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  • Minnesota Libido: Part 2
    Minnesota Libido: Part 2.
    Snowbound Valentine's Night
    Based on a post by TruthwithaTwist.
    Listen to the
    ►Podcast at Steamy
    Stories.


    A snowstorm canceled our plans, so we got
    creative.

    Sherri and I had been going together for just over

    year and were still having a great time together. We were in our
    late-20s, had good jobs, a large group of friends, and fun social
    lives. We had planned a romantic Valentine's night with an expensive
    dinner, wine, drinks and then back to my condo to 'celebrate'
    privately. Then, Mother Nature stepped in.



    Living in the Midwest, mid-February storms weren't

    uncommon events and one decided to roll in that year. By the time the
    holiday was upon us, every newscast was warning of the size of the
    storm and the impacts it would have. Based on those reports we
    decided to pivot our plans for Valentine's Night. Instead of a dinner
    out, Sherri and I would cook a meal at her place and bunker down
    there. We figured that maybe the storm would even give us an
    extra-romantic feeling for the night; cozy and warm in her place, cut
    off from the world, with snow falling outside the windows.



    On the 14th, I went into my office as planned and by

    early afternoon, we were getting the warnings to get on the road,
    otherwise we would face major delays and treacherous travel
    conditions. Heeding the advice, I packed myself into my old Ford
    Bronco, nicknamed "The Blue Beast", and started to make my
    way to Sherri's apartment which was closer to my office than my own
    place.



    The reports weren't wrong, the storm rolled in

    quickly and with attitude. Despite my early departure, the roads were
    quickly slippery and tough to navigate. Visibility was near-zero and
    traffic slowed to a crawl. While the Beast and I crawled through our
    journey, I saw multiple cars sitting on the side of the road,
    disabled by the weather. Even with the heat blowing and wipers on
    full blast, my windshield was frosting over, reducing my own sight
    lines.



    The trip to Sherri's, which normally would take about

    30 minutes, took nearly two hours in the storm. I physically let
    loose a sigh of relief when I finally guided the Beast into a snowy
    parking spot behind her apartment building. I got out and immediately
    stepped into a deep pile of snow that had already gathered on the
    ground. I grabbed my bag and laptop while attempting to get the
    flowers and gifts I was bringing over. Quickly realizing that I was
    going to have to make two trips, I pulled my coat tighter against the
    wind and shuffled my way to the enclosed entry. After the second
    trip, I hit the button so Sherri could buzz me in.



    Two trips up the stairs to her third-floor apartment

    later, I finally stumbled into her place. I was half-frozen from the
    storm and half sweaty from the efforts to get in from the parking
    lot. Sherri had been home for a bit longer and greeted me with a kiss
    at the door, helping me get all my bags inside. Back then, she was
    built like a model at 5'8" with long legs and a skinnier build.
    She had smaller tits that were just enough for a handful and thicker,
    athletic thighs and ass. Her long blond hair that normally flowed
    down to the middle of her back was tied back in a ponytail. She was
    wearing a pair of short, plaid pajama shorts and a sweatshirt with a
    heart emblazoned with the word PINK across her chest. Her feet were
    covered a pair of thick, fuzzy socks. Admittedly, it was not the
    romantic Valentine outfit I was hoping to be greeted by, but I didn't
    blame her for going for warm & comfortable. She still looked
    great in her comfy winter wear.



    Following her lead, I got out of my work clothes and

    changed into a pair of gray sweats and t-shirt of my own. When I
    emerged from the bedroom, I saw that she had opened a bottle of red
    wine and poured us both a healthy glass. Sherri didn't own a TV but
    had music playing on the stereo. Her apartment was on the smaller
    side, with a small living room that also had a little table that
    seated four people. There was a small kitchen, plus a bathroom and
    the bedroom. We settled into the couch and took the first deep breath
    in what seemed like hours.



    "So, the ride sucked huh?" she started.



    "It was brutal. The roads were awful, and

    traffic was a mess. There were spin-outs everywhere."



    "Well, at least you made it here safely."

    She lifted her glass toward mine. "Happy Valentine's Day."
    We clinked our glasses together and continued to chat about the
    storm, our jobs, and various mundane topics. As we chatted, the storm
    raged outside. Even through the solid walls of the apartment building
    we could hear the wind rattling against the building. The windows
    creaked and groaned as they frosted over with ice and snow. The sky
    darkened as dusk seemed to come earlier with the thick storm clouds
    blocking any natural sunlight.



    Before long, the bottle of wine was empty, and we

    were both pleasantly buzzed and relaxed. Sherri had wormed her feet
    under my thigh and was reclining against the arm of the couch. I was
    running my hand up her long, smooth leg, stopping short of the bottom
    of her shorts before bringing it back down. She shifted slightly and
    I was able to see a pair of pink, lacy panties peeking out from the
    inside of her shorts. I felt my cock start to swell at the sight.



    Sherri must have noticed because she broke the

    silence. "You know. It's too early to start dinner and your hand
    feels Really good right now."



    "So, what are you proposing?" I asked with

    a smirk. She answered by pulling her feet out from under me and
    scrambling down the couch to me.



    "Lift up" she ordered as she grabbed the

    sides of my sweats. I lifted my hips, allowing her to stretch my
    sweats and boxers down my hips to my thighs. My cock bounced out and
    stood erect, awaiting her next move. She swung her leg over to
    straddle me, then pulled her shorts and panties to the side, exposing
    her opening to me through the leg hole of her peejays. She reached
    down, gripped my shaft, and ran it along the length of her slit,
    covering its head with her flowing juices. Once she had me coated and
    slick, she lined me up with her pussy and dropped down on my shaft.
    Her warm tunnel enveloped me as she slid down my cock.



    "Fuck" she moaned. "That feels good."



    She sat with my cock buried inside her, rocking

    slightly as she got used to the feeling. I gripped her ass and felt
    her pussy squeeze me tighter. Slowly, she started to lift her hips up
    and down guiding herself on me. Her pussy was dripping, coating me
    with her juices and her musky scent filled the air as she started
    bouncing up and down on me. I shifted my hands and reached under her
    sweatshirt, finding her bare tits. I cupped them in my palms and ran
    my thumbs over her puckered nipples which got her to moan into my
    ear.



    "I love your hands on my tits."



    "No bra? No shirt? Seems like someone was

    prepared tonight." I gave her nipples a playful pinch.



    "Nope" she said breathily. "I was just

    going for comfy. If I was planning this, I wouldn't have worn
    underwear."



    "Either way, I like your choices." I loved

    the fact that even in the middle of a vigorous fuck, we were still
    able to banter playfully back and forth.



    The couch was creaking under us as Sherri bounced up

    and down on me and I felt myself getting closer to the edge. I
    reached with one hand and grabbed her ponytail, pulling her head back
    and arching her back so her chest pushed forward. With my other hand,
    I pinched one of her nipples more forcefully which caused her entire
    body to shudder.



    "Oh, fuck, yes! I'm gonna fucking come."

    Her body spasmed and her pussy gripped my cock. I felt goosebumps on
    her chest as she bucked on my cock, rattling the couch under us. With
    her pussy gripping me, my cock exploded a wave of cum deep into her
    tunnel.



    "Babe, your pussy feels so good."



    "Yes! Fill me up. Let me feel you!"



    Shot after shot of cum filled her pussy as she

    continued to ride out her own orgasm. Slowly, we both calmed down and
    hugged, with her still impaled on my deflating cock. She gave me a
    kiss on the lips and started to lift off me. When she did, a flow of
    our combined juices slipped from her and dripped on my bare thigh.



    "Uh" she groaned. "That's the downside

    of being spontaneous, I guess." She stood up and I could see a
    trail of cum leaking down her leg toward her knee. "Wait here.
    I'll grab you a towel, too."



    She half-walked, half-waddled to the bathroom where

    she went in and after a few seconds, poked her head out and tossed me
    a hand towel. I used it to wipe off my thigh, cock and balls before
    standing up and cleaning up a bit more. Sherri was in the bathroom
    for a few minutes and then I saw a flash of her moving to her
    bedroom. When she emerged, she was still wearing the sweatshirt and
    fuzzy socks, but had changed from her plaid shorts into a pair of
    red, lacy boy short undies - this time without any Pajama bottoms to
    cover them up.



    She gave a quick twirl to show me her ass cheeks

    covered by the stretchy fabric, "Still wearing red to stay in
    the spirit of Valentine's, babe!" She gave me a quick kiss on
    the cheek. "Should we start some dinner?"



    We spent the next hour working together to make our

    home-bound Valentines meal. I chopped lettuce and blended ingredients
    for a Caesar salad. Sherri sauteed some chicken and vegetables before
    popping them in the oven to cook. She made a box of rice pilaf while
    I opened a bottle of wine and set the table. During the entire
    process, I was constantly distracted by her bare tits bouncing under
    her sweatshirt and her lace-covered ass on display the whole time.
    She clearly knew the effect she was having on me and made sure to rub
    against me repeatedly in the enclosed kitchen space. We still had
    about 15 minutes left on the timer when the apartment plunged into
    darkness.



    "Fuck" she said. "Power is out."



    I looked into the kitchen from the table and could

    still see her bathed in a pale blue light. Fortunately, her oven and
    stove were gas, so our dinner continued to cook. I watched her fumble
    in a kitchen drawer until she found a small flashlight that she used
    to light up the room more.



    "Well, this could suck." I said. "What

    do you need me to do?"



    "Actually, we're not in bad shape." She

    replied. "Oven, stove and most importantly, heat, are all gas
    powered in the building. And since I was going for romance tonight,
    there are already candles everywhere. Why don't you light the ones on
    the table and coffee table to give us some light?"



    I did as I was told, and when I went back to the

    kitchen, I saw it was lit up more than a few moments before. Sherri
    had placed the flashlight on the counter behind a vase full of water,
    creating a makeshift lantern.



    "Where did you learn that?" I asked.



    "Just one of my many little tricks, babe."



    A few minutes later, we were sitting at the table,

    enjoying a home-cooked, candlelit dinner. Despite the curveballs of
    the day, it was a perfectly romantic Valentine's night meal. We
    toasted with our wine, ate our dinner, and chatted in the flickering
    candlelight. Outside, we could still hear the storm, but we suddenly
    didn't care. We were safe and warm, with food, drink, and each other.
    Losing power even allowed us to postpone the post-dinner cleanup as
    it wasn't worth loading everything into the powerless dishwasher.
    Instead, we piled everything into the sink, covered it in cold water
    and left it for the morning.



    "I have strawberry shortcake for dessert, but we

    should decide if we want it now or not. I don't want to open and
    close the fridge too many times."



    "I'm good waiting a bit" I replied. "Let's

    open presents now!"



    We moved back to the couch and gave each other the

    gifts we had purchased. We laughed at the similarities in the gifts;
    cologne and perfume, gift cards to our favorite salon and barber, a
    box of cigars and a box of chocolates. We opened the chocolates and
    poured glasses of whiskey to sip in the semi-darkness. The worst part
    of the power-outage was that we had lost the music in the background
    and were sitting in silence.



    "I'll be honest" she started. "I need

    to let dinner settle before we jump into bed."



    "I'm cool with that." I replied. "We

    can't really read or anything though. Do you have any board games? We
    could play one for a bit."



    "Oh! Wait here!" Sherri exclaimed. "I

    have a fun Valentiney idea!"



    She grabbed the flashlight from the kitchen and went

    into her bedroom where I heard her rustling around. When she came
    out, she sat back on the couch and showed me a deck of cards.



    "We're playing cards? Cool."



    "Nope" she replied. "I got these at a

    bachelorette party a while back." She tore open the package and
    started to shuffle the deck. "These are 'True Confession' cards!
    They all have sexy or romantic questions that we can both answer."



    She fanned out the cards on the cushion between us

    and we played rock, paper, scissors to see who would pick first.
    Sherri won, picked the first card, and read it aloud, "Do you
    prefer romantic sex or kinky sex?"



    "Damn" I said. "This is starting off

    hotter than I thought."



    "You have to answer first, baby. Those are the

    rules."



    "I mean, if I have to pick one? I'd probably go

    kinky."



    "Interesting. Care to share what you would

    consider kinky?"



    "Those, my dear, aren't the rules! It asked,

    'kinky or 'romantic'. I answered, now it's your turn."



    "Fine. I would say romantic. I'm not against

    experimenting and playing around a bit, but overall, I still like
    romantic sex better." She sipped her drink and added, "But
    my house, my rules. From now on, we can ask a follow-up question that
    we both have to answer. So, what's a kinky sex idea you'd like to
    try?"



    I thought for a moment, deciding on answer that was

    sexy, but wouldn't make her think I was a pervert, "I'd like to
    tie you up. Nothing crazy, just to the bed so I could sort of have my
    way with you."



    "Um. I wouldn't be against that, what about the

    other way around? Would you let me tie you up?"



    "Definitely. Turnabout is fair play, right? Do

    you have a romantic scenario?"



    "Not really. Maybe just something like a big

    bed, in a suite on a tropical island. The idea of a warm breeze with
    the scent of flowers in the air would be a huge turn on. Coconut oil
    on our skin, windows open so we could hear the waves. That sort of
    thing."



    "Works for me, especially with this storm

    brewing - that sounds great! My turn to pick a card." I picked
    the next card and read the text, "Have you ever had sex while
    under the influence of a drug other than alcohol?"



    "Fuck me." Sherri uttered and took a sip of

    her drink.



    "Uh oh. That's not a promising start."



    "See, I haven't really shared much about my

    college days with you." She paused to gather her thoughts, "I
    was a bit wild. I grew up in a small town, and you know my family
    life wasn't the best. So, when I got out and was at college on my
    own, I went a bit wild."



    I could hear the hesitancy in her voice and was

    worried the question was going to ruin the mood. "Okay. This is
    supposed to be fun. Do you want a new question?"



    "Nope. I'm not really embarrassed, just wasn't

    ready for it. Here we go. Yes. I have done drugs and had sex. That
    was the question right? What about you?"



    "My answer is also 'yes'. Follow-up question,

    'which ones?'"



    Sherri paused and took a breath, "Weed,

    mushrooms, LSD, ecstasy, cocaine a couple of times, and a bunch of
    prescription drugs. We had a few 'pill parties' back in the day where
    everyone would empty their cabinets and bring what they could find. I
    think that's it. Fuck, Jay, I hope that's not oversharing. It was a
    long time ago. Also, I never did anything with needles - that was way
    over the line even for me back then."



    "My list is shorter." I jumped in to put

    her back at ease. "Weed, ecstasy and cocaine. Never liked weed,
    ecstasy was cool. Coke? Could have a been a problem, but I was able
    stop, before I couldn't. It was weirdly popular after college and
    then I did it one last time with my ex, Jess a few years ago."



    "I'm actually surprised by that. You don't seem

    like the type, no offense."



    "Yeah, I'm offended I don't seem like someone

    who does drugs" I laughed. "Tara had experimented a lot
    when she was younger. So, when we dated in grad school, she sort of
    convinced me to try some different things."



    "Ah. The infamous power of the pussy corrupting

    innocent young men." Sherri reached down and picked up a new
    card, probably trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.
    She read, "What sexual position would you give up forever if you
    had to?"



    I pondered the question, going through a variety of

    positions in my mind before answering, "Is 'standing' a
    position? Because if it is, I find it's always sort of awkward. It's
    tough to line everything up, there are balance and strength issues
    and it's never as good as the amount of effort it requires."



    "I don't know. Is that a 'position' or a type of

    sex?"



    "If it's not a position, then I'd go with facing

    each other. Like when you are both on your side in bed, the woman
    throws her leg over and I slide in from there. It's not terrible, but
    others are better. What about you?"



    "Honestly? Reverse cowgirl. It doesn't feel as

    good as doggie and while I'm up there doing all the work, I'm just
    staring at the guys' feet. Then, I start thinking about him just
    staring at my ass, just does

    52 min
  • Minnesota Libido: Part 1
    Minnesota Libido: Part 1
    I cash in when my girlfriend loses a bet.
    Based on a post by TruthwithaTwist.
    Listen to the
    ►Podcast at Steamy
    Stories.


    I was first introduced to "What I Say Day" when my

    then-girlfriend, now-wife, Sherri and I had been dating for about a
    year. We met at work and were both in our late-20s. We were out to
    dinner one night and I commented on the wedding date of a mutual
    friend. Sherri said it was in mid-August while I vividly remembered
    it being in June.

    "Wanna bet?" she asked.

    "Sure" I replied. "What are we betting?"

    "Whoever is right gets a 'What I Say Day' from the other

    person."

    Confused, I asked, "What is a 'What I Say Day?'"

    "Oh. It's something my family used to do to get out of chores

    or when we wanted to do something different on a weekend or were
    arguing about a movie. Basically, winner gets to dictate what the
    loser does for a day."

    Confident I was correct on the dates, I reached across the table

    and we shook hands, "Deal."

    A few weeks later, we were in my car, driving to visit Sherri's

    Aunt Marie who lived about 4 hours away. When we got there, I had the
    unequaled joy of loading up three SUV loads full of things from her
    attic and basement and brought them to the local church for their
    annual sale. We enjoyed a lovely early-bird meal at 4:30 before going
    back to Marie's house to watch TV and old movies for the night. That
    night, I got to sleep in a twin bed in a spare room down a creaky
    hall from my girlfriend.

    Yeah, the wedding had been in mid-August.

    Over the years, we brought back the "What I Say Day" bet

    a few times. Winning days consisted of everything from art museums to
    baseball games. Once, I got clever and told her my "What I Say
    Day" would consist of golfing with my pals while she had dinner
    ready when I got home, followed by a massage and blowjob to "relax
    my golf muscles". I still think my worst loss was when I had to
    go to an endless marathon of the Lord of the Rings movies that went
    all night long. By 3am, I was hoping some sort of troll or ogre would
    end my suffering.

    But that loss was offset by my best win, that came thanks to the

    actress, Tia Carrere. For those who don't know her, she was an
    immensely popular Asian-American actress in the late 90's. She's
    probably best known for her roles in "Wayne's World" and
    "True Lies".

    Sherri and I happened to be out one night and Tia Carrere was

    shown on TV at a local sporting event. When she looked up at the
    screen, Sherri asked me, "What James Bond movie was she in?"

    "She wasn't ever a Bond girl" I replied.

    "Yes she was" insisted Sherri, "she was a villain.

    I remember." I could hear the confident tone in Sherri's voice,
    but (to sorta-quote the Princess Bride) I knew something she didn't
    know. I was a colossal James Bond fan growing up. I knew all the
    movies in order, sure, but also more than that. I could name Bond
    Girls, villains, songs and artists with years they were released. I
    could even name the "Obligatory Sacrificial Lamb"- the ally
    or friend of Bond who dies; from every movie.

    Knowing I had her, I simply extended my hand and said, "What

    I Say Day?". Sherri shook on it and sealed her fate.

    "You're thinking of 'True Lies'" I started, "It's

    with Arnold Shwartzenegger and Jamie Lee Curtis. Tia Carrere played a
    bad guy who kidnaps Jamie Lee. But it wasn't a Bond movie." A
    quick internet search when we got home proved I was right and
    solidified my prize for a future date.

    Some time passed and occasionally the bet would come up in

    conversation but I hadn't really had an effective use for it yet. We
    were living in the Northeast and toward the end of winter, we decided
    that we wanted to get away for a weekend. Sherri found a resort that
    offered private lodges and chalets by a lake and ski resort. We
    hadn't skied in years, but the thought of a large resort with a
    lodge, restaurant, fire pits, indoor/outdoor pools and hot tubs was
    definitely appealing. Plus, we would have the privacy of our own
    chalet with a fireplace, outdoor hot tub and kitchen if we just
    wanted to hang around. We booked a long weekend, arriving on Thursday
    evening and leaving Monday.

    The drive up took about 3 hours and by the time we got there, it

    was dark out. We checked in at the main lodge around 7:30 where they
    gave us a little driving map to our chalet about a half-mile away.
    The map showed all the attractions and amenities of the resort;
    pools, slopes, lodges, trails, activities, restaurants and more. They
    even had a complimentary heated shuttle bus to take guests around. We
    decided to drop our bags in the chalet, then grab a shuttle to the
    pub that was on the premises.

    We parked in front of a two-story shingled chalet that the map

    guided us to. We opened the door to see that we had a fun, rustic
    property for the weekend. The main floor had a full kitchen,
    breakfast area with a table and chairs, living room with couches, TV,
    gas fireplace and a half bathroom. There were sliding doors by the
    fireplace that led outside.

    By the kitchen was a set of open stairs that went to a loft

    bedroom that looked over the main room. It had a king-sized bed that
    looked like it was made of logs and a huge bathroom with a tiled
    shower with multiple shower heads that was clearly built for two
    people to occupy at the same time. The entire second floor was
    surrounded by large windows which provided a view of the entire
    resort. We could see the lights of the other chalets, the main lodge
    in the distance and some of the lit trails for night skiing.

    We walked back downstairs and opened up the sliding doors to see

    that we were on an over-sized deck that we assumed in Summer would
    have lounge chairs and tables for relaxing. While all these were
    stacked up at this time of year, there was a hot tub at the very edge
    of the deck, seemingly leaning over the hill the chalet was built on.
    The chalet seemed completely private, but when you walked over to the
    hot tub, you could see the lights of the other chalets around. In
    fact, the most prominent thing we could see through the darkness was
    the misty-blue glow of the hot tubs from other nearby chalets.

    Sherri was ultra-organized and asked if she could have 15 minutes

    or so to unpack and freshen up. I took that time to put the beers,
    wine, and food we had brought with us into the fridge. When Sherri
    came down, she had freshened up her hair and makeup a bit. Sherri was
    built like a model at 5'8" with long legs and a slight build.
    She had smaller b-cup tits and a tight, athletic ass. Her long blond
    hair flowed down to the middle of her back and was pulled back into a
    ponytail. She was wearing a pair of tight skinny jeans and hiking
    boots with a small heel on them, the combination of which boosted her
    amazing ass up for perfect viewing. She had on a tight red turtleneck
    that highlighted her slim waist and tits.

    I called for a shuttle to pick us up and a few minutes later, we

    were pulling on our big winter parkas to head to the pub. Sherri's
    was a more fashionable parka that came down to the top of her ass,
    since she wasn't planning on any major winter activities beyond
    drinking wine and watching snow fall. Mine was longer and heavier and
    I brought it just in case I wanted to go snowmobiling during our
    stay.

    The pub was a quaint little place with good food and great drinks.

    Because it was our first night and we knew there was a shuttle, we
    ate a great meal and took full advantage of the drinks menu. By the
    time we left the pub and made our way to the shuttle, I was confident
    that it wasn't the ice that had us a little unsteady on our feet.

    We got back to the chalet and climbed the stairs to the bedroom

    loft. Sherri told me to use the restroom first and then she would
    meet me in bed. After I was done and as I got undressed, I realized
    that with the room fully lit, people in the higher chalets or even
    some of the walkways could see directly into the loft. More
    concerning was the realization that we would be up at the crack of
    dawn when the morning sun started pouring in through the
    window-walls! Fortunately, I found a bank of switches on the wall,
    that as you turned them, they closed the various sets of blinds
    surrounding the inside of the chalet. I closed the blinds and settled
    into the bed to wait for Sherri.

    A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Sherri stepped

    out. She looked amazing and obviously had gotten into the spirit of a
    "winter weekend getaway". She was wearing a pair of lacy
    black panties that were cut high up on her hips. On top though, she
    had on a Boston Bruins hockey jersey that she had cut, so it ended
    just at the bottom of her boobs. She was showing the perfect amount
    of under-boob and was flashing her nipples with every step she took.
    Her long legs were the highlight of the outfit, though. She was
    wearing a long pair of thigh-high white hockey socks with gold &
    black stripes around her thighs.

    Sherri wasn't an athlete or even a big sports fan, but she looked

    like every fan's dream girl. The socks made it seem like her legs
    went on forever, and the cut jersey was showing off her tight stomach
    and abs. Watching her tits bounce under the shirt as she walked over
    and climbed on to the bed made me instantly hard.

    As she straddled me on the bed, I couldn't help but reach up and

    start caressing her tits under the half-shirt, running my thumbs over
    her nipples and into her cleavage.

    "So, I guess you like my outfit?"

    "Babe" I replied, "You look incredible."

    With Sherri, there was always a perfect point of alcohol

    consumption and I think she hit it that night. Too little, she
    remained her normal conservative self. Too much, she got tired. But
    when she had the perfect amount, her inhibitions would melt away and
    she would become a hellcat in bed. It was during these times that she
    would try new positions and often orgasm more easily. I think that
    the alcohol would allow her to stop being self-conscious; relax, and
    let her sexual instincts take over.

    Sherri was rotating her hips on me, grinding her crotch against my

    cock through my boxers. I kept my attention on her tits, switching
    between gently rubbing and stroking them to an occasional pinch of
    her nipples. I could feel her nipples getting harder every time I
    went back to them and her gyrations were getting faster and harder
    against me.

    I reached around and grabbed her ass, forcing her down against my

    crotch with a bit more friction and pressure.

    "Oh fuck," she moaned, "I think I can come this

    way." She braced her hands on my shoulders and really began to
    grind her pussy on my crotch. She switched from a back-and-forth
    motion to more of a circular movement, grinding her panty-covered
    clit on the head of my cock. Her breath was getting shorter and
    faster and could feel some beads of sweat starting to form on her
    chest.

    "Uh, uh, uh, I'm so close." She was moaning now. "Grab

    my tits. Pinch my nipples."

    I switched my hands back to her tits. "Please, .oh, my, .I'm

    gonna come, That's it, I'm uh." Sherri's entire body started to
    shudder as she climaxed. She knocked my arms out of the way and
    collapsed on my chest as the aftershocks rippled through her. I could
    feel the wetness of her orgasm as it had soaked through her panties
    and my boxers. Sherri's head was resting on my shoulder as she worked
    to get her pulse rate back to normal.

    After a few minutes, Sherri began to stir on top of me again.

    Grinding against my still-hard cock she said, "Feels like
    someone is ready for some relief, huh?"

    Sherri rolled off of me and peeled off her top and panties

    revealing her mostly bare pussy with just a dark blonde landing
    strip. I could still see the moisture of her recent arousal and
    orgasm as she laid back on the bed and spread her sock-covered legs
    wide.

    I slid between them and lined my erect cock up with her spread

    lips. As I slid into her, it was a mixture of sensations. She was
    still nice and lubricated from her orgasm so I thought I would have
    slid in easily. But that same orgasm had the walls of her pussy so
    aroused and inflamed that it felt tighter than it usually did. I
    adjusted my weight forward and pushed my cock further into her slick
    tunnel.

    Sherri began moaning again, "Hmm, babe. You feel good. Go

    nice and slow for me. I'm still so tight." I took her cue and
    started slowing moving my hips back and forth, not rushing my pace.
    Sherri had her hands on my ass and was digging into my skin with her
    fingernails. A quick smack on my right ass cheek and I knew I she
    wanted me to pick up speed. Just as I started to build up some
    rhythm, Sherri shifted a bit and brought her legs up and put her
    ankles all the way up on to my shoulders. I was always impressed and
    excited by her flexibility and this move spread her pussy wide open
    for my thrusts.

    "Fuck me, babe. Fuck that pussy." I could feel the

    pressure building up as I wanted to shoot inside her. The combination
    of her hands grabbing my ass, her dirty talking and the feeling of
    her socks on my shoulders became too much. With a loud moan, my
    entire body tensed and I felt my balls release a load of cum into
    Sherri's pussy. I continued thrusting until I felt the final shots
    cover her walls.

    "Jay, .I need to move my legs." In my excitement, I

    forgot that Sherri's legs were still perched on my shoulders and her
    hips were being stretched. I gently grabbed one ankle and eased her
    leg off to the side. She was able to slide the other one off,
    allowing me to roll off of her.

    "Wow" she said. "That was awesome." Sherri was

    running her fingers through our combined juices flowing out of her.
    "I'm exhausted. I'm going to clean up and get some sleep."
    After cleaning ourselves up, we got back into bed and fell into a
    deep sleep for the night.

    The next morning, we slept in thanks to the blinds working the way

    they were designed to. I was up first and used the bathroom to brush
    my teeth and wash up a bit. I knew Sherri would get up soon and we
    hadn't decided on a plan for the day, when an idea hit me.

    I crawled back into bed and Sherri started stirring a bit. Her

    back was to me, so I wrapped my arms around her and spooned against
    her naked body. She could feel my morning wood pressing against her
    ass and started to push back against me. Once again, my free hand
    found her tits and I started gently twirling around her nipple.

    "Hmm, Jay, stop it. I'm still exhausted from last night and

    my head is pounding." Not listening, I let my hand roam down
    toward her pussy before she grabbed me by my wrist.

    "Uh. I'll be right back." Sherri rolled out of bed and

    went into the bathroom. I could hear her brushing her teeth, washing
    up, peeing and the familiar shake of a bottle of Advil. A few minutes
    later, she emerged from the door and started walking naked back to
    the bed.

    "Stop there for a second" I said.

    She listened and looked at me with a curious look on her face.

    "What's up?"

    With a smirk emerging on my face I said, "I'm calling in my

    'What I Say Day' starting , now."

    "What are you talking about?"

    "Tia Carrere. True Lies. Not a Bond Girl. You owe me one day

    of whatever I say!"

    Sherri knew the bet and the rules so she slumped a bit and said,

    "Fine. It's your day. So what are we doing? Snowmobiling?
    Hiking? Freezing our asses off somehow?"

    "Nope." I replied, "As a matter of fact, we will

    barely leave the Chalet. But I have one rule."

    "What is that?"

    "You have to stay naked all day."

    "What?"

    "My day, my rules. No clothes for you all day." The look

    on Sherri's face was a mix of confusion, anger and defeat.

    "What about food? You want me to go to the restaurant naked?"

    "Nope. We can eat in here today. We'll do the restaurant

    tomorrow night."

    Knowing she was beat, Sherri reluctantly gave in. "Fine. I'll

    stay naked. But I'm going to remember this the next time I win."
    With a smile she then added, "But since we're both naked right
    now, we might as well make use of the time, right?"

    "Absolutely!" I said as she started walking toward the

    bed. "But first, ". I then reached over and hit the
    switches for the blinds letting the sun pour into the room.

    As Sherri's eyes adjusted to the streaming light, she screamed,

    "Jay! No! People can see in the room and I'm naked!"

    "That's the idea. There's a good chance some of our neighbors

    are going to get a view better than the mountain and lake today!"

    "Holy shit. I can't believe you are turned on by me showing

    myself off to strangers all day."

    "Babe" I said, "It's not like you're going to be

    parading down main street in the nude. You just may be giving a few
    glimpses to any peeping toms who get lucky today! And since it's my
    day, I know the perfect way to start it."

    I peeled back the covers showing my erect cock. I started to

    gently stroke it, bringing it to its full length.

    "I think that's enough debate for now. It's my day, so why

    not put that mouth to use?" Sherri climbed back on to the bed
    and replaced my hand with her own and started stroking me. She leaned
    down and used her tongue to start licking up and down my shaft.

    "You really are a sick fuck, you know that?" she said

    just before she plunged her mouth down the length of my cock. She
    started licking and sucking building up speed and moisture as she
    did. Using her hand, she fondled my balls while she continued her
    expert blowjob. Her long blonde hair had fallen around her head and
    was tickling my hips and thighs every time she would move her head
    down.

    As I looked down at Sherri's head bobbing up and down, with her

    ass up in the air, I felt myself get even more aroused at the thought
    of who could be watching through the open windows. Sherri must have
    sensed the slight change because she increased her suction and used
    her tongue to lick the head of my cock. I couldn't last and shot a
    full load into her mouth and throat. As I continued to pulse out some
    weakening streams of cum, Sherri pulled off my cock and aimed my cock
    at her chest. The final spurts of milky fluid left ragged streams on
    her tits and torso. As the final drops came out, she backed off,
    licked her lips and gave my cock a gentle kiss.

    "Well, now I definitely have to go shower. If I have to be

    naked in this place all day, you better go down and turn on that
    fireplace to warm it up for me and I'm sure not doing it with your
    dried cum all over me."

    While Sherri went to shower, I threw on my shorts and t-shirt and

    went downstairs. I started some coffee and turned on the fireplace to
    start warming the chalet a bit. I also took the opportunity to take a
    look at the deck and patio in the light. The patio actually had a
    large heater that could be turned on from the inside, which warmed up
    the entire area to the hot tub.

    I went back to the kitchen and opened up the container of muffins

    we had brought with us, throwing two of them in the toaster oven.
    When I heard the shower shut off, followed by Sherri's hair dryer, I
    started to pour the coffee and put muffins on some plates. I heard
    Sherri's feet coming down the stairs and looked up to see her naked
    body descending. Her skin was still flushed from the shower and I
    could see the combined effects of the heat and moisture on her body.
    Her small pink nipples were tight and puckered having come from the
    hot shower to the cooler room. Her shoulders were still red and
    flushed and I could see her long legs shining from the moisturizer
    she usually used. I would never get tired of looking at her tight,
    athletic ass as it rippled and bounced with every step she took.

    Sherri came over to the kitchen, grabbed her muffin

    and coffee and went over to the sofa in the living room.



    "So, I'm just supposed to sit around naked all

    day?"



    "Sorry, babe, that was the bet."



    "But you get to wear clothes? That doesn't seem

    fair."



    I shrugged a bit, wondering if she was right, but

    thinking to myself that her naked body was a much better sight than
    mine walking around naked a

    53 min
  • Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 7
    Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 7.
    Captured on video.
    Based on a post by A Big Cat.
    Listen to the Podcast at Explicit
    Novels.


    He rummaged in his discarded trousers and pulled out a

    familiar, leather-bound notebook. My diary! "Perhaps you might read this
    for me?"

    Gabrielle could hardly speak for pouting. She opened the

    pages, her flush deepened. "Fuck;” She flipped through. Giggled.
    "Fuck, my friend is dirty;”

    I flushed too. Squirming inside at the thought of my secrets

    being laid bare. Then I remembered, I wrote it to torture my father anyway, and
    he'd even shared it with his rent boy. I was always reading it out to Bill too.
    So why not let Gabrielle read it too? She was in half of it anyway.

    Bill mumbled the same sentiments to Gabrielle, who I am

    certain, was looking for mentions of herself.

    Perhaps she found something then because she went quiet. Her

    eyes widened at a page, then peered, then welled up.

    I had nothing to fear, I'd only ever expressed adoration for

    Gabrielle. Which is what made this betrayal sting so. "Oh, how I adore
    that girl," she whispered, then swung her hips and winced at the
    sensation, presumably something to do with her underwear. "Too sexy. My
    poor panties. Monsieur, I must remove them."

    "I'd rather you didn't, Miss."

    She tutted, reached up her, my!, dress, and wriggled her

    knickers down. She grabbed one of Bill's great paws and stuffed the little
    white garment into his fist. "See what you do to me?"

    Bill cleared his throat, shook the knickers out, then neatly

    folded them and put them on the bench. He wiped his hand on his bare buttock.

    Gabrielle snorted. "I will read for you, then, to get

    you hard;” she cupped his balls lightly and he flinched. She stamped her foot,
    quivering her unfettered bottom under the dress. "Bill you must let me
    touch you or how are we to make the cast?"

    She explained how she'd need to wrap plaster-soaked strips

    around his phallus, smoothing out bubbles as she went. Bill cleared his throat
    again and nodded. "But no more," he said.

    Gabrielle picked up my diary and read the section about,

    "Three Bells for Belle.” Remember, the time Bill spread me on a
    chesterfield and licked me while I read the story to him? Or tried to. No doubt
    Gabrielle was hoping to put the notion in his head to repeat that performance
    on her.

    But it certainly had an effect. My words bounced him almost

    immediately erect. Her sweet, husky little voice and her thick French accent
    didn't do any harm either.

    He wasn't as bustingly hard as the dildo they made, but it

    seemed enough to spring Gabrielle to action. She grabbed a jar, scooped out
    some ointment and made to apply it to Bill's bucking meat. He twisted away.
    "What's this?"

    "It is to protect your sensitive skin. I work quickly,

    and use a special plaster, but it can still burn a little." She reached
    for his cock again. He swiped the cream off her fingers and covered his
    erection, working vigorously to keep himself hard. I had to cross my legs. I salivated
    at both ends! Diary, I adore Bill's cock, what can I do? It's like an
    addiction.

    Gabrielle knelt before him again, this time reaching under

    the bench and lifting a dripping white strip of fabric. She dangled it over his
    erection and flopped one end on the base of his shaft. She wrapped it round.
    "Is not too cold?" she said breathily, working carefully, pressing
    the strip to his skin and smoothing it dead flat as she worked. Her tongue was
    caught between her teeth.

    "It's fine," he said.

    She cast a gaze up at him and dimpled a smile. "You

    like me doing this, hmm?"

    He didn't answer. I think he'd closed his eyes.

    She wrapped him from base to tip, and he started sagging.

    Was that the weight of the plaster or was he losing his erection?

    "Perhaps you might read again for me, Miss

    Gabrielle?" I grinned when he said this. Even my friend at her flirty best
    couldn't keep him hard. My words were more arousing to this man than a woman
    like Gabrielle lovingly stroking his cock.

    She growled, perhaps thinking the same. "No, I cannot

    read and work. You read your lady porn yourself."

    Bill opened my notebook and, as if by magic, nudged rigid

    again.

    Gabrielle whistled. "That worked. Which bit are you

    reading?"

     

     

    Bill took a breath, as if computing whether it was Okay to

    answer, then reported in his basey whisper: "Lady Bathsheba described how,
    alone once in her room, she squatted over a hand mirror, pretending it was my
    face. She ah; she dripped on it. Rather a lot."

    Gabrielle laughed throatily, "You really like eating her,

    non?"

    "Very much."

    She wrapped another band around his erection, smoothed it.

    Hummed. "I thought you liked to taste her, when the three of us, we had
    sex together. You liked this too? Us three together?"

    "I liked that Lady Bathsheba liked it."

    "I think for a fact you liked it too. You came many

    times."

    Bill didn't answer.

    "Read me a bit, monsieur. From the three-of-us part.

    Let's see how indifferent you are."

    Bill flipped pages and read about our first three-way

    together, on the terrace in the sun. I was crouched on his mouth while
    Gabrielle dropped her skirt over my head so I could lick her.

    He stopped reading after I'd described our orgasms, and she

    rolled her hand for him to continue. When he got to the part where she sat
    naked on his face while I watched, her wrapping fingers trembled.

    "You have a world-class tongue, Bill." She spoke

    to his cock, working her winding way round it. "And what happened after
    this? After I came on your mouth? While Bash watched and sucked you?"

    "You know what happened."

    "Read it to me."

    I didn't like how rigid he looked now. It seemed he was

    enjoying this strange once-removed sex with her. He turned the page and read my
    description of us riding both ends of him, Bill fucking her while he licked me.
    It was safe enough, I suppose, I mean we had actually done that, and very much
    enjoyed it, but it felt wrong, like they were getting off on each other all
    over again, but this time without me. Was this it then? What got him so
    quiveringly hard?

    But no. He softened.

    Gabrielle cursed. "No, no, no. Don't go limp now, what

    is wrong with you?"

    "I'm sorry. It just feels wrong. Even just talking

    about; it. With you."

    "Fucker! You know you are lucky, being here now with

    me! Men fight over me! One travelled the world for one hour with me! Another,
    when I was naked for him, he was so intimidated by my beauty he couldn't
    harden, yet so excited he came anyway!"

    "You are exquisite Miss Gabrielle, that's not the

    point."

    "Don't patronize me."

    "I do. desire you. How could I not? After all we've done

    together. With Lady Bathsheba."

    "So, prove it! Prove it in stiff flesh for me."

    "It's not so simple, Miss. My fear of hurting Lady

    Bathsheba is just greater than my desire for you. Even though she's not
    here."

    "My God. You are desperately in love with her, aren't

    you?"

    Bill didn't say a word. He cleared his throat, then cleared

    it again and took a shaky breath. Pages turned and he read another passage
    about me sixty-nining him in the conservatory, His dick hardened.

    Gabrielle finished her wrap and smoothed it all over one

    more time with both hands and a lascivious giggle. She washed up, shouting over
    her shoulder, "Now you must stay hard just for a few minutes."

    She took the book off him and sat in an armchair to read my

    words in her sultry accent. She told my stories with her knees together and
    raised, her feet propped on the seat, and twisted at the ankle to display her
    glistening, puckered sex. Perhaps this way she could believe he was aroused by
    her, while I was sure it was my words exciting him. His eyes seemed closed.
    Mostly. Mine weren't. They drilled into Gabrielle's sweet cunt, watching her
    drip between her bottom cheeks. I imagined scooping that lovely stuff on my
    tongue, swathing it over her clit. I don't know how Bill resisted. He is far
    stronger than I.

    After a few minutes, she gently took the mold off him, and I

    presumed they were done. So did he. He grabbed his shorts and stepped into
    them.

    "No darling, wait! One more for luck." Gabrielle

    grabbed an airtight container. "I need to make a safety mold. Those
    plaster ones, they never work. So I always use alginate too. It is quicker,
    just ninety seconds, and much more detailed. Works every time."

    "So why;” Bill sighed hard. "Why bother with the

    plaster?"

    Gabrielle pouted a shrug. "It is sexy." She shook

    the canister, biting her lip at his erection. "It is even harder down
    there now, anyway, non? Shame to waste it. Bon. I mix warm water with powder in
    here, you put your meat in, and take it out, et voila!"

    She put the canister on the floor, stirring the sludge

    inside it briskly. "Okay, you do a press-up over this, lower your cock
    into it, like into a woman, then absolutely do not move until I say you can,
    you can do this? Quick, go, go."

    Bill dropped onto his hands, and lowered himself into the

    tube of gunk.

    Gabrielle squeaked. "Bon! Do not move! I read for you!

    My cheekster friend of course had it all mapped out. Bill's

    braced position put his head right in front of her armchair. With a fluidity
    that suggested she'd practiced this, she jumped into her chair, shuffled her
    bottom to the edge of the seat, flopped back and looped her legs over the chair
    arms. Her mound was so close to my man's head she could probably feel his
    breath. Her lips slowly petaled open under him and he turned his head from the
    explicit spread. She grasped him back in place. "No! Still! Be
    still!"

    Chuckling, and kicking excitedly, she picked up my diary.

    She read from a part where she'd sat on Bill's cock, reverse cowboy I believe
    they call it, and I knelt between their legs, licking them both. While she
    read, she toyed with her flushed folds. Bill strained, eyes shut, but with his
    ears no doubt full of her sloppy sounds and panting. His muscles tensed in the
    prolonged push-up, his naked ass quivered.

    "Miss Gabrielle, two minutes has passed, I; "

    "Shush!" Gabrielle got to the part where she and I

    finally sucked Bill off, fighting over his eruption. Bill groaned. Gabrielle
    squirmed and shoved my notebook between her legs, rubbing her clit hard with
    it, coming on my pages, on my handwriting, cackling like a witch.

    She was still crimson and sliding my diary around her cunt,

    when Bill stood from his task and dressed.

    "Thank you Miss Gabrielle," he said, shoveling his

    still hard cock into his boxers. "Lady Bathsheba will be delighted."

    "Can't you see how I drip for you?" Gabrielle

    fanned her sex with my notebook, and slid two fingers into her podgy cunt as if
    scratching an itch. "It is a shame to waste it. And a shame to waste your
    hardness too I think."

    "It won't go to waste." He put out his hand for my

    diary.

    "Fuck me, Bill." Gabrielle tossed my diary, pulled

    her feet apart and back, and spread her lips. "Please."

    "No, Miss." He collected my notebook and left the

    frame.

    She made a sharp squealing kind of growl and flapped her

    feet. The door shut behind him.

    Gabrielle swore and clamped her thighs over her hands, then

    smacked her puffy mound as if telling it off, and came back to the screen.

    "So, you lucky bitch. I guess you'll get the joy of

    that cock this afternoon. I'd like to say it was my doing but, it was all
    you." She sucked her fingers, sighed. "Sweetie, be careful though. He
    properly loves you, and this cannot be. You have duties. You know this. Today,
    if he fucked me, that was the desirable outcome, oui? Because then he was just
    a good fun fuck, or lick, and maybe you could have been together even if you
    were married, just for the fabulous sex, and no one would be hurt. Like you and
    me? But now;” She grimaced. "Be careful, sexy lady. This is not the
    husband you need." The screen went black.

    Diary I only got this video after I'd slotted the pages

    describing my shameless orgy under Bill's door.

    And, shit, he loves me.

    I think we might have said this to each other, or I probably

    had, but only in the heat of the moment, not in a way that counted. I mean we
    say we want to eat each other too, all the time, but we never actually go
    cannibal. This was this serious kind of love. The kind that quietly,
    inextricably binds.

    And I'd blown it, throwing my supposed sexual freedom in his

    face. Worse, I'd probably broken the heart of the person I cared about most in
    the world.

    But maybe that was a good thing. We could not be together,

    not just because so much was expected of me, but for Bill's own safety. Father
    had threatened to kill him if he swayed me from my familial duties. Perhaps we
    needed to finish this. Rip off the band aid. Perhaps I should let him go.

    Diary, the dawn is rising. I'll go to him now.

     

     

    So as I walked across the dewy grass in naught but my

    bathrobe that chilly morning, heading for the gatehouse Bill lived in, I had a
    grownup plan. I would apologize for rubbing his nose in my shit with that diary
    entry, but then lay it on the line. We were getting too close. I cared too
    much. He should leave.

    But the morning sun was spilling gold all over the place,

    and as I found the open window I always used to sneak into his bedroom, the
    gold piped in there too. It gilded my beautiful man asleep in his bed, naked on
    his covers, on his back, his cock half-hard and nodding and squirming in dreams
    of its own.

    I'd intended to use the front door for once, like a

    responsible adult, but found myself mesmerized by his rod and climbing in
    through his window again. I leaned over Bill's sweet cock and told myself, one
    last time. Then it was warm against my lips, then warm against my tongue, and
    then warm in my mouth. It wasn't until it was clenching against my palette that
    I checked Bill's other end, to find pale green eyes sparkling down at me.

    "Morning, Madam," he said.

    He seemed happy. Had he not read the diary yet? That was

    something, but it didn't change what I needed to do. I shrugged off my bathrobe
    and climbed into bed with him. Not beside him, but wedging between his legs so
    I could keep sucking.

    I didn't say a word, just gazed at my gorgeous man and sucked

    and rubbed. One last time.

    He made a ragged, growling sigh. "Careful, Madam. I'll

    come."

    I rolled my eyes at him, as if to say, "Isn't that the

    point?" and rubbed him faster. He stroked my hair. His eyes filled mine so
    I had to shut them, for fear they'd leak. I clogged the lump in my throat with
    his hard end. His legs shook beside me.

    "Madam," he blurted. I drew harder on him. He

    shuddered violently, as if still trying to hold back.

    "Hmm!" I said. "Hmm!"

    He shoved up at my face and shot his hot, salty-sweet love

    into my mouth. Another day I might have guzzled him, but today I took it slow
    as I could. I let his frantic pumps flood my tongue, coat me, and overflow. I
    swirled him round and round, like wine, groaning like a connoisseur, and took
    deliberately small gulps, to relish each oysterish slide down my throat. I
    sucked and squeezed until I could get no more from his tip and even then I
    sucked on, halting his softening as long as I could. I wanted more, another
    release from him, and could probably get it, we'd managed before, but no, I'd
    promised myself that was the last.

    So I let him go, kissed his happy cock goodbye, then each

    drained ball, and crawled up his body, licking spillage from my lips. As ever,
    this made him blush, but smirk. He was far too polite to say how he loved me
    doing this dirty thing, and that made it even sexier doing it for him. I wanted
    to kiss him, and he leant up to me to do so, but we knew we didn't do that. It
    felt too good in the same dangerous way fucking would be too good. Instead I
    stood astride his face and let my dangling juices glisten in the sunrise as I
    dripped for him. Let him see how much I loved his cum. How much I loved him.

    He stroked my legs. "I thought you'd be exhausted after

    your orgy." He grinned and smacked my bum. So he had read it. I wondered
    if he didn't believe me. Perhaps he thought it was a story. I answered by
    opening my labia, and wriggling.

    "It's Okay," he said, his gaze lost in my sex.

    "I can see why you did it. I should've explained how we made your dildo.
    Did Gabrielle send you the video?" A long, sticky drip landed on his lips.
    He licked it off. "And you clearly did it to get to me. Which proves you
    like me. So that's something, even if it did hurt at first." He chortled
    at another long drip dangling over him. It landed, he licked, hummed. "All
    those adoring fans. I'm so lucky." He regarded me like I shone.
    "Bash. I; "

    I crouched on his mouth and shut him up.

    Bash. He called me Bash.

    I came too quickly. I came too quickly and so hard I

    couldn't bear his magical mouth on my flaming, jangling clit any longer. I
    wanted it to last longer.

    I wanted it all to last much longer.

    I flopped off his face onto his chest and shuddered in his

    arms. I took a breath to say the words: "You should go." But he
    tipped my chin to him, and kissed me. We tasted of each other. I felt like I
    was tumbling into him. "Stop," I said.

    "I love you," he said. "Marry; "

    "Stop."

    "No." He turned us over, lying above me. He rocked

    his hips at mine. He was rigid again, just from licking me. How could I dump a
    man who worshipped me so much? I leaked a tear, I couldn't hold it back. It
    rolled down the side of my head and he kissed it away. Something perfectly
    blunt and hard nudged between my cunt lips. He paused. His fat cock at my opening
    was a promise: this man would risk his life to be with me. Suddenly my grownup
    plan seemed weak and hollow.

    "Marry me," he said.

    I couldn't do it. I couldn't say no. But I couldn't say yes

    either. I curled my hips up at him, and brought him a little deeper. A little
    closer. This wasn't a need to be fucked. I could have that anytime. This was a
    need for much more than that, it was a need to be with him, and that would cost
    me dear. To be with Bill I'd have to give up my inheritance, my title; all the
    life I was born to. And worse of all, Father would seek murderous revenge.

    But Bill slid deeper still. He'd made his decision. He

    waited for me, half inside me, half out. Our skins coalesced where they
    touched, aching to become one thing. Our breaths locked step. Our hearts too. I
    wrapped my arms about his neck, and my legs about his hips;

    Fuck it all.

    "Yes." I pulled him in. "Yes!"

    My last entry starts in heaven;

    Dear Diary, do you know what a story arc is?

    It means the path a story takes from beginning to end;

    hopefully ending in a different place than where it started. Ideally, the
    opposite of where it started. Since I learned that, I never trust anything that
    starts happy.

    And Bill and I started this part of our story in actual

    heaven. By heaven I mean shacked up in a Mayfair townhouse loaned to us by
    Gabrielle (her hubbie was a tech-trillionaire, remember) under the certain, not
    unpleasant, condition that we were her "fuck bunnies" and had to
    please her whenever she came to visit.

    We were hiding from my father, who'd told the world's press

    that Bill had coerced me into running away with him because Vogue declared I
    was "The Most Desirable Woman In The World" and he wanted me for
    himself.

    Remember, Bill and I had agreed to marry, even though that

    would mean me giving up my title, as Father would never permit me to marry our
    gardener. Also, and worse, the old bastard promised to have Bill killed if he
    stopped me elevating the blood line by marrying royalty. He didn't put that in
    the press. Meanwhile Gabrielle was loving the subterfuge and had sent decoys of
    us into the world. Square-jawed, muscle-bound slap-heads and black bobbed,
    pillowy-lipped sex kittens popped up in Paris, Milan, New

    53 min
  • Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 6
    Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 6.
    Garden Fantasies Abound.
    Based on a post by A Big Cat.
    Listen to the Podcast at Explicit
    Novels.


    Was it better that Bill pretended he was fucking me, or did

    that just make the betrayal sweeter for him, and more bitter for me;
    underlining what I couldn't have? And the pain of watching, fuck. It was
    mouth-watering. Delectable. The kind of throb one can't help but pick at and
    tease.

    And still Gabrielle stared. A smile spread across her lips.

    Then her eyelids drooped and she ground to a halt. She gasped. "Yes!"

    I filled my void with my own sad fingers, clamped my mouth

    shut and pretended Gabrielle's cries of ecstasy were my own, even though I
    couldn't come.

    Bill ploughed on, grunting with each deep dig as Gabrielle

    quaked on his cock. Were those grunts the effort of shoving, or of holding back
    his orgasm?

    I wanted him to come in her, to fill her like this morning,

    to overflowing, but the thought also emptied me.

    Enough.

    I found myself standing beside them, one hand on Gabrielle's

    wobbling buttock, the other on Bill's driving hips, trying to prize them apart.

    They were so lost in each other they didn't seem to care I'd

    discovered them. I think they even thought I was trying to get a better look.
    Gabrielle raised a leg, digging her toes into the shaggy tree bark, tilting her
    hips toward me. Her cunt looked impossibly stretched around Bill's thick,
    glistening rod. Judging by her dopey smile and blissed out gaze this caused me
    more pain than her.

    Bill took my hand. "I'm coming, Madam."

    Had he gone mad? Was he my torturer now, too? I wriggled my

    hand free of him. "You are not!"

    "B-but Madam." He looked like he might weep.

    "Bill, please."

    He slid out, and staggered back, clasping his cock like an

    unexploded rocket; so hard, his cockhead bulged like a beef heart from his
    fist.

    "Oh Oui!" Gabrielle flipped round and dropped to

    her knees in front of him. "Explode for me."

    "No, Bill!"

    Bill twitched a few times as if in pain. Then took a deep

    breath and let himself go.

    Gabrielle cursed and lunged at his cock, but I yanked her

    hair. She spun and cat-hissed.

    Only then did Bill seem to notice my wet cheeks. He reached

    out to me. "Oh, Madam." His erection, aroused by Gabrielle, not me,
    seemed alien and dangerous. I stepped away from him. His cock flagged.

    "I thought this is what you wanted?" He reached

    for me again. I flinched.

    "Why would you ever think that?"

    Bill blinked at Gabrielle, expecting her to answer, I

    suppose. But she avoided his eye, shaking her head and wrapping a towel around
    herself.

     

     

    Bill picked up another towel. "Gabrielle said you

    wanted; you know;” He held it open to me. "To watch."

    My body was on autopilot while my head spun somersaults. I

    shrugged off my damp clothes and stepped into Bill's cottony embrace.
    Gabrielle's eyes danced over my nudity. Her foot twisted at the ankle and she
    bit her lip. Did she ever get enough?

    "I never said I wanted to watch you fuck." I

    lolled against him, still avoiding his troublesome half-mast cock. His hands
    were comforting and enlivening at the same time.

    "And yet, here you are? Peeping?" Gabrielle tilted

    her head, regarding us like her private show.

    "Well, yes. This time," I said. "I caught

    you. But not earlier, when you fucked on the kitchen table. That wasn't for my
    benefit."

    Bill's rubbing faltered. "You weren't watching

    that?" He turned dark eyes on Gabrielle. "You said she was watching
    us."

    Gabrielle shrugged coquettishly. "Oops."

    His hands wrapped around my front and fluffed at my tits. "I

    would never have indulged her, Madam, if I; "

    "I know, Bill." I nestled my ass against his cock.

    Hard again, this time from me. I raised a finger to my torturer, to tell her to
    go, when Bill's fluffing moved to my worked-up pussy lips and suddenly I didn't
    care what she did.

    She dropped to her knees, I thought to get a better view of

    us, but she was; begging? "I am so sorry, Bash. Bill." She lowered
    her head, spoke quietly to her knees. "It is just; sex with you, with the
    two of you, it is like a drug for me. I have never felt so; " She searched
    for the word. Gave up. She looked up. "You two, together, you are like the
    perfect sex animal. As soon as I have you I want you again. Bill, this morning
    when I lied to you, I was lying to myself. From guilt. I wanted my delicious
    Bash there, to enjoy us enjoying each other. I imagined her aroused by watching
    you fuck me, and wanted you to imagine it too. Is this wrong?" She
    addressed Bill's hands between my legs, crawling toward them as if hypnotized.
    She looked like she was stalking us.

    "And when you lied to me just now?" He spoke

    quietly, into my neck, hardly even addressing her. He tossed the towel and let
    his bare hands play with my bare tits instead, teasing my nipples to bullets
    with rough palms. My knees wobbled. My thigh tops chilled in a breeze.

    Not a breeze. Gabrielle's sigh as she knelt at our feet.

    "I didn't lie. I knew she would watch us. She finds it too horny.
    Regardez." With feline speed, she lapped up the arousal treadling down my
    thigh, and jumped to her feet, pushing her mouth to Bill's.

    "Umm!" He flustered, then calmed. "Hmm;”

    She stepped away. He swallowed, then chuckled and kissed

    under my earlobe.

    "Merde. See! Look at you! How wet you are for him. And

    how your taste hardens him. How can I resist this?" She unwrapped the
    towel. "I'm only human."

    Bill's cock nudged at my bottom. He pulled back, probed his

    bulging cockhead under my ass, between my thighs. "I'm going to fuck you
    now, Madam."

    I melted. My cunny actually clasped with salivating longing.

    But I crossed my feet and locked my knees, and wished I didn't have such a big
    gap between my thighs. (Gabrielle keeps telling me that big bottoms and a wide
    thigh gap drive men crazy, but I keep reminding her: I'm not a man.)
    "Bill, it's not safe."

    "I don't care." His fingertips brushed my clit

    hood, opened my lips. "I'd rather risk being shot in the head than upset
    you again."

    "Fuck-sake." Gabrielle sent her hands between

    opened knees.

    I was so wet, his cock slid effortlessly under my ass,

    between my inner thigs. We both caught a breath. "I won't let you endanger
    yourself." I rode his thick meat like a broomstick, arching until my clit
    rubbed on his perfect wood.

    "Please, Madam." He angled his lunges, trying to

    slip into me.

    "No, Bill." I moved away, still enjoying his hot

    hardness sliding on my clit.

    Gabrielle peered as his end protruded a good fist's length

    from between my thighs. "Fuck."

    "You." I snapped. "Be my cunt."

    She immediately opened her mouth over his end as it poked

    from my thighs, licking my clit on his backstrokes and humming at everything
    that entered her gob.

    Bill's hips shook.

    I whimpered as he worked my clit with a gorgeously indirect

    power. My empty, squeezing hole drooled over our join, and Gabrielle received
    us both on her eager (guilty?) tongue, fellating her perfect sex animal.

    We swore; all of us I think; and Bill's torso stiffened

    against my back. I reached behind his arse and pulled him harder to me. He
    wrapped arms about me and hefted until my toes left the floor. I gyrated on him,
    flexed my thighs, possessed with odd image of sliding down an infinite, lubed
    banister. Gabrielle added her unique slobbery gobble, her fingers flapping
    between her spread knees.

    It occurred to me dizzily to push her away before she was

    covered in cum, not to protect her from it but because she'd love it and that
    stuff was still mine. But it was too late. Bill and I always come together, and
    as my orgasm fountained and his cock tensed, he muttered, "M-Madam;” And
    rapture drowned me.

    I grasped Gabrielle's shoulders. She strained to keep her

    mouth in place, the pad of her tongue under his end. His cock bucked at my
    clit, pressed so hard it felt like he was part of me and I was coming like a
    man. A white rope from shot from between my legs, all over Gabrielle's top lip
    and tongue. Then another and another. My orgasm hit me like a slippery
    juggernaut, ramming into my back. Or was that Bill? My cunt exploded with him,
    bursting me with bliss, then showering Gabrielle in bliss made liquid. With
    silent intent, she lapped and sucked as if to steal our pleasure, but her silky
    licks only drew more out and stole our breath instead. Bill thrust behind me
    like a jet pack for my own sex. I felt turbo charged, doubled-up.

    "Oh oui," Gabrielle said hollowly, her tongue shockingly

    white. "Oui."

    Bill lowered me back to the ground, and I stamped my foot.

    "Bitch!"

    Gabrielle shone huge eyes up at me, smirking as she made a

    show of rolling my man's semen about her cheating gob. She even stood up so I
    could see better! I kicked her shin. She sniggered.

    What was she playing at? "I told you, his; "

    She pressed her messy lips to mine, then her tongue. Just as

    she did for him, she did for me, passing on my love's; love. Bill's blood warm,
    oystery flavor filled my mouth, slickly stirred by my best friend's adoring
    kiss. An orgasmic aftershock sent a wave of tingles across my skin and I
    whimpered and kissed her back greedily. Bill "oofed" behind me, like
    he'd been punched, but then I suppose he was treated to quite a sight: us wanton
    harlots kissing his cum between us!

    Gabrielle sighed, eking out her kiss, cupping my cheeks and

    seeking Bill in my mouth to pass him back to me again. I didn't mind, each
    pervy slurp twisted my insides, but then I became aware of her slinking in my
    arms. As if she was dancing. And Bill, even though he'd come, was still rock
    hard between my legs, and pushing. I thought this was because of our hardcore
    heavy petting, but his arms, which had been wrapped about me, encompassed us
    both now to clutch Gabrielle's bottom. Meanwhile, Gabrielle pulled at his ass
    behind me, squishing me tight between them.

    I swallowed our salty kiss, and my lover's essence slid down

    to my belly along with a lascivious trickle of realization. Bill was fucking us
    both.

    Well, our clits anyway, sliding along mine to nudge his end

    to Gabrielle's as she rolled her hips to meet him. This made me laugh, or maybe
    it was more aftershocks making me giddy, but again my chest (and cunt) puffed
    in pride that my Bill was endowed enough to please us both like this.

    With my back pressed to Bill's front, it was easy to imagine

    being Gabrielle's perfect sex beast. We kissed her with two mouths, squeezed
    her arse with four hands. I brushed stiff-nippled, pillowy tits to hers, while
    Bill teased her clit with steel that I oiled; a key if you like, inserted and
    winding us all up again!

    Diary, it had been the best and worst of days, but now that

    I was trapped in this hard-soft love-lust sandwich, my world was complete;
    conjoined with my lovely man to give my best friend the sex of her life. And
    better than that, he joined her to please me, and then she and I to please him!
    I had gone through the bitter side of sharing a lover, and this side was all
    treacle.

    Bill's relentless rod on our pussies was like a baton

    orchestrating our kissing and stroking. All echoes and contrasts. Silky-chinned
    kisses were followed by bristles. Great leathery paws followed by small, gentle
    claws. Gabrielle's ass rolled under my needy kneading, squeezed firmer by Bill
    covering my hands with his before following in the wake of my caresses up her
    sinuous back, then over her tits.

     

     

    Bill stood beside us, clearly still enjoying our kissing,

    judging by the ever-ready cock he slid between our bellies. He stroked us from
    neck to bottom, which though performed calmly, left a glittering wake of
    horniness behind each caress.

    I can never get enough of Gabrielle's kiss (sorry Bill).

    It's so yielding, yet exquisitely needy like a pussy that loves you back. It's
    doubly sexy when she tastes of Bill, so he can at least take comfort from that!
    And of course a kiss is always enlivened when your man curls his hand under
    your bum to squish your cunny. And your lover's cunny too.

    We all but twerked on his deft fingers, sniggering into our

    kiss, catching our breaths as he slid thumbs into us while working our clits
    like little triggers. We tugged on his meat and bit his pecs but Gabrielle
    needed more, swiveling to face him, squeezing his bulges and turning her
    perfect kiss on him. Her back snaked along my front, and the contrast of her
    sleekness against his caveman bulk will haunt my erotic dreams forever. I
    stroked her tits, cupping them to Bill's kisses, while he slipped open her
    labia to my finger-tips and, as I dropped little bites over her back and bottom
    to kneel between their legs, he spread her wide to my tongue.

    She curled a leg around his waist and her pussy nudged at

    his cock and my mouth like; well like the indecisive, hungry cat it was. Her
    juices looped from thigh to slavering hole, and she squirmed to get his end
    lodged inside. I teased her with his taut bulb, nudging it at her opening until
    she tried to impale herself on it, then pulling him out and sucking him
    instead. Fun for all. I especially enjoyed Bill and Gabrielle's curses. They
    could fuck, but at my pleasure. Not theirs.

    Rain rattled the glass above us and flares of sunlight cast

    trickling shadows over our skin, I was lost in a dream from which I never
    wanted to wake. A dream of yielding, florid hollows and straining lumps. My sex
    thrummed, delighted by delighting the people I desired most. I licked and
    sucked and rubbed and teased, relishing that resonant throb of my own bits. It
    was so dreamy I wasn't at all surprised when Gabrielle's feet left the floor
    and she floated into the air.

    If I was light as a beach ball to Bill, my petite friend

    seemed hardly a balloon. While I was enjoying my cock and clitty delight, Bill
    had bent down, taken a good grip on my girl's hips and stood, inverting her so
    he could, of course, eat her like an ice cream. He did it so casually and with
    such fluidity she didn't even scream, just gave over utterly to his strength
    like she was flipped up to man's mouth all time. I suppose Gabrielle's
    billionaire husband was all about the harnesses and toys and swing sets, she
    was no stranger to acrobatics.

    So she joined me at Bill's cock, upside down, her legs a

    waving, wide Y to his mouth. Another rush of pride overwhelmed me and I sucked
    on him with renewed vigor. My friend's cheek pressed to mine, her hair covering
    us both, as if to discretely veil our adoration of his phallus.

    She supped on my man, as comfortable as if she was reclined

    on a chaise. Bill thighs quivered like a race-horse every time our mouths slid
    along his shaft. He rumbled into Gabrielle's cunt so forcefully it croaked from
    her mouth and suddenly I wanted to be the one getting those cute noises from
    her.

    Yesterday's Bathsheba, even the Bathsheba of an hour ago,

    would never leave Gabrielle's mouth alone with Bill's cock in this state. But
    since he'd offered to fuck me whatever the consequences, this Bathsheba was
    more confident. She was adored by this man. Not even a coppertop Audrey Hepburn
    with the oral skills of a thousand-dollar whore would steal his heart, even if
    she stole his cum. So I left my dangerous friend to do her worst, so I could do
    my worst to her.

    I hopped up to share Bill's ice cream. He held her writhing

    little body steady and we ate her marshmallowy spread entirely for our own
    pleasure, taking turns to suck the fleshy cherry of her clit hood or swirling
    it between us like the third tongue in a particularly dirty three-way snog.

    Bill's tongue grew uncoordinated and I sensed that when

    Gabrielle wasn't muttering French curses at our licking, she was giving as good
    as she got. Bill would come again soon. Sure enough, he tremored and had to
    brace himself. Gabrielle gave a little yelp on his meat. As impressive as my
    lovers were, I worried about them coming in this position. I dropped back to my
    knees. Despite her little elfin mouth she'd taken his entire length into her
    throat. I'd never managed that even with my massive gob. I waited for her to
    unimpale herself while tea-bagging his lovely great testicles. They clenched in
    my mouth. He blabbered, "C-careful ladies."

    Gabrielle, our Ferrari, naturally took this as a sign to

    change up a gear. Bill staggered. She stopped deepthroating only to wank him
    vigorously onto her curled out tongue, her eyes shut, panting, "Oui; oui;”
    I quickly nuzzled her off his cock.

    Bill swore, relieved I think, as I persuaded Gabrielle to

    kiss me instead of sucking him. Luckily, like Bill, she finds it impossible to
    ignore my plumpy great lips. I was sat beneath her, leant back on my hands.
    Once I had her attention, I made sure she could see my knees flop apart and my
    hips rock needily up at her

    "Oh baby, sorry;” She wriggled, slapping Bill's thighs

    until he lowered her as obediently and gently as an elephant. She slid her body
    down mine to get her face between my thighs. Bill positioned her astride my
    face, glinting mischievously, and kissed me and I wanted to blub.

    Then a hungry electric eel attacked my cunt. Gabrielle, with

    her characteristic sexual restraint, ground her mound on my mouth and her mouth
    on my mound.

    Above me, kneeling astride my head and poised at Gabrielle's

    rear, Bill watched our sixty-nine. Seeing us through his desirous eyes doubled
    the thrill, especially as he ran a hand along his length. His masculine fist
    held his cock like an axe, a sight that flopped me even wider to Gabrielle's
    feeding frenzy.

    I dug my fingers into his ass, dragged him closer to us, but

    tipped my face to him before he impaled my friend. He needed no persuading,
    sliding into my ready mouth. While every muscle on his body strained with the
    holding back his urge to come, I used every muscle of mine to draw it from him.
    When I tasted his precum I unsuckered from him, squeezed him hard until his
    spasms subsided, then slid the end of his cock into Gabrielle.

    He plunged and she cried out. I lapped his balls and her

    clit simultaneously, slooping Gabrielle from his slimy shaft on each back
    stroke. Gabrielle panted between my legs, unable to focus on her licking,
    giving me a much needed moment to calm as I watched, in gory close-up, Bill
    fuck her from behind.

    When he dug deep and pulled her hips to him fast as fist, I

    yanked him out of her and sucked her off him again. Meanwhile my clit melted
    into Gabrielle's warm hums, along with my entire lower half, tingling waves
    rolling into and out of the hot cave of her mouth. She slid two fingers into me
    and I bleated on Bill's pulsing cock

    I quickly stuffed him back inside her to distract her from

    popping me. He pumped while I sucked her clit, and I opened my mouth for him
    again. Again I licked her off him, his cock on my pallet merging with my cunt
    on Gabrielle's, until my tongue felt like a monstrous clitoris, my mouth and
    sex like one plunderable, pleasure bringing orifice.

    I controlled his meat, where it went and how deep and how

    fast, into her, into me, into her until even that fused into one and I couldn't
    tell if he was fucking her cunt or my mouth. Both sensations plugged a shivery
    electric bliss into my body, packing it in, brimming me over with it.

    Meanwhile Gabrielle became the joggling, licking tip of

    Bill's cock on my cunt and I became the licking, sucking tip of her tongue on
    his ramming cock and balls. A single monstrous climax thundered around our
    three bodies, gathering pleasure from our licking and fucking and moaning, from
    the press and slap of flesh.

    Gabrielle's squeals grew insane, like a chipmunk smothered

    by my pussy. No, that was me, into her. Bill pistoned our runaway train full
    steam off a cliff.

    "Oui!"

    He exploded deep into Gabrielle, ripping through her, out of

    her mouth, into me. The floor quaked. I screamed. Liquid heat splattered my lips
    and tongue. I pressed into it, to the source, lapped wildly at everything I
    could find. Everything flashed too bright. I screwed shut my eyes;

    When I opened them again I was licking Bill's cum from

    Gabrielle's clitoris while he shuddered inside her, and she shuddered on me.

    He withdrew and I took him in, sucking the last of his

    climax while Gabrielle lay

    53 min
  • Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 5
    Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 5.
    My quest for the ultimate head goes deliciously wrong.
    Based on a post by A Big Cat.
    Listen to the Podcast at Explicit
    Novels.


    "Why won't you fuck me? Am I so hideous?"

    "You're the most beautiful flower I've ever seen,

    Madam." He kept hold of my hand and watched my other work. A breeze
    flicked a curl across his tanned and wrinkled brow while he brushed his thumb
    pad over my knuckles. God. Was he actually considering it? "But if you get
    pregnant, your father said he'd have me killed and disown you. If you're happy
    with that risk, I'll fuck you."

    "Lick me, then."

    He stroked my thigh through my skirt, from hip to knee. I

    opened my legs, ready for the fresh air on my hot folds should he pull my skirt
    up. He didn't.

    "No," he said to his hand.

    "Why not?"

    He growled and flopped onto his back. "Because in this

    mood, you'll want me to fuck you after I lick you. You always do."

    I hopped to my feet. "Eat me till you come then, like

    you always do!" I stood over his face and jiggled, but our playfulness had
    soured. It felt more like an argument.

    He scowled up my skirt, and pressed his lips tight.

    Diary, forgive me, because I know it's not what he wanted,

    but I sat on him. Not even sat; I squatted on him, hard. And ground my hips.

    It felt very wrong, but I was in a very wrong mood. And

    anyway the man is six four and all muscle, all he had to do was sit up suddenly
    and I'd be flung into the woods. For example, once we were enjoying a
    languorous 69 on the floor in his gate lodge (I'd pounced on him!) when Father
    buzzed to be let in.

     

     

    Bill wrapped an arm around me, stood, wandered over to the

    buzzer and let father in, all without taking his mouth from my bits.

    He could stop me if he wanted, so I went ahead and wiped my

    slimy cunt on his shut, bristly mouth.

    So much for the ultimate oral.

    Then, dear Diary, fate stepped in to save us. Or rather

    Gabrielle did. My petite, Parisian best friend-cum-lover (and cum-lover!)
    padded barefoot across my terrace, swinging her hips. A coppertop Audrey
    Hepburn, her wild red hair was trapped under a neat white sunhat and her neat
    body wrapped in loose white muslin. She smiled as if to say, "Yes it's
    really me."

    "Bonjour! I thought I was early but you have started

    without me, non?"

    "Hmm!" Bill contorted under me.

    "Oh stop!" I bore down harder and grabbed his

    hair. "It's a fucking surprise for you, dolt."

    Gabrielle stooped, kissed both my cheeks, then regarded our

    struggles. "Are you wrestling? This is quite a beast you have
    trapped." She addressed my skirt. "Bonjour, monsieur!"

    "Um." I think that was an actual pussy-smothered

    hello.

    "This is Gabrielle, Bill. Remember? She taught me all I

    know."

    Gabrielle laughed brightly. "All that is worth knowing

    of a man, anyway. I hope you have enjoyed it, Bill." His name came out
    "Beel" in her lovely accent.

    Bill's nasal sigh warmed my cunt. Sat on his head, I could

    almost feel his brain recalling every Gabrielle-inspired sucking I'd ever given
    him. He'd never been swallowed before he met me, and I'd never swallowed before
    I met her. Then a strange thing happened. And a rather unique sensation. His
    anger softened under my rude splay. He relaxed, and his mouth opened. His
    tongue slipped along my groove.

    I caught my breath, and bit my lip.

    Gabrielle stepped back and regarded us. I felt like I saw us

    in her smoldering gaze: Bill laid out fully dressed in his serge groundsman's
    trousers and oxford shirt. (Bill works in an old-fashioned uniform that even
    includes braces. Father insists. So do I, come to think of it.) I was crouched
    over his head, my long dress tenting over my knees and covering our join.
    Underneath, invisible to her, Bill's muscular tongue slurped me like a dirty
    secret. I shivered.

    "Merde. So discrete, yet so explicit." She

    strolled around us like we were an exhibit. "You said you wanted the best
    oral sex ever, but I don't know if I want to lick you or sketch you."

    Bill sucked on my clit. I gripped my knees and tried to hold

    off the tide swelling in my midriff.

    Gabrielle paused by Bill's trousers, struggling with his

    arousal at licking me. "Darling, this man is in love with you." This
    choked me up. She was right. How could I be such a spoilt brat to him? Bill was
    devoted. If I demanded it, really demanded it, he would fuck me, and fuck the
    consequences.

    She finished her voyeuristic tour and, after a long kiss to

    my lips so our tongues could greet each other, she stood to present her hips to
    my face. Reaching up her skirt, she wriggled off her panties, then lifted her
    hem to reveal her vibrant red tuft framing the bare pink petals of her sex. I
    lunged. "Oui;” She dropped her skirt over my head. "Let us all be
    discrete yet explicit!"

    It had been months since I last ate a woman. I didn't

    realize how much I missed the yielding flesh of a pussy against my lips.
    Especially Gabrielle's. I pressed a polite(!) kiss to the old friend at the
    epicenter of my old friend, then kissed more firmly under her fur, into the
    smooth, delicate folds beneath. I was rewarded with a wet kiss in return and a
    tremble in her hips. I lightly nibbled her prominent clit hood and she stroked
    my head. Meanwhile, my own clit was drawn into a warm, fleshy whirlpool; a
    sucking pull that somehow filled my insides to overflowing.

    In my muslin cave, steeped in Gabrielle's Chanel and musk,

    the tip of my tongue sought her salty slickness and teased it over her bud.
    Licking someone of your own sex has an entangled autoeroticism about it, so my
    licks echoed on my own clit and made me feel attacked by two tongues. I
    flickered at her lightly, then couldn't resist pressing my mouth over her whole
    vulva. She cupped my head, widened her legs and nudged her hips at me. I
    squeezed her bottom, pulling her to my rhythm, to the rhythm of my rocking, to
    the rhythm of Bill's licking.

    Gabrielle's thighs wobbled and she gasped. I think it was as

    much this as the insistent flip of Bill's tongue that tipped me over, not to
    mention her breathy muttering: "Oui. Oui."

    I moaned into her cunt. Bill moaned into mine. Gabrielle

    arched onto tiptoes. "Oui!"

    I snorted, she always sounds like a child on a swing when

    she comes.

    I tried to control my quivering tongue while shuddering on

    my man's exquisite mouth. Waves of invisible lava gushed from my cunt, over my
    belly and tits, coursed up my neck and cheeks, poured into Gabrielle's cunt and
    out of her mouth, swearing for the both of us.

    Bill took my entire weight in his palms, or I think I

    might've collapsed. He poised me over his mouth, thumbs holding me open,
    lapping, drinking. Gabrielle shoved at my mouth, even as I yanked her to my
    face and ate her like a sexy fruit.

    Bill gently kissed me down. Gabrielle lifted her skirt and

    glowed at me, her hair a burning halo in the sun. (We never saw her hat again.
    I'd blasted it into space I think.) My lower face was chilled with her wetness
    and she held my cheeks to dance her tongue around my lips and chin.
    "Merci." she croaked between tasting flicks and kisses. "Merci."

    Bill toyed with me, licking me to oversensitive spasms, and

    then lifting me off his face. He loves to watch my hole pulse in aftershocks.
    He can bounce me up and down for so long I feel like a beach ball.

    "Your man is still hungry, oui?"

    I jerk again, his tongue jolting like a taser. "A;

    always."

    "Oh, I am like this too. Can I try him?" She

    doesn't wait for an answer. "You like la cuisine française,
    monsieur?"

    Bill was midway through a loving kiss to my clit. He lifted

    me off his mouth. "Very much, Miss Gabrielle."

    Very much?

    Even though I'd planned to share Bill today, the actual

    words, aimed at and an actual other woman, skipped my heartbeat. I faltered
    climbing off him.

    "Quickly, sweetie." Gabrielle gently pushed my

    shoulders. "I am a Ferrari and you have twisted my key."

    I stood, she knelt, and all Bill would've seen was my sloppy

    great orchid replaced with Gabrielle's elegant, dewy rose. So far, neither had
    even seen each other's faces. She straddled him. A grin spread across her face.
    "Merde."

    Bill hummed into her. Her. Not me.

    As if reading my mind, Gabrielle kissed my hands.

    "Merci, darling. For sharing your man. Take off your clothes."

    She swept her dress off over her head and tossed it, then

    spun me round as I pulled mine off too. She kissed and bit my bottom, growling,
    "Oui!" as she rubbed her face on it like an adoring cat. I don't know
    why Bill and she go so silly over my big bubble bum.

    Her cool hands slid over my ribs, scraping her fingernails

    lightly over my tits. I watched her over my shoulder. Her nudity was prim and
    smooth and pale on the ruddy leather of Bill's face. His heroic chin was thrust
    enthusiastically between her creamy thighs, his tongue lapping quickly as
    Gabrielle lightly bounced on him.

    Damn. How could something that hurt so much, look so sexy?

    I couldn't watch and turned away, giving myself over to

    Gabrielle's exploring hands and lips. Even as I enjoyed the bristle-less, silky
    smoothness of a woman's face in my intimate places, I tried to put the jealousy
    from my mind. But below my despondent head, Bill's cock strained at his
    trousers. This is one of my favorite sights, when I've aroused him, but now it
    struggled for freedom because he was licking another woman. It wanted to get to
    Gabrielle, not me. The pain seemed to tug between my legs.

    "Let me see it." Gabrielle was watching his

    trousers too. "Show me."

    I bent over to unfasten his buttons and braces. This curled

    my cunt toward her. "Trop belle," she whispered, opening me up.
    "Trop; hmm" A kiss to my clit, then a slim impalement, a finger,
    gently probing. It felt like she was looking for my heartache in there. After
    my yearning for cock all morning this intrusion threatened to unhinge my legs.
    My hole stretched scrumptiously. Two fingers? I dipped my hips on her digging
    digits, and she curled them just where I liked them.

    I took a settling breath, and yanked Bill's trousers and

    boxers over his hips. His great cock unfurled in the lemon tree's dabbled shade
    and bounced even harder, clamoring, "Me! Me! Me!"

    Gabrielle laughed huskily. "Lucky cow!"

    I turned to agree, to remind her who "Beel"

    belonged to, but her eyes were closed. She clawed her bare tit, the fingers of
    her other hand stiffened in my cunt.

     

     

    Bill's cock bucked, laced in veins. His hips rutted the air

    and his thighs shook. No. Would he come licking this woman? I thought only my
    orgasm had the power to bedazzle him to eruption.

    Then a part of me wanted him to spurt for her while I

    watched, the same part that relished this self-inflicted unfaithfulness. But
    his cock jumped lustily before me, and I could never resist my Sweet William. I
    squeezed his balls, and pulled his warm staff. He was as familiar and exciting
    in my palm as my own sex. Gabrielle cursed, her cheek pressed to my hip,
    hugging it, fingers digging between my legs. I pulled Bill in time with her
    finger-fucking.

    Bill's cock dribbled pre-cum and I bent double to take his

    end into my mouth. (A life of ballet lessons has its uses) This is how I
    claimed him. She might come on his mouth, but he'd come in mine.

    "Oh God, oui." Gabrielle peered at me sucking him.

    This seemed to hit the spot. Or maybe it was Bill. "Oh God I'm
    coming," she blurted. "Merde, merde, merde, I'm; " She hugged me
    tight, rammed her fingers deep into me and squeaked.

    If I'm sucking Bill when I come he always comes too. It's

    adorable, that overexcitement in pleasing me, even if it means our sex is
    sometimes over in seconds. (Only sometimes though. I can usually keep him hard,
    for all the use it is.) I presumed Gabrielle's orgasm would do as well as mine,
    so braced for his lovely flood. But he'd stopped trembling. He seemed to have
    reigned himself in and silently, carefully licked my friend as she twitched on
    his mouth, his cock savory with pre-cum but nothing more. At first I was proud
    of him, but that was quickly followed by worry. Who was he trying to impress?

    Gabrielle cackled and kissed my bottom and cunt as if they

    were her own and she was calming them down. I dragged her face to mine. Who can
    resist kissing a post-orgasmic woman?

    She kissed me back, but then reached for his dick. Her

    immaculately manicured hand looked polite and tiny on his club. "Will you
    not fuck him?"

    I shook my head. "We don't; "

    "May I?"

    Our silence crackled.

    She spoke to his cock, sliding her hand up and down it.

    "I know you are worried about babies, monsieur, but I'm on the pill, so it
    is impossible, and anyway I like babies and I'm no royal so no one will kill
    you."

    I waited for Bill's protest but

    he seemed lost in thought, petting Gabrielle's labia. He was awkwardly trying
    to find the right words to reject her. I melted for him, and was about to
    suggest we suck him off together, when he reached into my chest and tore my
    heart out.

    "Okay," he said.

    All the blood dropped from my body and left me a husk.

    Gabrielle squeaked, hopped off his face, and darted around me to stand astride
    his cock.

    He sat up and kissed my bottom like a favored pet. His thumb

    slid along my groove. I wanted to scream, but my throat had clasped shut. In a
    delirious synaesthesia, his thumb's push at my opening was his cockhead as it
    slid into my friend. I wanted this to stop. I wanted more.

    He seemed a tight fit in her, she eased slowly down his

    length in a series of little dips, then finally settled with him lodged deep.
    Her eyelids drooped. He dug his thumb deep into me. I clenched at it.

    "Nice to meet you, Beel." Gabrielle smirked and

    put out her hand, a formality at odds with grinding wetly on his cock.
    "You are very handsome, and I like your cock."

    Bill withdrew from my cunt to shake her hand. "Thank

    you Miss Gabrielle. And you are very pretty; um. All over."

    Gabrielle flushed, pulled his thumb to her mouth and sucked

    me from him. I bounced between heaven and hell. He called me beautiful and her
    pretty. Was "beautiful" better than "pretty"? You'd call a
    horse beautiful, or a vase. Pretty meant desirable too, didn't it? She gave his
    thumb a blowjob, the thumb that should be pleasing me, while she waggled her
    hips waspishly on him. His breath hitched. She released his thumb, which
    immediately sought out its drooly equivalent between my legs.

    Perhaps it was the echo of his thumb inside me, or my

    closeness to Gabrielle, or just the strength of my longing for his cock, but I
    could feel him wedged inside me, pressed to every singing cell of my cunny. If
    I couldn't fuck him, then surely this was the next best thing? I needed to grow
    up. Jealousy in a three-way was not a good look, especially in front of someone
    as stylish as Gabrielle.

    I kicked him. "You don't come in her."

    "No, Madam."

    "Your cum is mine."

    "Yes, Madam."

    I prodded Gabrielle. "His cum is mine."

    "Oui, M-Madame!" Gabrielle picked up her pace, and

    pulled my hips toward her. She pressed kisses to my belly. "You are a good
    friend." She dipped to my mound. Bill's kisses dropped under me too and
    suddenly tongues assaulted me front and rear.

    Gabrielle fucked my man, a sinuous wave of bliss that rolled

    from her hips all the way to her tongue, where it slid over my clit, into my
    hole, joined Bill's tongue which then curled cheekily around my anus, before
    sweeping back though his body to whiplash his cock into her cunt and set her
    off again.

    Both worked at me as if their fucking was the engine for

    pleasuring me and nothing more, and this, my mounting pleasure, was all that
    pleasured them. Gabrielle, knees at her shoulders, bounced on his lap as she
    ate me. I raised a foot on the edge of the tree planter, to open wider to them.
    She wrapped arms around my standing leg and around Bill's neck as their cheeks
    pressed beneath me. He hugged her to me and to him, their faces pressed to my
    bottom and cunt. Their tongues wriggled over my most private, delicate places
    and I felt poised on the tip of intrusive, wet flames.

    I'd come hard on Bill just moments before but under the

    onslaught of this, the best licking of my life, I found myself puffing to
    another high. Everyone should be so adored once in their life! I wanted it to
    never end, but my leg grew tired and Gabrielle's tongue erratic as Bill pumped
    harder. I pushed back against him, pulling away from Gabrielle, until he was on
    his back and was I perched once more on his mouth, this time facing my
    beautiful best friend while she frogged on his rearing hips.

    Bill's breath huffed hotly between my thighs, and his

    familiar licking was almost calming after my intense double-head. Gabrielle's
    little tits bounced enticingly and I buried my face in them, then suckered
    myself to her gaping mouth. We hugged and kissed and let our tongues play while
    Bill worked hard between our legs. His fucking made her pant in my mouth. His
    tongue made me pant into hers.

    I reached down between her legs and tickled her clit. Her

    movements grew jerky. Bill went up a gear. He rammed abandoned laughter from
    Gabrielle and sucked my clit into him, motor-mouthing his tongue on it. I
    hugged Gabrielle tight and pressed my mouth to her while Bill tossed her
    insanely in my arms. His tongue frothed me over and I felt like a shaken
    champagne bottle.

    I popped. Gabrielle squealed in my mouth. We spasmed on Bill

    like two ends of a live wire rammed together. Her cries became mine and our
    thrusts on Bill became thrusts into each other, as if he was just a massive,
    new sex organ coupling us. He disappeared. Rutting and grinding, I tumbled into
    her, she tumbled into me and together we tumbled into the sun.

    Our cries dissolved into giddy chuckling, and we landed soft

    as dropped blossom back down to earth.

    I leapt off Bill, his tongue too much, but kept kissing my

    delicious girl as she breathed out her climax. I pecked along her jaw and neck
    and tits.

    Bill smiled triumphantly, sheened in sweat and my arousal.

    He stroked my leg, and this felt reassuring and bonding, even as Gabrielle
    ground on my man's cock.

    "He is still very, very hard." Gabrielle stroked

    my other leg and blinked up at me and for a moment I lost myself in her oceanic,
    thankful eyes.

    "Of course." I felt like a proud teacher. I knelt

    by Bill to unbuttoned his shirt and show off his torso too.

    "Délicieux."

    "Oui," I answered, forgetting who was who. I

    kissed his nipple, squeezed the packs of muscle on his chest. He tossed away
    his shirt. I think he even flexed. Sweet. Gabrielle's face appeared by mine,
    half covered by serpentine tresses as she leant on all fours over him. She was
    still plugged by his indefatigable hard on.

    "Merde." She bit a pec. "His cock feels so,

    so good. You sure you don't want him in you?"

    I thumbed a bead of sweat from Bill's forehead. His pale

    eyes filled the world for a moment. "More than anything," I whispered
    into his ear.

    He leant to mine. "I'm pretending she's you."

    We tittered into each other's necks.

    "Merde, I am being fucked, yet I am the odd one

    out?" She slapped Bill's abs. "Giddyap!"

     

     

    Now I knew what he was thinking, I stepped away like a

    naughty ghost taking a break from her body for a moment and watched Bill fuck
    Gabrielle/me. Us.

    His hips rammed his cock in and out of her; our; fully

    stretched hole. I yanked off his trousers and boots and lay between his thighs,
    watching his easeful, well-oiled piston. When he slowed, Gabrielle took over,
    gloving and re-gloving herself on him. I imagined that cunny lighting up with
    every downward stroke and sucking on every upward stroke. A collar of juices
    formed around the base of his staff, and dripped over his balls. I nuzzled and
    licked them, covering my cheeks and lips in the essence of their sex. Don't ask
    me why, m

    53 min
  • Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 4
    Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 4.
    Cavorting with artists.
    Based on a post by A Big Cat.
    Listen to the Podcast at Explicit
    Novels.


    By Lady Bathsheba Ottoline Lovecome.

    I glugged my wine and declined a refill from the waiter

    forever hovering at my elbow. I gave him my glass. My head was spinning
    already. From wine or this woman, I couldn't tell.

    She blinked at me as if performing a calculation. "Your

    bush, it is black like your hair?"

    "I'm waxed."

    "Merde!" She flapped me away.

    "Well, not all over; I mean;” I wished I hadn't necked

    that wine. "Oh fuck it." This is the thing about being a Lady.
    Everything you do is fine. You're never crude, or drunk, just eccentric. For
    example, only a Lady could, right there and then, in that room of doting
    spaniels, tug the front of her skirt up, and the front of her knickers down.

    The girl's left cheek dimpled, biting back her smile. Bless

    him, the waiter turned his back to us and did his best to shield us to the rest
    of the room. In the glass frame of a dark photograph my reflection;
    figure-hugging dress, tied back hair, knickers down, prim and dirty; was better
    than the photograph.

    The sulky artist nodded at my display, contemplating it and

    ignoring; probably relishing; the dropped jaws around us. "Je suis
    Gabrielle," she said eventually.

    "Bash," I said. "Enchantée."

    A rickety goods lift trundled me up into a dark, cavernous

    warehouse the size of a small airport. Gabrielle's Studio. She clattered the
    lift-gates open for me, her face deadly serious, but gone was the sulky
    Parisian. She was dressed in paint-spattered overalls and workboats, both
    oversized, with her wild hair tied back. She was dressed for work. Or worse, to
    turn me off. My stomach sank. I was ready to continue our fun, dressed in my
    predatory Chanel and heels. I'd even toyed with going commando but changed my
    mind at the last minute, as removing panties for someone is always as exciting
    as being secretly naked. Having said that, such was my state of mind in the car
    on the way over; imagining what Gabrielle might have planned for me once I'd removed
    said knickers; that I'd quite ruined them.

    She shook my hand and nodded, like a miniature bow.

    "Come see your wild, wild woods, Miss Riding Hood."

    In the middle of the timber and brick expanse, lit by a

    barrage of lights and reflectors, was a stage-set of a black and twisted forest
    springing from a snowy hillock. Centre stage was a stuffed wolf so huge it came
    to my knees even reclined on the floor. Waiting, draped across the poor
    creature, was a crimson, velvet cape.

    Gabrielle snatched a sketch from her workbench and presented

    it. "This is what I need." She only spoke French to me now. The trust
    and respect implicit in this, not to mention the breathy musicality of her
    voice in her native tongue, quite undid all her efforts to play down her
    beauty.

    The sketch showed a woman; Beatrice Dalle, clearly; sitting

    on the wolf's back, smoldering. She was naked but for the iconic cloak, her
    knees spread into a wide M, her vulva petaled and pink between.

    I snorted. "Gabrielle, have you even read Little Red

    Hood?"

    "This is not Little Red. This is the girl grown into a

    woman, like we all must, into the feline, vampiric queen of our own wild woods.
    We must rule over canine masculinity, non? And she is displaying the secret
    core of her power, the power after which she is named. This is not clear?"

    Now I understood why she'd asked about my minge. She wasn't

    (just) trying to be outrageous. The whole set was one massive, stylized
    pudenda. The tortuous wood was dark, pubic hair, the snowy hillock was the skin
    of a mound and I guess Red Riding Hood, I, was supposed to be the cunty
    centerpiece.

    The lurid reality of what I'd agreed to hit me, and my heart

    hammered so hard the page shook with my pulse. Yesterday, when I revealed
    myself to Gabrielle, I was in control. Now I was here at her pleasure. This was
    exciting in its way, but her focus on her work, and not on me, made me feel a
    sleazy imposter. I was only here to get cheeky. I'm a vain and horny creature
    and will do anything for someone who finds me sexy. But I'm also spoilt
    aristocracy. I won't be used.

    But fuck it. I had nothing else to do.

    I gulped, handed the drawing back to her, and kicked off my

    shoes.

    At last, Gabrielle's cheek dimpled with the secret smile

    that so beguiled me yesterday. "I like you, Lady Bash," she
    whispered.

    She stepped behind me to unzip my dress, but I sensed she

    was stalking, taking me in as I stripped. I hoped so anyway. This was more like
    I imagined. I wriggled off my Chanel, then my panties, and pirouetted.
    "Okay?"

    Gabrielle blinked, swallowed.

    Nudity, under the right conditions, is the scariest

    battledress in a woman's wardrobe. Gabrielle was jittery as she wrapped me in
    the cape. She pulled the big hood over my head and tied a single fastening at
    the neck. Velvet inside and out, the thigh-length cloak felt divine, like a big
    hand stroking my back and bum. It left me feeling even more naked.

    "Tres bien." Gabrielle picked up a camera,

    gestured to the stuffed wolf. "I will take photographs and sketches so you
    are not here for days watching me paint, Okay?"

    Suddenly hit by stage fright, I sat primly on the wolf's

    back. It was a giant, big as couch, and its bones might have been replaced by
    welded steel, but it still felt like it could spring back to life any second.

    I draped my cloak just like the sketch, labially flaring to

    half-reveal my boobs but exposing me from the waist down. Then I took a breath.
    And opened my legs.

    A long, quiet moment.

     

     

    Gabrielle was a black ghost behind the dazzling lights.

    After all my sodden fantasies in the car I couldn't decide if I felt sexy or
    not now. I'd had more foreplay from a gynecologist.

    "Wider," Gabriele clipped.

    I spread my knees as wide as I could, legs poised on the

    balls of my feet. Gabrielle cleared her throat. A click. More silence. She
    hated me. I hated me. My arse was too big. My cunt was too small, too wizened.
    A toilet part, bared for all to see. I wanted to close my legs. I felt like I
    was being punished for being dirty yesterday.

    Gabrielle stepped into the light, scowling. "You are

    too beautiful, it is in the way. I sense you here"; she tapped her temple;
    "but not here." She grabbed her crotch. "You understand?"

    "Umm." My feet and knees, tensed in their porno

    pose, trembled. How could I get out of this?

    "Okay." She put down her camera. "Come, let's

    relax. Have some fun, non? Loosen up." She unzipped her overalls and they
    flumped to her feet like an empty sack. She was, of course, naked beneath. Her
    body was sleek and neat with pert little tits and bottom. Cow. Her mound
    sported a tuft of vivid red hair and beneath her lips were puffy and florid.
    Maybe I'd stay a little longer.

    She stepped out of her clothes and boots together, and

    picked her camera up again. "Come. Come. Dance, frolic. Whatever you like!
    Arouse me! Now I am naked too, so you will be able to tell, non?"

    I stood, shook out the stiffness in my legs, then my arms.

    My tits wobbled at the velvet, stiffening my nipples. Gabrielle lit up. She
    stepped close, clicking her camera, biting her lip. The bit lip did it for me.
    I stretched out a few warm-up moves from years of ballet lessons. I pointed my
    toes and lifted each leg, dead straight into the air, holding, repeating.
    Gabrielle gasped, paced about me, clicking a flurry, and the magnetism of her
    naked presence raised my hairs toward her in a Mexican wave. She crouched under
    my raised leg, and muttered, "Your clitoris is so big and fat";
    snap-snap-snap; "it makes me horny and at the same time jealous!" My
    hips warmed. This was much more like it.

    Feeling cheeky now, I placed my palms flat on the floor and

    bent double, relishing the cloak's hem creeping up over my bum. Gabrielle
    moaned and I wanted to cheer. I placed my feet further apart, then bent at the
    knee, up and down, creating a tell-tale chill between my legs. Gabrielle's
    "Oh," and much clicking at my rear view, sent a jolt of naughtiness
    through me.

    I threw a leg over the wolf's back. It's fur was

    surprisingly soft on my bits. I wound my hips, enjoying the silky squeeze to my
    clit. My cheeks blazed. Gabrielle growled, this seemed to be a good thing.
    "There is my Red Riding hood, non?" Her lens was all over my face,
    and up and down my torso writhing on the back of the beast. My clit tingled
    like the purr of an insistent phone call.

    I slid off my furry saddle and settled against the creature's

    side, squatting like a fertility goddess, my arms spread along its back. This
    wasn't a pose. It was a cry for help!

    Gabrielle stood in front of me, at arm's distance,

    silhouetted sharply by the lights. Between her thigh tops the distinct curl of
    her puckered lips sported a glittering diamond of arousal. Both my mouths
    wanted to eat her. And be eaten. I shot her a glance that I hoped screamed,
    "Feed me, bitch."

    She stamped her foot. "Oh Oui." She clicked,

    hopped about, clicked again. I wriggled, trying to mesmerize her, draw her
    toward me.

    I sat on the wolf's back again. This time so I might raise

    my throbbing clit to a more irresistible height for licking. I placed my right
    foot on the creature's head, scrunching my toes into the fur between its ears.
    I splayed; for my wet admirer, not her lens. Fucking feed me.

    "Oui!" She squealed. "Don't move! Merde.

    Merde. There is my predator."

    At least she ate me with her camera, working in a feeding

    frenzy, getting closer and closer until she was knelt between my thighs. All my
    torrid horniness from the car flooded back. And out. Gabrielle slapped her
    knee. "Ha! Now we have the slavering beast! You are dripping! Merci.
    Merci, beautiful lady."

    There's an illicit, primal thrill in dripping in front of a

    stranger. It brought a kind of shameful, debauched freedom. An exquisite
    vulnerability. Gabrielle, sat cross legged below me, made no secret of her
    arousal either. Her slipped-apart lips glistened in the light bouncing from my
    skin.

    Gabrielle put the camera down, peering at my cunt, then my

    costume. "Lovely lady, I need your inner petals to match the shape of your
    cloak. May I touch you?"

    I grunted.

    Gabrielle couldn't bite that smile back. Delicately, with

    her tongue curled out in concentration, she took my inner lips and parted them.
    She lightly tugged one lip into a different shape. I pulsed inside. She must've
    clocked my inner clasp, because she sighed a hot breath over me. She picked up
    her camera, then, almost as an afterthought, dipped her head to peck a feather
    light kiss to my clit. She sat back, sucking a drip of me from her bottom lip.
    Then raised her blasted lens.

    "More," I flapped my knees.

    "Hmm?" Click.

    "Bitch, do me or I'll knock you down and sit on your

    face."

    "Promises." Click. Click.

    "Now!" I growled.

    Gabrielle chuckled, dropped her camera and, finally, pressed

    her pretty, naughty lips to my cunt.

    She started slowly, as if relishing a moment she'd spent

    some time considering, but after a couple of croaky hums she was lapping and
    sucking my clit hood like she hadn't eaten in days.

    I scrunched her thick, red hair, and enjoyed the ride of her

    smooth cheeks and her busily intruding tongue and that irrepressible
    enthusiasm. Adoration, even. In a dozen speeding heartbeats, my rush coursed
    from the tips of every hair on my body, it balled in my core like a fizzing
    Catherine wheel until I whimpered, then blasted into Gabrielle's mouth. Perhaps
    I was delirious, perhaps it was the set and the costume and the stuffed wolf,
    but I felt like I was devouring her, not the other way round. I spread my lips
    wide, into a gaping maw, arched, and howled into her wild, wild wood.

    So that's how I met my Gabby. And yes, I returned the favor

    that day. She stood over me, her foot up on the wolf's back, clawing her
    bottom, while I nuzzled her slobbery folds and she yelped like a vixen. So I
    guess I was a less selfish predator back then.

    Anyway, Diary Bill, I've veered off on a horny tangent, as

    usual. This isn't actually the point of my story. I just wanted to set the
    scene for my relationship with Gabrielle. Call it an amuse-bouche. Well it
    amused our bouches anyway. And hopefully it underlines that there were no
    sexual secrets between Gabrielle and me. So now I can get to my point.

    After that stimulating morning, Gabrielle and I didn't indulge

    in each other again, agreeing the moment was too nice and we wanted to preserve
    it as it was. We've been good, so far. But now I think about it, perhaps I
    should invite her to the manor house, Bill, would you like that? I'd do her
    again with you. Maybe we could make a better memory.

    The next time I met Gabrielle, maybe three months later, she

    was married, successful, and very, very wealthy. She had the best of
    everything. Including her husband. Alex was a six-foot-six blonde billionaire,
    and sleek as a sports car. He was a fantastically successful big tech investor,
    boasting in his sexy French accent. "I walk into a room and people, they
    just throw money at me."

    In her messages, Gabrielle would boast how sex with him was

    always extraordinary. By which she meant out of the ordinary. He was into
    everything that involved expensive drugs and equipment and unlikely positions.
    When she arrived for a drink with me, she winced as she sat down.

    "Good night?" I said.

    "Extra ordinary." She sighed.

    We were in the woodiest, quietest bar of my women's-only

    club. I picked her up on her sigh. "You make extraordinary sound
    disappointing."

    Gabrielle shrugged. Pouted. Goodness, that woman could pout.

    "Well, sometimes, I'd just like to make love you know? I'd love to feel desired.
    Sometimes it is like I'm just some super hi-fi fembot for him. And he has one
    of those too. He made me have a threesome with it!"

    "But you said you never met a man who made you come so

    hard."

    "Oui, but it's mechanical. I want to be devoured by

    someone who adores me. Like you ate me, lovely lady. I want to come on the face
    of someone while they weep for joy! I want to be fucked in five seconds because
    they love me so much they immediately come, but then they can't stop and keep
    fucking and coming and fucking and coming!"

    A loud tut came from an old dowager three tables away. She

    shook her head. We sniggered.

    I squeezed Gabrielle's hand. "Ah, the problems of the

    rich and beautiful."

    "Oui." She smiled, but sadly, and totally missing

    my sarcasm. "But how will we ever have children?"

     

     

    I didn't get that, and it must've shown on my face because

    Gabrielle explained, as ever, loudly. "Well how do I get pregnant when he
    only ever comes in my mouth or my ass!"

    The old dowager steamed off so abruptly she knocked her

    chair over. I got Gabrielle to elaborate.

    It seems the problem was of her own making. When they first

    got together she was so obsessed with her elegant catch that she went along
    with his whole entitled thing: "Only the best for us, Gabrielle, only the
    unusual, the unique. Only life's delicacies." This meant that, in their
    first flushes, she'd suck him off at the wheel of his Ferrari, at the opera,
    under the table in Michelin-starred restaurants, anywhere he liked, and always
    to completion. Diary, she even pretended to come when she swallowed. And such
    was her conviction that, a few times, she really did come! Just from the jet of
    him into her mouth! Jesus, no wonder he married her.

    But I was all ears, practically taking notes, making the

    most of Gabrielle's lascivious descriptions of what she did to her husband. In
    detail. She squirmed in her seat as she described running her tongue in a
    figure of eight around his balls, and sucking them while she wanked him to make
    a "human fountain." She clasped her hands between her knees when she
    told me about his "frenulum"; the skin holding his foreskin to his
    tip. He adored her lapping his so much, especially when her tongue was slippery
    with his cum, that it kept him hard for ages. Using our wine bottle, she'd even
    showed me how she'd incorporated it into her blowjobs, twisting her head and
    slurping her tongue under his end while she sucked. Our waiter enjoyed that.

    In fact, the way Gabrielle described sucking Alex got me so

    worked up I had to visit the ladies. But it wasn't just the compelling detail
    of his hard meat in her mouth, or her erotic show, that shut me in a cubicle
    with my knickers round my knees. What got my fingers digging, was how Gabrielle
    described her husband's cum.

    I have to say, I tried to avoid semen, and thought I always

    would, until I heard Gabrielle talk. I was twenty and had sucked my share of
    dicks, but had never swallowed and only tasted the odd splash of cum by
    accident. Meanwhile, Gabrielle described how simply swallowing was not good enough
    for them anymore. She liked the sensation of "his hot, heavy first
    splash" so much she'd contrive it so she was always licking or kissing him
    at the moment of orgasm. "My lips drip with him, sweetie, while I messily
    guzzle the rest, and I watch his eyes locked to my dirty mouth!"

    She made it sound joyful, like a treat. Not the slimy stuff

    itself; though it's no worse than girls' when I think about it; but what
    ejaculation represented. How desired it made her feel, how powerful she felt
    drawing it from her man and how, when she licked him clean, or sucked him dry,
    it bonded them tighter. There was no one earth who'd enjoy doing this for him,
    other than the one who loved him. Or so she thought at the time. She didn't
    know about his mistress then. Not the robot one.

    But anyway, it put a dirty little demon in me. And now I

    can't wait to find that man who's cum I want to "messily guzzle."
    It's not the semen, it's the man. I fantasize about it. I think it might be
    you, Bill. I've thought about it a few times, licking your big spigot while you
    ruin my make-up (I'd like to see this in a mirror) Or your hot stuff pumping
    thick in my mouth. I imagine what it might feel like sliding down my throat.
    Gabrielle says it's like oysters. I adore oysters. But the thing that got me
    squeaking in that woman's club bathroom, and just as a few minutes ago in my
    bed, is what my fantasy man's reaction might be, watching me relish his
    release; the most sexily intimate of all sexily intimate things. The love in
    his eyes as I consume him.

    But when I returned to Gabrielle after my little release she

    carried on. It seemed Alex had grown tired of even Gabrielle's excellent head.
    So then came the anal, which she said she quite enjoyed, but nowhere near as
    much as she pretended. She didn't come with him, and started feeling more like
    an empty vessel than a loving partner. She got a vibrator (no manbots yet) and
    used it on herself so she could come at all because he wasn't interested in
    visiting her, claiming: "All orgasms are selfish, Gabrielle. Taken, not
    given." He loved her vibrator, of course, and so started the descent into
    increasingly more elaborate contraptions between them.

    I was glad I'd had my fiddle when I did, because that quite

    turned me off.

    So the message of this part of my tale, Bill, is that I know

    I seemed angry when you denied me, but I was being selfish. I blame my hungry
    cunt and your fat sausage. I don't mind if you don't want to fuck. I'd love to
    of course, but there is as much love, maybe more love, in exploring other ways
    to please each other.

    But one more thing about fucking before I go.

    After that afternoon, Gabrielle disappeared for a couple of

    years. When she popped into my life again, recently, she had a startlingly
    beautiful toddler and a baby.

    She was a different woman. She'd put on a few pounds but

    looked good for it. Of course. She wasted no time in telling me her story.

    She took long walks across the heath near their city home,

    and one misty, particularly magical morning, a silhouette resolved from the
    distance: a runner, a large, dark-haired man. Something about the way he moved,
    fluid as a thoroughbred, did funny things to her abdomen. He was clearly a
    tosser though, being one of those muscle-bound narcissists who thinks they're
    sexy running w

    53 min
  • Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 3
    Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 3.
    The King and Belle enter the forest of fantasies.
    Based on a post by A Big Cat.
    Listen to the Podcast at Explicit
    Novels.


    Silently, Belle and the King sauntered away from the castle

    toward the woods, their footsteps guided only by an instinct for privacy. Belle
    was glad she'd dressed lightly in one of the wardrobe's many slip dresses; a
    shoulder-fastening grey silk number; because the spring afternoon was hot, and
    the king's leonine presence even hotter.

    She squeezed his hard bicep. "Well you've granted me my

    wish, have you considered yours, Your Majesty?"

    The king smirked. "I've considered little else. But now

    you have the keys to the kingdom, I fear you'll deny me again."

    "Sir, if I deny you, it's only to whet your appetite. I

    always keep my;  no." Belle stopped walking, feigning irritation.
    "I won't have you doubting me." She looked about. They were still
    well within sight of the castle, and the windows busy with passing staff.

    Oh let them see. Let them know her efforts.

    She reached up her skirt, hooked thumbs in the lacy waist of

    her panties and wriggled them down. She stepped out of them, presenting him the
    cream silk just as he had the keys. "A token of my commitment to your
    wish."

    He nodded, took the garment, and put it in his pocket.

    "Let me show you a secret place."

    The air under her skirt felt wild and deliciously rude. As

    they carried on walking, he put his arm around her and rested his hand lightly
    on her bottom. She felt conscious of every unfettered wobble against his
    fingers.

    The walked for some time deep into the cool dim of the

    pine-carpeted forest. Then a single cherry tree seemed to pop out of nowhere,
    heavy with blossom and lit stark white against the black and green by a single
    shaft of sunlight.

    "This is the Love Tree. My forebears planted it. They

    say five generations of kings were conceived in its shade. Even I." The
    king patted the trunk. "Come. Feel."

    Belle stroked the satiny bark stretched taut over the trunk.

    It made her think of the king's erection. The light in his eye suggested he
    knew this.

    "My wish is simple." He rummaged in his pocket,

    pulled out her underwear. "I want you to hold onto the Love Tree. No
    matter what happens."

    She slid her hands up and down it. "Like this?"

    He snorted, walking around her, putting the tree between

    them. "I fear you may still deny me my wish." He looped the underwear
    over her hands, and with a quick flourish tied them in a knot. She might've
    resisted but chose not to. The silk felt excitingly out of place on her wrists
    and being restrained, at the king's mercy, made her stomach flip.

    He sauntered behind her, raised her skirt, and there was

    nothing she could do about it. Her knee wobbled. The breeze fanned the skin of
    her exposed rear, while his eyes seemed to heat it. She'd only appeared naked
    for him in the dark. This would be his first clear sight of her. A long moment
    passed and she fought the urge to cross her legs.

    "You have a damn fine rump." He stroked her,

    slapped her lightly. Then again. He squeezed her as if testing fruit.

    "Thah-thank you, sir."

    He rumbled, pressed his front to her back. His trousers sported

    a bludgeon.

    The king chortled. "Since I didn't call you with our

    bell today, because we meet at your convenience, I decided I should, instead,
    ring you, Belle. Three times."

    "This sounds more my wish than yours, sir." She

    wriggled her bottom at his lump. "What of your pleasure?"

    "This afternoon, your pleasure is mine." He

    reached his hand up the front of her skirt, and gripped her lightly between the
    legs. She felt cupped in a warm, leather saddle. His squeezed her like a
    sponge. "Christ almighty, woman, are you always wet?"

    "Only in your presence, sir. And your queen's."

    She wound her hips at the thick digits skating around her sex. He lacked his
    wife's accuracy but the blunt manliness of his grip compensated for grace. She
    melted over him. Her eyes drooped.

    He pressed lips to her ear. "Look at me."

    She cast her best glassy stare over her shoulder.

    He cursed, shoved his hips at her bottom. "Damn those

    eyes."

    The man seemed on a hair trigger, how would he

    "ring" her even once without exploding in his trousers, let alone
    three times? She prepared to fake some orgasms. It was very important he feel
    rewarded today.

    Then he set his jaw, coiled his free arm around her waist,

    and got organized. Gone was his male fumbling, now he did what his wife must've
    taught him. He worked her clit with his palm and thumb while a finger explored
    deep inside. She'd had cocks smaller than his middle digit, and was glad for
    his grip on her waist as his fingers unhooked her joints. She was weightless as
    a doll, draped over his arm.

    A fever came over her, a wave of dizziness from the cool,

    pine breeze, his pale grey eyes, from his woody scent and his woody limbs, from
    the invisible plunge and wriggle between her legs. She dug her hips at his
    digging and his bulge. Her eyelids were iron shutters, too heavy to hold open.
    When she turned imploring glances up at him, his outline fizzled. A smile
    tugged the corner of his lips. A fireball flared in her hips. She was too hot.
    Her cunt was on fire and she couldn't cover it or fan it.

    All she could do was burst.

    Her cry scattered crows from the trees. She grunted and

    ground on the king's deft, insistent fingers, her weight entirely, easily, held
    in his one arm while he drew more and more pleasure from her like a magician
    tugging trick scarves from his hat.

    Dimly she became aware of her feet dangling. She found this

    hilarious. She laughed as he put her down and removed his hand. She settled
    into his solid, but tender embrace.

    He offered her his fingers. "One, my lady."

    She sucked her familiar taste from him. He licked his

    fingers with her, causing illicit, electric clashes of their tongues, and a
    pull to their lips. She inhaled his sigh, and he inhaled hers; the ghosts of
    forbidden kisses floating from mouth to mouth. Her lips nibbled at his. He pulled
    back.

    His breath billowed hot on her neck and she was glad she'd

    tied her hair up this morning. He unfastened the bows on her shoulders and her
    dress slipped to her feet. He removed it, stepped away, and outside his
    embrace, her vulnerability was complete. Every millimeter of her body was
    exposed to the sun and air and the king's scrutiny.

    He hung her dress on a branch like a battle banner, and

    prowled about her naked form. His features were implacable, eyes slits. She was
    familiar with the serious, almost cruel, expressions of aroused men. Their eyes
    darkened and retreated as they ate the sight of her. Usually she relished the
    supremacy she felt, teasing their hunger with intimate glimpses, and she'd felt
    all-powerful in the moonlight the night before, but here in the stark sun and
    the cool breeze, tied to a tree in front of a king, her confidence waned.

    A life of one meal a day had left her limbs thinner than the

    queen's creamy form. Next to Charlotte's kittenish curves, Belle was a gazelle.
    When the king unabashedly took in her tight little tits, it was as if he
    compared them to Charlotte's bouncing abundancy. The queen's ribs didn't
    protrude, and Belle's belly was used to emptiness and flat as a board, not
    sensually soft. Then his wandering eye snagged at the pubic hair atop her
    pronounced mound and Belle wanted to hide. He tilted his head and stared at it.
    She kept her curls neat, and lips bare, but now Belle worried he preferred his
    waxed-bald queen. The king cleared his throat, mesmerized by her lower half,
    and suddenly her wet thighs were shameful. She rested one foot on the other,
    drew her knees tight and curled her hips back to tuck her sex away. She slid
    her hands down the tree trunk to settle in front of her and fought the urge to
    slip from the shackles' silky hold and cover herself properly.

    He bit the inside of his cheek. Was he enjoying intimidating

    her? This would not do.

    Fortified by irritation, she regarded him back, coolly, from

    his smirk to his ridiculously tented trousers. She bit her lip and pictured his
    erection bursting free of its cage, plundering her salivating mouth and hole.
    Her dirty thoughts were so vivid she must have projected them. He shifted
    awkwardly.

    "See what you do to me, woman?" He approached the

    tree until his bulge rested against her wrists. "I've known many, many
    lovers. None make me this hard." She fanned her hands to cup him. Jesus,
    he was like a length of scaffold. She squeezed. His eyes widened and he jerked
    back.

    Belle shrugged. "No more gawping, your majesty. Ring me

    again." She smiled. "With that hammer;”

    He puffed out a long, growly breath, folded his arms.

    "Please." Swallowing all her inhibitions, she

    willed one leg to wrap around the satiny-rough bark. She rocked her hips at the
    tree trunk like some kind of wood nymph pole dancer. It felt quite nice, but
    not as nice as her faked sigh made it seem.

     

     

    The king blinked slowly. She could almost hear him screaming

    inside, "Calm!"

    He strolled behind her, but his torment made her brave. She

    had nothing to hide. She stood proud under his inspection, sensing now that her
    lithe nakedness, her blushed skin, her tight nipples and dripping sex made him
    dizzy with lust. This man worshipped her, and she could burst him without even
    touching him, without even looking at him. She joggled her bottom. He groaned.
    She chuckled even though her skin tingled, every hair on end, straining for the
    touch that was sure to come.

    His kiss hit her neck like a soft explosion.

    However it was his whisper, "Perfection!" that

    threatened to undo her on the spot. Everyone should have this said to them once
    or twice, preferably while naked and tied to a tree.

    He kissed along the dip of her spine and she found herself

    gripping the trunk for support. His mouth moved down her body and she placed
    her feet wider. She was wet to her knees and didn't even know that was
    possible. Far from shame, now this brought expectancy, and then even more
    liquid.

    The king's shadow knelt behind her. She stood on tip-toes,

    tipped up her hips, displaying her need.

    "My God," he burst. He gripped her bottom, pulled

    it to his face.

    He nibbled and kissed her ass. She bent lower, to show him

    where that mouth was needed, but he avoided her buzzing clit. Annoyingly, he
    seemed most fascinated with her juices, slipping his fingers up and down the
    tracks on her legs. She guessed Charlotte was never this aroused by him.
    Perhaps none of his concubines were. This suited her plan well, so she indulged
    him, and tried to sigh off the jangling little alarm bell between her legs.
    However, when he ran a rough tongue up her inner thigh, she groaned.

    "Steady, woman." His voice was all grin. "You

    cleaned me, remember? A gentleman always returns a favor."

    She sagged against the tree, wedged her shoulder to it, and

    opened her legs as wide as she could. This elicited a boulder snigger, then a
    bristly chin shoved between her thighs to press his lips to her vulva.

    Damn the silk shackles. She wanted to spread to him, see to

    her itchy spot herself. The man was in no hurry. He played with her lips,
    stroking, kissing, holding back his tongue, nipping at her labia and clit hood.
    She bent over deeper, and he nuzzled under, hunching his massive form to fit
    beneath her. She felt her cunt lips slip open around his tongue as he probed
    and tasted, but only his bottom lip grazed her clit, leaving it to hum for now.

    "P-please, your majesty." Goodness, she sounded

    like a bleating lamb. "Eat me."

    Another tectonic chortle. The heat of his mouth disappeared,

    and he opened her lips like a book. Studied her. Unfortunately, it seemed she
    was a riveting read. He opened and closed her, rubbed her labia together, it
    seemed to persuade more juice from her judging by his occasional hot snorts of
    approval.

    She wriggled her hips and cursed, her tied wrists around the

    tree's roots. Perhaps the king deliberately mistook her body language, because
    instead of giving her what she wanted, he parted her bottom cheeks. A slippery
    fairy danced circles around her anus. She yelped, wriggled a hand loose from
    her shackles to cover herself, then paused. The dirty, wet tickle seemed to
    unhook something in her. Some last tension or inhibition, released. She melted,
    groaned, and gave over to him, to her body, completely.

    As if someone had finally found the right key for the right

    lock, at long last her clit was bathed in warmth. He lapped at her without his
    wife's skill, but with a firm, steady rhythm. She bent double, folded to
    maneuver her clit into his mouth, but he was still too big to fit between her
    thighs. He turned over to sit, leaning back on his hands between her feet. She
    could see him now. He sparkled up at her, eating like she was a juice-laden
    monster cherry he'd plucked from the tree, his cheeks and chin a mess, lapping
    and sucking her clit with his single-speed incessant lick. She wound on his
    face, as if eating him, not vice versa.

    She enjoyed this notion of consuming him. She bore down,

    crouching lower, until he was completely on his back and she was indecently
    spread on him, queening his face.

    That was better. Now she could control where his tireless

    tongue stimulated. She shut her eyes and relaxed, squatting on his warm mouth,
    possessed with the image of some silky sea creature slipping about her
    hyper-sensitive nooks and crannies.

    He groaned first.

    She sighed off her swelling bliss and opened her eyes to

    find his shut below her, lost in his own animal pleasure. He groaned again,
    louder. It thrummed her like a violin. She looked over her shoulder to check
    his trousers, which looked comically like a woodland creature had got in there.
    She wished she could release it. As if reading her mind, he unzipped his fly
    and hauled his hard meat into the fresh air.

    His excitement doubled hers. A gorgeous tension flared in

    her core, sucked bigger and wider by the king's hungry mouth. His cock rocked,
    dripped, and his hips thrust at the air. He rumbled under her. Would he spurt
    there and then, just like that, just from licking her?

    The image tore through her: his lovely spunk shooting all

    over his elegant, laundered shirt, splattering hot up her back, uncontrollable
    in his desire for her. Her hips spasmed and she was glad of the tree to hang
    onto. He sucked her clit, tugging it deeper into wet heat, and even the king's
    big, dumb tongue worked with a fluidity nothing else could match. It felt like
    a flickering, wet flame. She juddered again, then suddenly that's all she was,
    a bloom of fire, pedaling inside out and inside out and inside out again. A
    vixen screeched somewhere deep in the woods, or perhaps that was her, primally
    splayed and shaking on the king's mouth, on his deep, bone shaking, hums of
    pleasure.

    She wiped herself around his slimy chin, puffing tremoring

    breaths, then stubbed out the last of her orgasm, splodging his face while they
    giggled.

    He winked. "Two, my lady."

    There was only one thing she needed now. She heaved to her

    feet, slid her tied-up tree hug along the trunk, and tipped up her bottom.
    "Fuck me, your majesty."

    He wiped his wrist across his face, but lay where he was,

    between her feet, his cock dancing and his brow wrinkled. "Belle; "

    "You promised me three orgasms. Fuck me."

    "No. You will come sucking me."

    "I'll come with you in me, but this end." She

    jiggled. "And you won't come until I say."

    "Woman! I am your king; "

    "You are a beautiful cock. Fuck me." She stamped

    her foot. "Now."

    He rolled to his feet. His shadow loomed over her, departed,

    returned. He grumbled. Something like a hot lemon wedged against her slot,
    rested there. She pushed back against it, lodged the tip at her entrance. It
    didn't retreat. She eased onto it with a lascivious shock at how much she
    needed to stretch, and keep stretching, to accommodate him.

    Once she had a grip on his hard bell, she smiled over her

    shoulder. "I'll tap you three times, then you can come." She took
    more of him in, glad she was wet and loose from her last two orgasms; he filled
    her so completely it forced her breath out.

    The king stood to attention, neither pushing nor pulling

    away, and Belle understood. Let the betrayal be hers. She rocked back at him
    until she was stuffed to the brink and, mercifully, his hips met her bottom.
    They moaned together. So this was how a man was supposed to feel. She felt more
    worn than penetrated, stretched over him like a perfectly fitting dress. She
    writhed, relishing every cell of her softness gloved to every cell of his
    hardness. The king cursed and could stay still no longer. He gripped her hips
    and slid out, and for a sinking moment she thought he would leave, but he
    plunged back in, forcing a squeak from her. Then again, and again and she
    braced and each powerful thrust pumped more joy into her. His perfect dick lit
    her up brighter with each stroke, fizzing along her skin to her fingertips and
    toes, then back again to be doubled up by the next thrust.

    She turned to him, grinned through tousled hair, but could

    hardly form a smile for panting. His face was stoic. Serious. She grunted,
    shuddered to a halt. He moved her hips for her, his power and control jamming
    hard and deep but never too deep. And even though she was too full of him, she
    still cried out, "Yes, yes, yes;” He pumped her lungs, her heart, to
    bursting and then crammed more joy in, and more and it doubled and redoubled
    and she yelped, thrust back greedily, a feeding frenzy, even though it was too
    much, too delicious, and she was tight as a drum and still more came and more
    and more;

    She lifted onto her toes, squealed.

    And burst into a billion tiny stars.

    But her juggernaut king drove on, rammed her off her feet,

    shoved gasp after gasp from her. He tossed her from her own skin, like there
    was no room for her ghost now. Too much. Too good. Too;

    Oblivion.

     

     

    She roused bouncing, cackling, every joint slack, every

    muscle warm and floppy as the king rammed her up and down on his cock. His
    movements grew spasmodic. His hips slapped her bottom and for a delirious,
    dreamy blink she wanted him to come in her, but her instinct intervened. She
    slipped her hands from her shackles, and slipped off his cock. He carried on
    shoving, unable to stop. She swiveled, dropped to her knees, stuffed his
    slippery meat into her mouth.

    He stiffened, gnashed his teeth. Placed his hands on her

    head.

    A wickedness tickled her. She unsuckered from him. "No.

    Wait."

    He snarled, screwed his eyes shut.

    "Wait;” She said as if to a dog. While his perineum

    fluttered like a bird's heart, and he made strangled noises, she calmly licked
    her drooling juices from his balls, running a flat, cleaning tongue up his
    quivering rod. She sniggered, lapped under his bulb, fluttered her eyelashes.
    "What do you say?"

    He juddered. His fists clenched, every muscle, every vein on

    his body flexed to bursting point. "Please. My Lady. Please."

    She tipped her mouth over his end, and slapped his arse

    three times.

    Then braced for the gorgeous flood of power.

    The queen returned to a new kingdom. When her Rolls Royce

    rolled through the streets, people gathered to throw petals over her, a band
    played, and children sang songs.

    Queen Charlotte stepped from the car and into her king's

    arms looking visibly shaken. The new palace staff formed a circle about them
    and cheered.

    He explained Belle's discovery. Madam Couteau's keys

    revealed many secret rooms, including storerooms crammed with produce, filing
    cabinets crammed with orders and a safe crammed with gold. Madam Couteau and
    her cohort had been increasing the taxes behind their backs. If the taxes were
    paid, Couteau paid the monarchs what they expected and pocketed the difference.
    When the taxes increasingly couldn't be paid, Couteau took the villagers'
    produce and sold it on to the kingdom's old buyers.

    By royal decree (Though the queen guessed it was more likely

    Belle's decree) the stockpiled produce and stolen profits were divided amongst
    the townspeople, who were re-united with thei

    53 min
  • Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 1
    Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 1.
    Gardener Bill Tends Lady Lovecome's Estate.
    Based on a post by A Big Cat.
    Listen to the Podcast at Explicit
    Novels.


    Lady Bathsheba Ottoline Lovecome insisted I, and only I;

    call her Bash. As if that closed the social gap between us. As if a girl called
    Bash was a salt-of-the-earth type, the type who could happily hang out with
    someone like me, her gardener.

    I was just twenty when I became the gardener for Lovecome

    manor. The widower Lord Lovecome was disinterested in gardens and rarely at the
    big house so for a year at least I had the best job in the world. I even had
    free accommodation in the groundskeeper's cottage attached to their gothic
    pile. Then his daughter, Bathsheba, moved back home.

    Bathsheba returned from her Swiss finishing school a lady. A

    hungry lady. I don't mean hungry in a lascivious way, well I do, but mostly she
    came back hungry for life. She wanted to go to university. Her dad said it
    wouldn't help her "marry well" so he wouldn't fund it, but she was
    free to live in the manor house until she found a husband. Instead, she did her
    best to piss him off. She raided the antique erotica he kept on the top shelf
    of his library, and insisted on re-enacting it. With me. Then she exaggerated
    it in her diary, which she left lying about on coffee tables and window seats.
    Her dad threatened to sack me. Lady Lovecome said she'd leave with me and tell
    the press about it too. Happy families.

    Bash was small and round, where I was tall and wiry. She had

    jet black hair where I was blonde. She had wicked, deep, brown eyes, where mine
    are pale blue. I smile all the time, but Bash's pillowy lips were stuck in a
    pout. She even pouted when she laughed, swallowing it and shuddering, as if to
    quash an underground explosion. The only time she smiled was when she came. Or
    when I came. Something she tried to contrive as often as possible because, as
    busy as I was, Bash was always bored.

    While all her friends went to university she spent three

    years at home, alone. Years spent not reading law or history or economics but
    antique porn. Years spent minxing around barefoot, no knickers, teasing me
    while I tried to work. Years recorded in her diary; her dirty-minded days so
    predictable she'd write it in the morning and then we'd catch up in the
    evenings. Like generations of her family, Bash was a woman imprisoned in
    girlish immaturity, wrapped in puppy fat, waiting to be married to replace
    father with husband. I could relate in some ways. As soon as I could heft an
    axe, like generations of my family, I was imprisoned by work. We were each
    other's only escape.

    Still, we were on different tracks. On her 21st birthday she

    left home. I moved in with Jane, a woman who looked a lot like Bash, and set up
    my own, failing, landscaping business. Bash married a duke. I only saw her on
    the covers of celebrity magazines, and in the papers when her dad died.

    Then one morning I got a postcard from their residence in

    Sicily:

    "Thinking of you, Sweet William. My garden needs

    attention."

    My name is Bill. Sweet William is what she calls my cock.

    Her garden is her name for her vagina. And I hadn't heard from her in ten
    years.

    It's cruel of me, but I told Jane that Lady Lovecome had

    offered me work and that I wanted to do it. Sex was pretty bad between me and
    Jane, and I think I wanted to make her jealous. I wasn't really going to take
    the job. We were naked in bed when I told her and I hoped she'd get competitive
    and dirty. She got angry.

    "You want to work for Lady cum slut?" She rubbed

    in hand cream with quick, stiff movements.

    "She's not a slut."

    "She used to practice blow jobs on you."

    "Doesn't make her a slut."

    "Why not?"

    "I practiced on her too."

    Jane folded her arms, wedging the duvet tight under them.

    "You never practice on me anymore."

    "You don't like it."

    "Still. A girl likes to be desired."

    I smirked, lifted the duvet and hummed at her lovely

    chestnut bush. She crossed her legs tight.

    I sighed, or growled, or both. "She's married to a

    duke. And I'm living with you. It'd just be for the money. And what's it you
    say? Sex is so immature?"

    She harumphed and twisted away to lie with her back to me.

    "Whatever."

    Whatever is the worst. Whatever is like, "This is what

    you've got, deal with it."

    Bash was the first person to say this to me. I was ordered

    to chop down a cherry tree I'd tried to grow for years because Lord Lovecome
    thought it looked weedy. It did look weedy, not like the bushy cherry trees in
    Lovecome's neighbor’s garden. But it was still alive. I refused to kill it.
    Bash got sick of me moaning about the tree and told me it didn't matter what I
    wanted. "This is what you've got. Deal with it." It took me two whole
    days to carefully dig out its roots and transplant it somewhere private.

    Where it died.

    So I find myself in Sicily. Or near it. The volcanic island

    of Stromboli, where the Lovecomes have summered since they bought the villa
    from Queen Victoria.

    The smoking peak of the volcano towers over the stucco and

    clay-tile villa, bubbling unnervingly. I crunch across gravel under an army of
    cypress trees to doors fit for a church. I'm not surprised when they swing open
    before I even get to them.

    There she is.

    Her left cheek dimples as she tries to hide her grin behind

    her pout. She's lost her puppy fat but is still curvy. Fit looking. I can tell
    because she's wearing a bikini under a gauzy kind of beach dress that reveals
    rather than conceals. She's still got her shaggy, bellish bob. I recall us
    playing shadow puppets with spotlights, positioning ourselves so that her
    full-body profile matched the shadow cast by my erection.

    "At last. Sweet William," she says.

    I'd forgotten how deep her voice is. One rainy Sunday, she

    made me come just by humming Land of Hope and Glory on "Sweet William.”

    "Lady Bathsheba," I say.

    She presses her cheek to both my cheeks. "Come. I

    simply must show you my garden. It's in such a state." Her eyes shine.

    I laugh too loud.

    She shows me into the national museum she calls a summer

    home. Her feet slap-slap-slap on marble and she swings her hips, leading me
    through the grand hall and out a glass wall to the back terrace. She has a
    tight waist and wide hips now. Her bottom is round as ever. She used to
    complain that it wasn't elegant. She called it her "sit-up-and-beg
    bum." I told her men adore it. She said, "But I'm not a man."

    The villa's built on a volcanic beach. A swathe of black

    sand leads out to frothing breakers. In the middle of the beach a crimson
    Turkish rug holds two enormous teak loungers, set like thrones with a sweating
    silver champagne bucket between.

    The sea breeze cools my face. It brings me Bash's powdery

    lemon sent. I sigh.

    Bash stands on tip-toe, leans into my neck and takes a deep

    breath. "You smell delicious." I'd forgotten how it felt to sometimes
    share a thought. It's like holding hands inside our heads.

    "Let's swim." She takes my bag off me and

    immediately drops it. "I've given all the servants the day off." She
    sashays toward the sea, pulling her beach dress off over her head and dropping
    that too. "So It's just us I'm afraid." She kicks a wave. "For
    miles!"

    I strip to my boxers while she kneels in the surf, knees

    apart, peering at me. We're in Lovecome Manor again and she's watching me shovel,
    her hands up her skirt.

    I know Bash's body as well as my own. It's like she's a part

    of me, another pair of arms and legs. And it seems 10 years is nothing between
    us. I can almost feel the frothy breakers lapping at her gusset.

    The water's freezing. I dive in and come up howling.

    She coils her arms around my neck and squeezes me very

    tight. "Fuck," she gasps into my ear. When she pulls away her eyes
    are wet and spilling. "I've missed you every day." Her hips are
    wedged to mine. Her front nudges me as if looking for something. I'm not hard.
    Yet. I don't know where to put my hands.

    My eyes overflow, too. I wipe, pretending it's seawater.

    "I've missed you, Bash." I hug her. Her body is like a memory made
    solid. A treasured memory.

    We muck about in the surf. She loves me to throw her over

    the waves. I love to see her spinning against the sky, eyes screwed shut,
    screaming. I love her spluttering, "Again!"

    Once she's worn me out, she takes my hand and we retire to

    the loungers. Bash and I used to refer to each other as soul mates. This is
    how, in the twenty steps from water to carpet(!) we decide, without speaking,
    that this is not to be a polite afternoon.

    She chucks me an insanely fluffy towel but lies down wet on

    hers where it's spread on the lounger.

    I wrap the towel around my waist and drag off my soggy

    boxers. I like the secret air round my cock and balls. I lie on the lounger
    beside hers. Me on my back, Lady Lovecome on her front.

    Bash and I rarely chatted. I mean what did a gardener have

    to say to a Lady? But our three years together was so physically intense, we
    didn't need to make conversation. Not the formal kind anyway.

    She looks at me with her cheek pressed to the backs of her

    hands. Behind soggy strands of bell-bob, her eyes swell up bigger than the sky.
    Water droplets glitter all over her shoulders, down her back and legs. Like
    diamonds.

    She squirms. "What?"

    "You're a beautiful woman."

    She dimples, gulps. "You too; no, I mean. Whatever.

    You're much beefier though. I like it."

    This makes me laugh even though it isn't funny.

    She reaches over, takes my left hand, but only to hold it

    up. "Hmm. Not married."

    "Living with someone. You?"

    She flashes me a diamond the size of a grape, then drops her

    arm like the ring's too heavy to lift. "Gaudy, I know." She leans up
    on her elbows. "Are you happy?"

    I shrug.

    Jane calls me Mr. Sad. She describes me as a glass

    half-empty person. She even blames the lackluster performance of my business on
    my own lack of luster. And I don't get it. At the big house I couldn't get the
    grin off my gob.

    Time must pass with us just looking at each other in silence

    because, suddenly, Bash's skin is dry. She reaches under the lounger, produces
    a bottle of sun lotion and throws it at me. She unfastens the back strap of her
    bikini top.

    I squeeze white lotion across her shoulders and down her

    spine. She wriggles at its chilliness and the dimple-cheeked smirk of her
    hidden smile undoes me. Every time. When we first met she smiled as easy as me.
    All the time. I can't remember when she decided she needed to hide her
    happiness.

    I perch beside her hip on her lounger and rub the cream in.

    During our time in gilded prison together, we experimented with the
    openheartedness you lose later in life. There's no part of each other we
    haven't explored with fingers, lips or tongues. That's why her skin still feels
    as familiar as my own. I even get a ghost of my own touch on my own back. My
    hand is hard and leathery. She breathes a little heavy. When my rubs spiral to
    her bikini bottoms she tugs them down, so I can go lower. She pulls them all
    the way to the cleft of her bum.

    Her skin is rose gold. All over. "No tan line," I

    say.

    "I usually sunbathe nude," she says. "Tan

    lines are so; gauche."

    My hand strokes lower than it needs to, over her cheeks. She

    purrs, grinds her hips at the lounger.

    I grasp her bikini bottoms and pull them down her legs and

    off her feet.

    She adores being nude for me. All her diary entries (she

    read them to me, of course) started: "William lustily tore off all my
    clothes, eyeing every detail of my nudity; until he was rigid." She leans
    up on her elbows and looks over her shoulder at her own nakedness, as if to
    share seeing it with my eyes.

    I'm so hard under my towel I can hardly bend.

    I squirt cream on her bum and rub it in. More like knead it

    in, if I'm honest. In the dim at the top of her closed thighs, I can just make
    out intimate wrinkles and clefts I haven't seen in ten years. The little pink
    knot of her anus is a friend I'd forgotten I'd missed.

    She growls, and wriggles onto her back. Her tits are still

    small and firm, her stomach smooth with a decadent little pot-belly. The ball
    of her mound is topped by a clipped triangle of jet hair. I stand up. I can't
    help it. It's like royalty has walked onto the beach. I should probably salute.

    She yanks my towel off. My cock bounces into the Italian

    sunshine.

    Her eyes widen. She pulls hair back off her face.

    "Goodness, you're much bigger than I remember."

    I don't know if this is a compliment or not.

    With a serious expression, she runs fingertips over my

    balls. She flicks a regal glance up at me, one eyebrow raised, then tests my
    shaft. The tip of her tongue curls out.

    "What's got you so het up, Sweet William, hmm?"

    She says this to my cock as she grips it and slides up and down, so I guess
    she's joking.

    She flops her legs open a little. Her clit hood, now neatly

    defined by waxed baldness below, is prominent as ever. I stroke her outer lips,
    they're podgy and so soft I almost can't feel them. Her thick, protruding inner
    lips graze my palm.

    I smile, slip a fingertip along her slick groove.

    She lets out a long, ragged breath. With Bash in my hand,

    and me in hers, I feel complete. Bash puts it better. Wrinkling thick eyebrows
    in a pained kind of realization she says, "I feel like I'm finally
    home."

    But then she releases my cock and shuts her legs.

    "Rules," she says. "I'm worried. I don't want

    to be that woman who forces you to be unfaithful to your partner."

    I lick her glossiness from my finger. She slaps my thigh.

    "If we don't come, then we're still being faithful to her don't you
    think?" She says this to my cock, robotically, like she's rehearsed it.

    "What about your husband?"

    "He fucks around," she says. "He doesn't

    count."

    I sense she's replaced father with spouse as a target for

    her disappointment. I kneel beside her so my erection is next to her face. I
    stroke her tight little tits. She chews her lip, watching my cock buck.

    "You won't be able to stop yourself," I say. This

    sounds like a boast, but it's not.

    "I should be Okay. I came massively earlier." She

    flicks a glance up at me and flushes. "You were late."

    I stoop to kiss her, and she cups my neck and leans into me,

    but we find we can't close the last millimeter.

    "This is very against the rules," Bash says, her

    lips brushing mine.

    I groan, and kiss her cheeks instead, down her jaw. I cover

    her tits and nipples and wish I'd shaved but then remember, unlike Jane, Bash
    likes my chin rougher. Her body rolls under me like a wave trying to keep me on
    its crest. When I dip from tits to ribs to belly, she squeezes my shoulders and
    arms and gushes, "Good lord, you feel like a horse," but really she's
    pushing me down.

    I swivel as I descend, climb onto her lounger and kneel

    astride her shins. She likes my cock between her feet. I do too. When my kisses
    reach her mound I take her hips and lift them to my mouth. I bury a kiss into
    the bare flesh below her tuft. I keep her legs tight together, nuzzle into that
    gap to get to her clit with my lips. It's exciting that I can't quite get to
    it. She lifts her hips to my mouth, tries to open her legs. Her body wants me
    to lick her. Her heart wants me to delay it.

    I lie along her legs and pluck kisses to her

    pressed-together cunt lips as if they were the mouth I'm denied kissing. We
    have the same rules for each other as others have for prostitutes, it seems.
    She lifts her lounger's backrest so she can watch me without straining, and
    pulls her clit hood up to unsheathe as much of her bud as she can.

    She shivers. "I need to come already."

    "Um-Hmm."

    "Perhaps it's Okay to come," she says. "What

    do you think?"

    I'm not thinking, I'm kissing. Kissing brings me pleasure.

    Thinking, pain.

    I kneel upright, grasp her ankles and open her legs. Now I'm

    going to bring her pleasure.

    Her "garden" has just the one flower. It's pink

    and fleshy and it's in full bloom. Her juices loop between slot and thigh. I
    settle between her knees like a jigsaw piece slotting into place.

    She strokes my head. "Oral is foreplay isn't it? Not

    actual sex. I mean, Fore; play?" She tips her feet onto their sides to sag
    her knees wide and make more room for me. "Christ I've done it at parties.
    It's almost dancing. Polite, really."

    I press a kiss to her slipped-open lips as politely as I

    can, given the circumstances. She's hot marshmallow with a liquid center. Her juices
    string thickly to my lips. I lick her salty taste off them with my eyes closed.
    When I open them again she's watching me, her cheeks blazing.

    "To be safe." I kiss her again, slower, harder.

    "I'll stop when I think you're gonna come." Then I kiss her again.
    And again. And again. Each kiss hitches her breath. Each hitched breath pulses
    my cock. Her pleasure, every tiny, hitched breath of it, makes my day. It
    always has. That someone's most intimate joy is also mine raises a deep moan to
    my kissing.

    Her eyes slit. She opens her inner lips with delicate,

    beautifully manicured, fingers. Her diamond flashes. Juices bubble inside her,
    dribble from the dim into the sunlight, down her bum cleft.

    I focus on her clit, pressing my lips to it lightly as I

    can.

    "Taste me." This is her thing, me enjoying her

    taste and smell. In her diary once, I came just from her dripping on my tongue.
    It was written to annoy her dad. I don't think it ever happened. Not often
    anyway.

    I kiss her clit firmer, nip it between my lips.

    She tremors and opens herself explicitly. "Lick

    me."

    It's her body talking. I ignore it, like I'm ignoring my own

    body, which also badly wants to eat her, and badly needs to be eaten. Instead I
    take a deep breath of her spread cunt. "Musky ocean," I say. "Your
    smell makes my mouth water."

    She bites her lip. As if to show me what she needs, her

    finger dips into her slot, and traces juices up over her clit, itches at it.
    She grunts and stops, splaying her fingers above her clenching cunt. It always
    pulses like this before she comes. I don't know if this is the same for other
    women, it's not for Jane, but this is what happens for Bash. And when she
    clenches inside I have to bear down hard on the echoing pulse behind my balls.

    I reach into the champagne bucket between us, scoop cold

    water. I dribble it over her flushed folds.

    She gasps. A smile! But she doesn't come.

    I suck her clit and curly labia just to enjoy her chilled

    flesh in my mouth.

    "Fuck!" Bash says to the sky. I guess my mouth

    feels very hot on her. I stop, kiss her inner thighs.

    "This is why we've never fucked," she says.

    "Licking is too fabby."

    "We never fucked because we were terrified of getting

    you pregnant. Your dad would have had me killed."

    "But I've been on the pill since I met you for

    fuck-sake."

    I laugh along with another, deeper kiss to her folds, so I

    can vibrate into her. Always a favorite.

    She grips herself behind her knees, pulls her legs apart and

    back. Her toes wriggle beside my head. "You ejaculated fountains though; I
    swear If one could get pregnant orally we'd have; ah!"

    I send an emergency lick up her slot, then down. Top of

    tongue, bottom of tongue. I follow it with more ice water. I want to shut her
    up because she talks dirty to get herself off.

    Bash always told me her fantasies while I licked her. Of

    course, they always started with "William eyed every detail of my
    nudity" but they always ended with me unable to control myself. She liked
    to describe me spurting all over her bottom, tits, clit or tongue. And when she
    came it was usually to blustering, "His; his salty sweet eruption!"

    Bash calms down for a bit, but is still spread to my mouth

    so I breathe into her and nuzzle. She's soon off again though. She nods at the
    smoky peak of Stromboli rising above her house. "I think of

    0 min
  • Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 2
    Lady Lovecome’s Diary: Part 2.
    Ring the bell three times for Belle.
    Based on a post by A Big Cat.
    Listen to the Podcast at Explicit
    Novels.


    In discrete service to the royal court; My name is Lady

    Bathsheba, Ottoline, Lovecome; and this is my diary.

    These are not the depressive scratchings of some puffball

    princess. I'm no dowager driven loopy by indolent indulgence. These are the
    erotic thoughts, experiences and stories of someone in their prime; but
    housebound by a self-serving patriarchy. A patriarchy who's trapped his fully
    adult daughter in his manor house; rather than set her free at university with
    her friends; while she waits, financially dependent, for a suitable suitor.

    Her patriarchy is no doubt, and I hope, reading these pages.

    I hope you enjoy them, Father. I've been much inspired by your library's
    top-shelf antiquaries;

    Dear Diary; (dear Father!) I'm also much inspired by my only

    companion in Lovecome manor, our gardener, Bill. He's my age, yet a fully
    independent individual making his own way in the world. Free.

    I made this point to him on our first meeting.

    "Free am I?" His voice is deep and honeyed.

    "Financial necessity isn't the same as freedom, Madam."

    "You simply must call me Bash." I fear I stamped

    my foot when I declared this. "While we're inmates together we will
    address each other as equals."

    "Very good, Bash." He doffed his cap!

    Bill is square-jawed, twice my height and built like a tree.

    I hope to discover if he's treelike all over before the end of the day.
    (Specifically is it a log or a twig in his trousers? My investigations so far;
    quick glances and a delicious slide-by in the kitchen where my bum brushed his
    front; suggest log. Sigh.) It's a sunny morning now and I scribe this on my
    flimsily-dressed lap where I sit on a flowery white chair on the lawn. Bill is
    almost at my feet, preparing a flower bed with much shoveling and grunting.
    Sweat stains his straining shirt. I curl my toes in the grass. Do you think he
    will deduce from my bare feet that I'm naked under my dress? I will give him a flash
    of ass soon, and surprise him. Though he already seems; bothered.

    His cheeks are slapped crimson and his pale blue eyes flit

    glances over my ankles. Each furtive look feels like a lick, hungry to get up
    my skirt. It squeezes me hotly in my hips and; let me wriggle; yes; has made me
    shamefully gooey down there. When I cross and re-cross my legs, the top of my
    thighs slip.

    I wonder what he'd think if he could read these words?

    Why wonder?

    Tee hee.

    I read you to him, Diary, and now he's smiling stiffly while

    smoke curls from his ears. I'm going to read every dirty thought I write to
    this man from now on. I told him this too. He doffed his cap again; a
    subservient gesture undone by a drilling stare at my hips, as if calling upon
    some kind of x-ray vision. Poor man, I won't show him what he wants to see
    until much later. Though I very much like the thought of him picturing my bits.

    I know exactly what I want to tell him today. A story of

    someone I met in Switzerland, the head of my finishing school, a beautiful
    woman called Belle. I've been playing and replaying her experiences since I
    woke, and even though she's made me come already, she's left me needy. As you
    can probably tell.

    Belle was an unusual head for a finishing school, being from

    a very humble background. We were mostly taught to be ladies by actual ladies,
    including duchesses and countesses. I struck up a friendship with her, perhaps
    because we looked similar, even if she was older and a more petite, refined
    version of me: Snow White to my Betty Blue.

    She set up the school using her savings, and contacts, from

    working as a Lady's maid for the queen of a minor European state in the
    nineteen-sixties. Her country might have been tiny, but it was rich, or at
    least until King John took the reins along with his wife Queen Charlotte. They
    raised taxes and milked the locals dry. (Bill is tugging out a stump. How I'd
    love to milk him dry. Preferably with the tender grip of the milk-hungry place
    between my legs; I digress.)

    Three Bells for Belle

    By Lady Lovecome

    Belle was from one of those families reduced to poverty. The

    idle royals taxed so them heavily that often all their crops would be
    confiscated in lieu of what was owed. The country's produce was internationally
    famous for its unparalleled quality. It used to grace royal tables all over the
    world. Now only one royal table enjoyed the fruits of their labor, and what
    wasn't eaten simply disappeared. It was left to rot for all anyone knew. Many
    gave up farming all together, for what they didn't have, couldn't be taken.

    However poor they were, when the royal housekeeper; A

    sour-faced, walking whip called Madam Couteau; came looking for new palace
    servants, people hid. It wasn't a job anyone wanted. She was famously cruel,
    and people were forced to work eighteen hour shifts for food and lodging (if a
    straw mattress in a basement dorm counted as lodging). Also, she only chose the
    prettiest, to feed the king and queen's lascivious appetites. And if an
    unmarried girl became pregnant with an illegitimate heir, this could mean exile
    or imprisonment or worse.

    Belle hated Madam Couteau, and in a misplaced fit of

    defiance she refused to hide one morning when the woman came looking for fresh
    meat. It was a stupid thing to do, but looking back on it, Belle wondered if
    she knew even then that if she could get to those in charge, somehow, then she
    could do something about her family's; even her country's; desperate state.

    Madam Couteau gasped when she caught Belle's enormous,

    insolent eye. A sharp smile twitched her cheek. She snapped her fingers, and
    suddenly Belle was gripped by two guards. As her parents wailed, Belle was
    marched away from her home.

    But Belle was naïve to think she would get anywhere near the

    king and queen. She was made a pot girl, in charge of collecting and emptying
    the staff's chamber pots. The castle's plumbing was for royalty, and Madam
    Couteau's cohorts, alone.

    It was a pissy, shitty job, yet every day Belle kept herself

    clean and ordered, just in case she might get a chance to elevate her position
    in the household. She didn't expect this opportunity to come from Madam
    Couteau. One cold dawn, while Belle poured pot after pot of steaming filth into
    the castle's drain, Madam Couteau popped up like the stench made solid. Dressed
    in stiff, black satin, she wore the gargantuan bunch of castle keys at her
    waist, permanently dangling at her front like a metal mirkin.

    "It is Her Majesty's birthday tomorrow," she

    clipped. "You are my gift to her. When you hear the servant bell ring
    three times, present yourself."

    "Yes, Madame."

    "This is not a promotion."

    "No, Madame. What will I; "

    "Just; be clean."

    The staff dorm sported a wall of a hundred spring-loaded

    bells, each marked with a room. Pulling a chord in any of the royal chambers
    would alert the relevant servant. A bell should only ever ring once. More rings
    meant the royals had been kept waiting and a beating from Madam Couteau would
    surely follow, administered with a flail of the monstrous palace keys to the
    girls' ass cheeks.

    However, most nights, and some mornings, a bell would ring

    multiple times in quick succession, any number from two to six. At Belle's end
    of the dorm, a cluster of six suspiciously pretty women would jolt at a
    multiple bell, then one would press her lips and hurry from the dorm to answer
    the call.

    Belle could guess where these beauties were going. The

    king's appetites were infamous. The queen's too, though there was never a man
    called to her rooms. Belle didn't know if she was relieved or not that she was
    gifted to the queen and not the king. She'd never been with a woman, but it was
    an occasional fantasy for her, and at least there'd be no risk of pregnancy.

    Belle spent half the night scrubbing herself and preparing

    her outfit. The maid's uniforms were desperately impractical: sleeveless, but
    high-collared, tight bodiced but flaring into short, pleated skirts. Instead of
    tights they wore black woolen over-knee socks that did more to accentuate their
    bare thighs than keep them warm. Even their ankle boots were patent leather
    kitten heels.

    When the other girls were called they rarely dressed, just

    pulled on a bathrobe, or wrapped themselves in a towel. Belle would be
    different. It was no surprise that the king and queen designed the maid uniform
    themselves, so Belle would look as good as she could for them.

    It wasn't yet dawn when three bells jolted Belle from her

    short sleep. She rubbed her eyes and peered at the servant's board. She'd
    missed which bell had rung.

    "Queen's bedchamber," whispered the copper-haired

    girl in the next bed, her brow wrinkled with a sisterly concern. Belle thanked
    her, dressed and scampered up the servant stairs to the queen's room, fastening
    the uniform's thirty tiny buttons as she went.

    She stood trembling between two smirking guards at the

    queen's monolithic bedroom door and knocked with a bravado she didn't feel. The
    door immediately flew open. There, dressed in just her silken nightgown was;

    A girl?

     

     

    Belle had only ever seen the queen on their national coins.

    She supposed her to be much older. This woman couldn't have been more than a
    year or two older than Belle, her mid-twenties perhaps. Her hair was long and
    platinum, and braided to her shoulder. She had the smooth, apple-cheeked
    complexion of a dairy maid, not a vicious queen. She beamed at Belle, then, as
    if remembering her station, quickly pouted and looked down her nose.

    Belle dropped to her knee in the special curtsy Madam

    Couteau had taught them, leaving her bowed at the woman's unshod feet. The
    queen had baby's toes.

    "My God, Madam Couteau was right." The queen

    caught Belle's chin and tipped her face up. "You are exquisite. Everything
    you look at must feel beautiful." She stooped, peered into Belle,
    whistled. "Those eyes."

    The queen's eyes were like polished steel. Belle felt

    harpooned by them.

    "Bravo." The woman clapped, pirouetted and bounced

    away. "Come!"

    Belle followed through a door into an entirely black marble

    room bigger than her family's cottage. In the center glimmered a polished-brass
    bathtub full of lemony-fragrant water frothing with bubbles. Thick steam turned
    the morning sunlight, filtered through filigreed shutters, into rays. Belle was
    so overawed she didn't notice the queen had unfastened the bow on her nightgown
    and dropped it to her knees.

    Belle averted her eye.

    "You refuse to honor me with your exquisite gaze?"

    The queen braced arms on her hips, and tapped her foot. Even from the corner of
    her eye, Belle could make out the wobble of the woman's large tits with each
    tap of her foot.

    "I think only of Her Majesty's privacy."

    "Look at me."

    Belle did as she was bid.

    The queen's lips parted under Belle's gaze. Was that a gasp?

    "I'm told I'm beautiful." The woman pirouetted. She was too, her body
    curvaceous and smooth as a marble figurine. Not fat, but well fed enough to
    smooth off her knees and elbows. There wasn't a knobbly bone on her. Her sex
    was shaved bald, and the top of her intimate crease glittered where a
    double-diamond stud pierced her clitoral hood. She might look like a girl, but
    she was all woman.

    Queen Charlotte dropped into the hot water with a sigh. She

    nodded at the soap, sponge and a silver jug on a table set by the tub.
    "You may wash me."

    Belle preferred men, but was young and open minded and the

    queen's beauty did funny things to her midriff. But mostly Belle was sharp and,
    even as she awkwardly upended a jug of warm water over the queen's shoulders,
    she wondered how she might bend the queen's desire to her own advantage.

    She lathered the woman's back then, taking a deep breath,

    her tits. The queen hummed and lay back. Her chest heaved under Belle's
    soaping.

    Belle lost herself in the pliable slippery flesh sliding

    through her fingers. The queen's nipples turned to bullets under her palm. She
    circled them, forgetting for a second that they belonged to someone else and
    weren't her own.

    She was so lost she jumped when the queen purred, "I

    don't know what's more arousing, being in your hands, or in your gaze."

    Belle washed downward, toward opening knees, and hips pushed

    up to Belle's soapy hands. The queen bit her lip.

    Belle swallowed. When the village men were in this state

    they were suggestable and eager to please. Now was her time to exert some
    influence. She let her hand reach the woman's abdomen, then stopped.

    "Perhaps Your Majesty might stand up?"

    Queen Charlotte should find this impertinent, no one should

    address her unless addressed first, let alone make a request. If the woman
    accepted this, then Belle had some power over her.

    Without missing a beat, the needy queen stood. Belle's head

    spun. That was too easy. She should see how far she could go. She soaped the
    proffered hips, bottom cheeks and legs and put aside a swelling heat in her own
    lower half. Queen Charlotte lifted a foot onto the edge of the bath to offer
    herself explicitly. Her belly trembled.

    Gathering all her nerve, Belle offered the soap to her

    queen. "I fear I'm not worthy, Madam. You must do that part
    yourself."

    The queen's jaw rippled. Her eyelids drooped. "I

    insist. If you value your position."

    Belle bit her lip. "I like how you feel Madam, very

    much, and I'm honored, but it's not proper to wash you there. I will watch you;
    wash yourself, if that helps?"

    Belle knelt at the bath side, dropping her face a little

    lower than her queen's hips. She mustered a blinking, innocent gaze up into
    Queen Charlotte's engorged flower.

    As if hypnotized by Belle's eyes, Queen Charlotte soaped

    herself. "You make; me feel; angelic." After a brief stir, the soap
    plopped into the water, then the queen followed, crouched, yelping on digging
    fingers.

    While her queen writhed in a crisis so strong it slopped

    water out of the bath, Belle took the sponge, soaked it and offered it the
    woman's still shuddering shoulders.

    "Get out," Queen Charlotte spat, her head still

    buried between her knees.

    The three bells didn't call Belle again the next day and

    Belle was morose, fearing she'd blown her only chance to save her family. But
    the day after the bells called her once more to the bathroom. Then the fifth
    day and the seventh, in fact every other day from then on. Madam Couteau was
    delighted that the gift she gave the queen should be so popular.

    So Belle worked her small power. Every morning the queen

    would try to get Belle to "wash" her and every morning, at least at
    first, Belle would decline and watch her queen disport herself. She relished
    the adoration of the vampire who fed off her country, and her squirm when
    denied.

    A sleazy drug dealer in Belle's village kept offering

    "free samples" to her and her friends as she grew up. He got a couple
    of girls hooked, who then disappeared to the brothels of London, Paris and
    Amsterdam. This was Belle's plan now. She declined all requests to pleasure her
    queen, but gave away titbits, under certain conditions, to keep the woman
    hooked, and so advance Belle's cause.

    She offered to remove her underwear, and let the queen

    glimpse what she may up Belle's short skirt; but only if Belle could be excused
    all duties but for serving the queen. After a few days of this, when the queen
    grew frustrated, Belle offered to strip and join her mistress in the bath; if
    the woman found meaningful palace work for her mother, father and sisters. That
    morning the queen came twice, even though Belle kept her legs closed and below
    the bath's bubbles. More importantly, Belle's family were no longer unemployed.

    But toying with the queen's crush on her was a dangerous

    game. The woman could withdraw what she offered in a fit of pique. Belle had to
    keep her sweet, and wanting more. How she wished her queen was a man. They were
    much easier to beguile once you had them hard.

    She wished it was the king she bathed.

    This was her exact thought the morning before the queen's

    grand tour of Europe's major cities, hoping to woo back the mysteriously lost
    buyers of the kingdom's produce.

    The queen threw her robe across the room and barked,

    "Take off your clothes." She stamped into her bath.

    No doubt she was angry about having to do some work, but

    Belle worried she'd be in the firing line of any frustrated tantrums. And sure
    enough, as Belle shrugged off her dress, and plopped chilly feet into the hot
    water; covering her recently waxed, clipped triangle of fur; Queen Charlotte
    scowled and pouted. "Girl you will release me today or I will sack your
    entire family."

    Belle dipped the silver jug into the bath and poured warm

    water over the queen's shoulders. "Of course, Madam."

    The queen blinked at her. "Is that a; yes?"

    "Madam."

    "You will; touch me?"

    Belle soaped the woman's tits. Made a show of biting back

    her smile.

    "Here?" The queen stood, water sloshing off her,

    raising her leg.

    "Um-hmm." Belle treated Queen Charlotte's sex to a

    long stare. "Did you know many women enjoy a tongue in there too?"

    The queen tremored. "I; they do."

    Belle reached behind to soap the woman's bottom, down the

    sides of her legs, all the while regarding that puffy pudenda. "And many
    enjoy the taste of another woman."

    Queen Charlotte swayed a little. "Do you?"

    Belle nodded. She curled out the tip of her tongue and

    worked her queen's standing leg up and down from ankle to knees, possessed of
    the notion of soapily wanking an enormous cock.

    The queen swallowed. Belle's sudsy hands slid up the woman's

    hard, horse-riding thigh. "I hear the King will remain while you tour,
    Madam."

    "The buffoon is a liability;  oh;”

    Her hand grazed the woman's labia, stringing the juices

    gathered there. A drip collected on Belle's knuckle and without a thought, she
    licked it off. The queen tasted just like her. She laughed as Queen Charlotte
    growled at her rudeness and Belle had to steady her by the hips.

    She swapped to the queen's raised leg, soaped it all at once

    from bottom to top. "It's impressive you can trust the King here alone.
    Many men play while their cat is away."

     

     

    The queen scoffed. "We both know that's not true,

    darling. Without me to see to him every day he will fuck everything that; oh
    yes."

    Belle's thumb ventured under the woman's fleshy folds. She'd

    never pleasured another woman, and queen Charlotte's sex was much fleshier than
    her own, but her fingers knew this dance by heart. She stroked the woman
    lightly from slot to diamond-studded clitoris. "If only there was a way
    you could see to his needs, even while she was away?" She rubbed a small
    circle around Queen Charlotte's hard nub.

    The queen's eyes drooped and a smile played on her lips. She

    croaked a hum.

    Belle picked her speed up to an itching rhythm. "Or if,

    while you were away, you could leave your right hand here. Keep a good hold on
    him?"

    The queen laughed brightly, rocked her hips at Belle's

    thumb. "Indeed. No don't stop!"

    Belle had sat back. She contrived a giggle. "Madam this

    is exciting me too much. Feel." Belle stood, took her queen's hand and
    pressed it between her legs. She knew she was wet inside, increasingly her
    morning duties turned her on, partly the sex, partly the power, but she was
    surprised as Queen Charlotte at how wet. The royal fingers felt eelish.

    The queen's eyes widened. "I arouse you this

    much?" She withdrew her fingers, licked them.

    Belle nodded. "Do you like how I taste, Madam?"

    Belle underlined her need by raising her own foot to the bath edge, matching
    the queen's pose.

    Queen Charlotte, beguiled, dropped to her knees. Belle

    pushed her hips forward. The queen's mouth opened, leant toward Belle's mound.

    Belle covered herself. "Is there something Your Majesty

    needs?"

    "You know what I want, bitch."

    Belle stayed put, proud over her queen, her fingers locked

    between thighs. She stirred. Hummed. "I may just release myself, if you
    don't min

    53 min
  • Daughter of the Revolution: Part 15
    Daughter
    of the Revolution: Part 15
     Abby and
    Alec are one. George and William return.

    In 15 parts,

    based on a post by Seethegood. Listen
    to the ► Podcast at Connected.




    "Are you

    next, Miss Sarah?" he asked, with an inviting look on his handsome face.
    She couldn't resist the temptation of the big, half naked man. He seemed to
    fill the tent, and despite being freshly washed he exuded a male musk that
    tightened her nipples.

    "Yes,

    sir," she answered meekly. She trembled and almost fled when he advanced
    on her and began unlacing her blouse. To ease her nervousness, June joined him
    and together they gently disrobed her. Alec felt his cock stir at the sight of
    her nakedness. She protested that she was too for heavy for him when he whisked
    her off her feet and she clung to him in fear of being dropped. Her crotch
    grew slick as her full breasts pressed into his hairy chest while his big hands
    gripped her waist.

    "I've got

    you, Sarah," he said, in a low voice that gave her the shivers.
    "Trust me, little one." She didn't know what surprised her most, the
    ease with which he handled her body, or that he'd called her little. She'd
    always thought she was too large. He continued lifting her and she released her
    grip on him so she could enter the water. Like June, she groaned as the warmth
    closed around her. June gave her another sip of whiskey and she sighed in
    relaxation, almost forgetting a strange man was soon going to run his hands
    over her naked body, like one never had before.

    His big hands

    in her hair gave her a start. She slowly relaxed as he poured water over her
    head and worked the soap through her locks. She'd never felt so pampered in her
    life when he finished with her hair and used soapy hands to massage her exposed
    shoulders.

    "It feels

    so good, doesn't it?" June asked softly, from beside her head. Sarah could
    only moan in response while Alec smiled in satisfaction. He loved spoiling
    women and it seemed Sarah was more than appreciative. June tugged Sarah to her
    feet, exposing her large, full breasts to Alec and June's eager gazes.

    "May I

    help too?" June asked softly. Sarah was beyond saving now. The sensations
    she was feeling were foreign to her, but she couldn't say no to them.

    "Yes,

    June. Please," Sarah replied, her words barely audible in the air. She
    gasped when together June and Alec each filled their hands with her big tits
    and soaped them up nicely, massaging them gently and teasing her nipples with
    skilled fingers. After a few minutes, Alec nudged June with his shoulder and
    whispered.

    "You

    should take over. I've reached my limit." June knew immediately what he
    meant and nodded assent. He wasn't comfortable going any further with Sarah
    without Abby's blessing. He belonged to her first and foremost, a fact he
    believed in wholeheartedly. He gently plucked Sarah from the barrel and stood
    her on the ground.

    "Are you

    still  okay?" June asked of her, "I'll take over from Alec if
    you're comfortable with that."

    Sarah hesitated

    a few moments and asked timidly," Will you do to me as Alec did to
    you?" The sight of June writhing on Alec's big hand was still fresh in her
    mind.

    "If you

    like, yes, sweetheart," June answered softly, and kissed the shell of her
    ear from behind. Alec smiled as he watched goosebumps flee across Sarah's full
    breasts and her nipples grow even harder as she heard June's words. Her eyes
    closed and she relaxed back into June's slight frame.

    "It's fine

    then, Miss June. I'd love it I think," she breathed. Alec settled back on
    the bed to watch the proceedings

    June soaped up

    her hands and reached around Sarah from behind to cup her heavy tits. Sarah
    moaned in pleasure at her touch, then stiffened as June's soft hands slowly
    crept south. Her knee nudged Sarah's legs wide apart while her hand slid gently
    between her thighs. She slowly worked the soap over Sarah's smooth mound and
    eventually, to sound of soft moans, slid her fingers in.

    There was no

    doubt in anyone's mind that Sarah had arrived.

    Alec came over

    and gave her an encouraging smile and again picked her up and deposited her in
    the barrel to rinse off.

    "You're

    absolutely gorgeous, Miss Sarah," he said in a low growl as he poured
    water over her body. She felt a rush of pride come over her. She'd never
    considered herself beautiful, but this sexy hunk of a man seemed to be enamored
    with her curves, and she was more than grateful.

    "Thank

    you, Alec," she murmured quietly. "That means a lot to me."
    Between Alec and June, they finished her off, dried and dressed her, then Alec
    took his leave to go check on his Abby.

    "Are

    you  okay?" June asked Sarah gently.

    "Yes, I

    think so. It was just a completely new experience for me. Especially since I've
    just met you two."

    "Did it

    bother you having a girl make you cum?"

    "At first

    it did, but you were so sweet and gentle, and with Alec here it seemed to make
    things easier, if that makes sense."

    "I'm

    glad," June said. "Maybe it'll help give you some confidence with
    Nathan. From the way you were looking at him it seems you have some feelings
    for him?"

    "I think

    so. Like I was telling Rose, I've been so long without a man inside me, I just
    need it so badly. I hate to say it, but for now I just need to have sex, a
    relationship can come later."

    June giggled

    aloud, "Well, I can tell you that Nathan is more than capable of screwing
    you half to death. He packs a cock just as big as Alec's and he knows how to
    use it. Maddy, our maid at the plantation told me how well he fucked her. She
    walked bowlegged for a week!" Sarah shivered at the thought, then sighed.

    "I just

    hope I'm brave enough to seduce him. He's very intimidating."

    "Rose or I

    can help you get started if you like. We've both had a bit of experience,"
    June said, with a sexy smile.

    "I'd like

    that, please. I need all the help I can get."

    Meanwhile, Rose

    was chatting with Nathan, while administering to his needs.

    "Sarah

    really likes you," she was saying, "and she needs a man badly. Do you
    find her attractive?"

    "Yes, I

    do. Profoundly so. She's a natural beauty, wonderfully curvy, and I can tell
    there's a wildcat inside her that needs to be freed," he said in a low
    voice.

    "Pardon my

    French, dear Rose, but I'd love to bend her over and fuck her good and hard.
    It's been awhile for me since I've found relief, back at the plantation
    actually." Rose shivered at his ribald words, imagining in her mind the
    same scenario, but with her in place of Sarah.

    "Then do

    you mind if I encourage her a little, maybe give her a few pointers on what to
    do?" Rose asked with a sexy smile. "You can tell me all the naughty
    things you'd like done to yourself, Uncle," she teased, while he colored
    at her words. He knew he should be used to her direct way of speaking by now,
    but the auburn haired beauty seemed to keep him forever off balance.

    "Please

    do, sweetheart. I could use some female attention."

    "Well

    then, I'll give you some now, stud," she whispered. Her slim hand slid
    under his blanket and he gasped when it found his semi-tumescent cock.

    "Tell me

    what you like, Uncle, and I'll pass it on to Sarah," she purred as she
    stroked him fully erect. "While you tell me, I'll give you pleasure, but
    you must save yourself for her, I'll not let you cum."

    Nathan spent

    the next half hour being tortured by Rose while she dug the darkest secrets
    from his mind.

    When she left

    him, he was almost crying in frustration. She kissed him sweetly and longingly,
    knowing that if things in her life were different, she'd have him buried deep
    in her belly and filling her with hot seed. Her only thought now was this
    evening, and how she'd beg Alec, Abby, and June until she was satisfied.

    Chapter 16

    General Nathanael

    Greene took a deep breath and sighed in resignation. He'd been laid up with his
    wounded leg for several days now and was growing tired of it. The four
    beautiful women who'd been helping him convalesce were a large part of his
    laziness. No man on earth could have withstood the kindness and loving
    attention they'd been doling out to him and Major Moore. The Major had more
    reason to stay abed because his femur had been broken badly by a British musket
    ball, whereas Nathan's wound was a through and through affair caused by a
    rather large splinter of oak from the carriage of a field piece, hardly the
    same as he saw it.

    With a groan of

    pain, he righted himself from his narrow bed and stood to his feet, somewhat
    wobbling as the tent walls spun slightly in his vision. He had to piss
    terribly, so he fought with his trousers and belt until he was satisfied, then
    tottered outside to relieve himself. A feminine gasp of surprise reached his
    ears and he turned to see Sarah bearing down on him rapidly.

    "General!"

    she exclaimed unhappily, "you shouldn't be up and around, shame on
    you!" He gave her a weak smile and winced as his bladder reminded him of
    the relentless urge to empty itself.

    "Ah, Miss

    Sarah. What a lovely surprise! I'll be with you momentarily." She picked
    up on the urgency in his voice and rushed to grasp his arm.

    "What can

    I do for you?" she asked, as she gazed up at him with adoring eyes, still
    struck at his good looks no matter how many times she laid her eyes on him.

    He limped

    behind his tent with her in tow and frantically worked at his belt with now
    clumsy fingers. Sarah understood his predicament at once and saw the
    opportunity to be more intimate with the man she'd been dreaming of nearly
    every night. She gently pushed his hands away and freed his belt to tug his
    trouser flaps open. He groaned at the touch of her hot hand, then let out a
    huge sigh of relief as he loosed his bladder and let flow a mighty stream of
    urine that spattered noisily on the ground. She couldn't take her eyes off the
    thick shaft in her small hand, thinking to herself that the first cock she'd
    held in years was pissing away happily rather than making love to her. Despite
    herself, she giggled softly at her predicament, bringing a quirk of a smile to
    his ruggedly handsome face.

    "Well

    thank you, Miss Sarah," he said softly as he finished, then gave her a
    wink that dampened her underclothes. "I had just decided to take a walk to
    visit Major Moore, would you care to accompany me?" he asked gallantly, as
    she buttoned him up and retightened his belt.

    "I'd love

    to, General."

    "Nathan,

    please. I insist," he countered, loving how she blushed hotly under his
    gaze. He hadn't been able to resist eyeing her full breasts, the soft curve of
    her hips, and the hint of red rouge on her cheeks that Rose had offered to
    share with her. For the last couple of days she'd been dressing to please him
    and he'd certainly been taking notice. Rose had tortured him endlessly with her
    soft hands and had also pulled his deepest desires from him in intimate talks
    that left him sexually frustrated as a result because she'd refused to finish
    him off, telling him to save himself for sweet Sarah. Rose had also told him of
    Sarah's desire for him and how she longed to be taken by a man. Needless to
    say, his dreams had featured Sarah's intimate presence, and more than once he'd
    awoken in a sweat, nearly losing control and spurting helplessly in his bed
    clothes.

    She gladly took

    his arm and supported him as he led her to the Major's tent. He swept the fly
    aside to find June cleaning James' wound tenderly while he groaned in pain.
    Nathan gripped his friend's hand in sympathy, wincing as the wounded man
    squeezed his tightly.

    "Damn it,

    Nathan. This hurts like fucking hell!" James cursed through gritted teeth.

    "I know,

    my friend, but you're under the best pair of hands in Virginia for this sort of
    business," Nathan consoled.

    "Hogwash,"

    June muttered under her breath as she worked, but blushed and smiles
    beautifully when James took her hand and kissed it softly. Sarah joined her,
    and together they finished up his bindings while the men chatted away.

    "Have you

    seen Alec today?" Nathan asked.

    "No, sir,

    I've been led to believe he's fashioning up a set of crutches so I can get
    around, this being laid up in bed is making me sick. I need some sunshine and
    fresh air," James stated.

    Both women

    began to protest until the General raised a hand. "I won't hear it,"
    he said, in a voice that brooked no dissent. "Sarah, June. You two tell
    Rose and Abby that James is to be taken outside every day unless he decides
    against it, understand?"

    "Yes,

    sir," they said, meekly. June answered so because she was slave, and Sarah
    because she was in awe of Nathan. At their tone, he realized he'd literally
    barked out the order and immediately felt bad about himself.

    "I'm

    sorry, ladies," he apologized, "I've no excuse to order you around
    other than I hurt, and am sick to death of being cooped up. Please, forgive
    me."

    Sarah went to

    him and hugged him gently while June gave him her most beautiful smile, the one
    no man could withstand. She too, went to him and gave him a sweet hug while
    James looked on in some jealousy, tempered with a wink at his superior.

    Just then, the

    tent flapped open to admit a smiling Alec, who bore a set of handmade crutches.
    James exclaimed in excitement and immediately tried to get out of bed to try
    them out. He didn't make it halfway up before groaning in agony and falling to
    his back again. The two girls went to him, and with their tender support
    managed to get him on the crutches where he painfully hobbled outside and sat
    on a nearby chair in the brilliant sunshine.

    "Ah, so

    good!" he sighed in happiness. Alec produced a flask of brandy, and June,
    who was always attuned to the current situation, scrounged up the Major's pipe
    and packed it for him, then smiled at him as he happily puffed away. Rose and
    Abby strolled up and soon the entire group was chatting away, enjoying the
    afternoon.

    In short order,

    June re-entered the tent to clean up and gather laundry. The women naturally
    followed her, talking merrily amongst themselves. Taking the opportunity for
    privacy, Alec huddled with Nathan and James for a quiet discussion that lasted
    awhile, so long that the women exited the tent sometime later to catch them
    conniving amongst themselves. They straightened up rapidly, but Abby and the
    girls had caught them red-handed.

    "Whatever

    are you troublemakers up to?" she asked, with a sweet smile. The men
    reddened under her teasing gaze but clammed up immediately and refused to answer,
    obviously guilty as charged she assumed as she giggled out loud, but paid it no
    mind.

    The men laughed

    it off, and Alec whisked Abby and Rose away while June stayed with James for a
    while longer. Nathan put an arm around Sarah and limped back to his tent, tired
    already from his exertions. She ushered him down to sit on his bed, then to her
    alarm, he gripped his thigh and groaned in pain.

    "What is

    it, sweetheart?" she asked in concern.

    "A

    cramp," he gritted. "Damn it to hell!"

    "Let me

    help, please," she shyly offered. "Let's get those trousers
    off."

    Tenderly,

    1 hr 7 min

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