Avoiding the Missionary Position

"Sweet Jesus!"

Something warm and wet pressed against the damp curls of hair she was showing to all. It lapped around her cleft, found her bud and slid against it. For a second Madeline really thought some kind of a fierce animal was licking her -- and then she felt the hands gripping the front of each of her thighs and realized that it was a boy's tongue she was feeling. It was astonishing: did men do that to women? Lapping at their openings like a cat at a saucer of milk? Surely not, not down there? Did men enjoy that? Did women enjoy it?

Well, yes, women did. At least Madeline enjoyed it, she was quickly becoming convinced of that. How strange this all was. If it was Edward doing this to her would it be counted as a sin? It certainly felt very, very sinful.

The boy behind her held her open, held her private parts open like an oyster shell and buried his face between her thighs as he tasted her. Madeline squeaked like a mouse trapped underneath a cat's paw. Neither her mind nor her body was under her control anymore and suddenly the madness she'd been expecting was upon her. It came in a kind of fit she'd never known before, like a spoonful of gunpowder exploding inside her body. The shock made her cry out and swoon into partial unconsciousness, sprawled out on top of the chaise lounge in the weak limbed state of a discarded rag doll. Vaguely, far away it seemed, she could hear the boys mirth as she waited to die.

But she wasn't allowed to. Instead, she was lifted up by the arms and found herself being led to another of the couches. Strands of her hair had come loose, falling across her face. She pulled her arm away from the light grip restraining it and brushed the strands away. Immediately the hand which had been on her arm settled around her exposed left nipple.

Madeline gasped, and then again as another guiding hand tugged at her right breast. She stared down at the hands and realized she was being held by a boy on her right and another on her left. The one on the right was about her height, with broad shoulders and an equally broad grin on a lightly freckled face under a thatch of ginger hair. The skin on his body from the neck up was tanned, and from the neck down completely white. Completely white all the way down to his feet, with not a stitch of clothing to cover it anywhere. Incredibly, he didn't seem at all concerned about his naked state. Not even that she could see his Adam's spear sticking stiffy out of the patch of ginger hair in open and unashamed arousal.

"You've got a fine pair of udders on you, Madeline," the boy said. "The clergymen in these parts must live off the fat of the land, hey, Algy."

The boy on the other side of Madeline merely grunted and showed his assent by gripping her more tightly yet and twisting the captive flesh as if it were a handful of wet wool he was trying to squeeze dry. Madeline gasped with dismay and pain at the ruthless strength of the boy's seizure of her body, her frightened eyes fastened onto his face. A face which could have been lifted from a Roman coin, handsome with strength enough to demand obedience: flat sided cheeks, a strong jawline, sensual lips, fair hair cut en brosse. But no minted impression could have conveyed the menace in eyes that were as blank of emotion as polished steel and as sharp as a sword's edge. When he spoke it was in the same tone he might have used to ask for a cucumber sandwich across a dining table.

"I'm going to make a special point of fucking you, Madeline from the Vicarage. You understand me, you little trollop?"

"Yes, sir, I understand."

It seemed completely incongruous to address a boy several years her junior as in such a manner but he was undeniably in a position to demand Madeline's complete respect. But did fucking mean what she thought it did? Was this boy expecting to deal with her as if he were her husband?

She gurgled deep in her throat as he twisted her even more tightly. In her mind she was shocked by the casual way he was helping himself to her body without even displaying the excuse of passion. Of course the ginger haired boy was doing the same thing to her as well but at least he was smiling and he wasn't deliberately hurting her as this other one was.

Algy considered her words and then relaxed his grip a little, but tugged at the softness of her captured bosom to bring Madeline a step closer to him. For some reason he was poking his finger into the side of her thigh. Only it seemed to be a very big finger. Madeline looked down and saw that it wasn't a finger at all which was brushing against her. It was Algy's phallus, displaying itself as flagrantly as Ginger's member, but even more puffed up with male pride.

Madeline stared down wide-eyed at both of them, trying to understand how she could be standing between two naked boys, both of them fondling her exposed breasts and both of them rubbing against her like rutting animals. Surely she should have swooned away into a dead faint at finding herself in such a situation. Yet she was not only not fainting, but every nerve in her body was quivering in anticipation. The tips of her bosoms were as hard as tiny crab apples against the hands which stroked her, and she knew why. It was because she knew absolutely and totally that very soon she was indeed going to be forced down onto one of the couches for the boys have their way with her.

Algy reached down and took hold of Madeline's hand as if they were sweethearts on the village green. Except that instead of merely holding her hand Algy pressed her fingers down and around his manhood. To her it felt alive, like a small puppy, warm and trembling with a life of its own. Madeline wondered what she was supposed to do next. Whatever it was, it seemed that Ginger wanted the same thing as well, for he took her other hand and put it on his own full blooded appendage.

Still puzzled, Madeline gave the organs a gentle squeeze. Somehow it seemed to her that both of them were bigger than her husband's. Of course she couldn't be sure because Edward had never exposed himself to her view in this way, nor would he have dreamt of allowing her to touch him in this totally unnatural manner. But these aristocratic bred youths seemed to have no shame at all, nor even any concept of it. Instead of being disgusted they seemed to be actively enjoying Madeline's ministrations on the most intimate parts of their bodies.

Even odder, both of them put their hands on top of hers and guided them so that her palms were rubbing back and forth along their members. They each seemed to want exactly the same movements from her hands and both apparently gained much pleasure from the stroking she was giving them. It occurred to Madeline that although Algy and Ginger were pawing her breasts she, in turn, was literally holding both of the boys in the palms of her hands. Stranger and stranger, but before Madeline could think any further about what was happening there was a high pitched wail of feminine passion to distract her.

Edith and Yvonne were still on their knees on the chaise lounges, though both were now sprawled forward in the attitude of Muslims at prayer. Yet these were brazen travesties of any kind of religious activity. The strips of each woman's dress had been drawn aside to fully reveal her smooth buttocks, and to allow unimpeded access to the probing fingers between each pair of opened thighs.

Knowing fingers, skilful fingers, with the boys leaning forward over each female showing an expression of smiling deliberation as if they were tickling trout from a riverbank, nodding and adjusting their touch to every cry from their victims, probing into their womanly parts until Edith and Yvonne were mewing and twitching their bottoms like cows trying to brush away clouds of May flies. Then Yvonne gave a great shudder and dropped her head on the couch; the dark haired boy who'd been manipulating her laughed and raised a set of glistening fingers as if they were trophies of the chase.

Diane clapped her hands, moved to his side, took his hand and put his fingers into her mouth, apparently sucking Yvonne's essence from them. The boy looked over Diana's shoulder at Madeline. His face was red and round like a evil omened harvest moon. It was also quite obvious by his coarse and ugly features that he was the Duke of Parsvale's son and heir. Therefore it was Lord Horace who was leering at Madeline over Diane's shoulder as Diana licked his fingers clean. Until she saw the interest expressed on Lord Horace's face and half turned her head to see the scene of Madeline's humiliation. Then Diane spoke to Horace.

"Come, sir, is it not time for a little game of chance to open the first round of the tournament?"

"Aye, so it is," Horace said thickly. "Come on, lads, step up to the mark." He pointed to one of the couches. "Algy, Wendell, leave her be for the moment and take your chances on who gets their pricks tasted first."

Madeline was surprised to find herself suddenly unhanded as both of the boys abandoned her thoroughly trespassed upon body to take positions on either side of the couch. They grinned amiably at each other as Madeline wondered what was afoot. Her cheeks scarlet in shame and her tightened bosoms still exposed, she tried not to stare at those parts of the boys which showed their rampant lust. Yet her eyes refused her directions; not only did they continue to look at what she should not be seeing, they seemed fastened on the sight of the swollen phallus rearing up out of Algy's loins to a length she never thought possible. Indeed, she could not help but glance at those other bared masculine parts and compare them to his, confirming he was definitely a fuller figure of a man than the others.

Diane's voice broke in on thoughts in Madeline's mind which certainly needed curtailing

"Stand by, lads. Now, show!"

Algy threw out his hand as did the ginger topped boy, who must be the Wendell that Horace had spoken to. Algy's fingers were flat, Wendell's bunched in a fist. Wendell shook his head in disappointment. It was clear they were playing the child's game of paper, scissors and stone, and that Algy had won by wrapping Wendell's stone.

"Now you and I, Duncan."

Lord Horace had the beginnings of his father's paunch around his belly. He stepped up heavily to the couch to take Algy's place. Duncan was even fatter, whey faced and white bodied, a trace of dark hair on his chest and a big bush of it around his bodily equipment. There were veins on it appendage so thick that they seemed likely to burst at any moment, which would not have displeased Madeline, for Duncan was a match for Horace in ugliness of face with a fine crop of pimples thrown in for worst measure. Both boys held their hands behind their backs and Madeline saw that Duncan had his fingers parted to make scissors.

"Show," Diana called and both boys displayed scissors.

"Again."

This time Horace retained scissors and Duncan had a fist. His unpleasant face wreathed in a smile at blunting Horace's scissors and winning the game.

"La, so now tis Algy and Duncan to decide first play," Diana declared. Both of the boys quickly stood to the couch.

"Show!"

Duncan had chosen stone again but Algy's flattened hand denoted paper, which wrapped stone and won him the round.

"So, Algy goes first," Diana adjudicated. "Now the girls play with him. Come on, Edith, toe the line and show off your stakes."

Edith was helped up off the couch, apparently trembling with unspent energy after being herself so thoroughly fondled. She went promptly enough to the couch and fluttered her eyelids at Algy as she hid one hand behind her back.

"Show!"

Algy had stone, Edith had scissors. It seemed to be a game she had no disappointment in losing.

"You win first service from her, Algy," Diane said. "Do you claim a formal submission?"

"Certainly," Algy answered.

"Edith, kneel on the couch and acknowledge your master," Diana ordered.

Edith quickly settled herself on the couch and Algy moved directly in front of her. Edith put her hand on his phallus and then put her lips to it.
At first she seemed to be kissing the head of it. Then Edith opened her mouth and boldly sucked on the organ as if it were a length of toffee.

Madeline observed that Algy seemed gratified by Edith's action, and also that the other boys were plainly captivated by the sight. Yvonne caught Madeline's eye and gave a half smile with a fatalistic shrug of her shoulders, as if to show this sort of thing was to be expected from boys. A rough natured prank to be tolerated as long as needful. Madeline wondered if her own confusion was discernable. Did males like putting their aroused rods into girls' mouths? Did it mean that all them were going to be expected to do the same thing?

Yvonne seemed to sense Madeline's puzzlement. As the males remained firmly attentive to the activity on the chaise lounge Yvonne rolled her eyes and looked upwards as if praying -- but then she nodded towards Edith, as if conveying some secret message. Madeline looked in the same direction, at Edith with her head thrown, jaws agape to admit a surprising length of Algy's manhood between them, her breath snorting through her flared nostrils like a blown horse. Yet even so her eyes were as Yvonne's had been, cast up and fastened on Algy's features with complete attention. She seemed to be playing the role of a dog -- a bitch -- desperately hoping for a pat or a word of praise from her master as she performed her tricks for him. Her master indeed: presumably this was a part of the ritual of the formal submission that Diane had spoken of.

Madeline felt a prickle of revulsion, a strong urge to resist such humiliation. Until she considered the sheer bodily strength of Horace's gang, and also the brooding presence of the cane. It was still on the couch, still within reach, and the slightest sign of resistance would likely bring it into use against the reluctant female concerned. Diane had warned them about that and from what Madeline could judge of the situation, it was a warning to heed.

Diane clapped her hands together: "Well done, Edith. Now move aside and let Yvonne seek her fortune."

Some of the boys sniggered as Yvonne walked to the side of the elegant piece of furniture, each of them still as careless of their undressed state as a pack of monkeys. All their eyes were fastened upon the unfettered swaying of the woman's trembling bosoms as she faced the triumphant Algy. Edith had risen from the couch and was standing beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder, her own interest also directed at Yvonne.

"Ready?" Diane called. "Then -- show!"

Algy's displayed hand displayed parted fingers, scissors, Yvonne's fingers were clenched into stone. The boy's face twitched in a flash of annoyance as his companions showed their evident pleasure at perceiving Yvonne to be a still unclaimed piece on the board. What Algy had lost one of them might yet win as a treat for himself.

"Step aside, Yvonne. Tis another's turn now."

Diane's face turned towards Madeline. The older woman's face was of a more heightened color than usual, her voice more pronounced, her attention focused on the events in the music room as avidly as a hawk preparing to swoop. She seemed to be even more excited and exultant at what was happening than any of the boys. Madeline suddenly realized that she didn't know Diane very well -- perhaps she didn't know her at all.

Truth to tell, Madeline wasn't even sure she knew herself. Could this really be Madeline Swan-Smith stepping forward half naked, her own body as exposed as Yvonne's and swaying in exactly the same way before the gleeful eyes of the boys? Her face were burning, yet it was odd that the only boy she was really aware of was Algy. For his eyes were not intent on her bosom but staring into hers, his blue pupils seemingly striking sparks from her brown ones as if flint was hitting against steel. Madeline felt her legs trembling against the wispy lengths of silk of her robe as Algy made an ostentatious display of putting his hand behind him.

"Come, Madeline, surely you know how to play the game by now," Diane urged her. "Hand behind your back, quick's the word and smart's the action."

Madeline did as she was bid, concealing her right hand behind her back.

"Have you made your choice?" Diane asked of her. Madeline gulped, hastily spreading out two fingers to make scissors.

"Wait," Algy said. "Edith, give my beard splitter a rub for good luck."

Edith laughed and quickly obliged by wrapping her fingers around his upthrust member and flicking her wrist to and fro with the expertise of a carpenter whittling wood. The round headed tip of Algy's column seemed to be aimed at Madeline like an enemy gun. A sudden memory came into her head of a woodcut illustration she had once seen, of a mouse crouched in front of a cat, too frightened to even try to run away, or perhaps too wise to try to fight against an unavoidable fate. As unavoidable as her own fate seemed to be.

"Make a wish, Madeline," Edith said and a couple of the boys sniggered.

"Enough," Algy ordered. "Ready, Diane."

Edith removed her hand, Diane nodded, looked carefully at both sides of the chaise lounge, and then her voice cracked like a coachman's whip: "Show!"

Madeline's hand shot out, two fingers opened. His lips stretched out in a triumphant grin as he held up his clenched fist. Stone breaks scissors, game and prize to him.

"You serve me first, Madeline, now."

Hisses of disappointment came from his friends, as if a nest of serpents were seeing their prey escape them. Then the boys moved forward, around the couch, each jostling for the best view of what was to happen next.

"Do you claim formal submission?" Diane asked, the question directed at Algy but her gaze fixed on Madeline.

"I do."

He moved towards the chaise lounge until his legs were brushing the side. The only gap left around the piece of furniture was the one carefully left by the boys for Madeline.

"On the couch, Madeline. On the couch and greet your master."

Diane's tone was that of lady to servant girl, yet imbued with a sense of excitement seemingly akin to that displayed by the schoolboys themselves. Madeline didn't understand that at all. Yet, to her own surprise, she found she was able to take the half step which put her against the couch, so that only the width of the seat was left between herself and Algy. She dared exchange glances with him no longer, but kept her eyes on his shoulders and arms. Even so, the sight of the taut bulges in his well muscled limbs set her heart thumping inside her body like a hare in March.

"Kneel, Madeline."

To kneel down in a position of worship in front of the very emblem of fornication made flesh? Yet there was nothing else she could do, nothing that any frail woman could do under such compulsion. This sinful behavior was not of her making and heaven would surely punish those who paid no heed to its plain warnings: 'Can a man walk on hot coals without his feet being scorched? So is he who sleeps with another man's wife; no one who touches her will go unpunished.'

Yet she had to admit that the ungodly boys around her seemed not a whit worried by any prospect of divine revenge as she placed one knee and then the other on the silky smooth fabric of the chaise lounge. She felt their eyes upon her wantonly displayed body and the slightest of creaks from the wooden joints of the couch as her weight fell upon them. Now, just in front of her mouth, was the strangely shaped head of Algy's rod, that instrument of womanly downfall which she was now required to serve in any way demanded of her.

"Open wide, Mrs Swan-Smith, and preach us a sermon. I'm sure your husband would oblige us with one if he were only here to see this."