by P. F. Kozak
“Dear Pamela, why do you think I had to go upstairs to my room? I did not forget.”
He positioned himself behind her. “Say it again, Pamela, what do you want?”
“Peter, have mercy! I want your cock! I need to spend!”
In the next moment, he buried his full length inside her aching cunt. Slamming his pelvis into her arse, he took her harshly, deliberately. Pamela pushed backward with every thrust, reveling in the sensation of his hardness rubbing her.
The need in her body controlled her. Peter held her hips and thumped against her hot arse, while she rode his cock. As though possessed by demons, they savagely fucked. Her climax hit without warning. She squeezed her buttocks and thighs as every muscle in her lower body contracted. Peter continued to slam into her as she shuddered. When he shouted, “Yes! Fecking hell! Yes!” she knew Peter had also seen the face of God.
Barely taking time to get his breath, Peter slid out of her. He rolled her stockings back up her thighs and adjusted the garters. Once he picked up her knickers, he gently lifted each foot and threaded it through the leg hole. Before pulling them over her pink bum, he tenderly kissed each cheek. Only after he lowered her skirt and petticoat did he remove the sheath and see to his own clothing.
Once they were both presentable, he glanced at his watch. “Five minutes past six. I hardly think May should be cross. Our tardiness is negligible.”
“Do you think she will guess why we are late?” Pamela smoothed her skirt once more, hoping the creases were not obvious.
“Well, sweet thing, if she does, my guess is she would approve of the spanking.”
“To be sure, she would not approve of what followed.”
“Unless she stood at the door listening, she would not know. Of course, Lucy might.”
“I don’t mind if Lucy knows.”
“Is that so? You have intimacies with Lucy of which I am unaware?”
“Now, Peter, that would be telling.” She smiled demurely as they made their way toward the dining room.
At breakfast, Pamela told May they would have a guest for tea that afternoon. Peter asked Jack to collect him at two o’clock, hoping to have a bit of time with Pamela before their guest arrived.
When Peter came home, Pamela had already prepared the parlour for afternoon tea. May had made her special scones with Devonshire cream and jam, as well as a platter of finger sandwiches and petit fours. The tea would be served once Charles arrived.
Peter surveyed the table, set with his best china. “My, we have outdone ourselves, haven’t we?” He reached for a scone.
Pamela slapped his fingers. “Mind yourself. You’ll muss my arrangement.”
“Pardon me? Isn’t this my house?”
“Pardon me! I thought it our house now!”
“So it is.” Peter carefully pulled out a scone and rearranged the rest to cover the empty space. Holding up his prize, he teased her. “Now I have my scone in our house and you have your arrangement in our house.”
“Wiseacre!”
“It’s my job, to have more wisdom than most. Speaking of which, I had an interesting conversation today with a friend of Richard Pankhurst.” He broke off a bit of his scone and handed it to Pamela.
She took it without paying attention or making any attempt to eat it. “What did he say?”
Peter swallowed a mouthful of scone. “You should taste this, it’s quite good.”
“Peter!”
Peter chuckled. “All right, I suppose you aren’t hungry.” He took the piece of scone back and popped it in his mouth.
With poise worthy of a fine hostess at an afternoon tea, Pamela walked up to him, gripped his bollocks in her hand and squeezed. Peter nearly choked.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” Bits of scone fell from his mouth.
“Getting your attention.”
Peter removed her hand from his crotch and put the rest of his unfinished scone in it. “You’ve made your point.”
“I thought I might. Now, what did Richard’s friend tell you?”
“Now that the Liberal party has won the election and the Grand Old Man is prime minister again, Pankhurst’s bill is back on the table. Gladstone has been in contact with Pankhurst directly, asking for a new draft of the Married Women’s Property Act. With Gladstone personally behind the legislation, it has a good chance of becoming law.”
Pamela clapped her hands. “You see, Peter, I told you. Emmeline thought it would be soon.”
“It is a bit of good fortune that Gladstone won the election and the liberals are back in power. Disraeli’s conservatives would not have supported Pankhurst.”
“I will write to Emmeline this evening. She will surely tell me what she knows about the progress of the bill. And I have yet to tell her I am to marry an older barrister, just as she did.”
“Pams, might I remind you again, our engagement is a secret!”
“Emmeline is my friend. I trust her, Peter. She will not give us away.”
“I hope not.”
“Anyway, we may not have to keep our secret much longer.”
“Pamela, Parliament does not act overnight. It may be a year or more before this issue is decided.”
“Then, we will wait. In the meantime, you can use your influence to gain votes.”
“It’s that simple, is it?”
“Of course it is, darling Peter. You are an influential man. I inherited Papa’s fortune. You inherited his reputation.”
“And his daughter.”
“To your good fortune.”
“Indeed.”
Lucy knocked on the door. “Pardon me, Miss Pamela. Lord Charles Capell is here to see you.”
“Yes, of course. Show him in, Lucy, and then please bring in the tea.”
“Yes, miss.” Lucy curtsied as Charles entered the parlour.
“Charles, how very good to see you.”
Charles bowed. “And you, Pamela.” He took her hand and kissed it.
Peter had stepped to the side. Making himself known to their guest, he said, “Hello, Charles. Welcome to my home.”
Charles, obviously startled, jumped a bit. “Peter! Yes, indeed, thank you.” Regaining his composure, he added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you. I thought you might still be in chambers.”
“I excused myself early today, knowing Pamela had arranged tea.”
“I see.”
Pamela could see the tension between the two men. Assuming her role as hostess, she invited Charles to sit. “Please, Charles, have a seat and I will fix you a plate of May’s dainties.”
Pamela busied herself at the table, making small talk. “How is Sarah? I haven’t seen her since we left Newnham.”
“She is well. Doing a bit of writing now, poetry mostly. Father promised her he would find a journal that would take her work, although honestly, I can’t imagine who would want it.”
Pamela handed him a plate. “Why do you say that? My recollection is that she writes quite well.”
“I find her work derivative. I’ve actually made a game of reading a piece she has written and finding the poet she has mimicked. So far, I am eight for ten. I am still working on the elusive two.”
Pamela went back to the table to make a plate for Peter. “Perhaps she is still finding her voice.”
“Perhaps so. I expect she will forget the whole business when she finally marries.”
Lucy came in with the tea, creating a welcome distraction. Pamela handed Peter a plate, rolling her eyes as she did so. He got her message and engaged Charles in conversation. Pamela felt relieved until she heard his chosen topic. “What do you think of the Grand Old Man being prime minister again, Charles? Quite something, isn’t it?”
Pamela gave Peter a cup of tea and a sharp look. She saw the smirk on Peter’s face as he sipped his tea. “Peter, I’m sure Charles does not wish to speak of politics.”
Charles spoke up behind her. “It’s quite all right, Pamela. I don’t mind expressing my family’s vie
w that his reelection is a travesty. The Queen is beside herself. She confided to my father that she is devastated by Disraeli’s defeat.”
Pamela muttered, “I’m sure she’ll get over it.” Peter heard her and chuckled. Fortunately, Charles didn’t catch what she said. Without realising it, Charles had just made what she had to tell him infinitely easier.
Handing him his teacup, she sat down beside him. “Charles, I have something to tell you that I believe should be said straightaway.”
“What is it, Pamela? You look so serious.”
“Let me say it is wonderful to see you again and I hope we can remain friends. But, I have accepted a proposal of marriage from someone else.”
“You have? I hadn’t heard.”
“It is not public knowledge as yet. For personal reasons, we have not yet announced our engagement.”
Charles glanced at Peter, who sat quietly sipping his tea. He said nothing. “Do I know your fiancé?”
Pamela blushed. “It would be indiscreet for me to say. Please understand, Charles, I am bound by a promise to him to say nothing until certain private matters are resolved.”
He addressed his next question to Peter. “Peter, do you approve of this engagement and give it your blessing?” Pamela held her breath, not knowing what Peter would say.
“Quite assuredly so! Sir George met him before he passed and considered him a prodigy.”
“Well, then, Pamela, I offer you my sincerest of congratulations. Of course, I expect an invitation to the wedding.”
“I will be sure to send you one, Charles, as I certainly will your cousin Constance. However, I would appreciate your keeping this a private matter until it is announced.”
“Of course, Pamela. Anything for you.” Charles stood, preparing to leave. Pamela stood as well. He took her hand and kissed it. “Pamela, I want you to know, if for whatever reason, you do not marry this man, I am at your service.”
“Thank you, Charles. I will remember.”
“Peter…”
“Charles…”
Pamela saw Charles to the door.
Chapter Sixteen
The Christmas tree stood outside the kitchen door at 169 Piccadilly, propped against the back fence. Peter had Jack put it there last evening after the old wooden tub meant to hold the Norway Spruce cracked when Jack filled it with sand. This being the first year they had a tree large enough to place on the floor, they had nothing else to stand it in.
Pamela asked Jack to get another tub and more candles for the tree, after dropping Peter at chambers. She also gave Jack a letter of permission and asked him to stop at the storage house on Old Compton Street to retrieve the ornaments from her father’s house. Now that they had a bigger tree, she could display them. Having the familiar ornaments again would both comfort her and truly make it feel like home.
While they waited for Jack to return, Lucy and Pamela busied themselves hanging garlands of holly and ivy in the doorways and all around the parlour. The house smelled of gingerbread, as May was baking marvelous gingerbread men to hang on the tree. Cranberry stringing would be the next chore to tackle.
“Miss Pamela, where do you want to hang these?” Lucy held up a basket filled with bunches of mistletoe.
“Over every door, Lucy. I bought the whole lot from the vendor yesterday, basket and all.”
“Miss, this is plenty of mistletoe, it is. You must be figurin’ on a whole mess of kisses.”
Pamela grinned. “I am.”
Lucy held up a bunch. “Maybe I should hang a bunch in the kitchen and over my door.”
“Do you think Jack will notice?”
“He will if he knows what’s good for him!”
“Oh, I think he might know what is good for him. We’ll see if Peter gets the hint.”
“Miss Pamela, all this mistletoe should tell him something!”
“Do you know he has never kissed me under the mistletoe?”
“For Lord’s sake, why?”
“Probably because he feared losing control if he did. Now, that isn’t a concern.”
“You and the mister have quite a time together, I see that!”
“Indeed, we do. He is a changed man.”
“Miss, he’s happier than I’ve ever known him to be.”
“Lucy, hold the stool while I tack this up.” Pamela took a bunch of mistletoe and hung it over the parlour door. They repeated the process over each door, with the library door being the last.
Pamela retrieved a bottle of rum from the library cupboard. “Lucy, run to the kitchen and get us some tea. We are going to have some Christmas cheer while we string the cranberries.”
“Miss Pamela, the mister won’t be happy you’re taking Christmas cheer this early in the day.”
“The mister isn’t here now, is he?”
Lucy giggled. “No, miss, he isn’t.”
“And what’s the worst that could happen if he did find out? I don’t mind if he takes me over his knee!”
“Miss Pamela!”
“Lucy, you must know he enjoys that sort of thing.”
Lucy blushed. “Miss, it ain’t proper, me talking to you about the mister.”
“After our first night together, you made up his bed and saw that he broke me. You’ve known we’ve been intimate for many months. I think you see more than you let on.” Lucy wiped her hands on her apron, as she always did when her nerves were on edge. “Run and get us the tea now. We’ll get on with the decorating.”
Once Lucy had left, Pamela stopped at Peter’s desk. He kept a tin of sheaths there, as well as several well-used paddling implements. After considering for a moment, she selected the hairbrush and a sheath to take to the parlour. Perhaps she would receive a special Christmas Eve present beside the tree.
Pamela smiled as she went back to the parlour. She discreetly tucked the hairbrush and sheath behind a picture frame on the piano. Certainly Lucy knew Peter spanked her. For several months now, Peter would call Pamela into the library and close the door. Sometimes, he would chastise her for some transgression; other times he would say he had lost patience with her sass.
He would spank her and then make amorous advances, often asking her to disrobe while he watched. His discipline made her burn and he knew it. Always, he would manipulate her into a lustful frenzy before allowing her to spend.
Several times recently, Pamela saw a shadow pass under the library door while she and Peter were enjoying one another. Fortunately, Peter hadn’t noticed. Suspecting Lucy to be eavesdropping, Pamela decided she should somehow confront Lucy. Not wanting Peter to catch her listening, she wanted to warn Lucy that Peter could discover her secret. Today, she had the opportunity to offer a warning, if only she could persuade Lucy to speak of it.
An odd realisation came over Pamela while considering how best to handle this. Knowing Lucy might well be privy to these intimate moments excited her. Pamela remembered how it felt to her the day she accidentally saw Lucy and Jack together. Every time she thought of it, her clitoris itched. She wondered if perhaps Lucy felt the same.
She picked up a rosewood music box from the mantel and wound it. Peter had given it to her the Christmas before. It played “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” When Lucy came into the parlour carrying a tray with the tea, she caught Pamela humming along.
“Miss Pamela, you surely are in the Christmas spirit! You hum almost as good as the mister whistles.”
“And isn’t it a blessing, Lucy, that after these many months, he’s still whistling!”
“Yes, miss, it is. You make him happy, as May said last summer.”
“God willing, it will always be so.”
Lucy poured the tea. “You can add the rum now. If anyone comes in, they’ll just think we’re havin’ some tea.”
“Unless they are close enough to smell our breath.” Pamela opened the bottle and poured a healthy dollop of rum into each cup. Handing Lucy one and keeping the other, Pamela held up her cup in a toast. “Happy Christmas, Lucy.”
>
“And a Happy Christmas to you, Miss Pamela. It is a pleasure being in your employ.”
“Why, thank you, Lucy. I am quite happy to have you in the house. I need a woman my age here. I adore May, but she can be a bit sour at times.”
“Don’t I know it, miss. She is cross with me most of the time.”
“Lucy, I know her very well. Her bark is much worse than her bite.”
“It ain’t troublin’ me, miss. I know my job and I do it proper. If she sees something I should do better, I listen. Otherwise, I don’t pay her no mind when she is sharp with me.”
Pamela sat on the sofa and picked up a needle and thread. “Come, sit beside me and let’s get to stringing.” Lucy gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa and picked up a bowl of cranberries. “Lucy, for goodness sake, relax.” She topped off Lucy’s tea with more rum. “You obviously need some more Christmas cheer.”
“Miss Pamela, you’ll have me drunk as a fiddler!”
“I’m sure Jack shares his flask with you, doesn’t he?”
“How do you know about that?”
“When I’ve needed it, he’s shared some with me.”
“Has he now?” Lucy sipped her tea.
Pamela could see a bit of jealousy bubble up. “I only thought the two of you, being as close as you are, would share a little more than a pint.”
“That we have.”
“Like the mister and I have?”
Lucy glanced at Pamela, no doubt weighing whether she should say more. After taking another sip of tea, Lucy nodded. “Jack fancies me like the mister does you.”
Pamela continued threading her cranberries. Lucy leaned back on the sofa and began threading her bowl of berries.
“Lucy, does Jack ever spank you the way Peter spanks me?” Pamela hoped the matter-of-fact tone of her question would encourage Lucy to share her experience.
“Sometimes.”
“Do you like it?”
Lucy blushed, but answered honestly. “Yes, miss, I do.”
“So do I.”
“I know, miss.”
Pamela finally had an opening. “Do you hear us sometimes, in the library?”