1 comments/ 3823 views/ 0 favorites The 'Orford's Retreat' By: Blithering_Hayseed It was early morning with the autumn light shining behind the barge as I followed the westerly flow of the canal through the sleepy housing estates with only the occasional dog walker or jogger wrapped up against the frost awake at this hour. I cruised on past Haslam Park and soon entered the open countryside of the Fylde. Great flocks of starlings swirled against the gray sky, preparing for their migration to warmer climes. I barely needed to move the tiller pole, and I sat with a fresh pot of morning coffee steaming in my gloved hand as I watched the dairy farms and grass fields glide gently past. There are not many canal-side pubs on this stretch of the canal so I was looking forward to a few hours of isolation and solitude, the occasional stray loon upon the water and the gentle lapping of the canal water against my meandering hull. But I had hardly taken a sip of my coffee when I saw ahead of me a butty barge being towed along by a solitary figure on the towpath. Most butty barges these days have a motor fitted, and this rather antiquated and unusual sight piqued my interest. As my barge drew nearer I recognized the butty barge as belonging to the narrow boat, 'Orford's Retreat', but the larger boat was nowhere in sight. Both the 'Orford's Retreat' and its butty barge were immaculate vintage barges, ornately painted with flowery designs and always overflowing with flower pots and antique paraphernalia. They were family owned holiday narrow boats, not 'liveaboards', and I assumed they had forgotten to store up enough diesel and so had decided to let the butty boat be towed for a while. Being towed by just one person, the butty barge was idling its way along the canal, with another figure holding the tiller pole, and it did not take long for my barge to catch them up. The woman at the tiller was dressed in traditional Victorian canal woman garb; a long, thick skirt reaching to her ankles and a bonnet, tied around her face, with the traditional back flap to protect her neck from the sun. Coiled in her gloved hand was a smacking whip and she acknowledged me with a quaint nod and a slight rising of her whip hand. I grinned. "You're not thinking of actually using that, I hope!" I said, holding my cup up as a greeting. She gave me the most poised smile and raised her eyebrow. "I sincerely hope not, one should hope that backering goes without a glitch." I'd heard around the way that backering was an old Victorian word for a horse towing a boat without anyone on the towpath to drive it. The immaculate traditional butty boat, the Victorian garb and now her use of antiquated words, had me pigeonholing the Orfords' as pretentious and wealthy, playing at recreating the indulgent end of Victorian canal boating. The Orford's butty boat was between me and the towpath, blocking my view of the figure I had noticed pulling the barge along earlier. "I can't actually see your mule." She smiled again, this time looking genuinely entertained, and then suddenly standing, she lashed the smacking whip towards the canal bank. "Present!" With the crack of the whip carrying over the fields of harvested grass, she motioned me forward with one gloved hand, to appreciate her mule. As the butty boat slowed and I cruised past, she even handed me a pair of theater binoculars with a bemused smirk. I brought the focus of the binoculars in line with the canal bank and then looked for the figure pulling the barge. I followed the canal bank along until the lenses found a pair of booted feet. I let the binoculars move up from the booted feet, up a pair of naked legs to where a leather strap protected her modesty. Her legs were short and the pale flesh of her exposed thighs was trembling and raw looking from the icy November air. Above her covered private area the strap thickened out to cover her belly with straps pulling it painfully tight above her hips. The tight leather seemed to restrict her breathing and her soft belly pushed against the harness as she tried to catch her breath. Moving up her body, the leather thinned, leaving her small breasts naked on either side of the black leather. It attached to a collar by a metal hoop. Putting down the binoculars to see the whole vision I saw standing facing me, panting hard and with her hands on her head, a beautiful young woman, her petite body practically naked in a black leather harness. With her hands on her head, the young woman stood on the towpath, jutting her naked breasts forward. The November air cooled her glistening sweat, making her nipples stand erect. Other than the harness and straps the woman was naked, her shoulders, arms and breasts fully on show. Her head was bridled with a complex set of straps with blinkers on each side, and she stood breathing hard around a silicon bit that forced her mouth open. Her eyes were blue, and as they had caught me watching her with the binoculars she averted her eyes and blushed profusely, struggling to maintain her exposed position. I cut the engine and steadied the barge with the boat pole to let the mysterious woman in the butty boat catch up again. She responded with another crack of the whip that shattered the silence of the surrounding countryside and I used the binoculars once more to watch the young woman as she lowered her naked arms and resumed towing the butty boat by a rope tied to the back of her harness at the base of her back. Having let the butty boat come to a halt, the young woman had to work hard to give the boat the necessary momentum to move forward and her thigh muscles strained as she leaned forward, her teeth biting against the bit. The strain eased with each step until the woman was able to walk slowly, still slightly stooped with her burden, and pull the butty boat through the water, the other lady sipping a glass of champagne and smiling contentedly as she drew alongside me once again. I handed the woman her binoculars back as she floated by and she took them with a smile. "Intrigued? Of course you are. Join us for breakfast at Salwick bridge." I followed behind the Orfords' butty boat, my engine barely running and enjoying the reflection of the trees overhanging the canal as they rippled in our wake and grew calm again in our passing. The morning sun still back lit my view along the roof of the barge, casting long shadows from the tarpaulin stretched over the hatch and the ropes and barge pole lying alongside. Ahead was the canal, slightly curving towards the small stone bridge and one could nearly forget that in the cold shadows of the trees' canopy, the girl in the harness and bridle was towing the butty boat along. Occasionally the sun would shine through a gap in the trees and the woman's naked shoulders and arms, pale against the black leather would suddenly appear, or her exposed buttocks framed by the leather straps that kept her harness in place. It was still early, but I wandered how many passers-by had seen the exposed woman hauling the boat along in the frosty November morning. The Orford's narrow boat was moored up at Salwick Bridge and I guided my barge to the next available mooring pin, letting her fenders take the gentle impact against the bank before tying her up tight. As I walked up the towpath towards the 'Orford's Retreat' a tall man jumped deftly from the barge, dressed as a Victorian gentleman, and wrapping the harnessed girl in a blanket, hugged her warmly. He gently unclasped her bridle and removed it from her head and she stared up at him adoringly. I hadn't realized until then that the steel ring through her septum wasn't part of the bridle, but she stood with her head rapturously against his chest, the sun glinting off the metal in her nose. Even as she stood in the man's arms, her eyes closed in his embrace, the woman from the butty boat snapped a chain to her nose ring and yanked her free from the embrace. The young woman held the blanket close around her body as she was hauled over to a mooring pin and her chain locked around it. "Well, I am quite ravenous after all that fresh air!" the woman declared, turning and striding towards the 'Hand and Dagger' pub. Inside the pub, the groups' Victorian garb and the man's great sweep of his top hat ensured a lively welcome and we were warmly greeted and guided to the table before the roaring wood fire. "Four miles and three and a half furlongs and the poor dear looks exhausted!" The woman from the butty boat announced, her eyes peering disapprovingly from over the breakfast menu. The group guffawed, removing winter coats and shawls and settling down to the table. "Oh, and this is a 'liveaboard', I believe, who was not immune to the charms of your newlywed, dearest brother." She said, motioning for me to take the empty chair at the table. Breakfast was enjoyed heartily by the group of five, of which I made a rather uncomfortable sixth, being a stranger and being rather raggedly dressed. But, with that, I joined the extravagant bon ami of the Orford's, cheery and carefree, generous and welcoming to all who chose to partake of their self referential lifestyle. Petunia, the sister who had been steering the butty boat, sat offering me enthusiastic asides as the group chatted, so that I learned much over a cooked breakfast, washed down with champagne beside the welcome warmth of the well stacked wood fire. The tall gentleman was Jed, ("papa just simply adores Jed") an only son and brother to the two ladies who accompanied him at the breakfast table. Both his sisters, ("I'm Petunia, by the way, and she is Lesley") and there rather meek husbands ("don't bother about them, darling") accorded Jed the utmost respect as the male Orford heir, a position he enjoyed with great aplomb. What emerged was that this was the Orford annual November retreat; strictly for family and their spouses only. A family tradition the three siblings had enjoyed since their teens. The main difference this year being that Jed had also married and so the November retreat was doubling as his honeymoon. This family group seemed to live a charmed life, with money aplenty, sharing their generosity and humor with anyone who fawned before the legendary Orfords. The landlord not only halved the bill because of their fantastic outfits, but actually joined us to hear the story of the Orford traditional family holiday. No mention was made of the young woman chained by her nose to the mooring pin outside, although I had surmised she must be the new wife of the heir apparent. It was only when Lesley returned from 'powdering her nose' sooner than the others that I asked about her. "Oh, her! I really have not the slightest idea what Jed sees in her, I am quite sure. But c'est le vie." "But why is she...well...dressed like that...and...towing like a...a..." "A mule, perhaps? Or a pony? Well, the poor dear is, how shall I say it; being educated in what we like to call the 'Orford way'. The others returned before I could ask anymore and Petunia waggled a finger at the scraps left on the plates: "Doggy bag, darling!" The landlord scraped the plates into a bag and handed it to Petunia. "Must be pretty cramped on your barge with all you guys and a dog. What type is it?" "It's a little bitch!" "But I've ways of training it." Petunia said, showing the landlord her whip and getting the obligatory round of laughter, only Jed's smile seeming a little empty. We eventually returned to the canal, well fed, warmed and with the autumnal leaves fairly sparkling with frost to my drunken gaze as we hugged like old friends. I looked back, waved and toppled along a gunwhale to see Petunia pouring the leftovers into a steel dog bowl and then pushing it with the toe of her boot towards the chained woman. I went below for a quick nap and when I surfaced the moorings were empty. The Orford's had carried on their journey. The sun shone a beautiful white light on the trees, dazzling brightly off the canal water and I drifted along content in the serenity of life on the water...except that the vision of the girl in the bridle and harness haunted me. There was something beautiful in her surrender to her husband, something I had not seen before and something noble in her laboring without complaint this morning. She had worn her exposure at such an obvious cost and with such bravery, and I wandered at Jed and how he had earned the subjugation of a creature so beautiful. Had my memories only been of the exposed young woman in her harness, naked and panting as she labored to tow the boat midst the trees along the towpath I might not have felt so restless. But there was something else, something more sinister in the mocking laughter of Petunia's eyes and in the nonchalance of her toe as it pushed the dog bowl before the huddled woman. I wasn't sure if Jed's giant arms could hold her as safe as she needed to be, not with Petunia there too. The 'Orford's Retreat' Ch. 02 I spent a pleasant afternoon sitting fishing from the gunwhale for my tea, before finding mooring at Catworth boatyard. Wandering along the dock at dusk, the small round windows of the various barges were lit from within with a homely glow, and I turned inland to purchase some much needed supplies. The streets were mostly deserted with the glow of streetlights illuminating the descending dusk, but as I passed the 'The Running Pump' pub, I heard the familiar rambunctious laughter of the Orfords. They were still in their Victorian outfits, grouped around the pub's evening menu. Looking over from the other side of the road, I could make out five figures huddled in a group, attired in top hats, bonnets and great fur coats against the freezing evening air. I assumed Jed's new wife was not accompanying them until I realized that the shadowy figure lapping from the dog bowl outside the pub was a woman. She remained lapping at the bowl that dogs must have shared throughout the day until, having chosen their menu, Jed and another man walked over to the kneeling woman and helped her up by her elbows. It was only when the young woman was on her feet that the extremity of her tight-laced corset made the need for aid apparent. Her petite frame was restricted to such an extent that her waist seemed 40cm in circumference at most. She seemed crushed at waist level, with the curve of the busk then giving a place for her displaced flesh from her waist to go. Her small breasts were pushed high as though on display and she was forbidden a coat. Instead her naked shoulders, arms and cleavage shone pale and soft in the streetlight. Where her companions wore long and lined skirts against the cold, the new bride suffered the indignity of a shirred corset skirt that was both sheer and short, the embroidered hem falling only to the top of her still naked thighs. Once the men had helped her stand she turned, faced her husband, and curtsied, lifting her short skirt and exposing her panties to him. She repeated the gesture for the other man before the group entered 'The Running Pump.' I carried on to the store and bought my supplies, including a new Barlow knife and a set of cards with women on the back and went back to the barge for my fish supper, but I couldn't get the image of Jed's wife out of my mind. She bore all her suffering with such dignity and those curtsies had been a charm in themselves. The way her buttocks had pushed out slightly so that the very bottoms of her cheeks peeked from under the translucent hem, the way her wrists had bent up slightly as she lifted the hem of her skirt. Her submission was beautiful in its earnestness and acceptance. A fish supper in my belly, I found myself walking back into town to satiate my growing infatuation with Jed's mystifying new wife. I found the Orfords' in pride of place at the largest table in the traditional dining area. Petunia noticed me immediately and with a squeal, stood up and demanded an extra chair for me. The mood was again jovial and light hearted with lugubrious amounts of champagne doing the rounds. Jed's wife alone sat serene, her naked arms by her side and her hands resting in her lap as she delicately chewed. The others had finished their meals and were knocking back the champagne. As I sat down she glanced up at me, but blushing, immediately lowered her head and carried on chewing. "uh...hi...I'm...er...Samael..." I said, missing her eyes the moment they were lowered. "Oh, do stop being silly, liveaboard and join us. The outsider is there to be talked about, not too." Petunia said, tapping the empty seat beside her for me to join her. "I'd still like to at least say hi." Jed's wife's eyes flashed up at mine for a brief moment and something curled contentedly at the corner of her mouth. "Hi, I'm Judy" He eyes immediately lowered again and her cheeks flushed. She seemed so unassuming and gentle a creature among the flamboyance of the Orfords. Petunia, spotting Judy's slight smile, immediately linked her arm in mine and used her free hand to turn my cheek towards herself and handed me a glass of champagne. "I'm doing a little experiment: Victorian doctors believed that, in a tightly-laced corset, the stomach would be unable to churn correctly, making it difficult to digest food completely, causing constipation and making it difficult for the wearer to eat a sizable meal." Petunia leaned across the table and prodding a potato with a fork, held it before Judy's mouth. "So far the difficulty in eating a sizable meal seems to bare out." Petunia giggled and shoved the potato against Judy's lips making her take it into her mouth. The company fared much as the breakfast had that morning with much carefree banter and joviality, usually based around tales of their own derring-do or follies, but entertaining none the less to a stranger like myself. Throughout, Judy sat poised and quiet, delicately eating with her stomach so tightly constricted by the tight-laced corset. By the time she had finished her meal the other members of the group were quite intoxicated from the champagne. Petunia, ever so vigilant of me paying the least attention to Judy, noticed me admiring Judy's small bust, pushed up, as it was, by the busk of her corset and immediately offered her own cleavage for my approval. "Don't you think big boobies are the best fun, darling? Come say hi!" Petunia said, pulling my head into her exposed cleavage and shaking her midriff so that my face was smothered in her breasts. When I freed myself I glanced over at Judy, feeling embarrassed and humiliated. Petunia caught my glance and went staggering around the table to stand behind Judy and then nonchalantly lifted Judy's naked breasts out of the corset, leaving them exposed over the whalebone busk. Petunia held my gaze with an accusatory stare and she reached down and pinched Judy's exposed nipples painfully. "There, now you can see the newlywed's itty-bitty-titties in all their glory!" Just then the waiter came to clear the plates and Judy crossed a naked arm over her small breasts to protect her modesty. At the same time, Jed leaned across and whispered in Judy's ear and she nodded, leaning forward and blushing. Just as the waiter lifted Judy's plate she delicately dropped her panties onto the plate, blushing deeper and staring down. Before the waiter could respond, Jed thrust a fifty pound note in the waiter's blazer pocket and winked. "You don't mind if my young lady wife masturbates for our amusement? No nudity, of course!" Jed said, holding the waiter's arm until he nodded. "Good man." With her head bowed, and one naked arm covering her breasts, Judy seemed to sink lower in her seat as Jed pulled her left thigh open, and Lesley held her sisters right thigh under the table. The temptation to look under the table and see this beautiful woman's private parts as she touched herself so intimately was incredible and I wondered what effect this beautiful submissive woman was having among the group. Any positive attention towards Judy seemed to rile Petunia to extreme levels of cruelty, whilst the two husbands could hardly be oblivious to the charms of a young and beautiful woman exposed within their midst. Lesley, in the main, seemed to ignore Judy and treat the whole situation as a functional necessity, while Jed and Judy seemed to share a deep bond that meant Judy wallowed in the opportunity to serve her husband and master. The slightest attention from Jed made Judy's eyes sparkle as though it made all her ordeals worthwhile. I couldn't imagine having a wife like Petunia and finding her cruelty to Judy attractive, but both husbands were clearly enjoying leering at Judy as she stroked herself, exposed as she was, in the dining area. There was a strange intimacy too in Lesley holding open Judy's thigh. It was a functional role, but gave her closeness to Judy's sexuality, to feel her arousal and how she moved that was the preserve of lovers. I sat mesmerized as Judy's face neck and chest became flushed with arousal, her breathing, already restricted by the corset, becoming urgently short and sharp. Her eyes were closed and her head leaning on her husbands shoulder as she performed for hers. I glanced at the bar to see the waiter, Judy's panties in hand, standing with a group of bar staff, all watching the performance with obvious glee. Petunia followed my gaze jealously, and then turned to Judy. "Eye's open, sis. Look us all in the eye one at a time as we watch your little show!" She seemed to wriggle down a bit and then look satisfied. "Cum on my shoe, sis!" Judy re-positioned herself so that her arms went straight down between her thighs, still covering her nipples, but exposing the rounded flesh of her breasts. She began bucking slightly and Lesley and Jed seemed to grasp her parted thighs more firmly and her knees became visible above the table cloth. Judy held our gaze one at a time as she panted quickly and lightly and although nothing lewd was on show, there was only a table cloth between Judy's spread legs being held apart by her husband and sister as she humped her other sister-in-law's foot for the amusement of her in-laws and the bar staff. Just before she climaxed, Jed pushed a line napkin between Judy's teeth and held her with his free arm as she began bucking frantically under his hold, almost growling in tiny breathes as waves of pleasure made her body writhe against the constricts of the corset and the grip upon her splayed thighs. Even as Judy was still gasping from her orgasm, Petunia bade her remove her shoe and lick it clean. Judy looked adorably beautiful as she sat panting in her husbands embrace obediently licking her own glistening juices from Petunia's shoe, and then meekly handed her it back. No wonder then, that Jed whispered softly in her ear; "I love you" The whole event was like an exposing of Judy, of her intimate expressions as she became aroused, of her private spasms as she climaxed, of her shyness as she involuntarily blushed, of the secret charms of how her breasts moved as she came and even of how sweetly she submitted to the cruel demands of Petunia. But most of all it seemed like a show of her absolute devotion to her husband. Petunia slipped on her shoe with a smirk and we could all smell the intimate scent of Judy's juices as she sat with her thighs still held apart and I again wandered what effect this beautiful submissive woman must be having on this rather eccentric family retreat. There seemed to be a family enjoyment of Judy, as though her status as Jed's wife made her common-law property, although the decorum between spouses seemed to remain intact. In essence it seemed that Judy was the sport of the Orford's but that the pleasures of her physical intimacy were the preserve of Jed alone. But for the group to sit with the scent of Judy's arousal on their nostrils and the sight of her naked breasts and flushed face as she came before them, surely had to effect the group. For me, the eroticism Judy displayed as a submissive was maddeningly arousing and making me subject to sudden bouts of jealousy at what Jed clearly owned and I could not. After her performance, Judy was made to sit with her small breasts uncovered, and try and protect her modesty as best she could as the group enjoyed yet more bottles of champagne. And while Judy clearly had eyes only for Jed, the eyes of the other men at the table frequently roamed to the exposed charms of Judy's upper torso. Part of me wanted to rescue Judy from this malady, despite her obvious feelings towards Jed, but an unwanted rescue is perhaps a bigger tragedy. At the least I wanted to unlace that infernal corset, but then hers seemed to take much delight in watching Judy's discomfort. In the end I did nothing but become increasingly sozzled and besotted with the topless young wife opposite me, fascinated by her beauty as she bore her humiliation with such dignity. Collapsing into my hammock later, what I did realize was that Ally's honeymoon was the most erotic thing I had ever encountered and I feel asleep to lustful dreams of the young wife and woke with a pounding head and a longing to gaze upon her once more.