Knowing naught to do in this unexpected circumstance, except wriggle to his seeking touch, Helen lay supine and wondering, receiving the tender pecks of his mouth upon her own with increasing wonderment and excitement. Her face grew more flushed, her tongue protruding slightly so that it brushed his lips. Much as she tried not to move, she uttered a petulant sob and bucked her hips, for his finger had become ever more inquisitive and had actually pushed the soft linen of her drawers as much as it was able to between her lovelips.
“Oh, Papa, I feel strange!”
“Yes, my love, it is the birching. It frequently brings such sensations. Is your bottom still hot?”
“Yes, P… P… Papa.”
“Open your legs more, for it will cool you. There-is that not better? Let me cast up your skirt so that the air may reach you. Lift your bottom a little, for your skirt is quite caught underneath. There-is that not better?”
“Oh! Oh, Papa!”
For now, in his completely overwrought state, Sir Richard had fallen to his knees, the better to view the treasures he had unveiled. Her brown stockings sheathing such delicious legs, the ivory columns of her thighs, the pretty bunching of curls that yet awaited his full attention beneath her drawers-all, all attracted his lips, which now fell upon her silky skin.
Ever mindful now of what Pamela had told him, Sir Richard proceeded in his explorations more slowly than he might otherwise have done. Assuaging her trembling thighs with his kisses, he parted her legs wider until her heels hung about his shoulders. Both enraptured and astonished, Helen trembled adorably and gazed up wide-eyed at the ceiling as the first impress of his mouth came upon her veiled and moistened mount. A curious shuffling announced itself beneath her, though she was scarcely conscious of anything else that was happening as Sir Richard surreptitiously freed his rampant tool. Whimpering and clutching madly at the bedcovers, Helen felt her drawers being pulled aside the better that his reaching tongue could make its first delicious contact with her quim.
For an instant, Sir Richard succeeded. The strip of material at her crotch was tight, but by levering it away in his intense excitement, he was able in great part to expose the exquisite dell of her pleasure. A groan, and his tongue all but sidled within the luscious fruit already made sticky by her previous excitements.
Swearing to herself that she would swoon at any minute, Helen moaned softly and quivered throughout her entire being. His tongue rasped and titillated her madly, questing upward as it now was to her little button which stood erect in its rosy pleading.
“Oooh! Papa! Ooooh!”
But then came one of those interruptions whereby the wending of fate is diverted. A voice sounded from without. The unmistakable tones of Lady Bromley were heard.
“Have you seen Sir Richard, Perkins?”
“No, ma'am. I think he was gone in search of Miss Pamela.”
“Very well, I shall ask Helen.”
Helen would have screamed were she not petrified. As indeed her father would, had he not been minded to save his reputation-in this respect, at least. With Helen's legs now dangling more eagerly over his shoulders, he took the only escape route which presented itself: under the bed.
Helen's heels kicked his departing buttocks as he made himself invisible. Leaping up, she had just time to push down her skirt once more before her Mama swept in.
“Helen! What have you been at! How flushed you look! Where is Pamela?”
“G… g… gone, Mama. She was sent by Papa to see the Vicar.”
“Ah, yes-at least he has done that. And where, pray, is your Papa now?”
Sir Richard, lying beneath and endeavouring not to sneeze, did indeed pray lest Helen uncover all; though in the same flash of time it occurred to him rather comfortingly that she dare not.
“Oh, Mama, I know not. He departed rapidly-I believe to the four-acre field to see that the men were working properly.”
“Very well, Helen. You should lie down. You have a touch of the fever, by the look of you.”
And with that, to the entire relief of both parties, Lady Bromley was gone, the door closing resoundingly behind her. For a long moment, Sir Richard waited and then crept out, his attire flecked with dust.
“My dearest, what a perfect little soldier you have turned out to be!” he exclaimed.
“Papa, I did not but… Oh!”
Helen's eyes had fallen down past his waist and there alighted upon the considerable rod of flesh which stemmed outward from the gap in his trousers. Its ruby head gleaming, it appeared to her mesmerised gaze much like a small barber's pole. Her Papa made no frantic attempt to conceal his rude condition, but instead took her quickly in his arms and covered her face with kisses.
Resisting not, and neither daring to make a sound, Helen received his embrace with such languour that with the swiftest and most impetuous of movements Sir Richard raised her skirt again to her hips and surged his pulsing rod against her silken belly.
Such a small, startled cry as Helen might have uttered was suppressed immediately when her lips were squashed beneath his. Trembling from head to feet, she felt the astonishing throbbing against her skin the while that his hand caressed the fervent orb of her bottom.
“You were not afraid?”
“No, Papa, for I knew you meant only to comfort me after my birching,” Helen lisped, feeling that such words were most appropriate to the occasion and perhaps would help to conceal what had passed.
“As I shall again, dearest,” whispered the hypocrite, whose hand was enjoying the most exciting tour as it encircled her bottom and even delved beneath, causing his cock to thrum ever more violently between them.
“Oh, Papa, if Mama has returned then, so must Miranda have done,” said Helen with as soft a warning tone as she could use.
Sir Richard's face assumed a solemn mien.
“You are right, my love. Such pleasurable transports as we have enjoyed must ever be discreet, must they not?”
“Yes, Papa,” Helen replied for she knew not what else to say and thereby entered into a complicity while her expression was that of an angel though her hips and belly were moving ever more alluringly to the caresses she could no longer avoid. Her lips parted submissively, the tips of their tongues touched as if by accident as his cock rubbed gently against her. Had it not been for the tight waist fastening of her drawers, Sir Richard would have swung her around onto the bed and ventured her then, but the thought of yet another interruption was too much to bear.
Bracing himself therefore and slyly maneuvering his stiff penis back into his trousers, he took regretful parting from her an instant before Miranda entered. As she did so, Helen collapsed upon the bed, her cheeks exceedingly flushed.
“Oh, Helen, are you not well?”
“Yes, dear, very, but make haste to lock the door for I am all a-bubble.” And Helen immediately loosed her drawers and thrust them off.
“Helen, how naughty you look!”
“I am sure I do, Miranda, for I feel it. I have had a birching that quite enervated me. Quickly, come now and put your lips between my legs as Pamela does!”
Chapter eight
Pamela arrived shortly at the vicarage, which stood isolated and sombre in its own grounds.
“Shall I wait for you, Miss?” the driver asked.
Pamela's heart softened at the thought that the poor man might be kept waiting an hour, for she was sure to be offered tea, at least.
“As you will, Jack, but I may be some time.”
“Very well, then, my old mother lives not far from here. With your permission, Miss, I'll pay her a brief visit and return. You'll find me waiting here as you want me.”
Entering through the gate and walking up the path took Pamela but a minute. She had rehearsed her little
