by P. F. Kozak
Her copy of The Pearl had fallen between them. Pamela reached for it, but Peter grabbed it first. “I will take that.”
“Please give it back to me, Peter! It is not something I ever meant for you to see.”
“Nor did I ever intend to have your hand upon me. It is evident your education has been extensive. Perhaps this journal will give me an indication of how much you have learned.”
“This is all a tempest in a teapot!” Frustrated and angry, Pamela folded her arms across her chest and tried to turn away from Peter. She only managed to wedge herself tighter against him, his body as unyielding as his temper.
They rode in silence. Pamela struggled with her own pain, the pain Peter spoke of earlier. The burning would not go away, the feel of him against her causing an ache inside she did not understand. She wanted to scream at him, but knew she should best hold her tongue. They were almost home. Nothing would be gained by having a row in front of Jack.
Remembering Peter had offered her the room across from his provided some solace. Tomorrow, she would see to the move.
Chapter Three
By the time they rounded the corner from Regent Street onto Piccadilly, the lamplighters were lighting the gas lamps. Peter could feel the heat from Pamela’s body against his. Even worse, he could smell the fragrance of her skin. They had to reach the house soon, before he lost control again.
The carriage stopped at the corner of Bolton and Piccadilly, in front of the iron gate surrounding Peter’s town house. Jack jumped down from the carriage to open the gate. Not waiting for the formality of having the door opened for him, Peter quickly exited the carriage. He stuffed the confiscated periodical into his inner coat pocket, and then turned to help Pamela. Taking her hand, he tried not to notice when she lifted her skirt to step down to the ground. The effort proved pointless, as the very thought of lifting her skirt made him stiff.
Pamela had said nothing to him for the remainder of the trip, not one word. He could see her fuming. Moments like this showed him, without question, that Sir George lived inside of her. She had inherited her father’s temper as well as his fortune.
Once inside, he immediately barked orders to the staff. “Jack, take Pamela’s boxes to her room and make sure her new lamps are working properly. Lucy, please see to Pamela’s comfort, and help her unpack. And tell May we will each be taking dinner in our own rooms.”
Pamela appeared visibly angrier. “Peter, why aren’t we dining together on my first night home? I am sure May prepared a special meal. She always does!”
“Because, my dear, I have something I must read before we sit down together again.” With that, he went up the stairs for the night, leaving her standing alone in the foyer.
Follow Peter to his room, continue reading
Follow Pamela to her room
Peter knew he had just behaved abominably, but saw no other way to escape. He needed some time alone to think, and to digest what had happened. Sitting across from Pamela at dinner would have been impossible under the circumstances.
He threw the journal onto the chair, wondering how on earth she came to have such a thing. This sort of literature flourished in certain circles, but Pamela should not have been aware of this. He thought he heard the rumblings of Sir George turning over in his grave.
What happened between them in the carriage could not be excused. He had lost control and allowed her hand on him. As he took off his coat and vest, he muttered aloud, “My God, what have I done?”
Someone knocked on his door, startling him. He growled, “Yes, what is it?”
Lucy answered. “Sir, Miss Pamela would like a bath and wants to know if you have need of the water closet.”
He went over and opened the door. “Tell her she is welcome to a bath. I have no need at the moment.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, and Lucy, make sure she has some dinner. Tell her I will see her at breakfast. “
“Yes, sir. When would you want dinner, sir?”
“An hour from now would be grand. Bring me some brandy as well.”
Lucy nodded her understanding. Peter watched her walk down the hall toward Pamela’s room. Glancing at the closed door across the hall, he realised if Pamela accepted his offer, she would soon be much closer to him. He had offered her that room because of Nellie. Now, the full import of Nellie’s words raged inside his mind. She is a woman now.
After removing his clothing, Peter poured water into the washbowl. Splashing cold water on his face did not wash away the unease of being close to Pamela, nor did it remove his self-recrimination for being weak. Somehow, he had to come to terms with the disquieting reality that she lived with him now. He would see her every day, and he would know she had touched him.
Peter put on his dressing gown. He turned up the flame on his gas lamp and settled into his overstuffed armchair with The Pearl. He read from the beginning, thinking all the while that Pamela had read the same words as he. Only that afternoon, he had called her an innocent when speaking of her to Nellie. Now he realised his Pamela had shed her innocence, at least of the spirit. He believed she still held her chastity, but obviously understood the matters of the flesh.
The stories in The Pearl spoke openly and explicitly of pricks and cunts, sucking and fucking, bare bottoms and breasts, spanking and caning. While reading the bawdy prose, Peter heard Pamela running her bath. His cock, already stiff from the indecent stories, hardened even more at the thought of Pamela disrobing in the next room.
He opened his dressing gown and rubbed his aching organ with the palm of his hand. Loathe to satisfy himself while thinking of Pamela, he brought to mind images from the stories. But visions of Pamela reading those stories overshadowed any other thought.
Before he could stop himself, he saw her curled up on her bed in a lacy nightdress, drinking in the impassioned tales. He hid in the closet of his mind’s eye and watched. She lightly caressed her full breast through the cloth of the gown. As she read more, her fingers kneaded the soft flesh, no doubt imagining the hand of a man on her.
Being quite alone in her own bed, she lifted the hem of her gown. He watched her slide her hand underneath and find the opening in her drawers. His own hand gripped his cock tightly as he thought of Pamela brushing the hair between her legs. Surely her female curls were the same lush chestnut brown as the hair on her head.
He wanted to see her disrobe, to have her naked beauty revealed to him. He thought of her in the bath, feeling the warmth of the water cover her body. Her feminine treasures were no longer hidden from view. Much like David watching Bathsheba bathe on the roof, Peter drank in her loveliness. The clear water hid nothing. He saw her fingers tickling the curly mound between her legs, before they disappeared inside her secret place.
Peter lost himself in voyeuristic pleasure, watching her in his mind’s eye. Her body tempted him as no other did, or ever had. His prick throbbed as he thought of her touching herself, her fingers sliding deeply into her virginal cunt. Now that she had touched him, she would remember how his cock felt in her hand, and imagine how it would feel sliding in and out of her.
Without warning, Lucy knocked on the door, shattering his reverie. “Sir, I have your dinner.” For a moment, Peter couldn’t speak. “Master Rennard, are you there?”
“Yes, Lucy, I need a moment.” Peter tied the cord around his dressing gown and went to the door. Lucy brought in a tray with his food and a decanter of brandy. As she bent over to set the tray on the table beside his chair, her bottom caught his attention. Peter quietly closed the door.
It had been some time since he had made an advance to her. She had resisted him then, but he convinced her to acquiesce. She twittered like a bird when he squeezed her bubbies. She did not allow him to lift her skirt, but did permit him to bump against her arse until he obtained his pleasure.
Peter approached her from behind. “Lucy…”
“Yes, sir?” He slipped his arm around her waist before she could turn around.
> “I am very hungry tonight, the sort of hunger the dinner you have brought will not satisfy.” He pressed his rigid cock against her bum.
“Oh, my, sir!” She tensed and stood very still.
“Now, do not be frightened. I mean you no harm and will do nothing more than you allow.” She relaxed against him. “Do you feel my trouble?”
Lucy nodded. “I need your help, Lucy. Miss Pamela is home now. I do not want her to know this happens to me. Will you help me keep it a secret?”
“Master Rennard, it is indecent!”
“No one will know, Lucy.” He fondled her breasts. She did not resist. “Remember what we did before?” Lucy nodded. “That’s all I wish from you, to help me control my urges while Miss Pamela is here.”
Lucy said nothing. Her consent to Peter’s lewd request came when she wiggled her bum against his prick. Peter wasted no time. He opened his dressing gown and exposed himself, knowing she could see nothing. “Lucy, lift your skirt so I can rub against your petticoat. When I spend, I will soil your dress.”
This made sense to the girl. She obediently lifted her skirt, taking her petticoat up with it, too. Peter did not wait for her to adjust herself. He held her tightly against him and pressed himself into her bum cheeks. He moaned aloud as his prick sunk into her soft bottom, her warm flesh welcoming him through the opening in her drawers.
She struggled, but he had her firmly around the waist. “Now, now, Lucy, settle yourself. I will not enter you. You do trust me, don’t you?”
She quieted. “Yes, sir. I do.”
Peter wedged himself between her fleshy cheeks. “Lucy, if I touch you in front, it will feel very good to you. Has a man ever touched your privy parts?”
She hesitated. As Peter reached under her skirt, she blurted out, “Jack has.”
“Has he now?” Lucy pulled her skirt up a little higher to allow Peter access to her front. “Did you like it?” Peter rubbed more insistently against her bum.
“Yes, sir, I liked it better than a drop of gin, I did!” She wiggled against his fingers as he separated her moist lips. The sensation of her hips rotating against him made his breath catch.
“That’s right, Lucy, move against me.” He tickled her clit with his fingertips and she moaned.
“You like that, don’t you, Lucy?”
“Oh, yes, Master Rennard. It is good, it is.”
Her gyrations became more rhythmic. He moved with her, allowing her to pleasure herself against his hand. He very much wanted to push his cock into her wet cunt. He thought better of forcing himself on her, knowing he would need her cooperation in the days ahead.
It excited him terribly knowing Jack had pleasured the girl. “Does Jack touch you often?” He hoped the licentious mist they floated in would loosen her tongue.
“When I let him, he does!”
“And how often do you let him?”
“When he brings me a pint, he can touch my bubbies. When he gives me his gin, he can lift my skirt.”
Peter slid his finger into her cunt and pushed hard inside of her. Lucy gasped. “Does he touch you here?”
“Oh, sir…” Lucy did not answer his question as she squirmed forcefully against him and began to shudder. Peter clutched her breast and rammed himself deeply into her bum crack. He pushed again and the tip of his prick exploded with hot fluid. Lucy continued to writhe against him, still in the throes of her own release. Peter moaned and whispered, “Pamela,” as his thick juice dripped down Lucy’s arse.
Lucy had released her skirt. When Peter stepped back to tie his dressing gown, both her petticoat and her skirt fell to her ankles. Once he had composed himself, he picked up the copy of The Pearl lying on his chair. “Lucy, I have something else I want you to do for me.”
“Yes, Master Rennard.” She turned around, but avoided looking directly at him.
“Do you see this journal?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you are helping Miss Pamela unpack her luggage, I want you to tell me if you see any more of these.” He knew the girl could read simple words. “If it says The Pearl on the front, I want to know how many volumes she has. But you mustn’t let her know I have asked you this. It is another secret we will have between us. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” She timidly pointed to his dinner tray. “Sir, your food is probably stone cold. Would you like May to warm it?”
“Thank you, Lucy, but no. I am sure it will be fine.” Peter thought he should reward the girl for her extra duties. He went to his desk and opened a small purse he kept there. Handing Lucy five shillings, he said in his most conciliatory voice, “If I need you again, will you help me?”
Lucy tucked the coins into her pocket. “Oh, yes. I am of a mind to help you, sir.” Peter smiled, knowing he would not have to visit Nellie quite so often now.
Peter escorted her to the door and opened it. Reconsidering the wisdom of seeing Pamela in the morning prior to appearing in court, he gave Lucy a message for Jack. “Lucy, please tell Jack to have the carriage ready at half past seven tomorrow morning. I shall be leaving early for chambers.”
“You told Lucy to tell me you would see me for breakfast.” Pamela’s voice cut through him like a razor. There she stood, in her nightdress, outside the door of the water closet. “Has that changed?”
Lucy awkwardly curtsied to Peter. She muttered, “I will tell him, sir,” and hurried down the hall.
Pamela called to her, “Lucy.”
Lucy stopped and turned around. “Yes, miss.”
“I will need some help with my things. I would like my clothes unpacked and put in the cupboard in this room.” Pamela indicated the room across from Peter’s. “I will be moving everything there tomorrow.”
Lucy glanced at Peter, waiting for his consent. “It is all right, Lucy. I have offered the room to Pamela if she cares to have it.”
Pamela glared at Peter. “I have accepted the offer.” Turning back to Lucy, she softened her voice. “Lucy, I will have my dinner now.”
“Yes, miss.” Lucy left them standing in the hall.
Peter turned to go back into his room. “Peter, you did not answer my question. Are we taking our morning meal together?”
Rather than answer her question, he snapped at her, “Have you no modesty? It is quite unseemly to be standing in the hallway in your nightdress.”
Without hesitation, she replied angrily, “No more unseemly than your standing there in your dressing gown.”
The colour in her cheeks had risen. Her hair had come partially undone. A long chestnut strand hung below her shoulders. Everything in him wanted to hold her, to see the rest of her hair fall, to touch her. His inner struggle threatened to split him in half. Instead of reaching for her as he so wanted to do, he said, “I will be taking my meal at ten past seven, if you care to join me.” He stepped back into his room and closed the door.
Go to Chapter Four
Pamela stared at the empty steps for several moments, trembling with anger. The utter audacity of the man infuriated her! He left her standing alone in the foyer on her first night home, without so much as a good night!
She suddenly realised both Jack and Lucy were standing behind her, waiting on her instructions. Collecting herself, she took off her hat and laid it on the hall table beside the lamp. “Lucy, tell May I wish to bathe before dinner, but would very much like a cup of tea and some biscuits now. Jack will help me upstairs with my cases. Oh, yes, and ask Master Rennard if he is in need of the water closet, as I will be occupying it.”
“Yes, miss.”
“Jack, if you would be so kind?” Pamela pointed to the luggage stacked on the floor.
Pamela knew Jack had the strength to lift the heavy cases. During Christmas holiday, after imbibing a bit too much rum, he had picked her up and spun her around. She blushed, remembering he had also kissed her several times under the mistletoe.
She had purchased a large bundle of mistletoe at Covent Garden and hung it in the doorw
ay of the dining room, hoping Peter would be carried away by the holiday spirit. Peter never paid it any mind, but Jack did. It became a game between them, with Jack catching her under it more than once. Had Peter seen him, there would have been hell to pay.
Standing off to the side, she watched him lift the larger of the two trunks. “After you, Miss Pamela.” He nodded toward the stairs. She led the way upstairs to her room. Jack set the case down in the hallway, going in first, to check the lamps. Pamela followed him in.
“Thank you for helping me, Jack. I do appreciate it.”
“It is my pleasure, Miss Pamela.” After checking the gas flow on the lamps, he brought in the first case. “I won’t be but a minute with the rest, miss.”
True to his word, he brought the rest of her luggage into the room within a few minutes. “Will you be needing anything else, Miss Pamela?”
Still chafing from Peter’s rudeness, Pamela decided she did need something more from Jack. “Actually, Jack, there is one more thing I need.”
“What would that be, miss?”
“A proper welcome home. I have yet to receive one.”
“Miss Pamela, don’t pay him any mind. He’s probably tired.”
“I wasn’t talking about Peter.” Jack looked at her, but did not move from the spot where he stood. Coaxing him along, Pamela added, “Sorry to say, I don’t have any mistletoe.”
Without saying a word, Jack came up to her and put his arm around her waist. He pulled her tightly against him and kissed her, not the playful kiss from under the mistletoe, but a kiss that said he understood what she wanted from him.
Still holding her close to him, he put his hand on her bum and kneaded it with his fingers. “Miss, Master Rennard would have my head if he knew I kissed you.”
“Jack, he won’t find out. He never knew about the mistletoe, now did he?”
“No, miss, he never did, him being in chambers all day.”
“Jack, I promise, he will never know.”