Recently my youngest son Richard was married to the lovely, sweet and innocent Lady Anne. I can officially reveal that Lady Anne is no longer ‘innocent’ as I deflowered her on her wedding night. Lady Anne, legs ajar on my bed, was broken in with the simple but popular missionary technique that has become quite a sensation here in England. It was quite a lengthy mounting, lasting for around three minutes, which wholly satisfied Lady Anne. I could tell she was deeply pleasured by my Maxwellian member from her sighs of sexual joy! I found the mount very enjoyable; I would give it seven hymens out of ten. I have no doubt in my mind that Lady Anne found the mount to be equally enjoyable.
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Some might say that it is immoral for a father to mount his son’s bride on the couple’s wedding night, I might tell these plebs to shut their filthy mouths, for it is Maxwell family tradition. This practice has been passed down for centuries, and gives the bride something to compare the son to. Although Lady Anne is an excellent young filly, Richard has shown little interest in her, preferring to mount his regular whores and hookers. I have told the boy that I expect a child by next summer, and if no child is born by then I shall impose fiscal penalties on the couple for violation of the contract I made them both sign. I hope this threat shall be enough to get Richard to put his own Maxwellian member inside his wife instead of those bloody whores he frequents with! If he is not up to the task I shall have to take this deep responsibility upon myself and mount his wife for a second time! Only one mounting shall suffice next time, my virility is legendary, and this time I will not be wearing my cow skin condom! It has been out of action since I mounted Anne, as my maid has been on holiday and has not washed it.
The wedding went without a hitch, that is if you disbar that fact that Richard was late for his own wedding and turned up drunk anyway. After Richard slurred his words we retreated from the Maxwell Chapel and entered the east wing where the wedding party was organised. Chaps in the theatre, and ladies in the main hall, where I had arranged for some bloody feminist comedian to entertain them. God only knows what kind of male-bashing heresy took place. Meanwhile, the chaps took their seats in the theatre room where a pole had been placed in the centre of the stage. I strolled up to the stage with a microphone and proclaimed, “You thought you had come here to see a bawdy comedian, but first you must witness Sir Peter’s babes perform the pole dance!” after which fifty girls from various races descended upon the stage like a plague of mount-worthy locusts. The lights darkened and the music began, the chaps pulled out their wads of twenty-pound notes and the drunken orgy of lust began!
After the girls had finished up, each chap selected a lady to take into one of the guest rooms with him. I initially selected Candy but then remembered I had an appointment with Lady Anne in the master bedroom. I handed Candy over to Richard who seemed more than willing to take this lady upon his crotch! I climbed the stairs of love, thoughts of a fresh young maiden in my mind as I ascended towards the hymen. When I entered the master bedroom, Lady Anne was sat on the bed weeping. I bellowed, “Stop crying dear girl, you are about to be mounted by Sir Peter the Great!” which only seemed to intensify her melancholy. I thrust my body upon her and exposed my member, opening her legs, the old chap was slotted in and the deflowering had begun. Minutes later the old chap emerged, wet and satisfied. I instructed Lady Anne to rejoin the women downstairs, where she could brag about being mounted by the most powerful man in the world. I feel asleep on the bed and when I had awoken in the morning I found a note beside my pillow. It said ‘Thank you’, I could only assume this was from Lady Anne, despite it being in my butlers handwriting.
Sir Peter Maxwell