A New Georgy-Girl Ch. 02 - Georgy and Me

Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Georgy grabbed my hand and yanked me down the corridor to the guest suite, the 'Blue Room', so called because mother, as a joke, had once put Georgy's blue Donald Duck vase with a spray of silk roses in it on the mantelpiece and declared that "we now have a 'Blue Room', just like Hampton Court!", and the name stuck long after the joke had been forgotten. Guests were sometimes puzzled why it was 'The Blue Room', seeing as there wasn't any hint of blue in there, but it would have been impossible to explain, so we didn't. The name may have been a joke, but the huge, luxurious four-poster bed with the Damask drapes and lush brocade counterpane was anything but.

Georgy yanked me into the room and planted her lips against mine; I was trapped, what could I do? Of course I kissed her back as hard as I could, while Mister Hands explored her tight, sexy little bottom; I'm not daft, and I know the perfect set-up when I see it. Georgy wriggled against me, grinding against a part of me that really appreciated it.

"Oo-er, naughty soldier-boy wants to play, does he?" she husked, grinding even harder, so I slipped my hands down the back of her jeans so I could cup her hot little bottom and squeeze it a little.

"Shall we be naughty, Ty? Shall we be naughty, dirty boys and girls, Ty? You wanna get naughty and dirty with me? You wanna show me what naughty squires do to naughty milkmaids, Tyler?" she crooned, never once letting up with the wriggling and the grinding and the rubbing and torturing.

My cock was like an iron bar; Georgy does things to me that no other girl (and let's be honest, there were never that many, just weekend gropes in Camberley if we had a Saturday night free) had ever done, reached places no other girl had ever touched, not even my fantasy lays during my long days in the sandbox, and I needed to get her naked, because I had a large dose of ravishment to hand out...

"I've always wanted to be hammered in a four-poster bed, Ty, are you going to make my dreams come true, my hot soldier-man? C'mon, Tyler, show me how the naughty Tin Soldier likes to jig-a-jig!" giggled Georgy, amusement and arousal fighting for control of her

Oh boy, that did it. Georgy shrieked with laughter as I picked her up and whirled her around, dumping her right in the centre of that sumptuous bed.

"You earned this, baby-girl, for real!" I grinned, "and when we do our thing I'm going to bring you back here and hammer you some more, got that?"

Georgy grinned happily. "Ooo, I love it when you talk property to me, tell me more, you dirty boy!"

"Architraves!" I drawled, leering at her, watching her pretend to shiver with lust. "You filthy, dirty beast, how dare you... do it some more, now!"

"Cornices and Crown mouldings!" I snarled and she shuddered, jiggling most fetchingly, "Oh you, you, you utter...MAN!" She stammered, her hands clasped dramatically to her breast. "How could you do this to me... more, I say, sirrah, more, now, damn you!"

"Shuttering carpentry, there, how about that?" I growled dangerously.

"Just take me now, I'm yours, you defeated me with all that dirty 'renovation-speak', you utter pervert!" she giggled, posing theatrically. "Come and get your reward you brazen man-hussy, you earned it!"

Georgy was looking so damned appealing, and I couldn't take it anymore; playing silly buggers with her was all well and good, but I had the romantic setting, the hot girl, the perfect moment.

"I love you, Tyler Wilmot, did you know that?" whispered Georgy, unbuttoning my shirt and tugging it off.

"And I love you too, Georgy Lassiter, I hope you know that?" I replied. Georgy bit her lip and grinned as she nodded slowly.

" Course I do, silly man, now kiss me and show me how much!"

Kissing Georgy is a real production, believe me; when we kiss she's tender, and yielding, and softly romantic, but she can be needy and demanding too, drawing our kisses out into more than just a prelude to lovemaking; kissing her is an experience, an achievement in itself, not just the start of something. I can kiss her for hours on end and never feel the same thing twice, because every moment is new and exciting, a different nuance of her in every kiss, all spread before me for me to feast on. I could have stayed there all day just wrapped in her arms, but I had something for her, and I had the perfect romantic setting, it was the perfect time for it.

I slid off the bed and grabbed my jacket, fishing around in the pocket while Georgy (a very naked, very desirable Georgy...) watched in puzzlement. Finding what I was looking for, I sat on the edge of the bed and gently slid her toward me so I could look in her eyes. She still had that puzzled look, so I kissed her, then kissed her some more because, damn.

"Willie, what's wrong?" she murmured, and I smiled at her worried face.

"Nothing at all Georgy, believe me, but there is something I need to ask you."

"Ask away, Willie, you know you can ask me anything, right?" she smiled, so I kissed her again because it just felt so damned good.

"Willie..." she prompted, so I stopped kissing her (dammit! I was enjoying that!) and pulled her onto my lap.

"Okay Georgy, here goes: there has been a Wilmot family here, in this place since before Magna Carta; they've always been landowners, lords of the manor, even, for nine-hundred years, and in all that time, certain... traditions have taken root. The family has always set great store in its past, its heritage, and its traditions and so now it's time to share one of the most enduring traditions with you..."

I pulled the little box out from behind me where I'd hidden it, and opened it. Georgy gasped at what was inside, a large, gold signet seal ring set with tiny rubies around a heraldic badge of a snarling leopard affronté in high relief with its mouth open and a shield with the ancient Amboise-Wilmotte arms between its paws, with an ornate pattée cross, a Templar emblem, entwined through the heraldic motifs. A dark, smoky, cabochon-cut ruby was set in each of the four angles made by the arms of the cross.

"Mummy's ring..." she breathed, her eyes wide and wondering, and I nodded.

"Mummy's ring and a whole lot more, too. This ring has been worn by the lady of the house since the Third Crusade; the stones came from the hilt of the misericorde dagger my ancestor carried at the siege of Acre in Jerusalem. It broke when he was killed by Saladin's army, and his squire brought the hilts back to his wife, who had some of the stones set in this ring, and the rest in the cover of the breviary in the library. This ring also unlocks the family bible. It actually has a name: 'La Chatelaine', because only the lady of the house can keep it. Mother wore it, as did my grandmother before her, and her mother, and so on back."

I buffed the ring with a corner of the bedclothes to admire the deep, dark sheen of the blood-red rubies before offering her the ring and watching her expression of wistful sadness at the memory of Mother wearing that ring on special occasions, and her playing with it when she was a little girl.

"For getting on for nine hundred years the lady of the house of Wilmot has worn this ring as the symbol of her duty to defend the family and this house in the name of the lord of the house in times of war, and as the emblem of her rank. Will you, Georgina Lassiter, marry me and be my wife, be the lady of the house of Wilmot, be my own chatelaine and wear my family's ring, and treasure the history and meaning that goes with it?"

Georgy stared into my eyes, her eyes huge and shiny with unshed tears even as her sunny smile broke through.

"Yes Willie, I will marry you, I will be your wife, and wear your family's ring and treasure your family's history, and when we have a son and he brings home a wife to be mistress of this house, I will gladly honour your family custom and pass the ring to her when the time comes and teach her what the ring symbolises. I love you, Tyler Wilmot, and I so much want to be your wife."

I slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her gently, not playfully like before; this was the most important moment of my life and I wasn't going to trivialise it in any way. Georgy, too, sensed that things had changed now, that we were no longer Georgy and Will, now we were us, a unit, the next part in our family story, and her returned kisses showed that she understood that.

"Finish undressing, Will, please, I want to make love to my husband..." she whispered, and I wasted no time, because my mind was working in the exact same way; I wanted to make love to my wife, because that's who she was now, not just my Georgy-Girl, but my wife, the owner of my heart, and the lady of this house for real. Georgy kissed me as I slid my loafers off, and batted my hands away when I started unbuttoning my jeans.

"Nope, uh-uh, mine!" she grinned, popping the stud and sliding down my zipper.

"Off, take them off..." she murmured, so I obliged, kicking jeans and socks away to stand in just my shorts.

"Bob the Builder?" she grinned as I posed for her.

"You gave them to me for my birthday, you wretched girl, so now suffer!" I leered, "I seem to remember you wearing 'Dora the Explorer' panties yesterday, as I recall I enjoyed exploring them, or have you forgotten that already?"

"Oh pish, tosh, and pshaw, that was then, now come here, Ty, that's it, come closer baby..." she crooned alluringly, so I obliged, and quick as lightning she grabbed the waistband and yanked them down.

"Much better," she smiled, "now come here, I've got something for you..."

I made as if to grab her, but she dodged me and patted the bed beside her.

"Here, up here, Willie, let's do this properly, I only get one first chance at this, I want to do it properly."

I looked at her quizzically, and she grinned that sexy, impish grin of hers.

"We were Tyler and Georgy before, but it's different now; now we're more; now we're going to be husband and wife. In every way that matters you're already my husband, that ring made it so, and as I'm your wife, I want our first time as us to be the first, best time ever. Come here and be my husband, Ty, please."

When she put it that way I had no choice but to comply; no more banter, no more horseplay, this was serious, she'd never been more serious, and I'd never been more in love with her as I was right then. She was right, this was a special time, this was us making love as the new us.

Exploring Georgy's body was always going to be my first and favourite pastime; every inch of her was worth examining in minute detail, usually with a lot of giggling and a certain amount of tickling, but not now; now, I just wanted to make love to the most beautiful girl in the world, and she was right up there and on-board with that too, it didn't get any better than that. Until it did.

"No Tyler, let me..." she murmured, when I went to pull her to me, eager as I was to once more make love to my girl. I relaxed as she kissed her way up my body, starting with teasing my navel with her tongue-tip, the feel of her sweet, gentle little kisses on my body, teasing, erotic, and agonisingly exquisite, fluttering against my skin like the softest touch of butterfly wings. She reached my throat, my neck, and goose-flesh erupted up and down my body as she gently kissed me in places I never knew could arouse me so much. My cock was straining for her, but she avoided even brushing against it, concentrating instead on driving me wild with just the brush of her lips against my overheated skin.

"Georgy..." I croaked, lust and need for her almost overwhelming my senses.

"Please Tyler, just this once, let me..." she breathed, never once letting up in her feather-light assault on my senses.

Now she was lying next to me, her kisses decorating my chin, my cheek, the scent and feel of her the only things in my suddenly narrowed world; she was all there was in my world, all I needed, all I wanted. When her lips finally found mine I almost groaned at the exquisite torture, the mental anguish of her nearness, her kisses lighting up my brain and making my head spin. As her lips sealed to mine my hands found her, holding, squeezing, fondling her, and now she was lying on top of me, her hands holding my face as we kissed long and breathlessly, her body slowly wriggling against mine, grinding my hardness between our bellies, torturing me with what she knew I wanted to do.

I felt her lips curve as she smiled, and her knees slip over my side, and then the pressure was gone, and loss crashed through me, no, I couldn't believe she'd take me there and then abandon me, until I felt her holding me, aiming me, and then the hot, damp, succulent pressure surrounding me as she slowly took me into herself, loving me the way she knew I wanted to love her.

I gasped as I slid into her, echoing her hissing intake of breath. My hands slipped down to hold and caress her strong, sleek thighs as she rode me slowly, deliberately, taking her time to make this the most memorable ever.

"I love you so much... my husband!" moaned Georgy, grinding and riding me, while I gritted my teeth and held back, wanting her to get as much from this as she was giving me. I never just have sex with Georgy; I make love to her, my whole heart is wrapped around hers when we join. It's never recreational or for fun, it's a re-affirmation of who we are and what she means to me, and she shows me in a thousand ways that's what it means to her too, and so it was now, me making love to the girl who was going to be the mother of my children, come Hell or high-water.

"I love you too, my darling wife!" I gasped, holding her and marvelling at the sleek, muscular smoothness of her thighs as she redoubled her efforts, taking us to that place where ecstasy dwelt.

"Oh God, Georgy, what are you doing to me?" I groaned as she clasped and released me, the rippling heat of her vagina taking me higher and higher even as she flushed, her eyes squeezed tight shut even as her mouth dropped open, gasping as she hammered herself against me, drawing me in, milking me, until:

"Ohh God! Yess, yess, yess, YEESSS!!" she screamed as the thunderbolt of orgasm shot through her, electrifying her. I was right there with her, all my efforts to hold back, to pleasure her first paying off, but I couldn't hold back any longer as I to came like lightning, like molten iron, like molten lava, pulse after pulse of boiling hot spunk spraying out of me and deep into her, coming harder than I ever had before, filling my girl, my wife with my tribute.

Georgy slumped down on top of me, her heart thundering against mine, while her scent, sweet, sharp, a beguiling blend of arousal and fresh summer sweat mingled with the more subtle undertones of her own unique girl-scent in an exotic, intoxicating scent complex surrounded me and played hob with my nervous system. I was completely blown, my muscles twitching and trembling in reaction to the gigantic climax that had raged through me, and Georgy was no less exhausted, her body draped across mine, limp and unresponsive.

I don't know how long we lay like that, lost in the afterglow of our mutual orgasm, until my softening cock slipped from her, drawing a soft hiss from her.

"Oh my God, Will, that was... oh my God..." mumbled Georgy, kissing my chest and slowly slipping off me, to lie in the crook of my arm.

"We aim to please, Mrs. Wilmot, service with a smile, I hope it was to your satisfaction?" I ad-libbed, and grinned as Georgy kissed my chin and patted my stomach.

"You did passably well, Mister Wilmot, I hope this is a taste of things to come?"

I pulled her into me so I could kiss her properly.

"Every day, and three times on Saturday, wife of mine!" I grinned.

*****

Aunt Kay showed no surprise when she spotted the ring on Georgy's finger, rather a tiny smile and an arch lift of her eyebrow as she first pecked Georgy on the cheek, then turned to me.

"Congratulations, children, I'm so pleased for you both, and Tyler? It's about time, I'm not getting any younger, you know! I expect you'll find a more suitable engagement ring soon, dear, there are so many fine rings to choose from in the family collection, or perhaps something more bespoke; 'La Chatelaine' is a beautiful, meaningful, very historic symbol but it's hardly suitable for daily wear, dear."

*****

Work soon commenced on our new project house. Georgy had a particular image of how the interiors should be presented, and while we were not hampered by any listing or grading requirements for the exterior, unlike the last place we'd renovated, we decided the classic Georgian façade was something we wanted to preserve and inform the renovation of the interior. I'd had an in-depth structural survey done, and the architectural engineers were happy that the structure was stable and sound, just bare-arsed ragged, so we could begin the mammoth task of rebuilding the interior.

As before, the reclamation sites far and wide got wind of what we were doing, and what we'd probably need, and watching Georgy argue and bargain mercilessly over piles of timber, pallets of old Georgian Fletton brick, and crates of door furniture was a joy to behold. Because the brick was reclaimed, it was usually caked with old mortar and render, so Georgy would beat them over the head to get rock-bottom prices for them because we had to clean them up, and we'd spend whole days with hammers and bolster chisels doing nothing but chipping all that old crud off the bricks to get them clean and ready for reuse. My sweet girl was an absolute shark; I spent a lot of time with a huge grin on my face because of the way she bit suppliers' arms off if she thought they were pulling a fast one, and I was absolutely enchanted at the way she was taking the lead on this project.

As before, we began with the basics; the place had no connection to the electrical mains, no mains gas; the plumbing, what little there was, was 300-years old lead pipe, so it would all have to come out, and there was no sewage provision, not even earth-closets, just a collection of long-defunct outhouses. The roof and chimney stacks were close to collapsing, so new bracing, trusses, and slates, and new lead flashing around the rebuilt chimney stacks, and the damp in the cellar needed to be addressed before anything else happened.

An architect provided us with a set of drawings that allowed us to make changes to the inner fabric of the building, but the first task was getting experts to plumb and wire the house, and argue with the water-board over the price of clean water mains connection, a weeping tile and herringbone drainage network, and grey water and soil and sewage pipes trenched down to the main sewer and storm drains out under the main street of the village.

While the licensed specialists were doing their thing, Georgy and I got down to restoring what we could of the original High-Georgian interior. The rooms were all grandly proportioned, with high ceilings and tall, elegant windows, and had once had tall, double-leaf doors, of which only the splintery, rotted-out jambs and sills remained, but it gave us a good idea of what they were supposed to look like.

The actual windows and doors would have been the kind of imposing, slightly over-scale appearance we'd come to expect of the period, so a large part of our time was spent in deciding what the door and window architraves, capping, and skirting boards should look like, and then reworking more of the stripped reclaimed doors and wood to make them fit our vision.

Georgy had another brilliant idea, one I should have expected from her; if we couldn't get genuine over-scale Georgian doors for the four grand reception rooms, and having them made to order was ridiculously expensive, then maybe we could take one of the smaller Victorian doors, they were readily available from the paint stripping places, pull it apart, and copy it. The style was exactly the same, they were just smaller, so maybe we could copy the door panelling, stiles, rails, and mullions, just proportionally wider and taller instead of filling and bodging those imposing over-sized doorways and installing smaller, clumsy-looking, out-of-scale doors; we already had routers, chop-saws and table saws, we knew how to measure and cut, we could probably do it ourselves.