Femdom-Blog

DOWN ON THE FARM!

admin — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 20:40:18 +0000

This is an inspiring, but little-known story!

It’s from the early life of one of the great Victorian philanthropists, Sir Roland Butt. Our hero was just plain Roland Butt when these events took place. But he never forgot the experience we’re about to relate.

In 1855 Butt’s Farm was a fairly big fruit and livestock farm in Kent. The farm was just north of Pratt’s Bottom and due south of Elmers End. (Really! Look it up on any map of Kent.) Its young landlord, Roland Butt, had acquired the farm on the death of his father.

In August that year Roland came down from London to survey the property. His young University pal, Freddie Haunch, was with him.

The Kentish workforce had been severely depleted in 1855. Most able-bodied men had been conscripted into the Army for the Crimean War. So the farming was done by a team of about twenty ‘land girls’, under the supervision of the tenant-farmer, Mr Cobblestones.

Roland and Freddie were new to farm life, and were entranced by the whole set up. It helped that 1855 was such a glorious summer. The two young men spent their whole time out of doors. They wandered through the fields, lounged by the river, and chatted to Farmer Cobblestones. And watched the girls go by!

What a bevy of healthy, good looking country women! Owing to the heat, they were quite scantily clad (by Victorian standards). Friendly and courteous. Utterly charming!!

As a respectable married man, Roland had to rein himself in a bit. But Freddie was like a boy in a sweet shop. It was one dashed fine-looking woman after another! And they were all so obliging and respectful. At 21, Freddie was still a virgin. But maybe that sad state of affairs could change in this delightful spot….?

After the young men had been on the farm a couple of days, Roland’s young wife joined them.

To the casual observer, Edith Butt just seemed like a beautiful and lively young woman. But Edith Butt was later to become one of the Victorian era’s most formidable advocates of social reform. And even in her youth, there was a questioning, challenging side to Edith.

Butt’s Farm would be Edith’s first experience of the rural economy. She was keenly interested to see how it operated.

So Edith started to explore the farm, and get out among the farm workers. Coming from a fairly sheltered upper-class background, Edith found it a real eye opener.

Accordingly, a couple of days later she sought out her husband for a long talk.

“Roland” Edith said, “do you plan to make any changes at the farm?”

“I don’t think so, darling” her husband replied. “It’s quite profitable, you know, and Farmer Cobblestones is very efficient.”

“Efficient?” Edith said. “That man is nothing but a slave driver!”

“Well, I don’t know, dear” Roland responded. “The girls all seem happy enough.”

“Of course they’re going to be polite and friendly to YOU. You’re the big boss. But have you and Freddie really talked to them? Or are you just happy to ogle the pretty ones?”

“Darling, you’re jealous!” (Watch it, Roland! Not a clever thing to say to one’s wife!)

“I AM NOT JEALOUS!!

“Do you two have the faintest idea what those poor women are going through, while you’re leering at them? They work from dawn till dusk, which at this time of year is 5am to 9pm. 6 days a week. No holidays. All weathers. Half an hour break for lunch (which they have to provide themselves).

“No protective clothing. No toilets. No equipment to help them do the slightest thing. And they even have to wait at table in the evening, if the great Lord of Butt’s Farm wants to have a banquet. (Like you did last night, when your pal Freddie was drooling like an ass over the waitresses’ décolleté.)

“And don’t talk to me about Cobblestones’ ‘efficiency’ either. He could make life easier for the women in all sorts of little ways, but he never does.”

Roland had really walked into that one, hadn’t he, readers? To his credit, the young man didn’t try to defend himself, but he did speak up for Farmer Cobblestones.

“I’m sorry, darling. Maybe I should have been taking more notice. Perhaps Cobblestones is a bit harsh, but he drives himself very hard, you know. Mrs Cobblestones passed away a couple of years ago, and his only son has been called up for the Army. The poor chap lives for his work now – he’s got nothing else.”

Seeing her advantage, though, Edith pressed it home.

“Listen, Roland, dear, you’ve got obligations to these people. And you must set Cobblestones a better example. Look, why don’t you, Freddie and Cobblestones put in a day on the farm yourselves? And give the women the day off. They can watch you working on the land.”

“I say, Edith, that’s a topping idea!” said Roland. “I’ll learn all sorts of stuff. And I’m sure Freddie will be game. And if the girls want to leer at me and Fred and old Cobblers for a change, they’ll be very welcome to watch, ha! ha! Mind you, I don’t like the idea of this 5am start, eh what?”

“No, dearest”, said Edith. “Let’s make it 9am, so you can be fully breakfasted and ready for anything. After all, you might find yourselves a bit exposed!” she added, rather mysteriously. And then she muttered to herself “JEALOUS, am I? We’ll see about that!”

FUN ON THE FARM!

The next Saturday was the appointed day. It dawned hot and sunny. What a lovely day to be down on the farm!

Roland, Freddie and Mr Cobblestones breakfasted heartily. Roland and Freddie were looking forward to an exciting new experience, but Mr Cobblestones was more cautious. “I don’t think this is wise, Mr Butt”, the farmer muttered uneasily. “Give these women an inch….”

“Nonsense, Cobblestones”, said Roland. “It’ll be fun. And look how keen the women are! They’re all waiting outside for us.”

Indeed, every single one of the farm women was there. (Even though they’d been given the day off.) Edith had had a long chat with the women the day before, and they’d all immediately signed up to help out today. Such splendid team spirit!

Edith was waiting for them. She looked cool and lovely in a floaty summer dress and hat. She greeted the three men very cordially. But also with an air of suppressed excitement. In fact the whole atmosphere was somehow quite electric.

“Right, gentlemen” said Edith. “You’re now under orders for the day. Agreed?”

“Yes, dear. Whatever you say! Strict discipline, ha ha!”

“Good! First of all, those fine clothes will never do. Get changed. Any protective clothes can be found over there.” And she pointed the way.

So the three men went off to get changed. They were directed to a lean-to behind the cowshed. It was basically a small square wooden room, standing on the bare earth. It had no ceiling and was effectively three walls of wooden planking. (The fourth wall being the back of the cowshed.)

Still, the walls were high enough to be private, and so the men stripped off. Once they were completely undressed, they hung all their clothes and boots on the wall. , The three naked men then looked around for their farm overalls. Nothing to be seen.

“I say, Roland!” asked Freddie. “Edith did mention ‘protective clothing’ didn’t she?” There was a stifled giggle from outside. Roland suddenly had a sick feeling. It started in his stomach, and then travelled down to his very bollocks.

“No,” Roland spluttered. “She said ‘ANY protective clothing’, Freddie. Which means ‘IF there is any, it might be in there’. And we don’t actually supply protective clothing, do we, Cobblestones?”

“No, sir, I think Mrs Butt is trying to prove a point of some kind.”

“QUICKLY, men! Let’s get our clothes back on again!”

But then the matter was suddenly taken out of their hands!

CRASH!! The three walls collapsed outwards. (They’d only been propped against each other.) The wall with the clothes pegs on was now lying on the ground, with our heroes’ clothes strewn on top.

SCOOP!! The clothes were gathered up with suspicious speed by unknown hands and suddenly disappeared.

DAMN AND BLAST!! Roland, Freddie and Farmer Cobblestones were left stunned, staggered and bewildered. And totally nude!

As ‘luck’ would have it, every woman on the farm just happened to be standing around, just as the walls collapsed. So the three men were completely exposed, in all their horrified, full-frontal hunkiness. What a great situation! Sorry, I mean, how very unfortunate.

Let’s just take stock of what the farm women saw.

Quite a range of male talent! One blond, one dark and one shaven head. Three different builds, but all pretty fit. Skin ranging from white and smooth, to brown and weatherbeaten. Smooth chests and hairy chests. So something there for every taste!

But with a few common features. Namely, three gasping, gulping, astonished faces. Three large male bodies, with all sorts of rippling, trembling, fleshy bits to look at. And three juicy cocks exposed suddenly to the light.

Edith quickly seized the initiative. She wiped the smile off her face, stepped forward and greeted the naked men.

“Ah there you are, gentlemen! Err… stripped for action, I see! Well, it certainly is a warm day, so I can see your…errr….point. In fact, I can see every point you’ve got! Ladies, I take it you have no objection to the gentlemen’s…errr…costume?”

“Oh no, ma’am!” they all said, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.

“Good! Well in that case, gentlemen, we’ll lock your clothes securely away, and re-issue them to you at the end of the day. Depending on your performance, of course! We are all driven by performance on Butt’s Farm, aren’t we, Mr Cobblestones?”

Cobblestones was beyond words.

“So, gentlemen”, said Edith, not wishing to give them any time to think. “You have a busy day ahead of you. You must not…errr…droop before the challenge! But never mind, the farm ladies will be with you every step of the way.” (The men’s shoulders slumped at that!) “And the ladies will help to…errr….stiffen your resolve. Now let’s look as if we mean business! Shoulders back! Chests out! Chins up! And perk those buttocks!”

Edith walked round the three naked men as if they were on parade, and slapped their bottoms encouragingly.

So how did the men shape up?

Let’s take Roland first. The young master of Butt’s Farm didn’t feel very masterful right now. Which was a shame, because he looked absolutely great naked – everybody thought so!

In later life, Roland Butt became quite fat. But as a young man, all the fat was still muscle and brawn. Six feet four inches tall with a 44-inch barrel chest, massive shoulders and wrestler’s physique.

Roland had thick black hair – wavy on his head, and curly round his private parts. Being a town gentleman, his body was white all over. But it was chunky, hunky and knobbly in all the right places.

From the rear, you could see that everything came together in Roland’s backside, which was big and beefy and seemed to give him plenty of thrust.

But let’s not beat about the…errr…bush! Let’s get a good look at Roland’s front. Roland’s cock was lying limp at the moment, but it was very thick, dangled down well below his balls, and had an impressive knob end. The more experienced farm ladies reckoned it could be nearly a foot long when Roland was really in the mood! It would be interesting to see how Roland compared with Beanstalk, the farm bull.

Yes, the farm women really licked their lips over Roland. Mouth-watering rump steak. Yummy!!

Then there was Freddie, who everyone thought was really cute!

Freddie’s pink-cheeked embarrassment, floppy fair hair, and appealing blue eyes got the ladies feeling motherly. But then, as they looked further down his body, their motherly feelings got a bit less pure.

At first sight, Freddie was just a tall, skinny kid. Take a closer look, though, and you saw the long muscular thighs of the distance runner. The lean plates of muscle covering his back, ribs and shoulders, which you got from rowing.

For Freddie had been a double Cambridge Blue in rowing and running. Those two excellent sports both gave you a great arse. And sure enough, Freddie’s bum was very full and nicely firm.

So far, so good. But what really got the women breathing hard was Freddie’s simply outstanding cock and balls! It wasn’t that they were big. It’s just that they were prominent. You’d have to be blind to miss them!

Freddie was blessed with high, flaring buttocks, slightly bandy thighs, two big bollocks and a scrotum like a string bag. The term ‘plain as the balls on a dog’ sprang to mind. Whether you were in front of Freddie or behind him, there were his balls in plain view – large, succulent and seemingly on springs.

Freddie’s penis was another marvel of Nature. It wasn’t a monster like Roland’s, but it was big and tasty. And how it stuck out! Springing out from right on top of Freddie’s balls, his cock hung at 45 degrees to the ground, rather than burrowing between the thighs. So it was just always there, and ‘in your face’! Swinging backwards and forwards as Freddie walked, his dick was more like a baby elephant’s trunk.

You’re really scrumptious, Freddie, old cock!

Farmer Cobblestones was older than Roland and Freddie, and maybe not so juicy. But you’ll be glad to hear that he still got plenty of attention! In fact, some of the more mature ladies were really smacking their lips over the naked farmer.

For the good farmer stood there, fully revealed as a very fit guy in his 40’s. Cobblestones had a hard lean body, which showed all the signs of vigorous exercise on the land. Nice meaty backside and long thin cock, which swayed promisingly in the breeze.

So it’s nice to see the older ones getting a bit of attention, isn’t it? Although, I’d have to say that it wasn’t quite such loving attention being given to the farmer.

The ladies were positively beaming at Roland and Freddie, who did look very sweet and boyish. Blushing, tender and confused. But with great potential!

The looks coming the farmer’s way were a bit more stern. The general mood was that the farm ladies would play nicely with Roland and Freddie, but deal more ‘briskly’ with the farmer. Especially those strong, vigorous country women who might have a score to settle.

Naked, Farmer Cobblestones? Yes. Attractive? Yes. Vulnerable? Very much so! Sensing this, Farmer Cobblestone’s cock shrivelled, and his balls dangled forlornly in their sack.

Ignoring these undercurrents, Edith chatted away happily.

“So the first thing to consider, gentlemen, is Numbering. Mr Butt and Farmer Cobblestones require all farm workers to be numbered. It’s needed for control.

“Now we pin a number on the dresses of the women farm workers. But we can’t do that in your case, because (hee! hee!) you haven’t got any clothes on!”

“I know!” shouted a voice from the back. “Brand them!”

Ouch! How the naked men winced at that!

Farmer Cobblestones went pale under his tan; his shoulders slumped; and his cock sagged. He trembled from head to toe (and all bits in between). Buck up, man!

Roland’s knees knocked together, and his heart pounded. The women were fascinated to see that these movements above and below made Roland’s bare bum wobble piteously. Diddums!

And everyone noticed that Freddie, the youngest of the trio, had a reflex action when in distress. He bit his thumb, and with his other hand fumbled at his private parts. You only got the full effect of this when Freddie was in the nude, of course. As they watched Freddie’s cock stiffen and then flop down again, the women found this quite charming.

“No, ladies, branding won’t do”, said Edith, much to the men’s relief. “We’ll mark them with smit instead.” [NB: ‘Smit’ was made out of a thick grease, coloured with haematite, a reddish mineral. In those days sheep were marked with daubs of smit.]

“Left buttock, I think! Bend over this trestle, gentlemen, and legs apart.”

And so the farm women were presented with three lean, twitching, white male backsides. They hardly knew where to start!

Anyway, a ‘1’ was painted very slowly and carefully on Roland’s bare arse cheek. A ‘2’ was painted on Freddie’s and a ‘3’ on Farmer Cobblestones’.

Roland and Freddie being quite popular, they got off fairly lightly. Under the pretext of lining up the bottoms carefully for the great artwork, the farm women gave the two naked men some great sexy pinches and rubs. Very nice!

Only problem was that our heroes were most embarrassed when they were released, and got ‘stiffly’ back to their feet. There was much giggling, and talk about having a game of quoits, as Roland and Freddie stood ‘to attention’.

Poor Farmer Cobblestones wasn’t so fortunate! As soon as he bent over, Molly Smith grabbed his balls from behind. “One false move and I squeeze!” Molly hissed.

Naked, defenceless and terrified, the farmer nearly wet himself! He strained every muscle to be a good boy and stay still. Sweat poured down his bare body, into his arse-crack and matting his pubes. He went cross-eyed with concentration. But finally, the work was done. So Farmer Cobblestones was released at last, with a merry slap on the behind. And a playful little squeeze of the goolies – just for fun. Which did make him squeal!

Anyway, Labourers 1, 2 and 3 were now ready. Purple-faced with embarrassment; stark bollock naked; and numbered by the rear. Ready for anything!

“Right, gentlemen” said Edith. “Here are your orders for the day. Numbers 1 and 2 to the orchard, under my personal direction. And Number 3….to the pig sty! Under the strict supervision of Mary O’Brien, Molly Smith and Kate Garner.”

THE FARMER’S TALE

Farmer Cobblestones groaned. He might have known it. The muckiest job on the whole farm. Something he’d taken great pleasure in allotting to his most rebellious workers – who happened to be Mary, Molly and Kate!

So off trudged the poor nude farmer. With his three lovely supervisors.

Molly, Mary and Katie were absolutely delighted to be in charge of Farmer Cobblestones for the day! As three of the more mature farm workers, they took quite a lively interest in the Older Man. Mary in particular had been widowed for several years, and was very much on the look out for talent. And their mouths positively watered as they looked ‘Labourer No 3’ up and down.

He really did look very firm and delicious. Not a pretty-boy body, mind. A fit, strong working anatomy, and my God he was going to work today! Nice long sinewy thighs, flaring up to slim muscular flanks. Buttocks flexing to and fro! Juicy penis dangling! And two hairy meatballs there, which seemed to be trembling a little (maybe with good reason!)

The walk to the pigsty was about half a mile. ‘Labourer No 3’ occasionally hopped and winced, as his exposed feet hit a stone. But Mary, Molly and Kate were always on hand to spur him on with an encouraging slap on the bare backside.

At one point they had to climb over a stile. Molly went over first. The farmer was next, with Kate behind him.

Over came the farmer’s left leg. So the naked man was now gingerly straddling the stile. With a wink to Kate, Molly called out “Oh, do be careful, No 3!” Molly ‘helpfully’ grabbed his left ankle; Kate grabbed his right; they pulled his legs apart in their ‘panic’ and….

CRASH!!

AAARRGGHHH!!!

YAROOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!!!!!

And two tender bollocks hit a solid plank of wood very hard indeed.

‘Labourer No 3’ staggered off the stile, positively DANCING with rage and pain. He clawed at his poor swollen plums, chest heaving, and buttocks tensing and expanding in a most fascinating way.

The spectacle brought tears to the eyes of the three women. But I’m sorry to say they were tears of lewd laughter, not of compassion.

“Oh, you poor man!” said Molly, the hypocrite. “Let us help!”

And with that the three women surrounded the naked wretch, and started stroking, kneading and rubbing his private parts.

They knew exactly what they were doing, the wicked women! And sure enough, by the time they’d finished, Farmer Cobblestones had the most enormous erection. He just couldn’t help it!

So their boss was taken down yet another peg. There he stood, throbbingly and embarrassingly naked. His balls were still tingling. And there was now a great stiff cock sprouting obscenely up out of his short ‘n curlies.

“Ugh, Farmer Cobblestones, you should be ashamed of yourself!” said Kate. “Just you wait until I tell Mrs Butt.”

Anyway, they were now getting near the pigsty. So this was where the fun really began!

The pigsty was basically a shed where the pigs could shelter, with a walled-in open area. Here the pigs could snuffle and eat and do other piggy things. The walls didn’t need to be very high, and so the farm workers got in and out of the sty by scrambling over the wall.

“Right now, No 3” said Molly. “We’ve lost time because of your disgusting behaviour.” And she showed her displeasure by applying a stinging blow to the nude victim’s fleshy, bare ass.

“Oh look how it ripples, girls!” Molly said, giving Cobblestones’ bottom another smack for luck. “Now where was I?” Molly said, slapping the farmer’s naked buttocks again. “Ah yes!” she said, dishing out a final good spanking to the cowering nude rump.

“This is quite addictive, isn’t it, but I remember now….We’re behind time, that’s what I was talking about. So hurry up, No 3, leap over the wall and get to work. Go on, man, take a run up!”

Molly showed every sign of lining up another hearty bottom-whack, so off sped ‘Labourer No 3’ towards the pigsty. Kate and Mary were leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

The farmer felt like a complete fool, running towards the pigsty in the buff! His erect penis slapped noisily against his muscular belly. The women laughed and pointed at him, as he approached. He was all too conscious of his balls bouncing in their sack, and his sore bottom wobbling.

Farmer Cobblestones hurdled the wall at the only available gap. Mary and Kate were leaning against the part of the wall nearest the pig shelter. This just left the far corner free for the farmer’s great nude leap. It was almost as if Mary and Kate were encouraging the farmer to vault that particular bit of the wall.

Cobblestones reached the highest part of his leap, just past Kate’s left shoulder. What a fine, manly sight he made!

Imagine the naked, muscular athlete; left leg flung forward; right leg back. Buttocks tensed. Arms whirling to get propulsion. Great thick stonker pointing embarrassingly UP. Balls hanging down like two little cherries. Quite exhilarating, really.

At this great moment, the farmer looked down. He saw two very unwelcome things.

One nasty sight was in the sty itself. Contrary to popular belief, pigs are very clean animals. They don’t just wallow in their own poo. They do their business neatly, in a little corner of the sty. Unfortunately, it was that particular corner that ‘Labourer No 3’ was heading for!

And what was the second unpleasant thing which our naked victim saw as he glanced down? It was a thin, whippy little cane. The cane had suddenly appeared in Kate’s hand. And up it came! Between his spread legs, and straight into his tender and exposed cobblers!!

SWISH!!

CRACK!!

OWWWWWWWWW!!!!!! GAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!

And then, as he fell………

SPLOSH!!! POOO!!!

So picture the scene once the dust settled. There was Farmer Joshua Cobblestones, naked and on all fours. He was up to his thighs and elbows in pig poo. His bollocks were throbbing, and there was an over-friendly pig nuzzling his arsehole. The mocking laughter of his loyal staff was ringing in his ears. The farmer had to admit that this was probably the low point of his agrarian career.

The naked dupe tottered to his feet, scraping the pig shit out of his pubic hair. He wearily put one stinking foot on top of the wall. Then the other, and he clambered on to the wall. Then….

WHOOSHH!!

SPLOOOSSHHH!!

AGGGHHHH!!!!!**!!!

A bucketful of freezing cold water sloshed into his face. Another bucketful drenched his middle regions, making his cock shudder, and bringing the goose-pimples up on his scrotum. And he toppled off the wall, on to his arse in the pig shit again.

Slowly, painfully, the crestfallen nude man crawled back over the wall. He stood there miserably in the sunshine, while the laughing women refilled their buckets in the river. He was past caring!

It was almost a relief when they gleefully emptied the buckets over him. The water cascaded on to his grimacing face; over his broad shoulders and chest; made a playful little channel down between his pecs and six pack; into his pubic valley; and spouted off his cock.

The naked stooge clambered back into the pigsty, helped on his way by a merry slap on his bare behind. And he started feeding the pigs.

Molly and Kate had a good laugh, but Mary felt a bit subdued. In fact, Mary became more and more quiet as the morning wore on.

The poor farmer got into some preposterous naked positions, as he scrambled around after the pigs. His lean, juicy buns twinkled in the sunshine, and his cock and balls were snuffled by every pig in the sty. Every so often, he got so muddy that the ladies simply had to hose him down! But he doggedly kept going.

Mary thought: “Fair play to the old Cobbler. He’s a real worker!” And then, as she savoured afresh ‘No 3’s’ lean sinewy legs and sturdy ass, Mary said to herself: “Mmmm!!! I’d love to have him working like that in my garden. He’d look really nice scattering his seed!”

After a while, Kate and Molly drifted off, leaving Mary in charge. By now it was about midday. So Mary gave the farmer a playful pinch on the butt and said “Lunch time!”

Now poor Farmer Cobblestones had become so demoralised during his naked ordeal that he hardly registered this. He was starving hungry, but what of it? His nude hell in the mud and the sunshine would surely never end.

The farmer had had a simply awful morning. He’d had pigs licking his balls. He’d been ordered to crawl around in the muck on all fours, with his legs apart and his bollocks swinging. He’d got his cock stuck in the handle of the swill bucket (ouch!). He’d been forced to compete in a ‘Beautiful Bum’ contest with the farm sows. (“Waggle your bottom more, Number 3!”)

Cobblestones been ‘showered’ regularly. And several times Kate had taken him on one side and urged him to “buck up your ideas, man”. (Kate’s clinching argument in these ‘pep talks’ always involved her cane and the naked man’s quivering bollocks – “Come on, Number 3, cheer up!” Swish!! Owwww!!!)

‘Lunch’ to the downtrodden nude slave would probably involve getting a shepherd’s pie in the face. Followed by dessert of a banana up the arse.

So the farmer was quite surprised when Mary produced a nice picnic, which they ate under a tree by the river. Cobblestones ate hungrily, feeling better by the minute. His fair companion watched him thoughtfully.

It was a very hot day. So no doubt that was why Mary had discarded her whalebone corset earlier on. And why she then had to quietly undo some buttons on her blouse. When she leaned forward to pour the farmer a drink, it caused quite an interesting ripple in Mary’s bosom. Which caused quite an interesting stirring in the farmer’s cock!

It’s nice to see exactly how you’re going down with a man! And Mary was most impressed with Cobblestones’ power of recovery, considering what a bruising morning his tackle had had. “Feed him well and he’ll be up all night!” she said to herself.

“What a hot, sticky day!” Mary said, taking off her boots and stockings. “Mmmm, that river looks cool and nice!” she commented, removing her skirt and blouse. Clad in just her petticoat, Mary smiled invitingly at Farmer Cobblestones. He was paying very close attention!

“Now the lace on this petticoat is from my grandmother’s wedding dress. I don’t want to get it dirty when I take it off and go for a swim….Oh thank you, Mr Cobblestones, yes, I could hang it up on THAT!”

And, taking off her petticoat, the lovely, naked woman grabbed the farmer’s cock.

“Actually,” Mary said, “I can find better things to do with this than hang clothes on it!”

“Yes,” replied the gallant farmer. “I can find better things for you to do than swim in the river!”

And so they fucked merrily under the tree. And then the farmer finished his lunch, by licking out Mary’s cunt. And then Cobblestones chivalrously carried Mary to her nearby cottage, impaled on his cock. By which time he was ready to fuck her on the sitting room floor.

And then Mary remembered she’d not had any lunch. So she staggered upstairs. (Mary was a bit bow-legged by now.) She led the farmer by his penis, because she didn’t want him losing his way in this strange house!

And Mary laid the farmer down on her big bed, and she slurped and gobbled at his cock. And then he fucked her again. You get the drift?

Ain’t love grand!

ROLAND AND FREDDIE

Meanwhile, Roland and Freddie were feeling like a couple of absolute plonkers.

If you recall, they’d been sent to the orchard. Bless them, they weren’t bad lads, and the orchard was generally seen as an easy option.

In August there really wasn’t much to do in the orchard. Plus, you were protected from rain and the heat of the sun by the lovely canopy of trees. Edith had selected this, not as a punishment, but as a highly educational experience for the two young men.

With Lesson One being about Respect.

Now Edith didn’t care for the way that the young men treated the farm women. She knew they didn’t mean any harm, but it wasn’t right. All this ogling and leering. Men shouldn’t be like that around women. Unless the women could do it back of course!

Also there were the obvious class issues here. Bosses and workers, etc.

So Edith wanted to show Freddie and Roland what it was like being on the receiving end. But she knew the experiment would fail if the women kept thinking of the men as their bosses.

“Alright”, Edith admitted to herself, “alright! I don’t want to conduct a sociological experiment here. I just want to have a load of fun!!”

So, with this in mind, Edith had urged the farm women the day before to think of the men as their playthings, not as their lords and masters. The women had listened dutifully to Edith, though secretly they’d had doubts.

But those doubts were all removed, within one micro-second of seeing Roland Butt and Freddie Haunch in the nude! It was the old, old story. What a great ice-breaker it is when a good-looking member of the opposite sex takes off all their clothes!

So there wasn’t the slightest trouble about ‘atmosphere’. As they set off for the orchard, everyone was in a boisterous mood.

Well, everyone, bar two, of course! Our two shy and naked young pets suffered every kind of indignity.

On the way to the orchard, their bottoms were prodded and pinched. Their testicles were tickled and teased. Their cocks were rubbed, yanked, slapped and licked.

Once they arrived, Edith set Freddie and Roland to work in jobs like sweeping and chopping. These tasks showed off bulging biceps and nude backsides to great effect. The women encouraged them with cheers and whistles and filthy suggestions. Roland and Freddie felt like two naked clowns in a very lewd circus!

In their different ways, though, the men responded very well. Or rather, their bodies did!

We’ve already described Freddie’s ‘comfort wanking’, when he was feeling stressed. The women quickly learned about this, and made sure that Freddie was constantly kept ‘up to the mark’.

Roland’s situation was a bit different, but he also showed excellent results from Edith’s experiment.

Like many well brought-up Victorian gents, Roland’s attitude to sex was a bit conflicted. One of Roland’s little peculiarities was that he loved women talking dirty. And the trouble was that the women in Roland’s circle were hardly encouraged to do this.

Edith knew of Roland’s little fetish, but she didn’t know any rude words! But Edith had certainly learnt a few, by the time the farm women had finished with Roland. For they made all sorts of interesting offers to Roland.

Roland found himself invited to various ladies’ homes for a fuck, for a screw, for some rumpy-pumpy, for a poke, a roger or a shag. Or, to save time, why not just have a knee-trembler against the tree, Mr Butt?

And when Roland didn’t respond, the women expressed lady-like disappointment. And suggested that maybe he preferred to wank himself, to toss off, frig, spank the monkey, beat the bishop, or jerk off? Or perhaps he was after a game of sticky biscuit with Mr Haunch, the dirty bugger.

So the two nude labourers passed the morning with burning cheeks and great stiff cocks. Until it was time for the next lesson…

Lesson Two was about toilets. You’ll remember that one of the first points Edith had made to Roland was about toilet facilities (or lack of them).

Now Edith had ensured that Roland and Freddie got plenty of water as they worked. Very necessary to avoid dehydration. But this also served another purpose…

Which started to come through after about an hour. The fun started when Roland beckoned Edith over and whispered something in her ear. Edith replied very audibly: “No, Roland! NO TOILET BREAKS!”

This little exchange got all the women roaring with laughter! And it made Roland and Freddie blush – all over! (Which triggered off a loud and coarse discussion about which was the pinkest? The cheeks on the men’s faces? Or the cheeks on their arses?)

Anyway, the two naked men started to get agitated. They hopped from foot to foot. They scrabbled at their cocks. They jumped on the spot. They crouched down in a foetal position. They bounded to their feet again, clutching their buttocks frantically and thrusting their crotches forward. They doubled up, waggling their bottoms. All very entertaining, and it certainly made their balls thrash around. But it did nothing to relieve their desperate, nude plight.

As we’ve noted already, Freddie always behaved quite obsessively when distressed. He did so this time, with the usual results. A terribly red and angry hard on! Poor Freddie’s knob end was positively BURSTING out of its foreskin. Ooh, dear, that needed attention!

Edith called out: “Stop making such an exhibition of yourselves, gentlemen! The ladies don’t know where to look!” (Not strictly true, as everyone knew exactly where to look. All the women – including Edith – had their eyes popping out. They were alternating between laughter and drivelling lust, and were starting to get more than a little moist in the bloomers.)

“Roland, do you now see how necessary toilet facilities are on a modern farm?”

“Yes, dear, oh, please help!”

“Very well, gentlemen, I have delegated toilet decisions to Miss Susan Collins. Please refer to her.”

Susan had been waiting for this all day! Swaying with laughter, she gave the frantic nude men their orders….

Which led to the Right Honourables Roland Butt and Frederick Haunch crawling naked on their hands and knees to a giggling little Kentish farm girl. On reaching Susan, the two desperate men grovelled before her with their big white bottoms sticking out.

Putting their hands together, the cringing nude men implored Susan:-

“Anchor, banker, spanker, flanker
I know that I’m a total wanker
But can I be excused please, miss
My dick’s a-trembling and I must piss”

Once Susan was satisfied with this doggerel, she graciously allowed Roland and Freddie to scurry off behind a tree.

Ah, the RELIEF!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But the relief didn’t last long. As our two heroes emerged, still waggling the drips off their cocks, they had a rude shock. SPLOSSHHH!! It seemed as if they’d walked into a freezing cold waterfall.

A dozen women had been lying in wait behind the tree with buckets of water. Which they emptied over Roland and Freddie. The naked men screamed and staggered and clutched their balls in panic.

“Edith! What the dickens…!” exclaimed Roland, with as much dignity as he could muster.

(How much ‘dignity’ was that, you may ask? Well…errr…none. After all, Roland was drenched and stark naked. He was shivering and cringing. His wet hair was plastered to his face and private parts. His scrotum was all puckered up. His dong was sticking up at a strange and embarrassing angle. His goose-pimpled buttocks were positively squelching. And twenty women were howling with laughter at him.)

“Hygiene, Roland! Don’t forget that we’re handling food here. Washing facilities are vital, do you not agree?”

“Yes Edith” (shiver shiver)

So Lesson Two ended with our two heroes still helplessly bollock-naked, but a lot wiser about modern farming.

Lesson Three was a good one! It was about farm equipment.

The work in the orchard had so far involved hacking up some dead trees for firewood and tidying the place up. Edith now clapped her hands and said: “New task, gentlemen! Check for apples.”

“But there won’t be any apples at this time of year, ma’am”, said Kathy Jackson. But Susan Collins kicked Kathy, and told her to shut up.

“Up the trees!” said Edith.

“But how?” whined the forlorn naked men. “There aren’t any ladders.”

“No,” said Edith. “We have no labour-saving equipment on Butt’s Farm, do we, Roland? So you’ll have to climb the trees!”

Our two nude apple-farmers walked around the trees, scratching their white arses in bewilderment. The lowest branches were fully six feet off the ground.

In the end, Freddie knelt down and clasped his hands together, making a lift for Roland. Roland stepped into Freddie’s hands, and swung for the trees. Roland grabbed hold and hung there, legs kicking and penis swinging wildly to and fro. (Nice!)

Freddie leapt to his feet and went to support his bum chum. The naked white bodies made an attractive tableau in the lovely old orchard. Roland hooked his legs over Freddie’s shoulders, as Freddie faced him.

This gave Roland a platform for tightening his grip on the tree branch. So Roland was now sitting on Freddie’s shoulders, with his legs dangling down Freddie’s back. Good progress!

But there was one huge drawback, as far as Freddie was concerned. He had Roland’s cock in his mouth! Gagging out the great big revolting thing in horror, Freddie recoiled.

And so the two nude men collapsed on the grass. In an undignified pile of thrashing limbs, bruised buttocks, red faces, battered bollocks and one spittle-coated cock.

Next, Freddie and Roland enlisted the help of the farm women. This was given very willingly, as it offered the women the chance of a good grope.

Four pairs of women clasped hands and made a lift for Freddie and Roland. The men rose unsteadily, one foot in each lift.

Once Roland and Freddie were far enough off the ground to be at their mercy, the laughing women moved steadily apart. The two helpless nudes had to grab the women’s shoulders to keep their balance. So Roland and Freddie were now ‘sitting’ in mid air, legs splayed and cock ‘n balls dangling.

This offered the remaining women a glorious free hand with the vulnerable naked hunks. The women passed the time merrily in administering some slow, teasing hand jobs; spanking nude botty; and terrorising Roland and Freddie with threats to stick various sharp objects up their trembling arseholes.

But all good things must come to an end. So Roland and Freddie were set free for one final attempt at the trees.

Edith pointed to one overhanging the river, on which she said that she could see some apples. “I can’t see any, ma’am”, said Kathy, the dopey girl. But some of the more quick-witted women said “ah yes! I see them! Up very high! etc etc”

So the frenzied naked men made one final, death-or-glory attempt. They both ran at the tree, leapt up the trunk as far as they could, and tried to clamber up. Wrapping their arms and legs around the trunk, Roland and Freddie puffed and panted.

But there was nothing to hold on to. And it was tough on their cocks and balls, which were getting a bit of a scraping.

“I can’t stand this any longer! Go on girls, help them!” said Edith, almost blinded by tears of laughter.

The women gathered underneath. They pushed up Roland and Freddie’s buttocks; held their cocks and balls steady; slapped plenty of bare ass; and did other helpful things. Still no luck.

In the end, Susan had a brainwave. She cried out: “Oh dear, a wasp! ZZZzzzzzz!” This really got the nude white bottoms sweaty and wobbling!

Then the resourceful girl shrieked: “On no, it’s landed on your balls!”

What a naked tizzy that caused! It galvanised Roland and Freddie into a frantic, arse-juddering scramble up the tree. Well done, gentlemen!

Sitting very gingerly on the lowest branch, the two naked tree-elves asked for instructions.

Weak with laughter, Edith executed the next stage of her plan.

“Apples grow best over water”, she lied. “So you need to get to the end of the branch. But it will break if you’re both on it. Freddie, you climb to the branch above…..Oooh, mind your cock, dear–!”

“OWWW!!”

“Never mind, Freddie, give it a good rub.” (Cheers and rude gestures from the women below). “Now, gentlemen, just edge along the branches, just a little more…”

By now Edith had the wobbly-bottomed nude tremblers just where she wanted them! Clinging to branches which were surely about to crack. Scrotums tight with anxiety. Right above the middle of the river.

Sensing a moment of high drama, the women gathered along the river bank.

“Right”, said Edith, “now, Freddie, there’s an apple just above your head. Jump up for it!”

CRACK! went the branch. And down Freddie plunged. Naked, aghast, and very badly exposed, with his legs splayed.

SMACK! went Freddie’s bollocks into Roland’s branch. Oh, that looked ticklish!

“OWWW!!!” Roland had been squatting on his branch in a very compromising position, with his legs spread wide. Roland lost his footing, and banged his goolies hard on the branch.

CRACK! went the lower branch under the combined impact of some 350 pounds of muscle and bone.

And SPLASH! SPLASH! Two stunned naked men fell into the river!

Roland and Freddie wallowed around for a while, and then crawled out bespattered with river mud. The hysterical women helped haul them on to dry land with many an encouraging slap on the wet backsides. And in her ‘confusion’ Susan stuck a dandelion up Freddie’s arse. (It did look pretty!)

“Well, Roland” said Edith, wiping her eyes and trying to look stern. “Now do you agree that we need a few ladders in the orchard?”

And so the day wore on, with many more naked frolics, pratfalls and cock ups. But finally it was time to go. The women shook Freddie and Roland heartily by the hand (and in some cases by other parts of the body).

But there was one more lesson to be learned!

Lesson No 4 was Make It Fun. Edith certainly had strong views about Fun. She’d always worked better in a light and friendly atmosphere. And she’d naively imagined that farming in the beautiful Kent countryside would be such a jolly experience.

But the reality had been so depressing. Farmer Cobblestones was such a dreary old bore! And how could people possibly give of their best when working such grinding, long hours?

On the other hand, today had been the most fun-packed day of Edith’s life! And, though Roland and Freddie had been pretty useless, Edith noticed that the team had still achieved its daily targets. And ahead of time.

It may have been officially a day off, but the farm women had happily bustled around the naked men. It had actually been a hard day’s work, but the nude slapstick had been great for team spirit.

So Edith kept Roland and Freddie behind at the end of the day. “Well gentlemen”, she said, “I hope you found that informative! There is one final task, though…!”

The weary naked men sank to their knees, looking utterly dejected. Freddie’s penis brushed a stinging nettle, but he didn’t have the energy to squeal. And Roland just lay there gloomily on his stomach, while a Red Admiral landed on his white backside. (“A nice little moment” thought Edith. “Hold it right there, darling!”)

“These banquets that you like so much”, said Edith. “We’re going to have one tonight. Only I’ll do the cooking; you’re going to wait at table; and the farmhouse staff will be the guests of honour!”

The farmhouse was run by three middle-aged ladies. Mrs Collins (Susan’s mother) was the cook. Miss Dustyhole, a confirmed spinster, did the Accounts. And Mrs Smith (Molly’s sister) was the housekeeper. All three women were excellent, cheerful workers, and Edith felt they deserved a nice evening.

“And, gentlemen” said Edith, “there is some good news for you. You get to put your clothes back on! Well at least for a while…..” And she gave them their orders….

THE BANQUET

Mrs Smith and Mrs Collins were thrilled to be invited to the banquet! They were both widow ladies, with a healthy interest in the opposite sex. If only half of what they’d heard from Susan and Molly was true, it must have been a fantastic day on the farm. If there was going to be more of the same tonight, they’d crawl over broken glass to get there.

Miss Dustyhole was, frankly, a bit scared by what she’d been told. But something half-forgotten, deep down inside her bloomers, stirred. And so the good lady found herself in the big farmhouse dining hall at 8pm prompt.

What would the evening hold? Well the three ladies took their seats at the familiar table and looked around. Everything seemed quite normal! Edith had cooked a delicious hors d’oeuvre, followed by a very nice trout. Roland and Freddie waited at table, dressed in tuxedos.

The two young men put themselves out to be charming and the wine flowed. Mrs Smith, Mrs Collins and Miss Dustyhole started to think that maybe the wild tales had been exaggerated. Still, it was very pleasant to be spending the evening flirting with two such handsome young men.

Roland and Freddie disappeared with the dishes and Edith emerged from the kitchen.

“Enjoying the meal, ladies? Dessert still to come. But before you tuck into that, Roland and Freddie have got a little turn to do. Just a bit of fun! The boys’ little show is called ‘Foreign Cooking’.”

The lights came up at the far end of the room. There was a trestle table with various bowls on. A very large oil cloth covered the floor in front of the table.

Standing on the oil cloth were two strange figures. Each dressed in a large apron. On their heads they were wearing a treukh. (A Russian fur cap with ear-flaps and a back flap.) Their faces were hidden under two large bushy beards (surely false?).

“Good evenink!” said one of the figures (Roland??) in a weird foreign accent. “We are from Rooshia.” (Boos and laughter from the diners, in view of the Crimean War.)

“We are vurry warlike people.” (More boos.)

“We are master cocks in Rooshia, but are forced to slave in your miserable English kitchen, cocking your savage foreign food.” (Jeers and laughter.)

“Thees filth is called ‘Fresh Fruit Salad with Whipped Cream and Custard’. We hope you choke on it!”

With these kind words, the two figures turned round to the table and attended to the bowls.

They now had their backs to the four women, who started to scream with laughter. And why? Because the kitchen aprons were backless. And the men had nothing on underneath! They were totally bare-assed to the rear, except for two fragile little bows at neck and lower back keeping the aprons on. Oh, and of course each man had a number painted on his left buttock!

Mrs Smith and Mrs Collins were absolutely delighted by this turn of events. They wanted to get very ‘hands on’, and rose half out of their chairs. But Edith stopped them: “Wait, ladies, there’s more!” she smiled.

The two ‘Russians’ then seemed to get into an argument. They started jabbering at each other in a foreign tongue. (Edith identified this as schoolboy Latin.)

Then they lost it completely. The two men rushed at each other, and started wrestling. As they rolled around the floor, their hats and aprons came off with suspicious ease. Revealing them to the delighted women as a totally nude Roland Butt and a buck-naked Freddie Haunch. Totally nude, that is, apart from the false beards.

Mind you, Edith seemed to be keen to keep people thinking “savage naked strangers!” rather than “Roland and Freddie in the altogether!” Because she said with a wink to her guests: “Oh, those Russians!” I wonder why she did that? Still, the ecstatic women didn’t care!

The ‘fight’ was quite a stagey one really. There didn’t seem the slightest danger of anyone getting hurt. Instead, it was more like a series of live action nude poses.

First ‘Numbers 1 and 2’ staggered round bear-hugging each other. This nicely showed off two straining nude male bottoms – both very meaty and firm. How they dimpled and flexed! Mrs Collins was sitting close enough to get a good handful of ‘No 1’s’ butt. “Nice and fresh!” the cook said approvingly.

Then Roland (sorry, ‘No 1’) got No 2’s arm up his back, and thrust No 2 forward. No 2 arched his back and braced his knees against the dining table to push back. This got Freddie’s crotch thrust into Mrs Smith’s delighted face. The resourceful housekeeper quickly grabbed hold of the flailing ‘Russian’ cock, and munched it!

Freddie stopped even pretending to fight, and just stood there, stroking his balls, with a big shit-happy grin on his face. No 1 got really cross then, and whispered something to No 2, which sounded like “my turn, Freddie!”

At which point the two ‘fighters’ swapped position. So it was then Roland who ended up thrusting his lunch box into a lady’s face. The lucky recipient being Miss Dustyhole. But Roland’s cock was a bit ‘imposing’ and Miss Dustyhole was clearly rather scared! So she closed her eyes tight and pushed out her tongue about an eighth of an inch between her clenched teeth. And missed Roland’s penis completely!

Most frustrating for ‘No 1’, who vented his feelings with a flying kick at ‘No 2’. Freddie pretended to have been hit in the balls, and drew everyone’s attention to his private parts with a scream and a theatrical clutch of them. (He needn’t have worried – everyone was leering at them already.)

Freddie then did a thrilling naked back flip, and assumed a warrior-like pose with clenched fists. Freddie still sported a huge boner from Mrs Smith’s splendid work (and maybe a bit of self-ministration). So he really did look rugged and magnificent, with penis and forearms all solid, knotted and veined. Even his testicles looked muscly!

Edith and Miss Dustyhole both sighed, slavered a little and eased their hands down between their thighs. Then they caught each other’s eye and frowned. Aye aye – a spot of rivalry there?

Anyway, Roland and Freddie pranced around a bit longer, giving everyone a highly satisfactory eye-full of straining biceps; urgent, thrusting cocks; tight buns; and big, bouncing, juicy, hairy plums.

Behind their beards, both men seemed to be grinning. Why was that? Maybe the screams of lustful laughter gave them the certain feeling that they were about to get laid!

The ‘fight’ then entered a new and delicious phase.

‘No 1’ broke free and shook his fist at ‘No 2’. ‘No 1’ poured out a torrent of abuse “amo amas amat” at his nude opponent; beat his chest; slapped his hairy thigh; thrust out his impressive crotch and false beard; and appealed to the ladies in god-like rage.

The women cheered and leered and blew ‘No 1’ kisses. Mrs Smith and Mrs Collins coming up with some particularly good and filthy suggestions for giving ‘No 1’ succour.

Having lashed the crowd into a frenzy, ‘No 1’ reached for a big bowl of whipped cream, and emptied it all over ‘No 2’.

It was then ‘No 2’s turn to hog the limelight. He jabbered “veni vidi vici”; danced with rage; jerked angrily at his penis and stuck out his bare ass at the diners. ‘No 2’ then made an elaborate nude pantomime of spotting the bowl of custard, and wondering whether or not to empty it over his naked foe.

Miss Dustyhole rose to glory by timidly pinching ‘No 2’s bare bottom and saying “Go on, I dare you!”. And that’s how the custard ended up sluicing down ‘No 1’s chest, torso, back, bottom, cock and balls.

The two men then squelched together on the floor, squashing strawberries and grapes into a paste between their tangled thighs, bellies and penises. They ended up sat on the floor in each others’ laps, stroking each others’ balls and pulling on each others’ plonkers.

This was definitely NOT what Edith had in mind! She tottered over to the men. (Edith was a bit bandy-legged and flushed at this moment. Well, not to put too fine a point on it, she’d been quietly wanking herself under the table.)

Anyway, Edith seemed anxious to be keeping up this ‘naked savage Russians’ game, so she said: “Well really! Is this how you return our English hospitality? Get back to work! Serve these ladies with their dessert.”

So ‘No 1’ (Roland) got up, carrying what was left of his bowl of custard. (Most of it was on him already.) Roland walked over to Mrs Smith, who by now was just insane with lust. And he said to her: “dessert, madam?” Mrs Smith looked wonderingly at this huge, sticky, gooey, juicy, delicious, naked man.

Roland put a strawberry between his lips, and bent down to Mrs Smith, who plastered her mouth to his. The poor strawberry didn’t have a chance!

After a really deep and slurpy kiss, Roland retrieved his tongue, and said “custard with that, madam?” And he put a dollop of custard on to his straining dick. Mrs Smith licked him clean, and then started to gobble.

Roland’s knees buckled, and a faraway look came into his eyes. Life seemed very sweet to him – and then it got even better! For he saw Mrs Collins impatiently waiting her turn. Fantastic!

“Ah yes!” thought Roland between pants. “That’s why Edith keeps pretending we’re Russians! She wants to give me a chance with the other ladies. Without them feeling embarrassed about screwing her husband in front of her. What a good sport Edith is!”

No doubt Edith would have been deeply gratified by her husband’s good opinion. But, truth to tell, Roland’s sex life was the last thing on Edith’s mind.

Edith’s real reason for this fig leaf of “Russian strangers” was that she’s spent a simply lovely day watching Freddie run around in the buff. And now she wanted a bit of Fred In Bed. After all the effort she’d put into this day, surely she was entitled to a good stiff fucking from the grateful virgin!

Miss Dustyhole was ahead of Edith in the queue, but no doubt Freddie would make short work of her. Then it would be Edith’s turn!!

Hand down her bloomers, Edith watched as Freddie slapped some whipped cream on to his rock hard penis, and started gyrating in front of Miss Dustyhole. How the poor lady squealed! She was terrified! The gorgeous nude hunk leant over the nervous spinster, and Edith stopped paying attention…..

[To be perfectly frank, Edith wanted to concentrate on ‘the job in hand’ for a minute.....Shuddering climax! That was nice! And now for the real thing....]

And Edith opened her eyes…. To see the two bashful virgins climbing the stairs. He was naked, and he was carrying her. She was wrapping her legs round his back, and what was that? Miss Dustyhole’s bloomers were lying in the bowl of whipped cream!

A minute later, a steady thumping started from the ceiling. (Freddie’s bedroom was overhead.) VIRGINS NO MORE!

“Damn!” said Edith, which was the strongest language she’d ever used. She was very, very displeased.

“Oh well, there’s always Roland. …. Roland?” She looked wildly round.

And there was her husband’s brawny, naked back view. Slowly climbing the stairs. Carrying a giggling Mrs Collins in one massive arm and a berserk Mrs Smith in the other.

“I put fresh sheets on the big bed in the spare room today, Mr Butt.”

“Well done, Mrs Collins! That was fortunate.”

“I hoped I might get lucky tonight, Mr Butt!”

“I assure you, my dear ladies, it is I who is the lucky one! Do you know where that ‘Do Not Disturb’ notice is, Mrs Smith?”

“Yes, Mr Butt, I’ve hung it up on your cock, sir. I don’t think there’s any danger it will fall off!”

So Edith was left alone. As she sat there, with her bloomers round her ankles, Edith pondered on the day. She had changed things forever at Butt’s Farm. She had handed down many valuable lessons. And what had she learnt from her ultimate failure to get laid?

“Edith” she told herself. “It’s not always enough to be the prettiest, or the cleverest, or even the one calling the tune. Sometimes, dear, you’ve just got to be in the right place in the queue at the right time.”
This is an inspiring, but little-known story!