Chapter 2
After ten years in the trade, one could say that Molly Trenchard was a specialist in men’s pantaloons.
Her notoriety started when she was but a bride working alongside her husband.
At the tender age of nineteen, she pioneered the “five cock check” to tailor falls so that they’d tent appealingly no matter the direction in which an errant pikestaff might erect itself.
Later in the decade, she turned her attention to the back, where Molly cut the abundantly gathered seat resembling a baby’s clout down to a smooth backside that allowed men’s coats to become scandalously short.
She was the countess of the codpiece, the high abbess of the hamcases, and known for her inexpressibles from Richmond to Romford.
A sign over the shop displayed the standard outline of a stag head and pair of short men’s pants, but the sign had something extra, a certain hint of fullness around the crotch to denote the house’s speciality.
The stylish fops knew that if they wanted nature’s bounty displayed to its best advantage, they should direct their coach and four to the sign of the Buckskin Breechess.
Eight days after burying her elderly spouse of a decade, she was preparing to reopen the shop, but had discovered a problem.
“I’m not sure I know how to fit a baby into a lady,” said Bonnie, genuinely taken aback at the thought of wedging an infant into his tailoress.
“Thankfully, I’m not a lady, and I don’t need a whole infant right now. I need to bake one myself,” she said.
“This whole thing grows more horrifying as new details emerge,” said Bonnie. “Where do I come in?”
“You provide the materials,” she said.
“The materials meaning…”
“I need your seed,” said Molly. “The sooner the better.”
“I’m genuinely sorry to tell you this, but fifth sons do not have the luxury of inseminating indiscriminately. The Great Snoring debacle is yet another blow to my income. There’s no stipend for supporting my byblows.”
“Oh, the child wouldn’t be yours,” said Molly laughing. “It would be my late husband’s.”
“You’d like my seed in order to make your dead husband’s baby,” said Bonnie, raising one of his already arched brows.
“Yes, in order to save the shop. The reading of my late husband’s will after the funeral revealed a diabolical clause: if he died without issue, the ownership of the shop would revert to his siblings.”
Bonnie looked around at the large shop stocked with tanned hides, work stations where journeyman and apprentices completed orders, and lounges where well-heeled bucks could enjoy a cheroot and splash of liquor during fittings.
“All this,” he said, waving his hand, “costs money, does it not? You couldn’t establish your own concern nearby and take your loyal customers with you?”
“You do understand trade after all,” she said wrily.
“Don’t let that get around,” he replied.
“And I am the Buckskin Breechess. This shop was but a bolthole when William married me. We only grew to this size because I make men’s pantaloons fit better,” she said.
“Do you ever,” he said, looking pointedly at her bosom.
“Yes,” she said, grabbing him by the cravat, “I need exactly that. We should bring that leering straight up to the bedroom and settle the problem.”
“Madam,” he said, pleased to be dragged towards coitus by the comely Breechess, “what is your plan should the first application not take?”
“You’re young and virile,” she said, “surely you can get me with child quickly? Girls are constantly getting in trouble due to quick moments of indiscretion with their beaus.”
“Much as I appreciate those sentiments about my manhood,” he said, adjusting his interested cock, “it is my understanding that the timing may matter.”
He didn’t bring up the factor they both knew to be troubling: that despite her youth and health, Molly had failed to fall pregnant during her long marriage to William. For now, they both resolved to blame the issue on the dead man, who had certainly earned their ire due to his terrible will.
Molly led him up the stairs to the family’s living area. On the way, she whispered, “I’ll tell the servants that you’re a guest, but come to my room as soon as you hear the house settle down for the night. You owe me a baby, and don’t think to escape out a window to avoid it!”
***
Nearly an hour later, after hot water deliveries, the frantic search for spare tooth powder and a man’s nightgown, and the brushing of Molly’s hair, the house was quiet.
“Is my Breechess ready to be bred?” asked Bonnie from the bedroom door.
Molly groaned into the pillow, regretting every choice that had led to this moment.
“Now now, save that for when I’m pouring my life force into your body in the service of paying my first debt in quite some time,” he said.
Molly quietly got to her knees, hiked up her nightgown, and gripped the headboard attached to the bed.
“What’s this?” asked Bonnie, alarmed that the spirited woman he knew approached the task of getting pregnant with the grim determination of a queen about to be beheaded.
“I’m ready. You can put it in,” she said.
Bonnie crawled into bed behind her and let his hand drift up her backside, then up her back, until her nightgown bunched up.
“Please take this off,” he said, feeling her skin as she struggled to get the monstrosity removed.
“You don’t need to—” she said.
He turned Molly towards him, showing the power of his body that he usually never revealed.
“You have requested aid with insemination,” he said. “Your terms did not dictate how the insemination would be accomplished. I think you’ll be more likely to find success if you allow me to dictate the proceedings.”
Molly nodded and slumped against him, suddenly feeling every moment of lost sleep, grief, and anger.
“I don’t know another way to do it,” she said quietly. “William—”
Bonnie swooped in and kissed her hard on the mouth.
“I don’t want to hear his name while I’m in your bed making his baby,” said Bonnie. “He already received more than he deserves. Lie down on the bed, head on the pillow.”
Molly rushed to comply, pulling the blankets up to cover her naked body.
“That’s fine,” said Bonnie, pulling the corner of a blanket down to reveal one breast. “I like unwrapping presents.”
“Babies aren’t made from breasts,” she said, anxious to get the proceedings underway, anxious that he’d evade her demand in the end.
“Slick pussies are made from playing with tits,” he said crudely, “and wet cunts accept cocks like a dream. I want to slide into your welcoming hole and shoot my seed deep, and I can’t do that if you’re nervous and dry.”
“But I’ve been wet since downstairs,” she said.
“I sure hope you’re wet downstairs,” he growled, teasing her nipple.
Bonnie pulled back the blanket and trailed his fingers over Molly’s body — illuminated only by a weak candle and a sliver of moonlight — until he found the slit between her thighs.
“Wait,” she said, tugging at his dreadful borrowed nightgown that once belonged to William. “Take this off. I want to touch you.”
He flopped onto the bed beside her and wiggled out of the voluminous gown. Now he faced her, sharing the large pillow, his smooth chest just visible in the scant light.
“Now that you have me naked, what are you going to do, Breechess?” he asked.
Molly placed her fingertips on his unblemished skin and moved them over his sternum and down to his ribs.
“I want to see it,” she whispered.
“Do you now?” he asked. Better and better. “And by ‘it’ you mean?”
“Your cock,” she said, groaning at his goading.
“That’s right. Do your worst, madam,” he said, pushing the blankets entirely off of the bed.
“You know,” she said, “I’ve wondered about your cock for some time.”
“Have you? Well, don’t be shy, introduce yourself,” he said, slightly spreading his thighs.
“I remember the day I met you,” she said lightly, drawing her nails up his thighs. “I was performing the final tailoring check on Lord Peter Sidwin, and you entered the shop.”
“Sidwin? That pink togged in twig, member of the Maccaroni Club?” he asked as if he hadn’t known the man since boyhood.
“Yes, and you walked right up to him, your cock level with my eyes, and you put your quizzing glass under my chin to raise my head,” she said.
“You looked up with an open mouth and your lips just a little swollen,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip now. “It gave a man ideas.”
“You shouldn’t have put the handle of your quizzing glass into my mouth that day,” she said, nodding in exasperation.
“It was either that or the real thing,” he replied.
“I wanted the real thing,” she confessed. “I’m something of an expert in men’s trousers and what they do or don’t reveal about their contents. I suspected that you have just the kind of cock I’ve been looking for.”
“And what kind of cock is that, my dear Breechess?” he asked, shifting slightly on the bed so her fingers would brush against his sac.
“An elegant, refined cock like on statues and in paintings,” she said.
“A woman of the arts, how promising,” he murmured.
“Before my marriage, I worked in a great house owned by a collector. He refused to cover his art with fig leaves,” she said.
“And with only perfect members on display, why should he,” mused Bonnie. “Speaking of perfect members, why don’t you give this one a taste?”
Molly gave his elegant head a lick like it was penny candy.
“That’s it, my girl,” he said.
“William had a big, soft lobcock,” she said, continuing to suck between words.
“Not him again,” said Bonnie, groaning as he flexed his arse to try to make it deeper into Molly’s mouth.
“That night, the night after I met you, I went to bed early and dreamed about you filling my mouth with your cock and dragging that ridiculous fox cane of yours over my pussy. I woke up wet and hot, and I quietly rubbed myself until I came.”
“I could do that now,” he said. “Reynard is in the next room recovering from his earlier exertions.”
“Reynard!” she exclaimed, shocked.