Sins and Secrets

by P. F. Kozak

  “I remember saying nothing to you of Pamela.”

  “Ah, mon amour, you had too much brandy one evening. When I raised my skirt for you, you thought me to be her and told me of your desire. You called me by her name as you spent inside of me.”

  “I did no such thing!”

  Nellie’s corset dropped to the floor. She lifted her chemise, revealing her voluptuousness. “Ah, but you did. You have wanted Pamela in your bed for many years.”

  Peter closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had the urge to harshly reprimand her for talking to him in this way. A lesser man might have backhanded her. But he could not deny that her words held truth. He did remember the night of which she spoke, but did not realise he had spoken his secret aloud. As he undid his trousers to have her, he asked, “Did I say anything else?”

  Nellie removed her chemise and petticoat, leaving her only in her drawers. She pulled them wide open, showing Peter her hidden treasures. “You told me she could never live with you, that you could not keep yourself from her bed.”

  Exposing his stiff cock, he stood silently for several moments, staring at Nellie. He stroked himself as he looked at her. Peter lowered himself onto her, forcing her legs wide apart with his knees. “I cannot do with her what I do with you.”

  “And why not, mon cher? She is a woman now. You have a good prick. She would welcome it between her legs.”

  Peter rammed his cock into Nellie’s cunt, causing her to gasp at his abrupt entry. “Mon Dieu, monsieur! You stretch me so! I am like a virgin again.”

  “You are no virgin, ma chérie.” Peter stuffed himself deeply into her moist opening. “Do you think I could do this to innocent Pamela?” He pulled out and slammed back into her.

  Nellie lifted her bum and met his thrust. “You will do it to her. She will welcome it as I do.”

  Again and again, Peter slammed into the velvet glove that swallowed his organ. Again and again, Nellie met each thrust. As he felt the wave of his desire about to overtake him, he called out, “Sweet fuck, yes!” His body went rigid. The scalding fluid moved through his throbbing nob into Nellie’s belly.

  Peter buried his head between Nellie’s breasts as he quieted. Stroking his hair, Nellie whispered softly, “She is a woman, mon cher. Do not underestimate the daughter of Sir George.”

  Their combined juices had soaked Nellie’s drawers. When Peter rolled off of her, she removed them and gently cleaned him with the cloth so there would be no stain. After tossing the sullied material to the side, she picked up a dressing gown lying at the bottom of the bed.

  He had just tucked himself back into his trousers when someone knocked. A female voice said, “Mademoiselle Flambeau, Monsieur Rennard, Jack says it is time.”

  Peter looked at his pocket watch. “Tell Jack I will be right there.” He leaned over and kissed Nellie on the cheek. “You are beautiful beyond words.”

  “Mon cher, you can come to Nellie whenever you are in need. You know you will be welcomed.”

  “I must go now. Please take this. It should be a proper recompense for both myself and Jack.” He pressed a guinea into her hand.

  “Merci. Remember, mon cher, she is a woman now.”

  “I will remember, Nellie.” With that, he left to meet Pamela.

  Chapter Two

  Pamela could see the spires of London Bridge in the distance. She knew the train would arrive at the railway depot soon. Gathering together the few things she had brought on board with her, she readied herself for departure.

  The guard knocked on the glass door of the coach she shared with an elderly gentleman. Opening it, he announced, “London Bridge is the next and last stop on this train.” Looking directly at her, he inquired, “Is someone meeting you at the depot, miss?”

  “Why, yes, thank you. A carriage will be waiting.”

  “Give the driver your baggage claim, and tell him your luggage will be unloaded from the last car.”

  “Thank you, sir. I will tell him.”

  Pamela smiled at the thought of Jack stuffing her heavy trunks into the carriage. They would take most of the space, leaving very little room for two passengers. She fancied the thought of having to sit close to Peter in the crowded carriage. Since he always took care to keep a respectable distance between them, she would need to make sure the trunks were properly placed.

  The train lurched as it slowed to enter the depot, causing her hat to slip over her forehead. She quickly adjusted it, hoping it hadn’t mussed her hair. She had taken great care choosing her traveling attire. When Peter saw her, she wanted to impress him as a proper lady. Pamela had seen the sort of women he took to parties or to the opera. She envied both the way they looked and how Peter looked at them.

  Now, however, it would be different. Peter had no choice but to notice her. In his will, her father clearly stated he wanted her to live with Peter until she married. Having completed her formal education, she had now returned to take up residence in Peter’s town house.

  Her obsession with Peter began long before her father died. Peter had been a regular guest in their home. Peter and her father would drink cognac together and discuss the details of her father’s estate.

  Often, they would be in the library well into the night debating the law and how best to manage her father’s assets. She would sit on the stairs outside the door and listen, wanting to hear Peter’s voice. Almost in spite of herself, she also learned. She understood her inheritance because of what she overheard.

  Sometimes, they would ask her to play the piano for them. She adored it when Peter watched her play. Whenever he watched her, the music flowed through her body into the piano. Once he sat on the bench beside her and watched her play. His leg pressed against hers and she thought she might swoon.

  She had felt his arms around her only once. Peter held her through the funeral. Even in her grief, she felt stirrings inside from his closeness. Save for a brief kiss on the cheek, he had not held her again.

  Pamela knew what she wanted to learn could no longer be taught in the classroom. The lessons that waited were more suited to the bedchamber. She wanted it to be Peter’s bedchamber. She had rebuffed more than one suitor, holding on to her chastity—not for marriage, but for Peter.

  The older man sitting across from her stood as the train rolled alongside the platform. He held the door open for her as they exited the coach.

  “Thank you, sir. How very lovely to ride with you.” The fellow had been the perfect seatmate. He had slept nearly the entire trip.

  “You as well, miss. Now, mind your step getting off. There is a nasty gap between the train and the platform.”

  “I will be careful.” She stepped into the aisle, and then allowed the gentleman to lead the way to the nearest door. They joined the line of passengers waiting for the guard to open the door.

  Pamela saw Jack before she saw Peter. He stood one car-length away, looking in the wrong direction. She made her way through the crowd and stopped behind him. “Boo!”

  Jack spun around and nearly bumped into her. “Miss Pamela, excuse me, ma’am.”

  “Hello, Jack. How very good to see you.” For a moment, she feared Peter had sent Jack to fetch her and had not come himself. But then she saw him, standing a little further down the platform. He stood there, tall and dignified, looking every bit a barrister in his black waistcoat. Pamela’s stomach fluttered at the sight of him.

  She wanted to drop all of her things and run to him. Instead, she stood still and waited for him to come to her. He kept his eyes on her as he walked, not paying attention to the passengers filing off of the train around him. A large woman carrying an equally large bag bumped right into Peter as he walked past her. He stumbled, catching himself before he completely lost his balance. Pamela smiled, watching him politely bow in apology to the woman who had very nearly knocked him down.

  With only a few meters left between them, she could no longer contain herself. She set her bags down beside Jack and went to him. They stood face-
to-face on the platform, oblivious to the jostling crowd. For a moment, they simply drank each other in, not saying a word. Peter broke the silence. “Welcome home, Pamela.” He gave her a short kiss on the cheek.

  “Thank you, Peter. I am glad to finally be here.”

  “I must say, you are looking quite lovely.”

  “I’m pleased you think so. It is so terribly good to see you again.” Pamela opened her bag and retrieved the claim ticket. Turning to Jack, she said, “My boxes will be unloaded from the last car. A porter should help you get them to the carriage.” Jack took the ticket and gathered the bags she had left on the platform.

  Jack then left to find a porter, leaving Pamela alone on the platform with Peter. Taking hold of his upper arm, she asked, “How have you been, Peter?”

  “Splendid. Everything is very good indeed.” Then he surprised her. Rather than standing rigidly while she held his arm, he reached across and covered her hand with his. “Shall we go to the carriage and wait for Jack to bring round your boxes?”

  “That would be fine.” They walked through the railway depot together, his hand holding hers as they walked. She could hardly believe it when she felt his fingers rubbing the back of her hand almost in a caress.

  “Did you ship most of your things on the luggage van, as I thought best?”

  “Yes. I brought two boxes with me, to have enough clothing until the rest of my things arrive.”

  “I had Lucy prepare your room. It does occur to me that since you are moving back to the house permanently, you may wish to consider changing your bedchamber to the larger room across from mine. It would be more comfortable and put you closer to the water closet.”

  Even though his suggestion startled her, she managed to sound calm. “That would be lovely, Peter, thank you.” She could not explain this change of his attitude, the implications of which did not escape her.

  “The mahogany bed and cupboard from your father’s house are still in storage. If you wish, we could have them brought round for you.”

  “Let me consider that. I may want a canopy bed.”

  Peter smiled. “I understand they are quite fashionable.”

  Pamela giggled, not believing she could be talking about her bed with Peter. “Oh, my, yes, and so wonderfully feminine.”

  They had reached the carriage before Jack. Noticing an empty bench off to the side, Peter led Pamela to it. “Why don’t we sit here and wait for Jack?” Peter continued to hold her hand as she sat down, only releasing it when he sat beside her.

  “Have you found a young man that takes your fancy?”

  “No. I’ve told you, I am in no hurry to sell my soul to a husband.”

  “Pamela, finding a suitable husband is hardly selling your soul.”

  “It is if all that is mine is given to a husband.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Peter, I know all the property Papa left to me will be handed to my husband on a silver platter. If I marry, I lose everything.”

  “You will not lose everything. I manage your holdings and will continue to do so once you are married.”

  “And who will receive the earnings if I am married?”

  Peter folded his arms across his chest and looked away for a moment. Turning back to her, he said, “I see you have learned much in the last years.”

  “I have learned enough to know I am at the mercy of my husband’s generosity for income that is rightfully mine.”

  Just then, Jack and the porter came into view with the boxes. “We will continue this conversation later, my dear. Matters of such importance should not be discussed at a railway depot.”

  “To be sure,” Pamela snapped back. Peter stood and again took hold of Pamela’s hand, helping her to her feet. This time, Peter wrapped her arm through his and held it there, as before.

  “Jack, will those sit on top of the brougham?”

  Pamela smiled as Jack answered, “No, sir, they are too heavy. They will have to sit inside the cab if we are to take them with us.”

  Pamela feigned concern, saying, “I do really need them now. I so want to change this dusty dress once we are home.”

  “And so you shall. Jack, see if you can get them both in the cab.” Jack and the porter loaded the two boxes and the small bags into the cab.

  “Shall we?” Peter helped Pamela into the carriage and then climbed in beside her. Just as she had hoped, the boxes gave them very little room to sit.

  Peter tried to wedge himself in beside her. “Pamela, perhaps I should sit on top with Jack or ask the porter to call me another carriage.”

  “Don’t be silly, Peter. There is room for both of us.” She pulled her dress tightly against her, giving him just enough space to squeeze in.

  “If you say so and do not mind that I am practically sitting on you.”

  “I don’t mind at all.” Feeling bold, she once again put her arm though his. “Might I ask if you are still seeing Constance?”

  “Not for some months now. I began to find her company a bit tiresome.”

  “Really! I’m surprised.”

  “You shouldn’t be. As I recall, the last time you came home on holiday, you asked me what in the name of heaven I saw in such a persnickety prig.”

  “Well, I honestly could not understand your attraction for her. I’ve never met such a humorless whinge.”

  “And what sort of woman do you think would suit me?”

  “Someone younger, someone…” Pamela stopped just short of saying “someone like me.”

  “Go on.”

  “Someone who is fun and lively.” She didn’t know what else to say. Just then, the carriage wheel hit a hole in the street and bumped enough to cause Pamela’s valise to fall over on top of her trunk. The latch came open and several books spilled out onto their laps.

  Before Pamela had a chance to scoop them up, Peter picked up a periodical that had fallen with the books. “What is this, The Pearl—A Journal of Facetiae and Voluptuous Reading?”

  He opened the journal and skimmed a few pages, then read a passage aloud. “‘I’ll fuck you this time from behind, in what is called dog fashion. He then got up, and knelt between her legs, and drawing apart the white cheeks of her bottom, pushed his prick into her cunt. Then holding her hips, he worked his article rapidly in and out, telling her to push back her bottom to meet each thrust of his prick.’” 1

  Peter closed the journal and waved it in the air. “Is this what you have learned going to University? You paid seven shillings and sixpence for this rubbish?”

  “Peter, that is my personal property. Give it back to me.”

  “Not until I have a closer look, to see exactly what kind of literature you enjoy reading.”

  “I am well beyond the age of consent. It is my business if I choose to read such things.”

  “And I am still your guardian, granted enduring privileges by Sir George until such time as you marry. That being the case, I will keep this journal and read it. We will discuss the contents once I have thoroughly reviewed it.”

  Pamela sat pressed up against Peter’s side, absolutely seething. She grabbed the books lying on Peter’s lap. As she did so, her fingertips brushed against his trousers and hit something rigid inside. She pulled her hand away as if she had been burned. “Peter!”

  “My dear Pamela, why should you be shocked by my condition? Your education has included this!” He held up her copy of The Pearl.

  “Peter, I do not know of such things in my experience. I have never…”

  “It seems perhaps it is time you did.” He took her hand and stroked himself with it. She tried to pull away, but he held her tightly. “That, my dear, is a real prick. You have made it hard, you and your literature. You should know the effect you have on me, since you are now the lady of my house.”

  “Peter, why are you being so coarse with me? I do not understand!”

  “Pamela, matters of the flesh always make a man coarse, without regard to his breeding or education. I
t is the reality of being a man.” He relaxed his hold on her hand, giving her the freedom to remove it from his lap. “It is not something easily controlled.”

  Instead of pulling her hand away, she continued to touch him. “I do not know of such things, but I have read it is uncomfortable for a man to be in this state. Are you in pain?”

  Peter exhaled loudly though his nose in utter exasperation. “My God, Pamela, you do not know this sort of pain. It is an ache, a throbbing, a need that is overwhelming.”

  “If I caused this, I want to ease your discomfort.” She continued to stroke him.

  Peter closed his eyes and said through clenched teeth, “Sweet Lord, you are driving me mad. I am your guardian, I cannot allow this.” Even with his spoken conviction, Peter made no attempt to stop her caresses.

  “I want to do this.” Having read many accounts of ways to satisfy a man, Pamela knew how to stroke him. “Peter, I really do want to touch you.”

  “Pamela, listen to me. I am very close to spending and will make an embarrassment of my trousers. If you are willing, allow me to spend into my handkerchief.”

  “Yes, of course.” Pamela watched with shocked fascination as Peter opened his trousers.

  He reached inside and covered himself with his handkerchief. “Now, give me your hand.” She obediently held out her hand to him. He pushed it inside of his trousers. “Now, continue what you were doing.”

  Pamela grasped his cock in her hand and rubbed him. “Faster, my dear, faster and harder.” She did as Peter asked and watched him transform before her eyes. His breath came in rapid bursts, his chest rising and falling inside his vest. Suddenly, his body shook and he groaned. The hot fluid burst from him in spurts, his organ pulsing against her hand. She felt the cloth grow damp as he spilled himself into it.

  She quietly waited until he had softened. Too shy to ask him if she should take the handkerchief, she removed her hand and left the kerchief. Peter did not say a word. He reached inside his trousers and pulled out the soiled cloth. Crumpling it into a ball, he discarded it onto the floor of the carriage. Then he arranged his clothing and put himself right.