Parlor Games by Jess Michaels

Author:Jess Michaels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2006-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

4

Sarah watched as one of the gentlemen set a hard-backed chair in the middle of the room, with a small table covered in a lace cloth beside it. With dignified ceremony, Mrs. Erskine placed a large-figured hourglass firmly on the top.

A round-faced fellow with a pronounced look of mischief in his eye promptly plumped into the chair with an emphatic “Me first!”

Mrs. Erskine tied a thick black blindfold firmly around his head, covering his eyes. “Can you see anything?”

He waved his hand in front of his face. “Not a thing. It’s as dark as midday in a London fog.”

With this confirmation, she reached over and turned the hourglass over, starting the flow of sand.

One of the coffee house girls stepped forward. With a deliberate gesture, she removed the pins from her coiffure and leaned over the seated gentleman, shaking her long dark hair down over her shoulders and allowing some stray strands to caress his face.

Leaning toward her, he breathed in her scent, looking for all the world like a pouter pigeon stretching its neck out for a tasty morsel.

“I do declare,” the pouter pigeon said with a series of appreciative sniffs. “We appear to have Mrs. Isabella Beeton in the parlor this evening. No one else, I am sure, could smell so deliciously of home and hearth and all other good things.”

A snigger ran around the room. Sarah joined in the laughter. Aside from the Queen herself, a less likely player of blindman’s buff could not be imagined. Mrs. Isabella Beeton’s Book of House hold Management had been like a second Bible to her mother. The very thought of such a pillar of respectability taking part in naughty parlor games was positively sacrilegious.

Egged on by the gentlemen, the girl started to undo her bodice, releasing the buttons one by one. Sarah stifled a gasp of shock as she realized the girl was wearing only the thinnest lawn chemise under her bodice. Her exceedingly generous breasts were practically bare.

The girl leaned into the temporarily sightless man seated before her and pressed her bosom to his face, nigh on smothering him with her attentions.

The pouter pigeon chuckled wheezily, his face buried happily in her chest. “Surely this cannot be the breast of our honored Prime Minister, William Gladstone. Even he could not be this liberal.”

The assembled men roared with laughter at the idea that the devoutly religious Prime Minister should be thrusting his naked bosom into anyone’s face.

Showing no sign of wanting to move his face away, the pouter pigeon chuckled again. “Besides, I do not think I will ever see the day when En gland’s Prime Minister has such a delightfully bountiful chest as this.”

Sarah did not think it was such an absurd idea as all that, but the gentlemen evidently did. Their laughter redoubled at the very notion that a woman would ever be Prime Minister.

The laughter quickly turned to a cheer of delight as the girl removed her bodice altogether and tugged her chemise low enough for her breasts to fall free.

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