Monday, December 29, 2008

A couple of days to spare .....

Hello dear readers. I'd hoped to get 50 entries uploaded before year's end. ... I made it!

Lots more to come, pun intended. Perhaps another 150.

Okay so far? Please let me know. The writer writes to be read.

A Happy New Year .................. Julius

Saturday, December 27, 2008

"Thrice" Part 2

by Julius
Copyright April 2008

They sat and ate their lunch. Paul’s eyes seldom left her breasts and Marsha deliberately displayed them for him. She sat with them resting on the table with their nipples very much in view. When she went to get them more coffee, she was rewarded with a view of his cock, fully erect and jutting up from his groin. He was ready again and Marsha marvelled at the resilience of youth.

As she poured his coffee she said, “I think it’s my turn to be pleasured; you’re getting behind on your payments.”

Her right breast was inches from his face. “I’d like to pleasure you some more,” he paused, then added, with a grin, “Ms. Sims.”

She made him kneel in front of her. She caught the hem of her skirt and slowly pulled it up. It was everything he’d hoped for and more.

Her stockings proved to be hold-ups, with black lacy tops, her panties were simple, white cotton. The latter were brief, but not the frilly black thing she’d imagined. She moved closer and dropped the skirt over his head.

He was under her skirt! His cock was hard to the point of hurting. It was almost instinct to slip his hands round behind her and up the soft backs of her thighs until he was holding her ass, his spread fingers pressing into her softness. Her hands went behind his head and pulled him against her, against those panties.

She was so wet. She smelled of honey on hot toast he thought, yes, honey on hot toast. He nuzzled her, his nose and mouth against the soaked cotton. She moaned as he squeezed her ass and she writhed like an animal. This was like nothing Paul had ever done before.

There was a delicious wickedness about the moment. His head was up a woman’s skirt, his face against her most intimate area. ‘This time yesterday I’d never even...,’ Paul lost track of his thoughts.

Marsha pressed back against him he felt her buttocks tense as she thrust. Then she was struggling to get away. Paul emerged from under her skirt looking confused, wondering if he’d done something wrong.

He watched as she pushed dishes and mugs to the other end of the table.

She turned back to face him. “Pull my panties down Paul.”

He edged closer on his knees and reached up under her skirt, fumbled for a moment and then drew them slowly off her hips, down her thighs. She stepped out of them and backed away a little and perched her ass on the edge of the table.

“Would you like me for dessert?” She didn’t wait for an answer but said, “Bring the chair closer so you can sit between my knees and I can rest my feet on the arms.”

With her skirt hiked up and her knees wide apart, Paul could see everything. It was like no sex-ed class he’d ever been to. And now she wanted him to go down on her. He’d seen it all in porn movies, knew what he was supposed to do. But this was a real pussy; it was slightly open and glistened wetly. She wasn’t shaved, although he guessed she kept herself trimmed.

Nervous excitement and uncertainty had robbed Paul of his erection and he sat staring, first at her face and then between her legs. Nylon clad legs, white thighs and that fur fringed opening into this amazing woman.

“Do you want to pleasure me Paul?”

His nod and a mumbled “Yes,” showed his nervousness.

“Heard bad things about pussies?”

"No!” he replied, too quickly.

“They bite and smell bad and give you diseases?”

He shook his head, gulped and said, “I think yours smells like honey on toast.”

She chuckled softly, “That’s awfully sweet Paul. Well I promise she doesn’t bite and she hasn’t got anything nasty to give you.”

Paul shifted uncomfortably on the chair, very aware of her nylon-clad knees on either side of him.

‘Would you like to touch?” When he nodded she added. “Touch and look. Explore me. Maybe you’ll let me look at you later. I should like to do that; you have a lovely cock.”

Reassured a little, he edged closer and reached out a hand, touching her pubic hair with his fingertips. Surprised at the soft springiness, he stroked her carefully and glanced up at her.

She looked down at him between her breasts and smiled. “That feels nice.”

Marsha reached down with both hands and gently peeled herself open. Paul gazed at the display of glistening shades of pink.

“Do you really want to pleasure me Paul?”

He swallowed and said, “Yes I do.“

“One thing Paul?”


“Please do it soon, I’m probably every bit as horny as you.”

She guessed that Paul’s knowledge might be limited to not much morethan sex-ed classes in school and porn on the web. Maybe too, some clumsy fooling around with a few girls. Getting himself off had been a simple business but, faced with what she was offering, must be a bit daunting.

Marsha knew all too well what was going on in his head. He wasn’t her first young seduction. Trouble was, she needed what he had so much of and, she needed it badly.

“Just bend forward and kiss me Paul. Do things you think I’d like and I’ll tell you …”

She didn’t finish the sentence. He’d kissed the top of her slit. She’d felt his face between her fingers. Her legs defensively tried to close but his shoulders were between them. Marsha lay back on the table and waited.

Paul didn’t really know what to do. He knew he was supposed to go down on her. This was cunnilingus he knew, that strange word for oral sex with a pussy. Was he supposed to lick or kiss or what? He had teeth and tongue and lips. He tried to remember the porn he’dwatched, it looked easy enough in the movies. He‘d listened to others tell all about their talents when eating hair pie. He raised his head and looked. All that pink wetness, the trimmed hair. She still held herself open and Paul could see the hole where his cock was supposed to go and above it what he was sure was her clit. The thing that was supposed to make women freak out.

He heard himself say, “I don’t know…,” His voice tailed off.

“Just kiss me Paul, everywhere and then go back and lick each spot you kissed. Listen to what I say and what noises I make while you do it. Bite me here and there, little nibbles. Save my clit for last. You know about clits do you?”

Paul said he did and watched as she moved a finger and said, “This little guy here.”

“I see,” he croaked. He’d been right.

“Save that for last Paul.”

God, he was wonderful, Marsha thought. Clumsy and hopelessly inexperienced. But he tried and he was patient and learned fast. She encouraged him, guided him. Her cries and moans of delight were genuine and Paul responded just the way she’d hoped he would.

It took a while and there was no quick orgasm for her. But he learned, and his tongue and lips were soon doing exactly what she wanted. Her pussy got its kissing and licking. His hands replaced hers.

Her arousal mounted slowly. She became more vocal. Her hips and ass were never still on the table. Paul just lost himself in his efforts. His face was wet, wet from her juices, wet from his saliva. Somehow, his own urgent needs seemed to move aside and the excitement of pleasing her gained in importance.

He knew she needed him. He realized he could supply that need. It felt good, a sort of power thing maybe, but more than that.

Her wetness spread. She seemed to open like a flower. He could, and did bury his face between her thighs. They were wet and slippery thighs, wet so that his ears slipped easily against them. Her trimmed pubic hair was wet. His face was wet. This was like nothing he’d imagined.

He lifted his face for a moment and looked at Marsha’s pussy. Every shade of pink surely? It glistened. She moaned and squirmed on the table, her legs opened, wider, he could see into her.

Paul slid his hand down the backs of her thighs, to the beginning curves of her buttocks. He took a deep breath and pressed his face back into all that pinkness, thrusting his tongue into her.

She gripped his head with her thighs and humped her pussy urgently against his mouth. His hands gripped her ass and he fought her bucking hips as she began her orgasm.

She screamed that she was coming and come she did as he tongue-fucked her with an eager hunger of his own.

Marsha lay exhausted. She remembered nothing, yet she remembered everything. How long since she’d come like that? She’d seemed to flow out through her own cunt, a river bursting its banks. This boy -turned-man had done it. His clumsiness, his sweet ignorance and his wonderful persistence.

With a moan she lifted her head and looked down. He was looking back at her, a worried expression on his face.

“Are you alright? He asked.

I never felt better, never, never,” she said with total sincerity.

“You came didn’t you?”

“Oh yes, I came, I mind-blowingly came.”

“I did that to you? Made you come?”

“Yes Paul, you made me come.”

He sat up. “Again?”

“Again Paul? No not yet.”

He lifted her right leg up onto his shoulder. She tried to resist but she felt as weak as a kitten. He did the same with her other leg and wrapped his arms round them.

“You said three of yours for one of mine.”

With that his head slid down between her wet thighs and he was at her pussy again.

“Paul no! Not yet. I have to pee. Noooooo!”

His tongue slid over her clit and Marsha’s protests stopped.

In seconds, it seemed, she was coming again, coming against that wonderful pussy eating mouth.

And he didn’t stop, those lips, that tongue kept kissing and tormenting. He lapped and sucked until she turned inside out. Until she knew she’d die of coming. Marsha became all cunt.

Somehow she squirmed away from him, across the table. She fought and struggled and brought a leg over his head and curled up, wrapping herself around her spasming, clutching pussy. If anything touched her clit again she’d die. Tears flooded her eyes. She felt herself slide into blackness.

She awoke. God she had to pee! Paul’s very worried-looking face was inches from hers. He was sat with his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his hands.

“You OK?”

“Yes I think so. I thought I’d die.”

“I’m sorry.”

"Sorry! Don’t you be sorry. That was wonderful. I’ve never come like that Paul.”

“You were amazing,” he said, awe in his voice, “You just came and came. I didn’t know it happened like that.”

She laughed. “It doesn’t Paul, not very often.” She reached out and touched his lips. His face was still wet. “Thank you, sweet, wonderful Paul.”

She struggled up onto an elbow. “Now, I’ve got to pee before I burst. Help me up.”

She rested her hand on the table, bent over as the need nearly overwhelmed her. She clamped a hand between her legs and said “Ooooh!” through clenched teeth.

“Can I watch?” asked Paul.

“If you want to.” How sweet, she thought. Back to being a boy, with a boy’s curiosity. She looked up at him and smiled. “If you’ll let me hold you when you go.”

“I’d like that.”

She made it, accident free, to the bathroom. Unbidden he knelt in front of her.

“Give me your hand.” She guided it between her open legs. “Cup my pussy, hold me tight.” The delay was costing her dear; she needed to let go so very badly.“Ready?”

He nodded. She tried to relax herself. Nothing happened, of course. At that moment she couldn’t let go. How crazy is the human body?

This was so weird, she thought. Sitting here trying to pee, hunched over the pain, needing to go so badly and this young man’s hand on her pussy.

Finally she started.

“Oh my God!” His surprised words made her open her eyes. He looked back a broad grin on his face. “It tickles. This is so very sexy."

She felt his fingers playing in her stream, teasing, exploring.

"I can feel where it’s coming out. It’s so hot too.” His hand tightened as if to stop her flow. Now she felt its heat too as her whole pussy was flooded. Suddenly the whole thing became very sexy to her as well, to her great surprise. She looked down, he’d not been erect in the kitchen but now he was now, fully erect.

“This is turning you on isn’t it?” She asked him.

“Yes it is. Do you mind?” he looked embarrassed. “I should never have asked, you’ll think I’m weird.”

“No Paul, you’re not weird. There’s nothing weird about enjoying your body or someone else’s.” Her stream slowed to a trickle. “Stand up and let me enjoy you for a moment.”

His hand left her pussy and he got to his feet. He looked at his wet hand uncertainly and half turned and rinsed it under the washbasin tap. Marsha picked up the hand cream dispenser, squirted some into her palm and reached for his cock.

“Your poor cock’s been quite neglected hasn't it?”

It looked huge in her small hand. It was so hard, so wonderfully hard. She began to pump him slowly. Marsha watched the muscles in his thighs move as he his body tensed and he had to focus on keeping his balance.

“Oh yes, that feels so good. Marsha that feels perfect.”

She smiled at his first use of her name. Now, with two climaxes behind him, his youthful hair trigger was gone and she could enjoy him.

How she loved his cock, its length, its strength. She wanted to pump it like this and then she’d get it in her mouth. Keep him wanting, keep him near the edge. Just love his cock until he begged to get it inside her. She wanted it inside her now. Oh, how she wanted it up inside her, up, deep, deep inside her.

She pumped, alternating slowly with quickly, tight with loose. How he loved it, how she loved his reaction. If she stopped he tried to fuck her hand. And all the time, that play of his muscles in his strong legs as he kept his balance.

Finally she stopped. Paul protested, “No, please don’t stop, don’t stop now.”

Gently she pushed him away. She grabbed a handful of tissue and dried herself and stood up and flushed the toilet.

“Don’t worry, we haven’t finished yet. Anyway, isn’t it nice to go to the edge like that and then stop? There are all sorts of games to play with cocks and pussies.” She’d love to tease him and his cock forever but it really was time they fucked she decided.

She looked down at his cock, still delightfully erect. “Will you wash off that cream, or shall I do it? I imagine it tastes terrible.”

“Tastes?” he asked, looking puzzled, then grinned, “Oh, right, yes I see?”

She ran the cold tap into the washbasin and picked up the facecloth. “Come on, let me wash your lovely cock.”

He stepped up to the vanity and Marsha took hold of him and began to wash him.

He sucked air through his teeth. “It’s cold,” he protested.

She put a squirt of hand-soap onto the cloth and bathed him carefully. Cold water or not his cock stayed firm.

“No steady girlfriend yet?” she asked him. She was enjoying herself.

"No, I never seem able to keep them. I guess I’m too shy and boring.”

“You weren’t shy and boring with me today, Paul. With that tongue of yours and that lovely cock I’d never let you go.” She turned off the tap and gently dried him with a towel.

“Well then,” Marsha said in a tone that seemed to say that the time had come.

Paul looked expectantly at her. She undid the zipper down the side of her skirt, undid the snap on the waistband and let the skirt fall. She turned and walked out of the bathroom, clearly expecting him to follow.

He did follow, his eyes intent on her buttocks. All she wore now were the stockings. He supposed it was a beautiful ass. The asses on girls he tended to watch were tight, little things. Marsha’s was wide and round. If Paul had had the word Rubenesque he’d doubtless have used it.

“Like this old lady’s fat ass Paul?”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep saying you’re old.”

“Very diplomatic,” she said. Reaching the centre of the living room she stopped and turned. “Maybe I’ll teach you to appreciate my ass some time.”

Paul’s eyes moved up to her heavy breasts and big nipples.

She gestured at the sofa, “Sit down and let me pleasure you for a while.”

Paul sat and she knelt in front of him. “Would Paul like his cock sucked?”

Paul gulped and nodded.

“Well, ask nicely.” She moved forward and nudged his knees apart and waited.

They both looked at his half erect cock. “Well.” she said.


“Ask me nicely if you want me to do it.”

He swallowed loudly and his face flushed red. “Please suck my cock.”


“Please suck my cock Marsha.” His cock was fully erect again, Marsha smiled and looked down at his soaring erection.

“I think perhaps I will.”

She bent her head and kissed the very tip of his cock then parted her lips and took him in.

This wasn’t Paul’s first blow job. It was his third. The earlier two had been strange affairs, both by the same girl. Both had been marked by nervousness, fear of discovery and hopeless inexperience. It had been in the dark and cold and uncomfortable. The first time he’d not come. The second time he had and the girl had thrown up over his shoes.

This time? Warm and very comfortable and he could see the action. Best of all Marsha seemed to know very well what she was doing. Paul relaxed and let it all happen.

She looked up at him, her eyes very round and very big. She spoke with her lips moving against the head of his cock, “Has anybody done this for you before?”

He nodded, “It was a disaster.” Paul almost laughed at the memory.

“This won’t be, I promise. You’ve a lovely cock and you’re going to love what I do to it.”

Her left hand held the root of his cock and her right lay on his thigh. He was very aware of her big, soft breasts moving gently between his thighs.

Her mouth began to work on him. Its heat enveloped him. Her lips were a clinging ’O’ that slid up and down him while her tongue swirled and caressed him inside her mouth. Her eyes never seemed to stop staring up at him, watching, seeming to be checking if he was enjoying her efforts.

His comments were made up of “yeses” and “Oh Gods” and incoherent sounds; all very positive.

Marsha said nothing of course, her mouth being very cock-full. But she slurped and sucked and swallowed, just like they did on the porno movies he watched. But this was his cock and his very own cocksucker. Paul was in a very special heaven.

She took it slow and easy. After two comings Paul was easier to control. Earlier he’d have gushed like a fountain within seconds of her mouth engulfing him. Now he was as horny as ever but able to savour Marsha’s efforts.

It was wonderful. She sucked, hollow-cheeked, up the length of him until he almost slipped out. After a teasing pause she slid down him again, down and down until her lips reached her curled fingers. No deep- throating, no gagging, just a slow and steady, suck and slide. Almost imperceptibly his arousal grew, his balls seemed to buzz with energy and he knew he could come again. He lay back in the cushions and watched this gorgeous woman seem to devour him. His cock glistened with her saliva, the tracery of veins, blue and purple stood out on his shaft.

Would she let him come in her mouth? Would she swallow his come? Somehow he knew she’d do anything and everything to and with his cock if it took her fancy.

He wanted to grab her hair and fuck her face. He wanted to jam her head down on him, force himself down her throat. He didn’t, he couldn’t. He didn’t know why but somehow it would demean him and disgust her. So he just let her suck at him and work her magic on his swollen, desperate cock.

Then, with an awful suddenness, his climax took hold in the very pit of his groin and he knew he must come.

Marsha knew it too, it seemed. Her mouth was gone and her fist squeezed his cock at its base with a painful fierceness. His muscles clenched and squeezed, his come seem about to boil out of him. But it didn’t, somehow she’d choked him off. When she finally eased her grip, one drool of his come poured gently out of his cock-tip. Marsha lapped it up with a dainty pink tongue. She looked him in the eye and swallowed.

Sweat broke out on Paul’s forehead and he stared at her hand and the cock it encircled.

“Nearly,” she said. “You taste good by the way.”

She played gently with his cock and asked, “Want to try that again?”

They did try it again. Twice more and each time she managed the same trick; drawing him and his cock to the brink and somehow stopping him from happening. Twice more the trickle. Twice more her tongue sampled him.

Paul felt helpless in this woman’s mouth and hands. She was playing with him. He was loving it but the torment was beyond belief.

She sat up and moved to his right and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the sofa. Her ass was up and out, two beautiful hemispheres.

“Now fuck me Paul, just come around behind me and fuck me the way you’ve wanted to all afternoon. Fuck me doggy style.”

Stunned as much by the crudity of her words as by the sudden arrival of what he most wanted, he struggled to get up. He practically fell when he stood, his legs were wobbly and he felt unsteady. She’d drained him of energy it seemed.

The idea of fucking her to death now seemed a more difficult proposition.

“Hurry Paul,” she said her voice urgent, “I need that lovely cock.”

Paul got to his knees behind her. He was again unsure of himself now the moment had arrived.

She was so exposed. Her out-thrust ass so naked. Her anus peeped at him from between the soft-looking swells of her buttocks. Her pussy was there too, He always thought of the vagina as being at the front but now it seemed to be at the back, where her pubic curls all but hid her.


He edged forward on his knees and bent his erection down, trying to aim it.

Her hand appeared between her thighs and grabbed his cock and guided it and him forward. He felt himself being positioned. She thrust herself back at him.

Paul’s virginity was gone; gone in a hot, almost sucking moment. By instinct he thrust too and his cock speared up deep inside Marsha.

“Oh God! Yes! Sweet Jesus, yes,” her words rushed out of her in one breath.

They both seemed to freeze in that instant, with Paul buried deep, deep inside her.

“I’ve wanted your cock ever since I saw you in the store today,“ Marsha told him. "All that time" she added, almost to herself.

“It feels so good, so hot, so, so…,” he hadn't got the words.

“Doesn’t it?” said Marsha.

“Oh God!” he exclaimed as she clenched the walls of her vagina, it seemed to suck at him, hungrily.

“Now, Paul, now fuck me, hard as you like, hard as you can.”

Fuck her he did. Hard as he could, hard as he wanted. Perhaps nearly as hard as she wanted. When his climax neared he paused and waited; Paul had learned muc that afternoon.

She came before he did, violently and loud. Paul crouched over her while she came, his hands squeezing her lovely breasts, thumbs and forefingers pinching and pulling at her nipples. Her orgasm seemed to roll on and on, her pussy kept trying to pull his cock into her.

Paul managed to hold off. It wasn't easy but he knew somehow it was the right thing to do.

After she'd come she cried into the sofa’s cushion. He asked if she was all right and she said she’d never feltbetter and ordered, “Now do me some more.”

Paul sat up again and grabbed at her waist, his fingers digging into her softness, finding her hipbones. He began to fuck her again, staring down, watching his cock going in and out of her, below the brown pucker of her anus. Seeing the white-blonde, downy hairs in the valley of her spine. Wanting to fuck her forever.

His chest heaved; he heard his breathing, felt the hammer of his heart and slammed mercilessly against the softness of her ass. Slamming, slamming, fucking, fucking, determined to make her beg him to stop.

But Marsha didn’t beg for mercy she just urged him on. Asked for more, more cock, harder cock.
At last his body surrendered, his balls tightened, an awful contraction happened deep inside him and he was coming. Coming and coming, a desperate attempt to empty his entire self into her cunt.

Spent at last he lay over her. His trembling hands found and cupped her pendulous breasts. He heard her crying again and knew it was all right. He could have cried himself he felt so happy.

“I’m still alive,” she murmured.


“You didn’t fuck me to death did you?” There was laughter in her voice.

“I guess not.” Paul’s lungs and heart were back near to normal but he knew he was changed.

They stood by her front door. Paul was dressed but Marsha was still in only her stockings. She was aware of a slow trickle down the inside of her left thigh. She went up on tiptoe and kissed him.


“Tomorrow,” disbelief was in his voice. She wanted more? Maybe after he’d slept. He needed sleep now.“I’d like that.” He knew he’d like it but right now he needed to rest a while.

“We could do other things,” she said.

He wondered what other things there were; they’d farexceeded the span of his knowledge that afternoon.

“Mind you, the three for one rule would no longer apply.”

“It wouldn’t?” A glow of pride bloomed in his chest. He'd been too much for her after all.

“No, you’ve passed your beginner’s course now.” She lifted her right breast with her hand and gave the nipple a slow sucking kiss. Paul’s cock stirred at the sight.

She released the nipple with a kissing sound. “I’ve always thought five to one about right really.”

Thursday, December 25, 2008

"Thrice" Part 1

by Julius
Copyright April 2008

Marsha chose a new victim every year, although she hardly thought of them as victims. She was also sure that they never saw themselves as such. It was her way of celebrating the start of the summer vacation. She reasoned she earned it, and the young man was never the loser.

Paul was eighteen and, strictly speaking, no longer her student, so she was breaking no law. He was tall and shy and well mannered and there was something about him that made the blood hurry in Marsha’s veins.

He had a summer job at the supermarket, mostly just stacking shelves. He was making pocket money and waiting for university to swallow him up. She’d sought him out in the store and chatted with him while he worked, finding out when he finished.

When he emerged they appeared to meet by accident. Her cart was loaded and he, quite naturally, offered to help. Minutes later he found himself sat in her car, headed for her apartment; he promising to help her with her groceries and she offering to pay him with a beer and a snack.

He perched on the bar stool, his elbow on the breakfast counter with the promised beer in his hand.

Paul couldn’t believe the change in his teacher. She was barely recognizable. If she’d not spoken to him in the store he’d never have known it was her. Now, here, in her apartment, he watched this sexy woman move around, making them a snack.

Day after day, forever it seemed, he’d watched her and listened to her in the classroom. Just another teacher, vaguely female but by far the easiest to stay awake with during class. He loved history and she made it come alive. But her hair had always been pinned up. She’d worn loose sweaters and calf length skirts. Anything, he realized, to hide the woman he was seeing now.

She’d just been Ms. Sims. He’d not even known her first name was Marsha.

“A penny for them?”

“Huh?” He snapped back to the here and now.

“A penny for your thoughts.”

“Sorry, I was thinking about how different you look.”

“Oh, not the plain, dull, boring old schoolmarm?”

“You weren’t boring or old or,” he forgot which adjectives she’d used.

“I tried not to be boring, but plain I did try for, and I am old.”

He looked at the new Ms. Sims, “You’re not old,” he said, with genuine sincerity.

"You’re eighteen Paul, multiply that by three.”

Paul’s mental arithmetic wasn’t too bad, “Fifty-four?”

She stepped closer to him, her cleavage little more than a foot from his face, her skirt brushing his knees. “Fifty four Paul, just about old enough to be your grandmother.”

Paul put down his empty beer bottle. No beer drinker, he now had a bit of a buzz. He could smell her perfume. His cock burrowed urgently in his boxers and jeans. He badly needed to adjust himself. There seemed to be no answer for her last remark.

“Grandma Sims? Yes students have called me that. But sometimes, away from school, I disguise myself and become Marsha.” She paused, “What else were you thinking Paul?”

Paul’s blush darkened and he glanced down at her chest and guiltily back into her eyes, “Nothing.”

“Nothing, Paul? Weren’t you thinking about my tits?”

He had been of course. In the blouse they looked huge, bigger than they’d ever looked in the loose clothes she always wore in class. But he couldn’t bring himself to say so.

“Of course you were Paul.” She moved closer pressing her thighs against his knees. “I was thinking things too. Do you want to know what I was thinking?”

Paul’s trapped cock was hurting him. Trapped and swollen it needed to straighten. God she was turning him on!

“I was thinking about your cock, Paul. Wanting to see it. Wanting to touch it, to do all sorts of things to it.”

Paul swallowed audibly. He looked down, away from her eyes but all he could see was the deep cleavage between those breasts. He didn’t know what to do or to say.

“Take it out for me Paul, take your cock out and let me see it.”

Had she said what he thought she’d said? He'd certainly like to take it out, it hurt where it was but … open his fly, take his erect cock out in front of Ms. Sims? Just like that? He couldn’t, just couldn’t.

“I could help,” Marsha said and reached for him. He flinched and tried to draw back.

“Paul, I want to, I want to look. Is it hard? Is it hard because of me?”

“Please, Ms. Sims …”

“Paul? Please do or please don’t?” She moved her hand, running her fingers over the tight denim of his groin. His intake of breath was a loud hiss through his teeth.

“Don’t or I’ll … I’ll …”

“You’ll what Paul? Are you so aroused that you might come in your pants?”

He nodded, eyes pleading.

“That’s very flattering Paul. Very flattering, do youknow that? A young man near orgasm just looking at my old tits.”

“There’s nothing old about you!” He said the words almost angrily.

“Everything is fifty-four years old on Grandma Marsha,” her tone was light even if the words held a note of sadness.

“So,” she said very quietly, “you’d better take him out yourself if he’s so fragile.”

Of course, part of Paul wanted to do this. His fingers moved towards his zipper but then he froze.

Marsha said, “Look.”

Paul looked. She raised her hands to her blouse and undid the top button. She looked meaningly down at his zipper. Paul swallowed. She undid another button. Paul drank in the view as lacy, white bra and the swells of her breasts appeared.

His fingernail found the tag of the zipper and, with finger and thumb. He slid it down.

Marsha reached and hooked a forefinger in the waistband of his boxers and pulled outwards and down. His swollen cock reared up from inside his shorts.

“Oh it’s beautiful,” she said.

Nobody had used the word beautiful about his cock before, but she sounded sincere.

“Jerk off for me Paul.”

“What!” He couldn’t believe she’d said it.

“We need to relieve some of that pressure young man. I want you focused while you pleasure me.”

“But I can’t just, just, just do it, while you watch me.” How could she say such things?

She tugged at the waistband of the boxers. “You’ll have to drop those pants Paul.” She pulled again and he slid off the stool and stood. He was trembling, a mix perhaps of nervousness and excitement. She undid the snap of his jeans and they were down, round his ankles, before he could catch them.

“There,” said Marsha in triumph and reached to pull down his underwear.

“No, let me do it,” Paul had felt like a little boy for a moment, maybe it was the age difference. But if his shorts were coming down, he’d do it. She watched as he did it. “I’ve never seen a man makehimself come,” she announced.

“I’ve never done it while anyone watched.” He wondered why she would want to watch. He’d rather she did it for him. There was something else he’d never experienced. Through all this, his rigid cock hadn’t softened in the least.

“Get back up on the stool Paul, I want to watch close up.”

He went on tip-toe and slid his bare ass back onto the wooden seat.

“My God, Paul, you’re all cock, all lovely, lovely cock. What a lucky girl am I.”

Marsha turned to the counter and slid the butter dish towards Paul. “Here, you’ll need some lubrication.”

Suddenly he wanted this, wanted to come for her, wanted what he was sure would follow. He dipped his fingers into the near-liquid butter and wrapped his hand round his cock.

“Yes Paul, do it, make yourself come for Marsha.” She pressed up against his knees and stared down at his hand and his cock. Paul looked down too, at her cleavage, and wished she’d ask him to slip his cock in between her fifty-four year old tits. That thought did it. He began to pump slowly at his cock, gripping it tight, thinking of her tits, imagining fucking them.

In no time at all it seemed, he felt the familiar, hot tension behind his balls. He leaned back until the seat creaked and his legs straightened and stiffened. “Oh God!” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“Yes Paul, come for me, come Paul.”

Come he did, his first spurt hit her under the chin and she squealed in little-girlish delight. Each spurt was a little softer than the previous … on her throat, on her throat a little lower down and then, into her cleavage, until he was spent. With each gush she whispered, “Yes Paul, again.”

When he was done, Paul slumped awkwardly on the stool breathing hard, eyes closed, a small smile on his lips.

Marsha looked down at his hand. It still held his dwindling cock. His cock-head glistened with the butter. The last of his come oozed from the tip of his cock, trickled down over his knuckles and fell to the floor.

His come had trickled down from her chin and throat to join the little lake in her cleavage. She dipped a finger in it, hesitated a long moment and then lifted it to her lips. It was almost tasteless. The ‘almost’ was the magic. She searched for a word to qualify the ‘almost-taste,’ then gave up and dipped in all her fingers. She began smearing his juice over her breasts, marvelling at the silky texture of the wetness between her fingertips and breast-skin. Already very aroused this was turning her on further. She realized her thighs were aching; she had had them clamped tightly together all through Paul‘s efforts.

She looked up from her breasts to find him watching her. His eyes fixed on her caressing fingers. She saw the blush sweep over him as he caught her glance.

“I’m so sorry about that,” he gestured at her wet bosom.

“Don’t be sorry. I loved watching it happen. It’s very erotic you know.”

“You mean?”

“Yes,” she answered his unfinished question, “it’s a big turn on, watching you come like that, feeling the heat of you splash onto me.”

She looked down at his cock; it was half-hard again. “Are you a tit man then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do tits turn you on?”

“Yours do Ms. Sims.” The words didn’t come out easily.

Just Marsha OK? And I promise not to call you Mr. Roberts.” Then she added, “Is it only my tits that turn you on Paul.”

He gestured towards her with a hand, “You’re all beautiful I think.”

“Thank you Paul. Now, about these tits that seem to turn you on. Would you like to look at one?”

He could only nod.

She slowly unfastened the remainder of the blouse’s buttons and opened it. The white bra was perhaps on the small side. But the effect was delightful and she knew it. Her breasts threatened to spill out over the tops of the cups and her cleavage was deep.

Marsha slipped the blouse off her shoulders and let it slide to the floor. She eased the left shoulder strap down her arm and looked at Paul. He was wide eyed and his mouth was open a little. His cock, even as she looked at it, lifted off his thigh.

She hefted her breast with one hand and peeled the bra cup down with the other.

At fifty-four, breasts don’t just stick out any more and Marsha’s certainly didn’t. But they were big and still firm. Even with gravity taking its toll, she was proud of what she showed to Paul.

He shifted on the stool and his cock waved. She moved closer to him and lifted the breast.

“Kiss it,” she told him, offering the nipple.

The nipple was big and dark. The areola was dark too. Marsha didn’t like her nipples. She wished they were pink and smaller and sometimes, she wished they were less sensitive.

Paul bent his head and kissed the nipple. The bolt of energy that whipped down to her pussy made her gasp.

“Suck it Paul. I can come if you do. Make me come Paul.”

His eyes looked up into hers and he released her nipple. “Really?" There was disbelief in his voice.

“Hush and just suck.”

He sucked.


He bit.


He bit harder.

“You hold it now,” she said, guiding his hands.

He took hold of the big breast and Marsha put her hands behind his head and told him how to hold and squeeze and how to bite and suck and pull and not to be afraid of hurting her.

He didn’t hurt her. Well, yes he did, but she loved it, loved his clumsy hunger.

It took less time that she’d expected to take her to the edge. The tightening in her thighs, the delicious contractions happening up inside her. Her breathing speeded up and she heard herself begging, “More, more. Harder, harder.”

Her orgasms were always so intense. And this hungry puppy, suckling at her nipple, produced an explosion inside her that had her sobbing with the joy of it.

Her knees began to buckle and she pulled herself against him, pressing his face into her breast.

“My God Paul, that was incredible.” She moved sideways a little and eased forward, taking his knee between her thighs. She needed pressure against her pussy and longed to hump his thigh, to just grind against him. She couldn’t remember arousal like this in a very long time.

Paul had never made a woman come before and he felt a glow of pride. How easy it had been, just sucking on her nipple. How it had grown in his mouth and the urge to bite only matched by his fear of hurting her. He had hurt her a little, he knew, but she’d begged him not to stop.

Now his cock was like an iron bar again. How he longed to slide it into her. Was she going to let him? He knew somehow that she was and the prospect had his heart pitter-pattering in crazy anticipation.

“Would you do it to the other one?” she asked him.

He’d love to. He nodded and grinned. He could feel theeat of her where she was pressed down on his thigh. She raised herself and he looked down. There was a dark, wet patch on his jeans where her pussy had been pressing. He glanced up at her.

“Yes Paul, I’m wet, I came, you made me come. That’s from inside me Paul.”

He needed to grab his cock and stroke it. He was as horny as before and needed … needed? God he needed to bring himself off again.

She leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Paul, my panties are soaked.”

He almost came; her hot breath, her words, the image of her wearing those soaked panties she was telling him about. He looked down, precum was drooling from the little slit in his cock-head.

She peeled the other bra strap off her shoulder and slowly bared the other breast. The bra slipped to her waist, she was suddenly, deliciously, topless. She shook her shoulders and her breasts jostled and swung, big and heavy and beautiful. Paul couldn’t take his eyes off them. She was like one of those porn stars but she was there, close and so very real.

Marsha reached out and took his hand and pulled gently. He slid off the stool again and she led him into the living room, his cock waving proudly in front of him.

“Lie on the floor on your back, Paul.”

Paul was so aroused, so desperate for more of Marsha that he sprawled on the floor without a thought.

She moved to stand astride him. He tried to peer up her skirt but it was too long to see beyond her knees.She wore stockings or pantyhose. It became very important to know which. Everything under that skirt was suddenly very, very important to Paul.

Marsha sank to her knees, settling her ass on his stomach. The back of her skirt settled over his groin, adding to his torment as the fabric slid across his cock. And that soaked panty-crotch was pressed against him, just above his belly button. He imaginedhe could feel its wetness.

“Now Paul, you know that women can come over and over, almost forever?”

He nodded. He’d read about it somewhere but had never given the matter much thought.

She reached behind her took hold of his cock through her skirt and gave him a squeeze. A hard, painful squeeze. He gasped; he’d likely have come if she’d not gripped him so hard.

“Young men like you seem to recover very quickly but even you’re limited. Do you think you can satisfy me Paul?”

Paul thought he could fuck her until she pleaded for mercy.

She released his cock. “Think you can fuck me to death Paul? That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it?”

She cupped her breasts and squeezed, her fingers pressing deep into her softness. He stared at the big nipples. She squirmed her ass on his stomach. “You’re going to make me come Paul, make me come three times to each of yours. You already owe me two.” She looked down at him between her breasts and cocked an eyebrow. “Think you can do it Paul?”

He nodded, quite sure he could.

“Close your eyes,” she said and watched, waiting for him to comply.

He closed his eyes. He felt her hands next to his shoulders, felt warmth on his face, that was her breasts, he knew. The fabric of her skirt was chaffing gently on his cock and he groaned.

“What’s wrong?”

“Your skirt on my cock, I nearly came.”

“Don’t come Paul. If you come now you’ll owe me five.”

He felt her moving and then the skirt was gone. Something touched his lips. He opened his eyes.

Make me come again Paul.” Her voice was unsteady. He wondered if she could be as aroused as him. He didn’t think it possible.

She dragged her right nipple back and forth across his lips. He opened his mouth and drew it in. How big it was, how firm. His body responded, his cock felt suddenly harder, if that were possible. He looked up at her. Her mouth was open, her eyes closed. She raised herself and the nipple popped out of his mouth.

“Don’t let go Paul.”

He captured it again, and again she lifted away and again it escaped.

“Hold on Paul, suck harder.”

I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry about hurting me Paul, they're made for this.” The nipple, wet and hard, slid across his lips again.

Paul’s world became all breast. His mouth was full of nipple. Soft breast-flesh kept pressing over his nose, making him snuffle like a puppy. His arms were trapped by her legs so he had to struggle his head from side to side to breathe. Each time her nipple escaped her pendulous breast swung free, so big so unutterably beautiful.

Each time Marsha would gasp and move her shoulders trying to give him back the nipple. And Paul would hungrily seek it. As soon as he had it she would murmur, “Yes Paul, suck at Marsha, make me come again.”

It took longer the second time but his erection never subsided. All the while Marsha murmured encouragement, urging him on in language he'd not have believed her capable of using. His jaws ached but it didn’t matter as long as he could keep the swollen nipple in his mouth, the softness of her breast against his face.

She ground her crotch against his belly as if she were fucking him, fucking him through her wet panties.

When at last she came, she collapsed on him and writhed and struggled like an animal. She didn't scream or shout but her body told of her feral joy, as did the obscenities she spoke in his ear.

His own arousal seemed to fade in the face of hers. Paul felt real fear as her orgasm ran its course; fear of its intensity, fear that she might even die. He’d never imagined that women could react like this; a part of his mind had imagined that the female climax was really a myth. Paul was learning a lot from his teacher.

When at last she returned from wherever she’d been, Marsha struggled up onto hands and knees and crouched above him. She glistened with sweat and her breathing was still deep.

“Sorry Paul, I rather lost it there didn’t I?”

He nodded, “It was a bit scary. I thought you were ill.”

“No, not ill. It’s the most wonderful feeling in the world.”

Marsha sat up, her ass felt warm and wonderful on his stomach and hips. She ran her hands over her breasts.

“Paul, that was beautiful, just beautiful.” She reached behind her and found his cock, his erection was gone. She giggled. “I think I frightened him.”

She got awkwardly to her feet. “Don’t go away, I’ll be right back.”

Paul didn’t go away. He lay enjoying the glow of this unbelievable experience. He watched the swing of her hips, her naked back and shoulders as she crossed the room. He touched his cock, it was in that soft, semi-erect state and he imagined it waiting for whatever was next.

She was soon back, a small plastic bottle in her hand. She knelt and got onto her back beside him.

“I think you can owe me my third climax for a while, my pussy and I need a rest.”

She half rolled towards him and uncapped the bottle. He saw the word ‘lubricant’ and realized what it was. She squeezed some into her palm and reached for him.

He groaned as her hand moved over his cock. It felt wonderful. So different, so much better than his own hand.

She rolled onto her back again. “Oh God, don’t stop!” he protested as her hand left him.

“Hush,” she said, “fuck my tits Paul, come here and fuck these soft tits.”

Paul needed no second bidding. He scrambled onto his hands and knees and knelt astride her, his semi-tumescent cock pointing between her breasts. She took it in her hand again and gently pumped him tofull erection.

He knew what she intended, how could he not? He leaned down and lay his erection between her breasts. With her hands Marsh brought her breasts together, engulfing him and Paul began to fuck them.

“Take it easy Paul, let’s make this last. Slow down when you get close.”

If he heard, Paul gave no sign. He was in heaven. He hung his head and watched himself. Her big breasts easily accommodated him and the head of his cock only appeared at the end of each thrust; peeping out, its slit gaping open like an eye.

The sensation was incredible. Marsha didn’t just lie there and let it happen. He watched as she varied the pressure on his cock by squeezing her breasts together or relaxing her hands. When she squeezed he had to thrust hard to force his cock in, when she relaxed her tits did little more than caress him.

Soon enough he felt the familiar sensation of an approaching orgasm. She seemed to sense it too because she relaxed her hands and let her breasts separate, leaving him nothing to fuck.

“Sit back Paul, relax. Let the moment pass. We can tease that lovely cock for a while.”
He sat back on his haunches and tried to relax. She stared at his cock and he looked down at it too. It glistened with the lubricant, precum oozed from the little slit.

Marsha’s hands moved to her breasts and she began slowly caressing them. How big they were he thought. Her nipples jutted and he knew she was aroused too. Her fingers and thumbs began working on those nipples and he felt her moving under him, writhing slowly. He’d never realized women played with themselves like this.

With himself back under a little control he leaned forward to rest on his hands, offering cock. She engulfed him again.

“Come on tit-fucker. Does it feel as good to you as it does to me?”

“Oh God yes. Yes! Yes! Yes!”

She squeezed her breasts cruelly making herself even tighter this time. He had to thrust harder too to move his cock in the tunnel of her tits.

“Oh - baby - it - feels - so - good - fuck - my - pretty - titties.” She said each word to a thrust of Paul’s cock.

Twice more they managed to anticipate his orgasm and twice more he sat back and paused.

Breathing hard Paul looked down and watched his cock lift with each beat of his heart. Marsha reached out afinger and touched the end of his cock and collected a drop of precum. She withdrew her hand slowly and a gossamer thread stretched finer and finer betwixt her fingertip and the tip of his cock. She poked out her tongue and licked.

She stared at him and waggled her tongue, “Paul flavoured,” she whispered.

Marsha reached for the lubricant and dribbled some onto her chest, between her breasts. Scooping them with her hands, she made a cleavage for him again.

Paul let himself fall forward onto his hands and plunged his erection between her breasts.

There was no stopping this time. He simply slammed himself into the tunnel, fucking her frantically. Humping hard and fast, bringing his climax nearer and nearer.

Marsha’s fingers and thumbs pinched at her nipples, squeezing, pulling. Her eyes held his as he thrust and thrust and thrust.

Paul went rigid, groaned, thrust again, and once more.

“Oh fuck! Oh God!” And he came.

For the second time Marsha’s chin and throat received Paul’s outpourings. He thrust and thrust, crushing her breasts, fucking her tits.

Finally spent, he rolled off her and lay on his back, his chest heaving, his heart hammering.

For the second time, Marsha happily massaged his come into her breasts. She revelled in the slippery wetness, as her palms and fingers roamed over her breasts.

Paul began snoring very quietly. Marsha got slowly to her feet and looked down at him. He had lost his erection. His cock was soft and lolled harmlessly to one side. ‘So small, just a little pee spout,’ she thought.

She thought of kneeling and waking him with her mouth on the lovely morsel. But she needed a coffee break and perhaps a snack too. She went through to thekitchen.

She started a new brew of coffee and started work on the sandwiches again. Bodies need fuel, horny bodies or otherwise. And she was horny, she’d been that way since she’d woken and the chance meeting with Paul had set all this in motion. Her arousal had been spiralling upwards ever since.

The swing and jostle of her naked breasts and the wetness between her legs were enough to sustain the longing. And she kept smelling his come, the scent of it rolling up with the warmth of her breasts. She crossed her legs and shut her eyes and yearned for that cock to be inside her.

He startled her when he slid his hands round her and cupped her breasts. Not a move she’d have expected somehow, from one so young. He kept his hands in place while she worked. She deliberately moved her ass against him and soon enough she felt his hardness against her. ‘Did young cocks never rest?’ she wondered.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

"You Rang, Madam?" Chapter 8

by Julius

copyright January, 2008

Phoebe stood for a long time with the towel wrapped around her. Her legs were quite dry by the time she came out of her reverie. She could feel the still-aroused nipple pushing out against the towel’s rough fabric. The intensity of feelings during the encounter with Marie had shocked her to her core. Little sparks of energy seemed to flicker still, from nipple to pussy. She shivered deliciously.

Could she be as attracted to a woman as to Hudson? Who did she want more? She desperately needed Hudson’s cock but, and it was the ‘but’ that alarmed her, but she wanted Marie close to her. Close to her and doing things Phoebe had never experienced before.

She admitted to herself that she wanted them both. This led to the crazy idea of having them both; better yet, having them both at once. She knew Marie hadn’t meant that when she asked to share Hudson. She pictured Hudson and Marie doing things to her, both at once. The more she thought about it, the better the idea sounded.

She’d share Hudson with Marie but would he go along with the idea? Would Marie? She fancied Marie would go along with anything; there was a sweet sluttishness about her. And if Marie would agree, she was certain the two of them could persuade Hudson. She could almost imagine Marie telling him, ‘There’ll be no more fucking at all if you don’t.’

Phoebe dropped the towel and went into her bedroom to dress.

Hudson responded, in seconds it seemed, to the bell from the conservatory.

“Yes, Madam, you rang?”

“Yes, Hudson, I did indeed ring.”

He stood, respectful, unsmiling, the ever-ready-to-serve, Hudson. She sometimes wished he’d unbend a little. When they made love together he was different, strong, gentle, passionate and loving. He was two people and seemed happy with the double role. She sighed inside, so be it.

“Hudson, Marie has expressed a desire to avail herself of your services.”

“My services, Madam?”

“She knows, Hudson, knows about us. She’s happy here but she’s lonely too. I think she’s worried about my reactions should she make advances towards you.”

“I see, Madam,” he paused and added, “and what would your reactions be, Madam?”

“Well, Hudson, I’m not really sure. As my pregnancy advances, I shall get fat, I shall waddle and I’ll doubtless become moody and short tempered.”

“I doubt that, Madam. A woman with child becomes more beautiful and ill manners? Ill manners from you, are unthinkable.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Hudson!” she said in exasperation, “I’m trying to say you can frolic a little with our maid if you so wish. Do stop, for once, being the silver-tongued charmer. If I’m to lose you to her, even temporarily, I want it on my terms or at least with my permission.” It wasn’t the whole truth she realized, but it might satisfy Hudson.

“Yes, Madam,” he said quietly. His face broke into a grin that Phoebe found a little unsettling. Sometimes Hudson seemed to be the one in charge.

Phoebe was by no means certain she was behaving wisely. Better to get rid of Marie. Agnes had had to go, so why not Marie? Well, Marie was so very good as a universal maid; she smiled inwardly, a maid of all work. The little session in the bathroom had awakened something deep in Phoebe, something that she just had to explore further. She was trapped, trapped by her own needs.

Hudson gave a discrete cough; Phoebe’s mind had been wandering.

“If I don’t allow Marie some freedom I’m afraid, she’ll misbehave and I shall have to let her go and I don’t want that to happen. I’m also worried that, despite your reassurances, Hudson, you may neglect me as my pregnancy advances.”

Hudson started to protest but she waved him to silence and carried on, “So, if I keep both of you happy, perhaps you will keep my appetites satisfied. You’re a wonderful lover, Hudson,” she sighed, “I wish we were alone in the house right now. I need you.”

“Thank you, Madam.”

“I think I shall go and find Marie and send her to the village on an errand.” She got to her feet and pointed to the sunlit area by the door that led to the garden.“That would be a nice spot, Hudson. You could lie in the sun and I could sit on your lovely cock.”

“Marie, I’ve talked to Hudson and explained that I don’t want to be selfish. He seems to understand but whether or not he’ll be able to add you to his duties, I don’t know. You’re certainly a lovely girl, I’m sure he’s noticed you.”

“Thank you, I’ll try not to be too demanding.”

There was a confidence in Marie’s manner that made Phoebe wonder if there was already something between the maid and Hudson.

“Would you take the small car and go to the bakery in the village and pick up some cakes for tea?”

Marie gestured at her uniform, “I’ll go and change.”

Phoebe smiled, “I want you to be happy here, Marie,” she glanced at the clock and added, “now, I must go and talk to Hudson about his duties.”

Back in the conservatory Hudson was waiting. She crossed to where he stood looking out across the garden.

“Marie’s going to get changed and go into the village for cakes. We’d better wait until she leaves.”

She moved to stand in front of him. With one hand she lifted the hem of her skirt, with the other she took his hand and guided it down to the front of her panties.

“Excite me, Hudson.”

Excite her he did. She’d needed him since waking and the need had grown, grown to an ache. Well schooled in the art of controlling any outward signs of emotion, Phoebe had almost lost her mind during the morning. The session with Marie in the bathroom had aroused her more than she could have believed. And since then she’d imagined an endless series of scenarios involving the three of them. Now she wanted nothing more, nothing less, than a violent fucking from Hudson.

His hand cupped her pussy, his fingertips reaching deep between her thighs. He began a firm caressing of her. His hand was strong and he began taking more and more of her weight on his curved fingers, until she wondered if he’d lift her off the floor by her pussy.

But it felt so good. She cursed the cotton panties she’s put on after her bath. She wanted his fingers inside her. His hand felt like a saddle under her, lifting, carrying. Her heart was beating wildly; her breathing was fast and loud. Could she, would she,come before he got his cock into her?

At last, they heard the sound of the car on the gravel driveway. Now she could have him.

She squirmed off his hand. “Lie on the floor,” she said.

“Fully dressed, Madam?”

“Yes,” she said, her desperation plain in her voice.

As soon as he was on the floor, on his back, Phoebe knelt beside him and began struggling frantically with his belt. Almost sobbing with frustration she got it undone and then unzipped him.

Hudson pushed her hands away. “Gently, Madam, gently.”

He managed to get his cock free. Phoebe grabbed for it.

She straddled his legs and walked awkwardly up him, on her knees. In no mood for niceties, she raised herself and pulled her panties aside and lowered herself onto him. Cock and cunt seemed to find each other by instinct. Phoebe simply dropped onto him. They both gasped at the suddenness of it as he slid into her.

“Oh God!“ exclaimed Phoebe as his wonderful rigidity filled her, deep, deliciously deep.

She then began a slow-deliberate fucking. Lifting herself slowly up, drawing his cock out of her inch by fat inch until only the head of it was nestled between the lips of her pussy. A pause, while she stayed motionless and then the slow slide down him, in and in, until his length was buried inside her again.

He began responding, thrusting up into her as she lifted but she hissed, “You just keep still, let me use that lovely cock my way.”

Up and down she went, her pussy lips releasing his cock reluctantly as she rose and then hungrily consuming it as she lowered herself. Utter bliss, her eyes were closed. How deep he seemed to go, with her thighs wide open and her weight driving her hard down onto him.

She felt her thigh muscles protesting as they lifted and lowered her, time and again.

Finally she had to rest and she sank down onto him, his lovely cock buried in her, to the hilt.

Phoebe pulled her blouse open, heedless of the buttons. One flew and hit the window. She grabbed her bra and pulled it frantically, up off her breasts. Freed, they moved heavily on her chest and she looked down over them at Hudson.

She leaned forward and took her weight on her hands. Her nipples were inches from his mouth. Hudson took her breasts in his hands and squeezed them, Phoebe groaned. His mouth found a nipple and sucked it deep and hard into his mouth.

“Bite it Hudson, bite it.”

He bit her gently.

“Harder!” she hissed.

Hudson bit harder and Phoebe squirmed as the charge pulsed down to her pussy. He was hurting her. Were her nipples already getting more tender, more sensitive? But her arousal was so acute that the pleasure was worth the pain. She was trapped on his cock. She loved it. Penetration and sweet pain, she thought she’d die.

Hudson began to thrust into her and this time she didn’t tell him to stop. Phoebe didn’t want anything to stop. She writhed her hips almost freeing herself of his cock. Then she drove herself downwards, onto it, forcing it into her. He matched her moves with his own thrusts and withdrawals.

They fucked each other with a wonderful, determined intensity. He kept hold of her breast and kept the nipple in his mouth, sucking, biting, breathing noisily through his nose.

Phoebe remained propped on her hands with her back arched. Her belly and thighs ground on Hudson’s. The sun streamed in on them, both glistened with sweat.

Phoebe sobbed obscenities and urged Hudson on. Beneath her, his thrusts were in perfect time with her own. She imagined herself as all vagina and nipple, fucked vagina and suckled nipple. She fought for breath, fought for release.

Outside, Marie peered through the glass. Her own arousal scared her; her heart seemed to be hammering in her throat.

She’d left the car outside the gates and had run back, certain that they were going to fuck in the conservatory.

Now that lovely nipple was in his mouth. The cock she’d milked last night was in Phoebe’s cunt. Phoebe was in heaven; Marie was in torment. Her horniness was beyond belief. A hand was down the front of her jeans and strummed her clit in its nest of wet curls. She leaned against the glass, her legs trembling as she fought for release.

Suddenly her eyes found Phoebe’s. The other woman was cocked to one side, staring at her.

How Marie envied her. The sheen of sweat on Phoebe’s back told of her exertion. The clenching and unclenching of her buttocks with each grinding thrust hypnotized Marie.

They stared into each other’s eyes. Phoebe seemed to be in ecstasy. How Marie longed to love those breasts, sample that pussy - Mistress Phoebe wouldn’t laugh then. And, Marie wanted that lovely cock. Oh, how she wanted that cock!

She heard Phoebe’s scream through the glass, watched the lovely body go rigid, saw Hudson struggling beneath his mistress. Then he came too, the sudden spasms as his orgasm tore through him. He released the breast; she could see the angry redness of the nipple quite plainly.

Marie moved away and leaned against the sun-warmed brickwork. Her own orgasm had come with Phoebe’s but had seemed a shadow of the one beyond the glass. Despite her release she wanted to weep with frustration.

She set off back to the car on unsteady legs.

In the conservatory, Phoebe stood at the window. She felt the wetness of Hudson’s juices soaking into the crotch of her panties. She loved it; she’d wear them until her shower that night. She reveled in the sweet wickedness of the idea.

“Poor Marie,” she said thoughtfully.

“Why, ‘Poor Marie’, Madam?”

Phoebe edged closer to the window and gave a little gasp as she pressed her tender nipples against the chill of the glass. “She was out there, watching us making love. How do you think she must feel?”

“Madam?” Hudson was on his feet and feeling rather unsteady as he zipped up. He wasn’t happy at the idea of the maid watching him perform.

“I think I’ll have a word with Marie when she getsback from the village.” Phoebe was still cooling her nipples against the window. Her own hunger by no means satisfied. “I think we should both pleasure her this afternoon,” she said, “Both of us,” she added, by way of emphasis.

“Madam!” Hudson said, sounding not a little surprised, “I’ve only just,” He was unable to finish the sentence.

“Only just fucked me, Hudson? I know that and obviously Marie knows it too. She wants me to share you with her. We can all share.”

“Yes, Madam.” He sounded resigned.

“Well, Hudson, your oral techniques are wonderful. I’m sure they’ll suffice in this instance.”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Well, we mustn’t be selfish must we, Hudson?”

“No madam.” Phoebe thought she detected a flicker of interest in Hudson’s reply.

She turned. She was delighted to see Hudson’s eyes widen as he looked at her breasts, their nipples were very prominent from the prolonged encounter with the cold glass.

“Let’s surprise the little minx shall we, Hudson?” She stepped up to him, her nipples grazing his jacket.

“Very well, Madam.” He eyes came up to meet hers and he smiled conspiratorially.


It's almost a year since I wrote this chapter. The story is obviously a long way from told. Sadly other ideas and other stories came and begged to be written. But ........ I must write some more about Hudson and Phoebe (and Marie). The country home is to be sold and a move to a large apartment in London and more delicious wickedness.

My thanks to Tim Reilly for saying wonderful things about the story .... if it gets finished it'll be because of his encouragement!!!

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

"You Rang, Madam?" Chapter 7

by Julius
Copyright December 2007

The alarm went off. Hudson opened an eye, 07:02. He lay for a few moments, trying to decide if it had been real or a dream. He swung his feet to the floor. One foot landed on something. He bent over and picked up a plastic bottle, black, rather phallic in shape. The label read, ‘Silicone Slik’ and described the contents as personal lubricant. He grinned; he’d certainly been personally lubricated.

So it hadn’t been a dream. He slipped his hand inside his boxers; his cock was slick - Silicone Slik no doubt. He put the bottle on his bedside table; perhaps the owner would retrieve it. He would like to know who she was, which she was.

He served Sir Oliver and Madam their breakfast as usual. Sir Oliver ate quickly and, after giving Madam a peck on the cheek, he left for work.


“Yes, Madam.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“That’s wonderful news, Madam.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, “I thought you should know.”

Hudson was surprised, very surprised but he did his best to disguise the fact. One of Sir Oliver’s shy little sperm had made the journey then. He wondered if this was the moment to tell Madam about his long ago vasectomy.

“I shall miss trying to help, Madam,” he said very sincerely.

“Oh, Hudson, I hope you’ll continue with that service.” She sounded very definite. “My sister was desperately horny, all through her pregnancy. If I’m the same way …” She left the sentence unfinished but her face shone with happy anticipation.

“In that case, Madam, I shall try to be of help.” Any thoughts of mentioning his vasectomy fled from his mind. Hudson didn’t want to stop doing it with Madam.

“Would you like me hornier, Hudson?”

“Madam is all a man could ask, just as she is.” His cock was stirring, his Silicone Slik cock.

“My breasts will get bigger you know, my nipples will get more sensitive,” she shivered slightly, not with cold, “My sister says she was like a mink in heat the whole time.”

Hudson’s erection was gaining strength, painful in his pants. He shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m teasing you aren’t I, Hudson?” She reached out and raked her nails slowly down the fly of his pants. He gasped as she did it. “That lovely cock of yours seems to work so very well.”

“Yes, Madam, thank you, Madam.”

Hudson met Marie in the hall. They exchanged good mornings. Again he wondered who had visited him the night before.

She started up the stairs. Hudson stood at the foot; hand on the banister, watching her climb. She had good legs and the short skirt made the most of them. The skirt was too short; somebody should admonish her about it. Hudson wasn’t about to admonish anyone. With every step she took he saw further up the backs of those thighs, her stocking tops appeared. She stopped a couple of steps short of the top and Hudson could all but see her ass.

She turned and looked down at him, she’d known he’d still be there, watching. Marie sat down on the top step. An odd pose, her feet were apart, knees together, she looked little-girlish somehow. The back of her skirt hung down the step and the backs of her thighs gleamed white. “Could I have a word with you?” She spoke softly and managed, with a move of her head, to ask him to come up and join her.

Hudson started up, wondering what she wanted. As he ascended she slowly parted her knees, wider and wider as he advanced. Damn it, he could see up her skirt! Her legs kept opening. ‘Dear Heavens!’ She was naked under the skirt; he could see almost everything. Hudson gulped, almost audibly, and stopped.

He swallowed and asked, “What is it Marie?” His eyes found hers and she smiled. He knew that she knew from whence his eyes had come. His cock was still half hard from its Madam-induced rigidity and now it was quickly firming again. His eyes wanted to look back down. He had a flashback to the hand on his cock the night before.

“It’s about you and,” she paused, “you and her, you two, at it, all the time.” There was some anger in her words.

Everything about Marie was different. Hudson was continually being caught wrong-footed by her. She was so very good at her job and yet; and yet, here she was, displaying herself and talking of things that were no business of hers.

“Marie! Aren’t you forgetting yourself?” he blustered. His eyes flicked once again to between her splayed legs. He saw her eyes catch his downward glance.

“Jack, oh Jack, I never forget myself.” She slowly closed her legs. Hudson was relieved and disappointed.

Then the lovely legs opened again, she was too shadowed for him to see properly, but he imagined her vagina peeling open too.

Struggling to regain his dignity Hudson said, “Marie, I’m just the butler here, as was my father and his father before that and …”

She cut him short. “Jack, I know. I know you two are lovers. That’s fine. I just wish she didn’t take up all your free time. It’s a lonely little room up there…“

Hudson took a quick deep breath, about to interrupt, but she ploughed on, “Sir Oliver fancies me, he’s made that plain enough but I certainly don’t fancy him,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “We’re all stuck in this big house, miles from anywhere; I’m lonely Jack.”

They both heard the chair scrape back in the breakfast room. Marie’s legs closed, Hudson imagined the soft thighs slapping sweetly together, he turned and started downstairs.

Behind him Marie asked softly, “Can we talk again, later?”

“I think we should,” he said, trying to get the authority back into his voice.

The view up her skirt was still vivid in his mind. Life was so full of surprises. What the hell was he going to do? He smiled … he knew very well what he was going to do, the how was the problem.

Phoebe emerged from the breakfast room. She smiled at him. “I must tell Sir Oliver. Poor man he’ll be so pleased. How can I feel so happy and so guilty?”

“Concentrate on happy, Madam. We enjoyed ourselves and really, no harm has been done.”

"Don’t speak in the past tense, Hudson. I could use some of that right now.” She looked down meaningfully at his groin.

Hudson slowly climbed the two flights to his room. Last night, an unknown hand had stroked him to climax.This morning two women had said they needed his services. It sounded wonderful. But he wondered about these two strong willed personalities. He couldn’t imagine either of them sharing him with the other.

His cock was like an iron bar and stair climbing made it move in his pants. He seemed to grow more arousedwith each step. Yet he’d been drained only the night before. His mind flashed back to the first time Madam had allowed him to enter her. She’d been bent over the back of a sofa. He’d like to do it that way again.

He wondered what long-legged Marie would feel like, impaled on his cock.

But he had to think about his job, his future. He’d not find a better situation, he knew. He smiled wryly - and not with a fringe benefit like Madam. She was a delightful fringe benefit indeed.

He opened the door. The lubricant was gone. So, it was Marie who’d visited him. Madam had had no opportunity to take the bottle.

He sat on his bed, deep in thought. Sir Oliver would be on the train now, London bound. Really, it was just the three of them alone in the house. Cook never strayed from her kitchen and the two cleaning ladies from the village weren’t scheduled for Tuesdays.

Both Madam and Marie had expressed their needs that morning, in no uncertain terms. Marie was already jealous of Madam and Madam would certainly not share him. A crisis was coming and he had no idea how to handle it.

But elsewhere in the house, the problem was about to resolve itself.

Phoebe decided to run herself a bath and plan her day. Oliver was away at work and she fancied a little bit of Hudson. Perhaps she should send Marie to the village on some errand.

She lowered herself into the warm, perfumed water and lay carefully back.

‘Pregnant, I’m pregnant,’ she thought. She ran a hand over her stomach and up over the softness of a breast. Her palm slid over the nipple, dragging it, puling it; a delicious tremor rippled down to her pussy. ‘If only Hudson were here, I would have him scrub my back.’

The door opened and she looked up in happy anticipation.

“Would you like me to scrub your back?” asked Marie.

“In future, knock, Marie!” said Phoebe, more angry because it wasn’t Hudson than she was at Marie’s insolence. But of course, Hudson would have knocked first.

Marie didn’t answer but crossed to the bathtub and knelt down.

“You have lovely breasts, do you know that?” She stared at Phoebe’s bosom.

Phoebe resisted the urge to put her hands over her breasts. She was flattered by the attractive maid’s admiration.

“Pretty, pretty nipples.” Marie reached out and ran her fingertip across Phoebe’s right nipple.

Phoebe squealed and slapped the hand away. Water went all over the front of Marie’s dress.

Poor Phoebe, her anger was mixed with the need to say sorry for soaking Marie. That and the jolt in her pussy when the fingertip had brushed her nipple, left her devoid of her usual poise.

They stared at each other for long seconds. Phoebe’s lips were parted, her angry words unsaid. Marie’s lips were smiling. “They are pretty,” she said softly and reached out again, this time with finger and thumb and squeezed the nipple.

“Stop!” Phoebe said but she squirmed in the water. She wanted to be angry, wanted to send Marie packing. But her body had been wanting Hudson so badly, that it was betraying her, responding to this perverted woman’s touch.

The finger and thumb squeezed harder. Phoebe’s mouth opened and her eyes stared into Marie’s.

“Pretty, pretty, pretty nipples,” the maid whispered. She pinched with each ‘Pretty.’

When Marie released her, Phoebe almost cried out. Anger had turned full circle to wanting.

“Sit up now, and I’ll scrub your back.” She reached for loofah and soap. Phoebe obediently sat up and put her arms round her knees.

It was heavenly; it was forever since anyone had scrubbed her back. She closed her eyes, very aware of her breasts jostling in the water. She seemed to still feel the near pain of her nipple being squeezed. The soaping, the gentle scrubbing went on and on. Soon Phoebe was almost purring.

Marie finally stopped. She stood up, turned, and took a towel from the rail to dry her hands.

Phoebe noticed how short the skirt was and glimpsed the stocking-tops. The effect was, she searched for the word, lascivious, that was it she thought, lascivious. She opened her mouth but no words came. She wondered what Hudson thought of Marie. Jealousy flared but died again - Marie seemed more interested in her.

She began washing herself, while Marie fussed with her hair in the mirror. Phoebe had never had any lesbian experiences before and having Marie touch her had produced conflicting feelings. She’d wanted more, yet, at the same time, there had been that instinctive recoiling.

She sat in the cooling bathwater, half hoping Mariewould leave; only half hoping.

Marie turned and smiled. She reached for the big bathtowel and moved back to the bath. She stood with the towel spread out in her hands, her intention clear. She was expecting Phoebe to get out of the bath to be wrapped in the towel.

Phoebe got up, puzzled by her own obedience, and stepped out onto the mat. She turned her back, suddenly very aware of her nakedness. Phoebe stretched out her arms,allowing Marie to wrap the towel around her.

“Could we share Hudson?”

Phoebe couldn’t have been more shocked if Marie had slapped her. She could think of no answer.

She turned slowly, holding the towel protectively over her breasts and stared at the other woman. She finally managed, “I thought, … I thought you were interested in me.”

“Oh I am. Or would be, if you felt the same. You are very beautiful,” she hesitated, showing uncertainty for the first time. “But I want Jack too, I need what you need.”

“You mean … you mean you … you’re …” poor Phoebe was lost.

“Yes, I’m bisexual. That’s the word you want isn’t it?”

"You Rang, Madam?" Chapter 6

by Julius
Copyright November 2007

Hudson awoke. He lay in the blackness, gazing up, eyes open but unseeing. He heard movement, faint breathing; there was someone in his room. He waited and wondered, hoping it was Madam. She’d never visited him in his bedroom. Somehow their relationship seemed to preclud it.

Surely it wasn’t the coolly distant Marie? The idea intrigued him.

He felt the bed move as the someone pressed against it. The breathing was closer, soft, but there. A hand made its way under the covers and found his cock. The skin of the hand was slippery wet.

His cock responded, how could it not? Curiosity about the ownership of the hand began to wane. It seemed forever since his cock had been played with.

The hand seemed to know what he wanted, how he needed touching. It caressed him, gently, almost lovingly, bringing him to full erection. The grip tightened, slid the length of him, squeezed his cock-head. He groaned and was ‘Shhh’d’ by whoever she was. The fist slid down to the root, tightened, as if to choke him. A cock needs a little aggression, a little rough treatment. Part of Hudson lay back and got ready to enjoy.

He ceased to care who she was. He let himself focus just on his cock and the hand that was stroking it.

The hand stilled, perhaps she sensed his increasing arousal. He took over, thrusting, fucking the curled, squeezing fist. It felt so good, so very good. He heard the hand’s owner breathing louder, was she becoming aroused too? He thrust harder, faster but then the fingers relaxed, opened, leaving him nothing to thrust into.

He stopped, lay still. The fingers were still there but curled loosely around his cock, barely touching him. The words, ‘Don’t stop,’ hung unspoken in his throat. His cock was hot and he wanted more, tighter, faster.

Puzzled, he waited, moving his hips a little, wanting to feel her again.

Then the fist closed back around him and pumped, once, twice. He lay still, dreading that she’d stop again. This time the pressure was less but the hand moved faster. In the total darkness his cock and the hand were everything. His thighs tensed, his buttocks tightened, his breathing ceased as the climax suddenly built. He squirmed, his whole body zeroing in on the sweet friction on his cock.

She stopped! Her hand was gone. He heard his voice saying, “No, don’t stop!”

How had she known the exact moment? His body writhed; he thrust at nothing with his cock, seeking release. He wanted to come, wanted not to … he didn’t, not quite. He lay panting, panting and wanting. He wanted to touch himself, but he didn’t. He wanted the visiting hand back, back on his poor, come-ready cock.

An eternity seemed to pass until at last he felt himself softening. As if she knew, she took him in hand once more and, feeling him diminished, released him. She waited and waited then felt him again. His cock was small, small and soft.

He felt the hand withdraw from under the covers. ‘Don’t let her leave now!’ he begged silently. There was a bubbly, squirting noise, the sound of more lubricant being squeezed into a palm?

The hand came back, cupped over his cock and balls and began a gentle caressing. He felt his cock swell and surge erect again, back he went, to full hardness. The lovely, pumping caressing of his length was renewed. He was in love with the hand. It twisted and rolled and squirmed over the head of his cock, making subtle, clever love to it. Making his balls squirm in their sac, making his groin spasm.

She stilled her hand but kept the nearly-too-tight grip on him and again he began to fuck the lovely thing. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Madam’s cleavage he was fucking, then her mouth, then her wonderful pussy. In the end he simply imagined it was her hand - was it?

Perhaps it was Marie’s hand. Did it matter? No, not so long as it did what it was doing.

The hand was still, just gripping him as he fucked, letting him make his own speed.

Hudson thrust into the fingers until he felt his climax approaching and then he slowed and stopped. Self-teasing, but there was the added fun of fucking a hand other than his own.

Three times he took himself to the brink, three times she let him.

He heard her shift and the other hand joined the first. Now one gripped his cock and the other played with his balls.

Hudson loved it. One hand began stroking his cock again and the fingers of the other began to play behind his balls, pressing and caressing, the intimacy all but unbearable.

He could hear his tormentor breathing loudly now, more deeply, as if she were becoming aroused too. He hoped she’d climb into bed, on top of him and engulf his straining erection.

But that wasn’t her plan it seemed. She gripped hiscock tightly, tight to point of pain and began pumping. This time there was no slowing or stopping. She took him to the brink and over. With an unstoppable suddenness his crotch convulsed and he thrust into the tight fist and came, … and came and came and came.

He heard his desperate breaths, saw the lights on his retinas and sobbed his way through his orgasm. Felt the hot gushes spurt onto his belly.

The hands were gone. A faint silhouette showed in the doorway, Marie or Mistress, he still didn’t know.

Alone again with the cooling wetness of his own ejaculate. The almost bleachy smell of his come.

Tomorrow he’d see both of them and wonder, ’Which?’ Would his visitor betray herself? Marie or Mistress - she had lovely hands. He reached for his shriveled cock and found the slippery wetness he’d made - they'd made.

Hudson drifted into sleep.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

"You Rang, Madam?" Chapter 5

by Julius
Copyright August 2007

Phoebe doubted she’d ever forget that walk across the car park.

As she’d climbed down from the Rolls, Hudson had said softly, “I shall watch Madam’s bottom every step of the way to the gate.”

She thought he probably would and she’d tried to neither emphasize nor subdue the swing of her hips. The thought of his gaze on her buttocks kept her arousal simmering. His cock had been so wonderful,their coupling so intense. She remembered her gutter talk; her slut-like squirming on his lap and a sweet, wicked joy seemed to fill her. Phoebe had been a slut; Hudson’s slut and she’d loved it.

The sun and the warm breeze quickly dried the sweat from her dress and her skin. Even the wetness of her hair at the back of her neck was blown dry. But the wetness between her legs didn’t dry. Hudson’s come,mingled no doubt with her own, seeped from her and were renewed as fast as they dried. There was a wonderful cool spot between her thighs, where the breeze found her knickerless pussy.

Phoebe was acutely aware of her lack of panties. She’d never, never been out without underwear before in her life. Her little, white, cotton unmentionables were in the chauffeur’s pocket!

As she went through the gateway to the stands, a breeze eddied at her from behind and lifted her skirt. She made desperate efforts at getting the hem down. The cool air over her warm buttocks made her very aware of her nakedness. If that happened with people about … her face and neck flushed hotly at the thought. She hoped Hudson had seen it.

Oliver had barely missed her. He wasn’t in a good mood; he’d not backed a single winner and was only too happy to set off for home when she suggested it.

They got into the Rolls. Phoebe was glad to see that Hudson had opened all the windows. She was certain the scents of their lovemaking still lingered. She sat where Hudson had sat. The very spot where she’d squatted astride him. Their eyes met in the rear view mirror and he nodded.

“A pleasant afternoon Madam?”

“Very nice thank you, Hudson.”

“Let’s get going, Hudson, shall we?” Sir Oliver’s afternoon obviously hadn’t been quite so pleasant.

Phoebe let her head fall back. She closed her eyes. She’d deliberately not smoothed her skirt under her, but had sat her bare bottom on the soft, warm leather where Hudson’s had been. She longed to slip her hand up under her skirt, to cup her happy pussy and to comfort it.

Hudson wondered if Marie would last a week. It seemed she was a writer or wanted to be one. Her new job gave her accommodation and a modest income and that seemed to be all she wanted. But she was conscientious and cheerful. The problem was, she seemed to consider herself the equal of all in the household.

She refused to call him Mr. Hudson, as was required. Instead, she called him Jack as did cook in her angrier moments. He’d explained that he was Hudson to Sir and Madam and Mr. Hudson to the rest of the staff, but she still called him Jack.

Worse, she didn’t call Madam, Madam, but called her nothing at all. It was the same with her treatment of Sir Oliver. Hudson was outraged and had explained after her latest omissions, with barely contained anger, how things should be done. All to no avail.

But she was so cheerful and efficient; twice the servant that Agnes had been. She seemed quite happy to wear the uniform but any gestures of respect were, it seemed, out of the question. She had all of Agnes’ old uniforms. They’d been dry cleaned and fit herperfectly, except for length. She was taller than Agnes and the now relatively short skirt made her look very, very attractive to Hudson.

But just as no one could get her to respect her betters, neither could anybody seem to fire her either. So Marie performed her duties perfectly by day and wrote in her little room by night. Hudson seemed unable to do anything with her, yet the house had run smoother, and somehow happier, since her arrival.

On Friday, six days after the racing at Ascot, Phoebe was awakened by Marie. Awakened and surprised; Marie had brought her breakfast in bed.

“Good morning!” cried Marie, flinging wide the curtains, “Maggie let me use the kitchen.”

Phoebe buried her face in the pillow. The sunlight was brilliant and painful. Nobody called cook by her name, not until now anyway. Delivering breakfast in bed was not required. Phoebe thought about firing Marie right then and there. The smell of toast reached her and her stomach growled.

She struggled herself into a sitting position andMarie slid the tray onto her lap, a tray full of poached egg and toast and marmalade. A small pot of tea made it into her favourite breakfast.

Her irritation faded and she said, “Thank you, Marie.”

“No problem.”

What sort of remark was ‘No problem’ wondered Phoebe? Marie did have some odd turns of phrase.

Marie perched herself on the side of the bed. Phoebe bit back her instinctive rebuke and forked a piece of egg into her mouth.

“Do you always sleep alone?”

Phoebe looked around the room and nodded. “Yes, I suppose I do.” Then she added defensively. “Well not always of course.” She blushed then. Horribly flustered, realizing what she’d said, what it implied.

Marie laughed. “So we’re both lonely at night.” She got off the bed and went to the window and stood looking out. “Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Phoebe tried to frame a response but, with a mental shrug, set about her breakfast instead.

While she ate, she kept glancing at Marie, who was still gazing out of the window, little more than a silhouette. The uniform suited her. Strange she should wear it, while showing no willingness to follow the rest of the conventions. The skirt was too short and Phoebe thought of those silly, fancy dress outfits that were supposedly those of a French maid.

“Thank you Marie,” she said, putting down an emptycup.

Marie came back to the bed again and sat.

“You’re welcome,” she said and then, out of the blue, asked, “Are you and Jack, Hudson I mean, having an affair?”

“Marie!” Phoebe did her best to sound outraged.

“Oh come on, the way you behave around each other, I guessed it right away.”

Then she got off the bed and said, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

When Phoebe had put the last piece of toast into her mouth Marie reached for the tray. As she took it the bedclothes slipped down, baring Phoebe to the waist.

She pulled the sheet back up to cover her breasts. She had felt, as much as seen, Marie’s eyes on them.

Marie smiled, “They’re lovely. Isn’t Jack a lucky man?”

After Marie had left with the tray, Phoebe sat very still, clutching the sheet over her bosom. She thought back to when she’d first asked Hudson to lift her dress and wondered, just what had she started?

There’d been something about the way Marie had commented on Jack’s luck. A note of envy, not of Phoebe’s breasts she thought, but of Jack.

While Phoebe was eating her surprise breakfast, Hudson was moving about his bedroom changing his clothes. He’d driven Sir Oliver to the station under rain-laden clouds. Walking back to the house from the garage he’d got soaked in a sudden downpour. As he hung his chauffeur’s jacket on the back of the door he remembered Madam’s knickers. Taking them carefullyfrom the pocket he pressed them to his nose. Her scent still clung to the fabric, his cock reared. Hudson eased his briefs off his hips and wrapped the scrap of cloth around his cock.

A week, he thought, no six days, since she’d squirmed and come in his lap in the back of the Rolls. He would dearly love to go and wake her with his cock.

Hudson squeezed himself and wished, remembering the hot, wet grip of her pussy. His hand moved, steadily running his panty-lined hand up and down his cock.

Suddenly his body convulsed and he spurted into Madam’s underwear. He came helplessly, jet after jet into the white cotton.

Dear God! Jerking off into a woman’s underwear like a lad. But he didn’t care, he’d needed it and where better was there than in his mistress’s sweet little panties?

He crossed to the wash basin and carefully rinsed them and hung them to dry. He’d choose a good moment later in the day to hand them to her. It was past time for another frolic, long past time.

After dinner that evening the phone had rung and Sir Oliver had been summoned to answer it.

Seizing his chance, Hudson pulled the panties from his pocket and passed them to her.

“Washed and dried, and pretty as ever Madam,” he said.

“Oh Hudson! Thank you,” she paused, smiling up at him,“that was a lovely thing we did. I can’t stop thinking about it.” She balled up the panties and slipped them into a pocket of her dress.



“Hudson. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Madam, I doubt you’d think the kind of thoughts I’m thinking.”

“Oh but I think I am, Hudson,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “you’re thinking you’d like to get into me again … soon. And I’m thinking, Hudson, that I want more of this.” Her small hand darted out and cupped his groin.

“Oh exactly, Madam.”

“Well, I’ve been wondering, Hudson, it’s high time someone did some sorting out of the stuff we’ve got stored in the attics of this house. Perhaps you could find a little spare time in your duties and we could go up there and have a look round.”

“I’d be delighted, Madam. Perhaps tomorrow morning?”

“Very well Hudson, tomorrow morning.”

The ascent had been every bit as tantalizing as she’d no doubt intended. He’d brought the ladder and put it in place. Madam had insisted in going up first. She’d worn a skirt of course, a knee-length denim one. The view was quite delightful. Hudson stood at the bottom of the ladder to steady it and he’d been quite free to gaze upwards, up her skirt, up at her bare derriere.

“Madam!” he said with mock gravity. “I gave you a pairjust yesterday evening.”

“I’m sorry, Hudson, I quite forgot in my haste. How thoughtless of me.”

He watched until she reached the top step, and thenbegan his own ascent. The wooden stepladder was a little rickety and he didn’t look up until his head and shoulders were through the ceiling.

She’d lain back and rested her feet in the far corners of the hole. Hudson’s head was between her knees and he was facing her bare pussy.

“Did you ever see one of these in an attic before, Hudson?” she asked, her voice full of laughter.

“No, Madam, I can’t say that I did.”

When, moments later, Marie’s voice called, “Is your Mistress up there Jack?” Hudson came close to falling.

But he kept his head and answered, “Yes Marie, she is.”

“I’m just off to the village, wondered if she needed anything?”

He peered down at her but before he could answer,Madam called, “No, thank you Marie, but it was kind ofyou to ask.”

Marie’s footsteps receded as she went downstairs and he was alone again with Madam’s pussy. He bent and kissed her gently at her centre and she moaned in response. He raised his head again.

“Make me come with your mouth, Hudson,” she asked and added softly, “Please, Hudson, with your mouth.”

His eyes were now accustomed to the gloom after the brightness below and he saw she was holding her skirt with her hands, exposing herself to him, from the waist down. Her thighs and pussy were open.

His cock responded eagerly and he slid a hand down into his pants to position it more comfortably.

“Don’t tease me, Hudson.” She brought her knees together, pressing the sides of his head gently.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Madam.”

“I rather think you would and I should love it, but not now.” She moved her hands from her skirt and with her fingertips pulled her pussy lips,apart, opening herself. “Not now, Hudson.”

Hudson had often wondered at the way many men seemed to find the female genitals repugnant. He bent, and with his tongue, gently licked her, licked the length of her pussy. Her scent enveloped him. How anyone could fail to delight in this pretty patch of paradise?

His cock responded as always and he went to work between her thighs.

He took a mouthful of her and bit gently, then harder, until she squirmed. He could taste her but the flavour eluded him. She was sweet and he told her she tasted of strawberries. He kissed and sucked and nibbled everywhere but her little clit. He was teasing her of course.

But her arousal was mounting. Her legs closed and opened about his ears. Her hips thrust her mound against his face. He could hear her breathing, when her thighs weren’t over his ears.

She began saying, ’Please,’ over and over. He eased the pressure of his mouth or slowed his tongue, tryingto keep her near her threshold. Her movements became more rapid, more urgent, and her voice begged for release.

His own arousal threatened to take him and his straining cock over the edge.

Relenting at last, he took her clit between his lips, and began loving it with his tongue tip.

She uttered the word, “Yes!” just once and her body went rigid for a moment, then she climaxed. Her pubis humped against his mouth with bruising force. Her whole body spasmed and struggled, as she fought through her orgasm.

He feared she’d hurt herself on the rough wood and sharp edges. He struggled to restrain her and finally she began to subside.

Hudson was almost dozing. He was still stood on the ladder, his head resting on her thigh. Finally she stirred and tried to move her leg. He raised his head and chuckled, “Is Madam recovered?”

“I’m not sure. I may never recover.” She sighed and asked, “Where did you learn your skills, Hudson?”

“Part of my training, Madam.”

She drew her feet towards her and sat up. Her knees were spread wide and she gaped open. Hudson grinned.

“What’s so funny, Hudson?”

“Madam looks uncommonly unladylike,” he said, “but most attractive.”

“I feel wonderfully unladylike, Hudson.”

She struggled to her feet and Hudson climbed up carefully to join her.

“I haven’t been up here for years. Look at all the stuff!” she said.

The attic was huge and stacked with boxes and trunks. Old picture frames and pieces of furniture were piled everywhere.

Hudson found a switch. Two light bulbs lit and the jumble was suddenly even more impressive.

He watched her move cautiously about, looking at the chaos. She paused at a trunk and raised the lid. Itwas full of what looked like curtains. She lifted some out and laid them on the dusty floor.

“We could build a little nest up here, Hudson.”

She kicked off her shoes and shimmied out of her skirt. Her blouse followed and she stood naked.

“Well?” She gestured at him and he began undressing.

Her breasts were lovely and he stared at them, as he took off his clothes.

She hefted them in her cupped hands. “Still unladylike, Hudson. Am I a slut, Hudson?”

“Never, Madam, never.”

She dropped to her knees and beckoned to him.

“If I were to grab your lovely cock and jerk you off all over these tits, I’d be a slut wouldn’t I, Hudson?”

Hudson said nothing. He very much wanted her to grab his cock and moved to stand in front of her.

“We’ve been so busy trying to make me pregnant, Hudson. Do you know, I’ve never seen a man come? Iwant to. I want to see you come, Hudson. Would you let me?”

His cock was erect again and she was staring at it, delight on her face.

“I’m not sure I would be able to stop you, Madam.”

She reached out her hand, “Oh please, don’t stop me.”

Her hand was gentle as she ran it up and down his length. Hudson looked up, there was a rafter justabove him, and he reached up with both hands. He movedhis feet apart and sighed, as he watched her inspect him.

She spat in her hand and began pumping him. Now she did look like a slut. A beautiful, big-breasted slut.

Her hand, her saliva, his cock. ‘Who’d have thought?’ he wondered. But oh god, it felt good. She stopped anddribbled her spit into her palm again. She looked up,wide-eyed and strangely innocent.

“I’ll suck it next time, I’ll suck your lovely cock next time.”

He just groaned. Her hand, her obscenities, she turned him on beyond belief. Already his balls were squirming in their sack and his buttocks were clenching and he was thrusting to meet the slide of her fist.

“That’s right, Hudson, fuck my dainty little hand. I’m going to make that cock come, Hudson. Going to make it come. Going to watch it come, watch my Hudson come.”

She was lost in the moment, he realized. He saw her drop her other hand to her groin and he watched her arm moving, as she pleasured herself.

He wouldn’t last much longer he knew. But then she stopped and blew on his spit-wet erection. The chill on his cock made him gasp. She wouldn’t tease him like this, would she?

Yet again she spat into her hand and grabbed him. She squeezed him until it hurt and then began to slide her small hand up and down once more. In a moment, the first spasm rippled through his belly and he knew he was coming.

“Yes, Hudson, come with that lovely cock. Yes, yes, yes!”

She stared, her eyes blinking rapidly, expecting his first gush, willing him to come.

Come he did! The first spurt landed on the bridge of her nose and she squealed in delight. The second hit her top lip and then she bent him cruelly down, directing his come onto her breasts.

“Hudson’s cock, Hudson’s cock, coming, coming, coming.” A little girl’s voice, a delighted, wildly excited little girl.

He was suddenly wobbly-kneed and weak. He dropped a hand and grabbed at her hair, as his last spasm writhed in his groin.

Marie’s voice seemed to paralyze them both. “Surely I could have done that for you … Madam.”