Anonymous: Venus in the Country

“What thighs, what breasts, what a bottom!” Horace murmured and clasped her to him as they stood upright. “I must inject you again, Pamela, before you leave.”

Pamela cast her eyes down. She was more and more convinced that what they had done was very naughty, but it must be true-as Mr. Rumple had said-that she needed it. Softly acquiescing, therefore, she put on her dress again and smoothed it out sedately before they emerged as master and maid into the sunlit garden.

“Mrs. Rumple will not return until five this afternoon, Pamela.”

“No, sir, I know.”

“I will give you a further injection after lunch.”

“Yes, if you will. Shall I have to take my dress off again?”

“It may not be necessary. A very pleasant way of absorbing it is simply to raise your skirt and bend over some convenient piece of furniture such as a table or the arm of a sofa.”

“Oh, but then my bottom would be upward toward you, Mr. Rumple,” Pamela replied. Her eyes were quite warm at the thought of receiving his big syringe again.

“A most convenient posture, my pet,” he answered. He was wondering if he dare tell her that it would also offer alternative routes for his manly piston to take, but just then Mrs. Rumple descended.

“Mr. Rumple has told you the news, Pamela? Good. It will all be much better for you, I am sure. Horace, see to it that she does what she has to.”

“Yes, my dear.”

With Mrs. Rumple's departure, Pamela gazed after her wonderingly. From what she had said, it appeared that she approved of her receiving her injections. It was something all young ladies must have to have, though it surprised her that she had never heard of it before. Venturing to tell Mr. Rumple this while he was fondling her after lunch, she received his comforting smile.

“So it must always be, my dear. 'Tis a strange convention of Society that wishes it done but does not always wish it to be known that it is done.”

“Oh, what a funny idea! However, I shall remember that always! Shall I bend over now? Will you do it in me?”

“Not yet, Pamela, for I have several things to teach you. See how it throbs to release its essence. But first you must take the knob between your pretty lips and let it ease within. Ah! how luscious your mouth! How divinely you suck! There is but one other route for it to take after this, and then you will be truly prepared for your future.”

Preparing to leave the next morning, Pamela was a much-changed girl, though no one would have thought it from the demureness of her expression.

Her greatest ordeal had come the previous night, when Mr. Rumple had dared to venture into her room. Mrs. Rumple had already been accommodated with a sleeping draught which her thoughtful husband had slipped into her sherry after dinner.

The events of the day had been too much for her, Horace declared, and helped her solicitously up to bed. Beseeching him not to leave her since she felt quite queer, Mrs. Rumple undressed and bid her husband do the same. Horace obeyed with alacrity, knowing full well that in but a few more moments even the greatest thunderclap would not awaken her.

Whilst Mrs. Rumple undressed, he attired himself in his nightshirt and held her lovingly in his arms until her first faint snores sounded. Still ever cautious, Horace laid down the bedclothes, parted her plump thighs and gently tickled her quim. At first Mrs. Rumple gave an answering twitch or two of her large bottom, but even such sensations as he was affording her by twirling a finger around her button could not allay the onslaught of sleep.

Finally her body grew inert and her snores louder. Wishing devoutly that he had thought to use this device before, Horace left the marital bed and went to the far more exciting one in the attic where Pamela lay. Herself a little drowsy, she received first his kisses hazily.

“Oh, sir, Mrs. Rumple may venture in!” she protested when her nightgown was raised.

“Nothing to fear, my love, all is well. Now I shall teach you to raise your bottom and to waggle it prettily. Come-no nonsense, or I shall bring the birch to it first. You would not like that?”

“No, Mr. Rumple-Oh! but what are you doing!”

“Presenting my cock to your bottom, Pamela. The first salute may prove a trifle harder than in your cunny, but we shall manage it. Lift well up, now-let me part the cheeks. Ah, what a rosy treasure!”

Fearful lest her shrieks might bring forth Mrs. Rumple, Pamela acquiesced to the lewd act, though it was necessary for her to muffle her mouth in her pillow while the sturdy rod urged its path slowly between her bottom cheeks. Being gripped tightly by Horace, she could move but little.

“No, I hate it! Please don't! Must I have an injection there?”

“In all your orifices, my sweet. Have patience. In no time at all you will begin to enjoy it. You will feel the rush of my sperm more sensitively within your bottom, I vow. It is a favourite sport among the gentry, I am told. I am breaking you in.”

“Oh! but do not break it completely! I swear you are splitting me! Go more slowly, I beg! I cannot take it all!”

Long was the time that Horace laboured, for he was an understanding soul and was by now well aware that Pamela could become a pleasure-maiden beyond compare. Holding his well-gripped prick but four inches within her rosette, he allowed it to throb mightily, the more to lure her into taking it.

Finally his lubricious persuasions overcame her. Little by little Pamela found the sensations more attractive than they had at first appeared. With many a little puff and pant she received another inch and another, until with a delirious groan Horace was sheathed full within the wondrous globe of her bottom.

Thereupon, leaning over her and fondling her melons, he began to whisper many lewd words that Pamela had never heard before. But that she was being taught things she ought to know, she had no doubt. The feeling of having a big warm pole of stiff pounder in her bottom began to attract her more and more. Extending her tongue and turning her face to him, she indulged in exciting kisses whilst endeavouring to reply to Mr. Rumple in kind.

He appeared delighted that she was learning the words and began pumping her in earnest, entreating her nevertheless to be discreet at all times and to remember the attitudes of Society. Not meaning to ever forget these lessons, Pamela absorbed all as eagerly as she was then entertaining his cock.

“Oh Mr. Rumple, you are f… f… fucking me!” she bubbled, only to be corrected.

“No, my dear, I am buggering you-or sodomising, as it is also called-and what a rare delight it is, especially with a bottom as round and tight and smooth as yours. Push a little now-work your bottom back and forth. 'Tis the most secret of pleasures and gives the girl a rich injection!”

“B… b… I will remember that!” Pamela answered hotly. Everyone knew but no one must know, she told herself again and again. But then her sweet, innocent mind quite clouded over as she felt her tummy and slit melting again even though Mr. Rumple was engaged elsewhere. Her passage had eased considerably and now the piston was tight and smooth within her, working back and forth with a joyous lustiness until at last his donation was made. With infinite trembling and a great revelation of pleasure, Pamela felt it jetting and spilling and frothing into her in exactly the way Mr. Rumple had said.

Remembering it hours later, Pamela wriggled agreeably as she took her seat in the carriage that had been sent for her. She wore her grey dress that was only three months old, white silk stockings that Mr. Rumple had filched from his wife's chest of drawers, and a pink bonnet. Her travelling companion was a housemaid who had been sent to chaperone her. Her name was Lucy and she appeared about twenty.