenance. As recall arrived, her expression changed quickly to fear. "The major! Is he -?"

"Dead, yes." The stoic woman was speaking. She looked familiar yet the haze of shock covered recognition.

Rebecca stepped closer. "I am Rebecca Bracewell, Milady. I once served in the Suffolk district as a police detective before changing...occupation. I assure you, the major has expired; an apparent poisoning."

The room gave out a collective gasp as they all became quite alert. eight eyes locked on Rebecca.

"How do you know that?" Miles inquired from the window.

“I would rather not say. If I am correct, that means someone in this room administered the killing concoction.”

Molly squeaked, “Oh Miles!” She reached out at hand and her husband crossed and took it from her, holding her shoulder in reassurance.

“Rubbish!” The judge was speaking with her trademarked authority over all subjects. “Without proper autopsy nor equipment you can only speculate the cause of his demise. The man had several allergic shortcomings. As well as an ailing heart that did not always function properly.”

Christie laughed! “And yet you regularly beat him and restrained his genitalia.”

“Silence, Boy!”

Christie stood and put his arms akimbo. “Or what? Best to shore up a demand with -“

The Judge shot up. “Do not test me, you bloody ******!”

Christie shouted at the horribly derogative term. “How dare you!”

The formidable shape of Rebecca Bracewell was between them in a flash and shouted, “Enough!” The two calmed some, the judge still fuming! “This is not a time for accusation or name-calling. Cooler heads must prevail.” The two sat again and looked away.

Miles spoke up, “I should contact the local authorities. They probably will not be able to arrive due to the storm, but they need to be made aware.”

“I have already tried,” Rebecca answered, “the telephone line is dead.”

“What?!” Miles went for the phone clicking it several times. “Dear Lord, she’s correct. Damn…”

“What ever shall we do?”

Christie saw Molly, a strong, sensual, sex nymph reduced to a quivering fearful child. It Irritated him to no end. “I say we put the old boy into the snow to preserve the body and enjoy the rest of our intended activity. Nothing relieves stress and an anxious spirit better than a good hard buggering!”

They all reacted with surprise, the judge scoffing, “Unfeeling git…”

Rebecca weighed in. “Well, it may seem unorthodox, Mr. Lark is accurate in his assessment of the situation. We shall not be able to contact anyone until morning. He is resting in the lowest part of the house cellar; more than cold enough. As to his other suggestion... we did come here for sexual gratification…”

Molly sniffled, “I shan’t be able to enter my bedroom ever again. Let alone enjoy sex in it not after seeing what my husband and… Oh, bother.” She looked away embarrassed and flushed. Mainly because she was aroused in a perverted way by what may have transpired between the men.

“What happened between you two in there, Rollins?” The judge’s voice demanded.

Miles looked back out the window. “The major enjoys- er, enjoyed restraining his manhood. The call was for me to bugger the old boy, and at the last possible moment release the silk tie and well… You can guess the rest. We never actually got to my, erm, entry. I had just tied him off whilst he was tongue bathing me for preparation. Then he turned around to take position and simply… collapsed.”

Rebecca was pensive. The room was silent. Molly reached out a hand, and Miles took it. She then reached out her other for Christie who took it with a sigh.

This time the judge was rumbling quiet. "I may vomit." She then stood and headed for the stairs. "You may all copulate and fornicate until the emotions dissipate. I intend to sleep." She stopped and burned a hole in Rebecca with her glare. "I assume I may go, former Detective Inspector Brendan Wellington?"

The other three looked to Rebecca who was sardonic. "How did you know?"

"I recognized your face and carriage. One does not easily forget the most egregious perjured testimony to face her bench. They were right to drum you out. Good night." And she was gone.

The soft howl of the wind and the intermittent smattering of ice on the windows filled the otherwise pregnant silence.

Rebecca sat and addressed no one in particular. "I was about to become a deputy inspector when I began dressing as a woman when I was on weekends or between shifts. When I finally received my warrant card the risk became greater but the need to be true to myself was stronger. I was working a case involving a murder when the chief suspect turned out to be a former soldier with whom I was having secretive liaisons." She paused. Then she stood and walked to the fireplace as if the flame might give her strength. "I lied in the witness box to protect myself. He did not. Judge Charlotte Bearle took it quite personally that I had sullied her courtroom. Rather than increase a scandal, the force set me adrift. I changed my name and now live my true self in London as a hotel dick."

Christie attempted to stifle a laugh. Molly glared. He whispered, "Sorry..."

"The man, my lover, still went down for it. Post trial, his widowed father spiraled into a deep despair. A feeling he channeled into his work as a secret submissive."

Molly gasped, "The major?" Rebecca nodded.

"A slave to the very judge who so chastised my personal customs."

A quiet voice came from the window. "Did you kill him?"

Molly was surprised. "Miles! What a dreadful accusation!"

Rebecca laughed, "That's alright, Molly. He is right to suspect. I have a motivation, so to speak. But if there was anyone I would want dead it would be the horror that is now slumbering above us."

"Rather dark," Christie offered. "Yet understandable. The woman is a hypocrisy in boots. She sentenced a dear friend to seven years for enjoying himself in the privacy of his home. Too bad it was with the landlord...and his wife called the police."

"Perhaps you killed the major," Miles declared. He was now standing close to the other three sitting in tight proximity.

"Yes, kill the dog to get back at the bitch. Ridiculous." He stood and stretched. "I think I will take after her majesty and take a kip myself. Anyone care to join me? Miles, you are the only one I have not tasted. Perhaps you'd like to finish what you started with the dearly departed."

Miles straightened with clenched fists. "...bastard..." He softened and slumped into a chair, too tired to sort out this annoying guest with his bare hands.

Molly was in a spot. She was an admitted nymphomaniac and knew well the benefits of orgasmic release on the troubled mind. She was torn between staying to support her husband and going upstairs with one of the others. Her husband settled it for her. "I could use something to eat. Can you be so kind, my love?" Molly nodded and headed for the kitchen.

Christie rolled his eyes and blurted, "Charmingly domestic. Well, off I go." he paused at the stair rail, taking on a Hollywood starlet, sultry pose. "Offer still open..." He went up, trailing his slender finger up the railing.

Rebecca smirked then stood herself. "Baited and hooked. Excuse me." She nodded to Miles and headed upstairs.

Imagining what was to transpire above him, Miles felt a stirring. Perhaps Mr. Lark was correct. He headed to the kitchen to bend his wife over the workspace for some mutual tension relief.

***

Rebecca saw that Christie's door was opened slightly yet the man was not inside. Perhaps he was in the WC. She headed for her own room when a sound caught her ear. Christie was emerging from the judge's room. He looked surprised and then quite lustful. "Ah, was checking on the witch. Soundly down." He walked to Rebecca and softly squeezed her growing concern. "Excellent choice, Detective. Let's go in my room and sort out whodunnit while we do it."

Rebecca followed him in and the two were quickly naked, their mouths battling for supremacy.

"Christie, I have to ask. Did you serve the major his tea and shortbread?"

Christie was stroking Rebecca's rapidly growing girth with one hand, his own with the other. "Yes but, can that wait. I dont want to discuss it - was having a laugh. Besides, it was Molly who baked them. Perhaps she was the poisoner." As they tumbled onto the bed, Rebecca remained on top, her cock already prepared to dive in. Christie had his legs around her waist and was urging her on with sucks and licks. Rebecca had her mouth on his neck whilst positioning herself for entry. With prior use there was no need for more cream on his bum hole. The two were coupled with ease. Christie moaned and thrust his hips up to take more in. Rebecca grabbed his wrists and pulled them above his head. Christi had not seen the handcuffs but felt them lock him to the headboard.

"Ohh, delightful!"

Rebecca pushed up with her arms, her breasts swaying as she took up a rhythm. "Not kink but necessity, especially when one is subduing a murderer.” she punctuated the next with hard thrusts, "I am - umf- sorry it had to come to this, but, Umf, yesss, so good, but I am arresting you for the murder of Major Frederick Firmcalf." She stepped up the pounding and Christie went into a euphoric bliss.

"Yes, VERY kinky! I have role played, ungh, but never cops and robbers! Ungh, yes, harder. You have found me out, take me in."

As the two approached mutual climax they missed the door opening and a large figure entering.

Rebecca looked quite serious despite her buggering of this lovely human specimen. "I am sorry Christie. It is not a roleplay. You umff correctly stated the shortbread was poisoned." She then grunted, stiffened and shot her jism deep into his anal cavity. Christie was too far gone to register the accusation.

"Still a disgrace." The booming voice of Judge Charlotte Bearle shook them both from their revelry. Seeing the woman was holding a pistol, Rebecca fell off of Christie and held up her hands.

"Hold fast, Judge! There is no need. Christie poisoned the major out of a personal vendetta. I am sure of it."

"I know that you are. All the more ridiculous. He was a strong suspect, and while I would love to see him caged for his 'crimes,' you once again have failed in your duties."

Christie pulled on the handcuffs. "Erm, can you please release me. If I am going to die, I would rather not be - "

"Do you ever shut up?!" the judge shouted. She sat in the chair opposite the dressing table, her gun never wavering. "Major was an excellent and willing slave. I pitied him. He was truly a useless thing when I began training him up. Sadly, his vitality has waned considerably. I had hoped this weekend would offer some candidates for replacement. It has, shall I say, been a bitter disappointment." She leaned forward, a frightening glint in her eyes. "When I recognized you as Wellington, I pivoted. I decided to take you on as my new servant. Tame you, collar you, and humiliate you for your horrid past. I looked forward to using that arse and mouth."

Chrisie shouted, "Molly! Miles!" The judge rose pointing the gun at his head and he whimpered into silence.

"I poisoned the major to frame Lark. As a fairy, he is a perfect patsy. Now that you have made your incorrect accusation, I can offer you a deal. Become my slave and reclaim your place on the force. I have friends in Police who have many things they wish to keep private. They will bend to my will should a threat of revelation be whispered."

She came closer, the gun horrifyingly close to Christie's chest.

"We say he tried to lure you into a sordid act, and you fired to save your dignity. No one will know."

"No please, it doesn't -" Rebecca's plea was left unfinished.

Charlotte Bearle pulled back the firing hammer, but no gunshot arrived. Instead, a loud bang preceded the judge's head ghoulishly flailing as she collapsed on top of the lovers, instantly dead.

Molly Rollins stood panting, half dressed, a bloody snow shovel in her shaking grip. She dropped it, just as her husband burst in on the scene.

"Dear god! Whatever has happened?!"

Rebecca rolled the judge off of herself and the still cuffed Christie.

She quietly answered, "A killing...and the execution of the murderer."

Christie had been holding his breath and finally released it. "MY GOD! Get me out of these!" Rebecca complied and then held him as he shook. "I thought I was...I thought she..." Rebecca shushed him and patted his sweaty back.

Miles held Molly likewise as the woman gently sobbed.

The four stared at the once powerful and diabolic figure of Judge Bearle.

The wind howled, and the room was still.