My education of the powers of the ring came slowly. For one thing, there were no women about on whom I needed such power. The females on the estate already did my bidding without resort to supernatural power.
Gradually, I came to know the local gentry as I was introduced into society. As the estate was worth many thousands of pounds annually, I was immediately of the higher gentry myself. The estate was titled, and I wondered how could I explain the previous master had been born hundreds of years before in claiming such a title. But the title passed by acclamation and no one seemed to worry that the last title was held for so long a period, if anyone was even aware.
I learned that the people of the county knew almost nothing of the prior master. He had always been old and had lived almost a hermit in the mansion. I assumed the name and duties of the Estate. Being single and young and well provided, I found myself frequently invited to houses wherein single daughters resided. There were the Barrett’s, with three daughters ages eighteen to thirteen. There was the Woodhouse girl, twenty-two. There were the Bennett girls, seventeen, fifteen, thirteen and eight, although I don’t think the family thought Lydia Bennett, the eight-year-old, a suitable companion for me. They had much higher hopes for Jane, the eldest. Unfortunately for Jane, she was also the plainest girl in the county. Her sister, Mary at fifteen, was quite a handsome girl with lovely brown hair and piercing eyes, a fair complexion, and a comely shape.
I was also somewhat taken with Elizabeth Woodhouse, a blonde woman of serene disposition and good looks. She was also quite witty and accomplished in the arts, especially singing. At twenty-two, she had the most maturity and development to be sure. She was also the richest of the girls and she made it quite plain she had little need of a husband.
It is amazing what a change of station can do for a man’s disposition. A week before and I wouldn’t have cared a farthing about a girl’s dowry. Being a working man myself, I didn’t expect much. Now that I was among the most landed men of the county, my mind turned towards such thoughts. Foolish is our mind for I had little need of a dowry in my new station and could have made great use of it before.
The strangest situation of the three families was the Barrett’s where it was the youngest girl, Harriet at thirteen, was the one who most caught my eye.
So, it wasn’t the least unusual for me to be invited to dinner or supper every day of the week to visit and frequently it was one of these three families which did the inviting. I, of course, had occasion to return the obligation. I found that many of these folks had never been inside the manor house, even when young themselves. The Manor had become aged and shabby as was its master. The servants noted the change of Lord had somehow changed the very air of the Manor and the place bustled, opening windows that hadn’t been opened in generations. The musty place became a place of light and air.
It was in this new setting that I first learned of the power of the ring. Harriet Barrett, she of the blue eyes and black hair, was visiting with her mother and older sister, Catherine. Mrs. Barrett was making sure that Catherine and I had every chance to speak. But it was Harriet by whom I could not help but be entranced.
I write this memoir in a time far removed from the events I am narrating to you my son, who is unfamiliar with those times. I must explain so that what follows in the narrative will make sense to the modern reader. A girl without a chaperone would never be allowed to be alone with a man. It simply wasn’t done. Mrs. Barrett would never have left me alone with either daughter for any extended period. It would have ruined the girls’ reputation and been scandalous for the entire family.
As the three ladies were leaving, I saw Harriet looking at me. Our eyes locked and a sudden passion for the girl swept into me. It made me quite impudent and I said to Mrs. Barrett, “Could I have a moment alone with Harriet?” It was a faux pas on my part no doubt. As I said it, I was quite intent to have my will. I felt the ring, which I now wore, seem to throb in sympathy with my desire.
Mrs. Barrett looked surprised, then diffidence settled over her mien. “Of course, Lord Northam. Come along, Catherine,” leaving Harriet alone with me. Poor Harriet was as stunned as Catherine by this strange behavior of her mother.
“Harriet, I should like to know you better. I know your mother would like to forward an alliance between myself and Catherine. But it is you who has caught my eye, not Catherine. I will not disappoint your mother for I fear she would withdraw and I could no longer see you. So, for propriety I will continue to show interest in Catherine. But for the feelings in my breast, I had to confess my heart. I hope you will return the affection,” I said.
“Lord Northam…” she started.
“Please, call me Jeremy,” I said.
“Jeremy, I don’t know what to say,” she said.
“Then don’t say anything, especially to your mother or sister. This will be our secret. But please meet with me, alone,” And again I felt the power of the ring surge.
“Of course,” Harriet said. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning. Can you come to the Vicarage, to pray perhaps?”
Harriet nodded.
“I will see you then,” I said. I opened the door and Harriet scrambled after her mother and sister who were waiting, one patiently, the other impatiently, for Harriet.
The next morning I called upon the Vicar. Again, the modern reader to whom this is addressed might be unaware of the situations of the times I am narrating. The Vicar was a priest, but he was a servant of the estate, and his salary and position were entirely dependent on the goodwill of the Lord of the Manor, me. It must be remembered that the Church of England was established as a State religion and to this day is subservient to that State. All tithes of the vicarage belonged to the estate, that is me. So, the Vicar had a very good reason to maintain good relations with the sitting Lord who could dismiss him at any moment.
“Good morning, Father,” I said in greeting.
“Good morning indeed, milord. How may I serve you today?” he asked.
“I would appreciate the use of the Chapel this morning. I am meeting someone and would appreciate time to speak privately,” I said.
He looked troubled for a moment, then considering his position said, “Um yes, of course. I do have to see to several parishioners out in the farms. Mrs. Trembly is suffering terribly from the gout.”
“Please pass on my good wishes when you go,” I said.
He bowed and left. A few minutes later the Vicar’s trap with him driving left to ‘see to the parishioners.’
I waited and it was not easy to wait. Would Harriet show? Did this old band contain the power the old man said it did? I had felt something, but perhaps I had dreamt it, wishing it so. My mind was a whirlwind, doubting and affirming all in some fantastical game.
“My Lord,” I heard a soft voice behind me.
I turned to see Harriet standing just inside the door to the chapel. She looked unsure of exactly what to do. After all, she was doing something quite risqué. “Come in girl. I’ll not bite,” I said smiling.
She giggled, “I had no idea of that, Milord.” She advanced into the chapel.
I met her. Her eyes continued to look away only to flash back to meet mine and look away again. Looking back as I am now, I realize that poor Harriet would have met me without the power of the ring. My profession of love was enough to drive her to a meeting, and beyond. But then, I was a callow youth with no experience of the fair sex.
“I am so glad you came,” I said.
“What is it you find disagreeable about Catherine?” she began.
I laughed, “You misunderstand me. It isn’t Catherine at all that I find disagreeable or agreeable. I don’t consider Catherine in my thoughts. My thoughts are filled only with you.” And perhaps Mary and Elizabeth but I knew such professions required a steadfast heart and such wayward thoughts were best left unsaid.
“Sir, do you profess your love?” she asked, her hands trembling.
“I do. I am in love with your delicate hand,” I said taking one hand in mine. “I am in love with your sweet lips,” I said pressing mine against hers. She did not return the kiss but she also did not turn away. “I am in love with your heart,” I said my hand going out to her, almost touching her small breast.
She recoiled, “Sir, you are too forward.” But she did not run. She stood waiting, my hand almost touching her.
“My Harriet, oh, but to speak that name alone brings joy to my heart, I know I am forward. I cannot be otherwise. I am undone by my love of you.” My hand touched her breast as I bent to kiss her again. She made a slight move as if to turn away, but did not. My hand caressed her as our lips met. This kiss she returned. Sweet little Harriet would indeed have fallen under my spell by the simple profession of my love. How many men have made such profession simply for that purpose, to pierce a woman's shield in order to pierce her in another way. I certainly would have done so as a youth, but I had no need, my little helper made it unnecessary.
After a bit, she did break away. “Oh, you must think me a trollop. I must go.”
“No,” I called out. She turned back. I felt my will surging inflamed by the desire in my loins now all afire. “Harriet, I want you to make love with me.” As I said the words, I felt again the surge from the ring, taking my will and sending it forth.
At the last words, Harriet’s face seemed scandalized, but it quickly changed to one serene. “Of course, Lord Northam.”
She came to me and I took her in my arms. “Jeremy,” I said.
“Jeremy,” she repeated. I kissed her and she responded most heartily. I led her into the Vicar’s lodging next to the chapel finding a bedroom downstairs that had all the appearance of a guest room.
Once in the room, I was near overcome by reluctance. Was it right to use the power of the ring to take this girl’s innocence? In truth, I have come to see that being unblemished myself, I was quite unsure of mine own abilities. What if I failed as a lover? That would have been most embarrassing. This would be my first time making love as well as Harriet’s first. I had a few intimate encounters with country girls in the hay, who guided me to receive their pleasure, but none could remotely qualify as making love. Oh, the possible calamity that awaited such tyros.
These thoughts were quickly cast aside as I looked at the white expanse of bed before us. I pulled sweet Harriet to me and we kissed, kisses sweet with love and wild with passion. All thoughts of failure passed away as my blood heated with lust. Harriet was similarly carried away with passion, whether true passion or induced by the ring, I knew not. It did not matter to me. I was to experience a woman and naught else entered my mind.
I began to undress. Harriet watched me wide eyed. “Undress, girl. I can’t be in the natural while you remain dressed.” She laughed, then joined me in disrobing. Clothes were piled about as she fell onto the white expanse of the bed.
The feeling of this encounter was completely at odds with the chance time with a girl. I had called on a local farmer to deliver a wagon load. He had gone with his sons to a market faire leaving behind only his daughter. As I unloaded the wagon into their barn, she made comments which finally drew me to her in the hay. Once together, she kissed me. That led to more and more until her dress was in disarray and I found she wore nothing under. Quickly, she had my breeches down and I was in her. It did not last long of course and I could not count this as a worthy example to follow in making love to a lady since I had lain in the straw as she took me.
From that animal barn to the white covers of the Vicarage, things had changed all for the better. I stared at her fragile beauty. I had no siblings myself and had never seen a girl completely nude before. The country slut hadn't removed her dress and I saw nothing on the encounter or her body. Harriet's breasts were white as snow and surmounted by rosy caps, they had appeared small under her dress but now,uncovered, they were quite sufficient and they looked so beautiful to me. Her belly was soft and pure, undulating down to her mons veneris, so different from the few paintings I had seen, for she had a downy thatch of dark hair above her mount, not thick certainly, but evident all the same. Her thighs spread as I watched, opening the gate to her temple at which I proposed to worship.
The last of my clothes were thrown aside as I mounted the bed on which my virgin sacrifice was spread. I remembered the farm girl and pledged to myself this would be better.
I leaned toward her and we kissed, her lips sweet and red as pomegranate. My cock was hard and demanding entrance to the gates of paradise, but I held myself in check and proceeded to make love to Harriet. My hand found her breast, firm and soft, yielding to the pressure of my fingers, her nipple hard against the pressure of my palm. Harriet moaned and her kisses became passionate, searching out my lips greedily.
Aroused, my lips sought out her breast, kissing and sucking as Harriet moaned and pressed against my kiss. My hand found her womanhood, bare under that dark patch surmounting her pussy. It was my first touch of that forbidden garden as the girl had done everything my one time before. Her skin was soft and warm. As I gently rubbed, my finger sank into her depths, finding her hot and moist. As I rubbed deeper in her, Harriet moaned and pressed against my hand. This seemed a grand omen, as I proceeded more vigorously.
Between laving her breasts with lips and tongue and my hand pressing her loins, Harriet was deeply aroused. My hand was swamped in her wetness and she would shudder and moan. My poor manhood throbbed with need and I could deny it no longer. I rolled between her legs, my manhood in line with her sex. I pressed forward, blocked for a moment, then finding the way, I pierced her to the depths.
Harriet cried out as I breached her maidenhood, but it was not a bloodcurdling cry but a cry of surprise and momentary pain. Her eyes had popped open and she beheld me. I smiled down at her as my cock moved deeply in her. She felt the grand pleasure of a woman with a man filling her and her hips began to respond. Slowly a smile replaced the surprise and her eyes closed as I withdrew, then lanced back into her fully. She moaned as our coupling became intense.
I did last longer than my first experience, perhaps not that much, but as Harriet was aroused at the beginning, she seemed well pleased when I emptied myself in her, grinding her hips against me as I poured myself into her.
Exhausted, I fell to her side. We lay together, both basking in this experience, her hands gently touching me as we kissed a few times and whispered words with no meaning to each other.
Sweet Harriet was the first girl I had possession of using the power of the ring.
Copyright Rod O'Steele © 2007, 2009, 2011