Lady Elizabeth Hatton (London, 1598 A.D.)

Francis had been visiting Ely Place much of late, as he placed great importance on winning the hand of the young widow Lady Needycunt Hatton (her patriotic parents had named her for their beloved Queen). Her husband Christopher had died the previous year, and left her, at the age of 20, a great deal of wealth and property, and Francis’ appointment as the Queen’s Counsel Designate had not resulted in the financial windfall he might have hoped. That accursed Sir Edward Coke, had managed to have himself appointed Attorney General in Francis’ stead. Francis had come into a small estate at Twickenham, but he had immediately been **** to sell this simply to keep up his debts. If he was unable to convince the Lady Hatton to marry him, he might be arrested and sent to debtor’s prison, regardless of his position.

He also had to admit that, though his visits to Lady Hatton’s home took away from his duties at Court, as well as his scientific endeavors, they hardly constituted a chore. She was red of hair, and white of skin, and a deserved reputation for carrying out her duties to the Master with great enthusiasm. This latter quality might in fact have contributed to her elder former husband’s untimely demise, according to rumor. It was a risk that Francis was willing to take.

Thus when he was ushered into Lady Hatton’s most well-appointed Drawing Room by one her manservants and found her being railed from behind by another gentleman, Francis was not particularly surprised. It was not unusual for Lady Hatton to entertain multiple gentleman callers at once these days, given her status as London’s most eligible bachelorette in quite some time. He was, however, surprised that he did not recognize the stranger, and by the man’s familiar manner despite their lack of acquaintance.

“Oh, hey,” the man said casually, as Lady Hatton’s incredible bouncing ass cheeks gyrated on his cock. “Francis Bacon, isn’t it? Just the man I was looking for.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” Francis replied as he removed his hat and gloves. To his distaste, he had to raise his voice slightly to be heard over her Ladyship’s wanton moans. “Who are you and what business do you have with the Lady Needycunt?”

“Please Master, may I come?” Lady Hatton screamed out. “Please may I come?”

“Shut up, cunt,” the stranger growled. “The men are talking. One sec.” He raised a finger toward Francis, then growled as he shot his load into her pussy. Lady Hatton cried out in frustration, then pulled her needy snatch off of him. She knelt on her marble floor, breathing hard, her cheeks red. “Well,” the man asked her, “aren’t you gonna clean it off?”

Lady Hatton brushed her hair out of her face hurriedly, muttered, “Sorry, Master,” and rushed to wrap her lips around his dick.

“And make sure to keep yourself on the edge, too,” the man said, before turning back toward Francis. “Sorry about that. They call me The Professor. And I actually have something of a proposal for you, Frank. May I call you Frank?”

“If you must,” Francis replied, as he sat in one of Lady Hatton’s fine chairs, “though why you would, I know not.”

“That’s good, bitch,” The Professor said to Lady Hatton, and her lips popped off of his cock. “Now, go clean yourself up real quick in case Frank here wants to use you. Maybe if you’re good, he’ll let you come.” She stood up, and he sent her on her way with a healthy smack on the ass. “I actually didn’t come here for her, I came here to talk to you. Though I think Her Cuntship might be helpful to us in any case.” He dressed himself and took a seat across from Francis.

“You are not here to court the Lady Hatton?” Francis asked in confusion.

“Nah, I’m good,” The Professor waved him off. “And I hate to break it to you, Frank, but she’s not gonna marry you, either.”

“I have the favor of the Queen,” Francis pointed out. This was not entirely true, but the Lady need not know this just yet. “When Lady Hatton makes her decision, that is not…”

“No, I mean, she’s going to marry Sir Edward Coke.”

“Coke! To the devil with that bastard!” Francis blurted out before he could stop himself. “My apologies, but Sir Edward and myself are…not on the best of terms.

“Unless,” The Professor pressed on, “I tell her to marry you.”

Francis raised an eyebrow and crossed his legs. “What causes you to believe the Lady will take your council in this matter?” he asked. “What relation are you to her?”

“I can be extremely persuasive. But don’t worry about that. You’re a man of science, right Frank? You like to figure stuff out through deduction?”

“You have heard of my Scientific Method?” Francis asked. “I admit my surprise. I have not yet completed my publication of my views on the matter of learning. Though I am flattered by your interest.”

“Look, “ The Professor said, leaning forward, “what do you think the point of scientific learning is?”

Francis considered this a moment. “I suppose it is to better understand the Master’s creation, and why He has made things the way they are. For blind obedience can never carry the weight of understanding.”

“I agree,” said The Professor. “I really think we’ve got a lot in common, Frank. And what about women? The Master says they are to serve all men in all things. Why do you think that is?”

“The Master tells us that the Natural Order is that women are made for service to men. But service may take many forms, may it not? And our sovereign is a Queen, placed on the throne by the divine will of the Master.”

“Look, I get all that, but… Oh hey, bitch, get over here.” Francis looked over his shoulder see that Lady Hatton had re-entered the room, freshly sponged off, likely by her ladies-in-waiting. She walked over and draped herself over Francis’ lap.

“Hello, Master,” she said. “It’s good to see you.” Her prodigious breasts filled his vision. “Do you wish me to please you?”

At a small nod from Francis, she slid off his lap and onto the seat next to him. Then she reached out and unclasped his trousers, releasing his erection.

The Professor raised an eyebrow at the sight. “Well, I suppose that answers one of my questions,” he said. “In my research there were many who thought you might… bat from the other side of the plate.”

“Who so accuses me?” Francis replied, his wariness somewhat mitigated by Lady Hatton leaning over and taking his cock in her mouth. “Simply because the Earl of Essex and I are close friends does not mean I have engaged in buggery against the will of the Master.”

The Professor raised an eyebrow and said, “It’s cool if you’re bi, man, I’m not judging. And I’d point out that the Master never said anything like that. Maybe I should try and fix that at some point. Anyway, look, I don’t care about that. What I do want to do is propose… an experiment. You like those, right?”

“What do you propose?” Francis asked. The sensation of Lady Hatton’s wet mouth on his manhood was difficult to ignore, but the strangeness of this man was cutting through the haze.

“You say that, while the Master requires women to serve men, they aren’t inherently inferior. I say that women are sluts whose only worth is as a cumrag. I think the idea of a woman owning a bunch of shit, or being Queen, is completely against the natural order. I spoke earlier with Lady Needycunt here, and she graciously agreed to assist with our pursuit of knowledge.”

The Lady pulled her mouth from Francis’ cock and grinned. “It sounded really fucking hot,” she said, before going back to work.

“I would caution you against such talk regarding the Queen, as it edges…keep at it, Your Ladyship, your tongue is most…pleasing…edges close to treason,” Francis counseled the stranger. “Unless, that is, you wish for your head to adorn London Bridge on the end of a pike.”

“I’m not Her Majesty’s subject,” The Professor shrugged. “And anyway, you’re not gonna tell on me, are ya? Here’s my idea: for a week, you’ll have the chance to…entertain the bitch,” The Professor said. “To treat her like you’d treat a lady of her station that you’re trying to get to marry you and give you all her money. I’ll then have a week where I treat her like the worthless set of holes that she is. At the end, she has agreed to describe for us in detail her feelings during the whole thing, and whether she finds more happiness being treated with respect, or treated like shit.”

“Hardly a…ahh…a conclusive test. No matter how unbiased and truthful Her Ladyship may be on the matter, she cannot speak for all members of the fairer sex.”

“Well, you’re welcome to repeat the experiment,” The Professor replied, “but to make things more interesting, I propose a wager on the outcome. If you win, I tell the cunt to marry you. If I win, she marries whoever she wants, which I’m hearing is Sir Edward. Right, bitch?”

Lady Hatton pulled away again, though her hand kept stroking him. “Yes, I near my decision. I’m sorry, Master.” She looked genuinely apologetic.

Francis stared at the Lady. She seemed in earnest, as did this stranger.

“Fine, I accept your wager.”

“Great!” The Professor said, leaning back casually in his chair and resting his head in his hands.

Ah, well, Francis thought, as Lady Hatton took his cock all the way down her throat. At the worst, he would have the opportunity for a week with the Lady Hatton all to himself, which was better than any of her other suitors had done. Perhaps he could persuade her to his side. And if not, well, he was always interested in the pursuit of knowledge.

Author’s Note: Lady Elizabeth Hatton is a real historical figure, who Francis Bacon really did try to court for apparent financial reasons after she was widowed at the age of 20, but turned him down to marry his rival, Sir Edward Coke (who she eventually began to hate, kicked out of her house, and, upon his ****, remarked “We shall never see his like again, thanks be to God”), and in her surviving portraits she does in fact appear to have been a hot redhead. The rest of this is, um, obviously invented.