purses that allowed The Master, along with the fees he garnered from the Devil's Disciples, to maintain his small holding.
A few hundred acres remained of what had once been a great estate of several thousand acres. Some of it had been confiscated in the civil wars a hundred years ago. As King Charles had promised not to give back the confiscations to their original owners upon his restoration, those acres had been lost to his family. And then his great-grandfather, his grandfather, and his father had all been gentlemen who believed that their purses could never be emptied no matter how extravagantly they lived. They had, upon the discovery that their funds were low, sold off property.
The women they married came with smaller dowries each generation because his antecedents had less to offer and could therefore not attract wealth. His own mother had not been of noble birth, but rather the daughter of landed gentry. Her portion was small, and his father, a charming wastrel, had gambled it away before his own birth. His mother died shortly thereafter. His father had drunk himself into his grave by the time The Master was thirteen. His paternal grandmother, a kind but stern woman, had raised him with a strong sense of his family's history and honor. She had died when he was twenty, and had been the only woman he ever admired, for she was strong. She had refused to be victimized by either her husband or her son. She had been her own woman, very much like Lady Lucinda Harrington.
His grandmother would certainly not have approved of his occupation as a glorified whoremaster to the nobility. Only one man among the Devil's Disciples knew his identity, its founder, Sir Derek Bowen. He had gone to school with Derek Bowen, who was a few years his senior. Derek had always admired his ability to defuse a situation and bring others around to his will.
'Join us,' he had said to his friend.
'I have no taste for rape,' The Master had replied.
'Most of these girls are ill-bred,' came the reply. 'They just need to be persuaded to lift their skirts for their betters. You could be the one to cajole them for us. Get them used to fondling and frigging. Suck their little titties and tweak their little exciters. Then when they are eager for it, bring them to us, and we'll pick their cherries. Many will go on to become mistresses, a far better life than slopping hogs for a brutish husband or sewing until they go blind. The Devil's Disciples give these lasses a chance at a better life. We will call you The Master, old friend. You will be well compensated for your efforts. Think what those monies can do for you. I know you are in debt. You can clear that debt using your powers of persuasion and still have monies to maintain your estate as well. No one will ever get hurt, I swear it,' Sir Derek Bowen had promised him.
'I will think on it,' The Master had replied. Then he had gone to London to visit his father's former mistress, to ask her advice in the matter.
'They will have these poor girls if they mean to even if you don't cooperate with them,' Marianne had told him. 'Better someone kind at least prepare them, my dear boy, and God knows you could charm a duck into a roasting pan.'
He had laughed. 'I will need more than just words,' he told her. 'Will you help me?'
She had agreed and had taken him to several shops, all located in dark alleys off less-than-respectable streets. There he had been introduced to a variety of sexual toys that might be used, he was assured by the oily shopkeepers, to convince the most reluctant lass to yield herself to her lover. He had also been influenced to design and have made several other articles for his new practice. Afterward he had given Marianne a small piece of family jewelry to thank her. She had accepted graciously, telling him to visit her the next time he came up to London. Her meaning was most clear. The idea of lying with his father's old mistress, who was certainly no longer in the first flush of youth, had appalled him. He had kissed her hand and departed.
Then he had found his friend, Sir Derek Bowen, at White's Club, surprising him.
'I was not aware you were in London,' Sir Derek said, calling for a drink for his old friend.
'I have been here for several days,' The Master said. 'I needed to do some research and, having done it, am amenable to your offer of employment, Derek. Come down on the weekend, and we will discuss the particulars. I have one stipulation, however. No one is to know who I am but you. You may tell your friends only that The Master is a gentleman of good breeding. That is all they need to know else they attempt to treat me as a servant. Do you understand, and are we agreed?'
'We are!' Sir Derek had said immediately. 'I shall see you Friday night, my friend.'
Sir Derek had traveled to Oxfordshire several days later, and together he and The Master had worked out the ground rules. The Master was to have full responsibility for the women brought to him. Virgins would not be raped. He would simply awaken them to their own sensuality before turning them over to their gentlemen. More experienced women would be treated differently, but with the same end results.
'Find me three footmen who can aid me in these lewd pursuits,' he had requested of Sir Derek. 'I suspect you know just the right men.'
Sir Derek had smiled, and nodded.
'I have an ancient Roman arena on my property. It is quite small, and was probably used by the local patrician family that once inhabited the region. We will use it for our meetings in the summer. You will find us a secure spot for inclement weather nearby. As I will be training these girls in my house, I will want to bring them out to your meetings quickly so they cannot grow fearful.'
'There is an old monastary quite near here,' Sir Derek had said. 'It has been deserted and ruined for several centuries, but the cellars beneath it are quite habitable and dry. We'll arrange to have it fixed up for our meetings.' He had smiled.
'You have obviously been there recently,' The Master had noted with a small smile himself.
'It is a very private place,' Sir Derek had replied, 'and a gentleman likes to have a private place to escape to now and again, eh?'
'Indeed,' The Master had acknowledged.
They had then continued to work out a number of small, but important details of their enterprise, and on Sunday afternoon Sir Derek had begun his return journey to London to tell the Devil's Disciples of his progress. Several days afterward John, Dick and Martin, the footmen, had arrived, references in hand and a letter from Sir Derek to The Master. That had been three years ago.
The first girl brought to him had been a high-spirited farmer's daughter. It had taken only a week to master her. She had gone on to give her lustful lordling hours of pleasure, and two bastards, before she was retired to a cottage. There had followed more country girls, shop girls, and several months ago, Lord Meldrew's governess. She had been a most prim young lady who had foolishly resisted her employer's overtures. In The Master's charge, however, she had been developed into a shameless hussy who now ruled her employer by virtue of her big breasts and her nutcracker cunt. The Master had heard recently that Lord Meldrew was looking quite pale and weak as of late.
A rumble of thunder brought his thoughts to a halt. Looking about, he saw the rain coming, and turning his horse about, he cantered back to his stables, arriving barely before the storm. Hurrying across the stableyard and into the house, he met Dick and Martin. 'How is her ladyship doing?' he asked them.
The footmen grinned, and then Dick said, 'She's taking to the training nicely, m'lord. John is with her now.'
The Master ran up the stairs and down the hall to the bedchamber where Lucinda was imprisoned. Entering the room, he saw John bending over her, his hand furiously working the dildo as Lucinda moaned her pleasure openly and encouraged him to continue. The footman turned his head at the sound of the door.
'She's a proper one for passion, m'lord. Yer going to have no problems with this one. Look at this.' John opened Lucinda's cunt lips with two fingers to reveal her clit, swollen to twice its size. Taking his hand off the dildo, he flicked the sensitive little organ, and she shrieked, her juices flowing copiously.
'Very good, Lucinda,' The Master approved. Then turning to the footman, he dismissed John. Sitting upon the edge of the bed after his companion had departed, he said quietly, 'John is correct when he says you are a proper one for passion, my pet. Are you enjoying it?'
'Y… yes, and no,' Lucinda said. 'I have never had such pleasure, even with my dearest Robert, but it is now, I think, too much. I cannot stop coming, sir. I lie perfectly still, but I cannot help squeezing it, and then… What is happening to me? I have never before been weak.'
'You are not weak,' he said. 'You are passionate, and it has been several years since you were allowed to indulge those delightful feelings of lust.' He worked the dildo gently, and she shuddered. 'You are, my pet, a far
