Anonymous - Laura

The picture such comes clear to me. Hannah lied when she said she was not mounted thus but ever her bottom pestled. She fears still to go through the house at mornings, yet I sense that being ridden in this way had a certain attraction for her.

“Were you not wilful of a purpose, Hannah?”

I halt her in her going. Jane has run ahead. The side gate swings and squeaks.

“I shall not be again. Teach me the avoidances! We are not yet come upon it, are we? Not yet, not yet!”

“They will be waiting for us.”

The side gate squeaks again and we are come upon them. Green paint on the conservatory peels and hesitates, is guilty in its severance from the wood. Some panes of glass are milky still. A table there within where Hannah lay is covered now with flowerpots, dust of loam. She had her legs apart and wore white stockings that are not yet woven. Or they lie in wait for her, secreted under lavender and silk.

“You have not taken long, then-not too long!”

Their mama waves in greeting. Jane perches for a moment on her father's lap, then sprawls upon the grass, is indolent.

“Are you well, Laura?”

He rises, then. Our hands would touch. The space is not yet here to touch.

“She has a slight pallor about her, Ewart-should seek the shade.”

Agnes was ever a kind lady. I ever knew her so to be. I believe she is Agnes. Her eyes are boutiful, fulfilling of all things. She is at times the wood or stone of which my father spoke. Her smile is lined with velvet and her words with love.

“I am well. We would bathe. May we bathe?”

“Together? What a splendid chance of thought! You do not ask, you never need to ask. Have someone tell the maid. Will someone tell the maid?”

A vagueness takes her and she looks about. The shrubs stare, stir their leaves, whisper of otherness.

“I will tell her, Mama.”

Jane rushing, ever rushing now, is gone. A door bangs. Agnes frowns and claps her hands as though both in despair and merriment.

“She is still a child! Would not eat her breakfast. I know not what will become of her.”

“She will eat her lunch, my dear. Fresh from her bath, she will eat her lunch.”

So her papa chuckles. His thoughts contain my breasts, my thighs. Perhaps there will be a peephole into the bathroom whereby he might see. I am roguish to such fancies, yet would not be. I shall examine the walls, make soundings at the door.

Perhaps in the night…

“What shall we do today, Mama?”

Hannah moves in her enclosures, folds the air about her. Careful, delicate, she touches not a chair, a hand, an arm.

“What do we ever do, my pet, but discourse on the usefulness of life, preparations for pleasure, readings from the classics, peckings of embroidery? Papa means to buy you horses, did you know?”

“No-I did not know.”

Her glance takes his in, wondering, then drops. She paws the ground as might her future stallion.

“We shall to the fair on Thursday, then? Shall we go to the fair to choose them?”

I intervene within a narrow gap of thoughts, intentions not made plain or crumpled up.

He smiles. “There is no hurry upon the matter. They have yet to learn to ride, may do so on my own before they take to theirs. Is that not the best solution to the matter?”

Hannah converses now with her mama, parting the shield of air about her, entering on the newness of the day. What shall we do today, Mama, what shall we do today? I turn-the moment is propitious, I believe. Accompanied by her papa, close the doors. Our isolation is perceived and known. The chatter in the garden chatters on. A breeze idles through the trees but will not look. It knows its placings, its discomfitures.

“Laura, I shall bathe in turn after you. Leave the water.”

“If you so wish. Will Agnes stay upon the lawn?”

“If I so wish.”

Our lips merge, melt-our tongues intrude.

“You ever changed your linen first, Laura.”

“Yes. You never kissed me thus before, your hands beneath my skirt. Pray do not fondle too high. I am moist from journeys there.”

“Moist between your cheeks and moist before. Let me but feel you lightly through your drawers. How bulbous will your bottom mound into the bath! What perfumes you will leave!”

“You intoxicate yourself with your imaginings. I in my turn might say how rich your cock will be with sperm and spendings. Did you teach me to talk thus? I have never talked thus! Tell me I have not!”

“Lewd in your fancies and ever by day a lady-would you have me say this? It is true. Did not the others follow when you beckoned, sparkling of bush, your lovelips thickly dewed?”

“Charlotte brought her tongue to me. I recall now. Over the sofa's edge and I was held.”

“What is to forget? No more than what is to remember. When there were huntings of girls, shy the fillies, then you ever led. Calm in your commandings, you saw to their strappings, the bleatings quick subdued, the legs spread wide. When there were cozenings and comfortings to be done, you saw to it, whimperings of wildness put down, the velvet of your lips assuaging. I have seen you docile at the fire by dusk with angels on your eyelids, yet have seen you wild as flames, your bottom squirming to the penis thrusts.”

I giggle, cannot help myself; the time is all wrapped-in, yet lies about as might cloth unfolded after many years.

“You said once that I bubble like a stew.”

I make my voice a baby-voice as he would wish.

“Bubbling and wriggling, was that not ever the lure of you? Jane is unclothed by now. You had best attend her.”

“Shall you play stallion to the fillies, then?”

I am filled with laughter even as a room is filled with music. There is comfort here, the music heard, unheard. He frowns a little. It is not the time. Hannah enters, followed by Mama. I, quick released, obtain an attitude of waiting.

“Is there linen clean? Chemises, drawers?”

Agnes is at the bustle, enters the hall and then ascends.

“Oh, Laura, Hannah, hurry! The water grows less warm.”

Jane's shrilling trill descends. The time unfolds, the time unfolds. The bathroom-an immensity of space whose fireplace waits for winter-draws us in. Splashings and laughter, fumblings, foolishness.

“Mama said we would speak of ordinary things, sit upon the five-barred gate, prepare for picnics. Mama will chaperone us.”

“Yes, Hannah, yes.”

“How dull she is!” Jane laughs and frills the water with her hands, the first to sit within. I enter, poised between her legs, embrace her to the lapping of the warmth. My titties nudge her mouth, she licks the tips, drawing the nipples up to sweet brown points while Hannah will not look and will not look.

“Come, kneel, Jane. Move your bottom up and down within the water's weight as I do mine. How nice it feels, the surging to our cunnies! Now, Hannah, come within- oh, do but try!”

“I cannot. How foolish of you. What kissings you make!”

“Our lips will be the more ruby for it and our breasts the harder. You shall not spoil today, my love, or I will have you whipped. Come, Jane, she is a spoilsome thing, and she the elder! Have your splash then, Hannah, and retire.

Hereafter your papa will take the water. Drawers and chemises will suffice until you find your rooms. Draw up your stockings well and keep them taut.”

“I would stay with you, Laura, until the lunchbell sounds.”

“You may not stay with me, Hannah. You know the way of it-the teachings are prescribed. Each must make ready for her future fate.”

“I shall lock my door then.”

“You will get no benefit from that. Have you forgotten there is still a waiting time? Did I not promise? Out with you, dry yourself and go. In your walking move your bottom well. Such things are looked for. Roll your hips a little but not overmuch.