Venus in the Country

Chapter seven

“Really, Pamela, surely you do not mean to birch us?”

“Of course I do, Helen. It is solely for your good, as all know in the nurturing of young ladies. Did I not find you reading my French dictionary last night?”

Helen blushed and hung her head.

“I did not intend. 'Twas left about by accident. Mere curiosity made me pick it up. Oh, but I did not really read it properly, though I have never seen the like of such a book.”

“It is for adults and teachers only, Helen. Even so, I am sure you must have learned a little from it. Can you tell me what pine is?”

“Oh, I dare not!”

“Come, Helen, or you shall receive an extra six strokes.”

“Please, no, for it burns terribly! Very well, I must whisper it. It means prick.”

“Excellent, Helen, and now you have learned that, I suppose you might as well learn more. Amourous conversations, I believe, are best conducted in the tongue of the French. No one who overhears knows then what is being said and judges only innocent matters afoot. But now, Miss, I must attend to you. Let us have your skirt up and your drawers off.”

“Oh, but Papa never makes me take them off!”

“A grave mistake that we must rectify, my sweet. Come-quickly about it. No doubt you are used to bending over your Papa's desk, but I intend you in future to have a different posture. As Miranda is out with your Mama, we may proceed without interruption. Let me see your bottom now!”

Rather fearfully, Helen obeyed. Her figure and form were in many respects much the same as Pamela's and so in presenting herself as instructed she was able to display a perfectly rounded and polished pair of bottom cheeks beneath which, by moving her legs apart, Pamela could glimpse the very dell of love itself. Advising Helen that this was at all future times to be her birching position, with her knees kept at least twelve inches apart, Pamela then picked up the birch whose twigs she had soaked overnight. She intended not to hurt the dear girl, but merely to bring her to such a state as would make her look forward to her trouncings under the twigs rather than fear them. For after her own experience with the Captain, Pamela had well understood that a frisky girl might well be best injected in such wise, her hot bottom making her more receptive to the manly tool.

Fond of Helen as she had already become, Pamela was minded to see that she received her first injection as soon as possible, for others would then follow more rapidly. Her agile mind was working quickly on the matter. Her inventive mind flowed.

“This, Helen, is known as the ceremonial position, which all young ladies of seventeen and above must maintain. You must lower your head and shoulders well and push your bottom up. Good, now dip your face into your hands and cover your eyes, for you must also be modest and not allow your expression to show.”

So saying, Pamela ran her free hand lightly over the delicious hemispheres and felt an answering quiver while Helen closed her eyes tightly in her cupped palms. The first swish of the birch made her jump and squeal, for her drawers had always previously protected her. But Pamela fully expected such a reaction, and first let the impact of the twigs sink in before applying another.

The faint rosy hue which appeared on the otherwise spotless pale globe so pleased and excited Pamela that, quite forgetting herself, she brought the third one down much harder and received an answering jerk and a cry. Recovering herself, she applied the next and the next so lightly that they were but veritable caresses and tickled Helen rather than scorched her. Relieved that she was not to be put to so hard a test as her fond Papa had often put her in the study for some transgression or another, Helen yielded herself more eagerly. Indeed, she pushed her bottom out to the next strokes even as Pamela herself had done.

Swish! Swish! Swish! the birch sounded, and with each a ruddier glow announced itself on Helen's nether cheeks until she became quite dazed and not a little excited, for a tip or two of the twigs occasionally brushed her slit which was already moistening sweetly. So delicious was the entire vista, in fact, that Pamela cast the birch down of a sudden and, flinging herself upon the bed before Helen knew what she was at, so positioned herself on her back that her mouth came exactly beneath the cleft that so patently sought attention. Without delay Pamela dipped her tongue upward between the moist lips of Helen's quim, which caused the young maiden to cry out with delight. Gasping and raising her head, she wriggled her hips anew as the lively snake made itself felt in her.

“Oh, yes, how lovely! Do it more! Oh, my bottom burns, but it feels delightful! Oh! I am coming!”

And indeed she was. No sooner had the urgent little cry left her pretty lips than a fine spattering of juices covered Pamela's mouth and tongue. This, exciting both all the more, brought Pamela to turn about and lay the panting girl beneath her so that with their skirts upraised their pussies, bellies, and thighs rubbed together and quite swam in delight.

Such little cries of pleasure as they uttered were lost in their kisses. Being on the brink of such excitement, Pamela herself was also about to reach the delirious climax. Gorging herself on Helen's tongue, she was about to shimmer out her liquid pearls when a knock sounded causing both girls to leap out of their ecstasy and cling all a-quiver.

Pamela, being more used to such circumstances by now, recovered quickly. Jumping off her delightful charge, she bid her quickly cover her charms and sped to the door. Flushed of countenance and with her skirt somewhat ruffled, she found herself facing Sir Richard, who had hopefully sought her first in her own room.

“Ah, Pamela-Miss Rumple-my wife had a message for you. That is to say…”

His voice broke off, for while Pamela had attempted as best she could to block the doorway, her stature permitted no such concealment and Sir Richard found himself gazing past her shoulder at a much-rumpled bed, his elder daughter in the process of pulling down her skirt, the birch upon the floor, and Helen's drawers therewith.

“My goodness, yes,” choked the knight uncertainly. A flashing of white thighs and a glimpse of a sweet mystery between them had quite absorbed his vision.

“A message, sir?”

Pamela recovered herself and-believing Helen to be much quicker than she had-stepped aside politely so that he might enter. Helen's cheeks became as rosy as her bottom, for she, too, could see her drawers lying in full view.

“Eh, what?” asked Sir Richard, who had experienced a quite tremulous excitement at the sudden vision. “You have birched the young miss, I see, or are about to?”

“Sir, I have but a little. She took to her discipline kindly, did you not, Helen?”

A slight gurgling sound announced Helen's apparent agreement as she slid off the bed, standing on and hiding her fallen drawers as she did so.

“Yes, Miss-yes, Papa. Oh, my bottom stings exceedingly!” she added for good measure. Her hips wriggled slightly, causing Sir Richard's eyes to dwell fondly in that area. Helen had a quite rumbustious bottom, and he had thoroughly enjoyed birching it and seeing how tightly her drawers encased her globe. Now that they were lying on the floor, his thoughts took many errant turns.

Silence enfolded the three as if all were thinking different things; in fact, their minds were much closer than they imagined. Sir Richard recovered himself, for he could not stand forever gazing at Helen's hips, legs, and ankles.

“Ah, yes, a message, yes. Lady Bromley saw fit to invite the Vicar to her next ball, and his sister as well- I believe her name is Agnes. On reflection, my dear wife feels that she may have offended the cloth by suggesting that they come in fancy dress. A cleric might not feel it becoming, you see. Her intention is that you might perhaps visit and tender her apologies and explanations, though the deuce of it I cannot imagine what you might say.”

“'Tis simple enough, sir. I shall smooth matters over. In fact, I am possessed of an idea immediately. The Vicar could come in his usual garb and his sister as a nun. Then all would be pleased.”

“Capital, capital! What a treasure you are-is she not, Helen?”

“Yes, Papa, oh, indeed she is.”

“Poor Helen, I quite forgot that you are still divested of your drawers,” Pamela exclaimed, though concealing the look of mischief in her eyes. “Do put them on- your Papa will turn his back-will you not, sir?”

“Eh? Why, yes, by Jove, of course!”

Thereupon, turning about, Sir Richard found himself gazing into a mirror, as Pamela fully intended he should. Kneeling quickly before her charge, she motioned to Helen to raise her skirt and therewith one foot which she could insert into the drawers. Blushing profoundly, but not a little excited by this curious episode, Helen did her best to conceal all that she could while the drawers were at last about both ankles and were being drawn up. The hem of her skirt followed timidly, creating such a narrow and awkward gap between both garments that Pamela tutted.

“Hold your skirt high, Helen, or I shall not be able to do it.”

The sweet girl obeyed, thereby revealing to her Papa's gaze in the mirror the veritable twinkling of her thighs which appeared to have grown even more luscious since he had last birched her six months before.

“Higher, you silly, how can I pull them up!”

“Oh!” Helen shrieked, for a single impatient tug at her half-raised drawers caused her to fall backward on the bed and her skirt to fly up to her waist-exactly as Pamela had intended it to do. Sir Richard was vouchsafed a perfect view of several treasures, including much of Helen's bare and pink bottom and the enticing nest that couched between her thighs.

His penis quivered, for it had already attained a certain degree of anticipation when he had first gone in search of Pamela. Indeed, the vista was so engaging as Pamela in turn fell forward and so by apparent accident pressed Helen's legs higher that his prick stiffened abruptly while the struggling maidens finally succeeded in covering all. Rather loath to turn about now and so exhibit his protuberance, Sir Richard could not help but do so.

Pamela's eyes remarked upon it immediately, for she had done her best to bring it to that condition, being convinced by now that Helen would receive her best injection from that source. Somewhat to her annoyance, her charge seemed to quite miss the sight of the alarming structure beneath her Papa's trousers and sat quickly upon the bed.

“Perhaps I should best go now, sir.”

“Why yes, my dear, of course. You have but to ask the footman and the carriage will be brought round.”

“Thank you, sir, I shah take leave of you both, then.”

Pamela swept from the room. She had only to find her bonnet and could be gone. The air of the countryside pleased her, and she looked forward to her ride for she had not been much outside the house since her arrival. The door of the girls' room remained closed still as she passed again, and she could hear a murmuring of voices from within.

“I have been thinking, Helen, that you are of an age now where you should have your own room-and more privacy, what?” Sir Richard was saying. The enlarged extent of his weapon had scarcely abated, and in order to conceal it, he sat beside his daughter on the bed.

“Yes, Papa, if you wish. It might have its advantages,” Helen replied innocently. Her face held a pretty glow after her encounter with the birch and all that had followed.

“I will indeed, my pet,” Sir Richard said and laid his hand paternally on her thigh.

In her aroused state, Helen was quite prepared to wheedle a little, and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Now that I am all but grown-up, Papa, though I have not yet come out, may I not attend the balls and the hunting parties? I have quite wanted to.”

Sir Richard cleared his throat uneasily. In her divine innocence, as he saw it, Helen would know naught of the licentious revels that sometimes obtained at such events. It had been ever a problem to see that both she and Miranda be diverted to finding their own amusements.

“That indeed we must discuss, Helen,” he said gravely. Becoming ever more aware of the delicious silky warmth of Helen's thigh he moved his hand about slightly to feel her stocking top beneath-a gesture which caused his cock to pulse the more and Helen to hold her breath.

Pamela should really not have excited her so much and left her like this. Her bottom felt glossy and warm and longed for a few more touches. When she heard her Papa asking her if Pamela had birched her badly, she knew not what to reply and nestled her lovely face deeper into his shoulder.

“No Papa, for she is a kindly girl at heart,” she whispered at last, wondering all the time which bedroom she might have and how she would furnish it.

“Indeed I believe so,” Sir Richard replied and with somewhat palpitating heart, lifted her chin. The misty gaze that met his was no less exciting than the condition in which he found himself, with the result that his lips settled suddenly on those of his daughter.

Quite astonished, Helen parted her lips slightly, for Pamela had recently taught her so to do. Sliding one arm about her shoulders, Sir Richard brought her to lean back more and more until, with a surprised gasp, Helen found herself half beneath him with his lips impressing themselves ever more firmly on hers and an errant hand raising the hem of her skirt.

“Your own room-it will be much nicer,” Sir Richard uttered hoarsely. Little by little his hand made progress until, with a distinct quiver, Helen felt it soothe upward over her stocking tops.

“Yes, Papa. Oh, Papa, you tickle me!”

For being tickled she was indeed. Sir Richard's fingers had tremblingly attained the very area where her drawers were tight about her plump little mount. By gentle questing, he could distinctly feel the curls that were bunched beneath, to say nothing of the lips that exuded a certain moisture through the material.

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!”