Penelope, Mistress of the Manor
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, Fa/ft, Consensual, Heterosexual, Incest, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Petting, Pregnancy,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 16 - The aged Earl of Haversham was in need of a wife, and an heir. So, he bartered a marriage to young Penelope, and brought her to Farnsworth Manor as the new mistress there. The only problem was that Penelope liked her former life just fine. She didn't want to wander around a dusty old mansion, while her belly swelled up until she waddled like a duck. At least not alone. But there were a number of young, nubile servant girls about the place. So she hatched a plan. She wouldn't BE alone.
Hugh was a smart fellow, for the dearth of formal education he'd received. Within minutes, his brain began to work again, and some instinct told him what was going on in this room was not normal behavior. His conundrum was that he liked what was going on very much, and didn't want it to end.
Trying to decide what to do was difficult, by virtue of the fact that the naked girl in his arms was almost entirely distracting. His penis had stiffened again, rising to lodge between her legs. He was quite sure she must feel it, because every so often she tightened her thighs, squeezing it. Having no more education about sex than anyone else his age, he knew only that what she should be outraged at, she seemed to like very much, instead.
He glanced about. The Lady was gone! Her seat was empty. Further perusal of the chamber revealed his brother was also missing. Only Jenny was still there, watching her naked brother dancing with an equally naked girl. She didn't look horrified. Rather, she was smiling.
A groan came from somewhere nearby, sounding as if someone was injured, and expressing pain. I knew where the mistress and Jack had gone - into the other room - and what they were doing. So, too, did the girls. Only Hugh was without any clue as to what had made that sound. The groan came again and he went rigid as he recognized his brother's voice. It was instinct for him to pull away from Sally, and go towards that groan. The girls recognized his instinct, and Sally reached to grab his arm.
"Someone is hurt," he said.
Jenny joined her friend and helped restrain her brother.
"No one is hurt," she said.
"That's Jack's voice!" he insisted.
"Yes, but he is not hurt," said Jenny.
A longer, more drawn out groan came from what Hugh could now see was another room, separated from the one he was in by a wall.
"Are you deaf?" Hugh pulled at the girls.
"Hugh!" said Jenny. The urgency in her voice halted him, at least temporarily. "If we take you to peek, do you swear on our mother's grave that what you see will remain a secret?"
"What?" He turned to her, confused. "Jack is hurt. He is in that room. He has fallen or some such."
"He is not hurt," insisted Jenny.
Sally reached for the penis, lately trapped against her pussy lips, but which now was beginning to droop as more important issues distracted its owner. She grasped it firmly, jerking his attention to what she was doing.
"Do you remember how I cleaned this so thoroughly?" she asked.
He could only nod.
"Now you will learn why that is so important to Her Ladyship ... and us."
I had not left my vantage point. Hearing Jack's groans, I assumed they resulted from him sheathing his sword in Penny's wet, warm, clasping sheath. Now I understood that the girls, being much more familiar with the noises Jack made than ever I would be, assumed that he was being sucked, rather than fucked. I was torn between staying where I was, and watching the boy's reaction to peeking around the corner of the wall, or of trying to see his face from the other peephole as his world was expanded.
Suddenly it was too late, as the girls moved him jerkily to the corner. Jenny put her hand over his mouth and pulled him against her body. Sally maintained her grip on his penis, which had responded to her touch and was now hard again.
He jerked back as he saw, and I saw Jenny's hand clamp even tighter over his lips. Then she was pulled forward as his head went again to where he could see what was happening. The little tableau froze, long enough that I scurried to the other hole. I was mildly astonished to find that the false eye of that portrait had already been removed. I wondered if Penelope knew I was there, and this circumstance meant she welcomed me.
I peered through the hole. The room was dim, having only three candles lit, but I could still see everything. The Lady of the Manor was on her knees, like a common whore. Jack's trousers were around his calves. She consumed his prick like she was a starving woman, thrusting her face toward him so violently that her nose bounced off his short hairs. I wondered why she did not gag. Her painted nails dug into his backside and he leaned back, his face aimed at the ceiling.
"Ohhh you slay me, Mistress," he gasped quietly.
Muffled, wet, sucking noises were his only answer.
I spared a glance at Hugh, whose eyes were still wide, and whose lips moved under his sister's hand. The only visible part of Sally was her arm, which appeared to grow from the wall, and her hand, which moved rapidly up and down Hugh's prick. I thought she was trying to bring the poor boy off, so quickly did her hand fly.
"My Lady!" gasped Jack, in warning that all in the chambers understood save Hugh.
Her nails bit further as he froze, and shuddered, jerking as if he were having some kind of fit. I saw her throat move as she swallowed his issue, and his hands came to entwine themselves in her hair, destroying her coiffure. He looked down at his hands, and pulled her head toward him. I looked to see Hugh's eyes had gone even wider. I'm sure it looked violent to him. Suddenly he was pulled back into the other room.
As he was removed, the lady dug her nails into Jack's buttocks, so painfully that he let go her head, which I'm sure is what she intended. She pulled off, slurping and swallowing again, to look up at her lover's face.
"You hurt me," she said. "You pulled my hair." Her voice was grim.
"I'm sorry!" he gasped, falling to his knees to put his face even with hers.
She kissed him, hard, rubbing his sperm all over his lips, and then pulled away.
"You must be punished," she said.
I saw his shoulders slump, and she stood. His head was down, so he did not see her attack the buttons and catches of her gown, baring her breasts first, and then pushing the garment down to her hips. He could not miss the bulk of the dress as it fell to the floor, and looked up to see her standing naked in front of him.
"You will pleasure me until I tell you to stop," she ordered.
She lay down on the settee in that room and spread her legs.
"And if I am not impregnated when I allow you to stop, I shall flog you myself."
He could not stiffen himself so soon after she had drained him, but he eagerly dove between her thighs and began to feast. While that was most interesting to observe (I had never acted out such perversion, of course) I wondered what had become of poor Hugh. So I scuttled back to the other spy hole to see.
Whatever his objections to what he'd seen, they were overcome by Sally's insistence on finding out what kind of kisser he was. My earlier suppositions about his sister appeared to be nearing fruition as well, because she stood behind him, running her fingertips up and down his hips and thighs, while Sally's arms went round his neck and pulled his face to hers.
It was impossible for me to gauge whether or not he knew what to do, or simply learned it quickly. But before long, his motions assumed those of an experienced lover, and their kiss became obviously ardent.
Then Jenny slid her hand around his hip, and grasped his prick.
He knew, of course, whose hands were around his neck. And simple deduction had to reveal whose hand now grasped him. He was shocked. I could tell that easily. I saw that the girls were aware of that as well, for their grip on him tightened even more. Jenny's free arm went around the both of them, and he was then crushed between the two.
Eventually they had to part lips, if only to breathe. His head turned.
"Jenny?" he panted.
"Are you shocked?" she asked.
"I am," he admitted.
"Are you offended?"
"I'm not sure this is even real," he sighed. "Surely this is some wild dream."
"It is no dream," said Sally. While she may have been concerned before this that things were moving too quickly for Hugh to adapt to, that concern had apparently vanished. She told me later she was already smitten with the boy, and could not wait to weld the two of them together. To that end, she dropped to her knees, and took him into her mouth. Penelope must have taught them how to take the entire member, because her nose pushed hard against his youthful curls.
His groan was the twin of the one he had intended to investigate.
He was lost from then on. Jenny moved her hands to his chest, pulling him against her while her fingers traced a lambent pattern over his chest and belly. He was captured as if by the sirens of lore, and could only stand there as he was enslaved. When he rose to his tiptoes and bucked his loins against Sally's face, I knew he had surrendered his nectar to her sucking mouth.
Then, and only then, did Jenny release him, stepping back to remove her own gown. He was in a standing stupor, weaving, remaining upright only because Sally's strong hands gripped his hips and kept him that way. His member was still in her mouth, but now she only tongued it, rather than sucking. I saw a drip of his spend escape the corner of her mouth and fall to the floor.
Then Jenny was back, pressing her hot, naked breasts against his back. Again, he turned his head.
"Jenny?" he called, plaintively.
"Shhhhh," she said into his ear, before licking it.
They dragged him to the bed, burying him in naked flesh.
I knew what their aim was. I knew they would revive him, and bring him the last few steps into a world he hadn't even dreamed of before this night.
I knew Sally would get him inside her.
I feared Jenny would too.
My own prick spurted just then. I hadn't even been aware I had been stroking it.
I couldn't take any more. What happened hence would simply have to remain unknown.
With leaden steps, I left the passageway, and walked tiredly to my room.
Hugh was now a member of the cadre. One could not tell that by simply watching him work. He spent his days beautifying the manor doors. The fence he built to keep deer from the garden was a work of art. Whether his father knew it or not, the boy had skill and vision when it came to making cold iron into beautiful, black art.
At night, however, his work was of a different kind. He had his own cell in the stables, as did Jack. It became routine for Jack to attend Penelope's needs in her chamber, while her ladies in waiting skipped happily to the stables to visit Hugh, who had a bed that required the three people in it to be the best of friends.
The only one who seemed to be left out was Jane, who was well entwined, and an eager participant in adult games. But Stephan, who was the only male to have plumbed her sweet depths, went home with his father and brother each night, so she had no access to him on a regular basis. I was told they did steal some few moments together in the barn, or in her cell, but I think those occasions were few.
But she had been initiated, and eventually the mistress, assuming she didn't simply arrange a marriage, would see that she had ample opportunity to be ruined by an unwed pregnancy.
Next on the list was Cynthia. I wondered how the lady would approach her conversion, since she was older than the other girls and, presumably, less impressionable. Would she be harder to lead astray? Could the simple offer of a warm bath turn her head? What boy would they use? Jack seemed the most likely, because he was closer to her age than any other. But Jack's new reputation had not suffused the estate yet, and the mature women in the house still considered him a lout. Nigel was her age, but he had only been toyed with, not converted into a willing stud.
I mentioned earlier that Jane was chosen to debauch first because Cynthia, the parlor maid, could assume her responsibilities while she was engaged with Her Ladyship's shenanigans. Of course someone needed to arrange that, and it was deemed the best person to do so was Lady Penelope, herself.
To that end, when it was Mrs. Hennesey's next day off, and Jane was wanted during daytime hours (Penelope ensured that the girls got fertilized at all hours of the day) Her Ladyship approached Cynthia and gave her these instructions:
"I'm going to need Jane's time for a special project, and you will need to take over her duties until we are finished. If you need any direction, or any supplies, simply speak with Wadsworth."
Of course that created curiosity in Cynthia. How could it do anything else? Not the least of the underpinnings of that curiosity were that Her Ladyship herself had come to her. Normally, in such a situation, I would have been the one to tell her to assume Jane's duties.
Additionally, Cynthia was quite bright. Perhaps it was all that time she had to think about things. Or maybe it was because, at eighteen years of age, she was the eldest of the girl servants. Whatever the reason, she had developed a keen mind.
In other words, Cynthia realized something important was going on. And, naturally, being a member of the curious sex, she wanted to know what that thing was.
More importantly, Cynthia had secrets we were not aware of. Those would come out rather quickly, as a result of what her curiosity led to, and would threaten the mistress' plan.
Cynthia had come to us some five years past, when His Lordship instructed me to accept her as a parlor maid. The old mistress hadn't entertained much, and we didn't really need a parlor maid, but he also said she could be used in whatever capacity she was needed. She was simply to fill the parlor maid's position. Of course I asked no questions.
Had I inquired, I might have learned something, but I doubt it. The kind of secret Cynthia had could only be told to someone like Lady Penelope, without there ensuing censure and derision.
Cynthia's father was Harry Bickerstaff, our Forest Warden. I saw very little of him, because he spent the vast majority of his time in the far reaches of the forest, protecting the estate from poachers, or those who cut wood without permission, and that sort of thing. I knew Cynthia was his daughter, and that his wife had died many years ago, but that was all I knew. What I knew about Cynthia was limited as well. I knew she never cut her hair, and treasured it. She had even made her own oversized uniform cap, so she could conceal that hair during the day, atop her head. She was quiet, served her Lord and Lady well and was never seen after she was released for the day, presumably spending her time in her room. Her father had a cottage on the estate, but after she came to work in the manor, she never lived there. Nor did she ever visit him there, the few times each year he stayed there for a a day or two.
What I didn't know - what none of us knew - was the real reason she had been sent to the manor to serve.
Harry Bickerstaff had taken a wife late in life, but had taken a young one. And his wife was still young when she died, giving birth to Cynthia, who was named after her mother. His mourning lasted much longer than usual, and his lachrymose behavior lasted well into little Cynthia's eighth year. She became his sole form of solace, and her tender heart melded with his in ways not usual for that average father and daughter. One of their favorite pastimes was spending the evening hours, before they slept, with him washing and combing out her long hair. She remained topless during this pastime. She was, after all, merely a girl. And the closeness between father and daughter did, in fact, mend his broken heart.
The fly in the ointment began when, a few years later, she began menstruating, and her body began to develop. As she flowered, she resembled her mother more and more, and soon, Harry Bickerstaff was hugging and kissing the image of the girl he had married ... and lost.
His quiescent lusts were reawakened. As he had been drawn to the thirteen-year-old who he took to wife, he found himself drawn to his thirteen-year-old daughter in the same way. They had always stoked each other in their commiseration over the senior Cynthia's demise, and so it was not odd for their hands to roam where most fathers' and most daughters' hands do not.
Now, this led to problems.