Eliza’s Trespass: 1

‘I do hope, John, that your wife will at least dress decently,’ my husband’s father Philip murmured…

Eliza isn’t looking forward to a holiday with her husband’s over-critical family. And when she arrives at the country manor where they are staying, she is made even more uncomfortable by their host and his sons, the dismissive Samuel Vise. Eliza’s trespass is an erotic story of family betrayal, enslavement and forced breeding.

Eliza’s Trespass: Chapter 1

[Eliza’s Trespass contains non-consent erotica, incest, free use, older men fucking younger women and gender betrayal. All characters are over 18 and the story is fully fictional.]

‘I do hope you will behave appropriately this week, Eliza,’ my husband John said from his position in the driver’s seat of the car.

I flushed immediately at his words, blushing even hotter when I heard the murmuring approval from the two other people in the car — my father-in-law, Steve, and my mother-in-law, Susan.

Biting my lip, I looked sideways out the car window, trying to pretend I was anywhere but here.

My name is Eliza. I’m in my early thirties and I’m married to a wealthy man named John Henderson. What else can I say about myself? I make a moderate living as an illustrator of coffee table picture books. The world tells me that I should be happy but I’ve been struggling the last few years and I’ve finally started admitting that fact to myself.

John doesn’t listen to anything that I say and takes every chance to criticise me. I feel as though I’ve become a cipher — a nobody who exists solely to please him, except that apparently I’m not even any good at that these days.

‘I do hope, John, that your wife will at least dress decently,’ my husband’s father Philip murmured from his place in the front seat of the car.

Hearing Philip’s words as I looked out the car window, I flushed hotter, wishing I could shrink into the back seat of the car. My father-in-law had no right to talk about how I dressed, but the Hendersons did this to me all the time. Somehow, it never stopped hurting.

‘You should have supervised her while she packed, John,’ John’s mother Susan said sharply from her corner of the car. ‘Who knows what the girl will have brought?’

‘I have done nothing wrong,’ I said hotly, my cheeks smarting with sudden humiliation. ‘And I’m not ‘the girl’! I have a name.’

‘I live in hope,’ John said, rudely ignoring me, ‘that one day my wife will learn how to behave decently on her own. And how to speak respectfully to my parents.’ His voice was pointed, making me the sarcastic butt of his jokes as he always did when his family was around. ‘She seems to delight in proving me wrong, of course.’

‘I always dress decently,’ I said softly, but already none of them were listening to me.

John had started telling an amusing story about some time in the past when I had misunderstood one of his orders and embarrassed him, and Susan and Philip were making appropriately sympathetic noises.

I hate them all, I thought, but it was a passionless hate. I’ve become so hollowed out inside these last few years since I married John, I can’t even hate with fervour anymore.

‘At least you’ll enjoy the country, Eliza,’ my husband said after his story came to a close.

Still smarting from the earlier comments about my dress, I marvelled at his ability to forget all the arguments we had had about this holiday. I didn’t want to be here and I wasn’t going to enjoy myself. But my husband John — always John, never Jack or Johnny — believes so firmly in his ability to be correct that he can forget anything.

After a long day’s travel, he was currently driving us through the village of Causley. Our destination was Causley Manor, the lord’s house that had once overlooked this hamlet as its domain. The manor’s current tenant had converted the historic building into a high-class bed and breakfast.

With his usual high-handedness, John had decided that we would spend a week of our precious summer holidays here, a joint holiday with his father, mother, as well as his older brother and his wife.

I really didn’t want to be here.

I had no desire to bury myself in the country, and I didn’t see why I had to be here just because there was good fishing for the men. I had even less desire to spend my cherished summer holidays with John’s family. But I knew there was no point in saying so.

Now that I was here, I was even less happy. At first glance, Causley could have been any other country town with hundreds of years of history under its belt. And yet, it felt wrong somehow — as if the stone walls and old cottages were almost flat, like a postcard that had been left in the sun until it faded and warped.

‘This town gives me the creeps,’ I said, knowing that neither John or his parents would listen to me. ‘Ever since we came over the rise of the hill behind us and down into the valley.’

‘Nonsense, Eliza,’ John said with his usual calm.

I knew he wasn’t even looking at the people we were passing in the main street or the houses or the bizarre absence of shops, except as obstacles to avoid while driving. John never pays attention to his surroundings — a fact I used to find charming and now I just find frustrating, especially when it’s me he refuses to pay attention to.

I grew up in the country, a fact which John frequently forgets. And this town and surrounding countryside was odd, although I couldn’t quite put my finger on why or how. The air hung heavily, almost malignantly. Almost, I thought, knowing I was being ridiculous, almost as if some great power had breathed in deeply a long time ago and forgotten ever since to breathe out again.

I shook myself, knowing my thoughts were nonsensical.

‘There are too many women here,’ I said at last. ‘In the main street and by the houses. Not enough men. And they’re all young. No old women. It’s very pretty and historic, of course,’ I conceded quickly, knowing that John would take anything I said to be criticism of him.

‘But why are there so few shops?’ I continued. ‘No town hall or post office or bus station? And why is there no church? A town of this size and era should have at least one if not two. And I feel…’ I paused. ‘I feel strange,’ I said finally, unable to explain the unsettling feeling of unease that had come over me when we drove into the valley.

‘Well, I think it’s lovely,’ Susan said in her sweet, gushing voice that never fails to grate. ‘It’s so pretty! Those little stone walls are so delightful! You’re very clever to have found this place, darling,’ she said to her son in the front seat.

‘I don’t like it here,’ I said, knowing even as I spoke that I sounded just like a spoiled teenager. ‘There’s something wrong with this place.’

‘Your critique makes no sense,’ John said to me in his ‘reasonable’ voice, meeting my eyes in the rear view mirror. ‘You like women. You’ve always said you prefer the company of women to men.’

I flushed at his underlying bitter criticism. My insistence on maintaining my friendships with other women I had met at university was a constant sore between us. As was my bisexuality, occasional and fleeting, but nevertheless existent, a fact that John had never been able to come to terms with.

‘And,’ he continued, ‘as you insist on being atheist, I hardly think the lack of a church will impact you, Eliza.’

‘You’re an atheist too,’ I said softly, feeling defeated, knowing that any argument with him was a mistake.

John and I have grown so far apart these last few years of our marriage, and I honestly don’t know why I’m still spending my life trailing after him. I never get to make decisions of my own — this holiday a case in point — and I feel trapped constantly by the cloying requirements on me as a Henderson wife.

I must always dress appropriately. I must always behave appropriately — speaking with moderation, never swearing, never laughing too loud or in the wrong places. If I ever slip up — and frankly, according to them, I slip up all the time — Gloria or Susan, my sister and mother in law, or John are always ready and willing to correct me.

Oh Eliza, one of them will take me aside to say. I just thought I would give you a little tip. Then I will flush and wonder what shibboleth I have broken this time.

‘Don’t try to argue with me, Eliza,’ John said now, his voice curt. ‘This is what I mean,’ he said to his parents. ‘She argues all the time and she gets weird fancies. If she was pregnant, I would understand it, but of course she refuses to have a baby as well.’

‘You should listen to him, Eliza,’ Philip spoke up from his position in the front passenger seat, and I flushed angrily to find my ‘behaviour’ once again the topic of family conversation.

We had left the village, climbing up the winding road to the manor nestled in against the hills. If anything the ‘wrong’ feeling was increasing the closer we drove to the manor, and I gritted my teeth.

My husband took his eyes off the road to look back at me for a moment.

‘At least you’ve started dressing better,’ he said scathingly, and I flushed as his eyes ran critically down my body. ‘Mostly. Maybe I should have supervised what clothes you packed for this holiday. I was quite embarrassed by how much skin you showed at last week’s garden party with the Fourchenots.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Susan agreed with him. ‘And at the theatre last month!’

I felt my cheeks burning hot, humiliated all over again at my clothing being made the topic of a family conversation.

‘John and I were talking about that, Eliza,’ Susan turned to look at me. ‘A woman with such big breasts should work to dress them down, my dear,’ she laughed with a soft little critical titter. ‘I thought you knew that by now. Otherwise, you’ll give men unseemly ideas.’

‘It’s my skin,’ I said softly, my face feeling as though it was burning bright red. ‘They’re my breasts.’

‘Not when you put them on public display, they aren’t,’ my father in law said sharply, and I blushed, hating them all for ambushing me like this.

‘You can’t behave as though you’re still a girl,’ John said flatly. ‘I was embarrassed, Eliza. Everyone could see your breasts and your thighs even through that thin fabric. Mrs Fourchenot took me aside and suggested that I give you a hint. I know you don’t actually want all the men lusting after you, thinking about you late at night when they’re with their wives.’

‘It wasn’t that bad,’ I said grumpily, blushing hotly, wishing I could fade into the car seat.

Honestly, it hadn’t been that bad. The dress had been low-cut but not terrifyingly so, and the fabric had only clung to my legs because of the sultry summer heat.

Some days, when John and his family spoke to me like this, I wanted nothing more than to run wild, to behave completely inappropriately — to watch pornography or seduce someone or have sex in public. But the truth is, despite John’s angry words and controlling behaviours, I have literally no idea anymore how I would even do that.

‘Well, we’re here,’ John said, pulling the car to a halt on the drive in front of an imposing building. ‘And it was that bad, Eliza. I wish I didn’t have to speak to you sharply like this but if you won’t behave, I have no choice.’

‘He’s right, my dear,’ Susan said to me as she released her seatbelt. ‘I do hope you don’t mind us giving you a hint, dear Eliza. You know Matthew and Gloria are joining us this week, and I know you won’t want to embarrass dear John in front of his father or his brother.’

‘Of course not,’ I said angrily, terrified I was going to cry. ‘But…’

‘Well then,’ Philip said from the front seat, interrupting me brusquely. ‘Then I can foresee we won’t need to talk like this again. Your job as a Henderson wife,’ he said ponderously as if I hadn’t heard it a million times before, ‘as I’m sure John has explained to you, is to behave modestly and with the dignity the family deserves. And you’ve hardly lived up to that standard recently, Eliza.’

He paused for a moment, before turning around to look at me in the back of the car. I was silent, feeling trapped in my seat, even more trapped because we were about to spend a whole week together at this obscure location in the countryside, sleeping and eating under the same roof for seven whole days.

Philip Henderson ran his eyes down over my body and I wanted to scream and vanish into the seat at the feeling of him assessing me, assessing my body, judging how much skin I had showing and how the clothing displayed my curves. He had no right to look at me like that, dammit.

‘I don’t want to look at you,’ my father in law continued, ‘and think about what can only be described as the relations between a husband and his wife. If men can see your breasts — and your breasts are very large, Eliza, as I’m sure you’re aware — I can assure you that they will think lustful thoughts about you.’

‘That’s not my fault,’ I said, feeling like I was about to cry. It was the wrong thing to say, I knew it was.

‘Don’t be so childish,’ Philip said, and I blushed, hating him all over again. ‘You have a duty to John and to your family not to dress like a whore. Is that clear, Eliza?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I whispered, unable to meet his eyes, my cheeks crimson with embarrassment and suddenly wet with tears.

Oh gods, I had no idea how I was going to survive a week trapped alone with them.

Please follow me for more stories! In the real world, remember to always play safely and practise positive, informed and enthusiastic consent that is respectful of all genders.

It’s not a manifesto

I write a lot of M/f non-consent erotica, including enslavement of women, degradation and forced breeding. They are not an expression of how the world should be. Everything I write should stay in the hot world of fiction and play. It should absolutely not become part of the real world.

Pixie Isobella