The Sisters of Wimbly Place

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The year is 1814. The place is England. George III still reigns as monarch, but due to his widely discussed mental illness, his son, the Prince Regent George, has taken over the duties of the Crown. The Prince Regent has administered the nation more or less successfully, but his dissolute ways and estrangement from his wife have dimmed the shine on the monarchy. There are, however...certain other advantages to having a monarch who is only interested in pleasure.

Several years ago, as the economy teetered on the brink of disaster, the Prince Regent introduced a bill to the Parliament that (somewhat to everyone's surprise) was passed in a attempt to straighten things out, and allow the wealthy of the nation to help support its poorer members. The new law (the Servitude and Fortitude Act of 1811, in its final form) allows households to adopt unmarried women over the age of 18 at their families' request, giving the girls' new household absolute authority over them - and responsibility for them. The law makes no provision or restriction on awards or favors done to the girls' families, so families will sometimes sell their daughters to more well-off ones in order to stabilize their finances. Among the lower classes, this is done openly; for the landed gentry (and even, on occasion, the more nobility), the process is disguised as a mutually amicable arrangement between two families, where a daughter is "gifted" to another household. That favors, financial support, or both follow in the wake of the gift is just a natural consequence of the closeness between the families, of course.

For the girls so gifted, of course - usually referred to as "bond girls" in slang, or more formally "ward servants" - to be given to another family is a life sentence. The bill made no provision for an end to the servitude, so the women are condemned to a life of serving at the whims of their new masters behind closed doors. Few would choose such a life, and even fewer escape it. So for a woman whose family comes from any money at all - the landed gentry on up to the high nobility - finding a good marriage becomes an urgent task. To be unmarriageable, either because your family is destitute or because your reputation is irreparably damaged, is to be almost certainly destined for bondage.

It's in this world that Anne Foxhaven, a young woman of 23 years, awakens in her family's home one morning in late March. Stretching, she rises from her bed and pads across the cool floorboards and draws back the curtains to let in the light. The day she reveals is overcast, with an iron-gray sky and piddling rain. The fields of her father's small farm roll away from her under the sky, nearly monochrome in their muted green.

Ah, yes. Another fine day in England.

Something's wrong, though; there's nothing here for Anne to wash up or perform her morning ablutions. The maid should have brought a basin and pitcher already...frowning, Anne pushes her blonde hair over her shoulder and steps into the hallway.

The upstairs of Wimbly Place - her family's home - is rather small, but it's spacious enough that each of the four sisters has her own room. As Anne looks about herself, a door opens down the hallway and Rebecca, her younger sister, emerges, already dressed and coiffed. Seeing Anne standing there in her nightgown and with her hair undone, Rebecca chuckles.

"No water this morning?" Rebecca is two years younger than Anne, but she's easily the quickest witted (and sharpest tongued) in the family. She's also the tallest, and often takes charge in public. Anne shakes her head.

"No. Is Deborah sick?"

Rebecca snorts. "I doubt it - or not in the way you mean, at least. Try Alice's room..." She brushes past Anne as she heads downstairs for breakfast, and Anne moves down the hall with a sinking heart.

At the door to her youngest sister, Alice's, room, Anne hears muffled noises. With a sigh, she knocks, then pushes open the door. When she sees the scene inside, she groans in exasperation. "Really, Alice? This is the third time this week!"

Alice, the youngest of the Foxhaven sisters, is seated on the edge of her bed, leaning back on her elbows with her legs spread wide. Between her legs kneels Deborah, the 20-year-old maid - and sole bond girl - of the household. Deborah's hair is pinned back tightly to keep it out of the way of her household tasks, which apparently this morning include vigorously licking and mouthing Alice's pussy. Alice opens one eye lazily and glances Anne's way.

"Don't be such an absolute bore, Anne! The little slut has to do what the adult members of her household require, doesn't she? Well, I'm an adult member of the household - and this is what I require!"

Anne sighs. "But you know that Father doesn't approve of using a bond girl that way. And besides...you're barely an adult." She shifts slightly, uncomfortable. "It's just not proper, Alice!"

"What's not prop--oh!" Anne glances over her shoulder to see Peggy, the fourth of her sisters, staring past her into the room, wide-eyed. "I wondered where Deborah had gone!" Peggy exclaims, looking fascinated.

"I'm almost done with her, if you want her next, Peg," Alice says laconically. She's gripping Deborah's hair now. "Lick harder, Deb, or I'll punish you later." Deborah makes a muffled noise of protest and redoubles her efforts between the younger girl's thighs.

"M-me?" Peggy squeaks. "Oh no, I couldn't...I'm not going to make Deborah do that."

"I don't know why," Alice chuckles. "You're older than me...I've been doing it as much as I can since I turned eighteen...aaaah, God in Heaven, yes! Yes! Yes! Finish me, you little slut!" Alice lets out a gasping, piercing shriek as she cums, quivering, grinding her pussy against Deborah's face. Peggy squeaks and darts away, while Anne sighs.

"Will you let the poor girl go now, Alice?"

"Of course." Alice smirks and leans forward as Deborah is catching her breath, slapping the maid lightly on the cheek. "What do you say, Deborah?"

The bond girl whimpers. "Th-thank you for letting me please you, goddess," she whispers.

"Good pet." Alice kisses the top of Deborah's head, then bounces off the bed. "I'm done with her! Get out, I want to get dressed."

With a sigh, Anne returns to her room and finishes dressing. Alice is really getting out of hand...but then, it's not her place to discipline her younger sister. Perhaps her father will finally take the girl in hand.

Once dressed, Anne descends the stairs to the dining room for breakfast. Her father is eating sausage and eggs while reading the newspaper, with Rebecca and Esther, the last of the sisters, at the table as well. As Anne slides into her seat and begins to serve herself breakfast, she asks, "Any news in the world, Father?"

"Eh?" asks George Foxhaven, rather distractedly. "No, no, no good news in the world...all ill abroad, as usual." He snorts and puts down the newspaper, shoving it aside. "I don't know why I try to follow politics still, after that nonsense three years ago. The country is going to hell in a handbasket, embracing these indecent practices with unmarried young women throughout the land. I'm glad I was able to help Mr. Gower out by taking in his daughter, but most such girls..." he shakes his head, looking grumpy. Rebecca and Anne's eyes meet over the table, and Rebecca gives a tiny shake of her head. Anne sighs. Ah, well perhaps not time to broach the subject just yet.

Meanwhile, their father continues. "I have, however, had some news on a more local front I thought I should share with you! You know Applethorpe Manor, out in the country a ways?"

"Old Lord Withington's house?" Esther asks. The middle child of the family, she's a skinny and severe-looking 20-year-old, with dark hair and eyes. Their father nods.

"Indeed, indeed. That one. Well, a young man has at last taken it over; purchased it outright, from what I hear. On that report, he must be quite wealthy!"

"Wealthy, and able to take a wife, you mean?" Rebecca asks with a chuckle.

"Rebecca!" Esther exclaims, scandalized.

"What?" her sister retorts. "It's a concern to all of us. Anne is twenty-three, now - she must find a husband soon if she's to be able to at all. It's not her fault there's a lack of decent and eligible bachelors in the county, but still we have to get a move on. None of the rest of us can start seriously considering proposals until she's taken care of, and if we don't get married in good time..." The end of the sentence hangs unfinished in the air, an implicit threat.

George clears his throat after a moment. "Hrm! No need to worry about that, my girls. Nothing will happen to you as long as I'm alive and have anything to say about it." He sighs. "Still, Rebecca is right. Have you truly not met any man that you think you could partner with, Anne?"

Anne blushes slightly at the forwardness of the question. "No, Father. At least...none of means."

"Well, that's the key thing," he grumbles. "I suppose this Mr. Twilwell might represent an opportunity...a handsome young man, I'm told. Do you think you might call on him, Anne?"

Anne hesitates. Of course, calling on him would be polite and it would cement her well in his mind. On the other hand...it would be rather...forward...