become, as if extending nether mouth to kiss! Brazen yet modest, such becomes you ever. Rotate your bottom more-come to the strap!”
“Neee-ynnnng!”
I let my cry mew out, yet muffle it. Agnes at her knitting downstairs sits. I hear the clicking of her needles fast, grope for the days that long are rolled away and put as painted canvases behind a door.
“On the bed now with you, Laura, legs apart, drawers off, knees bent and hands behind your head, upon your back.”
“It was not so, it was not so!” I cry, am quick put down and mounted fast, his pestle at my mortar probing in.
“Ever was it so, my love, for you would have it so, tickle of hairs and nosing flesh to flesh. Protrude your tongue and let me suck it in. There should be wine upon your lips, more wine.”
I wriggle, gasp, would cry, am Jane berserk. My wrists are gripped, deep in the pillow pressed, his legs like tree trunks strong between my own.
“Your garters are tight, girl, as befits you-bottom hot and sleek. Work slowly now and let it enter in, quiver of being to the stem's explosion.”
“Nooo-hoooo!”
My cry is softer now. He has it in. Two inches, three, within my sealskin slit. Burring of hairs to hairs and bottom cupped, cheeks drawn apart, our tongues and lips hot-lap. Bed jolts, the ceiling swirls, embedded tight. I stammer, cry and sob and cling to him. Blub-blub I babble like a baby now, tighten my cheeks and suck his penis deep.
“That is better, that is better-better, Laura, better, raise your legs and twine them fast about me. Ah! Silk your stockings, spider's weave of wonder, how they grip. Bounce up and down while it slews in and out.”
“Do not come too soon, too soon, oh, do not come! Do you love me, say you love me-love!”
“Never was love but in this deep desiring. Moist of quim you ever were and hot your eyes, your bottom rolling to the finger's touch, suave your thighs and coy but ever parted. Cream at your lips and cream about your bush.”
“Pump faster, pump! Oh, give me all!”
My cry out-wailing hears its own despair. I am become another, not myself. My belly tightens, spurts, my quim explodes. Shower upon shower, my dreams are in my spendings. Soaked his balls and oiled his daring cock. Yet would I jolt with him and jolly jolt, my eyes blind to the day, the world around, the waiting of the others up and down, secret in rooms, their hands clapped to their ears.
He comes. The gasps, the groans, the croaks. Men are ever ugly in their doings, ever so. The scenery rolls back. I lie inert, sucking upon his sperm until he's done; faint twitchings of his cock and then he's spent.
Here is the end of it or the beginning. They come to comfort me who do not know my sins. My legs extend. I, limp as puppet lie, tremblings of belly, wet between my thighs. He, rising, dangling, swinging, looks absurd, tree without roots, a wind in wandering.
A calmness takes me. I will dress, put order in the house, take names of servants, list the wines, beware of pilferings and mumbling words. There shall be order here-I wish it so.
His eyes regard me-hope unshored by hope. I would have him at my bottom were he not now weak, and, rising, laugh and touch his tingling tool.
“Do you put them all at it? Is this the way you would conquer, put down, have under? Is there merit to your case? Do you have philosophies, extend your thoughts? Shall all be smothered, mewing, bleating, to your whims?”
“You were ever the leader.”
Shuffling, he moves to the door, hesitates. The voice of Hannah sounds.
“What is Papa about, Mama?”
“I do not know, my love. Lecturings, positionings, posturings, and playfulness, perhaps. Come, have your medicine, and you, Jane, too.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Are they not well? They should bathe more often, change their linen, annoint themselves with perfume sticks, make visits to Paris, perhaps, with chaperone? And what of the horses, horses, horses, what?”
My words come sharp to him. Time whirls too quickly, though. I grasp it not and yet make play with it.
“The horse, the horses, yes, we shall go to the fair, see the buntings and the crowds, the gigs, the carriages. Balloons will fly. Do not say that I removed your drawers!”
“Are you fretsome about that? Do you love me still? Will you caress my bottom if I wish?”
“I shall kiss it before them all. You were ever the queen.”
“Such frivolities do not obtain here. I do not show my bottom to the throng. Have the housekeeper fetched. I wish her not impertinent again.”
“I am here, Miss.”
Agnes stands, the door opening, clothed as she was clothed.
“There were voices, Agnes. Did I not hear voices?”
“Ever the voices come and go-some in the rooms and some outside. The passings of the hours makes a mischief of us sometimes, but there is no stopping of it.”
She pauses, glances at his prick. The head is sticky, looks full out of place. As he passes her, she takes it up, limp, lolling in her hand.
“Fair done you, didn't he,” she laughs. “Shall I let him go or do you have more use for it? Sometimes it perks up quick again and sometimes not.”
“What of your sometimes? Are they ever so? Send Charlotte to me-she will see me out. Have horses prepared, a carriage, condiments, wines for the journey, notations of routes and places to be passed.”
“Always you were a stickler for the proprieties, things and exactitudes. Never we know if you are coming or not, Laura.”
“There was music here, unheard. Once there was music here unheard, warmth of summer, smells of butter, cheese, the saddles polished. Harness glittered.”
“It will all come again. They say it will. I shall have a basket put up for you with meats and wines, just as you liked, placed in a carriage nice, kept cool. Shall you to London then? They would ever go to London, but it ain't allowed. The girls, I mean. You know the girls I mean.”
“Yes. I shall be here or there or elsewhere in my goings.”
He is gone. Shuffling of feet along the carpet's spread. The opening of a door. The closing of a door. Agnes departs. I wait her going slow and then descend. The drawing room is darkened all below, the curtains tightly pulled and all in gloom. Hannah and Jane are robed in simple robes, naked beneath, their thighs and titties show. Each wears a rosary that hangs limp, black, between her ardent orbs.
“You will come again, Laura. Won't you come again?”
“How sweet you smell from bathing! You must ever bathe, see to your linen clean, and learn to ride, be upright in the saddle, bottoms at the rim, wine at your lips not sweet nor sharp but redolent of warmth. An invitation, if you wish.”
“Hannah said 'cock'!”
Jane, hand to mouth, looks wondering in my eyes. “Remove your robes. How sweet you look in rosaries, bootees, and stockings tight. Stand still, stand still, and in your waiting wait. Clip not your thighs together. Easy stand, or loll on cushions if you will.”
“What shall become of us, Laura, what become?”
“Be at your strappings silent, dip your back, present your bottom well. Yield to the fervent pulsing of the penis stem, yet let it be no other than you wish, nor master's, lover's, servant's, troubadour's. Be proud to choose and wilful to refuse.”
“I do not mind if Hannah does not mind.” Jane flirts her hand across her pubis, shows it, then retreats and in a corner like a statue stands. Perdita lost and found and no rain falls. “You will have them both undone. I know it yet.” Agnes appears and wrings her hands, the bustlings done, the carriage ready stands.
“Tush and nonsense-feel their cunnies now. Full soft are they and pouting, ready for the cock. Let them imbibe the manly juice that way and on the morrow have their bottoms both put up to it.”
“The horses, Miss-the horses, though!”
