A Glass of Chablis Ch. 04

He had left a note on the kitchen table, with the teapot holding it down so it was clear to Ivy when she returned from work. George had not known he would be out that evening, but events had conspired against him. Perhaps not so much events as Mavis and Mrs Eventide... and Doris Swann. With their husbands now sadly passed away they did not have a 'man about the house' to do things which were the traditional purview of men. Maybe things were different now, though George Crombie was none too sure how many of the 'Snowflake Generation,' as he had heard them called, would, male or female, know how to change a fuse let alone replace an immersion heater element or sort out Mrs Eventide' sticking back door. Quite why it was necessary to sort that out after dark did not seem quite explained by 'it's the bin men tomorrow.'

George walked back towards his house, slowly swinging his bag of tools. All things considered it was actually rather good to be useful to people, to be wanted, to be a man who knew how to use a block plane and a box wrench. He knew how to use a tool... He smiled to himself under his white moustache. His thoughts changing to young Ivy back at his house. Hopefully she would have made herself some supper, he had said in his note that he would be back late, perhaps she would be in bed already, but he hoped not. He would rather like to use his special 'tool' upon her again if she was so minded. What a sweet girl; nasty experience with that boy and her (ex) best friend; no doubt she would get over it; seemed to be getting over it; but what a pleasure to have her in the house - certainly, what was that modern word, yes 'disrupted,' she disrupted his ways in rather a good way.

Key in the lock, coat and shoes off and, seeing the light on, George put his head around the sitting room door. Sitting under his reading lamp in his armchair was the young girl. Gone her work clothes, instead she was wrapped in that old woollen dressing gown he had lent her, one leg tucked up under herself and the other down to the floor. She was reading but looked up with a smile. She looked lovely, what with her Pre-Raphaelite hair and her natural charm. His eyes flicked to her bare knees. Ivy moved position, tucking her other leg up under her, almost giving George a view right up into her nightdress, certainly a view of white inner thigh. It was erotic, a picture of young feminine loveliness.

He stood at the door asking about her day, had she had her supper and the commonplace things two people living together might ask.

"I think I'll go and get ready for bed. A busy evening."

"Do come down again, when you are ready. I have some passages from 'Beatrice' I'd like to read to you."

George Crombie ascended the stairs with an erection. Ivy rather had that effect upon him!

Coming down, freshly bathed and in his pyjamas and dressing gown, George re-entered the sitting room. A hurried movement of a hand snatched from between thighs rather suggested Ivy had been enjoying the book in a rather 'hands on' way. There was a certain feminine scent in the room that very much pleased him.

Ivy began to read.

The servant waited. His erection remained as stiff as ever. There was excitement.

"Dip!" Katherine said.

There were new words. I was learning them. Display-dip. His eyes burned. Caroline's hips were high. He took them, gripped them. Rebelliously she endeavoured to twist them but he held her. His lips moved. I wanted words to come-a revelation-but no words came. His loins arched. The crest of his penis touched, probed.

"Caroline! Do not move or speak or you will be whipped!" Katherine said.

She stood observing, as one observes. It was so in the drawing room the night before when my aunt watched the waiting penis enter between the cheeks of Arabella's bottom. I could see now only the servant's haunches, his balls hanging below. Caroline bubbled a moan. Was it speech? His shaft entered-slow, but slow-the petal lips parting to receive it. The straining veins, the purplish head, the foreskin stretched.

Caroline's head jerked up and then was pulled back down by the tensioning of the chain in Jenny's grip.

"No, Caroline!" Jenny said softly.

Four inches, five. Caroline's mouth opened. Perhaps she had not, as I thought, sucked upon the penis. Her lovemouth gripped. The ring of truth. Cries gurgled from her lips. Six inches, seven. The fit was tight. I saw her buttocks squeeze, relax. His hands moved to the fronts of her thighs, suavely gripping them. A burr of stocking tops to his palms.

"No-ooooh!"

A soft, faint whimper. In! Ensconced. Buried to the hilt, his balls hung beneath her bottom.

A second ticked. Two. Three.

"Out!" Katherine snapped.

Gleaming, his shaft emerged. I saw his face in profile, the lines etched as by Durer. She jerked her head. He moved towards his clothes. Caroline blubbered softly, her hips wriggled as if she still contained him. Jenny drew her up by the chain. Caroline's eyes floated with tears. Her face suffused.

Ivy looked up and shook her head. So... the suspense, the unfulfilled sex. The servant must have been desperate to enjoy Caroline, yet he is sent to dress having been permitted for three perhaps four seconds to be within her - to the 'hilt.' Do you think he could even get it in his trousers or breeches like that? The girls are whipped, made to undress, put together, yet... yet the penis descriptions. So good, so good. Another passage caught my eye. The servant again. So used."

"Turn them!" I heard Katherine say. Ah, it was strange. He held his loins back as he obeyed so that the wavering crest of his pintle-pestle would not touch us. It was long and thick. I like long and thick now. The chains rattled. We were turned. I saw through the barn doors as through a huge eye. The world outside disenchanted me. There was an emptiness. Katherine sat on a bale, her legs crossed. Her skirts were drawn up to show her knees. She smiled at me a light smile, a wisp of a smile. Caroline's face was scarlet. The servant was naked. His balls were big. His penis was a horn of plenty.

We stood side by side still-children waiting to be called to the front of the class. For punishment or to be given prizes? Frederick's body was slender, muscular.

"Come!" Katherine said to him. He turned and moved to her. His back was to us, but he did not look at her. I could feel he did not. His glance was high. Above her head. In homage high. There was a trestle close-two pairs of legs shaped in a narrow V with a bar across. He moved to the front of it and stopped. His back touched the bar. Then he bent - a backward bend-so that his spine arched over the bar, his palms flat on the floor beyond. His penis stuck straight up.'

Ivy's fingers were between her thighs, there was no pretence of hiding what she was doing. "Mmmm, love the words, 'wavering crest,' 'long and thick' and the way he is on display - 'his penis stuck straight up.' Show me, George, show me your cock and your balls. Oh yes, so strong and upright, so right for fucking."

He had parted his dressing gown, undid his cord and brought his erection out. He even stroked it, doing what he had so often done in that room of an evening, but not with company. Indeed, reading the very book Ivy held in her hand. He rather hoped there were no pages stuck together. Semen is sticky and a lot had come out of his penis whilst reading that book. Indeed, on many occasions.

It was rather lovely the two of them masturbating freely, sharing their delight in the words of the book. Companionable and erotic.

My aunt twirled the stem of her wine glass. Even as I, she stared at the tablecloth and appeared to muse. "As I recall," she continued, "there is a particular manservant in your house. Is he not called Eric? He is young, lusty. During the act, when your bottom is bared, he will present his to your mouth. Blindfolded you will grope for it even while you are being pistoned . . .

A cry from Arabella interrupted my aunt. She covered her face. "Oh! I could not!" she burst.

Again, Ivy looked up preparatory to saying something. George could now properly see between young Ivy's parted thighs, could see her fingers at work in the wet flesh - fingers within, fingers diddling.

"Why," she said, "are they so nervous about sucking cock; more prepared to accept a gentleman's 'pintle' in a bottom than in a mouth? 'Oh! I could not' she says, whereas I could; I could very easily suck your cock, George, very easily."

Ivy stood and cast off her dressing gown and nightdress. The effect to him stunning. A young girl, so very clearly a natural redhead, utterly naked, nipples erect and he just about able to discern, poking down between her thighs, engorged lips. He had been able to see them entirely whilst Ivy had been, so charmingly, 'frigging' herself, knew them to be swollen in readiness for sexual activity. Aroused as he was. He watched as she moved slowly across the room towards his chair, book still in her hand. It was all just so as he might have dreamt in the past on his own, but now it was so real, so very there.

"Mmmm, cock," she said, kneeling before him and staring at the exposed and firm organ. "Arabella cries, 'I could not' and covers her face. Why? I just want to suck."

Was she teasing him or herself? Certainly, Ivy was moistening her lips, her eyes staring at the swollen penis before her. Her words and the excitement of the situation kept it hard without touching. George was almost mesmerised by what she was saying and doing, his cock kept raised in the air as if her words were like the music of the snake charmer, the hooded cobra wavering in the air.

"And then Caroline only permitted a few seconds of the servant's cock within her, six inches, seven. Buried to the hilt and the fit was tight.' His balls hanging beneath her bottom. Why only a few seconds, I'd want more. So much more and so must the servant and so would you." Her face turned upwards, and she looked at the man. "Shall we permit ourselves? A few seconds of cock in vagina, your cock, my vagina, a few seconds buried to the hilt?" She did not wait for an answer but stood and straddled his thighs, positioning herself as he stared at her breasts so there in front of him.

"Probe me," she said as her bottom descended, her wet sex open and seeking. The touch of exposed smooth cockhead to soft, 'oily' femininity. There was none of the tightness of Caroline, the penis was sliding easily. Slowly Ivy descended, her mouth open and her eyes tight shut; her concentration so upon the penis within her. Down and down until there was no more penis to go in. The remarkable penetration of a woman by a man, his penis probing far into her, curving up into her belly, the penis head ready to plant its seed.

"Wow, wow, wow!" Breathed Ivy and then a slow count of "one, two, three" and she was rising again, pulling herself from the cock, letting it fall back released. She had, indeed, only permitted herself a few seconds.

"Is it they are afraid of sucking cock? Absurd. Looks even better now wet, doesn't it? Shall I? Yes!"

On her knees again before George and the penis so recently in her vagina was all at once in her mouth. Ivy was not afraid at all!

George leant back in his chair and closed his eyes giving himself up to the feelings. It was not a mere few seconds of contact. It was a long suck.

"Make me come with your fingers again as I read. Then fuck me, come inside me." The girl jumped up from before him and sat on the arm of his chair, thighs open and convenient to his hand, breasts level with his face. Ivy picked up the book again as George brought his mouth and moustache to a nipple.

"That tickles!" But she let him suck. How lovely, how delightful a woman's nipples; so good to take in one's mouth; how good to swirl the tongue, how enjoyable to suck them, areolae and breast flesh into one's mouth - perhaps even better to imagine the spurting of hot milk.

And as George sucked and his fingers then busied themselves between Ivy's thighs she read:

Aunt Maude rose. "Thomas, you will entertain her," she announced. "Amanda, you may go to the kitchen, girl." Her glance encompassed Katherine, Jenny and myself. The drawing room received us. We stood. Parts of the furniture had been cleared away, leaving a space in the centre of the floor. There stood a chair-a black leather one that I had never seen before. It was a simple affair. The strong wooden legs were strutted and rose some three feet. The broad seat-if it could be called one-was a mere sling of leather. Where the uprights of the back rose, another strong width of leather was repeated. In the centre of it was a small hole. Facing the chair so that the fronts of the seats touched was an identical one. In general aspect it was like a crude couch without a back to it. I had seen such in ancient Egyptian relics.

We stood. Beside me, Jenny caressed the bulbous curve of my bottom cheeks lightly. Katherine went into the hall and returned shortly. Frederick came with her. He was naked. His prong pronged. Around his neck was a halter to which a chain was attached.

"Oh dear," said Ivy, "a chained erect male. I'm not sure what that idea does to me!"

Unspeaking, Katherine led him to the rear of one of the chairs and turned him to face it. His eyes were blind in their unseeing. His balls swung. "Closer!" Katherine snapped at him. His feet shuffled forward, the chain clinking. With a slight grimace of his features, the knob of his erect penis touched the leather slingback. To a slight but disdainful guidance of Katherine's fingers the knob passed through the hole and continued its upward glide until his prick emerged completely on the other side, facing the back of the other chair.

Motionless he stood, the veins raised on his tool which seemed to swell more by the tight enclosure. His balls pressed against the leather below the aperture.

Ivy paused, "Mmmm, forced through the leather, a tight fit and his cock swelling the more. Like yours with the veins, so strong, so powerful. So male! Mmmm, just look at it."

Jenny's fingers quested beneath my bottom, pressing the thin wool up between my cheeks. I strained my legs and endeavoured to stand still. Aunt Maude entered, surveyed the scene and nodded. A faint scuffling of heels came and Arabella was patted and persuaded within by my uncle. Her grown was wreathed up to her hips, her eyes blindfolded. Her legs were superb: statuesque, long, and beautifully curved. The fluff of her cunny was thick with curls. Her thighs rubbed nervously as she stumbled forward.

"It is a simulation," Jenny murmured to me.

Guided by my aunt's hands, Arabella was taken to the chairs and made to kneel upon the seats. But an inch before her mouth-had she but known it then-the servant's prick jutted its menace. Her magnificent bottom cheeks-cheeks such as Michelangelo might have carved in marble-pressed against the back of the other chair. The waiting hole there appeared to centre itself exactly in line with the deep divide between her hemispheres. Melon-full, her exposed breasts hung down. Her knees made to shift in nervous reflex, but the dipping of the sling-seat into which the weight of her legs pressed permitted little movement.

My uncle approached the back of the chair to which her haunches were pressed. His face had a haggard aspect. His jacket and waistcoat had been removed. The top of his breeches was unbuttoned.

"Have you a haggard aspect, George? You do seem very - aroused!" Her fingers reached and encircled his exposed erection and gave it a few tugs. "I wonder how much you want to come? How desperate are men to come? Do they like the anticipation, the wait, the teasing, the stroking before the spurting?" It was all rhetorical, she carried on reading. Ivy did not expect answers:

"Not yet-you are not privileged," Jenny said. With a last searching caress her hand relinquished my bottom. In my emptiness I stood while she blindfolded me, voices around me. How strange in the darkness of my dark. Did the furniture move-the sideboard menace? I had imaginings. A mystic magic.

"Hold her hips." It was my uncle's groan.

"There is no need, Thomas. She will be birched if she moves, save in desiring. Open your mouth now, Arabella-feel for it, absorb the knob-now press your bottom back, tight to the leather. Thomas, now!"

Groans, gurgles, cries-a gurgling, a moan. A blubbering, a slap, a sucking sound. Her mouth corked. Her lips would puff around the servant's tool. Creak of wooden legs. A croaking whine from Arabella. Her bottom corked in turn

In my impossibilities I swayed. But feet away from me the thin inhissing of breath sounded through Arabella's nostrils. Tomorrow perhaps she would receive guests for tea. The polite questions of everydayness would be asked. Music sheets would lay decoratively ranged upon a piano. Her parents would flank her sides. It would be known that she was obedient. The servants would move quietly in their domain. The curtains would be dumb to speak. Her bed would wait for night to fall. Sperm-drops around her stocking tops. Was here salvation? Her eyes would be hollow, receiving messages.

"Ah! in her to the root. She has taken both." It was Katherine's voice. Her tongue licked in my ear. I trembled. I knew I must stand still. In my stillness standing.

"Yes, yes, yes! It's just so erotic to me, I don't know why the aunt said it was a 'simulation,' it was very real to me. The act taking place with the aunt, Beatrice and others watching. I mean, George, if it was taking place in the middle of the room here. We watching." Ivy licked her lips, "there Arabella is on those funny seats, kneeling and 'corked,' it is in her to 'the root.' I've never ever, not two boys at once - no! I wouldn't... I don't think I would but..." She was looking at George. "Do you think I would... would it be good for me to try? I know what you're thinking, 'why not three? Three places. What are they George? Tell me."

The girl was worked up. Really worked up. George Crombie found it both so arousing and so fascinating at the same time. His young visitor on heat! In the comfort, the warmth and the privacy of his heavily curtained front room she was letting herself go, falling into the eroticism of his book, 'Beatrice.' Was it all part of her reaction to her breakup with her boyfriend; her anger and frustration finding an outlet in sexual release?

"Vagina, mouth and bottom, Ivy. I don't think it happens in this book."

"But another?"

"Maybe! There might be another book."

"I don't think I... but I'd like to watch. Watch a girl being 'prepared' for the task. That's how it would be in Beatrice's world. Perhaps Arabella or Caroline would be told first. The triple penetration simply announced to them by the aunt. They would protest, say they couldn't, did not want to, would not - but it would happen. Perhaps blindfolded they would be led into a room not knowing which of them was to be so opened. Naked or partly undressed, their dresses raised, their breasts unleashed. Perhaps tied, perhaps manacled, unwilling subjects - maybe. In the centre of the room a chaise longue with a manservant already stretched out upon it. His legs over the end, his knees bent and his thighs apart, his balls hanging, slack in the heat, his eggs pulling the sack downwards with their fullness and weight. His tool has already been erected. It is for the chosen girl's bottom. It is swollen. The book would have some words about it. The servant staring at the young mistresses, not knowing whose bottom he would fill.