She was in her late teens, perhaps, with golden-blonde hair that had been piled high
like that of the other, the dress she wore cut in much the same way, though clearly with
another intent: that of the woman in green was designed to reveal, tantalise and yet pass
the very firm message: ‘look but do not touch’. On the other hand the far less impressive
and expensive though very similarly-cut garment worn by the blonde was obviously intended
to show, flaunt and offer what lay beneath. Her hands were held before her, the fingers
twined, while her head was down, subservient. Their relationship was as clear as was that
of the two men: in this case, mistress and servant.
The first women performed a tiny curtsey to the older man, the second a much
deeper obeisance to them both, a motion that brought her so low that her full breasts were
revealed beneath the low-cut bodice. The older man’s eyes took in the sight briefly,
though the younger’s lingered, following them as she dipped and rose. When she was upright
again they stayed there for some time before moving to those of her mistress; he licked
his lips.
“Gentlemen,” said the older woman, who seemed to be in her mid to late twenties and
whose voice was low, with a huskiness that thrilled the already-charged nerves of the men.
It was not a flirtatious tone, though: it was firm, authoritative, almost businesslike.
Her eyes went to the younger man appraisingly. “And this is your son, My…?” she bit her
lip in annoyance and broke off with a slightly apologetic look at the older man.
He brushed that mistake aside. “It is, madam,” he said, his voice unctuous, though
with an ill-disguised underlying eagerness. “I thought it time to show him some civilised
ways before he impregnates every milk-maid in the county.”
The young man blushed deeply. His eye had gone back to the younger woman’s bosom.
She had not lifted her head at any time, keeping her eyes fixed to the floor. Her twined
fingers twisted repeatedly.
“Indeed,” replied the green-clad woman, who had recovered her poise. “And very wise
too, for milk-maids know very little of the subtleties of technique and pleasure,” She
looked to the side, “Whereas Emily most certainly does. Look up, Emily!” she added,
sharply.
The younger girl did so and both men drew in a sharp breath. She was truly
beautiful, with a face that would have been that of an angel had it not been marked by a
mouth whose lips were being bitten, lines of strain and eyes that were deeply troubled by
inner torments.
“She is a fine piece indeed!” cried the older man. He regarded the girl – for she
was little more – appreciatively. The he turned back, “she is certainly comely and young
enough,” he went on, but the made a tiny frown. “But has she the experience?”
A faint smile crossed the full lips while what might have been a tiny sob escaped
the blonde. “Do not concern yourself on that score,” The older said, “Emily has been well
and thoroughly taught, you have my word on it.”
The man laughed. “I have no doubt about it, madam, for I have never had anything
but the best here.” His eyes went back to Emily. “Yes, she will do very nicely, very
nicely indeed.” He glanced at his son, who had not taken his eyes off the girl at all.
“Does she satisfy, Bertie?”
“Oh, yes, father! She is perfect!”
The man laughed. “And no doubt you’ll be in love by the end of the day and begging
to marry the slut!”
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