Anonymous - Venus in the Country

“Oh, pray forgive me-I do beg your pardon-I was looking for Lady Waterhouse,” said Pamela in her most dulcet tones while her eyes ranged blandly over the enlaced couples.

“Ah!” shrieked Belinda.

“Oh!” gasped Mary.

By then Pamela had stepped neatly without and retired once more to her room. She had not long to wait, as she expected, for in but two minutes an extremely ruffled Lord Waterhouse appeared in hastily drawn on trousers and crumpled shirt.

Upon his appearance-she having left her oil lamp lit-Pamela sat up in her bed with every semblance of alarm.

“Oh, sir, would you assault me, in turn?” she gasped.

“My dear, good heavens, no. It has all been a mistake,” puffed the gentleman, whose concealed erection evinced all signs of excitement. A sombre expression of anxiety then passed across his features. He made to sit upon the bed, but Pamela gave such a start that he desisted. “Why sought you Lady Waterhouse?” he asked.

“She awoke, sir. Naturally I gave her the tidings of your arrival. Her wonderment that you had not joined her was great. I believed her to have gone in search of you. Then I apprised her of your whereabouts and she locked herself in her room, saying that on no account would she speak to anyone.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the good lord in doleful tones. “In entering the bedroom in the dark, I fell, you see, upon the bed, and…”

His voice trailed off wistfully. His eyes sought help, but Pamela's gave him none.

“Yes, sir,” she replied distantly. “May I sleep now? I, too, have been over-disturbed.”

“Herrumph! Why, yes-but of course, I mean-why, that is to say-well…”

Unable to find further words, he retired ungracefully, leaving a pleased Pamela to douse her lamp and compose herself for slumber. Sir Richard and Lady Bromley would now both be put out beyond repair, but that could not be helped. The comedy that must ensue in the morning would be well worth attending.

Arising first that morn, Pamela made haste to silently unlock the door to Lady Waterhouse's room. She had debated with herself whether to apprise the lady of the night's events, but it seemed clearly better to let all confusion proceed. And thus it was-tedious though it would be to recount all the conversations that proceeded.

Lady Waterhouse's surprise that her husband had been present all night was naturally great, and a considerable upheaval at the breakfast table ensued.

“Where were you, Harry? You had no nightshirt,” declared Lady Waterhouse with impenetrable logic.

“I-er-my dear, I could not open your door. It s… s… seemed to be stuck.”

“Really? I found no difficulty with it this morning, Harry. As to you, Mary, you were to have slept with me, I thought.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“The poor little dear fell asleep upon the sofa, so we put her elsewhere,” interjected Lady Bromley, whose husband merely sat looking frightfully uncomfortable. Indeed, being crestfallen and experiencing shades of guilt over the entire matter, he succeeded in bringing a light flush to his cheeks which the perfectly able Lady Waterhouse's eyes did not miss.

“And where did you sleep, Miss?” she asked Mary without a moment's pause.

“Mama, in the-er-”

“Really? A most interesting place to sleep, I am sure,” her Mama observed cuttingly, for being given to peccadilloes herself she was ever conscious of their possibility in others and already-it will be recalled-had discovered her daughter and brother in a situation of what might be called flagante delicto. “Come, Mary, I wish to speak to you,” Lady Waterhouse declared. Ignoring the polite conventions, she swept from the table taking Mary with her, that maiden casting a wild-eyed and blushing look behind her as she did so.

“Ah…,” said Lord Waterhouse, “frightfully sorry-just remembered a most pressing appointment.”

Therewith he scuttled off in the opposite direction. Within moments the heavy slamming of the front door was heard.

“It was all Lady Waterhouse's fault, of course. She insisted last night in knowing where her husband was, for she awoke unexpectedly,” Pamela said sweetly, where she remained at table with Sir Richard and Belinda.

Sir Richard stared glassily. Lady Bromley's colour was high. In so excusing herself, Pamela had quite cut the ground even farther from under their feet.

“I say, my dear, were we not to have departed for Paris today?” Sir Richard squeaked to his spouse.

“Indeed, I have just remembered the same. The Ambassador is expecting us, is he not? Oh, how foolish of you to have forgotten, Richard. We must make haste. Is there not a packet to France today?”

“I b… b… believe there is,” said her husband, who was not normally given to stuttering. “Let us pack without delay, for with luck we shall reach Dover by afternoon and thus be able to embarque.”

“You will see to all, I trust, Pamela,” Sir Richard had declared upon parting.

Mary had not betrayed her hosts, though what she had otherwise confessed to her severely questioning Mama was not then known. However, the Bromleys deemed it wiser to absent themselves from the scene, and there were thus some hasty and embarrassed farewells between themselves and Lady Waterhouse. Their social diary had been completely put awry by mistaken entries, Belinda had declared with a laugh so tinged with embarrassment that Lady Waterhouse kept her suspicions to herself.

“Indeed I shall see to all,” Pamela promised faithfully and returned to the drawing room, where Lavender Waterhouse had seated herself with some aplomb. Mary, having been duly spanked, sobbed fretfully in her room and wondered whether it had all been worth it.

Her ladyship surveyed Pamela with some interest and patted the brocaded silk of the sofa beside her.

“Come sit with me,” she coaxed.

Innocent-eyed as she made herself appear, Pamela did so and felt an arm slip around her shoulder.

“I'm sure you have secrets, my dear, and quite nice ones,” purred Lavender Waterhouse, who, like her husband, was quite taken with the girl.

“I? Oh, no!”

“Nonsense. I read exciting little secrets in your eyes. Come, look at me,” she invited softly.

Whereupon, turning her face, Pamela was intrigued to find her mouth deliciously kissed, whilst an errant hand passed searchingly over the firm globes of her breasts. Parting her lips delicately, Pamela surrendered to the embrace, wondering just how far it would go. Her gown being but of light merino, her nipples soon announced their pleasure by pressing themselves perkily against the fingertips of Lavender, who found herself quite distracted. She had intended merely to excite the girl and thereby extract from her what she knew about the night's events, but instead a quivering of passion seized the lady and Pamela found herself borne back upon the sofa.

“The s… s… servants!” she stammered even as a questing tongue sidled into her mouth and she felt her skirts being lifted.

“We will go upstairs,” murmured Lavender, who was never lost for words or ideas and remained cool in most situations except when her passion was overheated.

Rather misty-eyed, Pamela allowed herself to be duly led up while Lavender, knowing not of her licentious adventures, maintained a coaxing arm about her waist. Such adventures came infrequently to Lady Waterhouse, and she was determined to make the most of this one, little knowing by what fair chance she had fallen into the right hands. Assenting to all, as if overtaken by events, Pamela allowed herself to be disrobed and then watched her companion do the same.

It was years since Lavender Waterhouse had tongued a pussy as succulent as Pamela's and, laying the girl's legs immediately over her shoulders whilst she herself knelt by the bed, Lavender commenced indulging herself. Slowly up and down did her long tongue lap whilst, all in a quiver, Pamela spread her legs and grasped at the bedcover on either side of her.