Anonymous - Laura

His expression is purplish upon my entrance. Holding a feather, the pale one teases it about his balls.

“Close the door.”

Amelia's voice is low, fraught with excitement. Not being servitor, I do not move. She tuts and closes it herself.

“He amuses himself thus occasionally, though you would not think so.” In speaking she nudges me with eyes and elbow. My uncle shakes his head and looks away. I fear for his agitation, though feel none. The scene is as of pasteboard without depth.

“Will one go upon him?”

I have found my voice.

“Susan shall. In a moment. Shall you, Susan-in a moment?”

The girl stares, does not reply, as though she were uncertain of her being. Our glances cross as swallows darting.

“Undress before him, Amelia. Would that not excite him even more? He has a taste for you-has much expressed it since we met.”

“I am the exhibitor, not the exhibited. Or would it excite you?”

“More than Susan upon him. She will not have the movement, though will appease him quick with spongy tightness. You, my pet, will leave his shaft erect, bursting to bubble yet frustrated in its straining.”

Her eyebrows rise. She had not thought me to come so quickly upon the thought of it. Not being dunce, I can see the reason for the play, the teasing of the cock, deflation of his pride. It is an experience-I may one day learn- that other men desire, as do some females, put to feathering or dildo, on and on.

“My cunny will be wet for your tongue if I do.”

“Yes.”

My tone has no promise. Perhaps that is the promise of it. I have challenged, been received. Clicking her fingers, she brings Susan to her side, who buttons fumbles, ties unties, then strips her of her gown, chemise. Her drawers, split back and front, are a la mode, her stockings purple, patterned, drawn up tight.

“Will you watch? Will you fondle me?”

“Go upon him, face to face. I shall tease your bottom with my finger.”

Her buttocks wobbling, she approaches, straddles his thighs and parts the cotton gap where hides her nest. She has not bathed! I scent a muskiness. So am I never-ever with rose water applied.

“Help put her down.”

“There is no need,” she sighs. Her knees are bent. She looks absurd. The tendons in her ankles strain. Her thighs are mottled and displease.

There is more rope. More rope lies lying, close to the trestle where the cushion hangs. Groping, she presses his cock against her lips, sinks silent down, absorbing inch by inch the shaft, her large pale breasts thrust plump against his eyes. Gag-groaning then, he jerks and is full in, her bottom on his naked thighs ground down.

“Caress me! If he comes I shall whip him. He knows better than to come.”

“Yes.”

I move as a cat moves, out of sight of her, behind her bend and gather up the rope. The pale one stares and licks her lips, would speak but my eyes silence her.

“Caress her breasts, Susan. Force your hand between since he cannot mouth them. How beautiful you look, Amelia. Hold still.”

“Put you finger right up-1 beg you.”

“Of course, of course.” I feel her rosette round, the marbled cheeks. She strains in readiness. Blank-eyed, sweet Susan charms with fingertips. She has the bright intelligence of birds. I dip my finger, making Amelia squirm.

“Ooooh! Both of you-together-yes!”

The moment is one of danger, but I have known moments of danger, intensities of excitement, footfalls on the stair, hand questing at a door, silent my puffing as the piston worked, the faint slap smack of flesh to flesh unheard beyond the guardian walls, eager to finish, eager not to end.

She must be beyond retreat before I cast the rope.

“Rest your head to his shoulder, loop your arms about his neck-protrude your bottom more!”

“Yes!”

She pants-is ill advised to pant, obeys, her bottom to my finger lewdly put. Her face is hid. That is the trick of it. Quick then I loop the rope about them both. Her cry-head jerks-but all is now too late.

“Stop it! You dare! What are you at-what at?”

“Amelia, be quiet, my love. Do you not like such games? Tie the ends, Susan. Be strong at your task and I will bind their thighs!”

“No! I will not have it, Laura, no! Leave me not upon him-the beast will come!”

“As he may-as he may, my pet.”

The pale one has not moved but gawking stands. I pass the other length of rope across their thighs, beneath the chair. She is secured as ever tar to feathers, birds to lime.

“You will rob me-I know you will rob me!”

Upon her cry the pale one edges to the door, is smacked, retreats.

“Of what, Amelia, would I rob you? Have you a heritage save of sin? The servant will loose you later, upon midnight, upon my uncle's second coming.”

“I shall cry out, arouse the neighbourhood!”

“You will not. There is too much to be unfolded here, I think. Girls-come. Susan-close the door.”

“Aid me-ee-ee-eeh!”

The door is closed, the pale one frets and stares. “There will be trouble about it-I know there will be trouble about it.”

“Gather up your clothes, child. Go. Have you no wanderings to make, no journeys to complete or end?”

“I wanted to leave. She wouldn't let me leave. I ain't got no money to leave with. My sister at Walworth said she would take me in. You ain't going to whip me as she did?”

“To what end would I whip you?”

I descend, drawing them down, as head girl to pupils. A rumpling, a rustling in a cupboard and the pale one is dressed. I put a sovereign to her hand. It will suffice her journey yet and more. Boards creak, doors thump, and she is gone, vagrant upon the night to some far shelter.

“Let us have wine, Susan.”

“There are others, captive as I. Have you come to betray us to the world?”

Her voice is gentle as I would suspect. The melons of her breasts press through the silk. Perhaps her mother once, upon purchasing it, folded it away, dusted it with lavender. I know the wooden drawers where such things hide, awaiting emergence, smooth to clothe, eager to drink when dirty, scrub of brush and sweet of soap.

“You like white wine or red? I will pour it for you. There is one above-Delphine. I have seen only her. From the first you took my fancy. When you were put to it, were you stubborn, cried? Here-I have poured white for you; it will better suit your tongue. You may tell me your history later perhaps. I would have every word and strain of it, each hour of longing, languor, and despair. Where are you from?”

“Hereford. I am come not long here-was left to her disposal and return.”

“She has made pretty play with you. You are not so hard done by, perhaps. Will your mama greet you, your sisters kiss your cheek, your diaries be scoured for secrets?

“I had none. I swear I had none!”

“Had you not? You have no need to fret. You have come, as all maidens do, to the lusting of the cocks.”

“You will not release her-let her down? If you do not release her, I may go. May I go?”

“Upon Hereford? Such a journey? In the night? The inns will be closed, the steam trains dormant. Those who issue tickets sleep. I shall put you up. Were you never put to it before?”

Her face suffuses and she hides her eyes. The glass trembles like a sparrow in her hand. In sitting with her I encompass her shoulders, take her mouth, wine to wine, small whimpers at my lips.

“I was birched for it, though lightly, yet would not.”

“Lightly? A play about your rosy bottom made? Lower your chemise-let me kiss your nipples.”

“May I go if I do? Oh, your touch!”

“Clasp not your thighs together so quickly. Let them part. What a prettiness is there, what plumpness and what curls! Issue your tongue a little 'twixt your teeth and let it come to mine. Ah, you are ardent with your lips! Do you not like the feel of it? Were you not fingered thus a little 'mid your birchings?”