Now George Aloysius Albert Darragh Cunte, as the family were styled before the union of his grandson with Lady Lucy Pokingham, this George, was the first of eight All with the name George Aloysius Albert Darragh, which has made the families ancestry a little confusing, but lots of fun.
Originally destined for the church, he was accidentally commissioned as an ensign into The Royal Downeshire's, by his grandfather Edward, the fourth Earl of the second creation, sometime during a fifty-two hour game of Brag.
Anyway, young George, he was fourteen at the time, took well to army life, the rough and tumble of the barracks, the whore and ale houses, not to mention running up huge debts with the local trades persons, before the entire battalion moved on to pastures new.
Whilst billeted in Scotland, Stirling in Stirlingshire to be precise. He was introduced to a filly by the name of Fiona Katherine Graham, they met at a soirée his Comanding Officer was hosting in Stirling Castle. The filly turned out to be the third daughter of the second Lord Graham of Alva and Sauchie, first creation. As such her fanny would come with a very pleasant dowery. The couple married, established a pleasant home in a small eight bedroom cottage on the Lecale Estate in Downe. Fiona was at first tearful at the thought of leaving her dear mama and papa, so far away, but then she saw the size of her husband's cock, that put a bit of a smile on her face.
The morning after the couple's nuptials, their fine white Irish lawn linen sheet told everyone that the Honourable Lady Fiona, had indeed been honourable. However as George found out that night, her fuck hole was as wide and loose as a whore wife of Leith, and her fuck flaps distended from self abuse.
Her virgin blood had in fact come from the effort of rupturing his Brides anal sphincture with his bulbous prick as he buggered her!
The couple took mutual enjoyment from the many, many pleasant fucks, but alas no children were conceived by spunk of man and lust of cunt.
And then the crown came calling, in the form of fellow Irish man, Arthur Wellesley. It appeared that the blighter, the scourge of Europe. The man who had caused Cognac and Claret to be declared illegal, and Income tax, yes income tax to be levied against the honest man.
The little Corsican Corporal was being cornered. George had to rejoin his regiment. Which was billeted near some farmhouse in the low countries, by the name of Waterloo!
By the time that he got there, it was all over, for George had been delayed by a game of cribbage and a mademoiselle by the name of Adele, just outside Zeebrugge!
There was nothing for it, but to enjoy the spoils of war, where with the assistance of "lover's gloves made from sheep's intestines and bladders, self protection and grope of cunt, ensured that he stayed safe from the venereal, if not the venerable diseases of severe copulation, buggery and debauchery. He collected filthy foreign art and sent it home to his loving Fiona, just like every good husband should.
After three years in all the hell holes of the continent, he returned home to the beautiful Lecale countryside and his adoring Fiona.
From whom he contracted a dose of the clap!
Which she had contracted from a French prisoner of war, during advanced negotiations for the purchase of an elaborately carved and delicately scrimshaw worked bone dildo!
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