pig, is it?’ Lias interrupted.
‘Yes, and we can’t pinch him while Jan Wonnacott is drinking, because people might be passing on the road, so we must wait until the early hours of the morning. What we have decided to do, so as not to risk awakening Jan Wonnacott, is to put Singularis Porcus in a muzzle and lure him down the road with ripe apples, as far as the gate into Sir Murgatroyd’s water meadows, where you will be parked with your dray, Mr Snell … Lias. All you need then do is help us get him on to the dray and drive here, which frankly seems very little for what you are demanding in return.’
‘Not when it’s a stolen pig,’ Lias retorted. ‘For a stolen pig, Miss Truscott, I’ll be wanting to see you down on your sister’s cunt.’
Four
THE FOLLOWING DAY they returned to the woods in order to assess their suitability as temporary accommodation for stolen pigs. It was a part of the operation they had meant to perform the day before, but, given Lias Snell’s propensity for demanding that his cock be attended to as soon as his balls were recharged, Stephanie had made her excuses, left and returned to Driscoll’s. She had also been uncomfortably moist between her thighs, and had gone straight to her room to masturbate, only to find Vera Clapshott changing the flowers Stephanie had ordered placed on her bedside table. After a few not too subtle hints Stephanie had quickly found herself back across the maid’s lap, her bare bottom pushed up as her quim was skilfully manipulated. Her climax had been rather nice, although Stephanie was unsure whether the insertion of a daffodil into her anus had been strictly necessary.
It was hard to fault the wood for the purpose. The ancient gate could be opened without too much difficulty and there was room for Lias to back his dray against it, while the wall was high enough and the wood thick enough to ensure that there was little chance of Singularis Porcus being seen from the road. An investigation of a tumbledown shack where some long-disappeared gamekeeper had once kept the tools of his trade, and more recently the sisters had played together, showed that it would make an adequate pigsty.
‘How shall we feed him enough?’ Hermione queried as they continued on up the river bank. ‘If he’s anything like the Emperor he eats an awful lot.’
‘Once I’ve got my car back it shouldn’t be too difficult to bring over the occasional sack of apples or something,’ Stephanie responded. ‘Meanwhile, he can grub for roots and acorns and things. It will do him good to diet for a while, and with any luck the Emperor will overtake him.’
‘He certainly won’t starve,’ Hermione admitted.
They had reached the border of the wood, where the river Lyd entered the trees at the end of a steep valley which opened to the sunlit beauty of Dartmoor, the horizon made up of a line of tors, grey against the blue of the sky. For a while they walked in silence, enjoying the sunshine and solitude. There was no house and no other human being in sight, and the only sounds were the gentle murmur of water and the occasional snatch of birdsong. As they turned back towards Driscoll’s, a question that had been nagging at the back of Stephanie’s mind since the day before suddenly thrust itself to the front.
‘Yesterday,’ she said, ‘you gave quite a performance in front of Mr Snell, didn’t you?’
‘I had to,’ Hermione answered.
‘Oh, no, you didn’t,’ Stephanie pointed out, ‘not going down on all fours like that.’
Hermione merely shrugged.
‘What have you been up to, H.?’ Stephanie demanded.
‘Nothing,’ Hermione answered, rather too quickly.
‘Oh, yes, you have, you rude little beast,’ Stephanie insisted. ‘What’s all this about tableaux, and not being ashamed to show what God gave us, and showing your bottom off for the sake of artistic verisimilitude?’
Hermione made a face.
‘Tell me,’ Stephanie asked.
‘I’d rather not,’
‘Yes, and we can’t pinch him while Jan Wonnacott is drinking, because people might be passing on the road, so we must wait until the early hours of the morning. What we have decided to do, so as not to risk awakening Jan Wonnacott, is to put Singularis Porcus in a muzzle and lure him down the road with ripe apples, as far as the gate into Sir Murgatroyd’s water meadows, where you will be parked with your dray, Mr Snell … Lias. All you need then do is help us get him on to the dray and drive here, which frankly seems very little for what you are demanding in return.’
‘Not when it’s a stolen pig,’ Lias retorted. ‘For a stolen pig, Miss Truscott, I’ll be wanting to see you down on your sister’s cunt.’
Four
THE FOLLOWING DAY they returned to the woods in order to assess their suitability as temporary accommodation for stolen pigs. It was a part of the operation they had meant to perform the day before, but, given Lias Snell’s propensity for demanding that his cock be attended to as soon as his balls were recharged, Stephanie had made her excuses, left and returned to Driscoll’s. She had also been uncomfortably moist between her thighs, and had gone straight to her room to masturbate, only to find Vera Clapshott changing the flowers Stephanie had ordered placed on her bedside table. After a few not too subtle hints Stephanie had quickly found herself back across the maid’s lap, her bare bottom pushed up as her quim was skilfully manipulated. Her climax had been rather nice, although Stephanie was unsure whether the insertion of a daffodil into her anus had been strictly necessary.
It was hard to fault the wood for the purpose. The ancient gate could be opened without too much difficulty and there was room for Lias to back his dray against it, while the wall was high enough and the wood thick enough to ensure that there was little chance of Singularis Porcus being seen from the road. An investigation of a tumbledown shack where some long-disappeared gamekeeper had once kept the tools of his trade, and more recently the sisters had played together, showed that it would make an adequate pigsty.
‘How shall we feed him enough?’ Hermione queried as they continued on up the river bank. ‘If he’s anything like the Emperor he eats an awful lot.’
‘Once I’ve got my car back it shouldn’t be too difficult to bring over the occasional sack of apples or something,’ Stephanie responded. ‘Meanwhile, he can grub for roots and acorns and things. It will do him good to diet for a while, and with any luck the Emperor will overtake him.’
‘He certainly won’t starve,’ Hermione admitted.
They had reached the border of the wood, where the river Lyd entered the trees at the end of a steep valley which opened to the sunlit beauty of Dartmoor, the horizon made up of a line of tors, grey against the blue of the sky. For a while they walked in silence, enjoying the sunshine and solitude. There was no house and no other human being in sight, and the only sounds were the gentle murmur of water and the occasional snatch of birdsong. As they turned back towards Driscoll’s, a question that had been nagging at the back of Stephanie’s mind since the day before suddenly thrust itself to the front.
‘Yesterday,’ she said, ‘you gave quite a performance in front of Mr Snell, didn’t you?’
‘I had to,’ Hermione answered.
‘Oh, no, you didn’t,’ Stephanie pointed out, ‘not going down on all fours like that.’
Hermione merely shrugged.
‘What have you been up to, H.?’ Stephanie demanded.
‘Nothing,’ Hermione answered, rather too quickly.
‘Oh, yes, you have, you rude little beast,’ Stephanie insisted. ‘What’s all this about tableaux, and not being ashamed to show what God gave us, and showing your bottom off for the sake of artistic verisimilitude?’
Hermione made a face.
‘Tell me,’ Stephanie asked.
‘I’d rather not,’
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