The Ostler And The Lady, Chapter One. First Meeting free porn video

Having spent the morning tending to the horses and cleaning out each of the ten occupied stalls, Jack Wetherly, apprentice ostler on the Brandling estate, closed the large stable doors. The rough mix of straw, hay and horse shit was loaded onto the waggon. Later, he would hitch up one of the two dray horses and drive to a local farm where the load would rot further until the Autumn ploughing.

The glare of sunlight had Jack blinking after the gloom of the interior. Heat from that same noonday sun, adding to the heavy work he had just carried out, had his shirt sweated to his body. Without any hesitation, he pulled the rough garment over his head, heaved one-handed at the pump handle at one end of the trough.

As the cold water spouted, he stuck his head under the chill flow. His body gave an involuntary jerk, as cold water splashed on his head, neck and ran down his back. Standing up, black curled hair plastered over his brow, he rubbed water-laden hands over his muscular chest.

Refreshed, he sat on the bench outside the stable door, knowing the sun would dry him off in no time. Sitting there, he enjoyed watching the eight horses he had released into the closed-in field behind the stable, before cleaning out. Six riding horses and two draft horses.

As usual for the hour pre-lunch, old Alf Winters, chief ostler, was out riding alongside the major, Sir Oswald Brandling, who had requested Alf accompany him after a heavy fall a year earlier had shaken his confidence.

Sir Oswald, military life behind him, was now a wealthy wine merchant who owned Brandling Manor, the magnificent building, blocked from view by the stables. Jack, on his first visit, had been stunned by the sheer grandeur of the place. With a rounded tower on each corner, it was no surprise that villagers and visitors referred to it as a castle.

Jack loved his situation here. It had completely turned his life around. And he had Alf Winters to thank for that. The old ostler was nearing retirement and Jack had been working for two years as joint ostler in a highway inn where carriages, phaetons and curricles, with their various sized horses stopped off on a regular basis.

Alf told Jack that he had observed him over several weeks, being totally impressed by his care and obvious love of horses. “So many folks mistreat their animals. But I could see you actually loved the steeds you were dealing with.”

Jack had to admit the truth in that. So it was that at the age of eighteen he began his training to enable him, one day, to replace the older man. Jack’s dear late father had wanted him to aim for greater heights, because of his academic promise. But Jack’s love of horses prevailed, although where that started was down to his father.

Mercifully, as a familiar sorrow built in his chest, Jack heard the welcome hoof beats signalling Alf’s return. Jack pulled on his almost dry shirt and tucked it into his breeches before moving to the edge of the stables to watch the approach of the upright figure of Alf Winter. Jack had noticed lately that Alf, at seventy-six, looked more comfortable sitting astride a horse than he did standing on the ground.

Much of the heavy work was already falling to Jack.

Alf, his long grey hair flying in the breeze, slid off the chestnut mare, and Jack grabbed the lead on Charger, the impressive black stallion, which was Sir Oswald’s exclusive mount, named to remind him of his military days.

“See you’ve got the muck ready.”

“Aye, a hot day. Sir Oswald all right?”

“Aye, but the Major’s got a new worry.” (Alf was the only one allowed to call him Major.)

While they allowed the two horses to drink before brushing them down, Alf went on, “You know about Sir Arthur and his wife being lost in that storm in Biscay a year ago.”

“I remember.” Jack also recalled the tragic irony in that sinking.

Alf nodded, “Well, that now has the Major torn between a peaceful old age and family loyalty.”

Puzzled, Jack turned to look at Alf’s wrinkled profile, “How?” he asked.

“There’s a daughter, the name’s Rebecca, who Major says his younger brother referred to as a wild one.”

“Mad?”

“No, just unladylike.” Alf gave a chuckle, “Major’s about to find out just how unladylike.”

Jack learned that Sir Oswald’s brother had been determined to see his daughter married into upper society. Even in his Will, he indicated that Rebecca be housed in a nunnery until she was twenty-one and would receive not a penny unless she married above herself.

Alf shook his head before going on. “The nunnery contacted the solicitor. Couldn’t cope with the girl’s ill-discipline. Was there not a next of kin?”

“Which has to be Sir Oswald?”

“Exactly. Plenty of space, he admits, but her reputation. That worries him.”

“When’s she due?”

“Tomorrow sometime. The Major still wants his ride. Oh, apparently, she rides, so he’s asked for a suitable mount for her. Something docile.”

“How old is she?”

“Not sure. Somewhere nineteen or twenty.”

Jack pointed to the fine black mare grazing nearby, “None more docile than Ebony.”

Alf nodded, “As long as the lady is kept happy.”

As Jack closed the gate, after freeing the two mounts, Rascal trotted across, put his nose over the gate for Jack to rub affectionately. Rascal was a seven-year-old roan, grey on most of his sturdy body but with a black face, fetlock and pastern.

“Will you be running him again at the village fayre this year?”

“If you let me.”

“Oh, hell,” Alf snorted, “he’s practically your horse. I don’t think I’ve ever got as close to an animal.”

Alf’s words gave Jack a spasm of pleasure. His love for Rascal seemed mutual.

The following day was another blessed by bright sunshine. Jack returned from his ride with Sir Oswald to tell of a crane neck phaeton that arrived just as he was riding away.

A slender young lady had climbed down from the phaeton alongside an accompanying nun. Alf couldn’t see her face which was hidden by the fringe of a bonnet.

Alf chuckled, “A feisty one, all right." That bonnet was snatched off and thrown to one side as the Major showed her inside. Long black hair tumbled down her back.

Shaking his head, he went on, “Beats me how nuns can afford a two-horse bloody phaeton with a servant driving upfront.”

Next day Alf had more on this new arrival. A fussy eater, she wouldn’t always take what was placed in front of her. Wanted to explore the estate on foot on her own. Wore clothes that distressed Lady Brandling and dismayed Sir Oswald. Nothing seemed right.

Her first ride was demanded for the following day, on her own, without an escort. At this point came the real shocker. “No side-saddle. Wants a standard one.”

“But classy ladies always—”

Alf nodded, “Says her father used to let her be astride a horse even without a saddle.”

“I know of farm lasses riding bare-backed.”

“But ladies?” Alf shook his head, “Aye, best get Ebony toned up for tomorrow.”

The fine weather continued into the next day. Ebony and Rascal were saddled and ready. Rascal for a good fast run-out with Jack preparing him for the village fayre.

Alf mounted up on Ebony, all ready to show the young niece how to handle the horse. “Now. I’ll get to see this firebrand young lady.”

Jack watched until Alf disappeared around the front of the house. A few years earlier, when there were only two horses, the stable had adjoined the rear of the house. Then the major had decided to invest in a stock of horses, Lady Brandling had insisted that any larger stable, because of odours, be built at least a furlong from the rear of the house.

There was always plenty to do and Jack spent the next twenty minutes fulfilling his usual tasks He had just moved to give Rascal a scratch between the ears when he heard the first call of his name in Alf’s croaky voice. As he reached the side of the stable, he saw Alf struggling to hurry across the grass, calling his name again.

Worried for Alf’s well-being, Jack raced to meet him. Alf, seeing Jack’s approach, stopped, bent to catch his breath, and as Jack came near, he gasped, through pockets of broken breath, “Bloody madam. Would listen to nothing.”

As Alf bent again to regain his breath, Jack asked, “How? What’s she done?”

Alf grabbed Jack’s arm, “I’m feared she’ll harm Ebony. Get on Rascal and find her.”

The old ostler tried was still panting, “She comes out, not dressed for riding. A wide-skirted long dress, for God’s sake, tight over her bubbies. You could nearly see them.”

Alf had more. “As soon as I was off the horse, she grabbed the rein, short whip in her hand, and, easy as you like, swung herself up into the saddle.” He shook his head, “Leg out wide so her skirt swung out. I could see her knee and just above.” He shuddered as he patted his chest, “Bloody heart can’t stand that kind of sight.”

He placed a hand on Jack’s shoulder, “Tried to point her to the long flat stretch by the lake. Best stretch for a canter.”

“Even a slow gallop,” Jack added, concerned at Alf’s worried look.

“But, no, she was off—In the bloody opposite direction.”

Jack expressed his surprise, “There’s only the high fence and hedging. She can only follow it round and—”

Alf was recovering his composure. “Aye, she can only end up through that copse of trees and onto the very stretch I told her about.” His watery eyes looked up at Jack, “You hurry on. Take Rascal along the high ridge.”

Jack nodded, “Don’t worry, Alf. I’ll find her. You just take it easy.”

He dashed back to the stable and within ten seconds was setting Rascal on a quick trot around the edge of the grazing field. Where the trail split, he took the higher one up onto the ridge that Alf had mentioned, too uneven for any steady horse riding. The lower branch led to the flats, where Jack usually exercised individual horses.

The scattering of tall trees enabled Jack to scan the stretch below. No sign of Ebony and her wayward rider. Jack kept his eyes turned slightly behind him to the copse of trees where horse and rider might appear. With nothing obvious in view, Jack was cautious about riding too far along the ridge. He kept Rascal to a slow saunter.

Almost without warning, although there had been a low thudding and crackling of twigs, horse and rider suddenly burst from the trees. Ebony was galloping wildly, neck craned forward, hooves beating a rapid rhythm on the turf. Astride the saddle a young lady was leaning backwards, black hair streaming behind her, loose skirt billowing upwards and outwards.

Jack’s immediate reading of the situation was of a runaway horse and rider. For some reason, Ebony had taken fright and had bolted out of control. So out of character. Quickly, and skilfully, Jack guided Rascal between the trees, down the steep bank.

By the time, Rascal’s hooves were on the level green, Ebony had galloped ahead of Jack. He had no worries about that. Rascal was faster than Ebony. But the black mare needed to be stopped. Traversing the ground at an angle brought him just behind the lady with flowing hair.

“Don’t worry!” he yelled, still puzzled at why the usually docile horse should have bolted. The lady’s response was lost in the beat of hooves and the general rush of movement. A cry for help?

With an extra dig with his knees, Jack had Rascal pull alongside Ebony. “Whoa, Ebony!” he called, glancing quickly at the lady. Scared? Not a bit. She looked angry.

He knew Ebony’s dash had faltered and he reached out to grasp the mare’s harness near her mouth. That was when he felt a sharp blow on his shoulder, and glancing back he saw the whip raised again, and now he heard her, “Let go, you scoundrel.”

Scoundrel? Jack had leaned away to avoid the second blow. Ebony, responding to his voice, and the restraint he was applying had almost come to a stop.

“How dare you?” The voice was high pitched, but even dark with rage her face caught Jack’s breath. Long black hair framed such a lovely face, with full lips and fiery brown eyes. At that moment it wasn’t only the face that took his attention. This lady’s skirts had blown high up her thighs which were bare, lean and cream coloured. Something gripped in the pit of his stomach.

Seeing the direction of his eyes, she clutched ineffectually at her skirt, “You are quite rude. Do you know who I am?”

“I believe you are Sir Oswald’s niece, m’lady.” Jack wasn’t pleased to be so respectful to this young lady, but he had been well-trained in addressing the gentry.

“And who in hell are you?”

“My name is Jack. I’m deputy ostler for Sir Oswald,” Jack told her, as he noticed what Alf had said about the pull of her dress across her breasts.

“Deputy ogler, more like,” she said contemptuously, and Jack couldn’t help feeling pleased that she’d noticed the direction of his eyes. Her bare thighs were still something of an attraction. He half-smiled in comparing them with Betsy Faine’s mammoth tree trunks.

Never had Jack felt a greater urge to be disrespectful to the upper classes. But what he’d really like to do with this feisty lady he had to push to the back of his mind.

Jack had pulled his shirt from his shoulder to see the red stripe left by her whip. “You strike hard, m’lady.”

“My name is Rebecca. I’m sorry about that,” she said, indicating his shoulder. “I thought you were a hooligan.”

Jack was eyeing the three stripes on Ebony’s rump. “No need to whip her,” Jack said quietly. “Just a couple of grips with your thighs will urge her on.” And his mind was adding, ’A couple of grips with those thighs would urge me on.’ But by now she had managed to pull her skirt down.

She gathered up Ebony’s reins, and gave Jack a wary smile, as she said, “Well, I intended to ride the lake perimeter to explore further.” Her eyes were on his as she added, with just a shade of sarcasm in her tone, “Perhaps you would ride alongside me to make sure I don’t do anything else naughty.”

Jack could not read how serious she was, but when she went on, with greater intent, “I really would appreciate being shown what you consider special.”.

To spend more time with her was a chance too good to miss. “I’d be happy to do that, m’lady.”

As she turned Ebony towards the trees through which the lake could be seen, ripples sparkling like sequins in the sunlight, she said firmly, “I’m not a m’lady. I’ve told you my name is Rebecca. Becky to my friends.” She gave a little snort, “Of which there are few.”

He felt strangely aware that her eyes were on him as they rode through the trees to the lake edge. “We’ll go right,” he told her.

“Any reason?”

“When we complete the circuit, we’ll be nearer the manor.”

“How long will it take?”

Strange question, Jack thought, but he said, “Well, it’s not exactly Windemere. Fifteen to twenty minutes.”

“Have you been with my uncle for long?”

“Two years, since I was eighteen.”

“Coincidence. I’ll be twenty one soon.” And she smiled an action that lit up her beautiful face and had Jack suddenly weak in the saddle.

“You like horses, don’t you?”

“Ever since my father first sat me on one, m’—er -Rebecca,” Jack said, surprised that his social upbringing made it difficult not to add the respectful 'm’lady'.

“Yes, it’s Rebecca. This whole social thing sickens me.”

Jack was taken aback by this. Just how different was this young lady? “I’ve always thought upper folk were content.”

“I hate it. All of it. Privilege? What does it mean? I have to dress in a certain acceptable way. Warned to keep a barrier between myself and the likes of you, working class. What nonsense.”

Jack was astounded at the way she was talking. To have her this close and willing to talk was all right with him, but surely it wouldn’t last.

“If my father were alive,” she went on, “he’d be angry that I was having this friendly conversation with you. It is friendly, isn’t it?”

Putting on what he hoped was a wry smile, he rubbed ruefully at his shoulder. “It is now.”

She returned his smile before saying, “I am so sorry about that. You’ll find I can be rather impetuous at times.”

God, such a face, with the long black hair flaring out in the gentle breeze. Had he ever seen a face so lovely? In the same moment, Jack was trying to wonder about that hint of knowing her better in her last statement.

To bury the promise of that he said, “It was sad about your father. The way it happened.”

Their eyes met and held for a moment, as she said quietly, “I loved my father. But you know what convention would have him inflict on me?”

Jack shook his head uncertainly.

“He had decided on the man I would marry. Didn’t have to be handsome, or even loving. Just had to be rich.”

Jack put in quietly, “Sir Oswald told Alf about why you were placed with the nuns.”

Rebecca half turned away in the saddle, as though to hide her face, and when she looked back at him her eyes were moistened. “He believed his Will was the action of a loving father. So wrapped up in the expectations of this bloody society.”

“I thought it a cruel coincidence that the storm caught him off the Cape.”

A brief silence as the horses trotted along, and Rebecca said, “That’s how he got his knighthood, you know. Being the captain of one of the ships in Nelson’s fleet.”

Jack nodded, “Sir Oswald told Alf as much.”

As they rode on Jack pointed up a rising bank where there was a badger sett, while further on he indicated where Sir Oswald had introduced a pair of otters two years earlier and there was an active family now.

Turning along the return bank, Jack pointed to the rising Bascombe hills, faint in the heat haze, “There’s a good clear ride out to where they are. Best done with a companion.”

“You’ve done it?”

“Oh, yes, with Rascal here, to ready him for the Merevale village fayre race.”

“When?”

“Just two weeks away.”

“Is it only for villagers?”

“Oh, no. Sir Oswald has a special tent where his friends can drink. He puts up a fifty-pound prize for the race. Rascal came second last year.”

Rebecca looked genuinely interested, “I’ll look forward to that.”

They rode in silence for a while and then Rebecca asked, “Your mother?”

“I never knew her. I was only two years old when she passed. Consumption. I live with her sister, Auntie Rose, a dear lady. Her cottage is only half a mile down the track.”

“You said your father got you interested in horses. Did he have horses?”

Jack drew in a deep breath. Almost five years had passed, yet the pain of watching his beloved father swiftly burn out from the unexpected fever had never left him. To talk about anything to do with his time with his father still hurt. Was this the time to override those emotions?

In answer to Rebecca’s question, he shook his head, “He had an old grey dray, which plodded him from place to place, or he could hitch it up to his small cart. When I was little, I loved stroking it, giving it a carrot. But—” And cautiously he told her his father regularly visited a Farmer Reese. There seemed little point in saying why he visited, but he had started taking Jack to this farm where there was a range of horses.

He told Rebecca of the magic moment he was set astride a smaller horse, and how both the farmer and his father had recognised his natural ease and affection with the animal. Jack was twelve years old, and for the next three years, his knowledge of and ability with horses increased.

Jack sighed now as he went on, his hand rubbing between Rascal’s ears, “I was fifteen, becoming really easy among Farmer Reese’s horses when a fever took my father.” Jack saw Rebecca’s eyes on him. Was their sympathy there? “I was devastated. Auntie Rose was a rock for me, and Farmer Reese encouraged me with my understanding of horses.”

Rebecca had listened closely as Jack had talked, now she said, a poignant smile shaping her mouth, “So we’re both orphans.”

For an instant their eyes held, and Jack had to look away before completing his story, “It was Farmer Reese who recommended me to the Highway Inn as an extra ostler. Different horses every day. I loved it. And that’s where Alf found me and persuaded me to come here. Persuaded? I jumped at the offer.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Rebecca said quietly. “I must tell you sometime, what being privileged is really like.”

Again, that promise of a further meeting. The turrets of the manor could be seen jutting over the trees on their right, and Jack indicated by turning Rascal in that direction. But before they picked up the fresh trail, he pointed out to Rebecca a large bushy patch on the edge of the lake to their left.

“In there, the lake forms a little bay,” he explained. “Ideal for bathing.”

“Do you do that?” she looked mildly surprised.

“When the weather’s like this, work done, late afternoon, I’ll gallop Rascal and then have a cooling dip, while the sun’s still high.”

“Is the water cold?”

“Refreshing,” Jack told her and nudged Rascal into a faster trot. “Alf will be wondering what happened. He’ll think I’m having trouble finding you.”

Urging Ebony to keep pace she called, “I haven’t been too much trouble, have I?”

Once more, Jack grinned and rubbed at his shoulder, “Not too much.” God, he couldn’t believe he was talking to a member of her class in this easy fashion.

Approaching the manor from the east wing, Jack could see the horses in the grazing field. In front of the house, Rebecca dismounted discretely, and looking up at Jack, she said quietly, “I’ve enjoyed talking to you. Would you ride with me tomorrow?”

“Defying convention?” Jack said, wondering how she’d take that impertinence.

But Rebecca simply shrugged, “I’m in charge of myself.”

Relieved, Jack told her, “It will depend on what Alf wants.”

“Persuade him,” she hissed, before hurrying to the front door.

His head in a whirl with the prospect of her request, Jack trotted Rascal while leading Ebony across to the stable. Alf had been sunning himself on the bench, but he leapt up as soon as Jack appeared.

“By the crows, you took your time. She difficult?”

“Only at first.” And Jack went on to tell Alf about stopping Ebony’s gallop.

Alf had been looking around Ebony. The three stripes on her rump were still visible. “She’s been whipping him. I feared that.”

Jack told him that he had told her that the whip wasn’t necessary. He thought it wise not to mention her using the whip on him.

“You were still a long time. Bonny lass, is she?”

“Beautiful,” Jack said and told of submitting to her request to be accompanied around the lake. Alf’s face darkened at that, and when Jack said that she had requested his company on the following day, the older man’s cheeks blew out.

“That’s it.” He growled. “We close the door on your seeing her again.”

Jack felt a crumbling inside his chest, “Why?”

Maintaining the serious expression on his face, Alf leaned towards Jack and said, “There are a hundred tales of these so elegant ladies, used to the foppish, flouncing men around them. Then they start wondering what rough grubby hands on their bubbies would feel like.”

Jack didn’t want to hear this, “But she’s just my age.”

“And a wild one,” Alf said firmly. “These ladies fancy giving a rantipole to some poor worker. When she’s found out, she screams assault. Then it’s the constabulary or at least the boot.”

Stunned, Jack could only tell Alf, “She hates privilege.”

“She say that? Stay away, Jack. If she’s heated your blood, get yourself down to the Sheaf and Bull tonight, stick that beard-splitter of yours up big Betsy Faine. You’ve done that a few times. I know. She’ll ease your heat.”

Betsy was somewhere in her mid-thirties, a heftily built lass, a real dumpling. Jack knew for certain that she was a woman who rode astride horses. She’d done that for so long that, awash with ale, behind the pub, she willingly and ably spread those huge thighs for Jack’s eager poke. Jack tended to enjoy her availability maybe once a month, knowing he wasn’t alone in gaining such release.

But Alf’s restriction had left Jack with an air of frustration that being clamped between Betsy’s thighs could never assuage. Alf was protective, Jack believed that, but he also believed that Rebecca did not fit into the normal category.

Anyway, for the next two days, he threw himself into his work. The stalls had never been so clean, Alf commented. Each horse had been thoroughly brushed and groomed, and Jack turned his mind to Rascal’s preparation. On the second day, Wednesday, he galloped him over the straight stretch by the lake, in the late afternoon sunshine. Cooling him by allowing him to wade up to his canon, while Jack splashed lake water over his back.

Then he took himself into the thicket of trees at the lakeside, stripped off completely and take a relaxing swim up to fifty yards out. Refreshed, he’d lounge on a grassy knoll allowing the sun to dry him.

Rebecca remained trapped in his mind. And it was so frustrating to hear from Alf of her annoyance when told that Jack would not be delivering Ebony anymore. “Too much other work, I told her.”

“That twisted her pretty face,” Alf chortled, but all Jack wanted was to look on that pretty face again.

Thursday was a dull, occasionally wet day, but Friday dawned bright and sunny once more. During the morning Alf told him that Vic, the village blacksmith would take in the bay called Rusty to be fully reshod. The smithy had so much work on that he could only start late on Saturday and he’d be ready on Sunday morning. They often made that kind of arrangement. A busy man, the blacksmith.

Jack resolved to give Rascal a really fast work-out in the afternoon. He reckoned that the flat stretch parallel with the lakeside was maybe a quarter of a mile.

By galloping Rascal four stretches it was almost a mile at a very fast pace. What he would need for the closing stages of the village fayre race which was over three miles.

Completing that rigorous exercise, left Rascal coated in sweat and Jack was equally steamed up. Rascal had his customary wash down along the lakeside before being tethered under the shelter of trees. Jack stooped under an arch of shrubs, stripped off his sweated shirt and breeches, and raced into the lake until it was deep enough for him to dive and swim out.

Ah, that was better. Well worth getting sweated up for the sheer relief of the refreshing dip. He stopped, treading water as he looked down the length of the lake. That was when he heard the splashing behind him. As he turned his head, he was thinking that maybe Rascal had broken loose. What he saw stopped his breath and gladdened his heart.

Rebecca! Covered by what looked like a white shift, a smile on that lovely face, she was wading purposefully towards him through the shallows.

“At last,” she called, “I thought I’d never hit the right time.”

Her long dark hair was already trailing the water surface, and soon she began to swim towards him. Jack stood, overwhelmed by her appearance, with so many thoughts tangling in his mind. This lady had sought him out. He had longed to see her, but it was she who had come to him.

Alf’s warning intruded on the glow of her unexpected presence. He quickly buried it as he said, “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“You said you came here,” she said struggling to keep her mouth above water as she came close. “Your boss said—” A shocked look came to her face, a second before it disappeared under the water.

Realising she had misjudged the depth of the water, Jack grabbed for her. His right hand touched the softness of a breast before he had both hands in her armpits, hauling her up while with difficulty he kept himself afloat.

She came up spluttering, but her mouth immediately broke into a broad smile, “I didn’t know it was that deep.” The smile became something else as she added, “You aren’t wearing anything.” Their faces were very close to each other, and having his hands on her body, the urge to kiss those lovely lips was strong.

Knowing he couldn’t hold her much longer like that, he said, “If I turn you to point towards the shore you just need to swim a few yards to put your feet down.”

The act of turning meant the delicate placing of his hands, but when she was turned his hands were on her hips and he gave her a little nudge on her way. “Thank you,” she called back, as Jack’s eyes took in the delightful sight of her wet shift tightened in the cleft of her buttocks, two gorgeous globes that were moving fetchingly with her swimming stroke.

Uncertain of where this was leading yet positive of where he would like it to progress, Jack swam after her. By the time he reached her, she had found her feet and turned to meet him. The water was just at his waist level, but for her, it was just below her breasts, which were now pointing at him, nipples hard, through what was merely a second skin of the wet shift.

Jack was finding it impossible to take his eyes off them. The roundness and the nubs of the nipples were white under the shift, but he guessed it wouldn’t be that way when they were uncovered. He was wondering what she would do now and was only a little shocked when she took a step towards him.

“You’re staring,” she said, with just a trace of huskiness in her voice.

Yes, he was staring and could have switched his gaze from breasts to face all day, but he was also reminding himself of the social differences between them, and that led back to Alf’s warning.

His mixed thinking was heightened when Rebecca reached behind her neck, pulled at a tie-up and said, “I know you’re naked. So this is only fair,” And with that, she bent, gathered up the edge of the shift, and pulled it over her head, crying, “Away damned camisole,” as she flung it towards the bank.

Now those wonderful mounds were cream, and the jutting nipples were a reddish-brown, while below the murky surface he could just make out the dark patch where her thighs joined. Despite the coolness of the water, Jack became worryingly aware that his member was responding to the vision before him.

He looked up to see Rebecca’s eyes downcast. Could she see his rising threat? Those eyes came up to look at him. Her pink tongue traced over her upper lip, “Well, here we are.” she said simply. “You look worried.”

Jack had to admit that he was. The situation was beyond anything in his limited experience. Here he was, naked, with a beautiful lady, also naked, and he desired her like mad. But the stumbling block was that word ‘lady’. Add to that the warning words of Alf Winter.

“You wouldn’t like to kiss me?” Rebecca asked, with just a hint of leaning closer.

Jack gulped in a huge breath of air, before admitting, “Yes, I would but—” And he told her of what Alf had told him.

To his surprise, Rebecca threw back her head, laughing delightedly, her breasts jiggled fascinatingly, as she said, “He’s absolutely right. I’ve seen it all my life.”

Her response shocked Jack, “Honestly?”

“Haven’t I told you? Privilege and debauchery go hand in hand. Our impeccable males will tup anything that moves, be it chambermaid or duchess. And the women are no better. They play so refined but will part their thighs for whoever offers a thrill—a cheap one, when a so-called underling fills their curiosity.”

All the time she had talked Rebecca had been moving closer. Jack just had to ask a major question. “And where do you fit into this taking?”

She was very near as she replied, “I’m not here to take. I want to give.”

Their eyes were already eating each other as she sidled even closer. So close that her words impelled Jack to reach out and envelope her against him. Skin to skin. Belly to belly, where she must feel his hardness. The soft delicacy of her breasts bathed the skin of his chest with those two hard pebbles, her nipples, arousing him even more. Their lips came together, not madly, but gently, softly, warm as a summer breeze. Yet, as their bodies squirmed against each other, tongues probed, and they stood there lost in each other’s clasp.

Another question pounded in Jack’s brain, mixing with the notion that this would be nothing like his time with Betsy. That was merely thigh parting, entering, discharging and away. There might have been some breast clutching as he burst inside her but, here with Rebecca, willing in his arms, Jack realised he was virtually a virgin in the aspect of union this situation demanded.

Rebecca broke the kiss and looked up at him with clouded eyes, “I think we should find dry land,” she said, and her smile enchanted him further. He followed her his eyes fixed on those bare buttocks. As she walked, she said over her shoulder, “You should know, I’m not a virgin.”

“Riding astride horses?”

“Not just that, but we’ll not spoil the mood. I’ll tell you later.”

At the water’s edge, she snatched up her soaked camisole and slung it over a tree branch. When they reached the grassy embankment, Jack was amazed to see a blanket spread there, with a towel, a neatly folded pile of her clothes, and a small purple-backed book lying above the blanket.

Rebecca turned to him and his heart was pounding at the sight of her completely curvaceous wonder. “I was prepared to relax if you weren’t here. But now-“

And she was wriggling her body against him once more. Wanting to show some initiative, Jack gently lowered her to the blanket, where she lay back and they kissed once more. Tentatively, he moved his right hand to cover her left breast. Worried about her reaction he kept his touch feather-light.

Rebecca broke the kiss to tell him, “That feels so exciting. But you don’t need to be too gentle. I won’t break. Rub my nipples.”

Their lips came together again, and immediately her tongue slid into his mouth making his cheeks tingle. He responded, as his fingers squeezed a nipple and produced a low moan from her. Encouraged, he slid his hand down the lovely smoothness of her belly. At the same time, he became aware of her fingers groping for his already pounding member.

Again, she broke the kiss to tell him, “Yes, feel me. Feel me down there. Oh, please.” There was little doubt in Jack’s mind that he was lost in new territory. It was all too strange to have this lovely lady wanting to share this intimacy.

His fingers roamed through her triangle of hair. As her thighs parted, he quickly defined a subtle joining, like the corner of a mouth. A cautious trailing, and a little applied pressure and his fingers were sinking into wetness, directly onto a small nub which had Rebecca crying out. “Oh, God, yes. You’re so good.”

So bloody lucky, Jack was telling himself. His was the act of a near novice. Not the perfect lover, Rebecca seemed to have in mind. The sudden wetness around his fingers was startling.

He gasped as Rebecca’s fingers closed around his swollen manhood, and she gasped, “Oh, Jack, I want it in me. Do it. Do it, now.”

Familiar territory now, with parted thighs and eager fingers drawing him between them. In no time he was gliding up into the wonderful passage offered by this gorgeous lady. He, a humble ostler was up and active inside a high-class lady, but he just couldn’t treat her with the vigour he used on Betsy, could he? Just making slow easy thrusts was extremely pleasant.

“Oh, Jack, harder.” Her own hips were lifting to receive his thrusts. “Harder, faster. Oh, so—so—”

Her voice rose to a high-pitched squeal as her whole body squirmed under him. So this was how a lady climaxed. Betsy never had. Rebecca’s whole body was twitching and jerking, and her head swung from side to side That really made Jack feel good as he continued his steady pounding, not roughly but very deliberate.

Her vaginal walls tightened around him and that was all that was needed to set him grunting and moaning as he spurted madly inside her. In his delirium, he heard Rebecca give another little ecstatic moan and then they lay quietly exhausted.

Jack raised his head to see strands of Rebecca’s black hair splayed over her face. Gently he moved the strands aside. She opened her eyes, smiled lazily and murmured, “Is it always like that?”

“You said you’d done it before.”

“My God, Jack, not like that,” She struggled up onto her elbows, reached for the towel and dabbed it between her thighs.

Then, turning her face to him, “Before you, the only man-snake I’ve had up me belonged to a lord—our wonderful aristocracy. Plied me, at seventeen, with excessive wine, until I could hardly stand. My God, he was a lord, he could do no wrong, could he? Then, in me, gushed and was out. Could only have been twenty seconds. That has guided my thinking on this society we live in.”

Jack shook his head uncertainly, as Rebecca went on, “I said I wanted to give, but what I’ve just experienced I feel I have only taken.”

As if it was a common occurrence, Jack leaned forward, kissed her, and said, “You have just given me the best experience of my life.”

She looked dubious, “But you were so controlled, you must have had other women.”

Jack shook his head, “Only in the most casual manner. Every touch I made on you was a first time.”

She laughed delightedly, “It’s almost as if we’ve been learning together.”

“I have never had my fingers there before.” And he placed a hand over her fuzzy triangle, surprised that she placed her own hand over it to keep it there.”

“Well, that does please me,”

“But, tell me,” Jack began cautiously, this was what he really wanted to know, “what brought you looking for me. Well, offering yourself—to me,”

“To you, who I saw as we were riding as a delightful man, who I wanted to submit myself to. That’s all. I’m so glad I did.”

She looked out over the water, before suggesting, “Should we have a quick dip to clean up. Then see what happens next/”

Her accompanying smile was so lascivious that Jack had to ask, “You think something might?”

Her smile broadened, “You’ve given me an appetite.”

Smiling, Jack began to scramble to his feet, but out of curiosity, he picked up the book, looked at the front cover and read out loud, “Sense and Sensibility. By A Lady.” He looked at Rebecca who showed some surprise on her face,

“You can read,” her voice revealed her amazement.

Very quickly, Jack explained about his father being a teacher, “Could have been in a rich private school but chose to teach in a church school with the less well-off children. I could read by the time I was eight.” He didn’t want to linger too long on the subject and held up the book, “'By a Lady'. Is she a secret?”

Naked, Rebecca was irresistible, and Jack felt a familiar twitch low-down as she shrugged, “Just another indication of our lop-sided society. Publishers are very cautious about publishing a lady’s name. That one’s very recent. Lady Brandling likes purchasing the newest editions.”

Without another word, she turned and ran into the water, laughing as though issuing a challenge. Jack went after her, his eyes feasting on the muscular fluctuations of her shoulders and buttocks. Ten yards in, splashing wildly he caught her around the waist and, together, they fell headlong into the water.

Jack quickly rolled off her back before his weight pushed her under. The water only thigh-deep at this point but it was easy for him to swim around to face her. “I caught you,” he said with a chuckle. “Doesn’t that earn a kiss?”

Rebecca pushed her lips towards him, “Only one.” Their lips met and, even though she had made a restriction, it was a very long kiss, with their tongues joining in the moist meshing. Jack was finding it difficult to believe that this was all happening.

Along with that thought came the inevitable worry that he did not want this to end. Could they even meet without someone observing? That thinking was quickly buried as Rebecca pressed herself against him and her hand probed between them to find his hardness.

“I want this again,” And her eyes looked genuinely worried as she added, “Is that so terrible?”

Jack thought of what he’d first heard about her. Wild? Hardly. Bold? Maybe. But, eager to learn? Most definitely. “I don’t know if I have the strength,” he mumbled lamely.

She giggled, “Oh, yes you do.” She put her arms around the back of his neck and heaved herself up so that her triangle was rubbing over his already semi-erect shaft.

When she released her hold, she took his hand and led him out of the lake and up to the blanket, where she picked up the towel, rubbed it over his chest and down with added roughness over his nether regions. Jack could have been lazy and let her hands go on working on him as his eager member rose to full readiness.

However, wanting to have deeper influences on this wonderful upper-class lady’s body, he grabbed the towel and stroked it over her breasts, belly and more vigorously between her thighs.

“I’ll give you twenty-four hours to stop that,” she said, with a giggle which he was beginning to look forward to. Without warning, she dropped to her knees so that her face was close to his bobbing shaft. “Ooh, isn’t that cute?” she hissed, and to Jack’s utter amazement she leaned forward and kissed the cherry-capped end.

Nothing in his experience had prepared him for that, but in this world of fresh sensual experiences, he just knew he had to join in. He gave Rebecca a slight nudge with his knee so that she tumbled back onto the blanket, and he was instantly down beside her with his lips pressed to hers while his hand gave initial attention to her breast and nipple, drawing that lovely excited moan from her.

This newness didn’t end there, as he moved his hand directly to the luscious, already moist lips between her thighs, and his fingers travelled along the juiciness until he encountered her magic entrance. One finger moved inside her soaking channel, then two, which, uncertain of the effect, he managed to cross, and twist in her wetness.

Panting, she broke the kiss to gasp, “Oh, God, Jack, where did you learn that?”

“With you. Just now.” Jack wasn’t lying. His own sexual inventiveness was surprising him. It could only be the stimulus of this wonderful female. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

He was wondering, such was her obvious pleasure, whether he could try something else, something he’d heard labourers in the tavern boast about when they spoke of their dubious conquests. They called it ‘gamahuche’, and to Jack, it had sounded a bit sickening. But it would be special with Rebecca the way he was feeling about this succulent lady.

He moved his head down, nibbled at her nipple on the way. Drawing a sharp cry from Rebecca. But as his head and tongue moved further down her body, she guessed his intent, and for a moment he thought she was about to twist her body away, as she groaned, “No, Jack. That’s not—”

That was the moment his lips and tongue found the target of her weeping slit and instantly he discovered, what seemed like an extra nipple, and as soon as his tongue flickered over it, Rebecca’s body heaved up to meet his face and her yell had startled birds fluttering out of the trees around them.

“Jack. Jack. Oh, I’m going to -”

Inexperienced as he was, he could tell that there was only one direction possible now. So be it, he quickly wriggled between her widely parted thighs, and within seconds his rod was swimming up through the pulsing muscles of her passage. He thrilled to hear the vocalisations of her climax.

Rebecca’s gasps and grunts went on as Jack was able to withdraw and thrust, withdraw and thrust several times until she gave another wild scream, and he released, inside her pulse after pulse of his seed.

As the pressure eased, he looked down into that lovely face. Her eyes were closed, but her lips gave a grunted, “Oh, Jack. Oh, Jack.”

They lay side by side, silent, spent, with Rebecca’s head tucked against Jack’s shoulder. At last, she murmured, “I had no idea it could be like that.”

“Rebecca, we’re just beginners,” Jack said, and chuckled as he added, “Just wait until we learn how to do it properly.”

Rebecca raised her head, and Jack saw the worry in her eyes, as she said, “Please, call me Becky. We are real friends now, aren’t we? But what chance is there of a follow-up?”

Jack knew of the problem, but he’d thought about how having Rusty at the blacksmith’s, and his intention to run Rascal out to the Bascombe hills that Sunday, offered a way for them to be together. He outlined his plan to Becky.

“Is that possible? Oh, it would be wonderful. And next week is the village fayre.”

“Let’s just think about Sunday.”

He led Rascal as he and Becky walked back towards the manor. They parted with a swift kiss among the trees. And Jack went on towards the stable thinking, ‘Sunday, Sunday. Sunday, with Becky.’ So much promise, so much worry. He knew that while thrilling at the touch of Becky’s skin, he was treading dangerously thin ice.

Watch for ‘The Ostler and the Lady. Chapter 2 Fun at the Fayre.’