"A Stately English Mansion" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anonymous)

CHAPTER TWO

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.

'You ain't posed proper, m'am, if I dares to say so, for a question like that', Johnson said and emptied his glass, stepped back and placed it down. Letitia's being by then empty as well, he took it from her hand.

'Am I not?' Letitia asked.

'I seed 'em threaded upright sometimes, knees all bent and quivering, agin a rick or a stable wall, and that's a rare sight. The girls 'ang their 'eads on the men's shoulders and works their bottoms. There's a lot of splashing when the men grunt and come'.

'I imagine', Letitia said faintly. As with Easton, she allowed her wrist to be taken and to be drawn up, though keeping her head well averted from the sturdy manservant's face-the which he respected, as she always realised with pride.

'Nobody's ever done you upright, 'ave they?' Johnson asked, adding 'M'am' quickly.

Her face staring down girlishly, Letitia shook her head, though it was not true. Servants had quaint ideas as to what went on among 'the gentry', despite the actuality of this moment-despite the fact that Johnson had manfully pumped her a score of times now. On Letitia's wedding day, after most of the guests had gone and only her immediate relatives remained, there had been what was politely and carefully called a 'passing by'.

Still attired in her wedding gown-a wondrous frothery of white and cream silk and lace-Letitia had been taken into the morning room by Easton who had asked her, 'Are you ready?' Realising that she was not permitted to refuse, and that several sturdy penises had long been awaiting this moment, Letitia had blushed and nodded, whereat Easton had drawn her gown and underskirt up to her waist and tucked the heavily-folded rear between the wall and her bottom. Any jerky movements on her part would cause all to cascade again, and Letitia knew that, too, was not allowed. Hence she had kept very still while Easton removed her frilly, spotless drawers and laid them perfectly flat at her feet with the filled legs extended forward.

It was the tradition that her drawers were not to be trodden on. Such, curiously, would be a great discourtesy and an affront to her as a bride, even though she was about to be rogered by five gentlemen.

Blushing more deeply, Letitia had allowed Easton to part her legs in a wide vee and feel her cunny, which not unnaturally was moist with anticipation. Having tickled it briefly, he then stood at her side.

'Are you ready to receive-to be passed by?' he asked, and Letitia had placed her palms flat against the wall, braced herself, closed her eyes and said softly, 'Yes'. The ladies being in waiting and invisible in the drawing room, the door to the morning room was then heard to open and the first of Letitia's cock-ready champions presented himself. Trousers opened ready, he approached her quietly, avoiding stepping on her extended drawers by parting his own legs at an angle to match her own, held her glorious hips gently and probed the helmet of his knob slowly and deeply up into her quim, causing her breath to hiss out with pleasure.

In a way-Letitia now thought-it was rather as with Johnson. There were no kisses, and no caresses as such. Heavy breathing sounded, accompanied by the faintest of squishy noises as the thick, long penis worked up and down in her smooth warm slit, finally bubbling out its sperm in a way that made Letitia nip the tip of her tongue between her teeth with pleasure. Knowing well whose prick she was first taking, Letitia supressed a desire to work her hips in unison with his manly thrusts and suffered the penalty of having to remain 'modestly' still.

Five cocks. Never before or since had Letitia had more than two in succession, and the memory thrilled her still. Her cunny had been puffy with cream by the time she had received the last, and the door had closed again. Sagging, she had hung in Easton's arms while he cupped her bubbling quim and murmured his adoration of her. Lascivious kisses having been exchanged, Letitia had then put on her drawers again and re-entered the drawing room regally, by which time the gentlemen had tactfully removed themselves upstairs and the ladies received her with kisses and murmurs of approbation.

'Some of the men tells the women what superb arses they 'ave', Johnson was saying now through the multiple threads of Letitia's memories.

'Do they-have they?' she asked dreamily. Her own skirts were being gathered up now, baring her plumpish thighs, the dark-purple stocking tops with garters of the same shade, under Johnson's seeking hands. Not having put on drawers that morning in anticipation of such an encounter, Letitia suppressed a sigh as the bulbous, naked cheeks of her bottom received the assuaging of his broad palms.

'Some 'as, m'am, but none finer than your'n. If I were a gent I would 'ave married you-asked for your 'and', Johnson said thickly, holding open the rearing nether cheeks as if Letitia required the air to cool her fervent warmth between.

'Would you?' asked Letitia faintly. She gave no account whatever to such words as passed between them, and wondered whether Johnson did. Nor would she reach between them and touch his velvet-sheathed prick. She had never handled it. It was a sufferance-a delicious sufferance, she assured herself, and to be so handled herself, so roughly and positively, without thought of refusal on the manservant's part, thrilled her exceedingly.

'I'd best take you to the couch, m'am', Johnson said, meaning the divan.

'I do not know. Is it proper?' quavered Letitia.

'The master says… ' Johnson began, and stopped.- 'You walks to it, holding your skirts up, showing yourself off, like you 'as to. You kneels up and puts it up. Like at the harvest that's done'.

He released her, and Letitia stood for a moment, head hung, as if forlorn.

'Must I, Johnson?' she quavered.

'I 'as my prick ready for you, m'am, like is necessary for a lady. Don't let yer gown drop, will yer. Step nice and dainty, for I likes to see you go, bum bare and ready for it, as I know you are'.

'Very well, Johnson, but I do not think it proper. You will see more than my bottom when I kneel up'.

'That I will and means to. You're nice and well-thatched, Missus-pardoning my calling yer that', came the reply while Letitia stepped forward past him and brought herself in three paces to the divan. Gathering up her skirts more, she sank her stockinged knees upon it, edging forward until the pale, cleft globe of her bottom orbed itself just above the end of the divan, bringing the fig of her brown-shrouded slit well into Johnson's view-he stepping in her trail and unbuttoning the flap of his breeches to expose his large tool.

At the sound of his approach, Letitia clenched her fingers and hid her eyes in the dusty surface of the threadbare brocade whereon other females in her family before her marriage had been shafted, as she well knew.

“That's a good 'un, that is. Rare sight-like the full moon itself. Come harvest time, there's three or four of us can 'ave you', Johnson muttered, but he always said something like that, as Letitia well knew. So many men anticipated the moment of entry into the female by talking about it, as if to exorcise even more magic that the act of copulating brought. A quiver ran through her as he worked her thighs apart more and then rested his knees a little to the rear of her own while manoeuvring his swollen crest against the pouting lips of Letitia's quim.

'You wants it, don't yer?' Johnson growled.

A murmur came from Letitia as the plum entered sleekly, burrowing its heavy nose between the clinging walls of her cunt. The sound her lips uttered was incomprehensible. She had no intention of saying yes to Johnson, until perhaps he began pumping her and all was lost save for the ardent heat and passion of the moment.

'Right up yer-that's where it has to go'. Hopeful was his utterance-steadily holding but three inches of cock in her slot-yet still no answer came. Yet, as Letitia had long learned, silence could be as intriguing as speech, for it had long been a tenet in her original home that, 'Silence, as in the case of young ladies, implies consent'.

Even so, a pleasurable puffing sound emitted itself from between Letitia's compressed lips as the huge engine slewed slowly up her, inch by inch, until the warm, hairy plums of the manservant's balls hung closely beneath her nest. With Easton, or another of her own station in life, Letitia might have then wriggled her assent, tickling die dangling balls with her own curls, but she remained rebelliously still while Johnson descended his breeches further and brought the warm sphere of her bum to nestle closely into his bared loins.

'Lovely, m'am. You got a tight one, still. Nigh as tight as yer bumhole', gritted Johnson who had squirted into that aperture a number of times.

'Do… do your w… work, Johnson', Letitia choked. Her split bottom was hard-pressed against his skin, his wiry pubic hairs tickling her pleasurably.

'Yes, m'am, and I will. Slowly, as yer likes it. In and out. Make yer come, I will. Now, if Miss Bella or Miss Ethel… '

'Q… quiet, Johnson! How d… d… dare you speak of them…AH!'

'Yes, you likes it coming near out and then going right up, don't yer, m'am. Come on now, I'll give it to yer proper. Move your arse a bit while I do'.

'NO', gritted Letitia mutinously, though her head and her body were already growing dizzy at the wicked sensation of having that big plunger moving back and forth in her. She wriggled once, as though to adjust herself, and began panting quietly as did Johnson whose loins now moved more powerfully, shunting his engine back and forth in her shed.

Letitia knew well what would come next. High- or lowborn, most males were much the same. In moments of hot desire, words appeared to enchant them more than they did women. Eyelashes fluttering, Letitia spilled her salty juices over the in-driving prick, and then came again, though so fine was her spurting that Johnson scarcely noticed it in his own excitement.

'Ask… ask me to fuck yer', he growled, producing the very words that she had anticipated and which he almost always spat out moments before the gruelly sap rose in his stem.

In reply, Letitia conceded only a soft moan. Long years ago, when she was scarcely Ethel's age, a birch had bitten and spurred again and again across her naked bottom while a voice behind her had urged, implored her, to say the selfsame thing. But she had not. Hot as her bottom had become, and as much as she had dolefully sobbed and waggled her hips in silent pleading that her 'discipline' would soon come to an end, still she had remained otherwise mute- performing indeed as she now was with Johnson whose movements became faster.

'F… fuck yer… ' he intoned to himself.

O blissful silence on her part, Letitia thought. Her eyes, unseen by him, screwed up, and she sprinkled once more. The first powerful pellets would come soon, and they did. With a groan, Johnson embedded his throbbing member full in her avid nest and produced a long, heavy spout that Letitia could feel spattering her spongy, clinging walls.

'C…c… come ON, Johnson!' she gritted, reversing their roles of the subduer and the subdued.

'Y… yes, m'am, d… doing it… coming in yer… AH, what a cunt you've got, roll your bum-do it!'

Letitia responded-responded because these were the dying moments-the fall of the gladiator. His cock was spouting still as her plump rear formed a hot, demanding ball into his belly and ground itself there, producing more yielding groans from him, more leaps of sperm, more pearls. The last thing string, then his outgasping of desire, and both were still while his full-sheathed member throbbed in her. Letitia received each pulsing of his thick cock in pleasurable silence and then at last heaved a huge sigh.

'Get off me, Johnson. Take that wicked thing out'.

'Yes, m'am. I'm sorry, m'am, if I done what I did', he responded stupidly.

Letitia did not answer. Her hair was still well-pinned, her bodice unbuttoned. As the slackening slug of flesh drew out of her, regretfully, dropping a single pearl of come upon her leg, so she rose quickly and thrust her skirts down. All was done. The 'conversazione', as Easton was wont to call it, was over.

Tossing her head and smoothing down her skirts, Letitia made her exit silently, knowing that Johnson would now slump down in a chair, wan and defeated, as males finally always were, despite all, despite all.

Anonymous

A Stately English Mansion