Peters Problem

While Emilia and Anne were reaching a critical period in their morning routine, Peter was doing his best not to drip on legal papers that were slowly taking over his mahogany desk. Peter removed a coral, silk handkerchief from his vest pocket and paused to check his watch while he dabbed at the beads of sweat on his forehead. It wasn't even noon yet already his mind was thinking about a cold bath that would be waiting for him after work. Other men his age would be thinking of a trip to the pub or playing a quick game of pool after work, but Peter had always been an old soul. He did all the tasks that society required of him and by the age they were required, sooner if possible.

It wasn't that he had a lot to live up to, but much to live beyond as his father, Herbert James, had been a cheating scoundrel. Bad manners or not, though, his money had allowed Peter a proper education and more ideal connections through his mother, Caroline. Through her gentle example he had learned how to be a gentleman and had sworn, before she passed last winter, that he would always be the type of husband she had deserved. Had it not been for Caroline's society friends, he might never have met Emilia's father, George, much less found an office job so quickly. He certainly wouldn't have gotten married as quickly as he had either, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do. When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens another into a job that comes with a wife.

'My wife,' he thought, 'how strange it feels to be married.'

His thoughts strayed to their wedding night, which he had not been properly prepared for. Granted Peter had never really felt the yearning for flesh that most men do and he assumed any advice Herbert had to offer was probably from the kind of experience and women he wasn't planning to have. His closest friends weren't married, so he assumed they didn't have any experience either. The best option was to go to the library and check out medical books to study up on the female anatomy. It wasn't until right before the wedding that he began to feel nervous about the impending engagement when his friends began to joke about it.

"Ready for tonight, chap?" his school friend, Lyle, nudged.

"I hope so. I read all I could find on the matter."

"I didn't know you enjoyed those kinds of books," his other chum, Calvin, smirked.

"They were medical books," Peter declared.

Lyle and Calvin burst in loud guffaws when they heard this and quickly tried to educate Peter on what to do with Emilia's cloven inlet. All of this new information was too much to take before walking down the aisle and marrying Emilia, no matter how endearing she'd become to him. Fortunately, Calvin had had a flask on hand and encouraged Peter to take his first drink of whiskey, so he wouldn't faint.

Somehow he'd managed to get through the wedding, though his memory of the following evening was spotty. They had both been nervous, though Emilia more confident in appearance than he, as she stood before him in her lacy bridal nightdress. He remembered her gentle coaxing and earnest hazel eyes looking up at him, waiting like a lady would. He had turned around to undress while Emilia took down her auburn hair and let it tumble down past her shoulders. Peter turned around as Emilia laid down on her back and as he looked her over he felt something akin to excitement pulse between his legs. He felt his fingers slowly unbutton his white cotton drawers and watched Emilia pull back the bottom of her nightgown to expose her creamy white legs. Before he could pass out from fear, he squeezed his eyes shut and plunged in and pumped her with his balsamic injection faster than he expected.

In all the excitement he had barely heard Emilia's shriek, but assumed it was from delight. It wasn't until it was over and he opened his eyes that he realized why. It was only a small amount of blood, but the fact that it was there at all horrified him. Emilia tried to sooth him and told him it was to be expected, but he was alarmed at what he'd done. The next morning, down at breakfast, he told her he'd be heading back to work in a few days, but that she could enjoy the summer house on her own until he came for her in September. Emilia's expression seemed shocked and somewhat saddened, but she didn't press him. The night before he left she had actually come to him in hopes of another engagement, but he had declined.

"We've done it once for the month and that's really all that's necessary, dearest," Peter had sad to assuage her concerns.

He'd watched her turn slowly and leave his bedroom with no idea of the emotional injury he was causing her. Anne had come down the next morning to tell him Emilia was too ill to see him off on his journey. There had only been a few letters between them, but he imagined his work bored her and didn't want to impose on her summer fun. He looked forward to seeing her again in a month, but worried so about the idea of bedding her. Peter pushed these thoughts from his mind and set to work another day away.

That evening, long after he had cooled his lanky frame in the tub, he had gone down to the kitchen for some liverwurst and cheese when he caught the chambermaid, Violet, washing her feet. It seemed an odd place for such an activity yet he found himself too transfixed to say anything.

Violet, a fair, slender, woman of twenty had her back to Peter's green eyes as she sat, bent over the task of washing her feet in a wooden tub. He watched as Violet ran the damp cloth over the arch of her slender foot and between each toe as if it were a precious jewel in need of polishing. Peter felt his heart race when she sighed in relief at the cloth's cool touch on her ankle. The delicate curve of bone in that ankle made his heart stop and groin tense in excitement. Peter had such desire to stroke his gaying instrument, but was too afraid of Violet turning around and catching him in the act. It would have to wait for he couldn't leave this vision of beauty until she was done. He was torn from his thoughts when he heard her speak suddenly.

"Would you like to wash the other foot?" Violet said not looking at him.

"How- how did you know I- was here?" Peter stammered.

"There's usually someone watching, but I never thought I'd be honored by my lord's presence," she said as she turned her face to him.

Peter stood frozen in place, almost ashamed at being caught, until Violet tilted her head in a gesture that said, 'come here.' He went to her and sat down by her side like a child awaiting a bedtime story. Violet knelt down to wet the towel once more and wrung it out between her strong, rough hands, then held it out to Peter.

"I would prefer to watch, please," Peter whispered.

"As you wish, sir," Violet cooed.

Peter held his breath in anticipation as Violet pulled her other foot closer in towards her and began to rub away any impurities. As the cloth ran between her toes, he longed to place his mouth around them, one by one, and suck like he would a piece of fruit. He felt himself stiffen as Violet gave him a small smile of encouragement and moved the cloth, that enviable piece of fabric, up to her ankle. There she rubbed and massaged herself as Peter's hand moved towards his cock that begged to be touched. Peter felt like he was watching an artist mold clay into a statue of Venus, so awestruck was he at this simple task. She leaned back her head in, what he presumed to be, pleasure and he followed her example as he began to massage himself.

The sound of a gentle splash of water broke his reverie when he realized Violet must be done. He looked up at her, unsure what to do now, when she moved the newly washed foot towards his face. Taking this for consent, he took her moist foot in his hand and kissed the arch lightly at first, then began to cover her foot with kisses. Before he could taste her toes with his tongue, Violet whisked her foot back and smiled coyly at Peter as she stood up to leave.

"Help me move this tub, sir, and you may get to do more tomorrow night," Violet said as she slipped her feet into her shoes, not about to bother with stockings at this time of day.

Peter nodded, completely bewitched at the thought of seeing her feet again.

To be continued...