In Name Only: Seeds

She moved away from the door and began a slow examination of her surroundings. Although the room had not been occupied for a very long time, it showed no signs of neglect. Mrs. Danvers kept it in tip top condition. It was cleaned and polished, and every item was just as the former inhabitants left them, but she did not get a sense of them. No hint of lingering perfume, cigar smoke or lotions could be detected. It saddened her to think that even if there were some lasting sign of her parents, it wouldn't stir any fond memories within her because she had nothing to draw upon.

She picked up a silver brush from her mother's vanity. There were still a few of golden stands entwined in the bristles. She pulled a few loose and went over to the window to see if they'd glisten in the light. For a moment, she recalled the deep yearning she'd had as a child to play in her mother's hair.

She maneuvered the strands between her fingers with little success; there wasn't enough of it to accomplish it. She should have known, she did know, but what harm is it to indulge in a childhood dream. As she turned back to place the brush back on the vanity, she collided into a warm, solid mass. "Oh," she gasped, "I didn't hear you come in."

Joseph held her arms to steady her, his eyes were dark with a hint of annoyance as they roamed over her face. "Are you hiding from me?"

Yes, yes, I hide all the time. "What—no, of course not." She denied quickly, moving out of his grasp. She blushed when she inadvertently looked at his crotch. She stepped around him to return the brush. "Have you ever wondered why neither of us inherited mother's hair?"

"No..." he said, gazing at her dark hair. "Why do you ask?

Myra shrugged. "I think I'd have liked to have been a blond beauty."

" You're perfect as you are." He told her, fingering her dark curls. He raised a dark lock to his nose and inhaled. "I love your hair."

She trembled and moved out of his reach. She tried to leave the room without appearing too eager to be shod of him, but he remained close behind her. In the hallway she hastily announced, "I-I think I'll go write a letter."

"To whom?" He asked sharply.

"A friend." She replied, wondering if she should be offended.

"A beau?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Myra returned, quickly. His interest embarrassed her. "For your information, I am writing to my dear friend, Molly O'Leary. And, I would remind you, that I am not a child, and I do not appreciate you treating me as such."

"You're right," he said, apologetically, "And I know very well that you are not a child...I am very conscious of that fact." His eyes skimmed over her chest.

Myra's heart beat faster and her breasts swelled. "I—thank you... uh, well...I-I'll just go write that letter now." She resisted the urge to cover her constricting nipples and turned quickly for her room.

He watched her scurry down the hall. He was pleased that there was no one with a prior claim to her. He would have enforced an immediate parting if that were the case. Of course she will have to have someone eventually, but if she is to have a beau, or husband, it would be someone of his choosing.

*****

Clara darted down the dark halls, cupping a hand around the flickering flame of a candle to keep it from going out. She had to see him tonight. He hasn't touched her in weeks and she was becoming anxious. She can't get a moment alone with him since the sister arrived. The woman was always around. Wherever he is, she's there also. She was hogging him all to herself.

Well, she can't wait for him to send for her anymore. She has serious need of him. Pleasuring herself has never been particularly satisfying, and has become even less so since Joseph became her lover. Clara believed he regarded her as more than a convenience, and that he might possibly want her permanently in his life... as his wife, but now she wasn't so certain.

He often disappeared after dinner, returning only after everyone's in bed. She'd suspected other woman were involved in his late nights. And she was not wrong in this. The smell of perfume and sex on the clothes she gathered for the laundry everyday after confirmed her suspicions. She was angry that he went somewhere else for what she could give him at home. He was hers, she deserved him.

Clara opened the door and stepped inside. She held out the candle in the direction of his bed to see if her midnight trek to his bedroom was in vain. She sighed appreciatively as her eyes fell on his big body. It was a very warm night and Joseph lay naked on the bed. Her pussy began to pulse. He was perfection. She's never had a lover to equal his enormous build

Not so many years ago, when she was a younger more trusting sort of person, she would traipse back and forth to church on a path used by her family many, many times. It was a well traveled, very safe dirt road in which the majority of the populace in her hometown was aware of.

On one particular Sunday afternoon, she found herself going it alone—her family having left a half hour before to get any early start on supper. Her mother volunteered her to stay behind and gather the hymn books for Father Anthony. It didn't take long for her to complete the task, and she was soon on her way home.

She'd been deep in thought, bemoaning her bad luck to be born to a mother who favored her two older sisters over her, when Father Anthony suddenly fell into step beside her. She had been puzzled at first because he usually took Sunday dinner with the Murray's, whose farm was in the opposite direction. She wondered where he was going and thought about asking him, but, as she rarely got a chance to speak with him alone, she thought to use that opportunity to discuss her problems.

She tried to strike up a conversation to share her feelings about her family—and perhaps whine a little—but he was distracted, and had little to say by way of advice or encouragement. She'd wanted to ask why he bothered to join her if he wasn't in the mood to talk, but her mother would have a cow if she found out she'd been rude to Father Anthony. She decided her efforts to talk to him were a waste of time, and vowed to leave his company as soon as she could.

A footpath through a dense leafy overgrowth was coming up; she made a move to step onto it to get to her home. But as she turned to bid the prickly priest farewell, he wrapped his arms around her waist and dragged her into the thicket, and then pushed her down on the ground.

Taken unaware, she hadn't immediately understood what was happening until he fell on top of her. His hot breath blistered her horror-struck face as he planted moist kisses all over it. He grabbed her breasts, squeezing them painfully, yanking and pinching her nipples until they rose hard under his palms. Her face burned when he emitted a long triumphant groan and bit her pebbled nubs through her cotton shirt. Then he shoved her skirts above her waist and forcibly spread her milky thighs with his knees. She thought she'd die of embarrassment when the slit in her drawers gaped open and cool air blew on her pussy, the priest harsh grunts and whimpers nearly drowned out her squeals of dismay as he ripped them apart.

Father Anthony's huge weathered hands shook with urgency as he positioned his inflamed helmet at her vaginal entrance and plunged into her. She fought him, of course she did, but his strength easily overpowered her. Yes, he was old, sort of wrinkly, and smelled heavily of liniment oil, but he was strong and wiry, too. His many years of voluntary labor to the farmers of his parish afforded him that. Nonetheless, Clara fought him.

But there was no hope for her, he was a man too long deprived of a woman's heat. He wept, begging for her forgiveness while he ruthlessly sawed in and out of her. She endured the burning pain of his iniquitous penetration, imploring him to stop. But he was deaf to her pleas. He was determined to attain the plateau of ecstasy...and he did. And though Clara refused to acknowledge it at the time, the rapid spasms in the pussy, and the flooding warmth of his semen, had felt amazing.

When he'd finished tearing her virginity to shreds, he, again, asked her to forgive him. And then, after rearranging her skirts to cover his misdeeds, he ran from her. He left her quaking and bleeding in the flattened weeds, confused, angry and...subconsciously wanting to relive it again.

Distraught, she half-ran the short distance to her home. Upon entering, her father questioned her tardiness, and her mother scolded her disheveled appearance, ordering Clara to tidy up at once. But Clara would not be deterred from relaying her ordeal. The word rushed out of her with a torrent of tears.

After she told her parents what the priest had done, (she withheld the part about the strange satisfaction she derived from the act) a tense silence ensued in which her mother glared at her in angry disbelief. Her father wouldn't glance her way, but he'd looked furious. Clara's mother flew off the handle, berating her as a liar and persistent troublemaker. She refused to believe that their benevolent Father Anthony would do something so vile. Clara swore it was the truth; she'd even volunteered to show her mother the evidence soaking her thighs.

But her mother, a devoutly religious woman, would hear none of it. She was indifferent to Clara's distress, turning a deaf ear to her claims of rape. In fact, Clara's allegations against the priest infuriated her mother so much so that she threatened to disown her if she ever voiced her "wicked lies" again. So, with the threat of vagrancy dangling over her head, Clara never mentioned it to either of them again.

And the priest, confident of her mother's devotion to the church, continued to rape her. His assaults were frequent, in fact, Father Anthony plowed her pussy so often she had to abandon the pretense of resistance and give herself over to the breathtaking climaxes he invoked.

Clara's acceptance encouraged the priest to continue on with his sinful pursuit of her. But catching her alone wasn't enough for either of them anymore. The priest wanted her around him all the time. Clara wanted the same.

He was able to persuade her parents into allowing her work as housekeeper to his small rectory. He hinted that the great houses in Hartview only hired domestics with experience. So, of course, if Father Anthony recommended it, it is most definitely the thing to do. Her parents agreed—which actually meant her mother forced the issue—and she was sent, that very day, to work in his house.

Freedom was impossibility before Father Anthony intervened. She would have lived out her life on her parent's farm...or married and lived her life on someone else's farm. Any way you cut it, she would have lived on a farm...all her life. She longed to be away from there, to escape her parents and six siblings. The priest had been her way out.

Once she moved in with him, fucking him was her principal chore, and she enjoyed it immeasurably. She'd miss him when he had to call on members of his parish, often pouncing on him before he cleared the door. Father Anthony was an energetic lover, and he appreciated the fact that her lust and enthusiasm was as great as his own.

Other than his first offence against her, he'd been a remarkable lover, a trustworthy friend and commendable mentor. He's the reason she's employed at Oaksberth. His influence had procured the position for her. He'd wanted to make it up to her because he still suffered guilt for initially taking her against her will. He'd been miserable at the thought of her leaving. But he was an old man and his years were not long for this earth.

He encouraged her to find a husband amongst Oaksberth servants and settle down. But Clara plans were on a much grander scale, and it (he) was sprawled on the bed with a fully erect penis just waiting for a warm, hungry pussy to swallow it up. Thinking about the priest made her anxious to have cock inside her.

*****

Joseph automatically assumed when his bedroom door opened that his sister had come to him. But then he realized he was being ridiculous. Myra didn't think of him in that way. The chance of her sneaking into his room in the middle of the night is highly unlikely.

He watched the woman, who most definitely was not his sister, move closer to his bed. That a maid was impudent enough to enter his rooms uninvited infuriated him. His first thought was to severely reprimand her for her bold actions but... he needed release.

His dick has been raging hard ever since he'd left his sister. He talked Myra into a game of chess in order to delay her from going to her rooms. Her warm cheeks and pointed nipples kept him glued to their game—though his attention had drifted away from the board not long into the game. Myra's pitiable attire was the reason he lay in bed burning for her. She had no corsets to mask her natural curves and her chemises hid little from his hungry gaze. It had been very late when she finally captured his king, so he decided to forgo tonight's pleasures and remain at home.

Before Clara came to his room, he'd been imagining Myra's plump globes in his hands, his mouth. He rubbed the long length of his thick shaft, wincing as the need to fuck became unbearable. Yes...the maid will do.

Clara set the candle down, pulled off her nightgown, and then crawled onto the bed. She kissed her way down chest and his stomach, then she gently massaged his heavy sacs and sucked the spongy helmet into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around his engorged head, lapping the juices off.

Joseph grunted and pushed her head down, shoving more in until his knob sank down her throat. Clara moaned and sucked, slurped, licked and sucked, enjoying her power over him until Joseph impatiently yanked her by the hair, forcing her to let him go. "You know what to do." He mumbled roughly.

Clara reached into a side table and withdrew a lambskin and slowly slipped it down his length, and then she fell back on the bed and spread her legs. But Joseph told her to straddle him, and then he thrust into her.

"Ahhhh...." Clara sighed gratefully as he filled her. She'd needed this, badly, and given the hot, hard feel of him, so had he.

He closed his eyes and imagined it was Myra writhing above him, resulting in a swift release. The hard jerks of his dick set off a flurry of rapid spasms in her pussy. Clara suppressed a confident smile. Joseph had never fucked her with such intensity before. Everything is finally going the way she planned. She laid her head on his chest, attempting to nestle into a comfortable position for a good night's rest.

Joseph pushed her away from him. "Surely you don't think you're going to sleep here."

"I-I—well...yes..." she stammered.

His eyes glittered in the candle light. "Go back to your room, Clara. And in the future, if I need to fuck, I will send for you. Do not take it upon yourself to enter my room uninvited." He told her in a hard voice. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir." She choked out. Swallowing her fury, Clara stumbled off the bed, snatched up her gown from the floor and dashed out of his room. How can he be so cold after the pleasure we've just shared? She cursed him all the way back to the other side of the mansion. She would have slammed the door to her room except waking Mrs. Danvers would not bode well for her. Bastard! She fumed.

*****

Joseph sensed the maid was becoming too attached; he will need to address that in the near future. He rolled onto his stomach and floated off to dream dreams of the forbidden.

Chapter Six

Once again Myra had to escape her brother; this time she found much needed refuge in the library. However, her brother's collection of books did little to calm the strange and frightening and decidedly inappropriate sensations in her body.

The atmosphere becomes heavy with something she can't name whenever he was near. She has taken to avoiding him whenever possible. She didn't care for penetrating way he watched her, nor her reaction to it. She didn't know what to make of it...It felt wrong.

It would have been helpful to have had more contact with the opposite sex before her journey here. Certainly, she's had some contact with men—male benefactors at her school were often there—but none were as young and virile and...and visually stirring as her brother. Perhaps that's why she is beset with these unusual stirrings, because he's a novel experience.

Joseph's powerful body and compelling looks is something she'll have to become accustomed to. She didn't think she could remain in this house if she failed to do so. Whoever heard of a sister having a crush on her own brother? Why, that's utterly absurd. She thought, giggling self-consciously to herself.

Actually, a crush on Joseph would make no difference to her long term plans. She intended to leave Oaksberth. The sooner she talked him into agreeing to her proposal the better.

Myra fanned herself, dabbing at the perspiration on her brow. It was very warm in the library and the day was only just beginning. She would ring for the maid to open the windows but she didn't like to trouble the servants too often. They've been more accommodating these past weeks, well...most have, but she still did not feel entirely comfortable ordering them about.

She walked over to the windows, but hesitated opening it. She still did not feel totally at home and she wasn't sure they'd appreciate her disturbing things. Perhaps the windows remained closed during the warm weather for a reason. Sighing, she turned away to peruse the shelves of books—there were so many of them. She chose one and turned to find a seat. Joseph had silently entered the room and was observing her just inside the door. She stopped when she saw him. "Joseph," she said, her heart racing, "I thought you were working."

"My business is concluded." He said. He crossed over to the window, unbolted them and let them swing open. Warm air rushed in, instantly removing some of the stuffiness in the room. "Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you." She sat down, opened her book and attempted to read, expecting him to take the hint and leave.

Joseph settled in a seat across from her. Myra felt his eyes on her. The library was suddenly unnervingly quiet. She doggedly turned the pages of the book, though she did so without retaining a single word she'd read.

"I told Mrs. Danvers to bring some refreshments." He announced, breaking the silence. "Will that please you, Myra?"

"Oh, yes, a cool drink would be most welcome." She answered, without taking her eyes of the one word she suddenly didn't comprehend. The quiet reigned again, and after a few minutes she resigned herself to the fact that she could not concentrate while he remained in the same room. She closed the book and used it to fan her face. When she finally gathered enough courage to glance in his direction, she noticed his eyes were on her chest. Flustered, she blurted out a question she's wanted to ask since she arrived. "Joseph, did you know our parents at all?"

"I knew them well enough, I guess." He said. "Mostly, they were... devoted to one another. I honestly don't believe they could've survived apart. Both had a passion for wandering. I sensed their impatience to be gone on many occasions. On my twenty-first birthday, father turned control of the company over to me and, in effect, forced me to learn the business on my feet. He and mother left the country soon after. However, they did contact me regularly to inform me of any new discoveries they happen to stumbled upon. They were very excited to be out in the world with no obligations to weigh them down."

Myra blinked rapidly at the sudden tears that threatened to fall, the old wounds still smart at the easy manner in which she'd been discarded. "You are right, Joseph, its good they suffered no qualms in leaving me at Brier school, for I am certain I would have weighed them down."