Back in the 19th Century when men were men and women wore long skirts and no knickers…

It was late one afternoon when father called me into his study.

“James my boy,” he said ominously, “Have you given any consideration to the matter of matrimony yet?”

“No father” I admitted, “I have another year studying at Oxford before I even think of dalliances.”

“Its all very well playing the field when you’re a pup,” he explained, “But for propriety.”

“I am afraid I am too busy studying to play the field father,” I exclaimed. Sometimes I wondered how I could possibly be related to my father so peculiar were his views.

“Well self abuse then, sure as fate you will go blind.” he added.

“Father there is no link betwixt testicles and eyeballs save for the commonly used expression “Balls” I explained but his brain, always supposing he possessed one was too feeble to comprehend.

“Well your mother has arranged for Lucida to stay for the weekend, you do remember Lucinda do you not?” he enquired.

How could I forget, Lucinda a vicious tomboy who regularly beat me up when we played as children. A dominating self opinionated monster who reportedy enjoyed carnality with her female classmates to such excess that even the Cheltenham girs school was forced to expell her.

“Oh yes, I remember Lucinda,” I agreed.

“Excellent, “He agreed, “You do remember, well your mother sees her as an admirable match for you.” he said jovially.

“And do I have any say in this?” I asked.

“As long as it is a yes,” he laughed.

Lucinda arrived not an hour later, even more self important and domineering than hitherto and in her trail a sweet slender thing, “Miss Pattimore, I call her Pat,” Lucinda laughed, “Come let us explore the bed room.” and she whisked Pat away.

Pat seemed somewhat devoid of enthusiasm. I wondered about her.

I left a decent interval and went upstairs myself. I knocked on their bedroom door. There was no reply so I entered.

Lucinda was on the bed, half naked her breasts hanging free and her skirts up while to my utter astonishment Pat was kneeling between Lucinda’s thighs with her whole fist and part of her forearm deep inside Lucinda’s distended womb entry.

“My god, you’re,” I stammered.

“Lovers. yes,” Lucinda agreed, “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I am just slightly shocked that you didn’t bolt the door,” I declared, and I added “May I join in?” as I bolted the door as they should have done.

“Out!” Lucinda cried, though she was somewhat hampered in her options by Pat’s hand deep inside her.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” I observed and I lifted the kneeling Pat’s skirt revealing her stocking tops and soft pale pink buttocks with no pantaloons or anything to hide her delights, a tight brown bud and a glistening slot.