liqueur, Papa, may I? Miss Markham said that I might. May I?'
'Miss Markham still says that you may, darling. Why, it brings a lovely warm feeling to the tummy, does it not, Mr. Partridge?' Vanessa challenged Eric who thereupon was forced to nod. Mabel sat demurely beside him, feeling now and then a hand stealing up her thigh and even inching her gown up to caress her knees. Apprehensions of the cane had left her… almost, but like Margaret and her own Papa she wondered still what the later night would bring. Every brushing of the insinuating fingers made her bottom wriggle.
'Shall you-er-are you-er-teaching Alice yet?' Margaret asked, having nothing else to say but feeling quite a desperation to speak and wondering rather vaguely why her brother-in-law had only one arm upon the table.
'I shall commence with Alice tomorrow-shall I not, Alice? What shall we do, do you think? Writing, reading and arithmetic? No, they are such dull things; we shall do something far more interesting, I am sure. But it is time for your bed and you, boys, too', Vanessa said in such a commanding fashion that, with a sheepish glance at Eric and Margaret, the four rose, uttering their goodnights in muffled fashion, though Fred and George glanced surreptitiously but with little hope towards their aunt.
Alice, finishing her liqueur, rose last and ran to give her Papa a kiss, still wondering much at what she had seen peeping out from his trousers earlier that day. A peck on her aunt's cheek then, and she was gone while Mabel sat in great and tremulous tension while fingertips continued stroking the milky, swelling skin above her stocking tops.
In the silence that followed the closing of the door, no one spoke for a moment. Regretfully, Eric slid his hand down from under Mabel's much ruffled skirt and resettled it on the table. Margaret yawned, covering her mouth delicately with her fingertips and then shaking her head as though to excuse herself.
'You are tired, Margaret. Will you not to bed also? Shall I bring you something-something such as warm milk, perhaps?' asked Vanessa in all apparent seriousness but with such a hint of a twinkle in her eyes as Margaret could not fail to miss the allusion to that which she had already im-bided six times that day, though not by mouth.
'If you would, my dear, if you would', responded Margaret who again felt herself drawn to the very edge of a horribly revealing conversation.
'As soon as you are undressed then. And you, Mabel, shall I bring you something-something nice-as soon as you are undressed?'
'Yes, Miss-if you wish, Miss', said Mabel meekly enough, whereupon Eric's hand immediately fell beneath the tablecloth again as Margaret rose and made her way out, as uncertain still of her fate as Mabel was, though she little doubted the insinuating message of the hand between her legs.
'We shall all to bed, then. What a day we have had- riding and teaching, talking and learning', Margaret heard from Vanessa, but then the dining room door closed and only murmurings came to her. The light was dim in the hall. Some foolish maid must have turned the gas down too low and then forgotten it. She heard one of the bathroom doors banging and the sound of feet scurrying and sighed. The boys were so noisy-except when she cautioned then against discovery. The thought made her smile reminis-cently. Vanessa was such a strange young woman, and yet so sympathetic to her needs. How long could it all last, though-how long?
Reaching the landing, which was no better lit than was the hallway below, Margaret glimpsed a dim, pale figure disappearing into a bedroom. George's and Freddy's room, she told herself vaguely, but then recalled that it was Hughie, and the naughty boy was obviously running around with all his clothes off. Rather nervously, Margaret hurried along to her own boudoir, intending for a moment to lock her door, but then remembering that Vanessa was to visit her, and besides, the key was gone. Vanessa must have taken it again.
It was silent suddenly then, as if all the bedroom doors were closed and all slept-but that was a foolish fancy, Margaret told herself pettishly as she reached her arms back to unfasten her gown. In a moment, clad only in a waist corset and stockings, she began idly brushing her hair, remembering the events of the day and how they had begun when she had sat so before. But the boys would not dare to venture in now, at least. That was why it seemed so quiet perhaps.
Eric had touched her bottom at last! The memory of that, too, returned to her. A quick vision of Alice danced across her mind, but was dismissed, as was that of Mabel who was equally an innocent. If Vanessa kept the key and if Eric visited her in the night… Margaret laid down her brush and toyed self-teasingly with her nipples at the thought. Was this, then, Vanessa's plan while she herself enjoyed Freddy and George-or even Hughie. It must not be Hughie, though. She did not want it to be Hughie. Her nipples stiffened quickly, but not at that thought, Margaret told herself faintly. One had wicked thoughts and did wicked things, but they must not be too wicked. Must they? Oh, this woman Vanessa was making her think too much, stirring up the devils in her mind too much.
Rising unsteadily, her heavy tits wobbling and feeling all a-tingle at the tips, Margaret threw herself upon her back, rubbing her stockinged thighs together occasionally and stealing one hand down-half guiltily as she felt now-to finger her lovelips. There had been a night once-so long ago-when, in a darkened room and all tipsy, three men had fucked her one after the other and she had lain swimming in their manly juices until the first revived again and came upon her belly, urging in his cock again.
Footsteps mounting the stairs came to her dimly, but she did not stir. Vanessa would guard her against interruptions. She had said she would, and she had kept her promise well that day…
'Just your robe, Mabel. You will need no more than that. The juice will not be wasted on your belly tonight In with you now and quickly about it. I give you but ten minutes', Vanessa was murmuring to Mabel.
'Yes', Mabel said. It had almost been 'but'. She had remembered in time not to say that. Words were being said that she had never heard before Miss Markham came. Her door closing, she raised her dress and looked at herself for the first time as she was-her thighs, the subtle curve of her belly, the inviting thatch beneath. Miss Markham said she was beautiful and had a lovely round, firm bottom and fine titties.
'There will be many who will plunge their cocks between your nether cheeks, my sweet, and many others who will burrow in your cunny, too. Behave yourself tonight and wriggle well. You have already proved that you can do so, have you not?' Vanessa had asked.
'You made me', Mabel had wanted to say, but then she had realised that Miss Markham knew about the woodman's hut, and that she had not been there to see she was obedient, so it wouldn't be true-not quite true, almost true, not quite.
I don't want to learn, Mabel told herself pettishly, but even so took her dress off and then her chemise. She wasn't to wear drawers any more. Miss Markham had said so and taken them all away. There was a naughty tingling between her thighs. She almost wished there wasn't, and she sighed. She had to keep her bottom up at first, Miss Markham said, and afterwards she had to turn over on her back. Half dreamily, Mabel fingered her warm cunny and then withdrew her finger guiltily. It made her feel even more tingry, but in a few minutes, in a few minutes it wouldn't be her finger anymore.
Her Papa would have a cane on his bed, Miss Markham had said. He would use it if necessary, she had said.
'I do not want this fine little bottom of yours to work to the cane, but to the cock', Miss Markham had said, and Mabel wanted to cover her ears against that still intruding voice. But it was almost ten minutes now-almost, and the awful thing was that she wanted to now. It was going to feel ever so funny when he put it in but he almost had already- almost, yes. Donning her flimsy robe, Mabel put a moistened palm upon her doorhandle and turned it slowly, hesitantly, half fearing that Miss Markham was waiting without to guide her in. But Miss Markham had said she wouldn't- not if she were good.
Mabel's bare feet on the carpet made no sound, but even so Vanessa, hidden in the darkness, smiled and heard her movements, heard the feint swish of her robe and her suddenly decisive opening of another door. There would be moans now-creakings of the bed-but no one else would hear. After the first explosions of that manly cock, Mabel would soon surrender to a second bout, though petulant she might pretend to be.
Moving soundlessly back herself into her own room and casting off the single black robe she had quickly donned, Vanessa took a fine long feather from her bedside table. The tip was tickly, and it had to be. Margaret must be made to writhe.
Making her exit again and taking care not to make a noise by closing her own door, which she left ajar, Vanessa noted with satisfaction that Hugh's was also as she had left it. The oiled hinges uttered no squeak as she peeped in and saw him sitting naked on his bed, his young cock fiercely up in flagpole style and a sheepish but
