The Tribulations of Tobias

by L. E. Thomas

  They climbed the staircase together, Betty’s swaying bosoms bouncing as she snickered her way up each step and both ladies briefly fondled the pronounced rise in Tobias’s breeches with the appreciation of connoisseurs.

  When they got to the bedroom, it didn’t even occur to him to notice the state of the furnishings. Meg was already busy unlacing the rest of the front of Betty’s gown and it seemed only mannerly to assist her with the back of her dress in a similar way.

  Tobias watched diligently as their garments slid from their shoulders to reveal their naked bodies. One was familiar and always provoked desire, the other new and a deliciously fleshy contrast to the slim, long-flanked Meg. As if by unspoken assent, the women lay on Tobias’ bed together and renewed their embrace, this time adding wanton caresses.

  Meanwhile, Tobias was wrestling impatiently with his clothing. Once bared and ready, he knelt at the end of the bed, marveling at the glories before him, the deep kisses and hands roving over alabaster skin. There was a complete lack of self-consciousness in the scene that enraptured him. So, in appreciation, with equal freedom, he watched avidly with a hand wrapped around his hitherto neglected shaft.

  Betty turned a little onto her back, as Meg leaned over her body to deepen their passionate clasp. The movement parted Betty’s legs and so, Tobias’ eyes and then his hand lingered over her plump thigh, wanting to venture further. Betty wriggled a little to give him access until she was exposed for him. It seemed only polite to anoint such open glories with his lips.

  The girls continued their exploration as Tobias gently caressed Betty’s thighs and then his mouth found the place which made her moan into Meg’s embrace. In response, Meg rocked her hips too, seeking his touch. He could not believe the bliss of favoring one lady intimately while fondling the other.

  This state of full enjoyment was accentuated by the sounds and sight of both women, who sucked and fondled each other’s breasts before returning to deep, sensuous kissing. Tobias was glad he had a hand to spare and he rubbed himself with leisurely rapture.

  It was Betty who reached her peak first, urged on by Tobias sucking hard on her prettily swollen nub and Meg teasing and tasting her breasts. Then it was Meg’s turn, as she rocked urgently against Tobias’ hand exhorting him to quest deeper and harder. The explosion of both ladies’ juices was too much for him and he gladly spent all over the bed covers.

  After a moment’s stillness, the ladies parted with a lingering caress to allow Tobias to lie between them. There were further embraces and idle fondling shared between all three, which re-awoke desire.

  This time, it was Betty who took charge, as leaning over Tobias, she saluted Meg’s lithe breasts with her lips and continued purposefully down her ribcage and flat belly. Tobias, although enjoying the vista, felt rather in the way, until Betty, now on all fours, pushed him to one side while gripping him with obvious intent.

  By this stage, Meg was on her back, legs wide, eyes shut, looking the picture of glorious abandon. Just before Betty’s wandering tongue reached the juncture of her thighs, Betty looked over her shoulder at Tobias and waggled her bottom invitingly.

  Always the gentleman, Tobias took the hint and mounted the lady precisely as her glance had instructed. He was greeted with a rapturous sigh as she bent her head to further her friend’s delight. Tobias had a view any man (and possibly woman too, he now thought) would envy. The sight of his and Betty’s coupling was heady enough, particularly with the feel of her rounded hips and gently rocking breasts to grasp with his hands.

  This was more than enough to fill the senses. But the aspect over Betty’s shoulder was equally enticing. Meg was now transported, was pushing rhythmically up toward Betty’s eager mouth, pulling on her own wonderfully large taut nipples and moaning as she neared her climax.

  Not wanting to disappoint his visitors, Tobias had to mentally recite the names of the books of the Old Testament backwards a few times (as prayers did not seem entirely appropriate to the occasion) to hold off the inevitable fireworks.

  He watched transfixed, as Meg, in feverish need, grasped Betty’s head, pulling her deeper between her widespread thighs with a desperate cry. He could not help but feel Betty’s answering convulsions of enjoyment and gladly plunged his way to helping her excitement reach its necessary culmination, which unsurprisingly, coincided with his own.

  After a little space in which all players caught their breath, it was agreed that, sadly, the approaching time of the coach departure made it impossible for a third round to commence. And so, the ladies and Tobias gathered their discarded clothing from the bedroom floor and helped each other dress with fond touches.

  Once fully robed, downstairs and in the hallway, hatted and be-cloaked, Tobias was loath to part from his lovely ladies so soon. He was beyond caring about discretion and started to offer to walk with them to the coaching inn. But at that moment, Mrs. Slack, his elderly maidservant bustled through the open front door, and with barely a glance at his departing guests hailed him with an urgent message from Mr. Eels, the churchwarden.

  So, with no more time for sporting, he had to make do with a formal farewell to Meg and Betty at the vicarage entrance with the housekeeper hovering beside him.

  “Your moral instruction was most satisfying, Vicar,” Meg said, in a voice so calm that it belied the fact her eyes were twinkling suggestively beneath that slightly over-dashing hat.

  “Yes,” agreed Betty, “most vigorously delivered.” Luckily the housekeeper was slightly deaf and didn’t quite hear her pointedly salacious cackle.

  With an enraptured smile and only half an ear on his aged retainer’s rambling recital, Tobias watched his ladies walk down the garden path, arm in arm, enjoying his final view of the day of their languorously swaying hips.

  Chapter 4

  Tobias sat back on his rather uncomfortable wooden settle in his dusty drawing-room, a glass of his father’s best brandy in his hand, and gave a contented sigh. A couple of bottles of the fine liqueur had been surreptitiously slipped to him by his papa as a parting gift. He mused that it was very pleasant to be back in his vicarage, having assisted with the harvest at his parental home for a couple of weeks.

  A change certainly had been as good as a rest. After a season of constant preparation for services and sermons or spending long hours sitting with parishioners and trying to find words of comfort or advice (often helplessly), being told which field to work in and wielding a scythe at it all day was so much simpler. His body and mind felt refreshed from the exercise, fresh air, and the feeling of a practical job well done.

  On the farm with the other workers, many of whom he’d known all his life, he was just the youngest Whitmore boy. No one took any notice that he was now a vicar and so someone to have expectations of. He was merely another useful pair of hands to help gather in the crop. It was most refreshing.

  Although he had been looking forward to his respite from his ecclesiastical obligations, during the bone-shaking cross-country journey, he’d had more than a flicker of anxiety about one aspect of his sojourn. Namely, that his mama might take advantage of his being under her wing for an extended period and so hector him about his marriage prospects. He fretted he would find himself engaged to some young lady or other before the end of the fortnight without knowing quite what had hit him.

  Fortunately, the day before he arrived, Mrs. Whitmore had received the disturbing news that her middle son Tom, currently off soldiering somewhere on the continent, was co-habiting his military quarters with an opera dancer of the unlikely name of Fifi.

  The wrath in the maternal breast this information had incited meant that Tobias’ lack of a fiancé had not been broached for the entire visit, so busy was Mrs. Whitmore in writing letters of hellfire and brimstone to her absent son. Most mealtimes were taken up with her denunciations on this moral crisis at her husband and two sons currently at her table. Although grateful for the hiatus, Tobias also had it in his heart to feel sorry for the feckless Tom. Given the speak
ing glances between the three present Whitmore men, this emotion was evidently shared, albeit wisely in silence.

  Tom had foolishly reckoned that being many hundreds of miles away from his native shores would mean that his indiscretions (and no doubt excess extravagant expenditure incurred by the temporary possession of Fifi’s favors) would not be picked up by maternal semaphore. This was a hopelessly naive assumption he would shortly come to regret.

  Tobias gave another contented sigh and sipped at his fine French brandy, the undoubtedly smuggled origins of which was not best enquired too closely about. Another reason to be cheerful, at least before his normal labors resumed, was that on returning home he had received a letter from Lucy Holbourne. This was a young lady of long acquaintance who had more recently become a good friend, following a tête-à-tête about her late fiancé, who had sadly died in battle far away on the other side of the world. They now corresponded semi-regularly when not bumping into one another at social events in the wider area.

  Lucy had written to say that her parents were holding a levee at their home the next Friday and that he was invited. As, no doubt, his relatives, the Canon and his wife, near neighbors of the Holbournes, would also be guests, he would be expected to stay over at the canonical residence in Titterington and be home on Saturday in good time to prepare for the Sunday service. As he was about to be yoked, oxen-like, to his normal routine, it would be nice to have some socializing to look forward to, he thought. He took a celebratory sip of brandy.

  Thinking of ladies in general, being at his family home for a fortnight had meant there were no adventures for him with any ladies of dubious reputation. Not that there were any likely candidates anyway in the neighborhood, he mused. But he had been extra wary, given the forbidding atmosphere of outrage chez-Whitmore about the existence of Fifi. He considered it worthwhile to be on his best behavior if only to have his mother fulminate at one of his siblings rather than himself, for a change.

  Anyway, the recent vivid memories of a delightful and unexpected afternoon of bliss with the lovely Meg and her lascivious friend Betty were more than sufficient to necessitate any required relief in the privacy of his bed-chamber.

  On returning home, there had been no word from Meg. Mind you, he pondered, taking another mouthful of expertly distilled spirit, he had not expected to hear from her so soon, although that would have been pleasantly distracting. As far as he knew, she and Betty had temporarily gone their separate ways. This was unsurprising, as their livelihoods and direction tended to be dependent on the whims of any current admirer paying for their company and keeping Meg in extravagant headgear.

  He consoled himself with another taste of brandy and the agreeable notion that knowing her, Meg would get in touch when he least expected it. The very thought made him smile and his heartbeat quicken a little.

  * * * *

  The feeling of relaxation and well-being faded rapidly as the demands on Tobias’ time became apparent over the next few days. This was not helped by the fact that Tobias had given his curate a week’s leave to help with his own family’s harvest nearby. Tobias was not compelled to do this, but the young man was a diligent and hardworking support to him. Also, his memories of such kindnesses being shown to him as a curate in a busy parish in Birmingham had taught him to be considerate of his underlings.

  Given the avalanche of tasks he now had to flounder through alone, he rather regretted his fairness to his fellow man. Apart from services and parish visits, not only were there perplexing partially recalled verbal messages to decipher from his somewhat deaf housekeeper but also endless, pointless meetings organized by his fussy churchwarden, Mr. Eels, who liked the sound of his own voice. It had also slipped his mind that his curate dealt with occasional services in outlying towns and villages within the wandering bounds of the parish, so now this role fell on him temporarily too.

  In this way, he had just held a weekday morning service in the small church of a nearby town with a congregation consisting of three old men and a dog, although he had to admit the dog was very well-behaved. He was walking back to where his borrowed horse was stabled when he thought he saw a familiar profile traversing toward him. This charming visage brought back memories of that idyllic and strenuous summer in Lesser Witteringly.

  At second glance, he realized it was the luscious, leggy Mistress Jane Harbury, the first of his conquests in that lubricious village (although he gladly acknowledged that any ravishing and pillaging had been very much incited by the ladies) who was approaching him on the same side of the road. He had forgotten that this town would be within shopping distance for anything out of the way that could not be purchased in the village.

  After the initial pleasure of spotting Jane, then came the startling observation that she was not alone. She had a small child, little more than a baby by his toddling steps, firmly by the hand. Stifling his initial panicked inclination to run to the other side of the street and disappear down a laneway, he paused for a moment’s thought.

  With a rapid mental calculation, and the observation that, rather than the fair and somewhat nondescript coloring of the Whitmores, the little boy had a full head of strikingly black curly hair, he heaved a sigh of relief and gave a quick prayer of gratitude to the Almighty.

  Accordingly, he approached the lady with equanimity and a genuine smile and gave his bow with nothing but the cordiality of briefly renewing an acquaintance. He made genuine enquiries for her health and that of her very much older husband and politely admired the child for his sturdiness and size. Jane was not only in good looks but good humor and answered all his courteous questions happily, evidently delighted to have provided her proud husband with a much-wanted heir.

  After a brief exchange of bland good wishes, with the child tugging at her hand all the while, they went their separate ways. As he walked away, Tobias suddenly remembered that there had been a burly blacksmith in the village with the same striking dark locks and permitted himself a wry smile.

  * * * *

  The week continued with such an endless stream of demands that he almost couldn’t face the Holbournes’ party. However, he did not want to let Lucy down after accepting her invitation, and he might also offend the Canon and his wife by reneging on their kind offer of hospitality at such short notice. The consequences of perceived incivility would not only be potentially damaging to his burgeoning career but would inevitably turn his mama’s volcanic fury from Tom to him, which was the more apparent danger.

  He packed the rather elderly evening breeches that had seen him through his student years, put on his good coat, and closed the vicarage door behind him with a certain amount of relief. As he walked past the church, Mr. Eels, the churchwarden approached him with the obvious intent of engaging him in one-way conversation.

  With the ease of long practice, Tobias briskly continued without hesitation, citing rapid excuses of, “The coach is leaving now,” and, “Mustn’t keep the Canon waiting,” before that voluble man could open his mouth and keep them both standing there for a full half-hour.

  Once he had tidied himself and changed into evening dress at the spacious canonical residence and had a convivial conversation with the Canon himself, which made him tentatively hopeful that the powers that be didn’t think he was altogether useless, Tobias arrived at the Holbournes’ in a cheerful mood.

  He was received graciously by his hosts, then he looked around for Lucy. He found himself slightly disappointed that she was not there to greet him. However, as the dancing had not yet started, there was a crush of people in the middle of the room so he assumed she had got caught up somewhere in the fray.

  With a glass of good sherry in his hand, he looked forward to the music starting and joining in a few country dances, followed by supper afterwards and the prospect of some cake. The Canon was immediately hailed by some cronies in one corner and so Tobias stayed to attend his mother’s cousin for a while and made his way through the crowd to the refreshment table to fetch her a glass of lemonade. />
  As he edged toward the table, even over the noise of the chatter he heard a loud braying voice rather more suited to the parade ground than polite company. This emanated from a commanding figure, who from a side view seemed to be sporting a coat of military cut, with an array of gold edgings. He pitied the poor soul who was on the receiving end of that continual cacophony and thought rather more kindly of his voluble churchwarden.

  He lifted the lemonade jug and Mrs. Holbourne appeared at his side, proffering her empty glass. As he politely poured out the refreshment, she said with as much of a simper as a middle-aged lady could manage, “We might have hopes you know. For Lucy, if she’s so inclined. He’s a military hero and highly decorated.”

  Looking around sharply at the roaring gentleman, almost spilling the lemonade in the process, Tobias thought that the decoration must mainly apply to the amount of braid he had attached to his coat, which suddenly looked decidedly vulgar.

  He dutifully returned to his relative’s side with the proffered glass, and as she was busily engaged in conversation, he was able to peer around the breadth of the gilded gentleman to perceive Lucy. To his unexpected relief, there was no echo of her mother’s simper on her pretty features. Rather, Lucy’s pinched face indicated she was on the verge of a migraine and her eyes were nearly crossed with boredom.

  He might only be a junior vicar in somewhat threadbare apparel, but he could certainly try to launch a rescue attempt. The look of relief that Lucy shot him as soon as he came into her view was ample reward. He made his way to her side with no introductions required, as Captain Shouty (as he had now become in Tobias’ mind) merely carried on expounding at his expanded audience.

  As if on cue, the musicians struck up and Tobias saw his opportunity to make their escape, using churchwarden deflection tactics. Without waiting for a pause in the deafening monologue, he announced clearly, “The dancing is beginning now,” followed immediately by, “Do excuse us,” and grabbed Lucy’s hand without further ado.