Copyright (c) 2017,   madvlad.  ALL Rights Reserved

Date of first publication in Mr Double's Palisade :
Tuesday, January 17, 2017

This story may be downloaded by Palisade members uniquely for their private use, and 
may not be distributed for profit or posted to newsgroups or other websites.  Mr Double 
may be contacted by emailing mrdouble@mrdouble.com.


A Palisade Author story from MrDouble's archive, 
Filename: hartmano.txt
http://www.mrdouble.com


story_codes: M/g(11), first, anal, non-cons

story_intro: Recently orphaned, young Rosie faces life on her own until the Duchess of Hartmoor intervenes. Now clothed, fed, and with a warm bed, Rosie has more than she ever could have hoped. And she'd about to get far more than she could have imagined.


story_language: English




Hartmoor Manor - New Help

Written by madvlad


	It was a fair day but cool in the deepening autumn, as Charlotte Greaves, the Duchess of Hartmoor set out in a carriage for a leisurely ride to a neighboring estate for luncheon with three other ladies of high breeding. It had been but a fortnight earlier that Charlotte and her husband, Sir Robert, Duke of Hartmoor, had been in attendance during the coronation of King George III. 
In private, Robert confided that he thought this new monarch was a pleasant chap if somewhat too retiring. But the king was only twenty-two years of age and had to emerge from the temperamental shadow of his little-mourned grandfather.

	Charlotte held no doubt as to what the main topic of discussion would be this afternoon at Lady Whitebow's estate. Their new ruler was a bachelor and the hunt for a suitable bride was underway in great force. Tongues were wagging as to whether the wife would come from the bloodlines of English nobility or draw from the stock of the "Teutonic lot".

	But Charlotte's thoughts about the upcoming gossip were sidetracked as she looked out from the carriage. A small crowd of people were gathered in front of the one of the small stone houses that was home to one of the estate's employees. Noticing two of her housemaids among the group - an odd thing for them to be away from the main house at this time of day, Charlotte called for the carriage to stop. Seeing the duchess' carriage, the two maids hurried to it and curtsied.

	"What is this, then, Fanny?" Charlotte called to the elder of the two.

	The woman made a small bow again before answering.

	"'Twas Edward Beecham, ma'am," the servant replied. "His Grace's gamekeeper. He'd been ill for some time and young Jack Carstairs had been filling in for him. But now he's passed on these two nights ago and leaving a daughter behind him. She's no place to go seeing how her mother died giving birth and there's no relations hereabout. But she's got to clear out now as this is the gamekeeper's house and Jack will be moving in as proper."

	"And this Jack is throwing her out?" Charlotte asked.

	"Oh no, ma'am. He's been patient about it - quite a gentlemen, really. But the girl has to go and we are trying to see who will take her in. Widow Hensley likely will and-"

	"Is that the girl, there?" Charlotte interrupted, pointing to a young girl whose reddened eyes were not quit as vibrant as her flaming locks.

	"Yes, ma'am. That's Rosie."

	"How old is the child?"

	"Eleven this last August, ma'am."

	Charlotte regarded the girl for a moment before nodding to herself.

	"I'd say she's old enough to be a serving girl," Charlotte stated. "We need another upstairs, particularly in the evenings. The Duke and I each tend to keep later hours in our...middle years and I'm afraid I'd have Annabelle tending to me when His Grace requires refreshment or something else. Yes, have her come to the house. There should be a bed in the back quarters for her, yes? I should dislike to see a girl of her age turned out like this."

	Both women curtseyed again, even more deeply than before.

	"Bless you, Your Grace!" Fanny gushed. "'Tis a truly Christian thing you've done for the girl."

	Charlotte nodded her acknowledgement before telling the driver to move on again.

	Although grieving for her father, Rosie was amazed at the luxury in the manor's main house. To be sure, the servants lived quite simply but a warm bed under a roof that never leaked and filling meals were unheard of for the girl. An older girl of thirteen, Annabelle, took Rosie under her wing and taught her about her duties and how the household was managed and run.

	Every day was an intricate maneuver from moving such basics as wood and water to the upper rooms to preparation of meals and upkeep of linens and clothing. Along with the duke and duchess were there three teen children, two boys and a girl, who were just as carefully tended to.

	Annabelle and now Rosie were the primary chamber maids responsible for serving the family in the evenings. Following Annabelle as she turned down each family member's bed for the night, Rosie was able to meet each one of them. The duchess briefly acknowledged her but the duke and the sons did not even register their presence.

	Fifteen year-old Amelia, the daughter, took much of their time as she was trying on one gown after another for some event Rosie didn't quite understand. She and Annabelle scurried back and forth with clothing and shoes and baubles as the anxious teen tried to find something just right. Eventually, Amelia burst into tears and went to her mother for comfort when she couldn't find the look she desired. Rosie could not understand how a girl with some many wonderful dresses could possibly be upset but Annabelle reminded her that the nobility were altogether different.

	In the servant's quarters, the new bell system had been installed two years earlier. Attached by wires from various rooms in the mansion, the staff could respond to summons from nearly everywhere. It was Annabelle's and Rosie's duty to answer bells from the family's quarters in the evening.

	"I'll take the first summons," Annabelle told her. "But sometimes someone else will call when I'm away. That will be your turn."

	She and Rosie were wearing white nightgowns that were both too large for their slim frames. Rosie was constantly tugging hers - meant for a much larger woman - in place to keep it from slipping from her shoulders. Still, having a separate piece of clothing to sleep in was an extravagance.

	"Shouldn't we change into our day clothing when we are summoned?" she asked Annabelle.

	"No. If it is an hour after dinner, we can be dressed for bed. A hasty response is what they require and they don't care if we are no longer attired for day duty. And do you think they'd even notice how you are dressed? You could be done up like a concubine of the Pasha of Persia and they wouldn't even give you a blink."

	Rosie giggled at the suggestion. Annabelle seemed quite bold and the younger girl could never imagine herself being quite that forward. But Annabelle was most kind to her and fun to be with, especially after the recent upheaval in her life.

	It was often the duchess who required something in the later hours and Annabelle would often be gone for some time, even after Rosie had fallen asleep. On her fifth night, the duke's bell rang after Annabelle had departed and with her heart thumping, Rosie answered the call. In front of his bedroom door, the girl pulled the collar of her nightgown in to put the garment in place. Regardless of what Annabelle had joked about, it wouldn't do for Rosie to enter the man's quarters with her gown revealing what she should keep covered.

	"Sherry," Robert said, not looking up from the letter he was writing. "And tell Devers to have a man ready at sunrise to take this post to Marburygate."

	"Yes, Your Grace," Rosie said softly before backing out and hurrying to her tasks.

	The duke never took notice of a different voice and made no acknowledgement of her return with the tray, bottle and glass. The latter was a blessing to Rosie as her hand trembled while pouring the sherry but fortunately nothing spilled. With her first solo response completed without incident, Rosie let out a long breath once she was safely in the hall.

	On her fourth summons, the duke surprised her by turning in his chair and looking directly at her.

	"Stand still, girl," he ordered.

	Rosie did as she was told, feeling pinned in place not only by the man's words but by his gaze. Feeling the gown slipping down one of her shoulders, she desperately wanted to pull it into place but did not dare move.

	When the garment slipped down, she made a fretful noise in her throat, afraid that her unintentional immodesty would upset the duke. It stopped a few inches down her arm and the duke didn't seem to take offense at her bared shoulder. Rosie silently thanked whatever guardian angels existed that her chest, with its recent beginning development, remained decently covered.

	While holding Rosie's gaze like a snake with its prey, Robert took his walking stick and extended the tip toward the nervous young servant. With a deftness born of practice, he caught the collar of her gown and slowly slid it off her other shoulder. Rosie trembled and made a keening sound but Robert silenced her with a slight tilt of his head.

	As the gown threatened to slide from her other shoulder, Rosie squeezed her eyes shut. Robert's stick stopped and lightly tapped the girl under the chin. Rosie opened her eyes to find the duke staring hard at her, boring into her eyes in a way that made her feel even more naked than anything the loss of her nightgown could do.

	She felt as if she was losing all sense of balance, as if she was about to fall forward and sink into the icy depths of the duke's eyes. At the same time, she felt the walking stick pushing her gown again and then helplessly felt the loose-fitting fabric tumble to the floor.

	Robert broke his visual hold on the girl with deliberate action. Making no effort to conceal where his gaze was going, he surveyed the preteen's nude figure, knowing full well she could see his eyes hungrily roaming over her.

	Her pale skin gleamed much as her hair did - an intoxicating, almost heretical, mixture of milk and blood in the prurient storm of the duke's thoughts. Rosie's breasts were barely more than pink-tipped nubbins, signaling her new entry onto the path toward womanhood. But the small cleft mound at the junction of her slender legs remained childish in its pure smoothness.

	The end of the walking stick grated against one of the eleven year-old's budding mounds, briefly flattening the pliant flesh there. As it moved, the rough surface scraped the nipple and the effect, along with the girl's fright, brought it to erectness.

	Robert's eyes caught the reaction before focusing on the bare vulva. He moved the stick down, sliding it along the slit, partially forcing her hairless folds apart. As with the her breast, he prodded her young sex with his walking stick, agitating the button of flesh and awakening it for  the first time until the tip protruded from the protective hood.

	As her body responded in some unfathomable way, Rosie shuddered and to her alarm found herself pressing against Robert's walking stick. Feeling dizzy and sick and...oddly feverish in a needful way, she feared what she might do. Then the duke took the stick away and Rosie felt a wash of relief with an aftertaste of incompletion.

	Leaning forward, Robert clapped both hands over the girl's hips, squeezing them before grunting.

	"These aren't breeding hips. At least not yet. But are you ready here?"

	Abruptly, he moved one hand between her legs, finding her small mound and digging in with a finger. Rosie yelped something inarticulate when his finger started to enter her, only to stop abruptly at a barrier.

	"Still a virgin, then," the man breathed. He waggled the fingertip there, making Rosie jerk as another frisson of that same reaction tore through her loins. Feeling the moisture in there, Robert grinned. "A virgin, but ready to change now."

	Robert took his hands away and turned to his desk. Opening a drawer, he fished out a leather strap with a bulbous portion in the middle.

	"I've found this useful more times than you know," he said as he stood.

	Pushing the leather-covered bulb into Rosie's mouth, he tried the thinner ends around the back of her head. Rosie didn't understand but could not speak with the thing jammed between her jaws. The duke threw her on his bed as he hastily undid his breeches.

	Rosie had seen some young boys playing in a creek on the estate before, but the small, soft appendages they had between their legs bore little resemblance to the hard cudgel of flesh that the duke sported like...like a weapon.

	He was hovering over her, sweating and urgent. With one hand, he easily grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them to the bed above her head. With the other, he pushed one legs away from the other, wedging himself between them and pressing his glans against the small, hairless slit of the girl's sex.

	With violent heave, he bulled his way into the prepubescent virgin. Rosie's world exploded in a red haze of agony was something forced into her, seemingly splitting her body as it drove deeper with every push. Something was flooding in her female place down there, something hot and stinging and the girl knew it was her own blood.

	The duke ripped his way into the child's cunny, making her flesh slippery with the loss of her maidenhead. Her innocence and smallness made her stretched sheath wrap around his snugly sliding cock; wetly caressing the very thing that was violating her childish place. As her defilement progressed, the tendons on Rosie's neck strained as she screamed uselessly into the leather ball secured in her mouth. She tried twisting beneath him in vain, using untried muscles to somehow eject the monstrous thing invading her.

	But her struggles only inflamed the duke further and he hammered his cock mercilessly into the Rosie's deflowered pussy.  She was so young and fresh, her little channel grabbing at him as he raped her into womanhood before she was fully ready. Then with an animal grunt, he jerked, stabbing into her harder as a new wetness soiled her internally.

	The duke's sperm jetted into the ravaged eleven year-old's womb. Sensing a deeper violation, Rosie ceased her writhing and only wept pitifully with the man's ejaculation fouling her.

	"Nothing lost that you wouldn't have given up soon enough," Robert panted. "You'd have spread your legs for a horse groom or a blacksmith's apprentice. But instead you've been properly depucelated by a nobleman."

	He made it sound like an honor but Rosie could not find anything of the sort in what she had just endured. Now he still lay on top of her, playing with her tender titlets - pinching and then nuzzling them. His lips wrapped greedily around her tiny mounds before his teeth found them, threatening to draw blood there was well but stopping short.

	To the girl's horror, the thing jammed between her legs began to harden again, widening and pulling her aching tissues taut and growing in length as well. Remaining joined with her, Robert rotated her on his member until her face was pressed against the bed and her hips raised.

	"You'll learn to take me as a common bitch, too," he jeered before renewing his motions.

	Sickly, Rosie recalled how she had seen dogs coupling before. Except now it was her and the duke was another beast, ramming his prick into her preadolescent twat. He bruised her as he drove into her rape-lubricated tunnel over and over; seeking to breach her further with this thick member until another thick burst of semen despoiled her.

	He leaned against her, breathing heavily and yet again his erection began to resurrect itself. This time, however he withdrew. Rosie recoiled from the slimness of his thing as he wiped it between her barely ripening little buttocks. All too soon, she understood his intent when he tore into another virgin hole.

	Shrieking as he pounded into her, Rosie felt more agony and humiliation with the cock boring into her ass. Coated with his goo and the remains of her twat's virginity, the duke's prick battered the child's rectum, abruptly straightening the slight bends in her tubing. His thrusts burned her in there, pulling muscles too hard so that they would ache well past this night.

	Along with the hardness rasping through her abused asshole and the stabbing in her guts, Rosie felt the slap of the man's hairy scrotum against the bald, draining mound of her raped little cunt. After an untold period of torment, he released again, this time inseminating the eleven year-old's freshly plucked ass.

	Charlotte's bedroom was next to her husband's. Despite the leather gag that muffled Rosie's cries, the duchess could still hear the girl and the creaking of the bed.

	She had known that Rosie's innocence would not last long. But well after bearing the duke three children, including a male heir and a fallback one, Charlotte no longer tolerated her husband's depravities on her own body. The man was a base creature - an animal of the crudest kind - when his blood was up.

	For all Robert cared, his wife could discreetly take another man as long as nothing reached the ears of others. But Charlotte was no longer interested in that sort of thing.

	The bed in the next room began to creak again. A fourth time, Charlotte mused. Although he was moderate in his drink and in his food, the man was insatiable with other appetites. But they were not her concern.

	Her hands pressed against the silken locks beneath them. Charlotte sighed languidly, adjusting her legs as Annabelle's head remained busy between them.



madvlad@mrdouble.com
http://www.mrdouble.bz/htm/authors/madvlad.htm






















This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.


--

Double for Nothing!!  Tricks for Free!!!

http://www.mrdouble.bz

Be There.....
