A Summer in Olympia

I was awakened by a knock on my door: Connie had come with my morning tray of coffee and sweet rolls. He had little to say, so I took it and poured myself a cup as the light began to spread across the Eastern horizon. The sights and sounds were the same as they'd been the previous four days: work noises from the barn and lower part of the house, silence from the greater part, and two naked women returning from over the hill shortly after sunup. I felt my self-control strained when I saw Pearl during the day, the cold intellectual interested in nothing but learning and always dressed primly, remembering the sight of her naked body returning from the lake over the hill with Opal, the head cook. Opal looked so much like Mrs. Edwards they must be mother and daughter, and it also felt strange to compare their naked bodies, even though I'd only seen Bella's close up and Opal's at a distance.

The copying work wasn't taxing, I'd written a couple of orchestra pieces in Germany and focusing on the production of orchestra scores was familiar ground. I settled into a daily pattern of beginning just after breakfast, taken in my rooms, consulting with Sir Charles just before luncheon, working through the afternoon and taking a short stroll just before tea. After tea it was billiards and cigars in the study, although Tuesday night he dismissed me early on the pretext of exhaustion.

I was curious, and found myself in the secret passage next to Mrs. Edwards shortly afterward. She gave me a hungry glance as I approached, then pressed her eye to the spyhole. When I found a similar portal, I saw Sir Charles bending Maurice over the pool table. Her hands were on the felt, her pants were on the floor at her ankles, and he was pulling her head back by her short red hair: the look on her face was a combination of pain and primal lust, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. His pants were also on the floor, a cigar was clenched tightly between his teeth, great billows of smoke coming from his mouth, and he was thrusting vigorously into her freckled bottom. From the angle, it was clear he was penetrating her anus, and a white sheen on his cock witnessed the same kind of lubrication used on Ganymede the previous weekend.

He pushed her head down roughly, and by his grunts it was clear he was climaxing. She moaned and writhed, her cheek flush with the felt, and wiggled her hips to welcome his seed into her bowels. I head a gasp next to me, and felt a hand on my crotch.

When we got to my rooms, Bella's face was shining with lust. "This voyeurism is quite naughty, Bella. You are intruding on the privacy of others. Perhaps some kind of punishment is in order."

She turned at once to present her backside to me. "Yes, I need to be punished. Perhaps you could give me that punishment, Frank."

I'd never spanked anyone before, but the heat of the moment took me. Pulling up her skirt, I exposed her generous rump to the lamplight, and laid a resounding smack on her skin with my hand. A red handprint appeared on her white flesh and she wiggled her ass in invitation. Moving back and forth, I laid down an energetic rhythm until my hand started tingling. When I stopped, she turned and gave me a coy grin: "Perhaps you could use something to help you with your task? Have you a belt?" I took mine from around my waist and doubled it. "That should do nicely," she cooed, "give me no quarter, leave welts if you wish."

The first meeting of leather and skin was a delightful, high pitched crack that was followed immediately by another. She wiggled her hips again, and I imposed a network of red marks on her fleshy orbs. The angry mass of red flesh aroused me greatly, and I produced my John Thomas to penetrate her womb from behind. Immediately she spread her legs and gasped in delight as I entered her, stopping when resistance was too great. Leaning back against me, she met my thrusts with her own, and soon she was moaning in ecstasy; respecting her wishes, I withdrew and spewed my seed on the small of her back. She reached around to rub the liquid into her reddened skin before lowering her skirt and departing.

The night was particularly still, and I heard the sound of a flute in the distance, playing Celtic airs. It had to be Maurice. I'd heard it several nights, calling from over the ocean, calling from the ancient past.

The sounds of a Thursday morning at Olympia continued. Maurice knocked on my door before I got started working with some clothes draped over his arm. "Mrs. Edwards said you would need these, and the alterations are done. I need to see if they fit properly, so if you would be so kind as try them on."

Maurice didn't know I knew her secret, so I needed to pretend there was no problem disrobing in front of her. It wasn't easy, and I was trembling as she tested the fit of every coat and pair of pants, brushing my thighs in passing every convenient time. After I removed the last pair of trousers, it was evident there was a bulge in my underpants and an extra bit of flesh peeked out alongside my left leg. "Are you are all right, Mr. MacLeod?" she asked, her eyes fixed on my manhood.

"Yes," I said in a tone of voice that sounded odd to me.

"Are you finding all your needs here met? Is Mrs. Edwards taking good care of you?"

I was taken aback, but regained my composure quickly. "Yes, yes, I think so."

"You seem to have a need that requires attention now."

I remembered the scene from Saturday night when I first arrived, how her long lanky body looked naked, her white skin full of freckles and her pubic hair a blaze of fire. Her tongue darted slightly toward the edge of her mouth and back in again. "Yes, it would seem so," I replied. "I have no idea how to deal with this now."

"I know Mrs. Edwards is occupied at the present moment. Perhaps I could help you."

I nodded and she pulled my underpants down, making my manhood appear with a bounce. She sighed and just looked at it in awe, turning her head, her eyes blazing with the same elemental passion as when she first stirred my interest Saturday afternoon when she brushed the cinders off my leg. Tentatively, she reached out to touch it, running her deft fingers over it, and gasping. Then she took hold, rotating her hand as it went up and down my shaft. "I shall need the help of Hesphastus before I can accommodate this," she said, in a soft voice more tinged with an Irish accent than usual.

I nodded again, and she took the end in her mouth, gently at first, barely moving, but accelerating and taking more and more of my length with each stroke. Her hand found my balls and began to play with them. She was different than Bella, and exciting in a wild way. Farther and farther she went down on my prick; I was sure that she was unable to breathe, so much of my manhood was down her throat.

Pulling off, she stroked my flesh with both hands, looking up at me longingly, and licked her lips. "It feels so good, Mr. MacLeod, makes me tingle from head to toe. Do you like it?"

I smirked. "What do you think?"

She licked the head again and nodded. "When you're ready, I want you to give me everything without holding back. Everything. Yes?"

"Yes." With that, she attacked my member, licking and sucking with deep hunger. My mind flashed back to when she sat naked in the chair, Sir Charles licking between her legs, the gold bars in her nipples gleaming in the wan light, seeing her face as she came to her climax. My juices began to boil within me, and she redoubled her efforts, knowing I was close. Soon I could hold back no longer, and sent my nectar of love down her throat, her tongue like a tornado, eagerly devouring my seed. I thought my loins would never empty, but at last they did, and she stayed making certain not a drop saw the light of day. Her eyes were closed and her face had a serene look of contemplation. As my manhood shrunk, she allowed it to pop out of her mouth, and she knelt at my feet for several more moments in worship, rubbing its limpness on her face.

Finally, she leapt to her feet, pulling up my underpants, and gave me a saucy look. A bounce in her step took her out the door, and I was left alone.

The relief of my burden helped me focus more on my work that day. I was almost done with the first act and ready to begin the second, so I thought a short break was due. Sir Charles and Penny were not at lunch, which bothered Lady Alice greatly. "They're just working through lunch, Mother," Pearl said from the depths of Caesar's _Commentaries_. "You know how Father can be when inspiration strikes him. We may not see him for days."

Sensing Lady Alice's discomfort, I tried to make some conversation: "Tell me, Lady Alice, where are you from?"

She sniffed and then relaxed. "I come from Norbury, Chesire; my father was an officer in the army in India. I'm the only child in my family, and when Daddy died he left me a substantial sum. I met Monty at a military ball in Aldershot; he was just made a lieutenant, and cut such a dashing figure. We were married six weeks later, and spent our honeymoon in the south of France. His first posting was British Honduras, and he caught a swamp fever, which invalided him back to England within a year. Our Pearl arrived nine months later, and we lived in Kent until we came here."

"And how to do you find America?"

"Begging your pardon, Mr. MacLeod, but I find it intemperate, boorish, extreme in climate, filled with large empty gaps between settlements, uncivilized, and chaotic." Her fingers worked nervously with the needle and thread as the passion of her convictions arose. "Sometimes I think we would have done better in the wilds of Africa than this place. I haven't the vaguest reason why Monty loves this place so."

"It's not England," Pearl cut in, still buried in her book, "but it's not Honduras or the wilds of Africa. It's as good a place as any."

"Pearl, you are too kind, as you always are. I don't mean to offend, Mr. MacLeod, because you are obviously an intelligent and talented artist like my husband, and it is some small credit this backward land produced you. Although you had to go to Europe to get the training you needed for your art, did you not?"

"Yes, I went to the Leipzig Conservatory, and spent a little time in England as well. I was considering Paris before I returned, or Rome. . ."

"Dreadful place, France." Lady Alice cut in. "Snooty and superior, they think they're God's gift to the world and they're beneath contempt. Dishonest and cowardly, arrogant, base and lecherous are the French, God forbid we should ever have to take their side in any quarrel."

"Their food is the best," Pearl cut in. "That's why we sent our Opal there to study the culinary arts."

"I'll give them that, Pearl dear, their food and wines are beyond compare; Opal has certainly done us proud with the arts she learned there. But were her brothers not with her, I imagine her virtue would have been sacrificed, and I imagine it took their joint efforts to keep those lusty French scoundrels away from her."

Pearl sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Mother, I think you exaggerate. Augustine and Maximilian spent a great deal of their time there studying horse care, even surgery. They weren't with each other that much, and the boys were too busy to be her bodyguards. Opal can definitely take care of herself, even in the sordid streets of France."

So Gus and Max were Opal's brothers. I let that soak into my brain but made no connections; the puzzle would fit soon enough.

"Heaven knows what beastly practices she was introduced to there." Lady Alice tossed her head and sniffed: "Rome is even worse: dirty, backward city. Monty says Italian opera is decadent and useless, and he learned nothing there. La Scala was a disappointment, give me Covent Garden any day of the week."

They continued in this way throughout the meal, and I gave up trying to channel the conversation into polite subjects. After luncheon, I walked the hallways hoping to catch him to report my progress, but his door was closed with a red scarf tied around the doorknob: his sign not to be disturbed. I returned to my rooms and slipped into the secret passages to see how he was doing.

When I found the peepholes for his study, it took me three tries before I got one that satisfied me, close to the far end of the room. Sir Charles was seated at his piano, a huge writing panel was attached to the music rack which allowed him to sketch his ideas in pencil. The remarkable thing was Miss Penny, who sat beyond him next to a window. Her white blouse was pulled completely back from her torso, her arms were bound to two heating pipes that ran beside the window. Her plump breasts hung down bare in full view, with her wide nipples peaking as the breeze played across them from time to time. Her long dark hair was undone, and lay wildly around her shoulders, dancing in the movement of the air. "How long will it be, Monty?" she said in a whiny voice. "You've bound me here almost daily for months like this. Surely you're almost done with me."

"Not quite, my pet, not quite," he said, chewing the end of his pencil to expose more lead. "I still have the great climatic scene, where Andromeda is bound to the rock, the monster is in sight, and Perseus appears in the distance."

She pouted. "Would that either the monster or the hero would arrive." A fly landed on her face, and she screwed up her mouth to send jets of air to drive it off. Her eyes wandered, her foot tapped on the floor and she blurted out: "I imagine that being half naked is helping me cope with this heat."

He shook his head. "I still can't quite get sorted out here, eh what?" Tapping his chin he looked her up and down several times before a look of enlightenment crossed his face. "I know what it will take." He got up quickly and strode over to his captive. She gave him a hopeful look, but he pulled up up a little and pulled what remained of her clothing down, taking off her stockings and shoes, and leaving her totally naked. She pulled at her bonds, but they were too secure. "That's what I need, Andromeda," he said. "Now you're a naked Ethiopian princess waiting for a monster to attack."

Tears ran down her face and she gave him an accusatory look. "Please don't paint me black so I'll look even more like an Ethiopian," she moped.

"Nonsense, it would take too long, and Lady Alice would notice," he replied, his focus deep in his writing board. "Black hair was good enough for Shakespeare, it will be good enough for me. I can imagine your skin being a different hue."

Why couldn't he imagine the whole picture without tying her up naked? I thought to myself, or purchase one of the many paintings of this scene? Penny's lower half was like her upper half: plump but not obese, with a extraordinarily large patch of black hair between her legs. She shifted in her seat, trying to stay comfortable, but changed back when she realized he could see her sex easily. Like a painter at his easel, he worked along with his pen, stopping to try out a musical line on the piano from time to time. After about five minutes, he stood up again and paced a little bit; she watched his every step. "I think I need the terror now, the absolute fear of the monster. How to accomplish this?" He looked at her and she looked back, puzzled. "I know what will do it."

He went to his desk and reached in the drawer, withdrawing a small paintbrush. "This will do," he said, clapping his hands and pulling a chair over to sit next to his subject.

"What are you going to do, Monty?"

"A little stimulation, which will give me the emotions I will need. Just try to sit still." He took the brush and began to trace her nipples very lightly, going around the buds carefully and working from the outer circles of the brown nubs to the inner stiff peaks. She squealed and writhed, moving her hips back and forth. Reaching down, he licked one nub, making it very wet with saliva before working it with the brush. Her breathing became erratic; she was getting very aroused. He switched sides, moistening her other bud, and making her squirm. After several moments of this manipulation, he pushed her legs apart and began toying with the bud between her legs.

"No, Monty, no," she whispered hoarsely. "My maidenhead is reserved for my future lord and master."

"What if I say no?" he teased, "You are in no position to deny me..

Shaking her head dramatically, she murmured. "Please, please, please, no. I'll do anything to please you if you will spare me."

"I'll think about it," he said, toying with her lower lips more. Turning the brush around, he started to probe inward with the thick handle, but pulled back without inserting it to any depth. A questing digit took its place, and her breathing became heavy as her crotch became very obviously moist.

Finally, he dropped his trousers and pretended his goal was below. "Don't you want it, aren't you ready for it?" he muttered into her ear.

"No, no."

"No?'

"No." This denial was unconvincing, as her legs parted perceptibly.

The brush visited her nipples and crotch again; his penis was fully erect. She writhed in her bounds, the stimulation overwhelming her. "Are you ready for this? Do you want it now?"

"No," she said, weakly, "Please, no."

"No? Are you sure? Are you sure your lions are not aching for the touch of my monster?"

She paused, struggling, before she relaxed, laid back, spreading her legs wide, and whispered dramatically: "All right, all right I give up, I surrender. Yes, yes, put it in."

He laughed and plunged his prick between her lips. She was surprised to find her mouth suddenly full, but began to lick and suck him with some passion after a moment. It seemed as though she had done this before: from what I saw, she used her tongue and lips to great effect. His breathing became ragged and he started thrusting in her mouth. She resisted him, but could not get him out, and at last he gasped and sighed, holding her head in place as he expelled his sperm into her mouth.

After he pulled out, she allowed the white liquid to spill out of her mouth, dripping down her chest and toward her breasts. She spat the last bits out, and glared at him: "I told you not to do that in my mouth, Monty, I've told you many times. The taste is dreadful, I shall have to drink a gallon of claret later to get the taste out of my mouth."

"Good anger, I like that. Keep it up." He went back to his workspace without pulling his pants up, his limp member dangling down. His seed crawled down her body in tiny rivulets. "You did just say you would do anything I pleased if I would spare your maidenhead. I think you will stay there until it dries; I'll need that much time to finish the scene and it will be done, done. done." Her eyes still shone with murder, and after a moment he cooed. "Don't worry my dearest Penny, I'll make it up to you. You won't have to sit there unfulfilled." He stood up and walked over, stroking the dry part of her cheek and tousling her hair before returning to his work.

At this point, I noticed two figures at the other end of the secret hallway, but they noticed me a split second earlier. With a rustle, they darted off down toward the kitchens before I could make them out. I knew it wasn't Mrs. Edwards, because I'd just heard her instructing Ruby to clean Miss Penny's rooms while she was in her session with Sir Charles. I thought they were women, but I wasn't sure.

An hour later, I got a note in my workroom, done in elegant penmanship: Would you do us the honor of sharing some of your knowledge of American History for our class today? We would be ever so grateful. P.

I rang the bell and asked Mrs. Edwards where this class would be meeting. She told me they would be at the kitchen table, and gave me directions.

When I arrived, I caught my first sight of Opal, close up. She was kneading bread for the evening meal, with several pots simmering on the stove. The other five servants were sitting around the table, with Pearl at the head, a chalkboard at hand. "Thank you for coming, Mr. MacLeod," Pearl began. "I was wondering if you could share some of your family stories about the history of this country. We would be indebted if they included any about the Civil War that ended 30 years ago."