In the summer of 1852, there was a heat that fanned across the country, racing across the moors and estuaries with a speed unmatched by even the fastest of steam engines. And little did Lady Helena know, even if she’d thought about it, that this heat would have her taking two hard cocks before the end of the day.
The passengers on the train from London to Exeter sat still, avoiding the warmth, feeling out the cool breeze that ripped in eddies through the open carriage windows, the midday sun a scythe against the rolling fields. Among the less crowded carriages sat the rich of Taunton and Tiverton, returning from Paris with the latest fashions. The men puffed on pipes despite the sweat on their brows and damped their foreheads with kerchiefs, regretting the night’s binges. Servants ran fingers between too-tight starched collars and the older men and women fell asleep at their newspapers and books. Children ran along the carriage gangways while governesses and parents mulled the efforts of chasing after them. It was a train that moved through the landscape and carried a myriad of people and plans. But in one carriage, sat apart from anyone else was a curious face, curious in its calm and its presence. Two bright hazel eyes blinked in the flickering sun, as if reading a book at great speed. She looked not towards the hills and fields, their greens and auburns, browns and yellows, but at what was for her a journey home.
She had spent the week in London visiting her aunt. It was scheduled to be two, but in the heat the aging lady had struggled and sent her home; not an entirely unwelcome gesture. She was of an age when society dictated that a husband ought to be found. But Helena had no intention of finding a husband, so her family had taken it upon themselves to do so for her. Indeed, her aunt’s invitation had been nothing but a charade for a spooling introduction to the ever so respectably boring bachelors of Finsbury and Islington. The idea of a husband seemed rather mundane, thought Helena, the boughs of oak and birch rippling in the sun, berries going overripe on the bushes. She opened the hamper that sat to her left. The peach looked particularly appealing and she took a bite, catching the juices with her handkerchief as they spurted over her lips. It would be good to be home, she thought to herself. At home she could do as she pleased.
*
Lady Helena Smythe had lived at Margate Hall for all of her twenty-two years and never seen a sight quite as peculiar. There, and seemingly oblivious to her presence, were two men. Her delicate temperance was quite disturbed by it all, but a sensation started to spread as she looked down from the balcony of her bedroom. She appreciated that the summer heat was challenging, but why the gardeners had decided to, well, it was quite unbecoming, as they worked away in the flower beds that encircled the veranda below.
She sat down on a small stool and wondered what to do, a table with fresh lemonade just off to her left. She poured herself a glass and sipped at it, unable to peel her eyes from the not unhandsome men who huffed and heaved in her garden. One was slightly taller than the other, both quite thick, quite the opposite of her small and well cared for frame. Their dark brown rough-cut hair contrasted with her long mousy-blonde waves. She blushed and averted her gaze. Whatever could have possessed them? Clearly, they had no idea that she was home. Helena took another sip of the lemonade and tried to cool her thoughts but could only think of their forearms, how strong they looked.
She took another sip and sat there for a few minutes, occasionally shifting on the stool before placing the glass on the table. She watched on with rosy cheeks, hoping that they would cease their work. You see, in the heat, they had removed not just their shirts, but their trousers too, their shoes, even, she shuddered, looking on as they swung about, even their undergarments. Her lips grew fluttery as she looked on. The sweat was running down their backs and onto their… oh! she could barely contain her thoughts any longer. She’d never seen a pair of privates quite like them… she didn’t know how to describe them: hairy, fervent, pendulous? Even if the words escaped Helena’s vocabulary, she was beginning to enjoy the view, sat there as she was in her ruffled skirts like some lady Actaeon.
Her view of the scene wasn’t clear, and the men would occasionally be lost in the ivy that grew around the bannister, so she found herself straining to catch a glimpse of them as they bent over out of sight. As the men continued their naked work, her hand began to reach under her skirts gently stroking her clitoris. These men were much more fun to look at than the bachelors of London. She imagined what the gardeners would do if they saw her spying on them, their big hands tearing at her petticoat, ripping open the corset that pressed tightly against her small chest. She looked on and bit her lip, picturing one of them pick her up as easily as he did the logs below, the other panting over her as he did the soil he worked with his spade. She felt the warmth grow below her and sped-up her hand, closing her eyes as she imagined them at work on her, lying in the flowers. A quiet moan escaped her lips. Her fingers grew faster and faster again, and with her other hand she slowly worked the entrance to her secret, teasing it open as it grew wetter and wetter. Loud quivering gasps began to escape her mouth, but she didn’t care anymore. She didn’t care if they saw her. They could see her all they liked, just as she had seen all of them. The muscles in her legs began to tighten, her pulse quickening and quickening as she imagined how these men… she called out loud: “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” She wanted them to hear her. She wanted their thick legs thrusting. She wanted their pricks growing hard in her mouth. They would have her and she would have them. Her legs tightened and she kicked back, screaming out with pleasure as her body collapsed.
As her chest heaved against her corset, Helena opened her eyes and her mouth grew wet. Below her the two men stood, pricks hard in hand, looking up at her. She took a sip of lemonade and stood up, legs unsteady as she straightened her skirts and leaned against the railings.
“What good are you down there.” She turned around and beckoned them up to the bedroom.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/k5uiau/in_the_garden_of_helena_part_1_mfm_historical