Anonymous - Venus in the Country

“Oh, Papa!”

“Oh, Helen!”

The heavings ceased. The last drops of their pearly essences were expelled. Still clutching one another dreamily, a blissful silence ensued. Pecking at her lips, Sir Richard murmured at last his divine pleasure even as his partly shrunken tool slipped from her oozing grotto.

“It was so nice, Papa,” Helen murmured hopefully, cuddling into his arms whilst they lay side by side. “It will be our big secret, shall it not? I shall not tell Mama or even Miranda.”

“Heavens, no!” declared Sir Richard in only the mildest tones of alarm, for he knew her well to be merely comforting him. Her young womanliness was now long apparent to him, as were the exquisite pleasures of her warm curves.

“Nor even Pamela. She must not know, must she?” Helen asked, for truly it was such an exciting thing that had happened to her that she felt she must tell someone.

“I think not, my pet,” Sir Richard answered, though in less assured tones. To his delight, his cock was already stirring anew against her thigh. With errant pleasure he fondled Helen's delightfully plump bottom cheeks, parting them delicately so that his finger might probe the puckered rim of her bottom hole.

At the first touch, Helen giggled and squirmed. “Oh, what are you at?” she asked softly, for Pamela had already inserted her finger there while tonguing her, and the sensations she had received had sent her quite to heaven.

“How tight and warm you are there, my sweet,” he answered, though not daring yet to divulge to her that he meant sometime to have her by that route also. Helen jiggled her bottom impatiently. He was touching all around, but he was not putting it in as she wanted, though she dared not tell him so. Slyly her fingers sidled down and clasped his cock, which had already assumed threatening proportions once more. Her thumb passed lightly over the crest, causing Sir Richard to quiver with lust.

“You little beauty, I shall have you again now!” he groaned. A soft answer, and he was upon her, gliding a trifle more easily than the first time into her now-spermy grotto though it clutched him no less tightly for that.

“Your bottom! By heavens, I shall have your bottom next!” he grunted when they were in the full throes of it.

“Yes, Papa,” assented Helen, her eyes rolling wildly. Her belly was melting again and she was coming. It would be too big for him ever to put it into her bottom, but it would please him to think that he might. Closing her eyes and rocking back and forth under him, Helen surrendered herself to the opportunities of the moment. There would be lots more to come now, she felt sure of it.

Lady Patricia Hemingforth De Lancey and her brother Harry were twins, and quite the handsomest pair in the country, it was often said. Both had enjoyed scores of the prettiest girls in Hertfordshire-and if not exactly between them, at least in full liaison with one another.

The twins were twenty-five, and neither saw any immediate merit in getting married since they already enjoyed all the boudoir pleasures thereof without any of its strife. Lady Adelaide, their Mama, knew not a bad word said against them, for such gossip as was put about was kept from her ears and it was she who had endowed the pair with a pretty cottage in the grounds of her manor where, as she innocently put it, they could meet their friends “without the presence of their bothersome Mama.”

Thus it was that Patricia and Harry entertained quite freely, though it was often enough remarked by the servants that females rather than males were the principal visitors to the cottage, as indeed they were. Such maidens ever being accompanied by maidservants, who were supposed to act as their moral protectors, quickly found themselves separated from their chaperones once the interior of the cottage had received them.

Therein, the servant would be plied with whatever took her fancy in the way of gin or beer or other bibulous liquids and would soon care not a jot in the world what her young mistress was doing. Indeed, were she herself pretty or endowed with sufficient charms, she would soon enough find herself falling prey to the lecherous young Harry, whose cock was wont to do more work in a month than others do in three or six.

Hence, when the next hunting party of Lady Bromley's took place, the twins saw to it that they were invited. Indeed, Belinda could do no other than extend their invitations to them for such were the artful pair's influence and wealth that no social gathering was complete without them. Additionally, the Lady Patricia was wont to cleverly supply the occasional slightly-used maiden to her hostess from time to time, and so the pair had what might be called a perfect understanding.

It was therefore no surprise when the heavenly twins appeared on the morning of the hunt that Patricia should cast her eyes immediately upon Pamela. Lady Bromley, having been careful to put it about that the girl was in truth her ward, there were no social apprehensions at the pretty young girl's appearance in riding garb. Patricia and Harry were soon at her side.

To say that this vexed Lady Bromley is rather to state the obvious, for as we have learned she had intended this day that Pamela should be more thoroughly debauched, thereafter to act on her behalf rather than that of her husband. Such a silent battle of wits frequently took place between Belinda and her husband, and the pair thoroughly appreciated any victories they gained over one another.

At this moment, though Belinda knew it not, her husband was uppermost, having enjoyed the nubile charms of Helen, as he was minded to do soon enough again. This day afforded him an excellent opportunity, in fact, for neither Helen nor Miranda were permitted to go on the hunt and-pleading some indisposition-he in turn stayed within. Not being over-displeased with this, Belinda saw her chance to enjoy the day as she would, particularly since Captain Dancer was of her company.

Thus, upon the sounding of the horn and following a hearty breakfast of which all had partaken, the hunt set forth. 'Twas a beautiful morn, and Pamela was in highest spirits as her mount jogged along between those of Patricia and her brother, who quite entertained with their wit and pleasantries. Their own private cottage lay not three miles away and neither intended to remain distant from it too long now that they had a new houri for their harem. Having not distanced themselves a mile, and taking all care to let the other riders precede them, Patricia reined in her steed with a cry.

“Oh, my head is upon me!” she declared.

“She is given to the vapours, I fear,” Harry explained to a bewildered Pamela, while his sister rocked her pretty head theatrically in her hands.

With seeming concern, Harry rode around Pamela and took the reins of his sister's steed.

“We must get her to bed. Nothing but a darkened room will cure her,” he said with solemn mien, whilst dear Pamela made haste to comfort the young aristocrat.

“Dear girl, I fear I shall quite spoil your day,” declared Patricia to her companion whilst her brother rode ahead of them leading her horse.

“Oh, no,” responded Pamela, who was mindful not to call her “Miss” upon the instructions of Lady Bromley. “You must tell me whatever I may do for you,” she added solicitously.

“Our cottage is nearer than the manor-I feel I might go there and rest awhile. Will you stay with me but a little while, and then Harry shall help you rejoin the hunt,” came the artful response.

Thus was the butterfly led into the web, and soon enough the young Lady Patricia was ensconced in her boudoir where, with Pamela's help, she disrobed. Harry remained discreetly distant in the little drawing room, for it needs must be explained that despite all their sly and lascivious games, each of the pair kept their amours separate. Whilst this entailed at least an hour of boredom and waiting for Harry, it benefited him much in the end. Flushed and roseate, her body all of a quiver from the Sapphic embraces of his sister the victim would then pass into his arms all ready for the further sacrifice to Priapus. Indeed, more than merely ready, for Patricia was no less than a devotee of her art, and her agile tongue tuned the nubile maidens as finely as a craftsman tunes a violin.