"Under, Over and Around" was the first novel of the young French writer Derek Swarmer which succeeded in shocking suposedly sophisticated Paris upon its publicaton. Never before had such a bold, blunt detailing of the seamy side of English sex life been made public. The book was banned within two weeks by the DeGaulle government. It also had a brisk sale in the London bookstores before it was put on the forbidden list by the censors there. Collectors of the unusual in modern erotica soon bought up all "underground" copies and made this book a rare out of print item.
A purpose of the psychosexual behavior of the characters in this book, the eminent psychoanalyst, Dr. A. Berndorff, has made these enlightening comments:
"People achieving orgasm in abnormal manners are unable to realize the unconscious drives behind the various roles they assume in an attempt to gratify each other. Some lesbians with an unusually elongated clitoris have been known to insert the end of the clitoris into the vagina of their partner by getting into a sideway posi tion. Friction of clitoris aganst the partner's vaginal lips and clitoris will then induce an orgasm.
Giving her personal history one of the lesbians states: 'In my relationships with these women I pretended I was a man and that I had a penis which penetrated my girl friend. She pretended that also with her body against mine and the clitoris against the clitoris. The feeling that we were men was much more exciting than just using the finger.
'Some of the women wanted me to use a dildo, or rubber penis. They would react just as if I had an erect penis. I would frequently practice finger sodomy at the same time by inserting two fingers in her anus after the rubber penis was going in and out of their vaginal lips. If my grl friend would give me an enema or douche, it would excite her to the point of orgasm. Sometimes we would become tremendously excited by inserting our breasts into each other's vagina. At other times we used a candle. We bent it so that part of it penetrated me and the other part penetrated her vagina or anus.
'When my girl friend brought her husband along, they would both make love by sucking my breasts. Then while his penis entered me, I would give her an orgasm by inserting my tongue in her vagina.' "
It will help the reader's understanding to realize, as this book describes, that people resort to these different methods of sex gratifications to satisfy unconscious cravings.
Continental Classics presents "Over UDder and Around" in its original unexpurgated version. It is recommended only for the graduate student or mature adult reader.
Allan Saunders, M.A. New York City April, 1968
Archive Note: The truly incredible number of misspelled words present in the original pocketbook are faithfully reproduced in this text. No attempt whatsoever has been made to correct those misspelled or misused words.
CHAPTER ONE
Margaret Peterson walked slowly along the leafy Sussex lane, her dark hair a prey to errant winds that filtered through the hedges that lined the lane with the glorious greens of early summer.
She was a beautiful woman, was Margaret Petersondark and with that faintly olive complexion that told of a trace of Latin blood far back in her ancestry. She was of medium height with a flat, strong back and a well poised head and a full hard figure that thrust out her jumper and tweed jacket delightfully Her face was beautifull with the fine regularity that marks the gentlewomen and the poise and expression that comes with the tranquility of adjustment to one life. Her lips were full and, perhaps, just a trifle too sensual to quite fit the calm brown and large, wide hazel eyes above them. Her lips were the only feature of the lovely face that didn't tell the same story as the rest of her features. Here the discerning observer might have seen hints of smouldering pas sioen and wilfulness that needed but a touch of the right match to set into a blazing riot of abandon and disregard for the life she had made for herself and the society in which she lived.
But the match had never been touched to her life. She had done all the normal, expected things-all the things an English girl does when the primaries of her life are over. She had been educated at a fine school, achieved just about as much academically as had been expected of her. She had been a noticed-but not flamboyantly so--debutante and when she was eighteen her mother had died. In the best traditions of the English upper class she had grieved for her loss precisely the correct length of time and got back into the business of living neither a moment too soon or a moment too late.
Her father, retiring more and more into himself after the death of his wife, had let his beautiful daughter have her head. And it had not been a difficult decision to make for Margaret was a nice girl-a girl who could always be trusted to do the right thing at the right time, and in general, behave as a well educated, principled, honourable daughter should.
She had run through the usual gamut of adolescent emotion At fourteen she had conceived a crush for a school teacher and as this had been entirely unreciprocated, it bad died a natural death. Everyone who knew about it, believed it. That is wasn't true, is, for the moment, neither here nor there, but it was believed and no less by Margaret herself. That it wasn't true is the subject of this story. After leaving her school and being "finished" in Switzerland and making her debut she fell violently in love with an American singer that she had met at Ascot. Here she was again fortunate. He turned out to be a queer and when his opportunity for her seduction was wilfully thrown ot him by the adoring Margaret he transferred his passion to an hotel porter and his affections were lost to her for ever! Almost destroyed by this encounter for the better part of a month, she rallied, however, to fall in love with a man of almost sixty, a friend of her father who was neither queer or, in the final analysis, a friend of her father.
In justice to him it must be said that she pursued him with vigour and determination and laid a siege to his honour that many a greater man in character might have succumbed to with less resistance.
He succumbed gracefully and with pride one fine evening in June on the lawn of her father's house, beneath a rhododendron bush, and left Margaret with very bloody thighs, torn knickers, a neatly ruptured hymen and a feeling of disappointment.
Having been devirginated she was therafter a little more circumspect in her dealings with love. She had been eighteen and a half when she had first heaved to the thrust of a man and she was nearly twenty before another man fumbled for knickers down her glorious thighs and pushed his grimly searching fingers deep into the softness of her warm cunt. She had tolerated this attention before with equanimity, always insisting on calling a halt when an attempt was made to actually mount her-in effect, a prickteaser without knowing it. But on this occasion she met her match. Perhaps she let him toy just a few seconds too long with her quivering clitorus perhaps she let him slip his deft fingers just that little too deep into her straining quim-be it as it may, when she felt the burning touch of his prick against her cool thighs and felt his nob nuzzle aside the crisp curls that shielded the entrance to her pube, her push at his hips was only perfunctory-a relic of her education-a gesture of dying honour-a flourish of the flag of rectitude! For as his throbbing penis dipped into the soft moistness of her writhing love nest she grabbed his straining buttocks with both feverish hands and pulled him deep into her.
This was the first time that a man had ejaculated into her and while he (his name is of no importance) had gone to get her a calming, restoring, drink she put the heel of her hand hard against her fanny and let his hot sperm fill her palm while she ruminated on the strange and somehow peculiar differences between men and women. On hearing him return she had wiped her burning fanny with her silk knickers and stored them in her handbag for future examination and reflection. Again this pleasant interlude had been conducted under the clean skies and on the soft grass of Sussex.
Her lover of that night had tried to make a fullblooded affair of the matter, but she had resisted him, not so much with skill as with indifference and through his gossip had acquired a local fame as "a funny girl".
Her next affair had been less romantic in setting but infinitely more so in situation and likelihood.
Her father had been abroad and an engineer-a very ordinary sort of fellow-had called to repair the television set. They had talked and he had offered to look at her bedside portable radio, which he had done-but not before he had looked at her lovely breasts and kissed them when, after the briefest of struggles, he had managed to extract them from her dress. Before she had really known quite what was happening he had thrust her across the bed, removed her drawers (with his teeth, his hands being otherwise occupied in holding her down) and neatly and expertly ravaged her. She had thought of screaming until she actually felt his vital brutishness plunging deep into her ravenous cunt and compromised by calling to him to go faster.
This had been her most interesting experience to date. The coarseness of her ravager had interested her quite as much as his technique and she allowed him to repeat his performance some half dozen more times. But he in the end he palled-or perhaps it is nearer the I ruth to say that she palled on him, for they parted when she refused him access to her anus and, when he had accepted this restriction, to her mouth.
It was shortly after this that she had met Gerald Peterson and it had been, on his side, love at first sight. He was a barrister with a rising practice and with a falther who had been a judge--an attractive love at first sight with Margaret. They had gone enough background for any man. It had not been about a lot together before he had even kissed her and it had most certainly puzzled her when one night when after he had managed to take one of her breast out of her evening gown while in his car he had returned it quickly, kissed her forehead and driven br-r straight home. She was later to learn that this resolve not to pursue his advantage was because of the respect her calm dignity and beauty had had upon his worser instincts!
That was possibly her first serious disappointment in men!
On the forty-third time of his asking her to marry him she had accepted and instead of kissing her he bad leaped up and telephoned his father the glad news.
The wedding had been a quiet one-two hundred quests invited, three hundred attending and the honeymoon had been spent in Jersey, the bridegroom having a professional interest in some obscure peculiarity of the tax law there.
But with marriage there had not come the match to ignite her life. It wasn't that she was unhappy; far from it. They liked the same things in life. They agreed on where to live-Sussex. They agreed on the shows they wanted to see-mainly Noel Coward. They agreed on the type of house to live in-het father's. They agreed even on their favourite dishboiled chicken. In fact, they agreed on everything. They agreed even on the frequency with which to indulge in sex once a week, usually on a Saturday, but this varied.
As she walked down the lane, now and again brushing the hair from her eyes, her sensible brogues striking smartly on the tarred surface of the narrow way, Margaret was reflecting on the news that she had received from Gerald that morning.
He was going to Jamaica to defend a man on a fraud charge and would be away six weeks. He had not told her the night before because it had been a Saturday-and well, it might have spoiled things. She smiled to herself as she recalled his opening remark.
"It'll be terrible being parted for six weeks-the first time in the two years we've been married."
This was the first she had heard of the impending parting and her smile was because he had looked rather sweet and eager and really desolate at the thought of their being parted. But she was not smiling now. Her beautiful face was set in thought as she pondered what his abscence would really mean to her. Would she really care as much as he obviously did? She forced herself to try and be objective. What was it that was missing from their relationship. He was an adequate lover. He was kind, he was-wait a minute. What was it she had said of him? He was an adequate lover. She stopped stock-still as an overwhelming wash of memory and wonder flushed her mind. Gerald was a wonderful lover-tender, careful-everthing. Not very frequent, not very expert, not very detailed in his attentions, not a man who could set a woman on fire, not-Nothing but "not's.u Not this-not that. Was it that that was wrong? She shook her head in perplexity and walked on. What was wrong with her? Why didn't she care that he was going away, thousands of miles, for six weeks, She stopped again. Face it! Why was she even glad that he was going?
Her answer came without her ever really realising it.
"Excuse me, is this right for Hinton?"
"Hinton?" she said, "Hinton? Oh, oh, yes." She turned and looked at her questioner. He sat there astride a cycle, rucksack on back and wide, engaging smile on his freckled face. He was a boy... a boy of perhaps seventeen years of age, fair handsome in a puckish way with rather large, protuding ears and thickish red lips that hinted at a developing sensual ity. But he was a boy! Strange, she reflected that she should feel some vague feeling of disappointment about this. It was almost as if... she shrugged the feeling away.
"Yes, Hinton, is about a mile down the road, take the first cross-roads and it's a quarter of a mile on from there."
"Thank you," said the boy. "We're going camping there."
"We?" asked Margaret, looking around.
"Wei, I'm a sort of advance guard. I'm down here a day early to get things arranged. You know, where we get water. Where we can get oil for the Primus's... well, I expect you know what camping is."
"I live in Hinton," said Margaret, "What part are you camping in?"
"It's called Long Wood. We've never been there before. It was offered us by a gentleman. I think..."
"The gentleman," interupted Margaret, laughing. "Is my husband."
"Then you must be Mrs Peterson," ejaculated the boy.
"That's right," said Margaret.
"Well, what a coincidence! This is jolly lucky for me... I mean, to meet you like this."
"I should have realised, or at least remembered what my husband told me a week or so ago," said Margaret. "He mentioned that he'd given some club camping rights in Long Wood. I can't for the life of me remember the name of the club, though."
The boy grinned. 'The club is the Kensington Youth Club... I'm the secretary of it. My name is Tony Deveraux... spelt with an X at the end!"
They both laughed.
"That's it," laughed Margaret. "Gerald... that's my husband... was telling me. Isn't it some kind of a musical club?"
"Well, not exactly," said Tony. "Most of us are very interested in music but we do other things."
Margaret had to really struggle to resist the absurd temptation to ask...
"Such as?"
Instead she asked. "It isn't really a musical club, then?"
"Well, some people don't call what we like music," replied Tony. "My father, for instance! We're mostly jazz fiends."
Margaret smiled. "I see," she said.
Covertly she let her eyes wander over the boy.
He was a well muscled, clean-limbed white-skinned specimen. He wore khaki shorts and a striped T-shirt. A very ordinary, clean-cut English boy. And he was a jazz fiend! Ah, well!
"Well, if there's any way in which I can help, please let me know," she said. "My husband goes away tomorrow so I'm afraid he can't be any help to you. But if you want anything just come up to the house and let me know. By the way, how long are you staying and how many are there of you?"
"We stay three weeks and there are twenty-two us.
"Twenty-two of you!" gasped Margaret. "Why, that's almost a jamboree!"
"I'm afraid it is, rather!" grinned Tony.
"Twenty two boys in Long Wood. My goodness!"
"Eleven boys," corrected Tony.
"Eleven boys? Then... then you mean that there are eleven girls?" gasped Margaret.
"That's about it," nodded Tony.
"All about... about your age?"
"Most of them are a bit older than me. In fact, I'm next to youngest in the group."
"But you're secretary?"
Tony grinned attractively. "I don't mind the writing jobs!"
"How old are you?" asked Margaret, curiosly. "Sixteen. Well, almost sixteen." "Fifteen!"
"More or less," assented Tony.
"And your parents... your's and the girl's parents... they don't mind you all camping mixed?"
Tony stared. "No. Why should they?"
"Oh, no reason at all... no reason at all," replied Margaret, hastily.
Tony grinned again. "Between you and me," he confided, "I don't think they care much as long as they see the back of us for three weeks."
"It was different in my day," commented Margaret. "I can't even imagine my mother and father dreaming of letting me go camping with boys. In fact, I think they'd have had a fit at the very idea. But there, times change..."
"And we must change with them," concluded the boy. "Yes, well, in your day it was different."
"In what way?" asked Margaret, pretending to bridle.
"Oh, nothing," evaded Tony, stirring uneasily on his cycle as if the conversation had taken a turn not quite to his liking. As he shifted Margaret, with the clearest conscience in the world and with a mind quite free of any consciousness of his opposite sex, couldn't help momentarily noticing the slight bulge of his sex as it bulged his shorts as he shifted his thighs that were astride the cross-bar of the cycle.
Margaret's eyes flickered back to Tony's face. She felt a most peculiar feeling... that the conversation could never be quite the same now... freee, unencumbered by recognition that, disparity in ages ignored, he was male and she was female. Strange... disturbing... perhaps even frightening. She heard herself saying: "So it was different in my day?"
"I didn't mean that... I didn't quite mean that?"
"What did you mean?" she pursued, ruthlessly.
"I... well... young people can look after themselves better these days."
"You mean they're brighter?" she asked, and really thought that that was what he had meant.
"No. No, I didn't mean that. Oh, I suppose it's just a matter of science!"
For a long moment Margaret regarded Tony while the import of his remark sank in. Then, despite herself, she felt an unusual glow sweep into her cheeks. He did mean that! The conclusion was inescapable. The child was chiding her with the advances wrought by science in the development of contraceptives since her day! That was what he clearly meant and she decided to drop the subject before she got out of her depth.
When she again loocked at him his face was quite clear of guile and for a moment she doubted her interpretation.
His next words dispelled any doubts she might have had.
"I've read about how mothers used to worry about their daughters in your day," he said, his voice tinged with wonder at such silly maternalism.
"They don't worry now?" choked Margaret.
"Good Heavens no!" chuckled the boy. "Mind you, it'd be a jolly bad show if a girl... well... you know... these days."
Margaret looked him in the eye. "Is the word you can want 'clicked'?" she asked, stiffly.
"Clicked! No, never heard that word used for this. We always say 'podded'."
"Podded?" gasped Margaret. "Podded!" nodded Tony.
"Well," said Margaret, slowly. "I must admit that what you have told me has shocked me. Pm quite certain that my husband would never have given permission for your club to camp on our ground if he had the faintest conception of... of.." she broke off, suddenly aware that she was, after all, talking to a boy of fifteen.
Tony threw his leg across the cycle cross-bar in alarm. "Mrs Peterson," he gasped. "Please don't make things bad for us. After all, it was you who started talking like this... I mean, about it being a mixed camp."
Margaret stared, and then nodded bitterly.
" I suppose it was," the said. "Mind you, I little dreamt what I was going to learn."
"This sort of thing doesn't go on all the time," protested Tony.
"I should hope not."
"In fact, it's rather that the fellows go... go..." "The whole hog," supplied Margaret, wearily.
"Yes."
"I'm glad to hear that. Well, as you seem to think that I wormed my way into your confidence. I shall say nothing of this to my husband. But I warn you, part of my reason for not telling him is also that I do not want to shock him. I do not want to destroy his faith in the youngers generation. I really must be going. Goodbye, Tony."
"Goodbye, Mrs Peterson. I say, there's nothing really wrong with us teen-agers. It's just that we grow to be natural... quicker. That's all."
He leaped astride his cycle and drove fiercely at the pedals. She watched him streak off down the lane. His khaki shorts bit into the cleft between his buttocks and his white legs... his long white legs... flashed in the afternoon sun.
Margaret Peterson bit her lips and for a reason that was to take her long to explain, averted her eyes and deliberately didn't watch him cycle out of sight.
CHAPTER TWO
That evening after dinner Margaret sat in front of the fire in her drawing room and waited while her husband busied himself upstairs packing the technical necessities for his trop. She had already completed her share of this task, the assembling of his travelling requirements.
She held a book in her hands, but one page had occupied her attention for the last hour.
Her mind was across the lawn and through the orchard and down over the twelve acre field and up to the stream where she knew a solitary tent was pitched in the darkness away from the drop of the trees but near enough to the stream to hear the clean song of the water over the stones. She could, in her minds eye, see the glint of the light from a hurricane lamp upon his fair hair. She could see the reflection of the light on a damp spot on his thick, sensual lower lip. She could almost hear the whisper of the wind as it slipped beneath the tent flap and and see it toying with the wide leg of his khaki shorts as he sat clasping his kness and eating a bar of chocolate.
Engrossed in these contemplations she had become rigid. For a moment she looked wildly around her, and then shook herself and rubbed her moist palms hard together. She was intelligent enough to be struck more by the symbolism of the boy eating chocolate in her fantasy than in the purely erotic content of the wish-projection.
She breathed deeply and reached for a cigarette from the ivory cigarette box beside the chair. She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply and her face relaxed in thought.
This thing had to be faced. From one extrem she was going to another. Once upon a time she had seduced a friend of her father, a man old enough to be her father, now it was in the conscious part of her contemplation to seduce a boy young enough to be her son. Her nipples glowed and erected at the use in her mind of the word 'seduce'. That was perfectly true. The thought of his hard young body astride hers, his strong, wiry thighs pounding on her's as he drove his small white hardness into her made her writhe for a moment in her chair.
Then she smiled and the fantasy was relieved for a moment as a typically feminine thought struck her. What the hell was she saying... that she was almost old enough to be his mother? She was twenty three, rising twenty four. Tony Deveraux was fifteen... almost sixteen.
Her smile faded as she realised that this was straight-forward justification. These were terrible thoughts and must be stamped out. Face it another way. If Gerald were actually gone now... not upstairs packing, but gone... actually in Jamaica... and that boy walked in that door and sat beside her and touched and let his young hands wander over her taut body and she were aware of his bright, hard young sex erect and wanting to dare the passage between her thighs... then, then would she allow him? Her thighs felt hot and she closed her eyes to concentrate on rendering herself a fair answer. She was saved the necessity by the sound of the door clicking. Her heart thumped and her vagina contracted.
It was Gerald. "Well, that's that," he said.
She breathed deeply.
"Yes," she said, "that's that!"
He walked over to her. "I beg your pardon, darling?"
"Oh, nothing."
He set down in the armchair oppositie. "Throw me a cigarette," he said. "My case is empty."
She opened the box threw him a cigarette. He lit it with an old fashioned silver lighter and leaned back and sighed deeply.
"Well, that's that." "So you've said," nodded Margaret. He looked at her. "What's the matter with you, darling?" he asked. "You sound almost snappish." She shrugged. "Sorry."
He looked at his glowing cigarette tip and frowned. "I know it's rather a bind... I mean, me having to go away like this... But you know how it is. This will be a ; ally fantastic opportunity for me. If I manage to win this case the results could be absolutely stupendous."
She closed her eyes in irritation. The superlatives! If only he could display the same extravagant characteristics in bed!
He was going on. "Compagny Law is my speciality and fraud is really something that offers tremendous opportunities as a of luck."
Bored, her mind snapped into coarseness. She thought "He's worrying about a damned silly court case half way across the world and I'm wondering what it would be like to be fucked by a boy of fifteen!"
The thought was so vivid that for a moment she looked at him, startled, half convinced that she had given voice to this domestic attrocity.
Gerald's face, however, was calm and comfortable. He puffed on his cigarette and expended his little ambitions.
"All this could lead to Privy Council work. Colonial practice and all that could lead to P.C. work.
Could be quite fantastically interesting. You do see my point, don't you, darling?"
"Oh. Yes, yes," said Margaret.
"By the way, I've left you a dozen blank cheques signed. You'll probably need them for household expenses."
She looked at him. "I could quite well pay that sort of thing until you come back."
"Let's do things properly," was his only reply.
She laughed. "And you paying all the bills is doing things properly," she said.
"I say Margaret, you are in a damned funny mood tonight. You know very well how we work things."
"I wonder if I do," mused Margaret.
"Whatever's the matter with you. I say, it's not that you're shattered that I'm going away, is it?"
She shook her head. "No, no. It's nothing like that at all. It's just that I'm a bit nervy. Take no notice of me. I'll be all right."
"That's my girl!" smiled Gerald, smugley.
She winced at the expression, which he seldom used to do him justice, but which annoyed her immeacurably when he did, but said nothing.
He crossed his legs contentedly.
"I phoned the old man just now," he confided. "He'd heard I was going. Gave me a couple of tips on procedure. "He paused and then broke into a short chuckle.
"What's the matter?" asked Margaret.
Gerald threw back his head and laughed quite loudly. "Gave me a word of advice about the natives," he chuckled.
"Oh?"
"Yes, told me to be jolly wary of the local girls. It seems that some of them are damned attractive and only too keen to collar themselves a white man."
Margaret didn't feel up to arguing the logic or likelihood of this belief so she said nothing.
"Of course, you can see their point of view," Gerald added, smugly.
"I'm afraid I can't," she replied, tartly.
"What do you mean?"
"What I say... I can't see their point of view."
"My goodness, you are being bally awkward tonight, Margaret. Oh, well I suppose it's my going away. Don't worry darling, I'll be back the very second it's possible.
"I still don't see why it's the point of view of West Indian girls to want to get themselves a white man. I may be dense but I just don't see it."
"Then I'm afraid you must be dense, darling, because it's quite obvious why they should."
"All right. Why? Tell me why."
"Now look here darling..."
"Tell my why!" shouted Margaret.
"Well, just because it is natural."
So it's natural for a coloured woman to want some effete bastard of a white man bouncing up and down on her belly?" snapped Margaret.
Gerald was stunned into silence for a moment. When he could speak he almost stuttered. "Margaret.... Margaret... really!"
"Do you think it's natural that a white woman should want to go to bed with black men rather than men of their own colour?" she demanded.
He was horrified. "Now you're being downright disgusting," he said, "and I must say I've noticed that when you get excited... and that is usually about nothing... you do tend to become coarse."
"Thank you. Now answer my question. You said you can see the point of view of a coloured girl wanting a white man. That seems to me that it doesn't need much imagination to extend that to the white man being naturally attracted to a coloured woman."
"Nothing of the kind... I..."
"No, I know what it means," she interrupted. "It means that you believe in the superiority of the white race and that with coloured people you're dealing with animals. Frankly, I often think it's the other way around."
"Perhaps you'd like to associate with a coloured man," sneered Gerald.
"If he could do the things I like done, when I like them done, how I like them done and I could respect him... it wouldn't make one iota of difference to me!"
"This sounds to me like a conscience apology!" snapped Gerald.
"I don't doubt it does... to you!" snapped Margaret back.
"If I thought..." started Gerald.
"If you thought what?" asked Margaret, her eyes now blazing with fury. "If you thought I'd ever been fucked by a black man?"
Gerald leaped to his feet and raised his hand. Margaret raised her face towards him.
"If you thought that what would you do?" she sneered. "Not forgetting, of course, that what I did before I met you is just as much my business as what you got up to before we met is your business. You knew I wasn't a virgin when you married me What are you going to do now? Worry about the colour of the pricks I've had?"
Gerald's jaw quivered in a spasmodic convulsion and his fingers writhed as he tried to summon up the conviction that would let him lay his hand hard across his wife's mouth.
"Well?" she asked, in a small voice, exhausted by the flush of obscenity that had made her speak thus.
"You usually confine this kind of talk to bed," he said.
"And there you can understand it?"
"I can never understand it... but there I have been able to tolerate it. Now I wonder if I was right to ever do so. What a terrible thing you've said, Margaret."
"Just a minute, I haven't said that I've ever had an affair with a coloured man. All I've said is that I wouldn't be ashamed of it if I had."
"A small practical difference."
"I should have thought that as long as the difference was practical that was all you needed to worry about."
Gerald began to pace the floor. This always irritated her and now it did so more than ever.
"Are we happy together?" he asked.
She was in no mood to compromise.
"I usually feel a distinct absence of misery," she said.
"That's a horrible thing to say."
"You keep accusing me of horrible thought and of saying horrible things. Hasn't something occurred to your
He looked at her. "What do you mean?" "Perhaps I'm a horrible person?" He took rather longer to reply to this than she could have wished.
"Well, you certainly have some horrible ideas. Now, look here, let's face it, Margaret. You are very... well... well, sexy."
"Can you bear to face it?" she smiled.
"Yes, I can."
The smile left her face. "You can bear to face it but you can't bear to do anything about it." "What are you saying?" I thought I was being obvious." "You mean that I should arrange some treatment for you? Well, that has occurred to me."
She almost allowed her jaw to drop as she assimilated this remark. Then she threw back her head and burst out laughing.
"The man's convinced I'm a nymphomaniac!" she yelled, gleefully.
My interpretation of nymphomania is an inordinate preoccupation with sex on the part of a woman," he said, coldly.
"That's mine too," she nodded. "How would you like to hear my interpretation of impotence? I think impotence is on inordinate pre-occupation with anything but sex on the part of a man!"
"Are you suggesting that I'm impotent... or undersexed?" demanded Gerald, furiously.
"Darling, just leave it that you're sexed... lightlybut sexed. Just be my Saturday night stallion and don't get ambitions bigger than your balls!"
"Margaret!"
"Gerald!" she mimiced.
"You've never been like this... at least..."
"Out of bed," she supplied.
"I've never inquired into your... your past," he said, slowly. "But it's beginning to look as if I might have done."
"I could say the same. I might have found that you had a pathological history of unbridled sexuality. You probably masturbated twice a term between the ages of fifteen and twenty."
"Fifteen!" She shut her eyes. Why had she chosen that precise age for her taunt? "Fifteen! She could see Tony again. He was in a sleeping bag now. His hand was gliding up and down his erect penis, forcing the white skin back over his crimson mount. His face was set and his eyes starting. He convulsed and she saw the thick spurt of his grey sperm as it gushed out of his pulsing penis. She shuddered deliciously.
Oh, to be holding that rapidly limpening penis between her writhings lips and feeling the hot gush of his spunk in her mouth! She opened her eyes and thrust her hands, palm to palm, between her clenched thighs. She could feel the wetness of her passion in her tight knickers.
She looked at her husband who was staring at her in almost frightened amazement.
"Let's go to bed," she said. "You have to be up early in the morning."
CHAPTER THREE
She lay in the bath and listened to the rustle of paper as Gerald conned through papers as he waited for her to finish her bath. Even that routine was dull and so exact as to be maddening. She would have her bath and then the drill was for her to yell out to him, "I'm running yours now, darling." To which the inevitable reply was, "Let me know when it's up to the overflow."
If he could but know the times she would have liked him in the bath with her...! She sighed. He'd probably have grumbled that there wasn't room.
She heaved herself up and down in the water by putting her hands just behind her lips and levering herself upward so that her dark haired pube rose above the level of the swirling, soapy water.
She watched her mount as the water sparkled and played with it. She could feel the warm tickle of it as it gushed in and out of her vagina, gently parting the firm lips of it with its insistent pressure. She looked down at her breasts. They gleamed brilliantly with the water on them. Her nipples, fult and lush like twin raspberries, stood poised on the silky creaminess of the firm globes beneath them for ail the world like ripe fruit that had been delicately tossed on to two orbs of smooth cream.
She lowered her fanny beneath the water. The water seemed to still and assuage the wanting ache of it a little. She ran her hands up over her hips to her waist where, thumbs behind, fingers before, she gripped the trimness of its deep curve. She spread her hand fiat over her belly just above her navel and slowly ran them bard up to beneath her breasts. As her hands met them she opened her fingers and slid them up and cupped them fiercely. She held them together and looked down at the deep, suggestive cleft formed by the crushing of them together.
He! nipples were hard and cold and pointed, digging into her hands as she clutched the firm mounds of her tils. She slowly moved her hands so that her palms massaged her erect nipples. A glow seemmed to spread from her breasts down her belly, between her thighs to her fanny. A steady, delicious pulsing began deep in the tight pinkness of her nest.
She looked towards the door. She hadn't a full view of the bedroom but she heard the sound of her husband's feet as he moved. She had left him in his dressing gown sitting on the edge of the bed examining some papers. She listened on for a moment He was quiet. A paper rustled. Slowly she slipped her hand down her belly and between her thighs which had now, sagged open... relaxed by the insistent pulsing of her cunt.
Carefully spreading her hand she dipped her middle finger deep into the soft eagerness of her quim. She shuddered and let her head fall back and raised her knees. Deeper and deeper into her aching gash slid her finger, the tip of it frotting her clitorus now erect like a tiny pink helmet in a sea of pulsing, quivering, striving flesh.
She was beginning to build towards on orgasm when she heard a step in the bedroom. She quickly withdrew her hand from between her writhing thighs and grabbed at the soap. Even in the speed of the moment the wry thought struck her as to why should she stop playing with herself just because her husband was about to appear on the scene.
The answer was quick and vivid. It would have been almost the same as being caught playing with oneself by one's mother!
The water still swirled suggestively from her recent exercises when Gerald appeared in the bathroom doorway. He leaned on the lintel and looked at her.
As always, he looked slightly embarrassed... almost as if he was looking at someone elses wife in the bath. "Nice?" he asked.
Her biting irritation at being disturbed at her onanim wasn't being eased by the nagging, reaching ache between her hard thighs.
"It's wet and warm," she replied.
"You... you look nice in the bath," he ventured.
She looked at him. "Nice and what! Nice and clean?"
"No! I mean, yes, you do look that. But I mean... well... very attractive."
She looked at him reflectively. Could anything ever change him? There he was, the very template of the Englishman, reserved, polite unshakeable in his belief that the English were the last expression of the designs of providence. Sex, to him, was definitely nice... that was to say pleasant. But there again, it was so nice that it really must be nasty. After all, wasn't it true that anything that destroyed the poised format and the relentless dignity of a chap, was well, rather not quite the thing?
"Thank you, Gerald," she said, reflectively, at last. "That's quite the sexiest thing you've said to me in ages!
"Now you're being sarcastic. I'm sort of trying to say that I do understand your point of view."
"And what is my point of view?"
"Look here, Margaret, let's face it. You are a bit sexier than me, so why can't we strike a compromise?"
She sat up in the bath, her lips curled in a sarcastic sneer.
"What do you mean? Not... not sex on Wednesday's too?"...............
"Look here, I've never seen you make any efforts to do anything," he said, hotly.
"Such as?"
"Anything."
"Like feeling around to see if you've got anything I can use?" she asked.
He was saying something but she didn't hear it. Was it her talking to Gerald like this? What had got into her to make her into an outrageous, sneering vixen in a few short hours.
A taunting obscenity sprang to her mind as a will ful explanation.
Perhaps it was what hadn't got into her!
The haunting thought of Tony in the loneliness of his dark tent flooded her mind and it was with a physical effort that she brought back her attention to what her husband was saying.
"...We've had rows before. But nothing like this. Is it because I'm going away? If it is, I really do think you might have told me before. It's a bit late in the day for me to cance! this job."
She merely heard herself saying. "Of course you must go away. lake no notice of me. It's just a mood, it'll pass."
She hardly realised that she had made this reas surance and she fell to wondering why she had made it. The conclusion was inescapable and having accepted it she never varied from her course or modified her designs.
She was glad Gerald was going. Something was going to happen between her and the boy now probably lying sleeping in his tent by Long Wood.
Now she knew it... and she knew just as well that if it wasn't him it would be someone else. Gerald wasn't enough for her... never had been. Would any one man be enough? That remained to be seen. She felt her resolve harden to the background of Gerald's rather insipid voice... speaking in the measured, inexorable sentences that were so ipressing in a dingy court where passion and life were slowed to the pace of reason and order. She would do it. She would abandon herself to sensation while she was still capable of responding to it. Not for her the regrets that sometimes seem to flood away the tranquility that should be the right of old age. Not for her the longings for "'what might have been". Who was it that had said." The best way to get ride of a temptation is to yield to it?"
Wilde... Oscar Wilde. But look where this philosophy had brought him!
The thought must have sobered her for she was again aware of Gerald rather plantively saying. "I don't think you're listening to a word I'm saying."
No point now in trying to outrage his code to startle him into the kind of activity that she so desperately needed. So she arose in the bath and said, "I'm sorry Gerald, I know I'm being awkward. Throw me the towel."
He tossed her the towel and as she bent to dry her hips she saw his eyes were upon her triangle of hair where it was alive with the sparkle of the diamonds of water.
Why not? Why not, she thought? If I'm abandoning myself to sensation why should I deny Gerald a part in it. Her lips parted. After all, he could fuck! The thought excited her and as she dried her fanny she made sure she parted the hair-bound lips so that he could see the soft, desirable pinkness that lay waiting for the ravage of thrusting sex.
He moved from his position at the door as if he would touch her.
Not knowing why, she moved anticipating and avoiding his touch. She pulled the chain of the bath-plug.
"There," she said, inconsequently.
"You could have left the water," he said, softly. "I don't mind bathing after you."
"Thank you," she said, avoiding his eyes and busying herself with her drying.
He put his left hand around her waist. Her flesh was cooling now and his hand felt warm... warm and unwanted.
"Darling," he said.
She looked at him. His face was pale, always a sign of incipient passion.
The last of the water gurgled away and she re-set the hot tap an stepped out of the bath. "Oh, do let me dry, Gerald," she said, "It's none too warm out of the water.
He look her in his arms and she folded her hands with the towel in them across her breasts and leaned back from him and regarded him gravely.
"1 wish I'd have undressed!" he smiled, sheepishly, twitching aside his dressing gown to display his black striped trousers.
"I suppose you do," she agreed. My God! Would that have stopped many men? The television serviceman who had taken brusque possession of her had told her that to function thus, standing, was known as a "knee-trembler!"
"Of course," she heard Gerald, "we could have knee-trembler!"
She stared at him and burst out laughing.
"What's the matter?" he demanded.
"Nothing," she gurgled, "it's just that phrase... from you! .............
"I learnt it in the Army."
She looked at him prettily, head aside. "Did you learn how to do it in the Army?" she asked.
"Are you trying to lure me into a confession of promiscuity?" he smiled.
'"No, into a demonstration of military practices," she countered.
She felt his hand slide down between their bellies. The back of his hand nudged her protuding mount. Me fumbled with his flies.
"Aren't you going to take your trousers off?" she asked.
"You asked for it Army-fashion!" he grinned.
For a moment she loved him. She clasped her arms lightly about him.
"What a bitch I've been tonight," she murmured, more to herself than to him.
He was hard, very hard. She felt the rigidity of it, the base of it bearing almost painfully against the top parting of the lips of her fanny.
Had she ever herself been had standing! Goodness, was it going to come to Gerald teaching her something?
He moved slightly away from her and her eyes looked down between their bellies... hers flat and naked with the public hair a fierce blazon of blackness against the silky, slightly sallow creaminess of her skin... His hard and hairy where his flies were open.
His penis was out, jutting arched and dark against his trousers. Not exceptional in the matter of length it was thick and strong and filled her satisfactorily when its owner was willing to donate it to her service.
Her eyes gleamed as she regarded the nob, dark red almost to purple and swollen with the rages of expectancy.
A blue vein along the side of it pulsed and his foreskin was back and baring the smooth deliciousness of his masculinity.
As she put her hand down toward it she had a sudden strange feeling that she shouldn't... that it was a waste of time, that he would be disappointing, that she wouldn't have a climax, that it would be better to go to bed and dream of the dark tent down by Long Wood and wake up in the morning with sticky thighs and hot fantasies swirling in her lascivious brain.
But her fingers closed around his throbbing stem.
She feld his haunches arch towards her and his hands slipped around behind her to her buttock cheeks.
She knew more or less what would happen now.
He would part her buttock cheeks and let the edge of his hand idle between them. Then his searching fingers would ignore her anus and slip onward towards her fanny there to be ordinary and not very perse verant.
He little knew how she sometimes longed to have the cherry hued rose of her bottom toyed with, investigated and even penetrated... if only by the tip of his finger.
Sure enough, his hand parted her bottom cheeks and dipped down towards her fanny, brushing accidentally in passing her quivering anus.
"Sorry!" he muttered.
She could have killed him!
She stiffened as the edges of his fingers parted her gash and slid lengthwise along the soft moistness of her furry groove.
The tip of his forefinger found, more bij luck than judgment, the erected tip of her clitorus. She closed her eyes and shuddered with delight as he pressed the tiny helmet and stroked it softly.
"Faster!" she moaned, "Faster!"
His finger darted to and fro over her burning bud until her thighs were writhing and she was moaning in ecstasy.
Suddenly, before she was really aware of what he was doing, he turned her, seizing her almost rougly by the hips and swinging her around. He swiftly bent her forward before she had any chance to resist. For a moment she tensed, fully expecting to feel the bite of his nob against the pleated ring of her bottom.
"Keep still!" he muttered. He had one hand in front of her, his fingers parting the hairy lips of her delicious cunt. The other hand she could feel groping excitedly between her thighs at the back. She felt the burning touch of his swollen nob at the lush portals of her mossy grotto.
So this was how it was done! This was a "kneeresponse to the fierce delight his tool, raving deep into her gaping quim, aroused in her!
It thrust aside the spasm contracted walls of her love soaked vagina and whipped every nerve of her body into an orchestra of screaming lust! As the root of his member ground hard against her clitorus she gave an extra yelp of abandoned joy. She reached behind her and pulled his thighs hard against hers, as if to drag his throbing cock even deeper into the now deliciously sticky maw of her writhing, pulsing cunt. Bent forward as she was she could see his balls as they swung between her thighs.
She pushed her buttocks back violently in time to each frantic thrust of his loins and was rewarded with feeling the soft thud of his balls as they beat against her thighs.
In and out of her pulsing nest surged his pennis... on the outward stroke allowing the quim lips to close to the size of the very tip of his nob and then driving it back into her until his hair bumped hard against her hairy pube and her cunt was stretched around the thickness of his prick base and almost all of the root of it to his balls was dipped into her soft, sweet wetness.
She moaned and shrieked as he drove his shaft in and out of her burning quiver, his balls swinging through to bump against her hair half way up the triangle. She writhed and twisted, rubbing her fiery fanny against the hot rigidity of his cock, seeking to extract every last gramme of sensation from the pistonlike strokes with which he was riddling her.
She arched to meet him as he suddenly gave a moan of ecstasy. Her buttock drove hard against his trousered belly. He gave one last mad, burning thrust that sent his penis up inti her like a blazing flambeus and then she feld the swift torrential gush of his come as it was flung up into her by his orgasmic spasm.
For a moment she couldn't believe it.
"Don't finish! Don't finish!" she screamed. "I haven't come yet... Oh, Gerald... make me come!"
She wriggled her quim around his penis, but it was already softening rapidly.
He gave one or two more feeble thrust into her and she plunged her bottom backward to try and engulf the last remaining stiffness of what had been a moment before a burning lance deep in her vitals.
But it was useless. One of her mad backward thrust drove the pilyfully limp prick out of her gash and although she madly tried to scrabble it back with both hands there was nothing left to re-penetrate her gaping fanny.
She wheeled on him in a paroxysm of fury.
"You bastard!" she screamed. "You useless, sexless, impotent bastard! You can't even finish me when you've got me this far."
Her hands were almost tearing at her fanny, her fingers, two together, driving into her quim as she tried to wank herself to the climax denied her by his premature ejaculation.
He looked at her in horror and remorse as he watched her fingers clawing and working at her fanny... fingers grey with his sperm.
"Get out! Get out!" she screamed.
His limps penis hanging dejectedly from his gaping flies, Gerald turned and stumblingly left the bathroom.
Margaret turned and swiftly sat herself on the bathroom stool. She thrust out her legs stiff before her. Her hands worked dexterously between her thighs... thighs now wet with his love-juice. She threw her head back and closed her eyes.
A dark tent! A .rough blanket under her silky buttocks! The hard while pencil-like prick of a boy darting in and out her hot, gushing, loving quim. "Oh, make me come... Oh, make me come!" she cried aloud. In her ecstatic fantasy she could almost feel the surge of the boy's hard young loins as he pressed his cock inexpertly into her burning ring.
She thrust out madly with her feet and her buttocks left the stool in a spasm of delightful torment. She was thus rigid for a moment.
Then slowly her bottom sank down again to the stool and her hands slipped down from between her scintillating thighs. A shuddering gasp dribbled from her lips and she slowly bent her kness in relaxation.
She looked at her wet fingers and then slowly wiped them on a towel.
Her own love juice mingled with her husbands hung like grey pearls on the black hair of her fanny. She slowly opened her eyes and looked towards the bedroom.
The expression on her face was hardly pleasant and might have shocked her could she have seen it. It was the expression of a woman who would stop at nothing rather than ever re-live the last few moments again.
She rested the heel of her hand on the moist hair of her fanny and closed her eyes. "Tomorrow he'll be gone," she murmured.
CHAPTER FOUR
The rest of that day passed in a succession of hazy highlights for Margaret. A telegram arrived from Gerald. He had sent it from London Airport and it combined one and tenpence worth of sentiment with two shillings worth of the practical. He told her he loved her and that the keys to the garage were on the mantlepiece in the bedroom.
Several times she tried to read and once she attemped a letter to her father. She couldn't read and didn't know why. She couldn't write a letter to her father and she did know why.
She smiled wryly to herself at the very thought of it. What would her father say if he knew that she was making extensive plans to get a boy of fifteen astride her? That she didn't recognise her inability as a dig of conscience was for her future perhaps unfortunate but for our story, quite necessary!
The only salient of the day was a conversation she had in the late afternoon with Agnes.
She was flipping through the pages of a fashion magazine when Agnes came in to dust.
Margaret watched her idly for a few minutes. Then she asked, "Where do you go in the evenings, Agnes?"
Agnes paused and stroked her chin with the feather duster.
"Pictures. A dance, sometimes. Then again I might just go for a walk. It all depends."
In the more informal conversations between them it was tacitly agreed that the 'madam' or 'Mrs Peterson' was dropped.
"No boy friends?" smiled Margaret.
"Around here?" asked Agnes, scornfully. "I haven't seen anything real decent since I've been here. Not that I mind," she added, hastily.
"No, they're not quite like town fellows. I dare say. Still, I should have thought there'd have been someone. But, there, that's your business."
"I've had enough of boys. What I want is nourishment, not punishment!" grinned Agnes.
"I think you're very right. Everything in it's time. On the whole you do like it here, Agnes?"
"I love it! It's so quiet and... and, well, dignified. After what I've been used to, that is."
Margaret almost flushed. She wondered how dignified Agnes would think her if she knew what she planned. Oh, how careful she would have to be!
"I've never known anything like this... I mean. Being with people like you and Mr. Peterson.
It was almost as if the girl knew, and was twisting the dagger!
Margaret thought that she would be more comfortable if she changed the subject.
"Anyway," she said, "you go out tonight and enjoy yourself. There's a good film on at the Carlton."
The Carlton was the local cinema.
Agnes seemed to be thinking of something else.
"Yes," she said, "men are poison. It's a funny thing and sometimes it even worries me, but I'm mostly attracted to boys younger than myself... and when I say younger than myself, I mean younger!"
Margaret's heart almost stood still. "What... what do you mean?" she faltered.
"Well, I seem to like youngsters. Part of my trouble before I met Mr. Peterson was over a kid of fourteen. Fourteen! Isn't it terrible?"
Margaret closed her eyes with relief. What hell intrigue was! Every word, every gesture, every nuance of meaning could be interpreted by the guilty conscience into meaning discovery, or, at the least, suspicion. Another thought struck her. What was it that Agnes was saying? She too was attracted to boys? Could this be a coincidence? She eyed Agnes carefully. Like a lot of people doing a thing outside the scope of their experience and beyond the stretch of their integrity she had considered her actions... her designs on Tony... as being a rather unique manifestation of a somewhat shady and undesirable moral characteristic. But now, hearing what Agnes had to say about her preferences, was this true?
She found herself saying, "You're not telling me that you prefer boys to men?"
"I'm afraid so. Is that so terrible? I know it sounds terrible. It sometimes worries me."
Margaret paused before answering. She realised she must take into consideration the considerable difference in their ages and their status. She was some six or seven years older than Agnes, and she was married. And, anyway, was it so un-natural for a woman to like the young and the vital, the pure and the inexperienced. Men traditionally chased young virgins. Wasn't it possible a completely natural reaction of experience to inexperience? She knew it wasn't hut the possibility sufficed to quieten her small conscience. But she was interested in a like taste in another.
"You... you mean of course that you, well just went around with this boy?" she asked, carefully.
"I wish I did. No, I lived with him," replied Agnes. "He got right in my hair... in more way than one! There was a time when I didn't think I could live without him. He'd only just left school. He was a clever kid... I ruined him. That's the God's honest truth I ruined him!"
Margaret chose her words carefully. She was thrilled... thrilled beyond measure by what Agnes had told her, but she didn't want to raise any suspicions by too close questioning.
"Well, I suppose it's just human nature," she said. "But it's an episode that's passed and no doubt won't be repeated."
"I hope!" grinned Agnes.
"You don't mean that you're still attracted to young boys?" asked Margaret.
"Not much! Yes, I'm afraid I am. Perhaps it's just what this little devil did to me... but I still am. When I see a youngster in the street I have to look the other way. Honest, that's the only thing I think could ever get me into trouble again. Real trouble, that is."
"I don't quite see what you mean," said Margaret. "It's wrong, I know. But it can hardly get you into trouble. Apart from the obvious trouble, I mean."
Agnes stared. "No? What if the police were to find out? They didn't find out about me and Dick... but if they had have done...! Don't you know it's against the law to seduce a kid? Seduction of minors they call it."
"No. No, I didn't know!" said Margaret. Another complication! "I suppose a minor, in law, is someone under sixteen."
"Age of consent in a girl... don't know what they call it in a boy. Mind you, my Dick didn't need no seduction. He was red-hot for his age. Once he knew he'd got a change with me he was after me like an old wolf of fifty!" She looked at Margaret and her face fell. '"I haven't upset you with what I've said, have I?" she asked.
Margaret almost said. "Yes, you have!" But some innate honesty forbade this hypocrisy and she just shook her head, ruefullen.
"No. No you haven't shocked me. I... I'm surprised at what you tell me. But I think I can see what you had to contend with in the way of temptation."
"You don't think I'm wicked? I sometimes do myself."
"No, I don't think it was wicked of you. I suppose most people would call it immoral but... oh. I don't know whether you were right or wrong."
She said this so vehemently that Agnes looked at her in surprise.
"Well, I know it's wrong... wrong even to think about such things. But I am shocking you, I can .tell. I'd better get on with my work!"
And so she did get on with her work, watched by a reflective Margaret in whom the only emotion aroused by the confession was one of anxiety as to what might happen to Tony if Agnes saw him first!
The rest of the day passed quietly. At just after six Agnes and the cook left for their evening out. The cook mentioned that she would be back very late as she intented visiting her sister in London. Mar garet had carefully elicited from Agnes that she was unlikely to return before eleven o'clock. That would leave two and a half hours for her to be alone with Tony. For the last time she consedered the consequences of her course if she were discovered and for the last time she dismissed them. From then on she entered the affair with abandon and complete resolve to follow the dictates of her desires, dangerous as they were!
Eight o'clock saw her fresh from her bath sitting in front of the dressing table in her bedroom. She was quite naked beneath her chiffon robe and as it fell open as she leaned forward to brush yer eyesbrows her ceamy breasts, as round as grapefruit, jutted out without suspicion of sag and trembled excitingly, at her slightest movement. Her nipples deep cherry red, reared from the silken surfaces of the impeccable breasts like buds on a rhododendron kissing the first warm air of spring.
She finished her subtle attentions to her face, carefully applying the eyes-shadow to give her an "evening of desire" look! Then she walked over to her wardrobe and gazed into it thoughtfully. Something lush and extravagant? Something enticing and tantalising? No! No, it'd have to be something simple. Something sweet and clean looking. Something that enticed without overt sophistication and allured without being obviously seductive.
That referred, of course, to the dress! Her undies were quite another mater!
She looked down at her ripe young breasts and ran a hand over them proudly. Something to show them off was an essential. Black should do it.
She took a black brassiere and put it over her arm. Then she selected a pair of black panties, gossamer webs of frilly nothingness with plenty of open-work lace that would show to advantage her silken white thighs and the brilliant scar of her pubic hair.
Now, stockings. What about stockings? Something sheer... evening stockings, certainly. But colour? She had a pair of black silk strockings she'd bought for a fancy dress ball and had only worn once. Remembering the effect that they'd had on Gerald when they'd returned from the ball (he'd almost raped her on the rug in front of the fire with them still on!) she was tempted to wear them for this occasion.
But were black silk stocking quite the thing to entrance a boy of fifteen? And, above all, did they go with the avowed motif of simplicity? Regretfully she doubted it!
She chose a pair of flesh coloured nylons, transparent to the gaze and weightless to the touch and indescribable to the caress.
Now, the problem of keeping the stockings up. On the face of it a simple problem and in normal circumstances easily solvably. Normal circumstan ces! There, she'd said it herself. These were abnormal circumstances! She shrugged the thought away. Her mind went hack to when she had seduced her father's friend in the garden. He had been a devotee of suspender belts. He had kissed her tummy where the thin red weal of the suspender belt she had been wearing had scarred her white flesh.
But Tony, would he like suspender belts? She thought of it for a moment and desided that he probably would. He didn't sound as if he was completely without experience and perhaps some of the young girls he'd enjoyed had still been in the black elastic garter stage! The thought of his possible experience with young girls made her frown for a moment, but she realised the silliness of the emotion and smiled as she reached out for a thin black, frilly suspender belt with two straps for each stocking. The black of the straps always looked good against the pristine whiteness of her plump thighs.
She went back to her dressing table and put the undies on it. She smiled as she looked at them. A handful of seductive gossamer but to a man...! Well, they could change the course of a man's life and had done, many a time!
She peeled her dressing gown off luxuriously, enjoying the sensation of the silk hissing over her full, rearing buttocks. She tossed it "side and stood naked before the mirror frankly admiring the blazing beauty of her sensuous body.
Her eyes ran approvingly down from her fine slim neck, over the heaving crests of her gourdlike breasts, carmine tipped and trembling with each slightest movement of her body to her waist as it swept into its neat twenty inches to whip voluptiously out to her full, sensual hips. She turned slightly so that she could see the reflection of her pouting buttocks, hard and high as they flung up in full, palpitating hemispheres of creamy glory from her plump, scintillating thighs.
She turned again full on to the mirror. Her eyes narrowed and a pulse deep in her belly throbbed as she gazed at, the dark glory of her full, lusciously curly pubic hair where it swept down from it's severely horizontal line half-way to her navel into the delicious vee that ended where it dipped between her hot thighs to clothe the lips of her warm secret place with its crisp silkiness.
She ran her hand over the springy hair. It yielded to her touch like spring grass and she slid her middle finger down the centre of the V and ran the pad of it between the lips, parting them and pressing the tiny dome of her clitoris until and erotic ague warned her to wait for fuller pleasures to come.
She picked up her brassiere and held it before her by its straps. Leaning forward slightly she allowed her lovely breasts to sink into the gossamer cups.
Firmly captured, they thrust out hard and high as she delicately fastened the brassiere behind her straight back.
She placed her hands beneath her breasts and smiled voluptiously as she weighed their fullness. Briefly her thumbs caressed her nipples.
She picked up her panties. She looked at them for a moment and them nestled her cheek against them, thrilling to their silkiness.
Poising delicately on the ball of one foot she slid one alabaster leg into the panties. She swallowed hard at the hissing of the silk as it sild over her flesh. Then she put the other leg through and wriggled them sensually over her flaring hips and settled them carefully about her lovely bottom, pulling the impudent silk at her crutch away from its saucy nesting place within the pouting lips of her throbbing cunt.
She smoothed the panties where they clung, sheer and lovely, to her deliciously rounded belly and patted springy hair where it slightly bulged the silk at her crutch.
"You'll do," she murmured, not quite certain whether she referred to her fanny or her knickers!
She sat down on the stool before the dressing table. She took the stockings from the table and thrust her slim white arms into one of them. She carefully rolled it and then stretched out one peerless leg.
As she slowly rolled the stocking up her leg a slight movement of her knickers showed a few errant, glossy black curls against the bright whiteness of her thigh.
She smoothed the stocking up her shapely calf and snugged it to her luscious thigh, stroking the sheer nylon with both hands to the lisle top. She put on the other stocking and then stood and deftly wriggled into the black suspenser belt and, after a moments hesitation, slipped, the straps inside her knickers. This, she decided, would facilitate the removal of her panties if the occasion should demand haste!
With leisurel movements she fastened the suspenders to the stocking tops and stood to survey the result. She put her hands between her thighs and stroked herself sensually to her crutch. Her eyes sparkled as she thought of the result all this would have on her young lover to be.
Satisfied with her foundation, she moved back to the wardrobe and took out the dress that she had selected.
It was an haute couture model that she had purchased in Paris the spring before. It was in red organdie with a wide, fully flared skirt and a very low neckline. She also selected a petticoat of white, rustling taffeta with an elaborate lace hem.
She threw the dress over a chair and slipped into the petticoat, her titties dancing deliciously in the confines of the black brassiere as she wriggled it up her flowing haunch.
She adjusted this to her hips with care and then slipped the red dress over her head, and, with difficulty, zipped it up at the back.
"The French aren't capable of designing a dress that can't use a man in putting it on!" she smiled to herself as she at last got the zip fastened.
She smoothed and patted the dress and adjusted her breasts in the brassiere to get maximum out in glorious abandon!
When this was settled to her satisfaction she arranged the dress so that an inch or so of petticoat showed beneath the dress. This, she had found, was definitely an alluring signal.
She took the better part of ten minutes doing her hair and braided it across the top with a white ribbon. She felt this gave a touch of simplicity to the ensemble. The next thing was to choose shoes. She decided upon a pair of black court shoes in velvet with tiny diamante buckles that drew attention, if any device were needed, to her lovely legs.
She ground the heels into the soft carpet as she pirouetted graceful, swirling the reed dress high so that her gleaming white thighs, pinched deliciously by the tightness of the stocking tops, flashed and scintillated in the bright light from her dressing table.
From her jewel box she took a thick rope of pearls. She smiled as she wound them around her long, slender neck.
They had been a wedding present from Gerald!
Yes, pearls were the thing. Although she made no claim to understand what attracted a man anymore than any other woman she had noticed how they set of the deeep, shadowy chasm between her breasts when she leaned forward and the soft gry of the pearls flashed dully against the creaminess of the breast flesh.
In deference to an emotion she couldn't define, she took off her wedding ring and in it's place put a ring with a small, somewhat yellow, solitare diamond. A tiny gold wristlet watch set off the delicate slenderness of her wrist. She surveyed herself again in the mirror, bending forward to pat a stray hair into place.
Her eyes moved to the corsage of her dress to where her breasts, bulged by her position, thrust in creamy folds from the tightness of the black brassiere. She stroked the necklace of pearls and hed it between the cleft between the breasts. They felt warm and voluptious. She wondered whether she subconsciously associated them with the hot sperm fresh from a pulsing penis! , She smiled at the thought and looked at her watch. It was just eight thirty.
She put off the light at the dressing table and walked to the door and put out the light there.
She went slowly downstairs, her heart agog with expectation.
On the last stair before the hall she paused as a flood of realisation swept over her.
She looked down at her svelte finery and her cheeks crimsoned. She was actually acting like a tarty siren in an American movie all set to seduce (within the limits of the Hay's Office rules!) a sophisticated playboy with a palate already jated with a thousand blonds.
It was the facts of the matter that brought the flush to her lovely cheek and almost sent her running back upstairs to tear off the finery and put on a pinafore and come downstairs again to offer Tony a cup of tea really show him Gerald's dark-room.
At the crucial moment the doorbell rang.
The blood immediately left her head and she felt her stomach turn over.
This, if she wanted it that way, was it! Her deep, unassuaged sexuality shouldered her conschience aside and she walked across the hall to the front door.
There was nobody there. She stepped out on to the porch and loocked around. There was definitely nobody there.
Puzzled, she stepped back and as she did so a bell rang again. She listened and then realised it was the tradesman's doorbell that had rung. The kitchen door must be open, that was how she had heard it.
To Hell! Who the devil could it be at the tradesman's entrance at this time of the evening?
She walked swiftly over to the kitchen door and almost ran through the kitchen and wrenched open the tradesman's door. Her mouth opened for an angry inquiry that was distined never to be delivered.
There, looking somewhat forlorn and pale of face, stood Tony.
She looked at him in mingled exasperation and relief.
"Oh, so it's you. Come in. Whyever did you use this door?"
"The grocer said..."
"Never mind the grocer. Come in."
He stepped inside the door and she closed it, locking it after him, which gave her a feeling of the true conspirator.
She walked through into the lounge, Tony following her.
She moved over to the fire and stood with her back to it and made a show of feeling cold.
"It's rather chilly tonight," she said, nervously.
"It's quite cold out," he replied.
He was dressed for the occasion tonight. He wore a blue school blazed with a badge she couldn't identify and grey worsted trousers.
He looked older... older and more competent. Her nervousness began to subside. The whole thing was beginning to assume more correct proportions, the proportions of an ordinary affair. Just a common or garden extra-marital adventure. She was glad thai he wore somewhat more adult garb... Dearly as she loved the look of his clean, wiry young legs in his khaki shorts and graphically as they suggested the proximity of his fierce young sex she fel it was better for her peace of mind that he looked less the absolute juvenile.
"Well, you were right on time," she said. "Sit down and get warm."
She indicated an armchair beside the fire. He smiled gratefully and sat down and stratched his hands out towards the fire that blazed in the hearth. He looked nervous and so engrossed was she with the carnality of the whole affair that she for a moment overlooked the obvious cause of his nervousness and sought another. It came as a revelation when she realised the root cause of his tension.
It was obviously because he was very conscious that she had caught him playing with himself! It fairly illustrates how far gone she was not to have realised that this tension would exist... realised it even before he came. But her own erotic fantasies of his doing precisely the same thing had made it seem the realisation of her dream... almost a justification of it!
She walked gracefully over to the sofa that stood on the other side of the fireplace and sat down on it. She curled her unspeakably beautiful legs beneath her... with just a decorous flash of her lacy petticoat; and folded her hands demurely in her lap. She was very conscious that her breasts were high above the neckline of the dress and her necklace felt heavy and warm and sensual as it rested on the hard flesh.
"Have your friends arrived?" she asked. "All of them. They're settling in now." "Suitably segregated?" she smiled, mischeviously. More of Tony's tenseness slipped away from him. "Oh, yes!" he smiled.
"Tell me, do you really have no trouble convincing your parents that there is nothing wrong in you all camping together like this?" she asked.
He shook his head. "Not a lot trouble. Sometimes a girl's father doesn't thing much of it. It's usually the mothers that complain about the boys!"
"I should think so, too!" said Margaret, instantly realising how really hypocritical this essay into attempting to mate with a juvenile was making her.
"I hope I didn't give you impression that we were really a lot of young scallywags," he said. "I mean, we are modern, but that's about all there is to it."
"I can see that you, personally, are a boy who knows how to behave."
His face turned scarlet and he buried his face in his hands. She could have bitten her tongue out for having been so carelees. She got up from the sofa and went swiftly over to him and bent to put her arm around his shoulders.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'd quite forgotten... well, that."
He looked up to her face but only to immediately avert his eyes, to the delicious, creamy, deeply shadowed chasm between her hot tits!
"I'm sorry," he said. "What for?"
"For... for what I was doing. For what I was doing when you came back to the tent. Oh. Mrs Peterson I am so sorry!"
She felt a flood of disgust with herself. She shook him gently by the shoulder.
"Don't feel like that," she said. "You're a boy and... well, boys are sometimes like that, in fact, most often like that. Girls are the same too, you know."
As soon as she had said this she was sorry... although why she should be was beyond her.
He stared at her. "You don't mind?"
"Why should I mind," she asked. A subtle, madly provocative thought occured to her. She hesitated the briefest moment before posing it in a question. She hesitated, and was duly lost!
"Why were you doing it?" she asked.
He averted his head and was silent.
Cruelly she shook his shoulder to stir him to reply.
"Why?" she asked, softly.
"Oh, please!"
"I want to know," she insisted, every nerve of her body rippling with excitement.
"I can't tell you," he groaned.
"Why not? Is it something you're ashamed of?" Her hand was squeezing his shoulder.
"Yes! Yes, it is something I'm ashamed of."
"Do you mean you're ashamed of what you were ctually doing?" she asked. "No! Well, I'm ashamed of that, too." "Too?"
She bent her head close to his. The delicate perfume she was using was heady to his sences.
"You mean you are ashamed of the reason you are doing it?"
He nodded wordlessly.
"What was the reason that you did it!" she insisted softly.
"Oh, please don't talk about it." There was a long silence while she gathered her courage for the leading question. "Was it... was it because of anything I did?" she asked at last.
Her heart thumped as she awaited her reply.
"No... no!" he cried, violently.
She felt a severe stab of disappointment which swiftly changed to impatience. He obviously had considered her display in the tent as accidental and didn't consider that he could possible share the blame for his behaviour as a result of it.
She tried again. "I was in no way connected with... with what you were doing when I came back to the tent.
"No! Well... you see... No!" He broke of confusedly.
"I can't help feeeling," she said, cunningly, " that I was in some way connected with it."
"Oh, you weren't... you e weren't!" cried Tony. "It's just that I'm a little rotter!"
Her heart went out to him. "You mustn't say that," she whispered, putting her arm fully around his shoulders. Her lips were very close to his hair. It smelt of carbolic soap! She resisted the temptation to kiss his fair hair.
She strove not to be coarce but the excitement of the situation and her frantic and unatural desire for him drove her beyond the limits of her ability to reason.
"Tony, I want you to answer me a question, honestly. Will you do that?" she asked.
"I'll try" he aswered, looking up at her. The look he gave her made her turn away momentarily. It was a look of sheer adoration. She new of a certainty then that if she went any further she had irrevocably burned her boast behind her. Her hesitation was brief.
"Were you... were you rubbing yourself because of anything I did?" she asked him slowly, savouring each word and revelling in the intimacy and sensuality of the word 'rubing'.
"No... no!" he moaned.
"Are you sure? It wasn't because I was careless when I sat on your sleeping bag and... showed rather more of my legs than I should have?"
He closed his eyes but shook his head grimly.
"It was because of that, wasn't it?" she Dersiotf>d.
"Mrs Peterson!" he groaned. "Please don't!" Her voice was a silky purr, all caution was now abandoned.
"You rubbed yourself because you saw my legs almost up to my knickers, didn't you?"
He lowered his head. "I don't know why I did it," he whispered. "But when you left I felt terrible. I... I just had to do it."
"Do you think it was so terribly wrong?" she asked.
He stared at her. "Of course it was wrong," he said.
She shrugged, and his eyes flickered over her breasts as they juddered tantalisingly at the movement.
"You're not the first man to feel like that about a woman's legs. That's nature, Tony. If it can happen that the woman and the man can... well, become friends, then that is what usually happens. If there is some reason why they cannot become friends..." she shrugged again. "In that case I can't see that it's terrible wrong for the man to... relive himself."
"Then you aren't annoyed with me?" he asked in astonishement.
She smiled, her lovely face glowing with contentment.
"No, I'm in no way cross with you." She bent close to him, her sweet breath hot on his flushed face.
"In fact, I think you've rather flattered me!"
She moved over casually to the sofa and sat down, flouncing her skirt out delicately as she did so.
"Yes, I think that's true... I'm flattered. After all, isn't it natural that a woman should be flattered to know that by just showing her silly old legsshe flicked her skirt high so that he had a momentary vision of her saintly thighs to her panties.. "...like this she can drive a man to... to wanting to play with himself?"
"But I'm not a man!" he wailed.
"Don't think I'm being coarse," she smiled, "but what you had in your hand when I looked in the tent looked very manly indeed!"
"You mean you don't think that what I was doing was wrong... that it was dirty!"
She winced and closed her eyes at his use of this word so adolescent in that context.
"No, no I don't thing it was wrong," she said. "I don't want it to make you feel guilty. Men are funny creatures... boys are too. Men and boys have got to have satisfaction in these things. It's a little different for girls."
She hoped he would notice and even perhaps remark on her emphasis.
"You don't mean that a girl..." His voice trailer away into silence.
That a girl might play with herself if she was excited by a boy and couldn't do anything about it? Well, I can tell you the answer to that. It's yes. I know, Tony, because I've done it."
His eyes seemed almost to pop out of his head as he listened to her confession, made doubly believable and infinitely more attractive by the way she cast her eyes down as she spoke!
"You... you have?" he gasped.
"It was a long time ago," she said, hastely.
If only she could summon up the nerve to tell him that she had been writhing only the previous night with her fingers deep in her fanny while she etched vivid pictures to herself of being ravaged by him!
Instead, she added, "I wasn't shocked when I saw that you were doing when I came back to the tent. I was a little hurt. It seemed so sad."
"Sad?" he asked.
"Yes, sad. There must be so many nice girls about who'd be quite upset think that you had to do that to... well, to relieve yourself."
Her attitude to what he had thought to be a depravity was reassuring him. "Oh, know that!" he grinned. "I once had a girl who did it to me. I hardly knew what she was doing when she did it, but she knew all right!"
"Really?" she asked. She shifted her position slightly as she formulated the next part of her campaign. "By the way," she started off, "you seem such a long way off sitting over there. Come and sit beside me here." She patted the sofa beside her.
Tony obeyed with alacrity.
"Yes, and it's not only girls of your own a^e who might think it was such a waste of strongness to do that sort of thing all by yourself. Older girls... one might say women... they might think the same."
It was this remark that first gave Tony the slightest inkling that Margaret's regard for his sexual activites had anything but a strictly impersonal interest. He looked at her in half wonder... not by any means fully understanding, but now vaguely aware that her interst in him was a little more than he could have reasonably hoped for.
He in turn chanced a remark. He didn't chance it to make a serious attempt to turn their relationship to anything different, but for a sort of saucy, boyish reason... just to be daring in the presence of a beautiful woman.
"Do you think it was a waste?" he asked.
He wasn't even half prepared for her reply.
Something inside her seemed to tense and snap exhilaratingly.
"Yes," she breathed, "I do think it was a waste. All that hot sticky cream just to be caught in your shirt! Oh, I know what boys do when they play with themselves! I bet you wouldn't show me you shirt if you're going to deny it."
He looked at her, his face stupid with amazement. She moved closer to him.
"Rubbing yourself like that... I think it's exciting. Do you like doing it?"
"Yes. At least, sometimes!" he gasped.
"Isn't it nices if you do it with a girl?" She stroked his face softly. "Or even go further?" "I... I..."
She leaned away from him and looked down at her trembling hands.
"Don't tell me you've never been further with a girl. You almost told me you had when we first met. I remember, if you don't."
"Well, I have and I haven't," he said, slowly.
"What do you mean?" she snapped. "You have and you haven't? You either have or haven't."
"Well, I've..., oh, I can't say it. Not to you!"
She smiled and sidled up to him. "Do you mean that you haven't made love to them properly?"
"Well, something like that."
"How far did you go? Did you take their knickers down?" "Oh yes!"
"Like that, eh! You sound as if you're in the habit of taking down the knickers of every girl you meet!"
"Well, that isn't much, is it?" She looked at him. "In some circles... yes!" she smiled.
"We don't think much of that. We do that all the time when we're petting," he said.
"What a charming circle you move in!" she commented. "People I know, Tony, if they take a girls knickers down she's got to let them do what they want."
"I know that's so with grown-ups. It's dangerous for us, though."
There was a long silence. When she spoke her voice was silky with barely concealed passion. "I know that if I let you take my knickers down, Tony, I should want you to do more than pet me. You'd have to let all that lovely cream you wasted on your shirt go right up into me, Tony."
His jaw literally sagged.
"Mrs Peterson!" he gasped.
"Why don't you just call me Margaret?" she asked. "We're friends, aren't we? We're talking about strange things for people who are not friends, otherwise."
She rested her hand on his lap. There was a fraction of a second of tense silence. Then she drew her hand away as if stung. Her eyes glittered into his.
"Again?" she laughed.
He wriggled uncomfortable and she laughed aloud, throwing herself back full length on the sofa and tucking a pair of cushions behind her head. Her skirt was very disarranged and her legs showed to a little above the knee.
"Well?" she asked.
"D'you mean... d'you mean?..." his voice faltered. "Aren't you going to at least kiss me?" she laughed.
He licked his dry lips and looked at her doubtfully. She threw open her lovely arms. "Come on over... come amongst me!" she tempted.
He moved along the sofa. Her legs were in his way.
"Get off the sofa, silly!" she said. "Kneel beside me on the floor. Then you can bend over me and do what you want. You can do exactly what you want, Tony!"
The boy did as he was bid.
Margaret put her arms around his neck and pulled his head down towards her.
"Sexy lips you've got, you little devil," she murmured.
She crushed her lips up on to his and held him in a passionate embrace for almost a minute.
When she released him the wild look in his eyes told her that her technique had made its mark.
"Kiss me yourself, now," she told him. "And you make sure you do it as least as well as when you're kissing those little girls in one of your petting parties!"
He grinned animatedly and seized her roughly and expertly in his armes. Just as his lips were about to meet hers the smile faded from his face.
"I say," he gasped. "What about Mr Peterson?"
"He's a thousand miles away, you silly thing," she cried. "Kiss me... oh, kiss me all over!"
His lips sank down on to hers. She wound her arms tightly about his neck. Suddenly she forced his lips apart and sent her pert tongue darting deeply into his mouth in a lascivious French kiss. He writhed momentarily in her grasp and then surrendered fully to the delight of the sensation, even responding to it with a avidity that spoke well for his future ability to learn!
She smothered his hot young face with kisses, making him giggle as she kissed his neck. Then, with a sudden flush of deep sexuality, she pulled his head down on to her breasts, now naked to within an inch or so of her nipples.
"There," she said, "do you like it there?"
His face was warm and smooth to her throbbing breats. Poor, hairless, unknowing little thing, she thought!
She stiffened as his lips sought the crevice between her lovely tits.
"That it, darling," she murmured. "Kiss me there. That does even more for me that seeing my legs does for you!"
She held his tousled young head hard down on to her plump, lush bosom.
"Aren't they big!" he whispered.
"Shush, to you!" she cried. "Be romantic! Tell me they're lovely and round and firm and warm and that kissing them drives you mad!"
"It does drive me mad!" panted the boy, smothering them with kisses.
"The dress undoes at the back," she whispered.
He fumbled.
"Where?"
"At the back. There' a zip."
She arched her back and after a moment or so of seeking he found it and slowly unzipped her dress to the upper line of her hips.
"That'll make it easier," she said.
She waited, expecting him to ease the dress down over her shoulders and thus uncover her brassiered breasts.
But in his inexperience he hesitated, locking into her eyes for permission.
She smiled and strocked his face, "I'm all yours tonight, Tony," she said. "All yours to do with what you will. Anything you've ever dreamed of doing to a girl I want you to do with me tonight."
Still he hesitated and it was some moments before he shyly cupped her quivering breasts, still in her dress, in his hand. She closed her eyes with impatience as he almost immediately withdrew his hand. . "Tony, when I came back to the tent and caught you rubbing yourself... what were you thinking of then?" she asked, abruptly.
"Of you," he answered, simply.
"Of what about me?"
"Of how you looked... of how you smelt. You were using a different scent then, weren't you?" "I wasn't in front of a warf fire being undressed by a strong young man them. As you were rubbing... what were you thinking about?"
"Oh, about your... your legs. I... I saw your knickers!" This last came in a rush of confession.
"Do you want to see them again?" she asked.
He nodded wordlessly.
"Then you must be brave... do nice things to me. You mustn't be nervous. You must do to me whatever you imagined you were doing to mee while you were rubbing your lovely hard thing all by yourself in that tent."
"Oh, you don't know what I was thinking!"
"Tell me." I can t!
"Were the things you were thinking so terrible? I bet they weren't really."
Tony licked his lips. His chin rusting lightly on her bosom, he looked up at her.
"I... I imagined that I'd got my hand up your clothes," he breathed.
"Yes?" whispered Margaret, moving her warm breats across his face.
"I was touching your knickers!" he breathed. Go on.
"Inside them!" cried Tony, flinching as if expecting a rebuke.
"It's almost as if I can feet you actually doing it now!" ejaculated Margaret, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back.
"Really! Do you mean it?" cried the boy. "I do... I do?"
"Well, I was touching your... your thing. I put my finger there."
"You haven't done... but you 0)1111""
"Everinthing I did you wanted me to do. That was important... in my imagination."
"What else?"
"These were bare.
Softly he ran his hand over her jutting breasts. She shuddered with ecstasy at his touch. "And they will be," she promised. "I was kissing them!" "Oh, show me how!"
He lowered his head and brushed her breasts where they thrust in creamy hillocks from the now slack corsage of her dress.
She raised her head and kissed his neck.
"Tony," she breathed. "Undress me! In the name of pity undress me!"
His trembling hands fumbled at the shoulders her dress, she assisted by wriggling her arms and slowly he was able to ease the red organdie down over her sloping schoulders.
A bubbling sigh of excitement passed his parted lips as the corsage of the dress slid over her rearing, brassiered titties.
"Oh," he gasped, "aren't they beautiful!"
"Be patient!" she smiled. She sat up and raised her arm to allow him to slip the dress down her retracted waist. She wriggled and it aws a frothy heap of red around her haunches.
Delicately, she slipped her legs over the edge of the sofa and stood up. Tony was still kneeling at her feet.
Well, pull it, silly thing!" she cried, moving her lips and sending the skirt of the dress fluttering around his crimson face.
He put his bands to her hips. Slowly, voluptiously and as if he was consciously drawing the pleasures of the movement out to its' last savour of delight, he pulled the dress down. It clung to her rearing hillocks as if relustant to leave the hard, heaving surfaces.
He tugged to free them from the lovely hillocks and the red organdie slithered down her tapering thighs in an exotic rustle and lay in a tumbled heap of flame about her tiny feet.
Her knickered pube was level with his face. He gazed in awe at the suggestive bulge of her hair and at the gleaming whiteness of her thighs, a striking contrast to the dullness of the little stocking tops.
He suddenly threw his arms around her buttocks and pulled her violently towards him and buried his burning face between her cool thighs. She opened them slightly for a moment and then quickly closed them, houlding his face between them while, with
Iter head thrown back, she tensed every nerve to stop herself spilling her burning come.
"Oh, my darling!" she murmured, ruffling his hair with her hands.
"You're so lovely!" he moaned, nuzzling his lips against her thighs mid-way between her stocking and her pube. "Oh, I could bite you!"
"Nibble me!" she laughed.
He played with the hard plumpness of her inner thigh with his strong, young teeth. She moaned in ecstasy and pulled his head against her thighs and worked them against his cheek bones.
"Oh, you'll make me come!" she screamed. "Stop it... stop!"
He desisted, as if she had really meant what the said!
She sat down on the sofa, shuddering with passion. His eyes smouldered as they sought the lush folds of creamy flesh that frothed from her brassiere. Her nipples were erect now and dimpled out the transparent lace of the brassiere into twin thimbles.
He sat on his haunches and gazed up at her. She looked at him for a moment and then reached forward and pulled his jacket down over his shoulders.
"Take that off... at least!" she whispered.
He quickly did as she bid.
She stroked his shoulders and fingered the back of his neck.
"It doesn't seem fair," she pouted, "that I'm here half naked and you're all dressed up like that. Here, let me do something for you."
She moved forward to the edge of the sofa. His prick was like an iron bar within his trousers as his eyes caught a glimpse of her fanny hair at the edge of her skimpy knickers.
"You're so lovely," he whispered.
"We're both lovely in that case," she replied, untieing his tie.
She opened his shirt with trembling fingers. She slipped her cool hand down inside his shirt. He wore no singlet and her hand briefly caressed his breasts.
"The're nothing like yours!" he grinned. "Thank God!" she said.
He wore a coat shirt and she pulled it slowly from the top of his belted trousers. He bent forward to allow her to slip the shirt from him. She tossed it aside and, hands on his shoulders, surveyed him. "Oh, what you do to me!" she breathed.
His body, white and hard, looked very young and even strange to her without the muscle formations of maturity.
There was something else unusual about his chest, too. Of course! He was hairless! She smiled and violenty hugged him to her bosom. She kissed the top of his head, revelling in the clean, young smell of his hair, and then bent him over her lap an began smotering his chest and arms with kisses, kissing him even up into his hairless armpits.
She feld his hand at her left breast, cupping it with a feverish and exultant motion. She raised him from her lap. As his head came up she felt his hot breath on her thighs and she had a sudden, almost overwhelming desire to rebury his head in her lap, forcing his mouth to seek out the hotness of her gash and whip her clitorus to a raging fury with his tongue.
The maxim "All in good time!" restored coherence to her actions.
"Take my bra off," the smiled.
He swallowed hard and put his hand to the front of it as if her would move the cups up over the reating mounds.
"It undoes at the back, silly!" she muttered.
He groped inexpertly at the back. The clasp parted. He gave a tiny cry of wonder as her breasts heaved aside the filmy confines of the brassiere and stood forth, juddering and trembling like two white globes of well set blanc-mange!
She smiled as she looked at his eyes. They were wide and blazing with excitement as he drank in the glory of the luscious spheres as they stood out, firm and undrooping, beneath the black brassiere which now just hung from the shoulders straps.
Without saying a word he slipped the bratdown her arms.
He dropped it on the floor and just stared at her titties.
She laughed, and they juggled madly, gourds of cream surmounted by the lush cherries of her dull red nipples.
She pulled him to her again. He cupped on breast in his hand and laved the other with feverish kisses. She stiffened as she felt his lips close over her nipple and flinched as his teeth gentle gnawed its erect hardness.
His hand was meanwhile investigating the joys of the other breast. He weighed it and cupped it, letting the nipple sear the palm of his hand and then rolling it between his finger and thumb. Always again he returned to weigh it... raising it and then letting it again sink, as if amazed at the solidness of it.
She held his head hard to her, so that fe could I only breath the soft scent of her breasts and all the time her cunt pulsed with its longing to be filled with the throb of his burning young cock.
At last she raised his head and kissed him passionately on the lips, letting her tongue run around just inside his eager mouth.
"You love my titties," she said, "but when you were rubbing yourself it wasn't them you were thinking about. Take my knickers down, darling!"
He leaned back while she stood up and looked at her in wonder, as if he scarcely believed that these wonders were happening to him.
She nodded and smiled encouragement.
"Take them down... righ down. Then everything you can see is yours!"
He dipped his fingers into the tops of her drawers at either hip.
He swallowed once and then, his eyes fixed on the triangle of her bush which showed through the transparent panties, slipped them down her tapering, quivering thighs.
The soft, sensual sound of the silk lace sliding down first the flesh of her thinghs and then the slik of her stockinged lower legs was a sound he was destined never to forget.
He held her knickers at a position just below her knees the tops of them gripped so tighly that his knuckles showed white against the dead blackness of the material.
His eyes burned as he absorbed the dark V slash of her "fanny hair where it swept to the hot crevice between her now chenched things.
She had closed her thighs for she knew that if he but so much as touched her there an immediate torrent of love-juice would lessen for a time the delicious torment that she was now so willingly enduring!
From his position... his face was hardly six inches from her quim... he could see every hair, every luxurious curl that clustered and made exicting the sweet mystery of what lay beneath.
He suddenly dropped his hands from her knickers and swept them behind her, driving his hands fiercely into the burning chasm between her bottom cheeks and pulling them apart and bringing her towards him.
She moaned in torment as the edges of his hand sank into her bottom, tipping the puckered, pleated ring there and sending waves of tantalising fury through every nerve of her body.
She looked down at his face as he buried his lips in the fur of her fanny, filling his mouth with the crisp curls and his chin hard on the soft plumpness of her Mount of Venus.
"Let me step out of my knickers, darling!" she breathed. "I want to open my legs for you."
He released her for a moment and she shook her hips. Her tits danced like mad white jellies and her drawers slipped down, drenching her feet in a little wash of black, lacy foam.
She sat down again on the sofa, letting her legs fall apart. He still sat at her feet his eyes rivetted on the new sight the parting or her thighs had offered to his gaze.
There, nestling deep in the clustered curls, was the pink gash of her luscious cunt. Framed by the black hair of her triangle on the full clefted curve of her plump bottom cheeks on the lower side, it poused prettily, the lips parted just enough to show the glistening moistness of the softness within.
"There it is," she said, "what you were thinking of when you played with yourself. Look at it! What do you want to do with it now that it's yours?"
She put the first two fingers of her right hand between her thighs.
He watched her, fascinated.
She gently parted the lips of her vagina so that he could see farther into its' pink softness. With the forefinger of her other hand she softly tippled the tiny erect clitorus that sprang like a fairy pink acorn just inside the top of her slit.
"That's where it's nice to be toucher," she said.
He stretched out his hand. She stopped him. "Later," she said. "I want to see more of you, first!"
She sat up on the sofa and reached towards his belt. She fumbled with it for a moment.
"It's as bad as my bra!" she laughed. He helped her and the belt fell to the floor.
"Stand up," she said.
He stood up and she began to unbutton his flies. Hi's trousers were distorted by the jut of his horn and she grasped it through the cloth of the trousers. She smiled sensually as she felt him leap into rigidity.
His trousers were undone to the last button, but she held them up for a moment. She looked up into his eyes and then, with a swift french, tore them down his slim legs.
"Oh, isn't it lovely!" she gasped.
His prick jutted from the slit in his trunks like a thin white bar of ivory, round and strongly curved... his nob a splash of crimson that showed off the virgin whiteness of the stem itself to exciting advantage. Hel eyes blazed with longing. "I mustn't touch it," she breathed, "or I'll have it in my mouth and suck you to your balls are empty."
"Oh, Margaret, I'll shall let it go if you talk like that!" cried Tony.
"Don't you dare!" she warned him.
Carefully she pulled the elastic of his trunk tops away from his belly. Slowly she pulled them down, making certain that his penis cleared the slit and the rest of the trunks. She swiftly cleared them down his leg and he stepped out of them. She ran her hands down the outside of his thighs.
"Have always thought a prick looked nice jutting out from under a shirt," she said.
She slipped her hands between his thighs and gently parted them.
The backs of her hands slowly moved up his thighs until they were near his tight balls. Suddenly she cupped them in her hands and he quivered into rigidity. She moved his shirt aside and looked at his trembling cock.
"You've got a bit of hair!" she smiled. He looked down at his sparse bush.
"It's not bad, really. Some of the chaps haven't got as much."
"I love every hair there!" she said, putting her hand on his penis, gently bending it down and kissing the soft hair above it.
Her hand still cupped his balls. "Aren't they full? Do they get soft when your stuff comes out?"
He nodded. "A bit. I'm frightened it'll come out now if you're not careful."
Will it come out if I kiss it?"
"If you kiss it?" he gasped, incredulously.
She didn't reply. Instead she lowered her lips to the red nob of the delicately curved penis. She opened them and took his prick firmly in her hand. Then, with a sudden movement, she took his slenderness deep in her mouth, her tongue laving his nob with burning caresses. revealing the swollen smoothness of the nob and the ridge at its base.
She toyed thus with it for a few moments until a fixity of gaze and shuddering warned her to be careful.
"Put it into me, darling!" she cried.
He awkwardly lowered himself until his belly touched hers. She writhed as she felt the warm touch of his balls on her inner thighs.
She slipped her hand between her thighs and took his slender white cock gently to the hair-bound lips of her quim.
She rubbed the nob up and down the length of her gash for a moment and then carefully inserted him. He poised for a moment, merely nob deep in her. "Come on!" she cried, and slipped her hands
He cried out aloud and buried his hands in her hair in a paroxysm of passion.
"Oh, Margaret... Margaret! It'll come in your mouth!"
"Don't let it," she mumbled, his nob still between her lips. "I want is up me for that." "Oh, I'll try not to."
But as a precaution against this she contented herself with gentle running her tongue over his crimson helmet while her hand kneaded his tight scrotum.
Suddenly she could bear it no longer. With a sharp cry she flung herself on to the thick astrakhan rug before the fire. She made an entrancing picture lying their in her abandon... naked apart for the suspender belt that still encircled her waist and her stockings which still sheathed her shapely legs.
She flung her knees up and opened her thighs wide.
"Come on!" she ground out from between, clenched teeth. "Come into me, Tony! Come into me, darling!"
He moved over her hands and she caught him behind the knees.
They buckled and he fell beside her. Her hand worked over his stiffness, savouring it's hardness and it's burning warmth.
"Get on top of me," whispered..
He straddled her, a knee on either side of her. He was poised above her, his cock jutting up along the line of his flat belly.
She took it in her hand and pressed the skin back over his mount.
"Isn't it lovely," she said. "I always think it's prettier than a woman's!"
"I don't!" he said, promptly.
She smiled and pressed the skin even farther back, on his penis and his eyes closed in ecstasy as he felt the burning drag of her quim on his throbbing nob.
He drew it out again, instinctively allowing the end to work against her clitorus, and then plunged it in again till the very root of it was pressed into the gaping lips of her fanny, while his balls swung and smacked on her pouting bottom cheeks.
"Oh, that's it," she shrieked. "Pull it out and work it against my lips."
He did as he was bid and was rewarded by the disturbing result of only barely able to keep his cock in her, writhe and plunge and twist as she did.
He took the hardness of his nob almost out of her, then pushed it against the top apex of her lips and tormented her helmet with little pushes and stabs.
"Oh, where did you learn this, you little devil?" she cried, writhing and bucking under the treatment.
"The girls like it when I wank them like this... so I thought.."
"Go on! Go on!" she yelped, driving her hot sheath up over his white hardness.
She was frantic that his lack of experience would precipitate his orgasm. This, however, was sheer around his buttocks and pulled him down on to her. Her thighs were wide and for a moment he sank right between them.
He cried out as his penis sank into the burning pink maw of his mistress, driving his foreskin back and subjecting his soft tenderness beneath it to the fiery caress of her contracting cunt walls.
She, in turn, threw back her head and a long moan of satisfied bliss dribbled from her lips as she arched to the first stroke of his long, slender lance.
She still held his buttocks, keeping his prick in her, savouring every centimetre, of it from his blood gorged nob to the thick root. His balls felt like two hot nuts as they fell against her bottom cheeks.
"Oh, you're in me, at last!" she cried. "Now, fuck me... fuck me!"
He tentatively withdrew, his cock until only his mount neestled between the tight wet lips of her hairy quim. Then, with a violent heave of his haunches, he sent his burning lance deep into her pulsing fanny.
She groaned and arched to meet the fierce thrust of him. The walls of her cunt were thrust wide as his pirck reached into the hot secret depths of her ring, and softly tippled her very cervix.
She contracted hel belly and threw her stockinged legs up and around his waist, locking her feet behind him.
The contraction of her belly created a fierce suction ignorance on her part for he experienced woman delights in what are commonly called "Cock-Virgins" for the very reason that excitement, tension and inexperience all combine to delay the ejaculation. And so it was with Tony.
In and out of her writhing quim he plunged, seeking out the deep softness of her tight places and making his sparse pubic hair kiss her's on very stroke into her.
Anticipating each thrust into her to a fraction of a second, she reared her bottom from the rug and arched her trembling boddy up to meet his descending fury. Her hands tore at his shoulders and then at his hips and then at his hard, naked buttocks.
At each stroke end when their pubes kissed there was a delightful smacking sound as his hard, flat chest slapped her luscious tits together and made him frantically conscious of her nipples, diging into him like tiny, burning, fleshy daggers!
She was beginning to approach her climax now, although in his own excitement he was unaware of this.
Moaning in her mad abandon, she flung her haunches up to meet each surging drive of his flesh, savouring every inch as it pierced her throbbing cunt like a dagger of burning flesh.
"Faster! Faster!" she screamed, "I'm coming! Make me come... oh make me come!"
He hardly knew what this meant, or at least, was not really capable for nowing anything except the clinging, burning walls of her vital cunt, sucking at his nob like a thousand hungry, avid mouths.
He drove his prick into her madly now, almost with a conscious desire to stab her and hurt her with each furious stroke.
She began a regular, moaning sob... still bucking her fanny up to meet the bite of his cock. Her eyes were closed and her head was thrown up and she pushed her quim up to swallow all the prick he could offer her. Her titties slapped together and danced in a mad erotic jiggle.
The pace of their loving had increased now until Tony's buttocks were almost a blur as they flashed down between her writhing thighs.
She suddenly gave a vivid scream that rang through the quiet house.
Startled, he momentarily paused in his stroke. She yelled in anguish and gripped his buttocks, her nails sinking into the hard cheeks, and pulled him violently down on to her, causing his cock to rip into her with such violence that it seemed to stab into her veren vitals.
She gave a shrill scream of lust and seized his hips and worked him in and out of her for a few violent strokes, then her legs sagged back to the rug and her head fell sideways and her tits danced to her loboured breathing.
"Spunk into me!" she moaned. "Come right up into me! I want to feel it all hot in me! Fill me up with your come!"
He worked himself into her, the memory of the swift flush of her spunk as she had ejaculated, hot in his mind. He feld his balls tense and in a mad frenzy of movement he plunged his hot penis in and out of her burning wetness.
Suddenly he paused on an outward stroke, his nob just inside the lips of her grotto. Then with a guttural groan, he sank his prick in her softness to the very hilt. Their hair kissed... his balls slapped her bottom and she reared to meet the gush of come that spurted from his rigid tool deep into the soft cavern of her furry nest.
She gripped his buttocks tightly as he gently eased his prick in and out of her, squeezing the last of his seed into her ravenous, dilated quim.
As his motions died to nothingness and he collapsed exhaustedly on her round belly, she locked her hands around his hard buttocks.
She softly wriggled her hips and her cunt soothed his burning, dying horn with sensitive, appreciative massage.
"Wasn't that lovely, darling?" she asked, softly.
He nodded. He couldn't speak.
"Did you have a big come? It feels as if you did. I'm all sticky with it. It's lovely."
"Marvellous!" he panted. "I've never felt anything like it."
"Belter than wanking your little girls?" she laughed.
He smiled and nodded. "I'll say!"
"I felt it come into me," she hissed. "It was like a jet of hot milk. When you take it out it'll come out and run down my thighs!"
"It'll be out in a minute," he said. "I can feel it slipping."
She held him tighter. "I want it to stay in as long as it can. I shall feel lonely and empty when it's gone!
They kept their mounts together but slowly and inexorably his now limp penis began to slip from the clenched, striving lips of his lovely mistress. She held her thighs tight together but suddenly, with a soft, delicious sound, he slipped out of her hotness.
They smiled at each other and she kissed him passionately.
"It even feels nice resting on my thighs!" she smiled.
"I love you!" he cried, kissing her madly.
"Do you?" she sighed. "I suppose I love you, or wouldn't have you lying naked on top of me with my legs wet from your love. But is it love, or do we just like doing this?"
"I love you!" he repeated, kissing her hard breasts and taking her nipples into his mouth and tickling them with his tongue.
She wriggled.
"I could most certainly love you," she said. "But you're young, there'll be others. I expect that it'll just be my lot to teach you!" She kissed him.
"What would your husband say?" he asked, suddenly.
She shrugged and they laughed as his balls slipped between her legs at the movement.
"Do you care what he'd say! Anyway, don't let's talk about him."
"Is he cruel to you?" asked Tony.
"Of course not. Don't let's talk about him."
"All right. I... I say, Margaret."
"Yes, darling?"
"I think... I think it's getting hard again!" She slipped her hand between them and felt his not, sticky tool.
My goodness, what a man! I think it isF
He blushed. "If you play with it it will get hard again,' 'he said.
"Then I'll soon fix that!" she laughed.
She moved him off her and he lay beside her. She took his warm softness in her hand began to ease his foreskin back and forth over his nob.
"Yes, it is getting stiff again!" she cried in delight.
He smiled and dipped his finger into her wet quim.
"Aren't you sticky," he said.
"Most of it's yours," she laughed.
They played with each other for a few moments.
Suddenly they were struck into rigidity by the sound of a door opening. They both sat bolt upright.
Margaret's hand shot out for something to cover herself but it was too late.
There, standing in the door way was Agnes. Beside her stood a young boy of perhaps seventeen, dark, handsome and with a calm, insolent face and thick fleshy lips.
"Christ?" gasped Agnes.
"Pardon us!" said the boy.
CHAPTER FIVE
Margaret was vaguely conscious of screaming. "Get out! Get out!" But the next thing she really remembered was being in her dress and dazedly watching Tony thrust his shirt into the tops of his trousers.
"Oh, my God!" she whispered.
"That Ernest... he's a swine, too," groaned Tony.
"Does he... does he talk?" asked Margaret.
"Talk? He never stops!" cried Tony, buttoning up his flies.
"Why didn't I lock all the doors?" moaned Margaret. "That would at least have given us a few moments to straighten ourselves before they came in."
She was naked beneath her dress. She had stuffed her knickers, her brassiere and slip behind the cushious on the sofa.
Agnes and her escort, the unpleasant looking Ernest, had been expelled to the kitchen and Margaret realis ed that it was tacitly understood that some explanation would he forthcoming from her, though what explanation there could be, other than the true one, she was at loss to imagine.
"What are we going to say to them?" asked Tony, lis mind obviously being in the same line of country.
"What can we say to them?" she asked, savagely. They saw what we were doing."
"Did they?" queried Tony. "Do they actually see us... well... you know!"
"Actually fucking?" almost snarled Margaret. 'Perhaps they didn't but they did see me stroking four prick and if they could see my thighs right now they woudn't have much doubt as to what it is running down them. I'm as sticky as..." She paused, seeing Tony's despondent face. "They're sticky and I love it!" She said, kissing his cheek. She sighed. "Oh, well what can't be cured... I suppose we'll have to ace them. I think I can rely on Agnes. You say this Ernest is a little beast."
"He's girl mad, if that's any help!" snapped Tony. "He's always in trouble with girls. One girl's father gave him a hiding. He put the girl in the... well, they thought she was going to have a baby."
"That might help!" cried Margaret. "Oh, just a minute. I'll have to put my drawers on, 'Im leaking gallons! Excuse me."
He watched as she slipped her knickers up her exquisite, tapering thighs and snuggled them around her pouting buttocks. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the gleam of the light on her lovewet thinghs. She smiled and slipped a tiny handkerchief into the crutch of the knickers. "That'll keep it in for the moment! I only hope your seed isn't as strong as your horn was!"
"Yes. If what you say about Ernest is true,' 'she continued, "it may be that Agnes brought him back her for just the reason that I brought you here."
"You didn't bring me here. I came myself," said Tony.
"That's what you think," smiled Margaret. "Well, we'd better face them."
Tony gulped and followed her is she crossed the room to the door.
Even in the stress of this situation his penis stirred as he watched the graceful sway of her full bottom as she walked across the room and as his eyes slipped down to her peerless calves the memory of them behind his back almost overcame him.
He was close to her as she paused to open the door. He slipped the edge of his hand between her bittocks and sawed it gently up and down. She stopped and turned.
"Oh, darling,' 'she whispered, "what as mess we've made of it... and we've only made love once."
She kissed him, and he slipped his hand inside her dres and felt the hard hillock of her lovely breasts.
"I don't care," he said. "I don't care at all. All
I know is that I love you... I love you! I don't even care if your husband finds out."
"We'll talk about later," she said. "You'll realise that what you're saying now is absolute madness!"
She kissed him again and opened the door.
They walked across to the kitchen and she hesitated for a moment and then opened the door and went in, her head high, if not exactly proudly!
Agnes was making some coffee and Ernest was sitting at the kitchen table drumming his fingers thoughtfully on it.
Agnes turned. "Oh, hullo, madam."
"I'm annoyed at the way you came back tonight, Agnes," said Margaret, trying to instill an honest indignation into her voice.
"I bet you are!" observed Ernest, roughly, from the table.
"I wasn't speaking to you," said Margaret.
"I was speaking to you," said Ernest.
Before she could stop him, Tony had pushed past her and got to Ernest. He grabbed him by his coat and dragged him to his feet. He was quite as big as Ernest and possibly heavier.
"Watch what you're saying, Ernest," he hissed, "or I'll bust you on the nose! If you fancy our chances just come outside."
Ernest pulled himself sullenly free. "Fine way to behave when you're caught chavering!" he sneered.
Tony's fists came up and Ernest planked himself clown in the chair and put his hand in his blazer pocket.
"All right... all right!" he snapped. "Take it easy. Your precious secret is safe with me. I won't say anything."
"You'd better not," said Agnes, "or you'll have me to deal with... and don't think I couldn't handle you; What I couldn't do with my hands I'd do with a hammer. And just don't think I'm kidding!"
"You're so righteous," snarled Ernest. "Why did you bring me here?"
Margaret looked at Agnes.
Agnes shrugged. "I told you I was a sucker for these kids," she said. "I didn't realise what a little louse 'Id picked up, though."
"You brought him here; to my house... for... for that?" asked Margaret.
"No... at least, I didn't intend doing anything with him here. I just asked him in for a coffee."
"You'd have got something else beside coffee," grinned Ernest, unpleasantly.
"I'd have got what I wanted!" snapped Agnes. "I've had real grown men try things with me I didn't want... and still gone home with my drawers on!"
Ernest seemed to make a decision. He rose to his feet. "Look here," he said. "I'm a man of the world. I say jolly good luck to Tony here and Mrs... Mrs..." "Peterson," said Margaret.
"To you, Mrs. Peterson. I don't care what you two've done or what else you're going to do. All I care about is myself. I picked up Agnes here..." "You what?" gasped Agnes.
"Well, all right, we picked each other up. Anyway. I like a game as well as anyone and what I want to know is what are we going to do? Not just sit around rowing and drinking coffee... I hope!"
Margaret and Agnes exchanged looks.
"This is terrible!" groaned Margaret.
"Pretty rough, isn't?" agreed Agnes. "Mrs Peterson, why... why did you do it?"
It was on the tip of Margaret's tongue to say, "I don't know." But she was suddenly very conscious that Tony's eyes were upon her.
"Because I wanted to," she said. "Because I wanted to... desperately. That's why."
"Oh," said Agnes. "Oh, well, it's your business. It doesn't matter with me 'cos I'm not married. I always thought you and Mr. Peterson were very happy together."
She poured the coffee into several cups she had arranged on the table.
"In some ways Mr. Peterson and I are not suited to each other," offered Margaret, unhappily aware that her cheeks were crimson. "But I don't really want to discuss my husband."
Ernest picked up one of the cups. "Is this sugared?" he asked.
"Help yourself,' said Agnes, grimly, pushing him the sugar howl.
"I see Mrs. Peterson's point of view perfectly," continued Ernest, sipping his coffee.
Stupidly, Margaret asked, "Do you really?"
Ernest looked at his coffee. "Yes," he said, slowly. "You don't want to discuss your husband. And you don't want him to find out what you've been up to. I quite see your point."
"Are you trying to be funny again?" asked Tony, belligerently.
"No, I'm not. I do see Margaret's point. Why shouldn't she have a bit of fun? She isn't the first married woman not to be satisfied with her husband."
"You know too much for your age, young fellerme-lad," remarked Agnes. She looked at her mistress. "That isn't what you meant when you said that you don't get on with the master in some ways, is it?" she asked.
Wishing the ground could open and swallow her, Margaret nodded.
"I'm afraid it's something like that," she admitted.
"Well, it's your business," said Agnes, "Can't say I'd mind if he made a ass at me... real good looking, I call him."
"You might not be satisfied with him if he did made a pass at you, as you call it," snapped Margaret despite herself.
Ernest stood up and walked around the table.
It was obvious later that this manouver was to get the table between himself and Tony.
'This doesn't help me," he said. "I came her for a bit of fun and run into a domestic scene... at least, that's what the Sunday papers call this sort of thing. Why can't we act grown up about this? I suggest we discuss it like sophisticated people."
Margaret looked at him. It was strange to see a hoy of seventeen so poised.
"I suggest we make the best of what can be... if we're not babies... a very interesting situation," he said, sipping his coffee.
"Will you listen to him?" asked Agnes, in mocking admiration.
"Why don't you?" asked Ernest.
"What were you going to say?" asked Margaret.
"Just that we go on as we were going to do anyway." He looked at Margaret. "Whatever I've seen is dead as far as I'm concerned and I shan't expect any interference between her and me."
"Less of the 'er'," growled Agnes. "Anyway, what makes you think I want anything else to do with you?"
"So," grinned Ernest, "I just go home to my tent like a good boy?"
"That's what you'll do if I tell you to," promised Agnes, grimly.
"That, my girl, is what you think." He looked at Tony. "You'd better watch how you behave, you big idiot," he said, and, as Tony made a move to round the table, added, quickly, "Because if I have any trouble with you I promise you... may I drop dead right now... I'll see her husband knows what's being going on."
Tony placed a hand on the table to vault it but Margaret grabbed his arm.
"Tony!" she cried, "Don't touch him!"
"I'll smash him!" roared Tony. "You'll smash nobody!" jeered Ernest, now assured of Margaret's belief in his threat. "If you touch me her husband'll know, or I'm a Dutchman. And there's another thing." He nodded his head in satisfied resolution. "I came up here with her for a bit of fun." His voice in real indignation. "And just because you two are up to your games and we catch you I'm not going to get anything? I should say so!"
He glared at each of them in turn. "D'you call that fair? Why shouldn't I have my fun? You two have had yours."
"I suppose I haven't a say in the matter?" asked Agnes, grimly.
"D'you want me to go? You seemed keen enough about me when you brought me up here. D'you remember asking me if I could raise six inches? Eh? D'you remember that?"
Agnes blushed briefly and then chuckled. "That's true," she admitted, "But you've turned out to be quite a little bastard since then."
"All right!" snarled Ernest. "You asked me whether you'd got a say in the matter... well, you haven t!"
"Oh no! It'll be me cuffing you in a minute," warned Agnes.
"Yes? Try it!" jeered Ernest.
"Just a minute," said Margaret. "What are you trying to say?"
"This," said Ernest. "I came all the way up here to get her drawers down and if they don't come down... well, you'll wish you'd never met me."
"We wish that already!" shouted Agnes.
"I'll kill you!" roared Tony, lunging at Ernest.
Ernest whipped around the table. "Keep him off!" he yelled to Margaret. "So help me... I'll split to your husband if you don't keep him off."
"This is blackmail," breathed Margaret, holding her hand before Tony.
Ernest nodded, "There's no other word for it!" he agreed. "But I'm not blackmailling you. All I want is what I came here for... and that's to do to her what h's just done to you." He looked at her and grinned. "But if you'd like to be blackmailed..."
He left the remark unfinished.
Margaret cleared her mind of the last remnants of her conscience rubbish. What could she do? Did it really matter to her if this strange and terrible boy made love to Agnes? She had to admit that it didn't. On the other hand did she mind if Gerald found out about her affair with Tony?
She had to admit in haste she did mind... and mind very much.
She made another effort to clear her mind of the last traces of emotional prejudice. What the boy said was, in essence, fair enough. He had come to the house to make love to Agnes. Why should her having been making love to Tony be allowed to interfere with that? There was no valid, logical reason that she could think of.
She looked at Agnes. It must be rather hard to expect to lay a girl like Agnes and have anything come in the way. Men had plunged nations into flames over desire for a woman. It was asking rather much of a sexy little devil like Ernest to forgo the pleasure of bouncing on the belly of a girl like Agnes... and particularly when there had been no doubt of his success... because he had, through no fault of his own, come across another pair at their sport.
She sighed. The only real doubt she had as to what she should do... or rather allow Agnes to do... was whether Ernest would keep his silence.
This was a big doubt. She looked at Ernest.
"You know that if you told my husband it could ruin my life and Tony's life, too!" she asked.
Ernest nodded brightly. "Oh, quite!" he grinned.
"And you'd do it?"
"I certainly don't want to. Look, all I want is a bit of fun. I'll be frank. It isn't often a kid my age gets a chance at anything like you two... or Agnes, anyway."
"You said 'you two'" remarked Margaret.
"Well, whether you want anything to do with me is up to you. Agnes had already agreed... and I think she's a smasher. As I say, I don't get the chance to having anyone like her very often."
"Doesn't he say the sweetest things?" asked Agnes, but Margaret could see that she was mollified.
"Now come on," said Ernest. "Why don't we face facts and all have some fun instead of standing around here arguing with faces as long as wet weeks? Let's go in where there's a fire. It's jolly cold in here, I can tell you." He put his hand around Agnes and cupped her lefst breast. She knecked it awayafter a moment reflection! It seemed to Margaret that the situation was getting well out of hand, but rather than further struggle against the inevitability that events seemed to be showing she decided to try and ride her luck... to see whether or not some kind of comfortable order could be wrought out of the dangerous chaos her affair with Tony seemed to be engulfing her in.
She closed her eyes tiredly for a moment. What a preposterous situation for the wife of a rising young barrister to find herself in... what tragedy it could lead to, both for her and Tony.
"All right," she said, at last. "Let's go into the lounge."
"That's better," chuckled Ernest, gulping the remains of his coffee.
"Nothing's better for you... as yet. And don't forget it," warned Agnes.
"We'll see! Come on!"
Margaret led the way into the lounge. Almost automatically she walked over to the sideboard and poured herself a very large brandy... as large, if not larger, than she had ever had.
She drank half of it and turned.
"Oh," she said, "would anyone else like anything?
Tony shook his head. Ernest walked over to her. "Wouldn't mind a glass of wine. What's this? Port?"
"Yes."
She watched him pour out a good measure.
"There's very little you don't indulge in, is there?" she smiled despite herself.
"No! Believe in enjoying myself. We're only here once. That's the way I look at it. Don't you want anything Agnes?"
Agnes looked at Margaret. "I think I'll have a drop of brandy," she said. It's been quite an evening."
Margaret poured her one and she sipped it. She made a face. "Ugh! Don't know how people can really like this stuff."
Margaret sat on the sofa. Tony stood awkwardly at one end of it and looked at her in miserable longing.
He could see the shadowed cleft between her breasts and he was very aware that but for the interuption of the detestable Ernest he would have been at some fresh love-play with her.
Wait till he got this Ernest somewhere he could deal with him without interference!
Ernest sat himself in a chair and regarded Margaret with approval. Tony clenched his fists as he saw his eyes wandering from her lush calves up to where her full breasts heaved out the organdie of her dress. He could have killed him when he licked his lips.
"Course, the trouble with your generation," observed Ernest, smugly "is that they want security in verything they do. Now my generation..."
"Leave me out of this!" warned Tony.
"Willingly, old man! The thing about most of my generation is that they've grown up to believe that the first thing to do about good looking girls is to get them to bed. We all think the same... he does too..." With a jerk of his thumb towards Tony, "The difference is he does it under the 'I'm a nice boy... I'd be very grateful for a spot of love act,' while I put my cards on the table. My attitude is that if the girl's older than me she probably jolly well fancies a bit of young cock and I don't blame her and I'm always ready to oblige. I say, this is damned decent port. Can help myself to another?"
Margaret nodded.
"Isn't he wonderful?" laughed Agnes. "If he's as good in bed as he is sitting in a chair talking about in he might be worth a trial bounce, at that!"
Ernest, pouring himself another generous measure of port turned and grinned at her.
"There's only one way to check that!"
Margaret was heartily ashamed to admit to herself that the same thought that has struck Agnes had occured to her, too!
Ernest reseated himself and crossed his legs.
"Will you look at him," chouted Agnes. "He's like some old toff talking about the girls he's laid in the last twenty years. I'd like to bet that he's had more girls in his right hand than he's over had in bed!"
This thrust must have gone home for the smile faded from Ernest's face and for the first time since his arrival in the lounge Tony's face broke into his usual grin.
"You'd win, too!" he laughed.
"All right," snapped Ernest. "I suppose you two only ever go to bed to sleep... I'm not the only wanker in this room... and I'll lay odds on thas."
"Can't you keep a decent tongue in your head?" asked Tony.
"It's true. Anyway. I won't be doing it tonight. "You hope!" said Agnes.
"I know!" retorted Ernest. "Come over here, gorgeous, and sit on my lap. You might learn some thing to your advantage, as the lawyers say!"
"I'm a good mind to take him at his word," grinned Agnes, swallowing the rest of her brandy with a shudder.
"Come on!" teased Ernest, his eyes sparkling from the effects of the port.
Agnes looked at Margaret. Margaret shrugged. "Do as you like," she said.
"I'll try hint," grinned Agnes, and walked over and sat on Ernest's lap.
Margaret didn't know whether to be frightened, horrified, disgusted or more reasonably, resigned. If anyone had told her twenty four hours before that she would be sitting sipping brandy with her thighs wet from the attentions of a lover of fifteen while her maid sat on the lap of a precocious boy of seventeen while the expressed intention of investigating the quality of his erection, she would have had attention drawn to the prophet's sanity.
But there it was... there they were... sitting in her lounge and even as she watched, beginning their love play. Ernest's arm was around Agnes and he was fondling her breasts. As she bent to kiss him, Margaret rose and went over and poured herself another stiff brandy. She looked at the pair on the chair. Ernest's hand was now deep up Agne's skirt and Agnes was giggling with delight.
She tossed off her drink and poured another. This was one way that she might get through the evening!
She walked back to the sofa. Tony still stood at the end of it, face miserable and eyeing Agnes and Ernest with disfavour.
The brandy was beginning to relax her.
"Oh do come and sit down, Tony," she almost snapped. "We've got to make the best of a bad job." She patted the sofa beside her and Tony sat down.
They both looked over to the chair opposite. Ernest was smathering Agnes's flushed face with kisses while his hand investigated the warm charms of her thighs.
"Look at them!" breathed Tony. He sounded shocked.
Margaret sipped a drop more of her brandy. A delicious lightness was beginning to steal over her... an abandoned air that suggested that she had been taking a too severe appraisal of the situation.
"Agnes looks as if she is enjoying herself," she smiled.
Agnes heard her and turned her head.
"I am... he's quite a boy, our Ernest," she giggled. "Stop it!" she yelled, as Ernest's hand dived further than before.
"She wouldn't like it if I did!" shouted Ernest, renewing his delving up her skirt.
Tony, despite himself, couldn't keep his eyes from the white flash of Agnes's thighs above her stockings as she made her token struggle against the attentions of Ernest.
A sudden wild kick showed her legs to the crutch.
There was a flash of colour and Margaret leaned towards him.
"Red knickers!" she whipered.
"I didn't see," replied Tony.
"Much!" laughed Margaret. "Oh, well, I suppose thing's will turn out all right. Oh, Lord, what would Gerald say?" For some reason this self proposed question amused her and she threw back her head and went off into peals of falmost ysterical laughter.
Tony looked at her in wonder. Even Ernest looked up. "Good for Margaret!" her yelled. "She'll be the life of the party yet."
"Why are you laughing like this?" asked Ton.
She laid her hand on his knee. "It is rather funny, after all," she said. "I bring you home here for a quiet evening of smooch and my maid and her boy friend finish up making whoopee in my lounge. But what's extra funny is that I say 'Good luck to them!'"
Tony looked at the almost empty glass in her hand and vaguely realised for the first time the effects of alcohol on the basic morality.
Ernest roared his approval. "Atta girl! Oh boy, what an orgy we could have up here with the other. This room'd look really lived in with half o dozen of the boys and girls chavering all over the floor!"
"What a wonderful idea!" cried Margaret, putting her now empty glass down on the floor. She threw her arms around Tony's neck.
"Why don't we do that? Wouldn't those poor. wet, cold little camper friends of yours prefer to come up here and make love in comfort rather than roll around on a macintosh groundsheet? I gotta idea... let's ask them."
"Some other time," gasped Ernest, fresh from his delightful labour of kissing Agnes's throat.
"Margaret!" breathed Tony. "Are you...?"
"Drunk?" interjected Margaret. "No... but I wouldn't mind if I were. What's the matter with you? Shy? Look at them. They don't mind that we're watching them. Why should we mind? Come on, darling... make love to me."
"He's played out after one sission," roared Ernest. "Come on Tony, get her drawers down! I'm having Agnes's down!"
"Oh, are you?" giggled Agnes, following this query with a shriek as Ernest's hand dived up her clothes. In her struggle she slipped, head foremost, from the chair so that her haunches and legs remained on Ernest's lap while her head and shoulders were on the floor. This placed her at some considerable defensive disadvantage, to say the least of it.
"Stop it!" she screamed, as Ernest's hand groped up past her warm plump thighs to her knicker legs.
"Oh, look at them!" breathed Margaret, her body tense with excitement.
Tony looked and, without being really aware of it, his hand slipped into the loose top of Margaret's dress and he kneaded her hard tits as he watched the adventurous Ernest gain the ascendancy in his battle for Agnes's knickers!
With a quick movement, Ernest slipped between Agne's thighs.
He could thus imprison one of her legs under each arm, much as in a wrestling hold known to fans as The Boston Crab'. Her mid-calves thus secure under his arms it left the fore part of the arms and therefore the hands, free to grope the top of her knickers.
Agnes's writhed and struggled and screamed as she felt his fingers slip into the top of her drawers. Tony halted his lascivious attentions to Margaret's rearing titties as he watched in fascination the delicious scene that Agnes's token struggle was producing. Legs flashing... the white of her delicious thighs plumped over the stocking tops by the tightness of them... and haunches writhing, she fought to maintain her drawers around her full hips.
It was difficult for Tony to decide whether her struggles were real or assumed. He decided for the latter!
He suddenly stiffened and looked down at his flies. Margaret, in her excitement, was groping at his flies. She undid them and slid her cool hand in around his genitals. His balls tightened and his already stiff cock rose to the last millimetre of length and his crimson mount deepened in colour as feverish blood pumped into it.
Her hand began to slid up and down the white pilar. come!
"You dare!" she gasped, easing the speed of her strokes to a gentle, titillating sweep that delicately bared his helmet by pushing the tight foreskin down not quite to the glans.
They watched with caught breath as Agnes's knickers reached her knees. This was as far as they could be drawn owing her legs being under Ernest's arms.
He grinned and suddenly released one leg. In a swift reaction that he must have anticipated, she bent guarded.
She could do nothing about retaining her knickers around her loins now. Despite her struggles, the panting Ernest, his face aflame with desire and port, worked them inexorably down her lovely thighs. There was a harsh sound of ripping material and Margaret's hand went faster up and down the throbbing column of Tony's aching prick.
He grabbed her wrist. "Careful" he cried. "I'll in protecting the actual gash that lay buried between her thighs she could not also cover the riot of glorious blond curls that lay like a triangle of gold from the cleft of her thighs to half-way to her navel.
The curls peeped from between and around her clutching fingers like threads of gold gossamer, hinting of the warm soft secrets they so prettily
"Margaret!" he breathed.
She stopped rubbing him for a moment. "Surely you won't come again just for this?" she smiled. ''Look at them, pay no attention to me. He's getting her knickers down. Look, you can see her fanny!"
Tony gulped and turned his attention to the other two.
Feeling her knickers sliding down over her hips. Agnes had thrust both her hands over her pube. But the leg and Ernest, still retaining the other, hooked the leg of her knickers over the free foot and was thereby left with his mission mainly accomplished.
He grabbed Agnes's other leg and imprioned it again.
"There, what are you going to do now, my beauty?" he laughed, grimly.
"You're not in yet!" rejoined Agnes.
"The little edvil!" breathed Margaret. "He could rape a woman!"
Tony looked at her eager, burning eyes. He then looked down at his penis, stil encircled by Margaret's white finger... but fingers that were now still. He looked again at her face and his heart sank and in that instant took anew appraisal of the situation between himself and his lovely mistress.
In that instant he knew that he was no especially chosen instrument that Margaret's want of love had made her chose from all men to be something that her life needed. He was just an instrument. In the final analysis, of no more basic value than a candle... or perhaps, to give himself some value, a beautifully wrought dil-dol with which she could assuage her fierce sexuality. As at that moment he knew that she could never really love him he knew just a surely that he could never love her. Always would be the memory of how she had said, '...he could rape a woman!' He knew that she had a that moment wished that it was herself that Ernest was tearing the knickers from... it had been in the timbre of every syllable of every word, this stark truth. And as Tony realised it he felt a sense of relief. Now he could settle down and enjoy this affair purely for how it felt to his balls, for it was quite obvious that she would admit him to her belly whenever her thighs ached for him but for what her heart ached for she would never find for it probably didn't exist.
Tony, needless to say, didn't put this proposition to himself in quite the manner of the above.
He objectified all .this realisation with a boyish phrase. 'All she wants is what we've done on the rug just now... and she jolly well wouldn't care much whether it was me, or Ernest or the milkman who was doing it, just so long as it was done. Well, if that's all she wants...!'
His hand slipped up her dress and his fingers pressed the lace net of her knicker crutch into the softness of her lovewet gash.
He kissed her neck.
"Oh, look at them!" she breathed.
His eyes followed hers.
While he had been speculating on the reality of what he and Margaret meant to each other, Ernest had been about more cogent and practical business!
His penis was out, jutting in dark arched fury from his flies. A few moments before Tony would have been desolated by Margaret's next remark.
"Isn't it a beauty?"
"It's had enough exercise!" replied Tony, quite resigned to the fact that it was hardly likely to be long before Margaret sampled the thickness of it!
Agnes was madly trying to to turn her loins so as to present her rump as a target for Ernest's seeking, probing fingers.
He was either too strong for her, or, as Tony and Margaret suspected, her heart wasn't in her defence. Suddenly be slipped from the edge of the chair and forced his body above the hips between her thighs, thrusting them wide apart.
She flung her hands up to his shoulders and began to push and pummel him.
This left her lower belly open to the gaze of Ton)' and Margaret and it is difficult to decide who was the keenest and most interested observer.
It was almost mechanically now that Margaret frotted the proud head of Tony's stalk. Her whole attention was rivetted on the pink slit that glistened deep in the golden bush or the squirming Agnes, who, thighs writhing, was trying to escape the approaching prick of Ernest.
"Doesn't she look lovely... struggling like that? breathed Margaret. "Go on, Ernest, push it into her... sprunk up into her!"
This last injunction was in a loud, shrill voice that made Tony jump.
He looked at her. Her hand was now stil on his cock. Her eyes were ablaze with the fury of her excitement and her whole body was shuddering. He smiled to himself as he realised that this was not because he had moved the tiny strip of her knickers at her crutch aside and that two of his fingers were deep in her hot stickiness.
"Get it into her!" she cried, and then, perversly, "Try and stop him, Agnes!'
"Would you try and stop him?" cried Agnes.
Margaret laughed. She looked at Tony. "It is almost as good as a rape, isn't it?"
Tony, not caring much either way, being more interested in the delights to come when he himself was again buried to the hilt in her, nodded.
"Look at his lovely big thing!" hissed Margaret, involuntarily looking down at the slender white rod that nestled in her hand.
"And mine?" asked Toimy, kissing her neck.
"Oh, it's lovely, too. Slender and strong and I want it up me in a minute... right up into me till it hurts. But let's watch them. Oh, Tony, I want to see him come into her!
Tony smiled and busied himself with working his fingers in and out of her pulsing quim.
He could feel her fanny flesh bulging out to meet the thrust of his fingers and her thighs gripped hotly on his wrist. He washed her mouth with burning kisses and thrust his tongue deep into it while his free hand cupped and weighed the luscious warmth of her firm tits.
Ernest now had Agnes completely helpless. He was on his knees between her thighs and his quivering cock was inches of her gash, gaping between her spreadeagled thighs.
"Now what are you going to do?" he cried. "I can put it in when ever I want to."
Agnes raised her head, and looked at the blood gorged mount poised at the lucious golden haired portals of her vagina.
She shuddered and looked up into Ernest's face. Then, with a shrill squeal of delight, she whipped her hands from his shoulders to his buttocks and gave his haunches a tremendous heave towards her.
Margaret reared from her seat in a paroxysm of excitement as Ernest's penis plunged into the pink, eager stickiness of Agnes's parted slit.
"Look!" she almost screamed, as the hairy lips rounded to take the full girth of his tool as it was buried in her to its base.
Agnes gave a scream of joy and flung herself back full length on the rug. Ernest pushed his legs back straight and fell between her's and began into drieve his fierce thickness in and out of her soft nest.
It must have been difficult fucking Agnes! She writhed and twisted and heaved rolled as her lover's hardness sought out and whipped into burning desire every soft crevice of her aching ring. She moaned and bucked her haunches up to meet each fierce thrust of him, her fingers digging frantically into his trousered buttocks as she pulled him down into her, sheathing with dexterous heaves every vital inch of his driving tool.
His hands ripped at her dress at the breast.
"He's tearing her dress!" gasped Tony.
"I'll buy her twenty dresses!" cried Margaret. She was standing beside the sofa now and Tony slipped his hand up her dress, up over the shimmering thighs to the soft lips of her fanny. She stiffened as his fingers slipped again into her burning hole.
"Play with me... play with me!" she moaned.
Tony, in truth, felt like playing with himself as he watched Ernest rip the tight brassiere from Agnes's heaving breasts.
They quivered, as he thrust into her, like white grapefruit capped with scarlet buttons. Her breasts were very white and in shape almost matched the glory of Margaret's. Ernest dipped his head and frantically sucked the erect nipples, his prick still driving madly into Agnes's quim.
"Fuck her... fuck her!" groaned Margaret, slightly lowering her hips so that she pushed her cunt further down on to Tony's fingers that were slipping into her with piston like regularity.
Ernest speeded his stroke. He threw back his head and eyes shut, plunged in and out of the burning quim the hotness of which was caressing his nob to a fury of abandon.
Agnes raised her head and looked at him.
"You' re coming, you bastard!" she screamed. "Don't finish yet!"
She grabbed his hips and tried to slow him but he drove on into her for another half a dozen strokes. She screamed at him alle the time.
"Don't finish... don't finish, you little bastard! Don't...' Her voice sagged away into a wail of what was absolute horror. Before the watchers widened eyes Ernest gave one last exultant lunge into Agnes's heaving belly. Then, with a shuddering sigh, his quivering body collapsed on to her's.
For a terrible moment Agnes's eyes blazed up at Ernest's lowered head. Then, with a mad yell, she heaved him from her and he rolled over on the rug, his limp penis laying wet and glistening against his trousers.
Although stunned by the suddeness of Ernest's failure, an incongruous thought flashed through Margaret's mind.
"It's going to leave a white stain on his trousers!"
Agnes leaped to her feet, white tits quivering. She held up her dress and almost in disbelief, looked down at her burning pube.
"You useless little cunt!" she screamed, "Bloody little wanker! Why did I ever let you touch me?"
She looked wildly around and her eyes fell on Tony. He was still sitting on the sofa. His hand was still up Margaret's clothes, but his fingers were ummoving just within the portals of her wet slit.
Agnes looked at his still erect cock, standing white as an ivory ruler from his gaping flies.
She flung herself across the room, past Margaret and fell to her knees beside the sofa. She grasped his penis and before he could move, thrust his nob into her mouth and began laving it with fiery caresses. She looked up at him.
"Agnes!" she cried, "Don't..."
"Tin not going to go without finishing now... after that little sod has brought me on like this."
'"But..." began Tony.
Margaret seized his arm.
"Lay on her," she cried. "Oh, let me see you putting your prick up her. I want you to. Oh, please do, Tony. Take her on the floor and fuck her... fuck her, Tony!"
Before anyone could even think of an answer, they had both grabbed him and hurled him to the floor. Agnes Hung up her skirts and straddled him. She knelt on either side of his hips and reached between her thighs and held his penis in her hand. Then she lowered herself and gently eased it into her aching, unsatisfied nest. Margaret threw herself on the sofa and lowered her head to watch the better. Her hand sought her fanny and she began to frig herself.
II Tony had ever entertained the idea of a serious protest, which was unlikely, all thoughts of it now vanished as Agnes's ring slipped up and down his throbbing pillar. This was the first time he had ever been beneath a woman and his eyes blazed with excitement as he looked down to where her hairy gash was slipping up and down his hardness.
He instinctively put his hands to her hips and took some of her weight, in effect, lowering and raising her as she pierced herself on his rigid lance.
"Work up into me!" cried Agnes.
Tony did as she bade and in a few strokes they had perfected a rhythm that augered well for their future sport! In and out of her pulsing quim sank his prick and the action reminded the frantically wanking Margaret of a slender finger being pushed into the flesh of a pink guava fruit. Margaret had now thrown her legs apart, her dress high in abandon around her upper belly, and was driving her fingers into her pulsing fanny with a frenzy of excitement that could hardly have been surpassed if she herself had been on the receiving end of Tony's throbbing cock.
The pattern of the lovers strokes was now a scintillating poem of understanding. As Agnes sank her luscious rump on to Tony's stalk, his buttocks reared from the rug and pushed the last fraction of his penis to the rood into her burning, pulsing, squirming sweetness. Faster and faster Agnes plunged her nest down on to his seeking stalk until her bare white bottom cheeks were almost a trembling blur. Margaret, watching, with every nerve of her body taut, increased the speed of her strokes of her fingers into her pulsing hole.
Suddenly, with a wild, animal like cry Agnes gave a mad downward thrust that buried Tony's penis in her like a fleshy dagger. She quivered and writhed in an agony of passion and than slowly rubbed her spasm to its delicious conclusion with strokes of her haunches up and down his bar.
Then she fell forward on him and kissed his face and wound her fingers in his hair. He was in no condition to appreciate this, however. He gripped her hips and began to lunge furiously in and out of her. Tired and satisfied as she was she made feeble efforts to assist him and Margaret's face contorted with excitement as she saw Tony's jaw muscles go rigid. She watched his face, her fingers still flying in and out of her quim, as he drove his cock into the lovely Agnes's soft body. Faster and faster became his strokes until suddenly, with an upward heave that nearly flung the tiredly quivering girl from him, he sank his prick into her in one last frantic lunge.
A shuddering sigh escaped his lips and he slowly worked himself in and out of her.
Agnes moaned as she felt the swift, urgent jet of spunk impinge on the deep places of her belly, alreadly wet from the juices of her own orgasm.
"Oil, isn't it hot!" she screamed.
Margaret's attention was now rivetted on her own fanny. Legs thrust out hard before her thighs agape, she looked between her legs to her fingers, wet with her love dew, flashed up and down her pulsing wet tunnel.
She threw her head back and her buttocks lifted from the sofa. Her fingers slowed in their delicious task and she sagged back on to the sofa. Her legs buckled into an easier position and a shudder of delight ran through her thrill satiated body.
Tony softly kissed one of the warm hard tits of Agnes, taking her nipple into his mouth and frotting the tip with his tongue.
His dying horn began to slip down the wet, hairy sheath that engulfed it so deliciously.
All was still in the room, all passion spent.
It was Margaret who spoke first.
"I hope you'll do the same for me one day, Agnes," she said.
Her skirt was still up and her fanny hair was sparkling with her love dew.
"The same for you?" queried Agnes.
"Yes, lend me your boy-friend sometime."
Agnes looked over to the dejected Ernest, now sitting back in the chair, his face a picture of humiliation.
"You can have him... anytime!" she said. "Thank you for nothing!" laughed Margaret. "All right... all right!" cried Ernest. "I'll be better next time."
"Next time?" asked Agnes. "There won't be a next time as far as I'm concerned."
"Oh, I don't know, really," said Margaret. A nice big prick like he's got could be trained, I should think."
"I'm satisfied with what I've got," chuckled Agnes, working her fanny over Tony's limpness.
And Tony, the recipient of this delightful attention, was in no mood to deny her his future services!
CHAPTER SIX
It was around ten o'clock the morning that Margaret awoke.
She lay in bed for a moment or two trying to trace the cause of the delightfully relaxed feeling that had replaced her usual rather tense irritability on awakening.
Then she remembered. She smiled en and her hands slid luxuriously over her rearing titties, barely concealed in a coffee coloured chiffon nightie, to her fanny.
She held it clasped in her hands.
"What a night!" she murmured.
She had only allowed Tony... and for that matter Ernest... to return to the camp on the advice of Agnes.
"Mrs. Peterson," she had said, her normal mode of address having returned to her at about the same time as Ernest had restored her drawers. We've got away with murder tonight. Just say anyone saw these two nipping off in the morning. It could be trouble for you and me. Don't forget I'm stil on a B.O." A B.O., it transpired, was a Bind Over!
"Oh, it's so heartless, Agnes," Margaret had cried. "We've had so much fun and we're going to nice warm soft beds to sleep it off. Let them sleep with us tonight. We just can't send them back to those dreary tents."
"Listen," rapped Agnes, "I'd rather them go back to their dreary tents than me have to go back to a dreary prison. And you... d'you want to go along to the dreary divorce court? I don't say it would happen, but it could. Let 'em go tonight. This isn't the anly night of fun we can have."
Reluctantly Margaret agreed. It was significant that the two boys wishes weren't consulted. On being asked if they minded returning to their camp they had both said that they did and had been promptly ignored!
Margaret's last words, after she had tenderly kissed Tony goodbye and teased him about his swift infidelity, was to Ernest.
"Something you said earlier, Ernest," she had said. "About a party up here. Do you think it could be discreetly organised. And, Ernest, I do mean discreetly!"
Ernest's sang froid returned with the departure of the demands upon his stamina.
"Sure... sure!' he had boasted. "I'll lay it on lor you.
"Hut only boys and girls that you can trust," she had insisted.
She had almost mouthed the words 'boys and girls and Ernest had looked at her with a quick under standing.
"I know what you want. Leave it to me."
"No terrible hurry," Margaret had smiled, "as soon as you can without causing talk."'
He had nodded and had left with Tony.
Margaret was not to know it but the party was to be forced upon her despite any wishes she might have had and a lot quicker than she could have wished or perhaps even desired.
There was a soft tap at her door.
"Come in," she called.
The door opened. It was Agnes. A very different looking Agnes from the Agnes of orgy of the night before. A trim, neat, efficient, cool looking Agnes who lookes as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth let alone cock melt in her fanny!
"Good morning, madam," she said. She held a silver breakfast tray in her hands. "I thought you might like yours breakfast in bed this morning."
Margaret smiled. Was this to be Agnes's only recognition of the event of the night before, the thought that her mistress might feel just that trifle too exhausted to arise for breakfast?
"What a nice thought!" smiled Margaret. "How do you feel this morning?"
This must reasured Agnes as to her reception for she gave Margaret a lovely grin and answered briefly: "Sore!"
She came over to the bedside and placed the tray across the bed.
Margaret wriggled into position and Agnes began to pour her tea.
"I feel quite all right... not even a bit sore!" said Margaret.
"You're in practice!" replied Agnes.
"If you knew more about Gerald," observed Margaret, "you might think I was out of training."
Agnes finished pouring the tea. Margaret patted the bed beside her. "Sit down," she said. "You should have brought yourself a cup."
Agnes sat down and looked gratefull at her mistress. "Where we tight last night?" she asked.
For a moment Margaret genuinely misunderstood. "They didn't seem to find us tight... Oh dear my one track mind! You mean drunk! Well, I think I might have been just the weeniest bit tizzy. You were all right, though."
"Thanks very much!" cried Agnes.
"Why, what's the matter?" asked Margaret, staring at her in surprise.
"What you're saying is that what you did you did when you were a bit drunk while I did it while I was sober."
"In didn't mean that. Eventually... perhaps not so quickly, but eventually... I'd have done the same thing sober."
Agnes wrinkled her nose. "Thanks!" she said. "I've been thinking all morning that I was just a loose little tart giving way to some pretty nasty feelings but that you were just a silly who's had too much do drink."
"Well, you can forget that. I know it's wrong of me and I know I should be ashamed of myself and I know that I should be worrying about how I can even look Gerald in the face again, but the plain, honest truth it that my conscience hasn't said a word to me and I'm looking forward to the next time."
"My conscience has been giving me hell!" said Agnes. "After all I kicked off with a kid of seventeen..."
"You're only seventeen, yourself," interrupted Margaret, with a smile.
"...and finished off with a kid of fifteen!" finished Agnes, grimly.
"And enjoyed every second of it!" laughed Margaret.
"That's what worries me!" She paused for a moment and then her beautiful young face broke into an impish grin. "I read something once that amused me. Someone said The best way to get rid of a temptation is to give into it!' D'you believe that's
"I suppose I shouldn't... but I do!"
"Oh, to hell with it! I suppose what I'm really worried about, if I'm honest, is getting found out!"
"I don't even think I'm worried about that," said Margaret, sipping her tea.
"You must be getting on pretty badly with Mr. Peterson," observed Agnes, curiously.
"Not very well, I'm afraid. Not in the way we're talking about, anyway. You see, I've never realised it properly before, but I'm a sexy woman."
"You're telling me!" said Agnes, dryly.
"Well, Gerald isn't a sexy man."
"That usually spells trouble."
"You're quite profound in these matters for your age," smiled Margaret.
"I've been around... so help me, I've been around! I've seen it both ways. A man's got a cold wife... they're the one's / usually get! Or a woman's got a cold husband, or says she has... It always works out the same, then. She grabs the first stiff... listen to us! Aren't we getting coarse?"
Margaret threw back her head and chortled with laughter.
Agnes watched her with a smile. "It's true, though, isn't it? When we let our hair down it's a wonder we don't trip over it. For me it was always on the cards I'd meet some youngst er and let him drag my pants down as soon as he showed he wanted to. But you!" She shook her head in amazement. "But the way you took to this sort of thing. It's none of my business... but is this the first time? I mean, since you've been hitched?"
"Yes," said Margaret. "It is. Mind you, there haven't been a lot of temptations. There was one though." She finished her tea and put the cup down.
"Another?" asked Agnes.
She nodded. "Please. I went up to Town to meet an old school friend. Gerald drove me up and I had couple of hours to waste before I met the friend. I went to a cinema. I was before lunch and the cinema was almost empty. A man came and sat beside me..."
"That can only mean one thing!" coccented Agnes.
T suppose I knew that. He offered me a cigarette and I refused. You know, thinking back on it, that was my cue to move if I really hadn't wanted to be pestered." She looked at Agnes and smiled.
"Needless to say I didn't move. He was a man in his middle forties as far as I could judge. His knee touched mine."
"The old routine!" sighed Agnes.
"I suppose so. Then he put his hand on his knee and that meant it was only inches to mine. He touched my knee with his fingers. I moved it. He was quiet for a bit, then over came his knee again. I had moved mine so far that to move it any farther I'd to have shifted seats..."
"So you stayed where you were? I've done that!" chuckled Agnes.
"Again his fingers touched my knee. I realise now that I only had seconds... or fractions of a second, even... to act. I did nothing!"
"I know what you mean," nodded Agnes. "The bastard exice you although you don't want to be excited."
"Yes, despite oneself. Anyway, when he touched me I wanted to move away but more than that I suppose I must have wanted to see what he was going to do. Call it curiosity, if you like."
"What happened?"
"Well, as soon as he realised that I wasn't going to knock his hand off my knee or call the attendant or move to another seat, he started... well, perform "I once sat on a Mexican bullfighter's lap in a News theatre and got myself well stuffed!" remarked Agnes, dreamily.
"Oh, it didn't go as far as that, thank goodness!" laughed Margaret. "No, he put his mac over our legs and put his hand up my dress. At first I was shivering with dread..., whether from the realisation of what I was letting a complete stranger do to me; from fear someone would see us or from the very devil of it, I don't really know. As I've told you, the cinema was almost empty and there wasn't really much chance of us being seen. He wanted to take my knickers down but I wouldn't let him. Funny, I didn't tell him that he musn't... in fact during the whole thing we never spoke a single word to each other, it was a sort of tacit understanding that I was in the mood to be messed about with and it ended when we both finished... I just hung on to them. It was just as good without them down. He pulled them aside and gave me the most lovely frigging I think 'Ive ever had. I'd got my legs stuck out straight unde the seat in front and when I spent... well, it's a wonder didn't have half the cinema staff around us. I gave such a veil!", "And what about him?" asked Agnes, who had been listening to this recial with keen interest.
"Oh, I rubbed him, of course. He had a nice smooth, thick one! Oh, but when he came! It went all over my hand, on my coat sleeve and somehow over my skirt. I was in quite a mess. I had to go to the ladies and sponge myself off with my handkerchief!"
"And you never saw him again?"
"I told you. It seemed to be understood that we just enjoyed ourselves there and then and then went our separate ways. As soon as I'd got over my... my come I got up and went to the ladies. He made no move to follow me and I never saw him again."
"You're lucky," said Agnes. "If I let the bastard get up my clothes in a cinema or anywhere they'd want me nude on the bed in ten minute I never seem to be able to have a little bit of fun without some damned complications. Of course, you've got the dignity to carry a thing like that off." She sighed. "Men just seem to look at me and say, 'She fucks!' and go straight at me, baldheaded. D'you know, I was broken in by a man of fifty when I was fourteen. He was wonderful! Kissed my thighs... and the rest..., for two hours before he went potty and put it in me. Oh, I fell for him all right! Hook, line and sinker I went for him. It was because I made such a fuss of him that he got into trouble."
"What kind of trouble?" asked Margaret.
"It came out... he got three years. I suppose it served him right. Until he got hold of me I wasn't a bad kid. Men shouldn't muck about with young girls. It's not so bad woman to muck about with boys... but girlse they're different."
"As the French say, 'Vive la difference!" laughed Margaret.
"What't that mean?"
"Long live the difference," translated Margaret "Had a Frenchman, once," mused Agnes. "Was he good?"
Agnes shrugged. "About the same using his old doings. But with his tongue! What did he call it?" "Soixante ncuf?"
"That's it! Sixty-nine! But that was after, I mean kissing each other at the same time. First of all he used to kiss me. .And could he kiss. Talk about and educated tongue. He used to have me shrieking the place down. Camming is what I call it... but I expect there's a nice word."
"We used to call it French kissing at school," said Maragaret.
"I thought that was just using your tongue for ordinary kissing," said Agnes.
"I expect it rather depends on your school!" lauged Margaret.
She looked at the window. "Not a very nice day, but I suppose I should be getting up."
"Nine o'clock news gave a storm warning. It's been raining in the night."
"Take the tray, Agnes."
Agnes took the breakfast tray off the bed and Margaret swung her legs over the edge of the bed with a flash of long white thighs.
She sat of the edge of the bed and when one superb white breasts tumbled from her nightie in a mound of trembling glory she casually and absent mindedly thrust it back without a trace of self consciousness.
"I'm a bit hazy about last night," she said. "Did we make any arrangements for the boys to come up tonight?"
"Nothing definite."
"I suppose they will come. Throw me that dressing gown."
Agnes handed her the dressing gown. "Try and keep them away," she said, dryly. "I don't fancy that Erenst though."
"Don't you think he could be trained?"
"Is he worth it? After all, he's nasty little bastard. He could drive a girl nuts while she's training him."
Margaret slipped into her dressin gown. "Wasn't there some talk about a party," she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.
"There was some talk... it didn't get very far, though."
"Oh!" And the wistful note in fer voice was not lost upon Agnes.
Suddenly there was a roar of thunder from the darkening sky and the windows shook.
"Well!" gasped Agnes. "II never saw any lightning."
They stood for a few minutes watching the storm little realising that what it was doing to solve some of their problems and soothe some of their desires.
It was some two hours later and long after she had bathed and dressed that Margaret realised the significance of the storm. She was standing at the drawing room window looking out into the garden where the wet trees dripped melancholity on to the paths and rockeries and the leaves hung heavy under their burden of wetness.
It had been raining for almost two hours and she had not once until then thought of the camp at Long Wood.
"Goodness, they'll be flooded out!" she gasped. She strode over to the bell and rang for Agnes.
She went back to the window to await her and gazed out at the bleak prospect of the garden. The door opened and she turned.
"Agnes, look at this weather. I've just realised... their camp. I have been flooded."
Agnes joined her at the window. "Yes, I've been thinking about them. They'll be like drowned rats down there."
"This'll ruin their holiday."
"If it's messed up their camp they may have to go home... that'll ruin our holiday," grinned Agnes.
Margaret looked at her and smiled despite herself. "No, seriously, Agnes, we must do something for them."
"What?" asked the practical Agnes. "Well... something. Could we take them blankets and things?"
"We might be able to take them 'things', whatever they are. We haven't enough blankets!"
"We must do something, poor little devils, at the hest they must be knee deep in mud."
"We could house them up here for the night."
Margaret stared at her. "Why, that's a wonderful idea!" she cried. "That's what we'll do!"
'That gets over the party problem, too," observed Agnes, with a strange glint in her eye. "I mean, nobody could talk about us giving shelter to a bunch of wet kids... now could they?"
"Agnes,'' cried Margaret, "you're dreadful! But you're quite right... they couldn't!"
She walked across to the door. "I'm going to get ready and take the car and go down to them. You get on to the shops and see that we've got plenty of provisions for them... get grub and whatever kids like. Cakes and lemonade and that sort of thing."
"Cakes and lemonade for that mob! II they're anything like Tony and Ernest there more likely to want marijuana and rum toddy!"
"Agnes, do as you're told and do'nt try to make out that you're not as pleased with this as I am!"
Agnes laughed and Margaret ran out to get her coat. to the garage and got out the car. She drove down towards the house gales with a feeling of exultation in her heart. But as she turned out on to the road it faded and the old perplexity, the old feeling that this wasn't her acting like this swept over her.
Her foot even, momentarily lifted from the accelerator as she said to herself, "What are you doing? Are you really going to fill the house with children in the hope that some wild, mad orgy will develop?
Do you really think that these chicken will start copulating all over your rugs and in your beds unless you deliberately incite them to? Do you really believe that the storm is a legitimate excuse for filling your house with these youngsters other than for the purpose of giving them shelter? Margaret Peterson, are you quite mad?"
Her foot went down again on the accelerator. What the hell? She'd be careful, she'd be cunning. Who'd ever know? Gerald? She shruggerd to herself. How much did that really matter? She'd now committed adultery. It would be the last word in hypocrisy to even allow herself to listen to the suggestion that this might be the first and only time. From now on if any man attracted her and it was possible... Well, it would happen!
It was thus in a mood af almost conscious selfdestruction that she drove down the lanes to Long Wood.
She parked as near the camp as she could. From where she stood in the lane the camp looked quite as it should. There were five tents and they looked tight and snag. A few figures moved about around the site.
There was a gate nearby and she opened it and walked through into the field. She strode over the soaking turf and up to the tents.
One or twa of the figures looked at her but she aroused little interest until she went up to one of them, a girl, and said, "Well, things don't look too bad?
The girl, a pert looking blond in jeans and check shirt that did little to conceal her buddin breats-shape, looked at her.
"Look bad? Why should things look bad?"
"Well, the storm?"
"Oh, that," said the girl, carelessly. "These ten are Army surplus. They're made to withstand hurricanes... anyway, worse things than a bit of rain We're all right."
"I'm Mrs Peterson."
"Yes? I'm Doreen Harfield."
"How are you. I... my husband owns this field, and that wood."
"Oh! Oh, Mrs Peterson. Oh, I say, I am sorry. I didn't realise who you where."
She turned around and waved to the others. "I say," she yelled, "Mrs Peterson has come down to see how we are getting on."
The rest of the group outside the tents began to drift over to them and one or two others came out from the tents themselves. One girl, Margaret noticed buttoning her blouse as she came through a tent flap held by a rather flustered looking youth!
Margaret began to sincerely regret her precipiate visit.
"Oh, don't bother to disturb everyone," she said. "I just looked in to see that you hadn't been washed away. I... I was going to offer you shelter at my house."
"Well, that's very decent of you, Mrs Peterson," said Doreen, "but we're really quite O.K."
She looked around at the other. "Anyone like to get out of the damp and stay up at Mrs Peterson's house?"
There were friendly grins and assurances that they could make to with the camp.
There was no sign of either Ernest or Tony.
The girl noticed Margaret's roving eye.
"Were you looking for Tony?" she asked.
Margaret's heart gave a wild leap. Did they know, then?
"Tony?" she faltered.
"Tony Devereaux... he was up at your last night with Ernest."
Margaret licked her dry lips. "Oh... oh, that Tony. No, I wasn't looking for him, particularly."
Doreen's next words reassured fer. "He told us he'd been up to the house making arrangements to get water when need it."
Margaret breathed a sight of relief. "Oh yes," she said, "I've told him to help himself... anytime." She smiled to herself as she realised how true this was... in an entirely different connection!
The girl was speaking again. "I expect you remember camping from your day... calico tents that would'nt stand up to a shower. These things," she waved her hand towards the khaki tents, "will stand any kind of weather and keep us as snug as bugs in rugs! Still, it was nice of you to come down and inquire how we were."
There was a chorus of agreement from the others.
One boy, a rather handsome if suppercilious looking fellow, stepped forward.
"Now that you're here could we offer you a cuppa?" he asked.
Margaret noticed that his eyes were cool and confident as he appraised her carefully and she was suddenly very aware that she didn't really look her best in her heavy driving coat. She let its wing idly open.
"That's very nice of you," she said.
"/ should have asked you." apologised Doreen.
"My name's Neil Franks," said the tall, handsome boy who had first offered her the camp hospitality, raising his eyes from where her breasts plumped out her sweater.
Margaret shook hand with him.
"Neil is really more or less in charge of everything,' said Doreen. "I don't know whether because he's the oldest or the biggest!"
"Perhaps a combination of both," suggested Margaret, laughing.
"Let's go into the Mess tent," suggested Neil. His hand took her elbow possessively. A slight quiver ran through her. It was a strange feeling. The very touch of his hand seemed to establish an understanding between them. It was as if he had actually said. 'Look, I know you do, but when do we do it?"
He led her over to a tent that stood a little apart from the others.
"This is the mess tent... and in rather a mess, I'm afraid," he smiled.
The others followed them as she stepped into the gloom of the tent. Benches were arranged around a plain trestle table and he motioned her to sit down.
"Put the pot on for tea, someone," he shouted.
Several of the youngsters began to work at the Primus stove while another dashed out for water.
Margaret stamped her feet on the groundsheet. "Why, even the ground isn't wet. It's as good as a house. More fun, anyway."
"I wouldn't say that." remarked Neil.
A dark girl in a very young looking ensemble of gym slip and short blue serge skirt perched herself on the back of the benche opposite with a flash of little young legs. She leaned her elbows on her kness and her chin on her hands and surveyed them frankly. Her legs were slighty apart and Margaret could see that she wore white knickers.
"Gee, you two make a fine pair,' 'she remarked.
"This child," remarked Neil, "is from across the wide blue sea. Which sea and in which direction I'll leave you to guess."
"Doesn't he talk cute?" asked the girl, admiringly.
"I wouldn't blame you if you got a crush on him... I'm nuts about him myself."
"You're from America?" asked Margaret, poised between being shocked and amused.
"Right in one, lady," replied the girl.
"Now come on, Ann, shift yourself and try and behave." said Doreen. "You know, Mrs Peterson, she's a problem child whose parents think an English school influence might cure her of whatever it is that bothers her."
"There's nothing wrong with me," said Ann, adding frankly, "I'm just plain neurotic. My ma and pa are more nuts than me. Look at me. This get-up is their idea of what a civilised girl of fourteen should wear. If they get to hear I ain't dressing properlylike wearing brassiers and French panties... they'd cut my allowance. So what can I do?"
"You are only fourteen?" asked Margaret.
"And a half?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Fourteen and a half. Gee, ain't he cute. Plays cricket, wears blazers, smokes a pipe sometimes, flops around in them big brown custom made shoes... a real Englishman. Ain't he a honey?"
Neil took this eulogy quite calmly.
"Ignore the brat," he advised Margaret. "We all do."
"He's speaking the truth," admitted Ann, frankly. "He never once gave me a tumble. You'd think I'd got two heads, or something. Mind you, I think it's just he's too much of the English gentleman to make a pass at a kid in an outfit like this. Gee, wish he would though. Really, ain't he cute?"
"You've got to speak her language to get any reaction," advised Neil. "Now come on, Ann, scram!"
"That's the way he treats me! All the time that's the way he treats me."
"Cover yourself up and behave!" said Neil. "Ignore her, Mrs Peterson. She tends to disappear if one doesn't take notice of her."
"Give a hand making the tea," said Doreen.
"What do I know about tea?" demanded Ann. "If we'd got what it takes I could rustle you up an Old Fashined."
"Will you go away?" roared Neil.
"He's going to make a play for you, Mrs Peterson!" cried Ann. "I know that look in his eye I saw it once. He caught me putting on my vest after swimming...
"Oh, my goodness!" gasped Margaret.
"Take her out, some of you!" yelled Neil.
Several girls hustled the protesting Ann from the tent and Neil turned to Margaret with apologies.
"I'm terribly sorry about this," he said. "She's the camp terror. She's quite a nice kid really, but so awfully anxious to appear sophisticated."
"She seems very keen on you," remarked Margaret.
"She is, and it could be damned dangerous."
"I agree." She looked around. For the moment they were the only ones in the tent. "It's very difficult for a man when he's pursued like that."
"I'll manage," he grinned.
"You mean, you wouldn't take advantage of her?"
"Frankly, I would," he laughed. "I just don't want the complications that'd follow! There are plenty of others."
"The more I hear of modern youth the more I'm shocked."
"Are you? Are you really?" he asked, softly. She gave him a sidelong, sultry look. "Well, you yourself, are hardly a child," she contered.
"You weren't talking about children," he said, "you were talking about youth. I regret it, but I'm a youth. A knowledgeable one but a youth."
"And I'm a married woman," she said, with mock resolution.
"If I'm being impertinent, tell me."
"You are being impertinent," she said.
He drew slightly away from her. She laid her gloved hand on his hand. "And I love it!" she whispered.
A shadow came across the tent opening. She moved her hand hastily. "Mrs Peterson!" cried a voice. It was Tony. "Tony!
"They told me you were here." He looked at Neil. "Oh, hullo, Neil."
Neil nodded. "Hullo!" he growled.
"I've just been down to the village... to the Post Office, to get some stamps."
"Mrs Peterson didn't think you'd gone to the Post Office to get a pound of porridge oats," snapped Neil.
"As it happens you can get porridge oats at the Post Office, can't you Tony?"
Tony grinned "Yes, you can!"
Neil grunted with irritation as Tony sat down.
"Where's your friend... what was his name?" asked Margaret, naively.
"Ernst? Oh, he's gone to the pictures, to get out of the wet."
"That's why I came down here," said Margaret, "to see how you'd all got on in the storm."
Some of the others came back into the hut. The water was boiling on the Primus. Margaret watched them make the tea.
As they handed her a cup she remarked, in her best casual voice, "Perhaps some of you would like to come up to the house tonight for a late supper."
"That'd be lovely!" cried Doreen.
"Some of the... some the older ones, of course," added Margaret.
"What a mob to invite to your house," growled Neil.
"I think they're a very nice mob, as you call them, replied Margaret.
"Take no notice of him," cried Doreen. "What time do you want us?"
"Shall we say... just eight o'clock?"
"Fine!" chorussed the others.
Margaret sipped her tea. "Then I'll expect you. Why, your tea's quite as good as I get at home!"
This was a disloyalty to Agnes for the tea was harsh and bitter!"
"They'll be dragging mud all over your house," said Neil.
"Rot! We can take our shoes off first!" cried Doreen.
"That'll be nice for everyone!" was Neil's bitter comment.
There was a sudden uproar outside and a boy dashed into the tent.
"Come and look outside," he shouted. "The stream down by the wood has overflowed... we're going to get properly flooded!"
They all dashed outside. A rapidly widening lake was spreading from the stream up towards the tents.
"Oh, hell!" shouted Neil. "We'll have to shift the whole camp!"
Margaret made her offer a few minutes later with a simple sincerity that impressed everybody and raised fevers of hope in quite a number of young people.
"I'll see that they behave themselves," promised Neil.
"Don't you dare!" murmered Margaret, happily.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The next few hours seemed to fly past. Rooms were prepared and the sexes of the campers carefully considered in the disposition of their quarters.
Fires were lit in all the rooms as blankets were short but it was well past seven o'clock before the supper for the younger members of the camp had been served and eagerly devoured.
"You'd think you were at the zoo," said Agnes, surveying the debris of the meal.
The most difficult task of the evening transpired to be that of persuading the younger member of the party that it was time they were abed.
Even when this had been accomplished it was with a sense of dismay that Margaret realised on looking around the lounge that she had on her hands for entertainment some ten juveniles.
This included the egregious Ernest and Tony. She had noticed that Ernest had been the most eager assistent she could have wished for in despatching the younger members to their beds. He sidles up to her immediately the last one had disappeared upstairs and in a few well chosen words explained the reason for his hearty co-operation.
"These," he hissed confidentially in her ear with a wave at those left, "are all right."
"All right?" she repated.
"Yes, all right."
"I don't think I quite get what you mean," she said.
"They're O.K. They like a bit of fun and they're discreet. Neil... he's all right. Doreen... I've had der myself. Mary, there, the redhead... Neil's blocked her. Arthur, the one with the big nose... he's having an affair with Isobel, the girl on the couch with the big tits. Gerald..."
"Gerald!" asped Margaret.
Ernest stared. "Yes, that little fellow with the glasses. He's an intellectual... he believes in freelove...
"Oh, do stop!" gasped Margaret. "You're destroying my faith in modern youth. Here, just a minute. Don't tell me that little American girl, Ann, is... well, having an experience with somebody."
"Ann," mused Ernest, thoughtfully. "She may be a virgin, but she rubs a wonderful cock and Billy Dawson, the kid over there talking to Agnes, swears she's sucked him off!"
"I'm out of my class here!" gasped Margaret. "D'you mean to tell me that all these kids in this room have been messing about with each other?"
"I don't like that word 'kids'," snapped Ernest. "Were teenagers I admit. As for messing about with each others... aren't we human?"
It occured to Margaret to say 'Hardly!', but she refrained.
Instead, she looked around at the party and back to Ernest.
"But do they... do they know?"
"Know what? Oh, that there are no holds barred? No, not actually, but that doesn't matter. Without asking your permission they'll start petting and if you don't stop 'em they'll be all over the floor in no time. Just leave them alone, you'll get all the fun you want."
'This is beyond me," said Margaret.
"I expect it is," replied Ernest, condescendingly. "I say, d'you think Agnes will stand for me having another try?'
"Why don't you ask her?"
"A good ideal! Excuse me."
Margaret watched him walk over to Agnes and engage her in conversation. She shook her head in amazement and looked around the room. Neil caught her eye and would have walked over to her but Tony was at her elbow.
"What a mob," he said in disgust. "Can't we go somewhere quiet?'
"I can't very well leave my guests," she demured.
"They'll worry about that. Look at that Arthur."
Margaret followed his glance. At first it looked as if Arthur's hand was deep down the neck of the gill's blouse.
Neil came over to them. "Sail I stop .those two?" he asked.
It was the hour of decision for Margaret. She swallowed hard.
"Are they doing any harm?" she asked, slowly.
Neil looked at them. "You mean to say you don't mind?" he asked, incredulously.
"I... I don't like interfering with young people," she smiled.
Agnes' voice came from the other side of the room, loud and clear. "Keep your hands to yourself!"
Ernest, one arm around her and a hand cupping one of her rearing breasts, giggled, "Can't we go somewhere we won't be stepped on?"
Margaret heard Neil saying, "Well, if you don't mind..." and he walked back to a chair and flung himself in it, glaring the while at the ambitious Arthur who was now investigating the charms of Isobel's thighs to the accompaniment of her urgent shrieks.
Agnes ran across the room to her mistress. "This little bastard's already half raping me!" she gasped "He says yesterday was a mistake. What can you do with him?"
"Let him prove it," smiled Margaret.
Ernest who had joined them and was again busy with Agnes's breasts, grinned. "And that's the best advice you'll get tonight," he said.
Agnes looked around her. "Look at these little wretches," she said. "There place looks like a Paris brothel on a Saturday night!"
She looked at Ernest. "If you don't do better than last night..." she warned.
"I will!" cried Ernest. "Oh, come on, let's go somewhere."
"Having a look round at the moment I can't see anything wrong with right here!" she said. "If you're no good I've got a second choice!"
Ernest, taking her at her word, forced her back into an unoccupied armchair.
Margaret put her arm around Tony's shoulders. "Tony," she said. "I don't really mind what goes on but shouldn't we send that little American girl upstairs?" Just look at the with Neil."
Ann was on her knees beside Neil. She wore a gay print frock and this revealed that she was quite well developped, particularly around the chest.
Neil was pushing her away from him but she was resisting by holding on to his hips. Her tighs were bare to her crutch and her bottom cheeks were full and voluptious as they strained the white, tight silk knickers that girded them.
"Don't play hard to get, honey," she was saying. "This is our chance.
"Go away... go and play with Billy Dawson... he's more your age and class."
"He's got nothing there. It's like a cigarette, and I want a cigar," wailed Ann.
"Will you go away?" yelled Neil, pushing her violently from his side.
She sprawled over on the floor with a petulant pout and a glorious display of well filled white silk knickers. She was immediately grabbed bij a tousle headed boy with a red, healthy looking face who dragged her, still protesting, to a chair near the window.
Margaret watched them for a moment before her attention was drawn to other happenings. The boy kissed the little American girl violently on the mouth and began pawing her hard little titties where they bulged her print frock. His other hand was deep between her bare thighs and from her delighted shrieks she was well on the way to forgetting Neil!
"What a wild-cat!" said Neil, getting off the chair and coming over to Margaret. "She'll finish up in the family way one of these days."
"I can believe that," agreed Margaret, dryly. "Neil, who's that pretty red readed girl over there?"
Neil followed her look.' "Oh, that's Iris Cooke. The fellow she's with is Bob Hall. They're going regular."
"But look at them now!" gasped Margaret. "They are going it a bit," agreed Neil.
by 'going it a bit' Neil must have meant that it was rather earley in the evening for the boy to have his 'companion' breasts out of her dress and to be smothering in kisses. The girl had laige, very white breasts and Margaret wriggled with excitement as she saw the boy's tongue laving the scarlet nipples fiery caresses.
"They live together when they can in Londen... like when they're on holiday from school," said Tony, in an awed voice.
"Then why do they want to behave like that in public if they can do what they want in private?" asked Margaret, genuinely puzzled.
Neil shrugged. "They just want to help the party go with a swing."
"It isn't a party," corrected Margaret. "You're here juist because you've been flooded out at the camp!"
"They may be!" grinned Neil. 'I'm here because you're here."
He put bis arm around Margaret and while Tony glowered at him, gently cupped her left tit.
She pushed his hand away. "Behave yourself!" she said.
The coyness in her tone sickened Tony and he turned away. He tried desperately to look nonchalant and his eye lit on Doreen who was eating some grapes at the sideboard. He walked up to her.
"Hullo, Doreen. Bit of a bore, eh?"
"Mmm!" said Doreen, though a mouthful of grapes. "Feel like livening it up?"
A wild shriek made them look round. The boy who had dragged Ann off had her dresse up and was struggling her tight white knickers down her pretty plump thighs. The soft, sparse hair around her fanny gave her a momentarily helpless, pathetic look.
"Give me a kiss then." said Tony.
"Take one if you want one!" said Doreen, offering him grape-moist, pretty lips. He kissed her and his hand slip up her hard young body to the rise of her breasts. Her nipples felt hard and erect through the thin dress.
In the meantime Neil was pressing his suit with Margaret.
"I think you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he said.
"And that's the first time you've ever said that?" mocked Margaret, fending him on with both hands. She was very consious by the strained look in his eyes that he must have a raging horn in his grey flannels.
"I may have said it before, but this is the first time I've really meant it."
He made a sudden movement and avoided her outstretched hands and pulled her to him. Her suspicions abou this sex condition was immediately confirmed.
His cock stood between them like a bar of iron.
Despite her intensions of keeping him on the hook for a time... even permanently... she couldn't resist swaying her body against his and feeling the roll of his rod across her taut belly.
"My, what have you got there?" she asked, looking at him tauntingly.
"You've only got to say the word and you can find out! Can you stand the noise in here?"
There was certainly a great deal of excitement building up around them, the more adult yells coming from Agnes who was about her usual task of maintaining her knickers around hips against the wiles and afforts of Ernest. That she was only being in part successful was evedenced by the sudden brisk and delicious sound of ripping silk net and Neil and Margaret turned in time to see the blaze of golden hair that nestled around her pink slit peeping from an excitingly promising rip in her drawers.
Margaret shuddered with excitement as she saw two of Ernest's finger slide into the soft moistness of Agnes's plump lipped pink gash.
Neil's hand was squeezing her breasts and his lips were brushing her cheek and seeking hers.
His pennis was thick and hard between them and it's warmth came to her through her thin dress. She lifted her face and lips fastened on hers.
She slipped her hand between them and felt the ridged bar of his sex, enhanced in size by the thickness of his trousers.
"Is that all real?" she whispered.
"Take it out and see for yourself,*' he offered.
Margaret looked around her. The boys with his redhead now had on the couch. Her knickers were down and his head was between her thighs where her cunt moss flamed like a bright flower from some tropical jungle. He was tonguing her soft slit with long, luxurious, sensual sweeps... laving her with it's caresses from her bottom to where the lips of her father and father back down over his nob until it was column of hard, warm marble.
She gently shifted the shirt and the bar suddenly sprang out into her hand.
She held bis quivering length lightly for a moment and then grasped is firmly in a spasm of emotion. She could feel the pulse of the veins and her thumb touched his nob and it felt dry and feverish.
She looked down the suggestive bulge of their bellies.
It was a lovely cock, hard and curved, white and yet with the furious red of the nob seeming to be fitting as a symbol of the latent fury is held.
She pressed his foreskin back over the rearing helmet. She heard him grit his teeth and che looked up at him, lips parted and eyes afire with sensual curiosity.
"Is that nice?" she asked.
"Never felt anything like it!" he gasped.
She knew that this could hardly be true but she lowered her eyes and watched as she forced the skin fanny finished in the burning redness of her bush.
Ann, the American girl, was in a chair, almost staunding on her head, her knickers abandoned on the floor while her boy held her thighs about his head and kissed the soft insides of them with complete abandon and disregard for his surroundings.
Margaret swallowed. This was what she had wanted. There was no doubt in her mind that she wanted the hard lance of this boy between her thighs, deep into the aching maw of her belly to seek out every erogenic fibre of her and to whip to burning ecstacy the flames that his hardness against her had kindled.
But was the rest what she wanted? This was her house... and the lounge of it was rapidly looking like a brothel scene from a Marseille blue movie!
Her eye caught Tony over Neil's shoulder. He had Doreen's dress open to the waist and was unsheathing her hard little breasts from the brassiere that encased them. She watched as the little tits, the size of small grapefruit with excitingly small brown nipples, juddered from the white brassiere.
Tony's head dipped and his eeager tongue began to lick and suck at the tiny cherries.
Yes, this was what she had wanted!
Her hand fumbled at Neil's flies. He eased slightly away from her. One button undone... two... three... four. Only his belt now held his trousers together at the top. She slipped her hand into his gaping flies.
His prick stood there, shrouded by his shirt, like a right clear of the glans and his manhood stood forth, red an proud and cleaming in the bright light of the room.
"It's beautiful!" she cried.
Something touched her ankle. She looked around. It was Ernest's foot. He was deep into Agnes now, his shaft driving into her cringing quim while she clutched his shoulders and groaned with each stroke he made into her reaching, clutching softness.
"Oh, take me on the floor," groaned Margaret, suddenly throwing her arms around Neil's neck and burying her face in his shoulder.
He swept her from her feet and the next thing she was clearly aware of was lying on the rug in the middle of the rooms with Neil kneeling over her, his trembling hands pawing at the buttons to the neck of her dress.
She retracted her bosom which was bulging the dress and making it difficult for him to negotiate the buttons.
Slowly he uncovered the glorious, incredible jut of her breasts. He undid her to the waist and her titties, her brassiere a coffee coloured scar across them, jutted, from her gaping dress. Her hand drifted down and began to stroke his hardness.
He tucked his fingers into her skimpy brassiere and tried to move it up over the heaving hillocks of warm flesh.
"Don't tear it!" she smiled. He paused a moment. .
"I didn't mean mean it!" she cried. "Tear if off, if you want to!"
He gripped the brassiere between her breasts. She tensed.
He gave it a vicious jerk and with a sharp sound the material parted and her great breasts shuddered free to rear erect and firmly trembling into his eager hands.
He supped them and crushed them and washed them burning kisses, letting the hard fleshy thimble of her nipples push into his mouth.
She wriggled as he rolled them between his lips, pressing the tips of them with the pont of his tongue, his teeth hard and threatening as they gently nipped them.
He rested on his elbows and crushed her breasts together and kissed the deep warm cleft between them while she cupped his balls in one hand and drove the foreskin back over his mount with other.
As he stiffened she paussed in her stroke.
"You won't come, will you?" she asked, her eyes wide with the very horror of the thought.
He shook his head, his jaw taut with excitement.
"No, not like this... in you!"
She smiled and fastened her lips to his and resumed her delicte stroking of his throbbing lance. It was so hard and so barely flexible that if it hadn't been for the delicious attention his lips were playing her tits she would have raised his haunches up to her mouth and buried his hardness in it and sucked him until his boiling sperm gushed into it.
He released her breasts and stood up and away from her full arms length. His eyes ravenously devoured the great palpitating spheres for a moment then he threw himself full length upon her and buried his face in the lush valley between them.
One of his free hands slipped up her dress.
She closed her eyes and surrendered her every sense to the trembling touch of his hand as it slid up over the sheer nylon of her stockings to the warm plumpness of her thighs avobe them. She parted her thighs just enough for him to slip his hand between them edgewise.
Then she closed them and gripped him between them, exulting as he drove his fingertips into the soft flesh, kneading is and investigating her soft womanly plumpness.
While he kissed her breasts and she smelt the strong masculinity of his hair, she allowed him to play thus. Then, slowly and temptingly she opened her thighs a little. His hand slid further up the quivering pillars to the warmer, secret places deep between them.
She wriggled as his twitching little finger tried to flick the crutch of her drawers aside and she eased her buttocks to release the panties from the deep chasm between them.
The heel of his hand slid between the apex of her thighs. The tip of his middle fin"*"-brushed the puckered ring of her bottom and she busked into rigidity.
He held his hand hard to her fanny, covering the whole of the hot, straining slit and most of the fur while he savoured the delightful pulsing contractions of it as she sucked her belly in spasms of excitement.
Slowly, he slid his hand back from her bottom until his middle finger found the centre of her slit. He gently parted the crisp curls that so lavishly shielded the entrance to the soft, moist grotto and slipped the finger in.
She moaned and readed as his finger tip slid over her erect clitorus before thrusting on deep into her slippery sheath, already drenched with the love-rain, the natural precursor of the elemental torrent that would announce her final orgasm.
Her writting thighs were quite exposed now and he slipped between them and undid the belt of his trousers and wriggled them down to his knees.
His bals nestled between the quivering pillars and his nob sharply rapped at the portals of her beautiful sex.
She put her hand between them and held his rearing cock so that the tip nuzzled the tip of her lips, pushing and tippling the tiny of her clitorus. For a few moments she brushed his burning, swollen nob against her ravenous gash, making it push the lips aside and just duck within the ferry shelter of her hotness to withdraw it again and press it against her throbbing, erect clitorus.
Suddenly, all her restraint dissolved in a flooding agony of want... an emotion so intense that the whole of her consciousness flooded to her loins.
She gave a wild, anamal cry and launched her haunches up to meet his tool.
Before he quite knew what was happening his penis sank deep into her burning quim and her fingers were grasping his naked buttocks. He lay on her for a moment, savouring the delicious suction of her contracting cunt walls. She kissed his lips and neck.
"Oh, come on into me," she moaned. "Push it in and out... hard. Make it hurt me!"
Neil raised his buttocks so that his prick was barely within the lips of her cunt. Then with a fierce thrust of his haunches he sent his cock searing into her.
She squealed with passionate frenzy as her cunt lips rounded to the root of his fleshy dagger and her nails dug into his squirming bottom cheeks.
She bucked and writhed upwards to meet his strokes and he steadied his thrusts to her needs.
Within moments they had achieved the delicious plunging rhythm of old, familiar lovers.
The room was now a scene of abandoned licentiousness.
Couples on chairs, couples on the floor, a couple managing near the window... the girl, her hands on the sill, her skirt thrown up to her shoulders taking the sturdy thrusts of her boy deep into what was to be hoped was her fanny but could quite as well have been her bottom, while be maintained a desperate grasp on her naked breasts and even seemed to achieve some purchase from them for his thrusts!
Ann was pleading for a little more thorough attention.
She was lying sideways across a chair and her friend was between her thighs, stropping her gash with long, lascivious strokes of his tongue while his penis jutted in impatient idleness from his gaping flies.
"Put it in!" cried Ann. "What are you frightened of?"
"Being a father at fourteen," grunted the boy, pausing momentarily at his task.
Ann's tits, like little white oranges, quivered in indignation at this intelligence and she writhed off the chair and seized her lover's cock and tried to straddle him on the floor. To his eternal disgrace he continued his resistance!
Iris Cooke, the redhead, seemed have a boy friend with no such inhibition of fears. Perhaps their 'going regular' had something to do with her acceptance.
She lay on her back, her boy beside her, her flaming pubic hair smothered in the lovely pearls of this come and her thighs wet with the same delicious drenching. She was tiredly wiping her thighs with a pair of black knickers. Her boy's penis lay limp between his thighs, quiescent from it's delicious duties.
Tony and Doreen were coupled. Doreen was completely nude apart from her stockings, wich were snugged to her thighs by somewhat unromantic plan white elastic garters and her fanny and bottom hole were completely exposed as she rocked to the thrusts of Tony, her legs wound around his waist and her titties dancing as their pubes kissed at the termination of each stroke.
Agnes seemed to be faring better with Ernest in this session. As a precaution against his premature ejaculation she had one hand firmly wound in his hair while the other was at his buttocks, urging him on into her deep mossy nest. At each outward stroke the light shone on her wet thighs and it is to be assumed, having regard to Ernest's continued exertions, that the wetness was her's!
And thus all over the lounge the younger generation disported itself, it's only connection with the previous generation being Neil'smounting of the ecstatic Margaret.
"Oh, in to me... in to me!" she was shrieking. "Right up into me. Make it hurt me!"
Neil drove on into her, pushing his hardness up into her gaping, eager sheath with violent lunges of his sturdy young loins. She had her legs up around him and her cunt puckered to a mere slit on his withdrawal stroke to plunge outward to a delicious fur-bound ring as he drove his cock in to the hilt. The metamorphosis taking place with his thrusts in to her fanny were reversed with regard to her bottom. The tiny, pleated little bottom hole, closed like a flower at sundown when his penis was only nob-deep in her, to blossom out like a lush rose as his cock sank into the burning deepness of her succulence.
She flung her lascivious hips up to the swing of his descending pube and revelled in the biting, scalding sensation his rod induced as it thrust aside the pulsing walls of her quim and impinged on her cervix.
The slap of his balls on the lovely dark chasm between her bottom cheeks was followed a fraction of a second later by the louder slap of her titties as they danced to his violent thrusts.
"I'm coming!" she screamed. "Oh, faster, darling, faster!"
Neil speeded his stroke and sent his throbbing tool flying up into her maw.
She rocked and heaved under him, her nails digging deep into his hard bottom and her fanny slamming up on to his pube, seeking every last ounce of pleasure from his biting cock.
Suddenly, with a wild moan, she hung to him... buttocks suspended from the rug and her cunt driven right over every inch of his horn.
He worked her fanny about around his penis for a frenzied moment and then sank back ot the rug with a shuddering sigh.
He felt the soil wash of her come as is flooded down to bathe his aching penis with its hot stickiness.
He lunged on into her desperately. She lay back, arms thrown aside, thighs agape, and accepted his hardness passively. Her cunt was now still, quietly taking his long stiffness into its soft embrace but no longer with the frantic, sucking, striving eagerness of before.
His body suddenly tautened and her dead excitement momentarily lighted again. She gazed up at him and gripped his shoulders.
"Shoot it right up into me!" she whispered. "Right up into me... make me wet with your love!"
With a shuddering sigh he sank his penis deep into her.
She writhed and stiffened as she felt the hot jet of spunk flush up deep into her open softness, and then her fanny was awash witch the warmth of his love.
He thrust into her once or twice more, slowly, pressing the last drops of his dew into her. Then, with on exultant shiver, he collapsed on to her.
She pressed her breasts up to his face as it lay on her chest and held him tightly.
She had no real knowlege of how long they remained like this.
Her next consciousness was a piercing scream from Ann, the American girl.
"Oh, look you! A real man!"
For deadly seconds the import of this exultant scream sank into her mind and when realisation of what it might mean had fully arrived, her reaction was in a kind of slow motion as if she had curiously been deprived of the ability to move at normal speed.
Squirming slightly beneath the weight of the loveexhausted Neil, his limpening cock still in her, she twisted her head and looked towards the door.
There, in the doorway, stood Gerald.
Her first thought was also completely out of tune with the urgent horror of the situation.
She thought how out of place he looked in his black jacket and striped trousers! And why the hell hadn't he left his umbrella and briefcase in the hall?
This inconsequential thought could have lasted several seconds. Hut then the action demanding wash of adrenalin flushed through her.
With a wild cry she thrust Neil from her and scrambled to her feet with a flash of her wet thighs.
She stood crouched before her husband like some wild, dangerously challenged animal. Dangerous, but beautiful and wild and elemental with her naked breasts and her open dress and all the delicious concomitants of abandon. "You!' she gasped.
He afterwards told her that she had sounded like something from East Lynne. His reply was little better. "Margaret!"
"What are you doing here?" she screamed.
There was a deadly silence in the room. It looked like a scene from an erotic movie captured for ever in a well posed still. Naked and semi naked boys and girls were scattered in various attitudes about the room and the analogy was enhanced by the momentary hushing of everyone's breathing.
"Yes," breathed Gerald, "What am I doing here?"
Ann's shrill young voice broke some of the tension.
"Isn't he pretty? Is he yours, Margaret?"
*'Be quiet you little slut!" yelled Tony.
Ann moved over to him. She was now stripped of all her clothes accept a cotton vest. One shoulder strap of this was down and one sweet little tit poked out in a tiny quivering mound.
"Gee, you are pretty, though," she said, going close to him.
"Get your clothes on, you little devils, get your clothes on!" he shouted.
There was an immediate scramble to obey. Margaret ran her hand wildly through her hair and watched as if in a dream as Neil began to dress with the others.
"And do yourself up... you whore!" shouted Gerald striding over to her. "Cover yourself up!"
His hand sped across her face. She faced him, unmoving from the blow.
"I'm sorry, Gerald." she said.
"Sorry for what? Me coming home and catching you in a brothel orgy with kids? Is that you're sorry about?"
He raised his hand again and Tony stepped forward.
"Don't hit her again, sir."
"You keep out of it!" snarled Gerald.
"Please don't hit her again, or I'll hit you. If you're making a claim to be the only civilised one here... prove it."
Gerald bit his lip.
"Get your things together and get out of my house!" he snapped to Margaret. He looked around at the others. "And that goes for all you. Get out of my house before I call the police to you."
"They can't leave," said Margaret, wearily and inconsequentially, "Their camp's been washed away."
"There camp's been washed away?" screamed Gerald. "What do I care about that? Let them sleep in ditches. Thank goodness their camp has been washed away... the storm brought down the telephone lines, that's why I couldn't phone you to say that my trip was cancelled. I only got as far as Marseilles."
"So that's it!" muttered Margaret, sliding her lovely breasts back into her dress and buttoning it
"He's even lovelier when he's cross!" gasped Ann. "I'd like him!"
She again sidled up to Gerald. "She's been naughty," she said, "Now what about you?"
Gerald's eye ran over the small girl. Below her vest her exciting little pube bulge with its thin hair showed as a fuzzy triangle.
"Go away, you little hussy!" shouted Gerald.
Ernest paused in pulling his trousers on.
"We could always compromise him with Ann!" he chortled.
Agnes, who was trying to get her knickers on as unobtrusively as possible, glowered at him. "I'll finish up breaking your neck!" she warned.
Gerald turned his wrath on to her. "And as for you!" he shouted, "I might have known that you were ony step away from being a whore!"
"I'm caught dead to rights," said Agnes. "I'm saying nothing."
"Take his trousers off hand poke Ann on his cock. Who's going to believe him then?" laughed Ernest.
"Listen, you...!" started Gerald, threateningly.
"Oh, do that, boys, just do that!" squealed Ann.
"Unless we get this bastard in it we're all like to end up in reform school!" shouted Ernest.
Gerald backed towards the door. "I'm going to get the police right away!"
Neil and Tony looked at each other and then at the other boys.
Neil burst into a laught. "Oh, no!" he cried.
Margaret moved forward. "Are you alle mad... to even think of such a thing?" she asked.
"It'd serve him right!" snapped Tony. "Who's he to hit you?"
Ernest resolved their doubts. He flung himself full tilt at Gerald's legs and brought him down with a crash.
Instantly all was mad confusion. Boys piled on to Gerald until he literally disappeared from view beneath them.
Margaret looked at Agnes. "What are we going to do?" she moaned.
"Get a douche ready for that Ann, I should think!" grinned Agnes.
When the melee subsided Gerald lay spreadeagled on the floor with his trousers down a*hd his limp penis hanging from his underpants.
"Let me go!" he screamed. "I'll kill you all for this!"
"You won't feel like killing anyone after Ann's finished with you!" laughed Ernest. "Come on, Ann. Get him hard!"
Ann flung herself across Gerald's writhing body and took kis limp penis in her hand.
"He hasn't got much," she pouted, disappointedly.
She slipped his prick expertly into her mouth and began to gam him.
Margaret moved forward.
"Oh, stop," she cried. "You're all mad! Stop, I telle you!"
"Keep her out of it!" cried Ernest.
"Better keep out of it," advised Agnes. "They mean business. Mind you, I think this might be one way of keeping his trap shut. They're desperate. This could mean bad trouble for them all."
"And you think this won't make it worse?"
"It can't be worse."
Margaret made a determined movement. Four or fixe girls immediately flung themselves upon her.
"Leave this to the boys!" snapped Iris Cooke.
Under the dreadfully expert ministrations of Ann, Gerald's penis was hardening.
She wanked him as she sucked him and dispite himself his cock was growing into a bar of rigidity.
He still struggled but it was of no avail.
Ann's lips sank over his penis, pressing this foreskin back with her clever little lips until his swollen nob filled her mouth.
She took her lips away and looked at it.
"Oh, look at it now\" she gasped. "A real man's prick. Not a bit of white gristle like a boy's. A real prick."
She stood up and raised her vest. She put a foot on either side of Gerald and began to lower herself on to him.
"Keep away!" screamed Gerald, struggling madly. "Put me in, someone!" said Ann. Her tiny pube dipped until Gerald's nob nuzzled her fur.
"Oh, it's hot!" she gasped. "Put me in!"
Margaret struggled madly as she saw her husband's penis at the lips of the girls quim. But she was held by willing hands and displite herself, the spectacle excited her.
One of the girls knelt beside Gerald and took his penis and guided it to the portals of Ann's thin lipped little cunt. The hairy lips parted and accepted the tip of the nob.
"Oh, it's big!" she gasped.
Ernest, with a grin, grasped Ann's shoulders and thrust her downward.
There was a moments edathly silence and then a frantic, pain riven schream rang through the room, and Ann sat there on Gerald's loins, impaled on the deadly thickness of his massive erection.
She tried to scramble from the lance that had invaded her tiny gash, but Ernest held her down.
"You wanted it!" he roared, "Now you've got it!"
"Let me get off... it's killing me!" screamed Ann.
She writhed madly, her juicy and now bloody little fanny stretched almost to tearing point by Gerald's tool.
Her screams were now incessant and some common, unspoken consent seemed to activate the boys. They released Gerald and Ernest let go of Ann's shoulders.
She made to rise from the fleshy javelin that was plunged deep into her belly when suddenly Gerald's hand shot out and grasped her hips.
He held her firmly and pushed his loins up to her. There was a strange silence.
"He's going to fuck her!" gasped Ernest.
Serve her right!" said somebody.
" Damned good luck to him!" said Neil.
Ann screamed as Gerald began to slide his cock in a:td out of her pain ravaged quim.
"Let me go you bastard! You're killing me!' she bowled.
Gerald spoke... for the first and last time. "You said you wanted a man!" he panted. "Well, iOii'rp getting one!"
He began slow strokes into her and she was powerless to do anything but accept with wild screams the driving of his lance into her quivering little belly.
T think I'd better see about that douche," laughed Agnes.
"'How can you*?" screamed Margaret, glaring at Gerald.
Neil turned to her. "Now that he's settled... I feel a bit stalky again."
He seized her to him and his hand slid into her dress and began to fondle her breasts.
Her lips on her's precluded any further reply from her.
Slowly the tension in the room melted and eager hands began to fumble with willing thighs and 'knickers off' was again the order of the day.
Aim's screams became an almost monotonous background to whispered endearments and sensual suggestions.
"I thought you were going to get Ann a douche!" grinned Ernest to Agnes.
"I think I need another injection myself!" returned Agnes.
"Come on, you little sod!" She seized him and threw him to the floor.
Margaret, with a last look over Neil's shoulder to her madly busy husband, surrendered her knickers to her eager young lover.
"Oh, teen-agers!" she sighed to nobody in particular. "I wonder how long they'll have me in their generation."
