A monograph concerning the strange sexual customs found in modern day Britain
By Maximilian Cummings
I have long been interested in exotic sexual customs; I have collected widely, read much and studied in depth. My discovery of the Amulet, and with its possession the ability to control minds, let me pursue my hobby, not by further research into real customs: but rather allowing me to devise my own and obtain willing participants, strictly speaking controlled participants, to play act for me. Naturally I chose beautiful people and naturally the ersatz customs resulted in much pleasure and amusement for me.
The golden Amulet I discovered in the northern regions of _______. I do not wish to be more specific or to tell too much of its power; suffice to say it has great power to do good—or evil—but I choose to do neither, merely pursue my own hedonistic pleasure: I do not think it is for you to judge. The Amulet has the power to control minds absolutely and to render the subject, or subjects, happy and willing to follow my suggestion and bidding. A useful attribute.
Let me tell you about a few of these experiments into the exotica of sexual custom and game. Now which would interest you? The improbable Punjabi custom of an honoured guest sharing intercourse with the host’s wife; the exotic but unreal ritual all-body painting of a girl on her eighteenth birthday by her friends—it is perhaps difficult to imagine the height of sexual excitement she reaches as a result of the careful use of the very finest brushes and where they are dipped to moisten them;, the interesting but unlikely pretence in a Turkish bathhouse that a woman is a man if she wears an artificial penis; the made up Northern custom of the bride to be of a member of the football team being fucked whilst supported on a bed of penii. Yes, let me tell you about the latter, it serves as a good illustration.
I play, or at least used to play, rugby football. One of my most amusing ideas was a pre-marriage custom I introduced. The prospective groom had to fuck his intended with the whole team watching. Not very interesting you might think. Well, the bride had to be held by the whole team whilst being fucked. Again, not particularly interesting except for the small detail that the whole team had to be naked and not allowed to use their hands. Ah, that now has your interest!
I did not normally need to use a great deal of the Amulet’s power to persuade the team that this peculiar custom would be a good idea. The bride normally took a bit more convincing as did the groom who would have to not only ‘perform’’ to an audience but have his fiancée totally exposed to the audience of his fellow team players’ lascivious gaze.
The scene would normally be post a match in the showers. The perhaps unfortunate girl would come to a steamy room full of large men, sweaty, dirty and in various stages of undress or, indeed, in the showers. She would be a little frightened but also a little excited by the prospect. She would wait as the team showered, glancing at the bodies and variety of penises on display, swinging from side to side as the players moved or perhaps blushing more at some already some half hard in anticipation of what was to come. Showered the team would line up naked and watch the nervous girl as it was her turn to strip. It was her task to ensure all the team were erect. Everything would have been explained to her. The sexier the stripping the more likely she would be to get the ‘full fifteen’. Any laggards would need oral assistance. This was rarely required despite many players’ attempts to remain detached and uninterested as the bride-to-be removed her underclothes.
The team would line up seven a side, excluding the groom, facing each other. The girl would see a sight she would be very unlikely ever to see again. Seven pairs of penises facing each other. The girl then walked between the lines running her hands along the hard shafts to maintain rigidity, a rigidity she would need for support. The team would, as one, lift the girl into the air, hold her horizontal, pull her legs apart – gently but firmly—and then carefully lay her down so she was lying along the rows of fourteen penises, supported under back, hips and thighs by the shafts. The groom would advance, his own cock standing straight and, hopefully proud at the effect his intended was having on his team mates and push into the open sex of his future wife. The sight of the fucking always maintained the team’s rigidity; it would not, at all, have done for the girl to have been dropped to the floor. It would have been a disgrace, a ‘thumbs down’, so to speak, to the sexiness of the performance. We were never disappointed. It was always good to see your team mate, the soon to be married man, pounding away and coming in his bride. It certainly created a team bonding.
Having come then, naturally, there was a need to ease the rest of the team’s swelling and the bride to be would do this in whatever way pleased her, but never, of course in the place her prospective husband had come. That would have been quite inappropriate as, I am sure, you will agree. Not, though, that they could not touch her there and place their fingers, but not their erections, within the wet sheath so recently vacated by their team mate. It is funny, and it was not my idea, but many brides to be seemed to see it as a mark of honour to ensure all fourteen ejaculations went not on the floor or stomachs of the men but were spread across their own naked bodies or else swallowed entire—and that is a lot of semen for a young girl to consume but, no doubt, very good for her.
I was moderately pleased with my introduction of the ‘Last Man Standing’ party game to Milton Keynes hen nights. It did of course mean there needed to be quite a few men at the party which, I suppose, is rather unusual for hen nights. I think you can guess the rest. No? Come, come you do not really need an explanation!
Now customs; well let me tell you of some real ones and then reveal a few more ersatz customs I have arranged over the years.
Research into customs can pull up completely spurious information such as the amusing idea there are men in Guam whose full-time service occupation is to travel around the countryside deflowering young virgin: for a fee of course. Why would they do this, well there are worse jobs and a man has to make a living; no, the story says there is a law expressly forbidding virgins to marry and so somebody needs to undertake the conversion work. The idea only has to be set down to show it as fallacious. It is unlikely in the extreme that professional maidenhead pokers would be required as you would think the prospective groom would be more than happy to assist, or perhaps his best man (what a pleasant and friendly duty: so much easier than writing an amusing speech and looking after a ring) if they have such things, or a close friend anyway, or male friends of the bride or some favoured and lucky uncle. No need to pay anyone at all!
The Droite de Seigneur or Ius Primae Noctis, has a similar connotation though this is the right of first usage, the manorial right of reaping the maidenheads of the attached lands. Again it is somewhat questionable whether, where and when such a right existed. Certainly it is not written down in the Domesday Book as a profit of the land in any of the counties. It is interesting to speculate how it might have been written, in Norman French of course.
Delving back we find the Ancient Egyptians were not reticent about sex. Cleopatra was loved by the Egyptian not only for her beauty but also for her sexuality. She is recorded on papyrus,, we can only take this as alleged as we have no proof, as having performed fellatio upon one hundred Roman nobles during the course of a single night. One of the more jaw aching tasks of the Ancient World. It is interesting to visualise the seated Romans in their togas waiting their turn in a circle as Cleopatra made the rounds. Again the Egyptians not only accepted this but regarded it as appropriate for priestesses and rulers. Indeed to become a high priestess of Aset the woman first have to sex with at least one thousand different men – or so it is said. Clearly keeping count must have been an important use of the Egyptian tally stick.
Apparently verifiable is the more believable custom that young Lenge girls of East Africa were, at one time anyway, required to be deflowered by a phallus made of horn as part of a ceremonial rite of passage out of puberty. Elsewhere in Africa a tribe believed that sexually immature girls needed to receive the semen of a warrior for their proper physical development. Who thought that idea up I have to enquire? I rather suspect the randy old warriors!
In Polynesia, adolescents of both sexes are instructed in sexual techniques by an older experienced person and then to practice what they have learnt through numerous sexual liaisons before settling down to married life. It is the sort of school lesson and exercise book I would have relished. You can imagine not being too unhappy at being set extra ‘prep.’ for some misdemeanour. Rather than having to do twenty laps of the school playing field or fifty press-ups it might be five fuckings of the evening before bed. Imagine waiting outside the prefects’ room for it to be administered by the older girl prefects! I would have had the stamina then!
In Tahiti, and this was verified by no less a man than Captain Cook, a popular entertainment was public sexual intercourse, a proper spectacle for visiting dignitaries, I suggest.
Is it true that in some countries, at some times, betrothed couples have been allowed to sleep together but with a sheet between them? Not only would this enable intimate and private talk and being together in the darkness of the night but presumably it allowed sexual relations of a sort. A rubbing together of bodies with only the thinness of a sheet between them, the moulding of breasts as through a blouse, the feel of the erection hard against the girl’s stomach separated only by thin material, or even rubbed against her sex, the dampness perhaps penetrating the linen or cotton. Were hands allowed to descend either side of the sheet—I think not because it would have been difficult not to find the sheet slipping further and further downwards. Or was there a watcher keeping an eye on the young couple?
One of the simplest little customs I have introduced into my life concerns my pretty little Japanese secretary; you see she believes it is right, proper and customary to greet me in the morning by kneeling in front of me, unzipping my fly and taking my cock in her mouth. Yes really, just like that! If I say “Good morning A_____please proceed,” she will put her hands behind her back and suck me until I come. Of course I do not always wish to come, I may be too busy, or have been too busy the previous evening! She kneels there with my limp cock in her mouth looking up at me, waiting for her instruction. The sight of her sweet face, brown almond eyes, black long pigtail and her lips around my cock is a joy to me. I merely say “Good morning A_____you are a good employee, do please carry on with your work,” and she puts me away, gets up and goes and makes my morning coffee from freshly roasted and ground beans. She has a boyfriend but will never tell him what she does each workday morning, she thinks it is far too normal to be worthy of mention! It is not, you know.
One of my other ideas, rather more complex, which interweaves real customs into my imagining, concerns the _____ Hunt.
Do you hunt? Maybe you know the thrill of the chase, the seeking of sport whether by foot or on horseback, with gun or hound. Imagine then the hounds, tails wagging, tongues lolling, noses sniffing, working as a pack but, but here is where the difference lies, rather than seeking the scent of wily old Reynard or a magnificent stag with broad antlers they search instead for the scent, the trail, of an aroused woman. Yes, visualise the huntsman, sorry, I do not like to discriminate, there may be huntswomen amongst them, mounted in their pink coats, for it is the hunting season, and wearing fine buckskin breeches; waiting for the off. Their quarry, the young girl, released a little before dawn into the hills, released naked and aroused—you can imagine the Amulet has prepared her for this—fear in her eyes but wet between the legs, a lubrication to aid the speeding legs, and set free to run. Only the most athletic girls chosen, keen runners, chosen carefully by the hunt committee, chosen without their knowledge, observed running on road or track, their stamina tested, their bodies observed as they ran, judgements formed on what lay beneath the thin running clothes, consideration given to how the breasts will move in the chase unrestrained by sports bra, a consideration of how much of a handicap that will prove to the girls but balanced by how pleasing the sight will be to the hunt. A judgement made of the sport.
Selected, collected, prepared and then released for the day’s hunt before the horses are saddled and bridled and the hounds assembled. Watched as they run off with a quick smack to their bottom cheeks, their hair carefully tied into pony tails bobbing, their toned muscles working beneath buttocks; heading this way and that seeking escape across the lonely moor or wooded dell; a fine sight to behold in the early morning mist; fine young creatures released for the day’s hunt; released for the rut. The old gamekeeper watching as they speed away, leaning on his stick, wondering if there will be something left for him at the end of the day’s hunt, whether the fine sportsmen will toss him a properly trussed morsel to enjoy in his cottage later that evening.
Imagine the huntsmen ready, the stirrup cup drunk, the hounds milling beneath the long legs of the horses, the palpable excitement as the Field Master gives his orders. The horn is blown and they are off, hounds running seeking the line. Be a follower, go with them and ride hard; the day’s sport is at hand. The hounds are sounding, they have the scent and the hunt follows. The quarry, though, is devious, has tried to trick and put the hounds off; they are checked at a stream. The Field Master raises his whip as he casts the hounds up the stream first to the left and then to the right. They splash along seeking the scent on either bank. Anxious minutes and then they are sounding and the hunt is off once more.
The hunt is never certain; it may be an hour or more to the first ‘kill.’ What a delight to see, the naked runner pursued by the pack, fine muscles working, pony tail and breasts bobbing; the huntsmen riding hard behind and then the hounds have her, their tails wagging, wet noses sniffing and tongues licking. You ride up with the rest to see this nubile young beauty standing, panting, perhaps mud spattered, shiny with sweat, the fight gone from her.
The favoured huntsmen dismount to mount. Penises standing proud, eased from the confines of the buckram, heads shining in the sunlight ready to penetrate the quarry at bay; finely dressed men walking steadily to the girl, each with his weapon revealed before him, his intention obvious to the exhausted prey. They have gone hunting the ‘Bonny Black Hare.’
There will not be much struggle. Will she be taken by all, each in turn, each in order of seniority? The old grey leading. Or will some of the fine huntsman hold fire with their ‘old sporting gun’ for the next chase? Whether intending to shoot or not it would not be done to have one’s weapon sheathed at that time, the rules of the hunt require display.
The girl is ritually splayed, her thighs eased apart, her sex shown to the sun and then she is mounted, fine male buttocks pushing up and down as the penis slides within the girl before the first shot—‘the powder is willing!’
You might think it all a disappointment for the ladies but it is not—not at all The thrill of the chase is no less for them and if they have a penchant for the fillies, why it is not a problem for them to be secluded later with the now tamed girls, girls quietened, quiescent and willing to do what they must; and is it not a pleasure for the most Sapphic of ladies to drink a man’s nectar as if it was, after all, the natural exuding of a young girl, dripping pearly hot on the tongue from a well exercised young vulva? Nectar deposited earlier by the fine huntsman on the chase.
But on occasion the hunt takes a different course with young male runners fielded instead of the girls—sport for the ladies.
The ladies do relish observing the young men at the chase, see their fine young bodies moving athletically, strong muscles within the taut skin of their young buttocks and skin glowing with the sheen of sweat, all shining in the sunlight. And of course they run erect; you did know that? The Amulet requires it to be so; walking their erections may subside but in the thrill of the chase up they go, a magnificent sight for the ladies, their stags running proud and sporting, as the hunt’s terminology goes, ‘the horn.’
You can run a mixed set but they tend to fuck and not run well; the chase is not good; there is disappointment in the hunt. This we have found by experience. You can release the sexes at different times but the young men tend to seek out the young girls rather than run and it does so spoil the hunting for the day. Though, it has to be said, it is a fine sight to see one, two or three of the naked male runners pursuing one of the young vixens across the land. Many a time have I stood on the hill with powerful binoculars watching such a chase and its conclusion, watched in anticipation as the girl glances back to see that she is being gained on by the male runners, and so aware of what those erections mean to her.
Finding the young men running without ‘the horn,’ having caught one or more of the girl runners can drive the ladies into a frenzy of disappointment and many a time have I seen blood drawn as they try to whip the young men into a stand, the blood welling up on the smooth skin of their buttocks.
Photographs are, of course, taken; a huntsman in his coat and buckram with boot on the young girl quarry, his weapon proudly displayed; a huntswomen holding a brace of young men, freshly bagged, together in her hands, I am sure you can imagine what precisely she is holding; her hair tidied, her fine tweed riding skirt smoothed, a dress so much better suited for the riding, a certain look in her eye knowing what she is about to mount and ride; a group photograph of the huntsmen in their long pink coats, white buckram breeches, shiny black boots and weapons, not at half cock, but ready for the ‘hunt.’ Fine photographs for the clubroom wall.
And what fun for the all the grooms, stable hands, stable girls and beaters at the end of a day if the day’s tally is not required by the huntsmen or huntswomen first. The catch is brought back trussed to be cleaned and made ready for display; it will be many a stable lad who has a sly poke whilst washing down a young filly with a pail in the stables, perhaps watched by a laughing stable girl. Washed they are made ready to be displayed in the clubroom, suitably strapped with fine leather to avoid any unwise movement or attempt at escape; shown to their best advantage; trophies of the day’s hunting; to be talked about, hard riding recalled, their finer points discussed. And it is of course the hunt’s servants who lock the trophies away for the night and who knows what happens then, whether the girls find themselves penetrated once more or the young men’s tired penises hoisted aloft again. You appreciate, of course that the trophies are not retained; they are placed back where they were found, uncertain of what they have been doing or where they have been, but feeling very tired. The Amulet you see has great power and it does so help my games—my perversion of custom and tradition.