The Initiation of Phoebe

by Regina Green

  I wasn’t sure about that, but after I tentatively touched her there and felt how wet and hot she was, I felt myself suddenly lurching into her.

  “Oh God yes,” she said with a particular throaty sound. I continued pumping. “Oh God yes, Ben, do it, do it to me…”

  I couldn’t stop, and felt myself grunting with each thrust, Cook urging me to slam harder. I thought of all the men that had been inside her and some beast overtook me; I began to pound her as I had never done in my life to a woman up till then. The fire crackled in the grate, and Cook’s little cries of pleasure became screams. I remembered Phoebe screaming in the carriage. Cook’s bottom did shake, almost like a jelly, and I slapped it a few times as well, watching it redden. I pulled out, pushed in, lost track of time. Cook was arched on the bed, rump raised, her body greedy for my cock. I would always see her like this, I thought, ramming into her. And then she wailed loudly. I stopped, pulled out, and suddenly my come spurted all over her back. A lot of it.

  I was shocked—what I’d done felt disrespectful. But Cook quickly wiped herself clean with a rough towel, rubbing me as well. She was laughing slightly, her hair and eyes wild.

  “My God, lad, you needed it more than I did! I’d forgotten what stamina young folk have.”

  I toppled over onto her and held her, not meaning to stay there, but it felt right when she put her arms around me. Her breasts were soft and welcoming. I was so exhausted that I closed my eyes for a moment.

  * * *

  When I opened them, Cook was gone. The fire was very low, smoldering. She’d thrown a coarse wool blanket over me.

  I wondered where she was, but didn’t feel much anxiety about it. I felt safer in the house now. It seemed more benign.

  Cook entered the room silently in a white nightdress that reached her feet, carrying a wooden candlestick. Looking down at me, she said, back in her typical cool tone, “Why don’t you come next door and rest for a bit? You’ll be more comfortable there.”

  “What’s next door?” I asked. Getting up, wrapped in the blanket, I must have been the picture of a foolish young man in a stupor.

  I stumbled out into the corridor, which was icy, and Cook practically pushed me into the room beside hers. To my surprise, she didn’t follow me in, closing the door quietly behind me.

  I glanced around. A fire was lit in the grate. In the corner was a bed. And sitting on the bed was Jake. He was naked.

  We regarded each other. His nakedness made me nervous. His expression wasn’t entirely reassuring either. He stared at me intently. My body stiffened.

  “I-I-are you angry with me, Jake?” I said finally. I wrapped the blanket around me more tightly.

  “I know what you did, Ben,” he said in a low voice. “But I’m not angry with you.”

  My body relaxed again. I gazed down at my bare feet, then up at him, feeling very young and unsure.

  “Cook says you’ve been asking about Phoebe,” Jake said, still deadpan.

  I nodded.

  “Phoebe’s very physically satisfied. She’s all wrapped up in a nice warm bed. She’s been a good girl these last few days. I like her.”

  I nodded, smiling a little with relief.

  He beckoned me closer, and I walked towards him, somewhat reluctantly. I knew he was going to touch me.

  “So you fucked Cook,” he said. His hand grazed my nipple, then made its way idly down my chest. He pulled the blanket off me. I shivered, directly in front of him now.

  “Yes, she invited me to her room.”

  “You’re a bad boy, aren’t you, Ben?” Jake asked. There was amusement in his green eyes, and he laughed slightly as he clasped my cock and I groaned.

  For a few minutes he handled me rather roughly. I was afraid I would come right there, but suddenly he stood up. Bending down slightly, his hand still wrapped around my cock, his lips met mine.

  I tried to avert my head, but he insisted, standing there and kissing me passionately, as he would a woman, his tongue roaming in my mouth. A scent filled my nostrils from his hair—to my surprise and delight it was Phoebe’s smell! He began to tug my cock harder and I knew he wanted me to come—to prove something, I suppose. And then I did come, helplessly. And we fell on the bed together, Jake’s hot skin pressing against mine.

  Not too much later, he took a little pot of grease from the nightstand, rubbing it onto his member. Instead of having me face down, he positioned me so that I was staring into his eyes as he fucked me. Unlike our carriage times, which were very silent, this one was loud and sweaty and intense and almost overwhelming for me. I kept writhing, as if to get away, and he kept pushing me down, but in the midst of our struggle he talked to me, telling me I was beautiful. That he had missed me. And as he kissed me, I groaned into his mouth.

  We lay together. The fire crackled. I was so sore. He kept touching me, and each time it aroused me again, just a little. I felt drunk, but I knew I wasn’t any longer. It was just Jake’s effect on me, the way I always did what he wanted.

  “I love you, Ben,” Jake said quietly. I stared at him in absolute shock.

  He smiled down at me.

  “It’s our first time in a bed, you know, besides that time in the inn. I should at least be able to tell you I love you.”

  “You’re playing with me,” I whispered. He shook his head no.

  I actually believed him, but I began to tremble a bit. Love! That was serious. And nobody had ever said they loved me. Even my parents never said it.

  “The truth is,” Jake continued, still in a very low voice, “despite all the women I fuck, I really do love you. I just want you to know that.”

  “I didn’t know,” I said. If his voice was low, mine was even lower. And I was subdued. He could see it.

  “I don’t mind if you don’t feel the same way,” Jake said. I stared at him, biting my lip, and he gave me a small smile.

  “Perhaps you don’t know what you feel.”

  I shrugged. I must have been blushing. I saw him watching my body in the firelight.

  “You’re so young and beautiful and you don’t know it,” he said, almost sadly.

  “You should be saying that to Phoebe—not me.”

  “Phoebe knows she’s beautiful.”

  The fire crackled for a few moments.

  “I just don’t want you to ever feel… that I like her more.”

  “Maybe you will come to, though,” I said almost instantly. He put his finger on my lips, staring at the fire.

  “I’m not jealous, Ben,” Jake said. “I like sharing women. Actually, I like sharing them with you.”

  It was as if he had just realized it.

  We stared at each other. He leaned over and kissed me again, quite gently, and this time I pulled him onto me. He responded quickly, flipping me over and pushing into me again. I groaned with each thrust. It felt like something only he and I did together—that no other men did in England, though I knew that wasn’t true. It was seen as a vice, wasn’t it? As something that seedy and horrible men did to boys who were desperate for money. But Jake wasn’t like that, and I wasn’t like that. I did love him—that was the thing. My body gave it away. But I also loved her.

  “Once a week, meet me here in this room after dinner,” Jake said, as he got up effortlessly from our tangled, sweaty bed. “Will you, Ben?”

  “Yes, Jake,” I said, looking up at him.

  He smiled down at me, his green eyes glowing. For the first time I noticed a small, pale scar on his cheek.

  “Fuck Phoebe all you want in the carriage—not here in the house. That’s the only rule I have.”

  I nodded, tingling with anticipation and delight. I had a flash of Phoebe in the carriage, her legs spread, looking up at me. Imploring me.

  “She’s mine during the day,” Jake said.

  I nodded.

  “And don’t worry, she’ll want to tryst with you. I can barely keep up with her—if you know what I mean.”

  I whistled slightly, causing him to la
ugh. I laughed too, suddenly.

  “Oh God, Ben, it’s good to be with you again.”

  I stood up and we embraced. I trembled slightly as he held me, as he kissed me. We stood swaying together in the way that people do who have been locked together in pleasure for a long time. I could hear his heart thudding in his chest. Had he clasped Phoebe to him like this? He must have. But I didn’t mind.

  Jake left the room quietly. I sat on the bed for a moment, my breath returning to normal. Everything had changed, and everything seemed possible. It seemed like Phoebe being in the house had transformed us all.

  When I left the room I spied my clothes lying in a heap outside Cook’s door. One gaslight flickered in the sconce. The house was silent. I dressed, smiling, and then went out into the dark, cloudy night to check on the horses before finally, gratefully, climbing up to bed in the bare room above their stalls.

  FOUR—Phoebe

  I’ll start with a confession about my first time.

  As I lay in bed in Burling Abbey on that first night, watching the light from the bedside lamp glimmer on the plain, whitewashed walls—Cook had showed me into the room that was to be mine; Jake had just given me a brief kiss goodnight at the door and made it clear that he would leave me to rest—I wasn’t thinking as much about what had just happened in the carriage as you’d expect.

  Yes, I’d loved the attentions of those two men, but I was really thinking about myself. Who was I becoming? Ben had thought that I was innocent and sweet, which touched me. Jake knew better, as he was just more worldly, but he didn’t know that my mention of the few fumbles I’d had in the village with drunken men was a lie. It was a rather skilful lie: It sounded like the truth and was the partial truth. It wasn’t racy enough to shock Ben, and Jake was just amused by it, probably relieved that I wasn’t a virgin and that I knew what the sight of a man’s body looked like.

  I was already thinking about my obligations to these two, Jake and Ben. They were my men. And I knew that in the days to come, I’d feel that way more and more.

  You see, I wasn’t scared of what was to come when I lay in bed that night. I was excited.

  And what had happened in the carriage wasn’t shocking to me.

  I hadn’t been with two men together before but I’d been fucked by an older man, a skillful one, who knew what he was about and brought me great pleasure.

  And even though it was just one time, it had only happened a month ago.

  * * *

  After Mum died in December, everything changed. I was angry at Dad and about having to stay there at the pub and take over her duties. I had no leisure now. It was just grind, grind, grind, serve, serve, serve, smile, smile, smile. Dad raked in the money, but I didn’t see any of his earnings. He did buy me a fancy dress from a London catalogue when I begged for it. And on the day it arrived I went out into the village wearing it and carrying a parasol. It was a low-cut green dress that slimmed my waist and my figure looked extra curvy, because I wore a bustle, a metal and cloth pad underneath my clothing that pushed out my behind. They were all the rage in London but not much seen down here, as there weren’t any wealthy young women about. I hadn’t ever worn one, but I would start to now, I thought. I liked the effect. Men stared. Women looked startled. I was the most over-dressed girl in the village that day.

  My errand was to go to Tootle’s shop. It was a mild Saturday evening in late March. March was going out like a lamb, as they say.

  Tootle was almost like an uncle to me, though a distant one. My mum had once told me that she and John Tootle had had a brief love affair before my father started paying court to her. Tootle had been a handsome young man, then, blond and muscular. He played cricket a lot in the village green. That was his passion. And then his father died and left him the shop, so he took it over. My mum had to choose between a man who owned a shop and a man who owned a pub. She told me she liked my father’s careful (i.e., money-grubbing) nature and that Tootle was a bit wild, had an eye for the ladies. He’d never married, it was true.

  On the grey cold day of her funeral I’d caught him staring at me. When I went up to him he took my gloved hand in both of his warm ones. It tingled. He looked genuinely stricken, as if he had always believed he would still have a chance with Mum one day, and now it was too late.

  “You’re a lovely looking girl, Phoebe,” he said softly, so nobody could hear. “Such a young lady!”

  “Thank you, Mr. Tootle,” I responded. “Mum always had nice things to say about you.”

  “She was a wonderful woman, your mother,” Tootle said. “I can’t believe where the time went. Seems like we were your age only yesterday.”

  He sighed.

  I said nothing, but I didn’t pull my hand away. I was feeling a bit odd and weak that day, knowing that the one person who’d really loved me was gone forever.

  So I stared into Tootle’s eyes longer than I normally would have. And he said suddenly, “If you call around to the shop one evening we can have a good talk.” He squeezed my hand meaningfully.

  “I’d like that,” I said, smiling at him and watching the effects of my smile. Sometimes I could light a man up with my smile.

  “You’re a wicked one, Phoebe,” I thought to myself, walking back to the pub with Dad for what ended up being a gloomy evening with maudlin relatives. I didn’t really know if I would visit Tootle in the way he wanted, but I liked the fact that he only saw his ladylove once a week, and was probably as lonely as I was. I wanted some warmth, some attention, and I wanted to feel loved.

  When a girl wants that, she usually ends up naked underneath a man, doesn’t she?

  Well, that’s how it was with Mr. Tootle and me.

  * * *

  Like everything to do with sex in the village it had to be secretive and we had to make it quick. I feared my father’s rage if he found out and I knew Mr. Tootle would fear Mrs. Hendrick’s wrath—that was just how it was, it didn’t need to be said.

  I waited until I had a genuine reason to go to the shop (all our food got delivered at the pub, you see). Dad had asked me to get him some patent medicine, a sleeping draught, at Tootle’s and my excuse was going to be that Tootle had to look about for it, found he was out, and then decided to mix some up himself from some loose compounds that he had in stock. Since Dad knew nothing about such things, he’d probably accept that story willingly enough.

  So it had been three months since the funeral. Any worry I’d had that Tootle no longer wanted to see me subsided when I pushed open the door to his shop and a little bell tinkled. Tootle glanced up from the counter and beamed. He walked briskly to the door, locking it and pulling down the shade. He did this without saying anything to me. I was trembling—his actions seemed so assured and I wondered if he would rush me.

  Placing his hand gently on my rounded, bustle-enhanced bottom, Tootle guided me into the inner room of his shop: not upstairs, where he had the famous squeaking bed, I was glad to note.

  It was a cozy room with a desk and lamp and a little cot in the corner.

  We stood in front of the cot, not speaking.

  “We don’t have much time,” I said quickly. “My father asked for a sleeping draught…”

  Tootle put one of his broad fingers on my lips. He then leaned down and kissed me, which made me moan and cling to him.

  He sighed, holding me.

  “I shouldn’t do this,” he said thoughtfully, “and I know I shouldn’t. Have you ever been with a man that way, Phoebe?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say, just looked up at him imploringly.

  He shook his head, as if my silence gave me away.

  “I shouldn’t do it,” he repeated.

  But he was already unhooking his suspenders. My dress was skillfully pulled up, my cotton undergarments removed, including the famous bustle, which he placed carefully by the bed, where I was now reclining. One of his plump fingers probed my privates, causing my face to burn. He waited till his finger got wet with my juices, then placed m
y hand on his enormous cock, which I’d been staring at in disbelief.

  Then he showed me how to suck it.

  It was an expert tutorial. I’d started knowing nothing and I ended knowing everything, including what it feels like to have a full cock ram into you and stretch you out. Once you’ve felt that pleasure, really felt it, you’ll go back for it again and again. There’s nothing like it.

  I did scream, and I did beg him not to stop. There’s something about being fucked half-clothed that’s very exciting. I loved watching his arse muscles contract as he thrust into me. Men don’t know how exciting that is. He was actually very quiet; I was the loud one. He lay across me, but not too hard on top of me, not wanting to muss my dress. My long, slim bare legs felt good in the cool air as he pumped at my core.

  “Oh Phoebe,” he groaned when he came, pulling out so that his jism sprayed onto my belly.

  His cock was red with blood.

  When he saw that, he was silent for a few minutes.

  “I was your mother’s first too, you know,” he said softly.

  I nodded, watching as he washed himself at a basin nearby. “She hinted to me.”

  “You were born a few years into their marriage… so you don’t have to worry about that, lass!”

  “I’m not worried,” I said, smiling. Tootle looked surprised that I hadn’t moved off the cot. “Aren’t you going to dress?”

  It was then that I really shocked him—and myself. “I’d rather have another go,” I said, turning over so that my bare bum faced him.

  Of course he had to put his hands on it, and once he had slapped it a few times, his member was plenty stiff enough for another round.

  Which was exquisitely slow. He would push in, wait for what seemed like minutes, and then pull out by inches, while I sobbed and sweated into the pillow.

  “You have quite a gift for this, my dear,” he said.

  “So do you,” I groaned.

  I wanted him to fuck me hard, and once he got the message that I would welcome that, he showed me how rough and depraved sex can be.