Chapter 3: The Trial

I brought my chair over to the edge of the bed and guided Victoria to lay back down. Incredibly, she chose not to pull up the sheet and left her breasts exposed for me to gaze down upon lovingly. It would have been the simplest matter to lean forwards and kiss them as I had fantasised doing; to take a nipple between my lips and feel it harden beneath my tongue while I cupped the other tenderly in my hand and teased the same response with my fingertips.

"Shut your eyes please, Lady Palmerston," I said softly in a confident but gentle tone. "I would like you to try to relax." She did as I asked. "Try to take slow, deep breaths; and concentrate on the sound of my voice."

I gave her a few extra moments to concentrate on her breathing, watching the perfection of her breasts gently rise and fall.

"Do you feel relaxed?" I asked.

"Yes, Doctor," she whispered in a soft, girlish voice that filled my heart with lust.

"I shall remove the sheet now," I warned her. Trying to avoid the eye of her husband sitting opposite, I plucked the edge of the bed linen between my fingertips and drew it slowly down to reveal her slim form in its entirety.

The flat of her stomach, the flowing curves of her waist, her hips, her wonderful thighs; they were entrancing. The blonde curls of her womanhood glowed golden in the firelight. I wanted to comb my fingers through them and feel the soft mound of flesh beneath and search for the hidden parting that guarded the gates to the paradise within.

My blood ran so hot. I had to touch her. I placed my palm flat over her lower abdomen below her navel, causing her to flinch.

"I apologise, my Lady," I said. "Is my hand cold?"

"No, Doctor," she replied kindly. "But given its location, I would feel more comfortable if you called me Victoria."

I saw that Mona Lisa smile tracing at the corner of her beautiful lips again and wondered if she had any idea the effect it had on me.

"Victoria," I said. "I understand that you enjoy riding. Is that true?"

"Is is true, Doctor," she smiled fully now, but with her eyes still closed. "Did my husband tell you?"

"It was Holmes," I said. "No doubt he saw it in your gait, or a stray horse hair, or any of a dozen other invisible signs that only he can see."

"Actually, my dear Watson," Holmes began from his position in the corner.

"Hush, Holmes," I commanded quietly, and to my great surprise, he did.

"What is her name, Victoria?" I asked. "You horse?"

"She is a he, Doctor," she smiled. "A stallion; seventeen hands. He is chestnut with a white blaze and fetlocks."

"He sounds most handsome," I said.

"He is very handsome, Doctor," she replied. "I call him... , " she paused and gently bit her lower lip.

"What is he called, Victoria?" I felt her tense beneath my touch and tried to keep the conversation moving.

"It is embarrassing," she said shyly. "I have read of your adventures with Mr Holmes for long and long and never thought I should meet you. As a colt he was so bold and brave and handsome ... I called him Watson."

This time I really could see her colour rising in the firelight; I also felt nervous gooseflesh pricking beneath my palm while her nipples firmed into beautiful peaks.

"How flattering," I tried to play down how this admission affected me, but I couldn't avoid shifting in my chair to allow my manhood some more space as it surged with longing for the naked goddess laid out before me.

"I'd like you to go for a ride, Victoria," I said. "This adventure will occur in your imagination. You are approaching the stable; how are you dressed?"

"Am I to ride alone?" she asked.

"Yes, you are all alone," I replied. "With Watson." I tried to suppress the smile in case Palmerston was watching me.

"Then I shan't ride side-saddle," she said. "I don't enjoy it. If there are to be no men about then I would be wearing jodhpurs and a riding blouse. The fit it close and comfortable but somewhat immodest, so they are not suitable for mixed company. But if I am to be alone with Watson... , " she left the sentence unfinished; however with the thought of her dressed out as described, I imagined several satisfactory endings that continued to tease the sensitive nerves in my loins.

"Do you have a Western saddle?"

"Shall I be roping some steers today, Doctor?" she joked, making reference to the horn on the front of such a saddle.

"Perhaps," I replied enigmatically, although I had different plans for the Western roping horn on this occasion. "Can you saddle up your horse now, please Victoria."

I gave her a few moments to imagine those familiar motions.

"Are you ready?" I asked.

"I'm ready," she whispered. I felt her stomach muscles fluttering nervously beneath my palm and I believe she intuited what I had planned next.

"Then mount up and we shall get going," I advised.

She had been lying with her thighs together; the rosebud of her sex hidden between her closed legs. But at my command she slowly opened them and drew her thighs up at an angle to her hips, keeping them flat on the bed as she had done for Palmerston.

My breath caught at the sight of the wonderful crease that split the centre of her sex; thinly veiled behind a few blonde wisps that covered the rounded perfection of her lips. I had planned my next move and now I was powerless to stop myself from completing it. Fulfilling my dream of a minute earlier, I slid my hand slowly over her mound, combing her silken curls through my fingers, delighting in the sensation as the sensitive tip of my middle finger traced the secret valley of her slit; down, down, until I cupped my fingers and held her young sex literally in the palm of my hand.

Victoria gasped softly and lifted to my touch, arching her back and tilting her chin to the ceiling.

"Shhhh, Watson," she soothed, still playing the horse-riding daydream as she closed a hand over the top of mine and slowly pumped her sex into my hand a few times in an erotic parody of soothing a rearing horse. "It's alright, my darling. It's only me. We are going for a grand ride."

"Start your mount at a walk, Victoria," I instructed her. "We need to warm his muscles."

"Gee-up, Watson," she said in a soft voice, drawing her heels up the bed and squeezing my hand gently between her thighs to urge her mount to a walk. Without any encouragement from me, she began slowly pumping her hips in time to her stallion's gait. Easing my grip, I held my fingers lightly over her sex, allowing the tips to graze over her sensitive lips and glide over the heavenly softness of her crease.

With this extra measure of control, Victoria tilted her hips so that my middle finger was low and beyond her entrance, touching the soft pink fold of flesh that lies between that place and her anus. Following her cue, I pressed gently with my fingertip, rolling and circling and massaging, causing her to gasp in delight; her tiny, delightful breasts heaving and peaking and all but begging me to take my tongue to them, to include them in the fantasy.

The erotic response of her body to my touch was more than I had dreamed; to have this innocent virgin girl naked and gently thrusting her hips into my hand in an instinctive parody of the sex act she had never yet performed to completion. As I massaged her perineum and brushed her virgin sex beneath my fingers, I delighted to feel the hot, slick juices of her burgeoning lust flowing from her opening and coating my fingertip. I began to glide it in short, sensuous circles; slowly expanding its range until I began to tease apart her lips, dipping closer with every circuit towards the increasingly moist entrance to her womanly core.

When I touched that place, I felt it open beneath my finger, beckoning, drawing me inside. I was powerless to resist. Victoria cried out softly as her furnace heat enveloped my probing digit up to the first knuckle and somehow I managed to withdraw, prolonging the moment of insertion and drawing out her anticipation as I toyed around the edges of her womanhood and spread the slick nectar of her sex along the length of her slit, tantalising her as it cooled on her skin.

"Do you know how to post the trot, my dear?" I asked, conscious now of the spreading wetness in my drawers where my straining shaft was crying out to replace the role of my fingers in Victoria's steaming core.

"Of course I can post the trot, Doctor," Victoria gasped as she continued to 'walk' her stallion with the gentle pumping motion of her hips. "As can every child in their first week of riding."

Posting, or 'rising' the trot is a technique used by riders to counter the jouncing action of the trotting horse. It requires the rider to brace in their stirrups and thrust from the hips, moving back and forth in the saddle while keeping their head stationary. Apart from the presence of clothing and a horse, the action is almost indistinguishable from a vigorous, erotic fucking.