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Authors: Aishling Morgan
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Snell’s penis. As Papa says, you should never make a plan you wouldn’t be prepared to carry out yourself.’
Hermione made to speak, then fell silent, her face sulky. Stephanie pressed her advantage.
‘I
will
give you my car, I promise, and sucking a penis isn’t that bad, not really. In fact, it’s rather nice, in a funny sort of way. It makes me feel like when … you know …’
She trailed off. Hermione was looking at her suspiciously.
‘It is, really,’ she insisted. ‘Please, H.? Think of having your own car, and it really is only fair, and … and I promise I won’t spank you any more, even if the aunts are passing you around and I’m supposed to. Not hard, anyway.’
Hermione made a face, then gave a shy, nervous nod.
‘Thank you,’ Stephanie said, and quickly turned away to hide the smug look she could feel stealing over her face.
They had reached the end of the line of cottages and, despite Hermione’s promise, it still took all Stephanie’s courage to walk in at the garden gate and down between two neatly laid-out patches of spring vegetables. She was fighting the urge to bite her lip as she knocked at the smartly painted door, filled with sudden guilt for bullying her sister into sucking cock for the awful man who was about to confront her.
Except that he didn’t. As the door swung wide, she remembered Lias mentioning a wife, although, looking at the woman who stood framed in the doorway, Stephanie felt that the drayman would have been justified in mentioning two wives, or even three. The drayman’s wife was simply the largest woman Stephanie had ever set eyes on, from the substantial feet crammed into carpet slippers to the mass of greying hair on her head. Between were all the usual features, but painted with a broad brush: a head somewhat reminiscent of the pumpkin her grandfather had contributed to the previous year’s harvest festival; a thick bull neck set on broad shoulders, from which depended arms that would have put many a railway navvy to shame; breasts each of which would have outdone Sir Richard’s pumpkin with ease; a thick waist barely constrained by a creaking corset; massive hips; and legs that, though concealed beneath voluminous old-fashioned skirts, were presumably of similar proportions. Stephanie’s face was on a level with the colossal breasts.
‘Mrs Snell, I presume?’ she managed, looking up.
‘Mrs Endicott,’ the woman corrected her. ‘Anne Snell’s my sister. How may I help you, Miss?’
‘Miss Myrtle Finch-Farmiloe,’ Stephanie lied, remembering their decision to use false names and choosing the first that came into her head. ‘We had hoped to hire your brother-in-law’s dray.’
‘No difficulty there,’ the woman answered. ‘Come along inside.’
Stephanie and Hermione entered the house, where they were shown into a small but comfortably furnished parlour. The big woman disappeared and the two girls began to inspect the room. It looked out over a back garden as carefully tended as the front and also given over entirely to vegetables, while beyond the granite walls stretched the moor, with woods and fields in the distance and the dark smudge of Plymouth and the dull green of the sea visible even further away. The room contained several chairs, two tables and a sideboard, on which stood a photograph of a man she recognised as Elias Snell, although it had been taken perhaps twenty years ago. He wore a somewhat ill-fitting suit and beside him was a woman in a wedding dress, presumably Mrs Snell, every bit as large and formidable as her sister, who now returned.
‘If you’d just write down the details here,’ Mrs Endicott said, offering Stephanie a ledger.
Taking the book, Stephanie hesitated a moment, then wrote a request for the drayman to come to the gates of Stukely Hall the following afternoon. That would allow her to make the real appointment without arousing suspicion, to show Lias Snell where he was supposed to take the pig, and to
Hermione made to speak, then fell silent, her face sulky. Stephanie pressed her advantage.
‘I
will
give you my car, I promise, and sucking a penis isn’t that bad, not really. In fact, it’s rather nice, in a funny sort of way. It makes me feel like when … you know …’
She trailed off. Hermione was looking at her suspiciously.
‘It is, really,’ she insisted. ‘Please, H.? Think of having your own car, and it really is only fair, and … and I promise I won’t spank you any more, even if the aunts are passing you around and I’m supposed to. Not hard, anyway.’
Hermione made a face, then gave a shy, nervous nod.
‘Thank you,’ Stephanie said, and quickly turned away to hide the smug look she could feel stealing over her face.
They had reached the end of the line of cottages and, despite Hermione’s promise, it still took all Stephanie’s courage to walk in at the garden gate and down between two neatly laid-out patches of spring vegetables. She was fighting the urge to bite her lip as she knocked at the smartly painted door, filled with sudden guilt for bullying her sister into sucking cock for the awful man who was about to confront her.
Except that he didn’t. As the door swung wide, she remembered Lias mentioning a wife, although, looking at the woman who stood framed in the doorway, Stephanie felt that the drayman would have been justified in mentioning two wives, or even three. The drayman’s wife was simply the largest woman Stephanie had ever set eyes on, from the substantial feet crammed into carpet slippers to the mass of greying hair on her head. Between were all the usual features, but painted with a broad brush: a head somewhat reminiscent of the pumpkin her grandfather had contributed to the previous year’s harvest festival; a thick bull neck set on broad shoulders, from which depended arms that would have put many a railway navvy to shame; breasts each of which would have outdone Sir Richard’s pumpkin with ease; a thick waist barely constrained by a creaking corset; massive hips; and legs that, though concealed beneath voluminous old-fashioned skirts, were presumably of similar proportions. Stephanie’s face was on a level with the colossal breasts.
‘Mrs Snell, I presume?’ she managed, looking up.
‘Mrs Endicott,’ the woman corrected her. ‘Anne Snell’s my sister. How may I help you, Miss?’
‘Miss Myrtle Finch-Farmiloe,’ Stephanie lied, remembering their decision to use false names and choosing the first that came into her head. ‘We had hoped to hire your brother-in-law’s dray.’
‘No difficulty there,’ the woman answered. ‘Come along inside.’
Stephanie and Hermione entered the house, where they were shown into a small but comfortably furnished parlour. The big woman disappeared and the two girls began to inspect the room. It looked out over a back garden as carefully tended as the front and also given over entirely to vegetables, while beyond the granite walls stretched the moor, with woods and fields in the distance and the dark smudge of Plymouth and the dull green of the sea visible even further away. The room contained several chairs, two tables and a sideboard, on which stood a photograph of a man she recognised as Elias Snell, although it had been taken perhaps twenty years ago. He wore a somewhat ill-fitting suit and beside him was a woman in a wedding dress, presumably Mrs Snell, every bit as large and formidable as her sister, who now returned.
‘If you’d just write down the details here,’ Mrs Endicott said, offering Stephanie a ledger.
Taking the book, Stephanie hesitated a moment, then wrote a request for the drayman to come to the gates of Stukely Hall the following afternoon. That would allow her to make the real appointment without arousing suspicion, to show Lias Snell where he was supposed to take the pig, and to
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