The Farmer's Daughter

He was a lordly sort of young man, with an average height and an average face. He was overweight—and it showed; yet he still was weakly built. His family had a small title, and small lands, though they were wealthy enough. He was rough and rude (a trait he came by honestly, though not for several generations), and was overly fond of drink, brandy especially. He had the habit, now he was the master of his own house, to have friends over most nights; and a raucous, loud, crude lot his friends were.

His own lands were prosperous, entailing two granaries, a small silver mine, ample cotton fields, and, in the hills, goats and sheep. The income from his estate was ample to supply his tastes and those of his friends.

There was one way in which he was kept unsatisfied, though. Unless he paid extortionately, even brothels and prostitutes would not service him. His temper was famous, and those tenants on his land who had daughters took pains to keep them hidden from his sight. However, on one unfortunate occasion he was out riding and chanced to see a farmer rushing a girl into the house.

“I’d no idea you had a daughter,” he said amiably, riding up.

“Daughter? Oh, yes,” the farmer said. He was pallid with worry and his hand trembled. “Practically a babe, still. And half-worthless: can’t cook, won’t wash a dish nor a shirt, and too small for any labor at all.”

“Bring her out, I’d like a look at her “

The farmer, unhappily, obliged. When he came back out he dragged by the arm a pretty little girl of maybe sixteen or seventeen. She had an attractive face, with green eyes and a small, round mouth. She was slender, with a narrow waist and a luscious, ample bosom. He felt an instant lust for her and began thoughts to seduce her. When the farmer shooed her back in the house, he asked the man, respectfully, if he might pay court to the girl.

“Oh, no, sir,” said the farmer. His pale face now wore a sheen of sweat. “As I said, she’s very nearly in the cradle yet. And not an ounce of a housekeeper. Oh no, sir, no, you’d want a better girl, one less homely.”

Nothing he said would shake the farmer, and he rode away in black mood. He took out his temper by savagely kicking and cropping his horse.

So what that she wasn’t a housekeeper? He had maids for that. So what that she couldn’t cook? He had a woman for that, too. He wanted to look at her, and to get her with his child. And the farmer had been over-anxious for him to be on his way. He would make a worthy son, more worthy than that farmer could hope for, even with a girl so pretty.

The party that evening was larger than usual. Some of his friends had brought their wives, or their betrothed; some had brought prostitutes. He sat in his chair at the head of the dining table sourly, drinking his brandy while his guests shouted and laughed and sang. The air was hot and reeked with the sour taste of sick. Dinner had ended; now they were playing.

Young men chased girls about, both those they had brought and any they could find. The girls’ dresses were torn and the strings on their corsets and bodices were loose, and their breasts bounced gleefully as they were chased. Their cheeks were rosy as apples and they laughed in delight. Those that were caught were ravaged, a forfeit that both parties might enjoy.

Great armchairs and chaises and lounging sofas in the parlor were now the sites of orgy. Distinct bodies were impossible to distinguish, although individual limbs occasionally protruded from the writhing, moaning masses.

A few still sat and ate cheese and fruit. They talked as if in a sick parody of truly mannerly behavior, for they spoke coarsely, of indelicate subjects, and of their own perversions.

He did not play these games which usually he so enjoyed, and neither did he speak, nor eat. He sat in a dark fog, a snifter in one hand, a crystal decanter open in front of him. He’d been brooding since the morning, and he’d been drinking nearly as long. By now he was soaked through like a raisin decorating a pudding. The drink had done little but to focus his agitation; but he thought it had cleared his thinking utterly and now thought he knew how to handle the farmer.

He rose suddenly to his feet, and his friends still to table looked up at him as he cried, “I’ve decided to marry!” They all applauded him, even the young man whose perversion was simply that he would not bed the same girl twice and so would never marry. “Come, fellows, help me to fetch my bride.”

He was unsteady as he walked past the naked piles of copulating flesh, and the friends who followed him—a good dozen young men—were just as wobbly. But he found his way to the front door and to a stable, and there enough beasts for all but one companion.

The group rode in silence. Though the night was cool it was not a cold but a hot silence—he was warm with grievance and the others with amusement; one kindled the other in a cycle that soon led them to a full gallop in the dark.

By some grotesque luck they found, upon reaching the farmer’s little cottage, that the wagon which the farmer drove was missing from the back of the house, yet light burned through the window. Spurred on by his friends, he dropped from his horse, dashed up to the door, and bowled it in.

The girl was alone, sitting In front of the fire, and she bolted to her feet when he came in. She took a step back away from the door. “Sir,” she said, and though she was startled and frightened her voice did not tremble, “you must leave. My papa is not here to entertain you.”

He shut the door and slid the bolt closed and said, “That’s as just as well.” His voice was thick and he slurred badly. “I’ve no interest in your papa, my little maid. My eyes and my interest and my attentions are for you alone.” Naturally, he thought he was being subtle and charming, but the girl’s hand flew to cover her breast. “Yes, my dear,” he went on, “we’ll show your papa that I’ll make quite the worthy son. But first we’ll need to make sure you’ll make me a worthy wife.”

“Sir,” she said—and she turned to flight as he lunged forward. But the windows were shuttered, and he had bolted the door behind him. There was nowhere for her to go and he very quickly caught her. He dragged her to the wider of the two beds and threw her down onto it

He fell upon her. At first he tried only to kiss her, but she struggled against him, turning away, pushing, kicking. Thus angered, he seized hold of the collar of her frock and yanked at it. The material was coarse (no satin or silk here) and it tore easily. The farmer’s wife must have woven it—or perhaps the girl herself. He smiled. The thought of tearing a dress sewn by her own hand enflamed his blood. His member had become engorged on the ride down; now it was fit to burst his trousers. He struggled between holding the girl and tearing off his own clothes. He was not powerfully built, but still a man, and heavy, and the drink had emboldened his strength, and he kept the girl under his power until he finally had his member out.

The farmer's daughter was red with exertion, but when she saw his organ she grew pale. “Please, sir,” she whispered. But her begging went unheard. He put one hand around her throat now, and he licked her lips and cheek. He slobbered all across her face. Then he fully tore off her dress. Every inch of her was as beautiful as he had thought she must be: Her breasts were round, with large, bright pink nipples; her skin (which he too licked) was silk; her groin was cloaked in downy-soft hair. Holding her tightly by the throat, he used his free hand to force her legs apart; then he aligned his member and thrust inwards.

The girl screamed. Her body was not ready for such passions, and he was being rough indeed. He took no heed of her scream or of the cries and sobs that followed it. He was afire with lust, soaked through with brandy. He knew only that her body wasn’t yet aroused to him (as a purveyor of prostitutes he was accustomed to this fact), but soon she would be.

Outside his friends heard the scream, and they roared together. Each of them had heard such a scream at least once—the scream of a girl in fear of more than her life—and it enflamed them. They beat on the window, the door, goading him inside in his villainy.

He came outside soon after, pulling trousers over his still half-erect organ. “Have a turn,” he said judiciously. The whole group went in, and each had a go at her. She did not fight any of the others as she had the first.

When the farmer came home he found the door bursted. He ran inside without unhitching the draft horses from the wagon.

His daughter was lying naked on his bed. Her arms and legs were splayed wide, exposing not only her groin but also the blood oozing from her insides. She was head-to-toe in round red bites, especially her breasts where the bites were deep enough to pierce the skin. She was also covered in man’s seed, more than the farmer thought one alone could produce, no matter how lusty and young.

He ran to her and threw a blanket over her. She lay there, silent, unmoving. Her eyes were blank and staring. When the farmer could get words from her she told him what had happened. She did not cry, not even as she detailed the worst of it, though her father wept bitterly.

He watched as the farmer wrung his hands together. From his horse’s back he cast a long and grand shadow over the farmer.

“Well?” he said.

The farmer looked up at him, then hurriedly back down again. “Well, sir—mi’lord. The thing is, mi’lord, I’d just been thinking about what your offer meant to us. Me and my girl, mi’lord. Your offer to pay her court, mi’lord.”

“Mmm.”

“Yes. Well. Ahem. It’s just, as I said, mi’lord, I’d just been thinking on your offer, and how kind and generous it was. What honor you did to us just by the offer. And, well, mi’lord, I guess I must’ve come off as awful rude, turning you away as I did. And as I thought on it I thought, well, he’s a noble sort of man, and I thought, what sort of harm might come of it? And, well, I just had it in my head that if you still wanted to pay court to my girl, mi’lord, I’ve no objection.”

He laughed his greasy, refined laugh. The horse stamped its feet and he savagely tore at the reins. And he said, “Pay court? To a used-up bitch like her? I hear she serviced twelve men in one night.” He laughed again, turned his horse, and kicked it to a trot.