Anonymous: A Stately English Mansion

'Where are you taking me?' the timourous voice of Kate was heard.

'To be dressed, my dear, as a young lady should be. What else?' came the reply of Miss Martin. Their slow footsteps retreated, but even so Bella jumped up from her bed, saying accusingly, 'You see!' Then, 'OH!' she ejaculated at the first sight of Easton's up-prodding tool which he had furtively succeeded in exposing.

Easton was by then rampant. His penis, extending upwards a full nine inches, looked thicker to her bleary sight man the handle of a sturdy rake. Unable to dart aside, Bella found herself amourously pressed against the wall with his prick urging between the stockinged tops of her thighs.

'Give it to me! Open your legs more', Easton groaned.

'It is naughty', moaned Bella, her exposed breasts orbing against his shirtfront.

'You will leave your door unlocked tonight, Bella, you hear me', commanded Easton, urging his stiff penis back and forth between the silky columns of flesh.

Bella seemed about to faint. Her knees sagged, her eyes rolled again. Crossing his wrists behind her, Easton plunged his hands into the rear vent of her drawers and cupped as much as he could of the rearing cheeks of her bum.

'WHOOOO!' Bella gasped. His swollen crest was rubbing under her hairy thatch, giving her a sickly-sweet feeling of desire.

'Or I shall birch you, Bella, and then I shall plough your cunt at last', growled Easton.

'Mmmmm…!' she hummed throatily. Her legs stiffened and edged apart, her bottom bumping his knuckles against the flowered wallpaper.

'Birch you, Bella, and sperm you, as I should', she heard, then felt him quiver mightily, and in that moment their mouths clamped hungrily together, tongues lashing, as with irrepressible shudders Easton loosed his first jets of come which spattered her frothy bush and bubbled thickly under her warm cunny while his insensate gaspings flooded her mouth. In those divine seconds as he pumped his manhood at the very portals of her delicious quim, both were utterly lost in a rosy sea of desire, their thighs and bellies rubbing together in a haze of wonder until Easton's long quiverings at last died and he hugged her closely, feeling his legs weaken.

'L… love… desire… birch you', Easton croaked while clouds of mist swirled still in his head and thick droplets of sperm hung glittering in Bella's nest of curls or rolled slowly down the insides of her thighs.-'Door tonight. Not lock. Have it in you. Tonight', Easton mumbled.

'Yes', Bella breathed.

But she knew she would turn her key, as she always did. It was almost as exciting to promise as to do it.

Anonymous

A Stately English Mansion

Next to the linen room on the ground floor was another, some twelve by fourteen feet, which over the past year had been converted to a species of parlour for Johnson who had been allowed to furnish it from oddments of furniture and thrown-out objects which had been brought up from the cellar.

Johnson had his comfort there, as he always smugly told the other servants-particularly Mary and another young maid, Alice, who came there to his will when he required them to.

Letitia had entered this tawdry but snug abode with hesitant feet but chin upheld. At her appearance, a waiting Johnson had risen from a creaky armchair and touched his forelock, as he also felt was proper.

'What are you at today, Johnson?' Letitia enquired, as she always did. Her eyes took in the ragged green curtains with tassels, a sofa on which she had been recumbent on a number of occasions, and a somewhat threadbare blue divan upon which she had been even more times.

'I seen to the polishing of the silver, m'am, and had the conservatory got in order', Johnson replied glibly, though Letitia knew as well as he that he would not dare cross die head gardener in the matter of the conservatory.

'Indeed? How nice', she said vaguely and, at a polite wave of his hand, seated herself on a stout wooden chair with a cushion. The back of the chair sloped and allowed her to rest back with her neatly-shod feet planted apart on the grey-carpeted floor.

'With your permission, m'am, seeing as how you 'ave been courteous enough to visit my 'umble quarters', Johnson said. Lifting a bottle, he waved it enquiringly, received a benign nod from Letitia, and filled two glasses with port- a good ruby port which Easton had donated to him for 'occasions'.

Placing Letitia's glass gravely in her hand, he stood back, legs straddled, showing two remarkable bulges in his blue velveteen breeches-the one revealing the gross stem of his prick, and the other the twin plums of his balls. It was perhaps a compliment to her, Letitia considered, that his manhood was always erect when she attended on him.

'You were, I believe, telling me the story of your life, Johnson', she said, quaffing deeply of the port in an unladylike but ready manner which brought a creasing of pleasure to his eyes.

'Those recreations as what I were telling you about, m'am? Daring to use such terms as must spring to my lips, as the master says, there's many a young girl I have threaded around these parts. Tupping them, we calls it. Some rare harvest times we've 'ad, I tell yer that. At the full moon, and a glorious sight it is, the women and the girls-daughters, nieces, cousins, be they what they may-all belongs to the men by right of age-old custom, you see. Age-old the custom is, like rites they calls it'.

'They do indeed', Letitia replied. Her tongue licked across her upper lip, removing a brief sparkle of port.-'Last harvest time, Johnson, you promised that I might see such, er, revels', she added reprovingly.

'That I did, m'am, but there was objections, see? I mean like, the gentry-shocked as they might be with their fancy ways, pardoning the term, m'am-are best kept away from such sights, so 'tis said, lest there be interferences. Some of the young lads, though-and a few older ones, too- they sometimes expresses a sad desire to tup a couple of well-bred young ladies'.

'Are you referring to Ethel and to Bella?' asked Letitia in such a tone of voice as was intended to indicate that his reply would be of little interest to her. A faded print of The Stag at Bay met her eyes from the wall behind the footman.

'Naming no names, m'am, and there's yourself would be welcome, but the fieldgirls would be jealous, that I knows. Putting their bottoms up, as they must, kneeling in the stubble or by the side of a rick, they wouldn't get their seconds, as they do, if a lady with your loveliness were there', said Johnson with some gallantry. He edged closer, stopped with his well outlined penis thrusting up a foot away from Letitia's nose. It was always difficult at the first, she thought. How strange that it was. Easton, too, had difficulties, despite his bluff and strong manner. She had not seen such, but she sensed them.

'Strange relationships must occur, under the harvest moon', Letitia said dreamily.

“They does, m'am, much cider being drunk and much rumblings and feelings. Dancings we 'ave and the females lifts their skirt and frolics all about'.

“The men-They expose themselves?' Letitia asked.

The seesaw, she thought, was not yet rocking. In a moment it would.

'All ready and willing, m'am. It's all lustiness and pleasure, you see, and no female can refuse, no matter who comes upon her. Some squeals, some laughs, but there ain't no fighting, for they know they has to do', Johnson replied, putting in the final aspirate as firmly as he hammered nails.

'Many women do, I suppose, Johnson. It is the way of the world. Is the harvest moon not ever there, if concealed?'

The question was too deep for him, she saw. Was she, on this occasion, to passively submit, or to rise to the occasion and be bold? Held between the two possibilities, Letitia quivered agreeably. It would be quite hateful to kiss Johnson, but in all other respects he pleasured her well.