The Old Rose Garden

A Victorian Romance and Erotica short story
by Lady T. L. Jennings

“Perhaps we should not…” I mumbled, while my lips sought his.

We kissed softly at first, with lips only brushing against each other; however, soon our kisses grew more enthusiastic as the desire rose, and when he pressed his body closer to mine, I could feel his hardness against me. Unshy, I spread my legs slightly apart for him. Teasingly, and in direct contrast to what I just said, I let my hands travel from his neck along his strong shoulders and down his chest before they sneaked past his coarse gardening shirt in weaved linen and touched the naked skin just above his hip. To my satisfaction, I heard him inhale sharply as a result.

“You are completely right,” he mumbled between eager kisses. “We really should not…”

But he did not stop, and before I had time to react, he took his revenge upon me and swiftly hitched up my dress and petticoats, letting his hands boldly explore my thighs and bottom. Of course, I should be scandalized over his behaviour, that he dared to exposed my bare ankles so casually; however, I was already all too excited to care about it, really, and a small part of me found it rather irresistible and more than a little flattering that he could not control himself entirely in my presence.

I was not even worried that anyone would see my scars from the accident. The first time I had let Tom see them I had been so nervous I had almost felt dizzy; however, he had been very kind about it. The silvery scars climbed from my feet up along my calves and ended just above my knees, and Tom said they reminded him of entwined fern and that they were sort of pretty and marked me as being special.

I am not sure if I really believed him or not; however, the rest of my thoughts were abandoned as I felt his hand slowly wander along my leg and he softly stroked the inside of my thigh. I gasped quietly, and with the last shreds of decency and willpower, I took his hand in mine, stopping him before it would be all too late and we made love there and then in the middle of the old rose garden.

“Come with me,” I whispered. “I will show you a secret.”

*

Our house, the former gamekeeper’s cottage that had been empty for years before we decided to move in, was too far away, in my opinion, even though it was next to the garden, so I led him to a nearby corner of the old rose garden.

He followed me as I ducked in under the branches of the cluster-flowering roses and caused a rain of peach-coloured rose petals to fall to the ground. It was just as I remembered from when I used to play in the garden as a child; the roses had been planted in a small circle that left an empty space in the middle, creating a natural small bower that was covered with soft green grass.

I turned around, and reaching up, I kissed him again and heard him laugh softly. While I was busy struggling with taking off his shirt, Tom had, with remarkable efficiency, managed to untie the cords at the back of my day dress, and as we sank down to the grass together, he pulled down the front of my dress, revealing the white linen corset that I was wearing and the top of my pale breasts.

I never laced myself tightly; since I always had been rather petite and no one ever looked at me twice, there had never been any reason to improve the contour of my figure more than necessary. Even after I married, I had continued wearing rather loosely tied corsets and only adjusted it slightly; however, I never bothered to lace myself to near-suffocation as I had heard was the latest fashion for gentlewomen these days.

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Copyright © 2013 Lady T. L. Jennings