A Glass of Chablis Ch. 04

Beside the chaise longue a chair and set through a hole in its seat a leather dildo, hard but curved and upright. Ready to receive. Oh yes! Neither girl will escape but only one will be truly penetrated. The unknowing will continue even as their bottoms are filled."

Ivy's eyes seemed a little wild. Her bottom was moving upon the arm of George Crombie's chairs as she pushed herself against his working fingers. It would not be long.

"The girls bottoms would be prepared. Oil poured, and their anuses eased by the women. Slender, feminine hands stroking and rubbing, fingers entering other women's bottoms, both Arabella and Caroline. Protests but the fingers are within and the penis and dildo await. The girls are made to sit, Arabella to the chaise longue Caroline to the chair. They are told to seat themselves slowly and carefully. They know why, they know a penis will be there and they are both right! Each thinking she has been the 'unlucky' one. A gasp from each as their half-opened anuses touch the hardness, feeling the prong and knowing they must sit, must force the thing into their oiled bottoms. Teeth clenched, eyes beneath the blindfolds tight shut they descend, the servant's real penis and leather stitched dildo making their way up into the girls."

"You are doing well, Ivy, perhaps you should write."

"Would you buy my book?"

"I'd want it signed as well!"

"Thank you for the inspiration and the memories, love and wetness, Ivy Reid?"

"Something like that."

"Who will it be? We haven't had that in the book. I wonder." Again, Ivy picked up 'Beatrice.' Ah yes, this is so it!

Arabella screamed foolishly as she was borne to a couch of purple velvet, her dress raised high to bare her belly.

"Wha-aaaaah!" Her screams became hysteria as Katherine assisted in thrusting her down, mounting upon her shoulders as she had mounted upon my face. Wildly as Arabella kicked she could not escape the scooping back of her knees by Katherine. Her slit showed pulpy in its fullness.

For the battle now Rupert prepared, casting off his jacket and lowering his breeches. His cockprong pronged a full nine inches long. The head was purplish, swollen. His hands assisted Katherine's in parting Arabella's long milky thighs. Arabella's shoulders bucked. She was held. Her anguished cries half-extinguished beneath Katherine's skirt bubbled away.

"You have had her bottom only?" Katherine asked.

"Thrice-including her penance over the table when she was birched. How magnificent she looks!"

"See! Arabella is going to be fucked! Fuck me harder with your fingers. Yes, like that. Aren't the descriptions so good. I couldn't match that. Her 'slit showed pulpy in its fullness.' Mmmm, is mine? And his 'cockprong,' its 'head purplish, swollen' like yours." She dropped a hand and let her fingers stroke George's swollen knob, light caresses, touching the orifice, raising the stickiness there upwards, thin strands of seepage raised between opening fingers.

'For long moments while Arabella blindly squirmed her hips, he gazed upon the fount of his desiring. I wanted the maid again-her tongue. In my proudness I did not ask. Only the silent pulsing of my quim beseeched.

With a groan he was entered.

"Slowly-slowly," Katherine breathed. An eagle perched, she gazed upon the conquest-the curl-fringed lips that rolled in succulence, parting to the charger's crest. Arabella's thighs quivered in their grip. Hands scooped her bottom, the strength of him lifting her.

Inklings of surrender I sensed even as the veined shaft sank within. Inklings. It is a pretty word. Small notes of sound spattered with ink. The acquiescence of her bottom stirred me. It shifted little on his cupping palms once she was shafted to the full.

My instincts were shared, it seemed. Of a sudden, Katherine dismounted from the nubile beauty who held the cock full-clenched within her now. Puffed of cheeks that were sheened with moisture, Arabella stirred but faintly. His belly pressed upon hers. Their pubic hairs mingled. I could feel his throbbing as within myself-the gently ticking impulse of desire.'

"Veined shaft sinking within, like yours will, 'shafted to the full,' I think."

'Arabella succumbed. Elegant in their fullness, her stockinged legs slid down from his loosing grasp. The heels of her boots stirred upon the velvet of the couch. Her legs trembled and straightened. Her large breasts, tumbled out of her opened dress, gave her a perfect aspect of voluptuousness.

His breeches slid farther down. He whispered, as I thought, something in her ear. Her face was deeply flushed. Her lips moved. Her hands clasped timorously at his shirt.

"Your tongue," he husked, "your tongue now, Arabella."

Her breath scooped in audibly as if drawn by some inward suction in her throat.

"You must not come! Oh! You must not come!"

The couch jolted, stirred. The pleasure train of pleasure had begun.

Her tongue protruded, thrust within his mouth. Their mouths gobbled. Glistening, his shaft emerged-sank in again. Rocking, creaking. His pace quickened. Her knees bent as if shyly at first. Her calves lifted, uncertain in their seeking. In a moment, his cock pounding her with virile force, they were knotted about his loins. A squelching. Their tongues worked. Moaning they squirmed their loins.

He was long at his task-longer than I had deemed he could hold in his excitement. Then at last his rattling cry-a swift tightening of Arabella's legs. Her breasts were at pillage. He sucked upon them greedily in his coming, his outspurting. Judders, quivers, a last tight clenching of her cuntlips. Then was stillness.

Arabella's head lay back, her eyes and mouth open. Her legs slackened, fell. Her entire body seemed to quiver at the withdrawal of his cock which left a snail's trail of sperm down her thigh. Her face held a look of vacant surprise. Made to rise at last, her dress caught up, she leaned against him foolishly.

"Tonight again," he said. He patted her bottom. Her eyes would not look at my eyes. Turning away she patted haplessly at her hair and then covered herself. I knew her wetness.'

"So good. So good! The 'snail's trail of sperm down her thigh,' all so descriptive, you can imagine it all. The author's words tactile and visual."

"And your story?"

"Arabella, now fully corked, is told to lie back, her legs are parted. She now knows it is her not Katherine that is to receive. A real penis is within her bottom. The man is readied. Arabella squirms, her lips utter protests, but it is not easy for her to move. She has six, seven, eight inches of hard penis in her bottom. The new man stares down at her open quim, their pubic hair is to be mingled, his veined shaft to penetrate. Her head shakes from side to side as he carefully sets himself down upon her body, his chest squashing her breasts, more than brushing her sensitive nipples and then it is time for the deed. Perhaps it is the aunt, perhaps Beatrice assisting the man, making the connection, placing the penis at the 'pulpy' entrance and pushing it in, no distance at all from where another cock has already made its way into her. The second penis is pushed home, two swords close sheathed."

Ivy blinked and swallowed, "A girl sandwich between the two men. The weight of, one man upon her and for the man beneath the weight of her and the man. She the filling in the sandwich. But what of the dressing, the mustard or the mayonnaise? She is told to turn her head and there before her blindfolded eyes a third man, a third penis, rigid and strong. It has the mayonnaise! 'Open your mouth, Arabella,' a protest stopped mid-flow as the penis stoppers her mouth. The smooth knob and straining flesh go in and her tongue helplessly lashes against it, now unable to utter a word. The mayonnaise will come... oh, oh, oooooh!"

No doubt as with the other penises, the rounded bulb in Arabella's mouth would indeed shoot but Ivy's made up tale was paused, rather dramatically paused, as she came for real, not in her story, shuddering and squirming upon George's aged and thick fingers; her face screwed up, her mouth slack. She was dribbling - she really was! George smiled as he watched, his fingers working, his penis still, so pleasingly, as hard as a young man's.

She sat on the arm of George's chair, eyes closed and motionless. As her shuddering subsided, he had let his fingers rest. Some were still within the girl but unmoving. To his nostrils her warm scent. Would Ivy now perhaps let him enter again; might she suck him off or at least exercise his penis with her hand until he too reached orgasm. All options were good. He did not think she would merely let him subside and go to bed. What a lovely experience in his comfortable sitting room; something like he had merely dreamt of before - before Ivy came in out of the rain. Difficult to imagine what his friends would think but there again what would they have thought of his unusual reading material?

"Would you like to fuck me, George?"

"Very much!"

"On the carpet before the fire?"

"Sounds lovely, Ivy. I would very much like that - or anywhere really!"

So good to watch her stand, his fingers pulled from her wetness. See her slowly and sexily get down upon the hearth rug, moving her body in an almost feline way. But it was not to have her tummy tickled that she lay on her back with her legs apart. A cat might well do something like that, though there was a likelihood of the cat suddenly scratching or play biting when all at once she decided enough was enough. So unlike a dog which would probably lie unmoving for as long as the human was happy to tickle or rub its stomach, tongue lolling from its mouth, eyes watching with contentment.

George rose from his chair and momentarily stood looking down at Ivy on the floor, down past his jutting penis and hanging balls. Carefully he lowered himself. It was perhaps a long way down for an old man, even a fit man like George Crombie. Sex on the hearthrug perhaps not in the usual range of activities for pensioners. He did stroke Ivy a little as if she was indeed some cat or dog on the hearth rug. Dogs or cats have fur and his fingers worked their way down from Ivy's smooth hairless stomach to Ivy's ginger fur; his fingers wriggled in amongst the curls before slowly moving their bouncy softness under his fingers.

"Come on, George, get inside me. Take it slowly, there's no hurry. Don't feel you need to come quickly. I'm not going anywhere tonight."

So good to position himself and lower his body onto hers. A full body contact before the very intimate contact. The act of coition. For cats and dogs, it was to produce offspring - and very good at producing kittens and puppies they are too if not 'neutered.' Humans, and to be fair some animals, practice coition as recreation as well. George whilst not in the first flush of youth was not 'neutered,' his balls hung free and were still potent: Ivy on the other hand was temporarily and artificially infertile. Her hormones had been played with; her body tricked by her daily pill into thinking she was already pregnant.

He had been inside Ivy that evening, a very quick joining as part of Ivy's reading; now, though, he was doing the act with intention to complete, positioning himself and slowly sliding into the young girl. He took Ivy at her word and did not hurry, prolonging his pleasure as he might have done only a few days before on his own; slowly sliding his penis in one hand with a book in the other. Now he had breasts in his hands and the slow sliding was not done by hand but against soft vaginal walls - gossamer soft, and both hot and wet. He felt almost like a young man again, his penis just so hard as he fucked. Thoughts of Ann-Marie in Brittany all those years ago, her white bikini discarded, making love in the dunes by the sea again and again. Such a long time ago. Sand, sea and sex... wine and French cheeses, prix fixe, gâteau de crème pâtissière ou de confiture de fruits... et sand, sea and sex. All a long time ago.

George paused, his penis so close to release, holding himself; conscious, so conscious that unlike a hand that stops moving a vagina is different, the warmth and wetness carries on as sensation when the movement stops. So on the edge - best not to think of the vagina, best to think of bank statements and grocery shopping or even Doris' central heating system. Hold the moment and prolong it.

George began to move again: all the way in, almost all of the way out and then slowly, very slowly, back in. Not many strokes and he was on a knife edge again. Release could not be long delayed unless he vacated Ivy and went for a walk - or cold shower! That was not going to happen. But there was Doris' central heating system to think upon.

Finally, and inevitably George came. A sudden escalation of his movement, a really pumping, pushing action with his hips; sudden exertion and exercise; perhaps good exercise for an old man - certainly intensely pleasurable as Ivy was duly inseminated. Such a lovely girl there on the hearthrug. They lay in front of the fire and almost dropped off to sleep, still entwined, still coital.