A Dripping of Butter

"Martha, she I sleeps with in one bed, she do sleep like a log," there was a giggle, "and a hog. Once I hears her snoring there's no awaking her 'til morn. I can come then."

"Good. You are a good girl, Mary. You will come to me bed and do as I tell you. As you come, secretly through the house, to me you will think of Billy and the green sickness will come again. Your little cunny will be as wet as this." Once more Trustram delved, feeling the warm wetness - her buttery crumpet. Now, you will wake but not forget what I have told you to do. You can go about your duties but will come to me tonight and do your duty to the young master. You understand?

"Yes, sir."

Trustram tucked away his willy and twin tarrywags and smoothed down the girl's petticoats and skirt.

"You will stand, wake fully and take away the tea things," he stepped away, "now."

The girl stood, blinked a few times and turned for the tea cup and plate. The further buttered crumpet untouched on the plate. Trustram had found a different hot morsel which had been very much to his liking: that had not gone cold. The girl turned, tray in hand, curtseyed before leaving the room. Trustram threw himself down in his chair and picked up his discarded newspaper. It had all gone very well. His afternoon had considerable brightened and there was the prospect of a decent tumble later on before sleep.

The knock on his door came late that night. Trustram had been sure Mary would come, his command had been clear.

The curtsey was to be expected even in the coarse linen of her nightgown.

"Good evening, Mary. Is Martha sleeping soundly?"

"Oh, yes sir. I made sure of tha', I knows what sends her to sleep."

"Oh?"

The young maid was blushing. "She likes her quim stroked, sir, until she's all a tremble."

"Mary, your hands."

Trustram bent and brought his nostrils close to Mary's hands. The scent was strong and invigorating. The heady scent of a woman's quim. He had not dallied with Martha. He did not know her scent. He did now.

Martha was a rather earthy, course sort, not unhandsome in her way. His father had expressed surprise she had not been spoken for a few years back. Older than Trustram but he would not have been averse to wiling away an afternoon or night with her. There was plenty of meat on her body and she would have done at a pinch. Trustram had not lain with her but that did not mean he had not seen her naked, though he had not before smelt her scent.

It had been many years ago that he had seen her unclothed. A delightfully warm and sunny afternoon had taken Trustram to the woods. He had been up with the dawn hunting and was digesting a rather fine luncheon when he had espied Martha through the trees. It had been a game to hunt her without being seen and she did not see or have any inkling that her young master was close at hand when she chose to bathe in the river.

To the young Trustram the scene had been a revelation about women and what they hid beneath their clothing. Close by Trustram had watched the disrobing becoming more and more excited. Had watched the white bottom and back of the girl wading in and been absolutely entranced by the sight when she turned towards him of ample bubbies, rounded stomach and the way the skin flowed downwards with no protrusion such as men have but, yet, a triangle of hair.

Trustram brought his hard penis out from his breeches and watched the bathing girl whilst he stroked himself. Such a pleasure to watch: such a pleasure to feel the sensations from his sliding skin. When the girl rose from the water and walked out and back to her clothes Trustram froze so movement did not betray him. That prevented his spending whilst observing her naked. He had almost done that several times whilst watching but had held back, not wishing to release whilst still able to observe her naked, thereby missing his chance. The now dressed Martha passed quite close to him but did not see him - did not see the lad with his hard pego exposed.

Trustram had stood and walked to the river bank with his cock still hard and still protruding from his breeches and looked down at where Martha had been bathing. Removing his own clothing Trustram had stepped into the water but unlike Martha had swum. Rising again any observer would have seen his arbor vitae not one bit diminished by the cool water. The mettle needed spending. Standing in the water Trustram applied himself imagining what he would love to have done to Martha there as she bathed - and that would have meant the fountain of semen would not have been seen at all! As it was any hidden wench - though there were none - would have seen the most impressive spurting out from a not unimpressive cock attached to a well built and naked young man.

It had been a good spend and Trustram could remember it even now. In his bedchamber with Mary, his cock was no less firm than it had been on that day. It was clear to him that the hypnosis still worked. She had come to his bedchamber as instructed, had seen Martha asleep - indeed had helped Martha sleep and seemed unfazed by the very clear tenting of his nightshirt. A pull on that and it was over his head and he looked, though Mary would not know it, as he had done that day in the river. A proud, upstanding, still young man used to command.

"Oh, sir," she said. Her eyes had been on the tenting: they were now on what was revealed. If the truth be told, Mary had a liking for young men in uniform, as most young woman do. She was looking forward to seeing the young master in his regimentals the very next day proudly seated on his horse. In a way he looked no less military now - certainly he bore a substantial 'weapon', a spear or lance.

Trustram reached and lifted the girl's nightdress up and off her so that they faced each other in nature's way. He was tempted to crush her to him, feel the press of her breasts against his chest and the warmth of her thighs against his cock. Instead he reached and pushed down on her head, gently forcing her to her knees, though there was not much force needed, bringing her face to face with his arbor vitae. She was a mere servant, after all, it was right she should kneel and suck. Again the pleasure of her seeking, sucking, soft lips on his staff. The urge to just let her do that until, once again, he felt his ballocks rise and the mettle release, was strong.

It was not so much a valet a man needed as a young girl to tend to his pego, keep it in trim with good old spit and polish and suck it dry as required.

Trustram raised the young servant up again. Her lips were wet from her sucking. He bent and kissed them and her tongue responded entering his own mouth. Evidently in her mind she was thinking of Billy. He pulled back the bedclothes and eased her with him onto the bed. It was good to feel his fleshy spike against the softness of her stomach.

"I's never been in a bed likes this one, sir, it's so soft and big."

Trustram smiled as he looked at her pretty face, "and what about my pego, Mary, nothing soft about that?"

"No, sir, big and hard as we women like them."

He was not so sure about the 'women,' she was but a girl.

Her hand sought and held. She squeezed and then began to stroke moving the mobile skin. Trustram watched her little white hand. He could feel the callouses catching at his delicate skin. She was a servant girl, used to hard work, not one of his sisters' friends with their delicate hands. Not that he had felt them upon his pego, alas! Annabelle and Christine De Mons were twins and more than once he had enjoyed thinking of them together in that role: the role of handmaidens! Such delicate hands and hidden white bubbies - bubbies he would so like to spend upon! Not that he would not enjoy taking them properly but what would his sisters have said to that if they found out! He watched Mary's hand at work thinking both of the De Mons twins and her. It was very pleasant.

His lips sought her bubbies and her nipples. It was joyous to hear her sigh as she, no doubt, had done when Billy sucked.

"Has the green sickness come Mary?"

"Oh yes, sir, as it does whenevers I think of me Billy."

It was good to see her thighs part, it was good to touch and feel once again the springiness of her turf. His fingers delved. The girl was as wet as a river!

"That's nice, sir."

Trustram drew his fingers back. He had touched enough to establish the wetness of the girl. "Moisten me."

It was delicious lying back and watching the dark haired servant girl alternately dipping her fingers between her thighs and dripping and stroking her wetness onto his pego making it shine in the candle light. It was obvious she was finding the touching of herself pleasurable. A continuation, no doubt, of her romp with Martha. Her fingers wetted his whirligigs as well.

What a pleasure to have a naked servant girl playing with his tackle and clearly taking such pleasure in the fondling and stroking. Clearly enjoying wetting him with her own oil. The girl was up for it - he could see that from the amount of liquid she had transferred from him and the way she played with herself with one hand and he with the other.

Trustram did not ask but again the girl's mouth descended. She was licking her wetness on his pego, perhaps as she had been licking Martha's wetness if not minutes ago, then on other days. To his mind came the idea of the DeMons twins not actually licking each other but licking and sucking his Nebuchadnezzar as he alternately plugged and then removed it from their cunnies. Sucking their sister's wetness rather than their own. Which would receive his mucilage? Would it be cunnie or mouth? With a whole day it could be all four places. And why not young Mary serving them all, perhaps daintily wiping his pego on a napkin before he sank it again into Annabelle or Christine.

The prospect of sinking it in a cunnie was becoming an increasing need. Trustram pulled his bell end from Mary's mouth. He had filled her mouth during the afternoon: he had other plans for the night. The excited servant girl's hands just would not leave his pego alone. Such a pleasure to see her so smitten with the green sickness, so ready to be taken.

"Young Billy has not yet had you on your back?"

"I'm a virgin, sir."

"Open and let me see."

Holding the candle close to the girl's spread thighs Trustram's white teeth showed in a grin of delight. Betwixt the black curls, the girl's notch showed so swollen and wet. He could easily discern the dark entrance. It would be so warm and wet. Such a pleasant grotto for a man to enter. What could be more comfortable! To ease his gaying instrument within, hold it and then begin that delicious movement. Trustram had spent mettle that afternoon, his second spending would taken a little time. He was hardly in a hurry! It would be so pleasant just to stroke. Pleasant for them both.

Would there be an obstruction - a physical maidenhead? He had felt nothing that afternoon but his pego felt strong enough to piece a fleshy barrier however defensive.

"It will make it easier for Billy - next time."

"Yes, sir."

Lucky Billy to have so many chances whilst Trustram needed to leave for his regiment the next day. Perhaps when he returned? Perhaps Billy and she might then be married. Trustram would not mind a married lass, perhaps even swollen with child.

Trustram loomed over the girl. The candle, now replaced beside the bed, showed shadows on the wall. An exaggeratedly large Trustram over Mary on the bed. An exaggerated Trustram and cock to match. It felt large. It felt good as its very tip touched the girl. An easy push - did Mary perhaps push up at him - and he was lodged, knob within, shaft without.

Trustram eased inwards and the connection between man and woman was fully made, the fleshy spike reaching far up inside the woman's body. There had been no obstruction. Trustram had slipped in as easily as a knife into butter.

"Oh, sir. I do so likes that."

She liked it the more when Trustram began to move, his cock sliding easily in its soft, wet, embrace. He did a lot of moving, the bed creaked as the young girl brought her feet up over his back and pulled him to her. She shuddered twice before, finally, he released within her. His mettle released in spurts deep in her body. Too soon, of course, but, nonetheless, it had been a long fuck.

Trustram eased himself backwards and off the girl. By the light of the single candle he could see her crinkum-crankum. Not a hint of blood, no evidence of the virgin but his mettle was there at the entrance to cock alley. Her crumpet had been well and truly buttered. Buttered with the best butter. Trustram was from a good family!

A hot, buttered crumpet - and just like those of his long afternoon, it really did look good enough to eat. It seemed a pity to waste it, to leave it to get cold as he had that final crumpet of the afternoon. Trustram bent his head.

"Oh, sir!"

It was not quite his ordinary choice of fare. He liked his crumpet buttered: not spread with cream! He went gamahuching nonetheless.

Trustram stood naked at his window looking out over the grounds stretching away from him in the moonlight, behind him the servant girl, Mary, seemingly asleep in his bed. He would have to ensure her return by day break, indeed perhaps best before the early hours: he would have to wake her. Her body, half covered by a sheet looked so perfect by moonlight. White as snow and as softly curved as fallen snow across the ground, but hardly cold, hardly ice cold, rather the antithesis of snow - warm and alive. He touched his cock, took it in hand. It was soft, still wet and sticky from his bout with the young servant, and unresponsive. Soft and floppy, not even the lobcock, half firm and big. Trustram pulled upon it wishing it to harden so he could spend again on the girl's sleeping form.

Capt. Haight claimed to be able to get a cock stand again within minutes: not that any of the other officers had seen enough to verify his claim. Trustram wished he could do the same.

A military man, Trustram was used to making decisions and being decisive. He was going to spend again that night. There would be a second bout. Never before had he left his bedroom stark naked, never before had he descended the stairs like that or gone out into the grounds. He felt exhilarated as he stepped out onto the lawn and began to run. A military man used to long riding and fitness he knew he could run for miles if he needed to. Trustram was sure the exercise would restore his vigour, his sexual prowess, the quicker.

There was something different about feeling his willy and ballocks all over the place as he ran. A feeling of unrestraint. Perhaps like the naked Hottentots or Bushmen that he would, no doubt, see on his African posting. No doubt they ran whilst hunting, their manliness flying free.

He was half erect on his return - the 'lobcock' indeed! The exhilaration of the exercise and the unaccustomed freedom for his cock coupled with the prospect of naked Mary on his bed had produced the result he sought.

She was where he had left her, sleeping soundly. He looked down at the sheet covered form. There was no mistaking its femininity, nor the effect it had on him. As he stood there his manliness fully returned and there was no longer any softness about his arbor vitae. It was standing proudly and ready for action, his sword drawn and ready to stab soft flesh. A most military bearing! Lovely to look down and enjoy the delights of the young servant. His father would, most definitely, not approve. Trustram drew back the sheet and gazed upon the girl entire. Surely not even his father would be unmoved by the sight? Could the old boy still make a stand? Would he not like to creep silently up to the girl and stare, feel all lickerish and, even if his old rod was not what it was, surely it would still rise. Surely he would stand there whilst stroking his man staff? Would he not like to do what Trustram was about to do.

"Mary."

"Whaaa... oh, sir!"

Through her barely opened eyes she could see what he was presenting to her. Perhaps she would have been the more pleased had he brought young Billy to her and she opened her eyes to find not one but two strong staves presented to her: but she seemed not annoyed one bit to be woken from her slumber.

Mary roused herself up at first onto her elbows and then leant towards him so that, once more, like the good servant girl she was, she sucked on her young master's cock, a good preparatory task before joining giblets once more. It proved an even longer fuck than the first. A fuck by moonlight in the deep of the night. The bed creaked for a long time.

When his spending was done, Trustram did not permit Mary to sleep again in his bed but sent her back to Martha with an injunction to forget. To forget he had dallied with her that afternoon and to forget he had fucked her twice that night, to forget she was no longer a virgin, to forget all of it once she reached her bed.

Trustram patted her bare behind and delighted in her naked curtsey as she left his bedchamber with her nightdress over her arm. Had some of his mucilage actually dripped from her as she curtsied? He watched her retreating bottom as she disappeared into the dark of the house. He had enjoyed his afternoon, evening and night with young Mary. A fine young wench. A shame he was not tarrying the longer but he was under orders. He would pack 'Method Hypnosis' in his saddle bag on the morrow.

Trustram made his goodbyes to his father and mother in the lichen encrusted stone porch of the old house and stepped out to the waiting dark brown horse held ready. His military coat brushed, the metal shining bright. He shook the old man's hand and kissed his mother and sisters. All the servants and the men and women of the home farm had turned out and were lining the gravelled drive down to the lane. Even the little girls and boys were there. Sitting high in his saddle, ram rod straight, Trustram drew his sabre from its sheath and saluted them. The children screamed in delight at the display of military drill. It was not something his commanding officer would have approved, but humouring the children would very much draw his father's approval.

Trustram sheathed the sabre and kicked the horse into a walk nodding from side to side at his father's people. He knew his father would approve. His eye caught Mary Woollen's pretty face and there was an unmistakable wink on her part. The minx! It was not at all that something was in her eye: that it was a genuine wink was unmistakable.

The horse and rider advanced towards the gate. Trustram did not look back but rode with the thought of Mary naked on his bed and that wink in his mind. The minx! Had there been no hypnosis after all? Had 'Method Hypnosis' not worked? Had she been playing him along all the time? If so she had done it very well indeed. A cockish wench!

It had certainly been a good bout with the young maid. Trustram rode easily down the lane as his thoughts went back to the afternoon and evening of the day before. Pleasant thoughts and regret there had been not a few more days to join giblets some more, place his toad in her hole and, perhaps, taste her hot buttered crumpet once again.