by P. F. Kozak
“Miss Pamela, I do like kissing you.” He hugged Pamela tightly and kissed her again, this time brushing her breast with his thumb. The hard ridge in his trousers pressed into her belly.
“I can tell.” She brazenly wiggled against him to let him know she knew how much he liked it. “You better go now. Lucy will be bringing my tea soon. But I will need your help tomorrow. I am moving to another room, the larger one across from Master Rennard’s.”
“Yes, miss. May will know where to find me.”
“Thank you, Jack. And thank you for a proper welcome.”
“Thank you, Miss Pamela.” He hesitated and then added, “If you would need help with these lamps during the night, or with anything at all, tell Lucy to fetch me.”
“I will do that. Good night, Jack.”
“Good night, Miss Pamela.”
Her coquettish behavior with Jack excited her. She craved the tingles from his kisses and smouldered with the burning it left in her belly. If only Peter would kiss her like that. What had happened in the carriage strengthened her resolve. She would find a way to break though the wall he kept between them. Peter would be her first. Somehow, she would find a way.
While waiting on Lucy to bring her tea, Pamela set about unpacking. Taking the bag of books and papers to her desk, she emptied it. She had brought her favorite volumes of George Sand and Mary Wollstonecraft, her personal correspondence with Richard and Emmeline Pankhurst and several copies of The Pearl. The rest had been shipped with her other things.
Considering Peter’s reaction to The Pearl, Pamela thanked the heavens that most of her favoured reading remained concealed in her bag. Thankfully, only one volume of her collection had fallen, Lord have mercy, right into his lap! He had not paid any attention to the books once he opened the journal.
He shocked her with his reaction and with forcing her hand on him. She had read about hard cocks and had occasionally felt a young man pressing into her when they danced. Once she had even allowed a young man to briefly rub himself against her leg. But never, ever had she held one, or ever witnessed a man spend!
To have the first man she touched be Peter she could hardly imagine. But it had happened! Maybe Peter’s taking a copy of The Pearl would prove a stroke of luck. Perhaps he would start to think about touching her the way she wanted to touch him.
Pamela stacked her books and the remaining copies of The Pearl on the desk, beside the bundle of letters from the Pankhursts. Some years before, Richard Pankhurst qualified as a barrister at Lincoln’s Inn and during his tenure there, made acquaintance with her father. After her father’s death, Richard sent a letter of condolence. Knowing of Pamela’s inheritance, he offered his legal advice, if Pamela should be in need.
Through a series of letters, Pamela learned that by law, she would forfeit her property to a husband if she married. Richard and his new wife, Emmeline, advocated to change the law to protect a married woman’s right to own property. They promised to keep her informed of their progress.
Emmeline had personally written to Pamela after her marriage to Richard. They discovered they were the same age and shared like minds. Even though Emmeline tended more toward political activism than Pamela, they had become friends. Pamela found hope knowing Emmy had married the older barrister and they were expecting their first child. If the law did change, perhaps it could be the same for her with Peter.
Lucy knocked on her door. “Miss Pamela, I have your tea.”
Pamela opened the door. “Thank you, Lucy. Does Master Rennard have need of the water closet?”
“No, miss. He says you are welcome to a bath and he will see you at breakfast, miss.”
“Splendid. Tell May I will be having dinner when I am finished.”
“Yes, miss. Will there be anything else, miss?”
“No, Lucy, that is all for now.” Lucy tapped her toe behind her in an abbreviated curtsy and left Pamela alone.
Pamela sipped her tea. Opening one of her trunks, she found a suitable nightdress. Taking her tea and biscuits with her, she went to have a bath.
She paused outside of Peter’s door and, for a moment, considered knocking. Quickly dismissing the idea as foolish, she instead opened the door to the room that tomorrow would be hers. In the dim light from the hall, she saw that the large room looked like a man’s study with a bed. “Well, this will certainly change,” she muttered to herself.
Pamela wasted no time shedding her clothes. She filled the enameled cast-iron tub with warm water and settled in for a soak. After finishing her refreshment, she closed her eyes and thought of Peter in the carriage. She had suspected his passions ran deep. Now, she knew firsthand how deep.
She had always thought Peter handsome. He never slicked back his sandy brown hair the way most men did. He didn’t need to; his wavy hair stayed in place naturally. Even though his work with the courts did not require physical prowess, his muscles were as developed as Jack’s. She loved it when he took off his jacket and she could see his shirt cling to his arms.
Thinking of him caused her privy parts to throb. She burned as she had in the carriage. Trailing her hand between her breasts, she reached down to the pulse-beat between her legs. Lightly stroking herself, she remembered holding Peter’s prick in her hand, of watching his chest rise and fall with his breath. She had seen him in the throes and immersed herself in the memory of his excitement.
His cock came alive in her hand, the blood vessels hard and ropey in her palm. The closer he came to spending, the more his cock came to life. It actually moved in her hand, of its own accord! Her own hips moved in the warm water, as she stroked him again in her mind.
Pamela started. She thought she heard Lucy’s voice. For a moment, she thought Lucy had called to her, but then realised she had brought Peter his dinner. Pamela sat quietly and listened. She did not hear Lucy leave, and in fact heard voices from the next room. She could not distinguish words, but knew, without question, that Lucy had remained in Peter’s room. A sense of unease flooded her as she realised what could be happening.
Washing herself quickly, Pamela finished her bath and dressed. Still listening for any sounds that might confirm her suspicion, she waited. Then she heard Lucy’s voice, a muffled “Oh, sir,” and then another barely audible sound that had to be Peter. She might be chaste, but she knew what she had heard. Peter had groaned!
Gathering herself to her full height and remembering that her father had been Sir George Kingston, she went outside to the hall. Peter did not even notice that she stood outside the water closet when he opened his door and escorted Lucy out.
“Lucy, please tell Jack to have the carriage ready at half past seven tomorrow morning. I shall be leaving early for chambers.”
Pamela barely controlled her fury when she interrupted. “You told Lucy to tell me you would see me for breakfast. 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. In the morning, 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, obviously 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 here in your dressing gown!”
“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.
Pamela stood in the hall for several minutes, invoking her father’s spirit to help her control herself. She wanted to beat on Peter’s door with her fists, call him every obscene name she had ever heard or read, and if he should open the door again, slap his face.
But that was not what her father taught her. Sir George had presented himself to the world as a gentleman and always, no matter what he truly felt, carried himself with dignity and grace. She would do the same.
As she walked down the hall to her room, a long forgotten memory bubbled to the surface. After her mother died, her father employed a series of nannies for her. The last one stayed with her until her father died.
Pamela would often wander through the dark house late at night, holding a candle, looking for ghostly specters she hoped to catch unaware. She never found any, but she did discover another secret.
As she walked past her father’s room one night, she found the door ajar. Peeking into his room, she saw her father and her governess on his bed. Her governess laughed and said, “Sir George, you are such a rogue.”
Her father had replied, “And you, dear Clarissa, are more of a temptress than this old man can resist.”
Pamela stood in the hall then as she had now, listening. Hearing things she did not understand, and that had actually frightened her much more than the ghosts she hoped to find, she crept back to her room. Now she understood. And she had no fear.
Once back in her room, she put her dressing gown on over her nightdress. Lucy would be along directly with her dinner. How she would face the girl given the situation, she did not know. But she would. She had to.
Several long minutes later, Lucy knocked. “Miss, your dinner.”
Pamela went to the door and let Lucy in. “Just put it on the desk, Lucy.”
Lucy walked past her without looking up, pushed aside the stack of books and journals, and set the tray on the desk. “Will that be all, miss?” She still did not look up and continued to stare at Pamela’s desk.
“Lucy, you appear flustered. Is everything all right?”
“Very fine, miss. Will that be all?”
“I need to discuss with Jack the retrieval of my father’s furniture. Will you please send him to my room when you leave?”
Lucy turned and looked at her for the first time since entering the room. “Now, miss?”
“Yes, Lucy, now. Please find him and tell him to come to my room.”
“Yes, miss.” Lucy glanced back at the desk and adjusted the tray. “Anything else miss?”
“No, that will be all.” Lucy left her alone.
Pamela checked the tray Lucy had brought. May always prepared her favorites, and Pamela knew on her first night home, the tray would be loaded with delicious treats. But somehow, even May’s expertly prepared delicacies would not satisfy her. She wanted something more.
After she waited impatiently for several more minutes, Jack knocked at her door. “Miss Pamela, you wanted to see me?”
Pamela untied her dressing gown before opening the door. It excited her knowing how terribly improper it would be to invite Jack into her room. At this hour, dressed as she was, Pamela knew it to be positively scandalous.
She opened the door. “Please, come in, Jack.” He came in and Pamela closed the door behind him.
Jack had combed his dark hair and put on a clean shirt. “You wished to see me, miss?”
“Indeed I did, Jack.” He fidgeted a bit, shifting from one foot to the other. Pamela tried to put him at ease. “Jack, tomorrow, I am moving to another room and I wish to have some of my father’s furniture brought to the house. Master Rennard suggested I retrieve my father’s bed from storage. Could you do that for me?”
“Of course, miss. I will do it in the morning, I will.”
“That would be splendid. Perhaps I will accompany you. There might be other things there that would suit my new room.”
“Of course, miss.”
Pamela could see Jack’s discomfort. She needed him to relax with her. “Jack, I remember at Christmas, you carried a flask of rum in your back pocket. I don’t suppose you have a flask now?”
Jack smiled broadly. “Oh, I do indeed, miss. ’Cept it is gin and not up to your refined taste.”
“Let me see if it is. I expect it is delicious.”
Jack pulled his flask from his back pocket and handed it to Pamela. “Miss Pamela, it is rotgut, not fit for a lady such as you.”
“Nonsense, Jack.” Pamela took the flask and opened it. Bolting back a healthy swallow, she shivered as it went down. “Oh, my, that does have a kick, doesn’t it?” She shivered again and handed the flask back to him.
“I told you, miss. It isn’t meant for refined ladies like you.”
Pamela took a moment before she spoke, to let the burn in her throat subside. Then she said, “Jack, it is better than the finest liquor I have ever tasted.”
“Really, miss?”
“Really, Jack.”
“Would you like another?” Jack handed her the flask again.
Hoping her stomach would accept another bolt, Pamela took the flask. “Yes, I would like another.” Pamela took another swallow with the same reaction. Jack took back the flask and also took a swallow himself, before he capped it.
“Will that be all, Miss Pamela?” Jack didn’t move. But he made no pretense of not looking at her breasts, then moving his eyes lower.
The hidden desire in Pamela, given a voice by the gin, spoke the words she could not. “Jack, there is something else.”
“Yes, miss.” Jack moved closer to her.
Pamela took off her dressing gown and let it fall to the floor. She stood in front of Jack in her nightdress and nothing else. “Kiss me again.”
Jack did not hesitate. He took hold of Pamela and kissed her, forcefully, deeply. Pamela responded in kind, digging her fingernails into Jack’s back as she returned his kiss.
When the fusion of their mouths broke, Pamela gasped for air. Jack immediately attempted to capture her mouth again. “Jack, wait.”
He stepped back, obviously with some effort. “Yes, miss.”
“Jack, you must understand, I am untried.” Pamela paused for a moment, collecting herself, and then continued. “I know you have experience. What can we do together that will leave me intact?”
“Miss Pamela, I am not of a mind to compromise you.”
“I know that, Jack.” Pamela closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she continued. “But I have feelings, things that will not go away. I do not know how to keep the wolves away from the door.”
“Miss, if you like, we can do something about it without busting your maidenhead.”
“What, Jack? Tell me what!”
Jack took her hand and led her over to her armchair. “Sit on my lap, miss, and we will see to it.”
He sat down and Pamela sat on his lap. “Jack, you will have to show me. I don’t know what…I have never…”
“Miss Pamela, if you let me, I can show you.”
“Please, Jack, show me.”
Jack palmed her breast. “Miss Pamela, your bubbies are so nice. I’ve thought about licking them more than once, I have.”
“You want to lick my breasts?” Pamela never dreamed any man would want to lick her breasts.
“Yes, miss, I’ve wanted to lick them for a long time.”
Pamela unbuttoned the front of her nightdress. “Do it, Jack, lick my breasts.”
Jack slipped his hand inside Pamela’s gown and lifted a breast out. Bending over her, he first kissed the mound, and then he licked it. Pamela shuddered as his tongue swept the surface of her titty. Then he lingered on her nipple. He sucked the nub into his mouth and circled it with his tongue.
Pamela’s hair had fallen around her shoulders. She took out the few remaining pins, so that her hai
r could cascade over her. Jack reached into her gown and exposed her other titty. He kissed and licked it as he had the first. As he sucked on the second nipple, Pamela’s head lolled backward, pushing her breast deeper into Jack’s mouth.
Jack broke the suction on her breast long enough to say, “Miss, my prick is hurting.”
“Take it out and let me touch it, Jack.” Jack undid his trousers and freed his aching prick. Pamela stared down at his engorged cock, and then gingerly ran her finger over the tip.
“Have you ever seen one, miss?”
Too inflamed to care about revealing her innocence, Pamela admitted, “I’ve never seen one so exposed.”
“Touch it, miss. Feel how hard it is.”
Pamela did touch it. She ran her finger over the tip. Jack had not been cut, so his foreskin crinkled at the base of the head. The loose skin easily slid back and forth as she studied this hidden male treasure.
“Miss, we can take care of business together. I can do you while you do me. It is a way to keep you chaste.”
Before Pamela could say yes or no, Jack had his hand underneath her gown. The throbbing became unendurable as his hand connected with her privy parts. She moaned, “My God, Jack, I am dying.”
“You ain’t dyin’, miss, you just want to be fucked good.” As he said that, he jammed his fingers into her cunt. Pamela gasped and lifted her hips. “I feel it, miss, your maidenhead. I won’t be poppin’ it, but I will be makin’ you squeal.”
Jack rammed his fingers into Pamela’s hungry cunt again and again. Each time, his fingers grazed her chastity, but never hard enough to break through. Pamela held on to Jack’s prick, squeezing harder every time he pushed into her.
“Oh, yes, miss, that’s right, let those pretty titties bounce. You and me, we’re both goin’ to cream tonight.”
Pamela writhed on Jack’s lap, his ministrations to her wet cunt merciless. Just when she thought she would lose her mind with need, something exploded inside of her and consumed her. Her entire body shook uncontrollably. Jack’s arm caught her as she threw herself backward and went rigid.
Wave after wave of sensation washed through her, annihilating all sense of propriety and identity. She still had hold of Jack’s prick and pulled his shaft hard. Without warning, he, too, went rigid, shooting white liquid onto her hand and nightdress.