Anonymous - Venus in the Country

Mary being seemingly too shy to appear-though having been given her hors d'oeuvre by Roger, who left her bottom looking somewhat like a cream bun- Lavender and Pamela partook of lunch alone. Roger and Rupert had departed to change their attire and return for dinner, it being agreed that they might do so “if they behaved themselves,” though neither was minded to and Lavender secretly hoped that they wouldn't.

That afternoon, therefore, Lavender and Pamela sallied forth in an open carriage to visit the house where, as Lavender thought, some possibilities might lie. En route they stopped at an inn to slake their thirsts, though with due thought Pamela partook only of lemonade, being determined to look her most respectable and to have no smell of wine upon her breath. Indeed, she had adorned herself in one of Mary's primmest dresses, which though an inch or two short for her, fitted her otherwise admirably and was pleasingly tight about her hips and bosom.

The house they were to visit was known as The Grange, Lavender explained. The head of the household was one Thomas Tomkins, who had gained his fortune from the railways. He was a kindly yet stern man, given to keeping his daughters and sons under firm rein.

“That he is stern may be an asset, for sternness may be moulded into firmness, which is all that is required,” Pamela avowed wisely. As to Mrs. Adelaide Tomkins, that lady was of attractive appearance, but quiet and not given overmuch to excitement.

“Where there is not excitement, there is not desire, but both may be engendered and aroused,” said Pamela, who was keen indeed on learning every detail that she could before setting foot in the establishment. Of daughters there were four, she gathered, their ages ranging from sixteen to twenty-one. Of sons there were two.

“I believe also several others-it is quite a large household,” Lavender averred, but within another half an hour they were in sight of The Grange itself, set in rolling countryside and with a well-laid drive of a quarter-mile leading up to it from between a pair of large iron gates flanked by stone pillars.

Receiving few visitors at this hour, Mr. and Mrs. Tomkins were not displeased to greet their friend, Lady Waterhouse, while expressing also much pleasure at being introduced to Pamela as, in Lavender's words, “a dear friend.”

The Grange was commodious and with so many bedrooms that-being shown around it-Pamela's nimble mind was already at work in memorising each and every one and how best the relationships of the various doors would best suit her kindly purposes. The daughters, if not entirely as pretty as Mary Waterhouse, or Helen and Miranda Bromley, were comely, fresh of complexion, and firm of figure, none being either plump or thin, but properly curved in such places as it suited them to be. In addition, as Pamela was intrigued to discover, there was a thirty-year-old sister of Mrs. Tomkins who had remained unwed (a piece of news that caused Pamela some kindly consternation and not a little further thought that she must be injected as soon as possible) and a shy niece who was staying “quite a while,” as Mrs. Tomkins said.

'Twas in the midst of all this amiable chatter that the subject of a governess was raised, whereat Adelaide Tomkins sighed and said that none would stay long because of the isolation of The Grange. How deviously Pamela's name was inserted into the conversation, neither she nor Lavender remembered. Suffice to say that both Adelaide and Thomas Tomkins expressed particular delight at the suggestion that she might be persuaded to join them, even though it might be only for the remainder of the summer. By the end of the week, as Adelaide declared, their sons would be home from boarding school and she knew not where to turn to keep them all in hand.

“Permit me to consider your offer overnight, if you will,” Pamela said softly, raising her eyes to those of Mr. Tomkins, who unaccountably blushed a shade and crossed his legs. There was something quite magnetic in her look, he thought, though he deemed it an illusion. The mere whisper of her stockings rubbing together where one thigh lay over the other excited him to a degree he had all but forgotten.

“Shall you?” Lavender asked quietly as they left The Grange, though a certain twinkle in Pamela's eye gave her the answer.

“There are possibilities, I do believe,” Pamela declared, then laughed and hid her face in Lavender's shoulder. They would have a wonderful night of it-she was determined of that-and then in the morning she would take her farewell. Four daughters, two sons, a niece, and an unmarried sister-oh, indeed, she would have her work cut out, but it was a challenge she could not deny herself.

Watching the coach depart, Thomas Tomkins sighed and placed his arm about his wife's waist. For no reason at all, he felt suddenly amourous.

“I do hope she comes, Tom. I'm sure she will get on well,” declared Adelaide, who quite unexpectedly felt her husband's hand roam around her bottom as it had not done in daylight for years. Not displeased, she wriggled it agreeably for a moment and then moved away, chiding herself for behaviour that was quite unseemly outside of bed.

Sighing even deeper, though he knew not why, Thomas expressed a similar sentiment and was vaguely petulant at the removal from his palm of his wife's plump bottom. Ascending to his study, where he spent many hours, he sighted yet another round and comely rump that belonged to Geraldine, his wife's sister. Many was the time he had almost yielded to temptation by fondling its ripe cheeks, but ever he feared the consequences.

All the damned women needed to be tamed, he told himself with vague surprise. The girls were at one moment frisky and at another shy. He could not make head or tail of them and was minded sometimes to put them to the birch.

Sitting down at his desk, Thomas Tomkins became ever more aware that his cock had risen thickly in a manner he never normally knew it to do at such an hour-or indeed any hour beyond the marital bed. Damned if he shouldn't exercise it more. The hours seemed very long indeed until the morrow, when they might or might not hear again from the deliciously charming girl whose eyes were so magnetic.

A sound at the door disturbed his reveries, unusual as they were, and he rose, quite forgetful of the extreme prominence in his trousers. Casting open the door, he was confronted by Geraldine, who promptly coloured up at the sight of what was presented to her, for, wearing no jacket, Thomas had nothing wherewith to hide his rude exposure which presented something of the aspect of a tentpole beneath the straining cloth.

“Oh, I but came to ask you for a q… q… quill,” stammered Geraldine. “I have not one,” she finished lamely as a firm hand drew her within and closed the door. Unable to move this way or that, she blushed with spinsterish modesty, though quite unable to conceal another quick downward glance of her eyes which Thomas did not fail to see.

Amazed at his own boldness, he thereupon slid his hand between the door and Geraldine's bottom and with increasing excitement savoured the firm contours of its cheeks while pressing his uprisen cock against her thigh.

“A q… q… q… quill,” Geraldine stuttered again, quite believing herself in a dream. Her loins stirred despite herself at the gentle fondling, and again she felt his prick burning through her dress above her stocking top.

“I have a quill, but no inkpot to put it in,” Thomas heard himself say with some surprise and drew her chin up so that her mouth hovered but an inch beneath his own. Her eyes appeared quite glazed, he thought. Her breasts felt particularly delicious-plump and round and firm as pumpkins.

“No-oh!” Geraldine gasped faintly and all but swooned as his mouth defended upon her own while with crafty guile he urged his longing tool more closely against her.