Anonymous - Venus in the Country

“Ah, yes, a message, yes. Lady Bromley saw fit to invite the Vicar to her next ball, and his sister as well- I believe her name is Agnes. On reflection, my dear wife feels that she may have offended the cloth by suggesting that they come in fancy dress. A cleric might not feel it becoming, you see. Her intention is that you might perhaps visit and tender her apologies and explanations, though the deuce of it I cannot imagine what you might say.”

“'Tis simple enough, sir. I shall smooth matters over. In fact, I am possessed of an idea immediately. The Vicar could come in his usual garb and his sister as a nun. Then all would be pleased.”

“Capital, capital! What a treasure you are-is she not, Helen?”

“Yes, Papa, oh, indeed she is.”

“Poor Helen, I quite forgot that you are still divested of your drawers,” Pamela exclaimed, though concealing the look of mischief in her eyes. “Do put them on- your Papa will turn his back-will you not, sir?”

“Eh? Why, yes, by Jove, of course!”

Thereupon, turning about, Sir Richard found himself gazing into a mirror, as Pamela fully intended he should. Kneeling quickly before her charge, she motioned to Helen to raise her skirt and therewith one foot which she could insert into the drawers. Blushing profoundly, but not a little excited by this curious episode, Helen did her best to conceal all that she could while the drawers were at last about both ankles and were being drawn up. The hem of her skirt followed timidly, creating such a narrow and awkward gap between both garments that Pamela tutted.

“Hold your skirt high, Helen, or I shall not be able to do it.”

The sweet girl obeyed, thereby revealing to her Papa's gaze in the mirror the veritable twinkling of her thighs which appeared to have grown even more luscious since he had last birched her six months before.

“Higher, you silly, how can I pull them up!”

“Oh!” Helen shrieked, for a single impatient tug at her half-raised drawers caused her to fall backward on the bed and her skirt to fly up to her waist-exactly as Pamela had intended it to do. Sir Richard was vouchsafed a perfect view of several treasures, including much of Helen's bare and pink bottom and the enticing nest that couched between her thighs.

His penis quivered, for it had already attained a certain degree of anticipation when he had first gone in search of Pamela. Indeed, the vista was so engaging as Pamela in turn fell forward and so by apparent accident pressed Helen's legs higher that his prick stiffened abruptly while the struggling maidens finally succeeded in covering all. Rather loath to turn about now and so exhibit his protuberance, Sir Richard could not help but do so.

Pamela's eyes remarked upon it immediately, for she had done her best to bring it to that condition, being convinced by now that Helen would receive her best injection from that source. Somewhat to her annoyance, her charge seemed to quite miss the sight of the alarming structure beneath her Papa's trousers and sat quickly upon the bed.

“Perhaps I should best go now, sir.”

“Why yes, my dear, of course. You have but to ask the footman and the carriage will be brought round.”

“Thank you, sir, I shah take leave of you both, then.”

Pamela swept from the room. She had only to find her bonnet and could be gone. The air of the countryside pleased her, and she looked forward to her ride for she had not been much outside the house since her arrival. The door of the girls' room remained closed still as she passed again, and she could hear a murmuring of voices from within.

“I have been thinking, Helen, that you are of an age now where you should have your own room-and more privacy, what?” Sir Richard was saying. The enlarged extent of his weapon had scarcely abated, and in order to conceal it, he sat beside his daughter on the bed.

“Yes, Papa, if you wish. It might have its advantages,” Helen replied innocently. Her face held a pretty glow after her encounter with the birch and all that had followed.

“I will indeed, my pet,” Sir Richard said and laid his hand paternally on her thigh.

In her aroused state, Helen was quite prepared to wheedle a little, and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Now that I am all but grown-up, Papa, though I have not yet come out, may I not attend the balls and the hunting parties? I have quite wanted to.”

Sir Richard cleared his throat uneasily. In her divine innocence, as he saw it, Helen would know naught of the licentious revels that sometimes obtained at such events. It had been ever a problem to see that both she and Miranda be diverted to finding their own amusements.

“That indeed we must discuss, Helen,” he said gravely. Becoming ever more aware of the delicious silky warmth of Helen's thigh he moved his hand about slightly to feel her stocking top beneath-a gesture which caused his cock to pulse the more and Helen to hold her breath.

Pamela should really not have excited her so much and left her like this. Her bottom felt glossy and warm and longed for a few more touches. When she heard her Papa asking her if Pamela had birched her badly, she knew not what to reply and nestled her lovely face deeper into his shoulder.

“No Papa, for she is a kindly girl at heart,” she whispered at last, wondering all the time which bedroom she might have and how she would furnish it.

“Indeed I believe so,” Sir Richard replied and with somewhat palpitating heart, lifted her chin. The misty gaze that met his was no less exciting than the condition in which he found himself, with the result that his lips settled suddenly on those of his daughter.

Quite astonished, Helen parted her lips slightly, for Pamela had recently taught her so to do. Sliding one arm about her shoulders, Sir Richard brought her to lean back more and more until, with a surprised gasp, Helen found herself half beneath him with his lips impressing themselves ever more firmly on hers and an errant hand raising the hem of her skirt.

“Your own room-it will be much nicer,” Sir Richard uttered hoarsely. Little by little his hand made progress until, with a distinct quiver, Helen felt it soothe upward over her stocking tops.

“Yes, Papa. Oh, Papa, you tickle me!”

For being tickled she was indeed. Sir Richard's fingers had tremblingly attained the very area where her drawers were tight about her plump little mount. By gentle questing, he could distinctly feel the curls that were bunched beneath, to say nothing of the lips that exuded a certain moisture through the material.

Knowing naught to do in this unexpected circumstance, except wriggle to his seeking touch, Helen lay supine and wondering, receiving the tender pecks of his mouth upon her own with increasing wonderment and excitement. Her face grew more flushed, her tongue protruding slightly so that it brushed his lips. Much as she tried not to move, she uttered a petulant sob and bucked her hips, for his finger had become ever more inquisitive and had actually pushed the soft linen of her drawers as much as it was able to between her lovelips.

“Oh, Papa, I feel strange!”

“Yes, my love, it is the birching. It frequently brings such sensations. Is your bottom still hot?”

“Yes, P… P… Papa.”

“Open your legs more, for it will cool you. There-is that not better? Let me cast up your skirt so that the air may reach you. Lift your bottom a little, for your skirt is quite caught underneath. There-is that not better?”

“Oh! Oh, Papa!”

For now, in his completely overwrought state, Sir Richard had fallen to his knees, the better to view the treasures he had unveiled. Her brown stockings sheathing such delicious legs, the ivory columns of her thighs, the pretty bunching of curls that yet awaited his full attention beneath her drawers-all, all attracted his lips, which now fell upon her silky skin.