Jenny's Curiosity

The young woman was pretty down when her Tommy went into the service. He'd been Jenny Smith's only boyfriend throughout the end of school, and frankly, she was far more depressed and lost than she'd imagined she'd be.

The school term had finally finished and Jenny should have been going off to uni. Things hadn't worked out that way yet because of exam results, but she had hopes of starting in some extra courses and then use that as a back door entrance to uni. She and Tommy were both going to try this.

That day was the one she'd been looking forward to since he'd left: his first leave, but it just wasn't to be. The day before, a letter had arrived, explaining that things had come up and he wasn't going to be able to come for another three weeks, and the girl was devastated. She had been counting on seeing him so much.

Her mum called from downstairs. "Jenny! I've got your tea ready, luv. Come down and have it!"

She got off her bed and pasted on a smile as she made my way down the steep stairs of their cottage. Wouldn't do any good to have mum see her moping around, not with the load she'd been carrying since dad died a year earlier. Since then, it had just mum and her, and not much from the insurance money to keep body and soul together.

They lived in a small town in Dorset and Jenny longed to get out and see the world. She and Tommy had already made lots of plans on what they'd do when he got out of the service. With the conflict in the Falkland Islands going on, they were both hoping he wouldn't get sent over there. At least, Jenny was hoping. Tommy, she wasn't so sure about. You know how boys are.

She found her mum with her head buried in the local paper. On the table was the old teapot, covered with a hand-knitted cosy, two mugs and a couple of biscuits for each of them.

Mum poured. "So, Jenny, what do you fancy on doing over your hols? A spot of work?"

Jenny kept her head down so her mum couldn't see her annoyance. It was obvious what she was hinting at, but in the girl's depression over Tommy not coming home as promised, she really didn't feel like doing anything.

Mum again consulted the paper. "Pub in the next town is advertising for a barmaid. You're a pretty thing. Bet they'd hire you in a minute."

"Mum! I don't want to work in a place like that and I can't believe you'd suggest it!"

Truth was, Jenny always turned heads. Not that she really wanted to, but there it was. Boys had been pestering her since she was 12, and now that she'd turned 18, older men had started noticing.

She'd been blessed with wavy, light brown hair and a good complexion. While not all that tall (5'5''), her figure could be have been described as slender but curvy. She noticed males ogling her chest often enough, and Tommy was always trying to touch her bosom, so she guessed that was all right, too. Her face was expressive and beautiful, and clearly broadcast her naive innocence.

When her boyfriend was around to keep the men at bay, it was fine. Not many were eager to take on a strapping farm lad who was good with his fists. Since he'd gone, Jenny had kept to herself so she wouldn't have problems and it was pretty lonely life.

Mum flipped a page. "Well, would you at this. Flamborough Hall has been given to the National Trust. There's a full page on it. I never!"

That caught Jenny's interest. "Let me see, Mum!"

"Here, darling, swing around and we'll both read it."

The Hall (as it was locally referred to) had been uninhabited for as long as Jenny been alive. The last lord had taken to living abroad and other than the lord's factor and his wife, no one she knew had been ever been inside.

Locally, the place had a bit of a reputation and she'd heard it said that the now-dead lord of the manor, Sir Archibald Fairchild, a bachelor and last of the line, had been forced to make a hasty exit many years before and hadn't been seen around the county since. The couple left in charge of the estate managed things well and stayed spotlessly loyal to their employer, although they stayed aloof from the rest of the village and seldom left the property.

"I wonder what Mr. and Mrs. Reeves are going to do?" mum asked.

"It's right here at the end of the article. It says they've already left, retired, gone away. It's been hinted that Sir Archibald left them a packet."

"I should hope so!" Mum harumphed. "Imagine living there alone all those years and having to take care of that horrible old mansion!"

"Why does everyone say Flamborough Hall is so horrible? I think it's quite a lovely place. The view from the upper floors must be magnificent."

"But you don't know what went on there."

"What DID go on there? Nobody seems to want to talk about it."

"And I don't either. It brings bad luck to talk about evil things."

"Mum, I'm eighteen now!"

But Mrs. Smith wouldn't talk about it.

Jenny's best friend Elaine dropped by that evening, and the topic of discussion as the two young ladies sat cross-legged on Jenny's bed was, of course, Flamborough Hall.

At least Lainey's parents had been willing to talk a bit more about the old hall.

"You just won't believe it," Lainey told her. "Apparently Sir Archibald and his cronies got up to all kinds of nastiness up there. Devil worship, my mum says, but I don't believe that and neither do you. Dad told me that Sir Archibald was a debaucher of young women and that parents hereabouts kept a tight leash on their daughters when the lord of the manor and his friends were in residence. They say he cut a dashing figure as a rogue, and had little trouble seducing anyone he wanted to -- even married women."

"What does debaucher mean?"

"You know, someone who seduces sweet young things who don't know any better." Lainey fixed her friend with a knowing eye. "Girls like you."

Jenny defended herself. "I'm not all that innocent."

"Just because you let Tommy play with your titties a little, doesn't make you all that experienced, you know." Lainey nodded sagely. "Dad says one of 'em jumped off the roof and that's why Sir Archibald left the country."

"Sounds like more rumours to me."

"But I'll bet you don't know the really big news."

"What?"

"The National Trust has called for local people to come in and clean the place up. They're going to open it for people to tour and all. Use the grounds for picnics and the like. I'm thinking of signing up. They'll pay good, too."

When Lainey left, Jenny thought about what her friend had said for quite a long time. She'd always been curious and now was my chance to see the whole inside of this mysterious building. Tomorrow morning would find her first in the queue.

Jenny got a job and it was far more than she'd expected. Twenty years of dust and grime doesn't go away easily when you have over thirty large rooms to contend with. It was quite spooky walking into the shuttered rooms and finding everything covered with white sheets, but once the shutters were thrown open, windows cleaned (usually her job) and the sheets removed, the rooms were really quite beautiful. They certainly had the nicest furniture she'd ever seen.

The girl had always been a good worker and Mrs. Tilbury, the woman sent down from London to be in charge, took a liking to Jenny. She also seemed to know a good bit about the Fairchild family. One day she found Jenny looking up at a painting hanging in the library.

"That's Sir Archibald, last of the line," Mrs. Tilbury said as she walked up behind Jenny. "Very handsome and dashing, don't you think?"

The figure in the painting was rather good looking with strong features and dressed as if he'd just come in from riding. What caught the girl most were his piercing dark eyes. The artist had captured those quite strikingly. As she moved over to the side of the room, the eyes seemed to follow her.

Unnerved, Jenny turned to look out the window. "People say he got up to all sorts of nastiness here at the hall."

"Don't you believe everything you hear. He was young and had some layabout friends from the city. I imagine parties on the weekends might get a bit, ah, boisterous."

"I heard a woman died here."

Mrs. Tilbury nodded sadly. "Apparently, she was very mixed up and threw herself from the roof. It could have been a love affair gone wrong. Who knows?"

"Is that why Sir Archibald left?"

She looked a bit uncomfortable. "Ah, no. He had a medical condition. Living in England was hard on him, so he chose to live in warmer climes. Now we should get back to work."

After two weeks of hard work, the old place was beginning to look spic and span. Painters and plasters were starting to work on the upper floors and photographers could be found everywhere documenting all the objects in the house. To stay out of their way, Mrs. Tilbury had "her girls" start cleaning below stairs, as the servant's area used to be called.

It was the typical layout of a large country house with storage rooms, kitchens, larders and pantries. Everything looked as if it had just been dropped and left where it was. Mice had cleaned out the edible bits years ago and their droppings were everywhere. But even with the windows cleaned, the rooms looked pretty dingy. Obviously, the important folk never came down here. Unless it was to look for new conquests, Jenny thought with a naughty tingle.

At the end of the long hallway running the length of the house, off which the various workrooms and kitchens were situated, stood a large metal door with a hole for one of those big, old-fashioned keys. Problem was, no one knew where it had got to.

"We'll have to get a locksmith in," Mrs. Tilbury told Jenny. "Monday will do for that."

As it was Friday, the two women began shutting off lights (Sir Archibald's family had been the first in the county to bring in electricity). Everyone else had left a bit early, as it looked as if it was about to bucket. Jenny's employer began glancing out the windows apprehensively.

"Why don't you let me finish locking up, Mrs. Tilbury? I live nearby and don't mind a bit of rain. You have to drive all the way back to London."

"That would be quite wonderful of you, Jenny. Just please don't be late on Monday and keep the fact to yourself that I've left you with the keys. It would be my job if anyone found out!"

Mrs. Tilbury scurried out the back door and Jenny shortly heard her car's tyres scrunching off down the gravel drive. Flamborough Hall was hers!

She went through all the ground floor rooms admiring the furniture and fine paintings. In the library, she walked around looking at the floor to ceiling bookcases. Since it was fairly dark, one book with a white cover caught her eye. Moving the rolling ladder over to it, Jenny climbed up to get a closer look. In gold letters on the spine it said _The Art of Love_.

Sitting down at the desk, she turned on the light and opened the book, then gasped and coloured involuntarily at what she saw: pages documenting all the positions two people could make love in (among other perverted things!), with copious diagrams, photographs and descriptions.

Now, even though the girl hadn't much experience with sex, she'd heard a fair bit through her friends, but what she saw in the book was really quite shocking -- and exciting. She didn't know that men and women could the sorts of things shown, and that they could be quite so...athletic. In some of the photos they looked like those Indian swamis getting up to all sorts of nastiness the way the women were bent.

Jenny had indeed done some petting with her Tommy, and just once, the night before he left for the army, she'd actually let him get her blouse and brassiere off.

The young woman had found the experience quite thrilling as Tommy spent a long time sucking on and playing with her long nipples, and she'd been thinking of his first leave home to her to possibly being the time when they'd finally do "it". After all, they were seriously talking marriage and hadn't most of the people she knew got up to all sorts of naughty things with their young men?

As she thumbed through the pages of explicit text, drawings and photographs, Jenny could feel her excitement building. Each of the men in the photos had a larger penis than what she'd seen pushing Tommy's trousers out when they'd had one of their frequent snogging sessions. It seemed natural when she began to wonder what one of those big ones would feel like inside her. One photo, in particular, caught her eye. A woman sitting in a very odd metal chair with a man between her legs, was obviously at the height of sexual pleasure. Over the next several minutes, Jenny kept returning to it as if drawn by something outside her. Studying it closely, she felt her breath growing short and her whole body tingling. If her beau had been there at that moment, she might have demanded that he do the same thing to her -- regardless of the size of his manhood.

Jenny had been reading for quite some time when she heard a noise on the gravel outside. Fearing that her boss had returned unexpectedly, the girl panicked and opened the top right drawer of the desk, literally throwing the book inside. She did not wish to risk being caught on the ladder putting the book back in it's proper place. Slamming the drawer shut, she heard a muffled thud.

As she turned off the desk lamp and got up, Jenny realized that there had been no more gravel sounds outside. Carefully peeking through the curtain, she saw the drive was empty. Sitting back behind the desk, she carefully opened the drawer. There, on top of the white book, she saw a large, old-fashioned key. Obviously it had been secreted above the drawer under the top of the desk and had been dislodged by the violent movement of her trying to hide the evidence of her reading.

Picking it up, she weighed it in her hand. "I wonder..." she thought.

Noticing the time, she quickly put the book back on the shelf, shut off the light again, tore through the basement to make sure she hadn't forgotten a light or missed locking a window, and once more found herself at the end of the corridor, facing the metal door. With her hands trembling slightly, she pulled the key from the pocket of her dress.

It fit.

Jenny looked down at the key sticking out of the lock, but didn't dare turn it. Knowing that her mum would be worrying, she put the key back in her pocket and headed home. As she walked through the dark, she considered returning the next day to try the key and see exactly what lay behind the mysterious door. "Probably just a pile of useless old junk," she said to herself as she walked down the lane towards her house.

Her mum looked up as she walked in. "Gracious, child! You're all red in the face."

Jenny had been thinking about the book she'd been looking at, and was still quite aroused, so she mumbled something about having run home and needing a bath.

She removed her clothes after carefully locking the door, then looked at herself in the mirror. Her face and upper torso were indeed flushed and her nipples stuck out long and hard and very red. Her slightly disheveled hair added to what she felt was a very sexy look.

Sliding her right hand down between her legs, she discovered that she was very wet. Her little "love button" (as Lainey jokingly called it) was also extended, hard and felt hot to the touch.

Jenny sat down on the edge of the bathtub and spread her legs. The lips underneath her sparse, light-brown pubic hair looked swollen and red.

"Goodness," she thought, "that book certainly did have an effect on me!"

Closing her eyes, she dipped her middle finger into the fluid oozing from her opening and swirled it up onto her throbbing clitoris. A sigh escaped her lips and she tilted her head back, shaking out her long hair. At that point she knew she must look very desirable indeed.

Jenny didn't masturbate often, and generally brought herself off quickly and furtively. After looking at the photos in the book, she was determined to take her time and enjoy the sensations -- just like the women in the photos.

She rubbed herself lightly and slowly, bringing herself along gradually. Her legs felt all trembly as she opened them further, pulling her lips farther away from the focus of her attention. The juices began dripping from her as she brought her other hand in to rub a finger deliciously around the rim of her opening.

Slowly a face started to form in her mind, and she soon realized that it was the portrait of the young Sir Archibald. She got the impression that he wanted to speak to her, that he could also see what she was doing to herself. The thought of this made her heart pound in her chest.

Just as Jenny was getting close, a hard fist pounded on the door right next to her head. Startled, she almost slipped backwards into the tub as her legs snapped shut and she felt her face flush with shame. Thank God she'd locked the door!

"Jenny," her mother said from the other side, "are you going to take your bath or not? I want to get dinner on the table!"

"I'm just going to draw the bath now, mum," she said, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

"Well just you hurry up. Don't keep me waiting all night. Dinner will be on the table in ten minutes."

Jenny sighed as she turned on the taps. No time now.

The rest of the evening her mum kept her busy with chores around their little cottage. Finally, shortly after 9:00, she bid her mother goodnight.

Once up in her room with the door firmly shut and the lights out, Jenny once again removed her clothes. All the signs of her earlier arousal had disappeared. She got in bed without putting on the cotton gown she wore on warmer nights. It felt decidedly naughty to lie there with the covers touching her nakedness. No one but her mum had ever seen her without clothes since she'd become a woman -- and then it had been by accident as her mother barged into her room one day. They'd both been embarrassed by the intrusion. Someday soon, Tommy would see her naked.

That made her think again of the earlier mental image of Sir Archibald. Lordy, he'd been a fine looking young man back in the day.

Almost idly, Jenny began playing with the nipple on her left breast as she thought about being the paramour of a wealthy aristocrat. Her body began responding again as her mind flitted between the various photos she'd seen and the portrait in the study. One of the men in the photos sort of reminded her of him. A mask hid his features, but he had the same build as the man in the portrait. The hair and long sideboards had been the same, too. Had he actually been one of the males posing for the photos? That man had possessed the largest phallus of all, she realized.

Then the young woman decided that rampant men had cocks, not penises. There was something deliciously thrilling about using that word and she decided that's what she'd call them from now on. "Cocks," she said out loud, feeling the word slide over her tongue. "Cock." Her hand slid down her belly. "Cunt. I have a cunt, and I want a cock in it. I want a cock to fuck me."

She again began to masturbate lazily, enjoying the slow buildup of her desire. This time her clitoris burned as it provided the focus to what her body was feeling. With her other hand, Jenny pulled and twisted a nipple, gently at first but then with more force and vigour as she got closer to bringing herself off.

Then as her legs began to tremble and her body was writhing underneath the covers, her mother called up from downstairs.

"Jenny, your friend Elaine is at the door."

"Bloody hell," Jenny groaned as she stopped what she was doing. "Tell her I've gone to bed," she yelled loudly. "I'll call her in the morning!"

Throwing herself onto her side, the girl knew it was no good. If she tried again now, it wouldn't feel good. She'd toyed with herself too much. Maybe she could try again tomorrow.