The Key: Part One

From Jedediah Oren’s Journal, September 1897

3 September. I am off to the country to the home of Francesca Parsin, whom my darling Ophelia tells me is ‘the’ hostess for soon-to-be-wed couples. Apparently, rather than a full weekend house party, it is to be an extended, intimate affair. I do not know quite what to expect, but when I told Jeremy where I was to be for the next several days, he raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. When asked to elaborate on his response, he refused. But there was an odd grin twisting about his lips and I’d swear he looked smugly jealous. If such an expression is possible, he wore it for more than a fleeting instant before wishing me well. I have arranged for all my business matters to be tended to by him in my absence, which I believe will be for the duration of ten days. I am not certain, though. My dear Ophelia was less than forthcoming on the details of this visit. I believe she wishes to surprise me somehow. But with what?

5 September. I write this entry in the morning, before breakfast. I arrived at the home of Ms Parsin yesterday noontime, after a stayover at the Pekinsky Inn along the way. When the innkeeper enquired as to my destination — not directly inquiring, of course, but displaying incredible skill in the roundabout questioning his fellow hostel-keeping kind are so well known for — and I let it be known I would be attending at Ms Parsin’s residence, he sucked in a breath and his cheeks turned to flames. This strange reaction, coming so closely on the heels of my cousin Jeremy’s, left me somewhat nonplussed. My arrival at Ms Parsin’s home was nothing out of the usual in terms of country-home greetings, however, and a quick stroll around the grounds followed up by an excellent quail dinner shared with two other gents (both, it seems, are also to be wed) and an evening of cigars and brandy put my mind at ease about the odd reactions of others. I am told Ophelia and other gents’ fiancees are to be arriving later today but that in the mean time we three shall be challenged to some ‘exercises’. Sport is not normally termed thus, but I cannot think what else Ms Parsin means when she uses the word. Lawn bowling? Perhaps we’ll have a match of croquet.

6 September. 2:00am. I fear I must be going mad. Yesterday afternoon Ms Parsin escorted we three soon-to-be-married men to a separate building on the grounds that she called “the exercise room.” Inside were several small chambers, three seeming to serve as lounge areas, as they were equipped with quite comfortable furnishings. Additionally, there were ‘exercise’ rooms, which all had heavy oaken doors with elaborate latchings. I cannot speak for the other gents, but I myself was escorted by Ms Parsin into one of these heavily-doored ‘exercise’ rooms, into which two women in nurse’s uniforms followed. I was slightly surprised by their presence, but was aware there were staff present in the building, as we had seen them and been greeted by them in the hallways. Once in the room, with the nurses behind us, Ms Parsin merely said, “I will leave you in the hands of these two capable ladies” and then promptly turned and left the room, shutting the heavy doors behind her. When I went to the door, thinking to open it and enquire as to what type of exercise I was meant to do here — for there were no dumbells or other strongman equipment — I found that those elaborate latchings had been put to use. I was locked in! When I turned to the two nurses to protest, I was dumbfounded to see that one of them had disrobed herself of her outer garments. This froze me in place. The second nurse — the one still dressed — reached out to my frozen self as though to ease my distress, but it turned out that what I didn’t see — how could I see? I was blinded by the inexplicable near-nakedness of another woman right in front of me! — in the comfort-nurse’s hand was a type of shackling device. Before I knew what was happening, the shackles were round my wrists and I was de-pantsed! After that, I slipped into a fog of disbelief. The nurses were touching me — touching my manhood! my member! — and making clucking sounds as I strained against them. In my flight from them, backing away quickly, I put myself into the corner of the room, not realizing I had backed right into some kind of wooden cross apparatus. The apparatus had bolted links pounded into the wood, which the nurses attached my shackles to. After that… All I remember (do I remember? I must have been dreaming; I must have!, this can’t be memory!) was a muscle-clenching eternity of straining against their damnable soft-fingered strokes. They took turns touching me while I was pinned to the corner cross, all the while speaking quite clinically to one another, using terms like “notable reaction” and “measurable tumescence” whenever my duplicitous member would respond. Several times — I know not how many, perhaps seven or eleven, perhaps more, I did not try to count — I came near to spilling my seed from the continual perturbation of my flesh until at last, having been holding my breath in a fit of constraint, I must have passed out. I have awoken just now, only to find myself comfortably ensconced in my guest bed at the main house. My manhood persists in its excitable state but I dare not touch myself lest I spill my seed. I am overcome with the desire to excrete, yet I feel somehow that it is the very worst thing I could possibly do at this moment. I must exercise constraint! Did any of this really happen? Who were those nurses? Was I dreaming? I must have dreamt it. I must have. Else I am going mad…

This foray into fiction is Part One of a short series and was prompted by the current Erotic Fiction Deluxe topic, The Key.

More to follow.

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Bukkake Birthday
A Most Confounding Female
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Doctor Feelgood