Anonymous
A Stately English Mansion

CHAPTER ONE

Under the gaze of the crossing sweeper she fell. There were faces all about her like pale petals when she fell, struck by our own carriage, too. A dashed bad business, so I thought to bring her home', said Easton Sherwood, toying with his beard.

'Your carriage, dear, not mine. Kate, are you bruised, all shaken up?' his wife Letitia asked.

Awe in her eyes, Kate dumbly shook her head. After her fall in Regent Circus-when the side of Mr. Sherwood's carriage had grazed her but slightly-she had been transported to what seemed to her a palace, though it was no grander than the other large houses in Chester Square. Her hip was bruised, no more than that. Shamefully conscious of her poor attire, she endeavoured to draw the toes of her ill-fitting boots under the dusty and equally worn hem of her second-hand dress.

'You must bathe. A warm bath will do wonders for you. Heaven knows it always does for me', Letitia said, and rose to pull a bellcord to summon a maid.

'Oh no, I won't bother you. I'm all right to go now, I really am, and it were nice of you, sir, to bring me 'ere', said Kate in her Cockney twang.

'Won't bother? What bother? Of course you shall', intoned Easton. 'Ethel will find you a new dress in recompense for what occurred to you. Ethel, I trust, is here?' he asked his wife as if their daughter might be anywhere about the world or in the world, or fast upon its very edge.

'She is here', Letitia replied and waved her hand with great vagueness in apparent searching for some semblance of Ethel in the air, at which point the double doors to the large drawing room-or 'the salon' as Letitia preferred it to be called-opened to admit a maid. Being then told that 'Miss Kate' would take a bath, the young servant's face remained expressionless.

Kate, for her pan, was quite dazed as she rose from the incredibly comfortable sofa on which she had been perched, receiving an encouraging nod from Letitia in her passing, though she did not see the overt signal that Mary, the maid, received from Easton who observed the back view of the slender and comely seventeen-year-old Kate with considerable satisfaction. A mere waif, he thought, albeit an extremely attractive one. With the quiet closing of the doors, he got up in turn and walked over to his wife who was recumbent in a blue velvet-covered chair.

'Are you to see to Johnson now?' he asked, soothing one of her wrists with his palm as he spoke.

'You wish me to? Easton, dear, what are you at?' Letitia asked. Knowing how strong he was, she did not resist as he slipped both hands beneath her armpits and drew her to her feet. Letitia, though in her early forties, had not yet run to fat, though her breasts and her derriere were satisfyingly ample and firm. She had been, in Easton's eyes, a fine catch when she was nineteen, and still was so now. Passing one large palm around her nether cheeks, he felt their weight and glowing warmth.

'Have I ever deceived you, my sweet?' he asked.

'Yes', Letitia replied steadily, but under his gaze her expression crumpled a little. Their relationship, as just a few of their most intimate friends knew, was a strange and unusual one. In many respects Easton dominated her, in a few, Letitia held sway. Both recognised the fact, and both accepted it.- 'He… he is horrid, Easton. Johnson, I mean. He is crude. Do you not know that he uses me-a mere servant that he is?'

'All women, my dear, desire occasionally to be used. You wish to prove yourself an exception? I believe not. You will go timourously but willingly. You will enjoy and regret. Is such not the salt and savour of life?'

Held against him, Letitia hid her face.

'It would be nice if it were always you', she murmured with little conviction.

'Do I not have other duties, too? Do we not both have? Is it not the way we have marked-the lane that we know. I should have said, perhaps, the lanes'.

'Yes, you should', Letitia reproved softly. Her bottom cheeks quivered as he moved his hands down to palm them. For a moment her flushed cheek brushed in silent pleading against his own, but he pushed her gently away.-'You will come to me afterwards, Easton?' she asked.

'We shall see. Go now and receive that which is due to you'.

As Letitia made her exit with just the degree of doubtfulness in her posture which she evidently felt was appropriate to the occasion, Easton rubbed his hands and straightened his purple waistcoat. The girl, Kate, had been a superb find-an orphan perhaps. Even better if she were. Charmante. He might call her mat, though she would fail to understand the term.

Satisfied that Letitia had vanished to her appointed assignation with the head footman, Easton proceeded into the hall and mounted the wide stairway, pausing en route on the first floor to meander into his study where, taking up a pen and dipping it into his inkwell, he wrote, 'Faces all about her like pale petals when she fell'. Not bad. Rather good really, except… was it his own or had he pinched it from one of those French chappies, Mallarme, or someone? Not that it mattered. Such gems from his lips fell into the carpet's dust, were trodden beneath the feet of servants, passed unremarked across Letitia's mind. Dusting the ink, he slipped the piece of paper into a drawer where it joined many other of his would-be gems and then stepped out beyond to pass a bathroom wherein much splashing was to be heard.

Kate was in a liquid heaven now. She had heard of 'posh barns' but had never been in one before. Home was one room down in Spitalfields where she slept on the floor on a thin palisse alongside her two sisters and her younger brother while their parents lay on the other side of the floor. Home was where she normally spent all day making up envelopes for sixpence a thousand and where fresh bread and dripping was to her as caviar was to the Sherwoods.

'You got a lovely figure, Miss', Mary was saying while she laved soap over Kate's firm and satiny breasts, making her nipples tingle responsively. Time and again Kate had said, half-anxiously, 'I can do it', because it seemed wrong to her that someone else should perform such a service, but each time Mary had demurred.

Kate did not at first hear the bathroom door open quietly, but at its closing she turned her head and saw through the clouds of steam an older woman whom she thought must be the housekeeper.

'Lovely body she 'as', Mary said and moved aside a little to let Miss Martin see the somewhat embarrassed Kate who sat with soapy water flowing about her.

'She may stand then', Miss Martin said, and Kate then found herself being levered up, her bush sparkling in its trimness between her shapely thighs.-'Indeed, yes. Kate, isn't it? Let Mary wash between your legs. Where are you from? Have you parents? There was an accident, I believe, but you are well? Good'. And all this said so quickly that Kate found no room to reply. She was blushing, moving her head shyly, uncertainly, as a sponge was brought up between the silky columns of her legs to lave and squeeze its inviting warmth between her lovelips while Miss Martin regarded her steadily, saying crisply after a moment, 'Turn about, Kate, then we'll have you out and dry you'.

'I can do it', Kate wanted to say again, but there was no help for it. The sponge followed the alluring shape of her pert buttocks, working gently between them in a way that made her lean her hands against the wall and swallow as the water trickled and teased. Then, being turned again, she stepped out on to a waiting mat, Mary kneeling with a towel to reach up and begin drying her-first to her knees, then above and then, more lingeringly, under Kate's pretty thatch while all the while Kate found herself being manoeuvred around with Miss Martin at her back.

'Steady now, Kate, you are almost dry', the housekeeper murmured. Taking both of Kate's wrists, she drew them behind the girl's back, holding her firmly.

A quiver of apprehension ran through Kate the while that her wrists were gripped by the encircling fingers of Miss Martin's left hand. Her breasts, her armpits, her neck were dried, and then her back and bottom. Only then did Mary drop the towel and, to a squeak of surprise from Kate, suddenly burrowed her face up between the girl's legs until her open mouth touched the scented haven of Kate's lovelips and the tip of her tongue snaked out to pan the delicate petals.

'GOOOO!' Kate choked. Unable to step back, she felt herself pressed by the housekeeper on to that luring tongue-tip the while that Mary passed both her hands upwards and sprang Kate's tight bottom cheeks apart. Both feeling and then seeing the movement, Miss Martin immediately stroked the middle finger of her free hand around the ridged rosette that Mary had thus exposed, bringing a gasping 'No!' from Kate who sought haplessly to free herself.

'Yes, my lovely, let us see what you are made of, Miss Martin breathed, her own cheeks flushed in the secretive, scented atmosphere. A thin squeak emanated from Kate as the enquiring finger burrowed in her most intimate aperture while at the same time Mary licked steady around Kate's lovebud which had begun to quiver up under the titillation.

'Ah, NO!' Kate whimpered. Miss Martin's finger had entered her bottomhole up to the knuckle and was moving easily back and forth after the warmth and soapiness of the bath had prepared an unknowing Kate for the lascivious embraces in which she found herself.-'HAH! HOOO! Please!' she begged. Feeling her wrists released, she hoped to seek freedom, but the hand which had held her there now came up beneath her chin, twisting her neck so that her wobbling mouth was brought under that of Miss Martin. Again caught by surprise-and on the point of feeling her belly melting luxuriously-Kate's mouth was open, permitting the entry therein of a long, rolling tongue.

'PMFFFF!' spluttered Kate, but withal she only faintly resisted. Her knees flexed in a momentary weakness, allowing Mary to lick her more avariciously.

'She's a-coming on, Miss Martin-I think she is'.

'Good. I have her. Push her legs open more', breathed Miss Martin, licking all around the comers of Kate's lips.

'THOOOO!' Kate gasped. The bathroom floor seemed to ripple under her bare feet. Rockets were exploding in her tummy. A richness she had never known before spread in undulating waves through her body.

'Come, Kate, come-let us see your worth', Miss Martin breathed into the girl's mouth.

'She's got her legs open. Cock-ready this one-you can feel she is', came wetly from Mary.

'NOOOO!' Kate moaned, but it was too late. Her eyes were dimming, her tummy melting. In a moment of helpless abandon, her tongue rolled against the housekeeper's, and then came her first creamy spurts into the waiting mouth below while-unknown to her-two brown eyes peered through peepholes from an adjoining bedroom.

'They have had her first', grumbled Bella whose twenty-three years lay with maturing ripeness upon her. Attired in a grey silk chemise, grey stockings with pink garters, and a pair of white, lace-legged split drawers, she reached behind her and thrust Easton's hand away as he sought to caress the bulbous beauty of her half-exposed nether globe.- 'You spoil it', she pouted, observing Kate's languorous collapse.

'Is she good?' Easton asked softly. His fingers returned, this time unimpeded, moving around the satiny orb whose furrow was faintly gingery in tone where the creamy half-moons inrolled.

'You will like her. I want her first; I wanted her first', Bella said moodily. She turned, allowing his hand to pass around beneath her luxuriant bush where her rolled lips were moist and oily. For a moment she hissed in her breath through her proud nostrils as her lovemouth parted, then once more she smacked the seeking hand away and threw herself petulantly down on her adjoining bed to which Easton followed her, casting himself almost beside her with his calves over the side.

Bella's ivory thighs looked plumper in a position of repose and he adored caressing them above her stocking tops. He adored, too, the petulant look on Bella's face while she permitted his tentative caresses, keeping her face strained away from his own.

'There were faces all about her like pale petals when she fell', Easton said.

'What?' Bella asked in an irritated tone. 'You can't work me up; you know you mustn't. No, don't!' she insisted, face still averted, while he sought simultaneously to reach her mouth with his. Her thighs clamped together, trapping his errant fingers in the course of their insinuating journey towards her nest. Withdrawing them in the slow manner of drawing a cork from a bottle, Easton tickled the plump Venus mound that her split drawers revealed, but received no response. Bella lay placid but cautious. Her tongue was Mary's tongue-or she wished it had been.

'She might come up', Bella said suddenly, referring to Letitia.

'No', Easton replied. This time he seized her chin and brought her full lips to just touch his own so that they mumbled together, words tickling against words.

'Might', Bella said as though she were conceding the possibility of his victory over her. As he shifted closer, so she felt the hugeness of his weapon thrumming through his trousers against her stockinged legs. Her eyes half closed at the intimate touch.

'We are on the brink. Are we not often, always, on the brink? Come, darling, part your legs. Love is a fluttering of wings, a body leaning closer in the dark', Easton murmured, misquoting a Roman poet whose name he had forgotten.

'Ain't dark, and you stop it; you know you can't. If you… OOOOH!' Bella gasped as an incautious slackening of her thighs permitted his finger to grope her button through the curls and soft folds of flesh.

At the first touch, her hips and bottom began to roll languorously, as Easton had expected they would. The warm cavern of Bella's mouth opened more to his seeking tongue. Blindly taking her hand, he drew it down to his expectant erection, and for one blissful moment her tapered fingertips touched the bulbous head which threatened to bore through his trousers. But then, to his intense frustration, Bella gathered herself and rolled out of their momentary embrace so that her legs swung over the opposite side of the bed, and she sat slumped, showing her back to him.

'How eccentric you are, Bella', Easton sighed.

'She said I mustn't', came a mumble, but the tone of his voice had relaxed her again. Unguarded against the sudden swinging of his body towards her from behind, she uttered no resistance as he knelt at her back, slid down the straps of her chemise and cupped his palms beneath the snowy hillocks of her tits, bringing a slow outbreaking from her sultry lips.

'How weighty they become-how delicious", Easton murmured, raining kisses on her alabaster neck.

'Are they?' Bella answered dreamily. She could feel electric sparks in her titties where his thumbs brushed the eager brown nipples which the excitement of watching the seduction of Kate had already made erect. A voluptuous drowsiness seized her as her gourds swelled beneath his caresses. Flushed, her face turned slowly to Easton's and she permitted his tongue to loll around her own.

'Ah, were it only my prick in your mouth, dearest', Easton mumbled.

'I know', Bella replied huskily. Little by little she lay back until his face hovered upside down over hers.

'Reach back-play with it', Easton begged, making frantic efforts to unleash his straining tool. At that, however, the bathroom door was heard to open and, though there could be no chance of their being seen, both released one another and sat up like two startled hares.

'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