Lady Lovecome's Diaries: 03

Diary, picture this.

Nestled between three wings of an ivy covered, multi-turreted gothic pile is a sun terrace shaded by a lemon tree. On the terrace's open side, a mirror-still ornamental pond reflects half a mile of landscaping and lollipop topiary. Some have called this the most desirable house in the world.

Between the potted tree and the pond sits a woman. The wind ruffles her sharp, black bob. The marble is warm against her bottom through her silvery silk dress, and her toes are cool in the pond. Some have called her the most desirable woman in the world. Though not enough for her liking. This is because her mouth and bottom are too big and her eyes too scarily dark and because she's too short.

Glimmers dance on ripples as the woman kicks her podgy little feet. Across the lawns, pine trees wave like benevolent giants while her own benevolent giant, Bill, gives a dying tree a short-back-and-sides with rhythmic strokes of his mighty saw.

An innocent scene. But take a peek in the black windows of the girl's eyes and it's a different story...

It's flushed purple in there. They say the brain is the largest sex organ and this girl's brain, this morning, is swollen to bursting with her imaginings. Diary, of course, the girl was, is, me.

No prizes for guessing why I was so... engorged. Before Bill started sawing I'd been happily lost in my prime considerations of the day: What is the best oral sex one could ever have? I awoke pondering the question and had decided to describe to you today the absolute best sucking or licking someone might ever give or experience. Then -- as is my wont -- I'd enact it later with my long-suffering manservant. For this reason I'd even sent the staff away so we had the house to ourselves. My oral imagination would not be restricted to my bedroom!

So I was happily lost in things licky. In fact, I'd had a marvellous idea and already set it in motion with a few choice texts to relevant parties. So on top of my steamy dreaming, I was a little giddy with anticipation. That's when Bill -- invisible in the woods somewhere -- started his relentless, manful strokes.

Diary, I needed those strokes on me, in me, so badly it actually raised a lump to my throat. My need was so keen because, remember, fucking is something that Bill and I agreed we wouldn't do. And when I say, "we agreed" I mean, "father insists". My father doesn't approve of me, a lady, enjoying the beefy delights of my commoner boyfriend. He would split us up if he could, but Bill and I persist because a: We're adults and make our own decisions and b: We have videos of my in-denial father in flagrante with a rent boy--what can he do to us?

Perhaps I shouldn't leave you lying around for him to read though, dear Diary. Father's response to my juicy stories was to take Bill aside. "Enjoy my daughter's lascivious attention if you must, but she's been bred for a prince, not a gardener. I have read how she likes to please you. I suggest you make the most of her mouth because a man like you can never have her hand. Or her cunt." Classy! But he went on. "And if you dare impregnate my potentially royal daughter I will have you executed for treason."

"Contraception!" I hear you cry, but remember Bill's larger than most and hasn't found a condom that doesn't split. And yes the pill is effective, but not protect-us-from-murder effective. It's difficult to fuck with a gun at Bill's head. So. Hence my oral fixations.

Part of my plan for today involved a promise to myself that I wouldn't come until later with Bill. The best oral, surely, had to follow a period of abstinence. However, with a head full of head, and the steady, hard push of my man in the woods, I found it difficult not to scratch my itch.

Impossible, in fact.

So, I lay back on the warm stone. I shut my eyes and considered my Ultimate Oral while I rubbed my tingly bits through my dress. I wasn't breaking my promise to myself. In fact, if I thought only about sucking and licking, while keeping said fidgety digits out of my hole, then rubbing out a quickie was even a kind of therapy--like methadone for a heroin addict.

I was very pleased with my plan for today, it was going to blow our horny little minds.

I'd considered all kinds of ways of coming on Bill's tongue, from my favourite dirty girl crouch on his mouth, to him spreading me on the breakfast table and devouring me, to me bent double and him devouring me. Me up a tree. Him up a tree. Either of us tied naked on the chaise. Sixty-nine on the chaise. I considered silly things we'd done already, like when he squeezed under my desk while I wrote, and made me come by humming on my clit with his sexy, deep, boomy voice. (I returned the favour one afternoon swinging on a garden seat. I hummed all five verses of "God Save the Queen" on his cock, quite tunefully too, until he came and I got a fit of rather messy giggles.) In my oral fever, I even recalled how a French tourist girl shouted something at Bill once, and her friends all laughed. Later he asked me what they'd said. I told him. "Turn me upside down and eat me like an ice cream." He grinned malevolently and right there in the potting-shed flipped me--like I was light as a seedling--straight to his mouth. This has been his favourite position since. And what about Bill, other than that-- what would be the best for him? Well, I asked his opinion first thing. As he hauled a stump past the terrace where I sat ruminating, he doffed his cap good morning and I said, "What would be your ultimate blowjob?"

He didn't bat an eyelid. "Ma'am, if I had a favourite, that would imply others weren't as good. And they're all the best with you."

Sweet! And that's what gave me my idea. I was SO going to prove him wrong.

So, back by the pond, I stirred at my clit through my dress. The tingling had spread, flushing across my belly and tits where a cheeky kiss of wind brushed silk across my nipples. Perhaps my imagination wandered to Bill's thick phallus plundering my depths because that's when I noticed his sawing had stopped.

I opened my eyes to find him standing over me, glittering. "You've had a fall, Ma'am?"

"Fuck me."

He folded his arms.

I sighed a trembly breath. "I'm not wearing any knickers."

"I presumed you didn't own a pair, Ma'am."

I laughed and walloped his thigh, then resumed my silky stirring, peering at the bulge in his trousers.

He sat beside me, eyes darting from my lips to my fingers. He adores my big, plump mouth. Sometimes I find him just staring at it while I speak.

I rolled my hips. "You like this?"

He cleared his throat.

"I'm madly wet." I squirmed. "It's dripping between my bum cheeks."

His eyes narrowed. Isn't it funny how deadly serious horniness looks?

"You don't believe me?" I ducked a hand up my skirt, wriggled two fingers between my slippy folds, and withdrew them, stringing and glistening between us.

"You need to come." He took my small hand in his great paw and kissed my wet fingers tenderly. He licked his lips. "Ma'am."

"Make me. Fuck me."

"No."

"Why won't you fuck me? Am I so hideous?"

"You're the most beautiful flower I've ever seen, Ma'am." He kept hold of my hand and watched my other work. A breeze flicked a curl across his tanned and wrinkled brow while he brushed his thumbpad over my knuckles. God. Was he actually considering it? "But if you get pregnant, your father said he'd have me killed and disown you. If you're happy with that risk, I'll fuck you."

"Lick me, then."

He stroked my thigh through my skirt, from hip to knee. I opened my legs, ready for the fresh air on my hot folds should he pull my skirt up. He didn't.

"No," he said to his hand.

"Why not?"

He growled and flopped onto his back. "Because in this mood, you'll want me to fuck you after I lick you. You always do."

I hopped to my feet. "Eat me till you come then, like you always do!" I stood over his face and jiggled, but our playfulness had soured. It felt more like an argument.

He scowled up my skirt, and pressed his lips tight.

Diary, forgive me, because I know it's not what he wanted, but I sat on him. Not even sat. I squatted on him, hard. And ground my hips.

It felt very wrong, but I was in a very wrong mood. And anyway the man is six four and all muscle, all he had to do was sit up suddenly and I'd be flung into the woods. For example, once we were enjoying a languorous 69 on the floor in his gate lodge (I'd pounced on him!) when Father buzzed to be let in. Bill wrapped an arm around me, stood, wandered over to the buzzer and let father in, all without taking his mouth from my bits.

He could stop me if he wanted, so I went ahead and wiped my slimy cunt on his shut, bristly mouth.

So much for the ultimate oral.

Then, dear Diary, fate stepped in to save us. Or rather Gabrielle did. My petite, Parisian best friend-cum-lover (and cum-lover!) padded barefoot across my terrace, swinging her hips. A coppertop Audrey Hepburn, her wild red hair was trapped under a neat white sunhat and her neat body wrapped in loose white muslin. She smiled as if to say, "Yes it's really me."

"Bonjour! I thought I was early but you have started without me, non?"

"Mmf!" Bill contorted under me.

"Oh stop!" I bore down harder and grabbed his hair. "It's a fucking surprise for you, dolt."

Gabrielle stooped, kissed both my cheeks, then regarded our struggles. "Are you wrestling? This is quite a beast you have trapped." She addressed my skirt. "Bonjour, monsieur!"

"Mm-mf." I think that was an actual pussy-smothered hello.

"This is Gabrielle, Bill. Remember? She taught me all I know."

Gabrielle laughed brightly. "All that is worth knowing of a man, anyway. I hope you have enjoyed it, Bill." His name came out "Beel" in her lovely accent.

Bill's nasal sigh warmed my cunt. Sat on his head, I could almost feel his brain recalling every Gabrielle-inspired sucking I'd ever given him. He'd never been swallowed before he met me, and I'd never swallowed before I met her. Then a strange thing happened. And a rather unique sensation. His anger softened under my rude splay. He relaxed, and his mouth opened. His tongue slipped along my groove.

I caught my breath, and bit my lip.

Gabrielle stepped back and regarded us. I felt like I saw us in her smouldering gaze: Bill laid out fully dressed in his serge groundsman's trousers and oxford shirt. (Bill works in an old-fashioned uniform that even includes braces. Father insists. So do I, come to think of it.) I was crouched over his head, my long dress tenting over my knees and covering our join. Underneath, invisible to her, Bill's muscular tongue slurped me like a dirty secret. I shivered.

"Merde. So discrete, yet so explicit." She strolled around us like we were an exhibit. "You said you wanted the best oral sex ever, but I don't know if I want to lick you or sketch you."

Bill sucked on my clit. I gripped my knees and tried to hold off the tide swelling in my midriff.

Gabrielle paused by Bill's trousers, struggling with his arousal at licking me. "Darling, this man is in love with you." This choked me up. She was right. How could I be such a spoilt brat to him? Bill was devoted. If I demanded it, really demanded it, he would fuck me, and fuck the consequences.

She finished her voyeuristic tour and, after a long kiss to my lips so our tongues could greet each other, she stood to present her hips to my face. Reaching up her skirt, she wriggled off her panties, then lifted her hem to reveal her vibrant red tuft framing the bare pink petals of her sex. I lunged. "Oui..." She dropped her skirt over my head. "Let us all be discrete yet explicit!"

It had been months since I last ate a woman. I didn't realise how much I missed the yielding flesh of a pussy against my lips. Especially Gabrielle's. I pressed a polite(!) kiss to the old friend at the epicentre of my old friend, then kissed more firmly under her fur, into the smooth, delicate folds beneath. I was rewarded with a wet kiss in return and a tremble in her hips. I lightly nibbled her prominent clit hood and she stroked my head. Meanwhile, my own clit was drawn into a warm, fleshy whirlpool--a sucking pull that somehow filled my insides to overflowing.

In my muslin cave, steeped in Gabrielle's Chanel and musk, the tip of my tongue sought her salty slickness and teased it over her bud. Licking someone of your own sex has an entangled autoeroticism about it, so my licks echoed on my own clit and made me feel attacked by two tongues. I flickered at her lightly, then couldn't resist pressing my mouth over her whole vulva. She cupped my head, widened her legs and nudged her hips at me. I squeezed her bottom, pulling her to my rhythm, to the rhythm of my rocking, to the rhythm of Bill's licking.

Gabrielle's thighs wobbled and she gasped. I think it was as much this as the insistent flip of Bill's tongue that tipped me over, not to mention her breathy muttering: "Oui. Oui."

I moaned into her cunt. Bill moaned into mine. Gabrielle arched onto tiptoes. "OUI!"

I snorted, she always sounds like a child on a swing when she comes.

I tried to control my quivering tongue while shuddering on my man's exquisite mouth. Waves of invisible lava gushed from my cunt, over my belly and tits, coursed up my neck and cheeks, poured into Gabrielle's cunt and out of her mouth, swearing for the both of us.

Bill took my entire weight in his palms, or I think I might've collapsed. He poised me over his mouth, thumbs holding me open, lapping, drinking. Gabrielle shoved at my mouth, even as I yanked her to my face and ate her like a sexy fruit.

Bill gently kissed me down. Gabrielle lifted her skirt and glowed at me, her hair a burning halo in the sun. (We never saw her hat again. I'd blasted it into space I think.) My lower face was chilled with her wetness and she held my cheeks to dance her tongue around my lips and chin. "Merci." she croaked between tasting flicks and kisses. "Merci."

Bill toyed with me, licking me to oversensitive spasms, and then lifting me off his face. He loves to watch my hole pulse in aftershocks. He can bounce me up and down for so long I feel like a beachball.

"Your man is still hungry, oui?"

I jerk again, his tongue jolting like a taser. "A--always."

"Oh, I am like this too. Can I try him?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "You like la cuisine française, monsieur?"

Bill was midway through a loving kiss to my clit. He lifted me off his mouth. "Very much, Miss Gabrielle."

Very much?

Even though I'd planned to share Bill today, the actual words, aimed at and an actual other woman, skipped my heartbeat. I faltered climbing off him.

"Quickly, sweetie." Gabrielle gently pushed my shoulders. "I am a Ferrari and you have twisted my key."

I stood, she knelt, and all Bill would've seen was my sloppy great orchid replaced with Gabrielle's elegant, dewy rose. So far, neither had even seen each other's faces. She straddled him. A grin spread across her face. "Merde."

Bill hummed into her. Her. Not me.

As if reading my mind, Gabrielle kissed my hands. "Merci, darling. For sharing your man. Take off your clothes."

She swept her dress off over her head and tossed it, then spun me round as I pulled mine off too. She kissed and bit my bottom, growling, "Oui!" as she rubbed her face on it like an adoring cat. I don't know why Bill and she go so silly over my big bubble bum.

Her cool hands slid over my ribs, scraping her fingernails lightly over my breasts. I watched her over my shoulder. Her nudity was prim and smooth and pale on the ruddy leather of Bill's face. His heroic chin was thrust enthusiastically between her creamy thighs, his tongue lapping quickly as Gabrielle lightly bounced on him.

Damn. How could something that hurt so much, look so sexy?

I couldn't watch and turned away, giving myself over to Gabrielle's exploring hands and lips. Even as I enjoyed the bristle-less, silky smoothness of a woman's face in my intimate places, I tried to put the jealousy from my mind. But below my despondent head, Bill's cock strained at his trousers. This is one of my favourite sights, when I've aroused him, but now it struggled for freedom because he was licking another woman. It wanted to get to Gabrielle, not me. The pain seemed to tug between my legs.

"Let me see it." Gabrielle was watching his trousers too. "Show me."

I bent over to unfasten his buttons and braces. This curled my cunt toward her. "Trop belle," she whispered, opening me up. "Trop--hmm" A kiss to my clit, then a slim impalement, a finger, gently probing. It felt like she was looking for my heartache in there. After my yearning for cock all morning this intrusion threatened to unhinge my legs. My hole stretched scrumptiously. Two fingers? I dipped my hips on her digging digits, and she curled them just where I liked them.

I took a settling breath, and yanked Bill's trousers and boxers over his hips. His great cock unfurled in the lemon tree's dabbled shade and bounced even harder, clamouring, "Me! Me! Me!"

Gabrielle laughed huskily. "Lucky cow!"

I turned to agree, to remind her who "Beel" belonged to, but her eyes were closed. She clawed her bare breast, the fingers of her other hand stiffened in my cunt.

Bill's cock bucked, laced in veins. His hips rutted the air and his thighs shook. No. Would he come licking this woman? I thought only my orgasm had the power to bedazzle him to eruption.

Then a part of me wanted him to spurt for her while I watched, the same part that relished this self-inflicted unfaithfulness. But his cock jumped lustily before me, and I could never resist my Sweet William. I squeezed his balls, and pulled his warm staff. He was as familiar and exciting in my palm as my own sex. Gabrielle cursed, her cheek pressed to my hip, hugging it, fingers digging between my legs. I pulled Bill in time with her finger-fucking.

Bill's cock dribbled pre-cum and I bent double to take his end into my mouth. (A life of ballet lessons has its uses) This is how I claimed him. She might come on his mouth, but he'd come in mine.

"Oh God, oui." Gabrielle peered at me sucking him. This seemed to hit the spot. Or maybe it was Bill. "Oh God I'm coming," she blurted. "Merde, merde, merde, I'm--" She hugged me tight, rammed her fingers deep into me and squeaked.

If I'm sucking Bill when I come he always comes too. It's adorable, that overexcitement in pleasing me, even if it means our sex is sometimes over in seconds. (Only sometimes though. I can usually keep him hard, for all the use it is.) I presumed Gabrielle's orgasm would do as well as mine, so braced for his lovely flood. But he'd stopped trembling. He seemed to have reigned himself in and silently, carefully licked my friend as she twitched on his mouth, his cock savoury with pre-cum but nothing more. At first I was proud of him, but that was quickly followed by worry. Who was he trying to impress?

Gabrielle cackled and kissed my bottom and cunt as if they were her own and she was calming them down. I dragged her face to mine. Who can resist kissing a post-orgasmic woman?

She kissed me back, but then reached for his dick. Her immaculately manicured hand looked polite and tiny on his club. "Will you not fuck him?"

I shook my head. "We don't--"

"May I?"

Our silence crackled.

She spoke to his cock, sliding her hand up and down it. "I know you are worried about babies, monsieur, but I'm on the pill, so it is impossible, and anyway I like babies and I'm no royal so no one will kill you."

I waited for Bill's protest but he seemed lost in thought, petting Gabrielle's labia. He was awkwardly trying to find the right words to reject her. I melted for him, and was about to suggest we suck him off together, when he reached into my chest and tore my heart out.