Oggbashan Stew Pt. 02

Copyright Oggbashan October 2019

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.

I have realised that I am NEVER going to complete all my part--written stories before I die, so I have decided to upload all the incomplete works as a set so that others could mine them for plot ideas. Despite my copyright notice anyone can complete these stories or use them for ideas. All I ask is an acknowledgement that the story was inspired by oggbashan. I will try to finish some of the longer drafts and part-written sequels which are not included here. Some are no more than the start. Others are longer. This is the second part with story titles from 'f' up to 'ne'.

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Story 020

Facesitting Variations

I like being facesat as Helen's victim. She likes facesitting because it keeps me quiet and she can do things that are her interests, not mine. While we were engaged, shortly before we married, she had sat on my face once. We had gone away for a weekend together but decorously. I was camping in the grounds of the Youth Hostel in which she was staying. She had come into my small tent. There wasn't really room in the tent for both of us. I was on my back. She moved around trying to find a space to sit. She sat on my chest, spreading her heavyweight skirt.

"Nice panties, Helen," I had said as her skirt hitched up.

"They are, aren't they, John," she had replied. "They're French knickers and genuine silk except for the cotton gusset."

"They are? Aren't they expensive?"

"Yes, but they're worth it, John. They make me feel wonderful. I'll show you."

Before I knew what Helen intended she slid forward, lifting her skirt. She placed her knees beside my head. She pressed her crotch over my face. Yes, the feel of those panties was wonderful but I was far more aroused by Helen's warm slit spreading across my nose and lips. She dropped her thick lined skirt beyond and behind the top of my head trapping me in scented darkness. She pressed her body down over my face. Her hands tightened her skirt, pulling me in between her spread lower lips.

I was struggling to breathe. The full silk panties and Helen's body had sealed my mouth and nostrils completely. Although I was very aroused I was beginning to panic. If Helen didn't move soon I would suffocate. I couldn't bite her. The gusset of the panties was much thicker than I had expected and acting as a gag between my teeth. I shook my head as far as Helen's clamping thighs would allow.

She reacted as I had hoped. She lifted herself slightly, loosened the skirt hooding my head, and a hand eased the panties away from my nose and mouth. I panted under her, still blindfolded inside her skirt, but able to breathe.

"Sorry, John," I heard her say. "I should have left you an airway."

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Weeks later, after we had been married for three whole days, she admitted that she had forgotten that she had a panty liner inside those silk knickers. Her period had ended the day before but sometimes there might be spotting for a few hours. Normally she would have used a mini liner just in case, but that weekend she had forgotten to bring the small ones. She wanted to protect her expensive panties so had used what she had - a thick liner intended for full flow. That liner had gagged me effectively. Its backing was water and air tight. It was the liner that had been suffocating me.

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Our wedding had been low key and as inexpensive as we could make it. We needed as much money as possible to buy a small house. Both of us had been renting so-called studio flats. We had stayed overnight in the hotel where we had had the reception. We had to be back at work on Monday morning. Our house purchase had been delayed four weeks because of other people in the chain so we would be living in Helen's studio until then.

Because we weren't going away for a honeymoon, Helen hadn't changed out of her second-hand wedding gown. The gown had been given by one of her cousins. It had a much wider, heavier and thicker skirt than Helen would have chosen for herself. It had long tight sleeves and a small neck opening. She had to wear a large diameter multi-hooped petticoat, a bustle at the back for the train and several layers of netting to spread the skirt enough so she could walk in it. In our hotel room she had wanted me to arouse her by cunnilingus. I had burrowed under the multiple layers of her wide skirt and petticoats. This time her white satin panties didn't smother me, while they were on... After a few minutes of action by me Helen wanted her panties removed. I pulled them down.

As I emerged, clutching the panties, Helen reached under her skirt to roll her white stockings off. She asked me let her play, as she called it. She used her stockings to tie my ankles, and my wrists behind my back. She hooded me with her panties, holding them on my head with her garter pulling material between my lips. As I sat, helpless, on the edge of the bed, she ran her tongue up and down my erection before taking it into her mouth. I writhed as she brought me to the edge of cumming again and again. Finally she took almost everything into her mouth. She swallowed as I erupted.

"Now you can arouse me properly," Helen said, "without being impatient."

Of course I couldn't until she removed the garter and panties blindfolding and gagging me. A few minutes later, still tied hand and foot by her stockings, my head was back inside her skirt and I was licking furiously. She shuddered into an orgasm several times before she lifted her skirt to let me out.

Half an hour later she had tied my wrists to the bed head and had straddled me. The skirt of the wedding gown covered my body completely. Helen arranged the train so that it was beyond my feet. Even if my arms had been free I couldn't have reached the edges of the sjirt. She wound her legs under my arms to press her warm pussy over my face. At first she held her skirt and petticoats out of the way so she could see and direct what I was doing. As she got excited again her hands moved to the bedrail. My head disappeared inside the voluminous layers of her gown as she squealed above me.

At last Helen was satisfied. She uncovered my head, sat on my chest, and stroked my head with one hand. Slowly she slid down my body until she engulfed my erection. She moved up and down slowly and gently. Gradually she tightened her lower lips before moving quicker. As she felt me getting close, she slowed down again and loosened her grip. After the fourth time she clamped hard around my prick. Her hands picked up the layers of her gown, lifted them, and smothered my face under satin.

She kept her gown tightly wrapped around my head as I bucked underneath her into a shattering eruption.

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Helen kept the wedding dress for future bedroom play. Her cousin didn't want it back. The layers of petticoats filled the bottom of our only wardrobe. It was too expensive at the time for us to have the gown professionally cleaned so it could be sold or given away. It was obvious in Helen's studio flat. It was too large to go in the small wardrobe so it was hanging, in its massive bag, from the top of the door to the bathroom. That meant that neither of us could fully shut the bathroom door. As newly-weds enjoying exploring each other's nude bodies we didn't care. We showered together in enforced closeness.

The fold-up bed settee became a small double when open. With our backs against the top end we could watch our small television. Within days it was obvious that our programme preferences were sometimes different. Helen wanted to watch an early evening half-hour soap every weeknight. I detested it. The solution was simple.

Naked, I lay down on the bed with the back of my head to the television. Helen lifted her skirt and sat on my face. My head was lightly gripped by her soft thighs. Her panties were almost touching my face. If I tilted my head slightly my nose would push her panties into her cleft. She would take that as a signal that I wanted to be really face-sat. She would press on her skirt and clamp her thighs harder to smother me with her pantie-covered sex. She would relax her grip after a minute to allow me to breathe before smothering me again.

Once her programme had finished she would lift herself, pull her panties off, and expect me to tongue her to several orgasms before sliding down to engulf my erection. She had watched her programme. I had been enjoying myself before satisfying her.

For those few weeks in her studio flat we lived on quickly made meals or casseroles that had sat in the oven during the half-hour programme. When we went to bed at the end of the evening we weren't frantic for sex. We could take our time mutually arousing each other before coupling. We might have been cramped in that flat, impatiently waiting to get into our house, but our lovemaking was reinforcing our relationship. She watched what she wanted. I experienced arousal while she watched. Both of us saw that half-hour as an important part of each day, something we were looking forward to while at work.

One evening I had showered soon after returning from work. It had been a hot day and the office air-conditioning had failed. I heard Helen unzip the bag containing the wedding dress. As I emerged from the bathroom wearing only my boxers Helen was in her bra and panties, holding one of her white wedding stockings in her hands. The wedding gown had been turned around so that the train was outwards.

"Turn round, John," she ordered. "Cross your wrists."

She tied my wrists with the stocking. She pushed me gently to stand with my back to the wedding gown.

"Stand still..."

Helen struggled to lift the layers of the gown over my head. She dropped it over me. My head was inside the bodice. I was breathing the faint scent of the perfume she had worn on our wedding day. The gown covered me completely. Helen's hands pushed the bodice over my face. That made her perfume even stronger as I breathed through the material. I tilted my head slightly to look up. The shoulders and neck of the dress were at least a foot above me and the opening was obstructed by the wide padded hanger. I wasn't getting air from up there.

Helen wriggled inside the gown before pulling my boxers down to my knees. Her tongue gently stroked up and down my growing erection until it became hard. The gown rustled and heaved as she took my prick into her mouth. Her arms wrapped around my body as she sucked gently. As I became more aroused Helen's perfume, not just from the gown but from her body. I felt that she was wholly in control of me. My hands were tied, my head was hooded inside the bodice of her wedding dress, my boxers were restricting my leg movements, and Helen's mouth had surrounded my erection.

I shuddered into an ejaculation that she swallowed eagerly. Shortly afterwards she wiped my diminishing prick with my boxers and pulled them back around my hips. She slid herself out from inside the dress. I heard her climb on a step stool. She unhooked the dress from the top of the door before unzipping the back slightly. She removed the hanger and closed the zip again. I thought she was about to let the gown slide down. She didn't. She pulled the shoulders and neck forward in a fold in front of the bodice before she wrapped the dress's arms around, tightening the bodice over my face. She knotted the sleeves, smothering me more effectively.

She burrowed inside the gown, reached behind me, and unfastened the stocking around my wrists. It had been more of a symbolic restraint than a real one. She crawled out.

"We're going to the bed," Helen said. "I'll help you."

She had to. I couldn't see and the gown's train was splayed over the floor. She stood me beside the bed before helping me to lie down on it. She pushed and pulled the gown and me until the train was folded up behind my legs. She tied the stocking around the gown just below my knees. I was wholly bagged inside Helen's wedding gown, breathing through the bodice. The upper part of the gown was tied around me with the sleeves, the lower part tied with a white stocking.

"My wedding dress owns my husband," Helen announced. "You're the bride's prisoner even though your hands and arms are free. Or are they? You and they are wrapped in thick satin. Now..."

Helen sat on my chest. Her knees clamped my sides.

"I could smother you easily," she said, pressing her hands on the bodice covering my face. "Like this, with my hands, or..."

She dropped her breasts against the bodice for a few seconds.

"...with my lower lips."

I was in real trouble as her legs clamped around my head. My legs thrashed inside the gown as I ran out of breath. I couldn't breathe at all. Helen relented quickly. She lifted herself, untied the dress's sleeves, and pulled the neck downwards to uncover my nose. I couldn't see her. The only part of me not tightly wrapped was the tip of my nose.

Helen's finger stroked my nose.

"I'm sorry, Carl," she said. "I shouldn't have made you so helpless without agreeing a release signal first. A safe word wouldn't work if I'm smothering you. If you thump your legs up and down three times? I'll stop whatever I'm doing. OK?"

"Yes..." I tried to say. I was muffled by the thickness of the gown's bodice.

"Yes!" I repeated louder.

"Thanks. I heard that. Now..."

Helen's panties covered my nose. She wriggled backwards and forwards slightly. She was getting warm and damp between her legs. She reached a hand behind herself to press down on my erection. That did it! I came into my boxers.

She felt the movement as I climaxed. She lifted herself off me before she started unwrapping me from the close embrace of her wedding gown.

I needed to shower again before we went to bed. That night we made love naked.

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Story 021

Field

We met at the hospital outpatients' coffee machine. She was looking after her grandmother. My father was in a wheelchair after a car accident.

While my father and her grandmother were entertained by the professional help we had a few minutes break. We had seen each other around the town but this time we actually spoke to each other.

"How's your father?" she asked.

"Improving," I replied. "He should be back on his feet in a couple of weeks. How is your grandmother?"

"Getting worse. She misses my mother. I do the best I can but she thinks I'm too young."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Where is your mother?"

"Still in New York. She was supposed to be back by now but they asked her to stay another fortnight. I have to get back to work soon. This was supposed to be my holiday but when Mum asked I couldn't say no."

"I'm in the same boat. I have my own business but I can't run it properly while looking after my Dad."

As were speaking one of the volunteer helpers came over to us.

"I see you have met. Do you know each other?"

"By sight," I replied.

"Let me introduce you. This is Helen Carter. Helen, meet Carl Smith. You are our only temporary carers. You should have something in common if only hope in the short term future."

With that she whisked away to talk to others.

"Hello, Helen."

"Hello, Carl."

"I feel that she disapproves of us. We don't have the long term commitment."

"Thank goodness. A couple of weeks has driven me mad. I love Granny but..."

"Same here. I love my father but he's impossible..."

We laughed.

"I wonder if we'll be like that when were old."

"I hope not. It's a long way off. My father isn't old, just recuperating."

"Granny isn't old either. She's just had a hip operation with complications. Once she is over the bruising she should be up and about moving better than she did. Did you know that she knew your father when she was young?"

"No. Until we were introduced I didn't know anything about you or your grandmother. I thought you had recently moved here because I hadn't seen you before."

"You have seen me before, Carl. I used to live here. My name used to be Jones and I wasn't blonde."

Helen's hand flicked her hair back from her face. I looked at her carefully.

"Were you brunette?" I asked cautiously.

"Yes, Carl, I was. We kissed once at a friend's wedding. I was a bridesmaid."

I was puzzled. I seemed to recognise her face once my imagination turned her hair back to brunette but surely her name hadn't been Helen? What had it been?

"Can't you remember me?"

"It's coming back but I can't remember you as a Helen. I thought your name began with an M."

"It did."

"Marta?"

"Shh! I was. I didn't want to be a rhyming Marta Carter so now I use my second name, Helen."

"Marta Jones. Now I remember. And that wedding. You collapsed into my arms, drunk as a skunk."

"That's scarcely a polite way of putting it." Helen pouted.

"One of the guests had spiked the bridesmaids' drinks. Not very nice of him."

"And you behaved like a gentleman, Carl. You looked after me until I sobered up."

"Did I? What a missed opportunity."

"Don't tease. I was very grateful but you were engaged otherwise I might have shown you how grateful I was."

"I was, wasn't I? That explains my discretion. I didn't want to jeopardise my engagement."

"What happened to her? I know she's not around now."

"We parted a few weeks later. She'd found someone else."

"And you never married?"

"Haven't had time. I started the business to take my mind off her. The business took off and until Dad had the car crash I haven't stopped. I could now. I have a manager and I'm Chairman of the Board."

Story 022

Footpath

I should never have suggested to Helen that I was feeling my age. She saw it as a challenge.

Within days she had asked me to help her to survey a possible walking route for our pensioners' group. She doesn't take no for a considered answer. The following Sunday, wearing my unaccustomed walking boots I was trudging along a muddy path in the pouring rain. The only thing keeping me going was the attractive sway of Helen's backside ahead of me.

I like Helen's rear view. I was concentrating on it as a respite from my misery. I don't like getting cold and wet and I was both. If this pensioners' walk goes ahead it will be in late Spring or early Summer, not in atrocious weather in January.

"Blast!"

Helen doesn't normally swear so I knew something was seriously amiss. When I caught up with her she was standing by a faded signpost marked "Public Footpath". The signpost pointed straight at a tangle of intertwined brambles. Helen was peering at her map which was in a heavy duty waterproof map case.

"Look at this, Graham," Helen asked. "This footpath is the only link that makes this walk possible as a circular route yet it hasn't been cleared for years."

"It does look rather difficult," I suggested.

"Difficult!" Helen snorted. "It's impossible. It is overgrown for at least fifty yards and there's no way round it. There should be a bridge over the river about three hundred yards away. The next bridge is either at the pub where we started or four miles that way."

Helen's hand waved along the track towards the North. The track was already deteriorating into a quagmire. As far as I could see it appeared to become a boggy stream about a hundred yards from us.

"They won't walk another four miles," I said.

"Of course they wouldn't. They're a pathetic bunch of shufflers. I had intended the whole walk to be about five miles and they think I organise long walks..."

I sighed. She was right. Our pensioners' group like to drive to a rural public house and have a gentle walk in the vicinity before spending three hours over lunch. Other organisers managed simple walks of one to two miles. Helen's walks were seen as endurance tests for the hardier souls.