Anonymous: Venus in the Country

“The girl will have to go, Horace,” Mrs. Rumple declared soundly to her husband. “She's getting ever a healthier appetite and a new dress needed every year. It's all become too much. We can get a cheaper skivvy who will do twice as much housework as she and have her room into the bargain.”

“Yes, my dear,” Horace Rumple agreed sadly. He had no wish to see Pamela go. Now approaching eighteen, she was as lovely a lass as he had ever seen and many a time had given him a fine tingle in his breeches.

At the age of fifteen, Pamela had come into the care of the Rumples, who were considered by one and all in the district to be the most charitable of people. Her parents, it was said, had been lost at sea, her father having been the captain of a fine merchant vessel en route to India. Mrs. Rumple had looked the girl up and down and considered she would make a nice servant to open the door to their guests and to do the housework and all manner of things.

But little by little the good lady had begun to find Pamela a bit highborn in her ways. Not that the sweet girl intended to be. She was quiet by nature and well spoken. Perhaps her accent was a trifle superior to that of her guardians, which upset Mrs. Rumple considerably.

“You must tell her today, Horace, and have done with it.”

“Yes, my dear, but we can scarce put the poor thing out on the street.”

Mrs. Rumple was only waiting to produce her trump card.

“There is no need, Horace. I have made due arrangements. An advertisement in The Times called for a companion. I answered it. I gave them the highest credentials. They are pleased to say that they accept. She may leave tomorrow.”

Horace Rumple gazed across the breakfast table in awe at his good lady. She was ever resourceful and he lived in some fear of her. Had he not, he would have hopped into bed with Pamela ere this. Now he saw his chance. If the girl were to depart tomorrow, she would have little enough time to say anything to Mrs. Rumple about it. As luck would have it, his wife was to attend a social occasion that very afternoon. Beyond the windows of the house the sun shone bright in the garden. In every way it seemed a very fine day, he thought.

“I will attend to all, my dear,” he murmured.

Mrs. Rumple nodded. A clatter came from the hallway where Pamela was dusting. Finishing her tea, the good wife entered the hall and addressed the girl.

“I am to have my hair dressed this morning, Pamela, and I shall not be here for most of the day. Mr. Rumple has some news to impart to you. Attend him now.”

“Yes, Mrs. Rumple.”

Pamela never curtsied, which annoyed her guardian. She would teach the next servant to do so as she believed they all did in the grand houses. Glaring slightly at the lissome suppleness of the girl's figure as Pamela dutifully, made her way to the dining room, Mrs. Rumple attended to her own affairs.

Horace received Pamela graciously. By his reckoning she had grown prettier by the month. Her chestnut locks fell thickly to her shoulders, which-such as he could see of them-were dazzling white. Her nose was neither too long nor too short and perfectly straight, being enhanced by two large, liquid eyes that ever seemed to hold an expression of wonderment. Of moderate height, the incurving of her waist and a certain fullness to her bottom-added to which was some impressive thrusting in her corsage-Pamela presented a picture of considerable allure.

“We-er-have something to discuss, Pamela. I think perhaps if we take a turn in the garden? I rather wanted to look at the summerhouse.”

A trifle surprised, Pamela followed him out. The grass was green and lush on the lawn, and many pretty thoughts came to her as she gazed at the flowers and shrubs. The summerhouse lay at the end of the garden and it was thence that Horace led her, to be well out of sight of his wife. Within all was cosy, for this was in part his private den. The floor was carpeted and a pleasant divan stood in one corner. Next to the divan was a cabinet which-although Mrs. Rumple knew it not-contained a number of saucy photographs of naked and half-naked maidens which her husband secretly collected.

Horace cleared his throat and commenced to impart his news without delay. A look of astonishment and disbelief came over Pamela's lovely features, for she had never expected to leave the house and indeed had given no thought to such a thing despite all the work she had to do there.

“As I understand it from the gentry concerned, Pamela, the house is a fine one, well situated in a most pleasant part of Wiltshire, and your tasks will not be onerous. Indeed, I believe you will not have any housework to do.”

“Oh! And I must leave tomorrow?”

“A conveyance will call for you early, my dear. However, there is one proviso. I needs must examine you before you leave. It was the express wish of Sir Richard Bromley, your new employer.”

“Examine me? Oh, Mr. Rumple, you mean I must t… take my dress off?”

Her guardian's expression assumed a sly but pleased look.

“I do fear so. It will take but a moment. Wait, I will lock the door so that you may not be embarrassed by any disturbance. You wear not too much beneath, I trust?”

“Only my petticoat and stockings, but…”

Pamela's cheeks were rose-pink at the thought of unveiling herself in such a manner, yet at the same time her initial disappointment at the unexpected news was already diminishing. She loved all Nature, and the thought of actually living in the countryside instead of in this stuffy suburb quite enchanted her. Hesitating only a moment, therefore, while turning her back shyly on Mr. Rumple, she unbuttoned the back of her dress and began to raise it.

Horace Rumple held his breath. At first he could see her calves, then the dip of her knees at the back, and then, at last, rising above the tops of her rather coarse stockings, the ivory columns of her thighs. For a moment, he thought that Pamela would not raise the hem of her skirt farther to disclose that which he most longed to see. Valiantly aware that he was waiting, however, Pamela took a deep breath and with a sudden single swoop of her brown dress, cast it off her head and shoulders together with her petticoat.

Except for her stockings and shoes, now, she stood naked-a vision of such wondrous, subtle curves that the buttons of Horace's breeches almost burst thereupon. Her bottom was a perfect peach-its cheeks chubby and full, posed alluringly above the Venus-curves of her legs. Deeply tingling as it already was, his cock swelled up to many times its normal proportions and stood rock-hard.

“And now if you will turn, Pamela.”

Biting her lip, the maiden obeyed, bringing her firm, ripe breasts to his view. Her brown nipples were like small berries and looked particularly succulent, but as much as he wished to dwell on them, Horace's glance fell promptly to her bush. Thickly curled, it presented on its slight mound a delicious triangle, so neatly formed that it almost appeared that Pamela had trimmed it.

The faint blush on Pamela's cheeks added to the allure of her appearance and a quiver of astonishment ran through her as Horace promptly approached her and fell to his knees. Never had he seen such a sinuous, curvaceous creature, her navel a veritable whorl of cream on her silksmooth belly.

“Part your legs, Pamela, I must look properly,” he husked.

Pamela closed her eyes, quite unable to believe that this was really happening. But, never having been out in the world before save when she had first come to the Rumples two and a half years ago, she could only think it was necessary. Shifting her feet apart little by little, she permitted Horace to gaze entranced at the moist lips which parted stickily in their nest of curls.