The House at Rothsmere was in uproar. Victoria had vanished, taken by that rogue, Sir Thomas Brandon, the notorious slaver. Phillip was in dismay; he had lost his lover and his daughter, and knew that he should have been more wary of Thomas. He knew Thomas would be aroused at the thought of having both of Phillip's daughters, and knew that his trueborn daughter had been violated. Images of her spread beneath Thomas rose in his mind, and he couldn't rid himself of them.
Worse still, he found himself growing erect as he thought of his sweet daughter being taken by that rogue, her sex opening and ripening for him, her mouth welcoming him into the warm cavern of her throat. He imagined Thomas pumping her full of his seed, Victoria swallowing it down, luxuriating in the taste of it as her father had done. He could see his daughter lying there, her head thrown back in ecstasy, the muscular buttocks of her lover ramming his iron cock into her, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh echoing in Phillip's ears. He wondered if Thomas had explored further, pushing his fat cock deep into Victoria's secret passage, the pain and pleasure mingling for her as they had done for Phillip. Worst of all, he felt jealousy for Thomas, jealousy that he should have been the one to taste that forbidden fruit first.
His wife, as usual, blamed him, forgetting that she had been the one who had actively encouraged the liaison. Victoria was their only offspring, conceived in hatred, the baroness disgusted by her husband after only a few short months of marriage. He had always been driven by his cock, and had not, at the time, refined his techniques of seduction. The marital bed had been an unhappy one, and for the Baroness, the memories of sex were unwelcome. They had existed as a couple together only for appearances sake, both leading separate lives. But now, drawn together in worry, the unhappy couple waited for news.
Meanwhile, Mary had given birth. Her son was born soon after midsummer, a placid child, easily contented, fat and happy. Betsy adored him, pouring all her love into him, her face softening whenever she gazed on his. Mary had a relatively easy birth, and her strong young body had returned to slim beauty quickly. Only the fullness of her breasts showed that she had given birth, and now they pushed forward exuberantly, straining her bodice until she had had to make some adjustments with her needle. Jack was overjoyed; he loved his son unconditionally. Even looking at the baby with a critical eye, he could see only Mary in him, no hint of his father, and that was good enough for Jack.
Since the baby's birth, Mary had been unusually unsettled. To her dismay, she didn't produce enough milk for her son, and a wet nurse was found. Between them, the nurse and Betsy occupied her son's time, and Mary felt left out. She had been warned by the elderly neighbour of the dangers of allowing Jack back into her bed too soon after the birth, but Jack had not shown too much interest in her. He was occupied with his work, and, Mary suspected, with Betsy.
Betsy had become invaluable to them in the months she had been part of the family, and Mary thought that she could always rely on her. But she had seen signs over the last few weeks that Jack seemed to favour Betsy. She had thought Jack adored her, that he worshipped her, but sometimes she felt that he was overwhelmed by her. He was a man of simplicity, and couldn't fulfill some of her complex desires. Betsy, on the other hand, was uncomplicated, her needs simple. Mary knew that Betsy had come to love Jack-he enjoyed her easy company, her simple soul.
Jack, however, was not that simple: he knew Mary was unhappy. He knew that he didn't satisfy her, and to be truthful, Betsy, with her ready mouth and welcoming sex was more the woman for him. He decided that Mary should have a holiday to cheer her up, and began making plans to send her to London. Maybe the excitement of the great city was what she needed.
In London, Thomas and Victoria had taken a house in Regent's Park, a grand villa with airy rooms and wonderful views. The views didn't matter to Victoria; she was obsessed with Thomas, wanting him desperately, aching for his touch. His prediction had come true; as her first lover, she constantly yearned for him, needed him inside her, touching her. Thomas may have been her first, but under his tutelage, he was the first of many. Over time, Victoria learnt more of him, more of his desires and his needs and she worked hard to satisfy them.
He had found that her blood did indeed run hot, and she was willing to please him. She was as willing to learn as her father had been; nothing was taboo for her as she had known nothing else. He gradually introduced her to her sexual nature, and watched her, almost dispassionately, as she learnt to do those things that pleased him most. Chief amongst these was watching her with another lover. He knew that Mary had enjoyed performing, revelling in the exhibition of her own body, and he wanted to see if her half-sister shared the same perversion.
