Memoir of a Lady Pt. 06: Cuckqueans All

That, as it turned out, was a memorable week-end. During it we planned our election strategy, which would be to mute Gladstone as much as we could. We decided to appeal to his vanity by sending him on tours of the north and Scotland, where he could whip up the crowds. We would try to win back those voters in London and elsewhere in the south-east who had been alienated by his incessant reforms. We held the meetings in my new Drawing Room, and the men, seeing that I knew a thing or two, actually listened. As it transpired, that idiot Gladstone still managed to wreck it all, and we lost in 1874; but of that more in due course.

If being accepted as an equal in the councils of the Liberal Party made for one memory, the other came from playing the game that Lady Molly "Harty-Tarty" wanted. I had pondered how to play it, and from the look Lady Molly gave me over dinner that Friday night, I decided to go for broke.

We retired to the Drawing Room after dinner, leaving the men to whatever it was they got up to with their phallic cigars. Molly sat next to me while the maids served us a choice of after-dinner drinks. As Lady Granville engaged Mrs Forster in chit-chat about Paris fashions, Molly leaned over to me, smiling.

"Is it true, Frances?"

From the tenor of her smile I decided to play along.

"I don't have a choice do I?"

That made her smile even broader.

"You do. You can wait in another bed-chamber while your husband swives me, or you can stay and watch. The choice is yours."

I could see her cheeks flush with excitement.

As Lady G and Mrs F were deep into the latest fashionable colours, I decided to test it further.

"Why would I want to watch him fuck you. Do you like watching Harty fuck his tarts?"

Her cheeks reddened, but with another emotion predominating.

"I don't watch. I like watching other wives as I play with their man."

"Isn't the truth of it Molly that Harty won't let you in to watch."

"Why", she said, trying to keep her voice level so as not to arouse suspicion, "should I want to watch?"

Her blushing suggested to me I had read the runes aright.

"Because you wonder what it is they have that you do not. Are their titties better, is their cunny juicier, are they more accomplished in the arts of Venus?"

"How dare ...!"

She stopped as Lady Granville looked over at us.

"Ah, Mary, I fear that Molly and I shall not agree on interior decorations."

Molly feigned a laugh, and our two companions joined in. If anyone really thought that the whole thing had been about the silk wall-coverings (red if you are interested) then they were a bigger idiot than they appeared; but it suited my purpose to get Molly worked up.

And with that, the men joined us and we chatted until the couples began to go to their quarters. Harty went off with the prettiest of my maids, while Lord Granville seemed content to be with his lady. The Forsters, a religious couple, did likewise. That left the three of us. Forty seemed hesitant.

"Well?" Lady Molly looked at him.

"We will go to his chamber", I responded, seeing as the cat appeared to have got his tongue.

"Unlace me", Lady Molly told me, once the door was shut.

Never one to miss the chance to disrobe an attractive blonde, I was happy to oblige until she was left with just her draws and bustier. Those bubbies were to die for. My husband was sitting, transfixed.

"One good turn deserves another", I told Lady Molly.

I turned as she unlaced me, stripping me down to my drawers and shift.

"Forty, get over here, Lady Molly isn't going to see to herself."

Saying that, I turned to her and said:

"You are younger than me, prettier than me, your titties are firmer and your arse a peach. I want to see my husband take you and hard."

At that, even Forty got the message. I had sensed that, having agreed (what man wouldn't?) to the idea, he remained worried lest I would take offence. Molly had no idea that the reality of our marriage was that he was, in effect, a "kept man", and that I let him couple with whom he would, as long as he left me alone. It was best to keep it that way.

Lifting my shift so I could open my legs as I sat, I watched.

He opened his britches and told her to take his cock in her mouth. What, I have often wondered, was it with men? I have always assumed that faced with three holes, they usually go for the one most easily accessible. It does nothing for us, but since most of them have no idea of how to get a woman to orgasm, or even that we do that, it does not surprise me.

As Molly took him into her mouth, she looked at me. Her eyes said:

"There, I can take your man."

But I knew enough from our brief exchange to read between the lines - and when the time was right, I would make my move.

I watched as Forty took her from behind, pulling her long blonde hair so that her back arched and he got more purchase. He shot into her, wiping his member on her arse. She looked in triumph at me.

"How did it feel to watch and know your husband was taking a younger and prettier woman?"

With her titties spilling out and quivering, and her arse stained with smears of his pearly substance, she was good enough to eat. But I had not ascended what Dizzy called the "greasy pole" by being precipitate. Pride came before a fall. And her fall would be great.

"That is a good question Lady Molly. Forty, could you fuck off now - oh, and tell the maid I said it is time."

She looked surprised. He, knowing which side his bread was buttered, and having shot his load into her cunny, did as I told him.

"If you think you are going to have your sapphic way with me, Frances ... ."

How little imagination, I thought, as her words were stopped by the door opening, with my maid entering - accompanied by Lord Hartington.

He seemed as nonplussed as she was. Nor was that surprising, as I had told my maid, Sally, to tell him they were coming into my chamber for a romp with the three of us. Lady Molly, caught on all fours looking like she'd just been fucked, blushed. Looking at Sally, whose firm enormous breasts were on show, she blushed even deeper.

"My Lord", I said to her husband before he could find some words to protest, "I thought it might be amusing for you to take Sally and let your wife watch. I rather think she would like that." Turning to her I said, pointedly, "wouldn't you Molly?"

She looked down, her chest and face going a deep red. She was biting her lower lip.

"No, no, of course not!"

"Sally feel her ladyship's cunny, it's a bit sticky, but you know the signs."

Lord Hartington, clearly missing his spectacles, squinted to get a better view. Lady Molly knelt there, dumbfounded as my maid boldly examined her cunny. Without so much as a by her leave, Sally thrust two fingers into her wetness. That was no way to treat a lady - but the look on her face told its own tale.

"As well as your husband, there is clear evidence, my lady, that this slut is excited," Sally told me.

"That's, that's ... ."

Molly's attempted denial would have been more convincing had she not interrupted herself with a low moan.

"Sally, see to his lordship, but first make sure your fingers are clean. Molly", I said, turning to her, "suck them clean like a good girl."

To her husband's amazement, but not mine, she did as I told her.

"Molly, sit in that armchair, open your legs and watch."

By now she was deep red - but she did as I told her, even if she was in a daze.

She watched, transfixed, as the eighteen year old Sally exposed her considerable charms for his Lordship. She bounced up and down as she stuffed his cock into her. Lady Molly sat, mesmerised. Her hand went between her thighs.

"You asked me how it felt, Molly, to watch a younger more nubile woman fuck your husband. Tell me your answer, or move that hand away."

I was standing above her, and smacked her hand away from her thicket.

Blushing and stammering, she replied:

"She, she, well, it's not fair, he's mine, but, oh but, Frances!"

"Frances what?" I asked her pointedly. "If you want to play with your cunny you must ask me for permission."

At that point her husband ejaculated into Sally, who collapsed, forward, exposing her bare arse and full cunny.

"Please may I play with my quim?"

Treasuring her excited embarrassment, I told her she could.

Pressing noisily and rubbing fast, she exploded, moaning loudly.

"Now", I said to his lordship, "would you like an intermission while you prepare for the next act?" I was mindful of being the daughter of theatre performers, and I wanted this audience wanting more.

"Bigod Lady F, you're a better hostess than any I met. By all means."

"Sally, you know your job. Molly, crawl over to my maid and beg to eat your own husband's pearly juices from her dripping cunny."

As I had thought, the mesmerised Lady Molly got onto all fours and crawled to her social inferior, whom she had just had to watch take her husband's juices.

She looked up at Sally, who smiled broadly at me:

"Please Miss Sally, can I eat my husband's juices from your quim?"

I had her pegged as a submissive. I know the type, and they can drive themselves to the humiliation they crave, hence her calling her social inferior 'Miss'. I was pretty sure that Molly was once again gooey between those strong, firm thighs.

"You may, Molly."

And with that, Lady Molly Hartington, on all fours, lapped the cunny of maid Sally, eating her own husband's ejaculate, spilling some on those fabulous breasts. The hardness of her swollen nipples told its own story.

I took charge, pushing her head against Sally's cunny.

"Now, slut, tongue out and let me show you how to please a woman."

By now Lady Molly was lost in her own submissive space and obliged obediently. Flicking Sally's love button with my finger, I told her to imitate my action with her tongue; she did so. I told her she could finger herself. She did.

As Sally approached orgasm, I saw that his Lordship was up and ready.

"Take her from the back", I suggested.

He needed no second bidding. As his wife lapped Sally to an orgasm, he gripped be buttocks and, positioning his cock, thrust in. As he did so, she gasped, her fingers working her own love-button. His Lordship was overcome as her cunny gripped his cock and Sally's gooey juices spat into Molly's pretty face, and the drama had a splendid climax, with all three participants coming to orgasm at the same time. No West-End producer could have done a better job.

And me? Since the change of life, I had found my own pleasures had changed. My cunny lacked the moistness of old, but as I preferred Kate's tongue on me, and to swive her, it was of little account.

"Now Molly," I smiled, "I think you may need help. Sally, clean her ladyships's cunny."

Molly Hartington was now lost in her own feelings of submission. She would, I believe, have done anything she was asked. She let Sally lick her clean, then she let Sally kiss her, depositing her husband's ejaculate in her mouth. Watching them, I went to the door - and there, as I had suspected was my husband - listening.

"Come in you fool!"

"I say, Frances ... ". But even as Lord Hartington registered his discomfort, I took charge of the show.

"Sally, get her Ladyship up on the bed. Molly, arse up, had down. Sally, do the same."

And there, to my own joy, and that of the men, the two women presented themselves, firm arses on view, and their cloven inlets glistening with juices. I wondered who would choose whom?

I need not have worried. Forty gripped Molly Hartington's hips and fucked her hard, while her husband did the same to my maid.

"Kiss each other", I told the girls. They did.

There had to be, I thought, a word for a woman who liked to be cuckolded - but as no one seemed to know it was a phenomenon, I'd have to invent one. The old Elizabethans had used the word "quean" to denote a common whore, so I thought "cuckquean" might do it.

It was clear Molly Hartington was one. When her cunny was full, I made her sit and watch as her husband took Sally again and again. I did let her clean his cock, and by the time I was ready for my own bed, Sally had brought her off again.

"Harty", I said to his exhausted but happy lordship, "keep 'em both here, I'll take the other chamber."

As I exited, I saw Molly watching her husband and Sally as they went at it again. Her hand was clutching her wetness. What's a girl to do? In her case - and perhaps mine - be a cuckquean.