Zelda

It was an ordinary day really, I had recently returned home after a spell of active service with the County Militia and had decided to enter the world of business but finding father rather less well than I had expected I found myself acting as his deputy As Lord of the Manor he had duties at the Magistrates Court and as trustee of various charities.

Today it was the workhouse. A regular inspection to weed out iders and ne’er do wells and ensure only the needy were housed therein.

As per the norm several ne’er do wells absconded or absented themselves on hearing of my visit so it was just a small ***********ion which needed to be assessed.

Two elderly labourers, lame, so they claimed, yet they jumped high enough when I discharged my pistol into the earth between their feet. However their cries of pain as they did so were real enough.

A serving girl, badly treated by her father was allowed to remain while her wounds healed and while she sought work, girls fat with child were allowed to remain as were the elderly.

Which brought me to Zelda, a wild looking young woman of nineteen or twenty two or lord knows how many summers. A strange name and yet she seemed strangely cultured in some ways

“Matron, what is the story of this girl?” I asked.

“She’s mad sir,” Matron said, “Her doctor diagnosed Nympho Manier the inflammation of the Lymph Nodes.”

“Nymphomania is nothing of the sort Matron,” I exclaimed for though scanty my knowledge of medicine at least extended far enough to discern Nymphomaniac far from being a trial was something much prized in the bordellos of the Eastern Lands where we had recently been fighting, why one diseased Nymphomaniac had laid low half of B company with Egyptian Clap.

“Well her father Sir Thomas Craythorne cast her out and she came here for sanctuary,” Matron declared.

“Is this true?” I demanded.

“Yes,” said the girl in a thoroughly disinterested manner.

“So do you have swollen Lymph Nodes or do you want to spend all day fucking?” I demanded

Matron, poor woman, nearly had a fit!

“No, I am chaste but I have urges, too powerful to resist and I have to thrust things into myself,” she said “Why am I telling you this?”

“Because I have seen girls like yourself in foreign lands,” I said, “They come to a sad end usually.”

“How so?” she asked.

“In bordellos, they get the fuckings they crave but they seldom survive for long,” I explained, “Used abused and abandoned.”

“I just use a courgette,” she explained and when I looked confused she said, “A small marrow.”

“Have you never had a male appendage, the truth now,” I asked.