A Scientific Fact

On the final evening of The Professor’s week with Lady Needycunt Hatton, Francis Bacon agreed to meet with both in a tavern in Southwark, the Queen’s Tits. It wasn’t the most savoury of areas, and not known as particularly safe after dark for those with a heavy purse. But the concentration of vices is not only the downfall of such areas, but the allure, and Francis still had enough coin for a few guards.

The air in the Queen’s Tits smelled of stale beer and fucking, as most taverns do, and Francis immediately spotted several women in various stages of fulfilling their duties to the Master. Fat-titted barmaids passed between the tables, occasionally pausing to flirt with one or more gap-toothed male patrons.

At first he did not see Lady Hatton, but then he realized that she was at the center of a group of men near the center of the main room of the tavern. The Professor sat nearby, not partaking at the moment, but wearing a sly smile and slowly drinking an ale. Francis walked over and greeted The Professor, then asked how his week with the Lady progressed. The man just gestured to the nearby group and told Francis to see for himself.

He found Lady Hatton with a cock in each hand and another in her mouth. Her face and tits were already dripping with what looked like cum from several men. Her eyes had half rolled up into her head. When she pulled her mouth off the stranger’s dick, her expression was almost blank. Francis greeted her formally. The Lady just made a wanton, wordless groan.

“Aye, she’s cock drunk,” commented the heavily pregnant bar matron behind him. “Seen it before. She only ‘ad ‘alf an ale, but I doubt she even remembers ‘er name right now.”

In response, Lady Hatton just moaned again around the dick stuffed in her mouth, as one of the cheering crowd of men around her grunted and splashed yet another load of cum into her red hair.

Francis sat down at The Professor’s table, and the two idly chatted about the latter’s strange theories while Her Ladyship took one cock after another, until Francis lost count of their number. He had hoped that night to interview her regarding her experiences, but it was clear that, even if she had been able to speak coherently, she was far too busy for such matters. Perhaps it was just as well, it would give Francis another excuse to call on her the following evening.

Despite Lady Hatton’s performance being hard to ignore, Francis did find himself almost distracted by the conversation. The Professor soon found himself back on the topic of the smells of London. He insisted that men should bathe as much as once per day. Obviously this was ludicrous, and clearly unhealthy, as Francis told him. Women, of course, had to clean themselves regularly in accordance with the 19th Commandment, but for men once a month was probably pushing it. Still The Professor urged Francis to conduct his own experiments regarding the issue. “Much better research for your health than the effect of cold on food preservation,” he said. Francis thought this strange, as he had no plans for such research, either, but he said nothing.

As the evening wound down, The Professor told Lady Hatton, who had been continuing to masturbate fruitlessly between encounters with male strangers, “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. You can come, if you want to.”

The speed with which her furtive hand moved increased and a few moments later, Lady Needycunt let out a scream. It sounded like it came up from deep inside her, like it had **** its way up her throat. The entire tavern turned to look.

“Lucky cunt,” commented the bar matron.

****

When Francis called at Ely Place the next night, Lady Hatton was put together far more like herself. She had bathed and kept her hands demurely in her lap long enough to calmly give her account and answer the questions of him and Francis.

“In my life, I spend so much time worrying, about the estate, my prospects, the servants, it is exhausting,” she said. “They weigh on me. Spending time with Mr. Bacon was pleasant enough, but it did not lessen any of these worries. I fulfill my duties to the Master as best I can, I enjoy them greatly, but they are only temporary distractions.”

This was about the point that Francis figured out that he wasn’t going to win his little bet with The Professor. Getting Lady Hatton to marry him had always been a long shot, and now he would have to figure out another way to pay off his debts and stay out of prison. He started to mentally go through his acquaintances and figure out which he could reasonably ask for a loan.

“When I am reduced to an object, none of those concerns matter. There is only me and the cocks, the pleasure…doing what I’m told is so much more fulfilling than trying to figure things out for myself. I…during the past week with The Professor I had, not a realization, because it’s not something I thought in words. It was more something that happened to me. And I realized, that was what I was to be. A sex object. Sucking dick and getting fucked. That’s why the Master put me on this green Earth. It was one thing to know it because I learned it growing up, but to really know it, to really understand it, is something else entirely.”

The Professor turned to Francis and said, “See, it’s just a scientific fact. The Master says that women are better off being treated as nothing more than sex objects because they’re really better off that way.”

“As a gentleman, I will admit that you are the victor in our wager, but what you’ve just heard expressed is only Her Ladyship’s opinion, hardly proof of any universal fact.”

“Spoken like a true scientist,” The Professor said, “but I would encourage you to repeat the experiment as many times as would satisfy you… if you know what I mean. But given the result, Lady Hatton may now marry whoever she wants, so the question becomes, who does she want to marry?”

Lady Hatton turned her head toward him. “I… I don’t know. I know my calling now, so it will need to be someone who… treats me as I deserve to be treated.”

“We’ll, I’ll tell you what, you’re not gonna get that from Sir Edward Coke,” The Professor pointed out casually.

Her Ladyship considered this. “That is true. I have never heard of Sir Edward Coke getting particularly rough with any woman who he courted.”

“If I may, Your Ladyship,” Francis put in, “I would be happy to **** you whenever you wished.”

Lady Hatton considered this. As she did, she slowly began to run a hand over one of her tits, seemingly slightly turned on at the thought. Or more than slightly.

Then she said, “Respectfully, Master, that’s not what I need. I need you to **** me whenever you wish.”

Francis felt this to be an entirely reasonable request.

****

Francis never saw The Professor again after that evening, a fact which he often wondered about. Shortly thereafter, Francis and Lady Hatton's engagement was publicly announced. They were married at Westminster Galder, with Francis adding the flourish of **** the Lady to the traditional fucking on the dais. It brought Francis considerable enjoyment to triumphantly look his rival Sir Edward in the eye as he came in the Lady’s pussy, thus making their marriage official and giving him control of all her holdings and estates.

It was immediately clear that the Master had brought him and the new Lady Bacon together through divine providence. While he held her in some esteem, he had only begun his courtship as a solution to his financial problems. But they were very happy together. He took over her considerable wealth and lands, and she was able to live her life as a sex object for men, just as she had desired.

One of the many endeavours to which Francis put his new wealth was to conduct a larger scientific survey to prove the theories The Professor had demonstrated through their wager with Lady Needycunt. He was able to pay fifty women to participate in his study, as well as another fifty as a control group, along with several other men to assist him in conducting the study, as his stamina was not what it once had been in his youth.

What Francis soon discovered was that, while many of these women were not as cogent at describing their experiences as Needycunt, through observation of their actual actions, he was as able to see that those who were treated as just a set of holes to be fucked were clearly happier. Many of them seemed happy to live their lives in a cum-drunk haze. Even those that protested the situation came harder if treated properly, the clearest measure of happiness of which Francis was aware.

And so Francis produced a pamphlet describing his findings, that the Master, in his wisdom, had indeed correctly described the Natural Order: that the best place for women was getting used by men, and not as leaders or working in trades. Shrewdly, Francis waited until after Queen Needycunt’s **** a few years later to actually publish this work. It found a far more favorable reception under the new King James. There would, in fact, never be another Queen Regnant.

With the change in regime, Lady Bacon was selected as the a Lady in Waiting to the new Queen Dumbcunt. In this capacity she taught the Queen and the other highest-ranking women of the country the joys of true servitude, in spirit as well as deed. And through his wife’s favor with the Queen, Francis found himself acting as a sort of scientific and legal advisor to the King. And though the King did not partake in the fairer sex a great deal personally, he was devoted to the nurturing and spread of the Natural Order.

Though many later scientists would refine his work, Francis Bacon’s Comprehensive Theory of Bitches would be discussed in basic school science classes for centuries. And still today there is a statue on the campus of Cambridge, depicting the great scientific mind mid-fuck with Lady Bacon. She has a huge smile on her face.