Soaked To the Skin Pt. 07

"Are we going to fuck, Sir Hugh?"

"We could do, Hannah, if you would like."

How could he not think she would like, given he had four fingers in her vagina -- her very wet vagina! It had not, she very easily recalled, been him who had first suggested copulation back in the rain and that workman's hut by the railway, but her. They had been sitting opposite each other masturbating. Even now it still seemed surprising that had happened back then in the hut.

It had been his matter of fact wondering about a tissue that had sort of caused her invitation. She had thought of offering to swallow -- in itself so surprising -- though it was not as if boys and men could reach their own to suck and swallow! And then it had simply come to her that she wanted to copulate, the words had just tumbled out. She could remember them -- 'I'm sorry. Would you mind if we did this properly?' It had been her doing -- seemingly.

And Sir Hugh had not minded at all -- that had been so obvious. She did the same now, getting up from her prone position and standing momentarily before getting up on the bench, a knee either side of Sir Hugh's lap and hovering over his cock, her sex splayed, wet and ready to receive him. Hannah held the man's organ, feeling how it was already wet from her by means of his stroking. She let herself down, anticipating the touch of his knob and then savouring that delicious feeling of being penetrated, of being opened by Sir Hugh once more. Down and down until the penis was lodged deep inside her. Pubic mounds becoming intimate. Hannah bit her lip as she moved back up the penis, sliding easily on her own wetness. The copulatory movement.

The man smiled at her, "Slowly, Hannah, not too fast. Let's make this last."

Could they do that, there by the lake -- take it slowly? Gentle purposeful fucking. Not too fast.

Hannah came first, clamping herself down upon him, full of Sir Hugh, as he manipulated her sex, with his fingertips pushed between the two of them. She held onto him and then, recovering, whispered in his ear asking how he would like to come.

"Many ways, Hannah, and isn't that such a shame. Only the once. How good to be able to go on and on. Decisions, decisions! Inside your lovely body here now; or perhaps in your pretty mouth or all over your delightful breasts?"

"Or should I just run off and you have to chase me."

"Like this?"

"It'd be so funny."

"I think we'd need young men for that. Would you like that Hannah?"

"Four nice young men chasing me naked and with their cocks all hard? I think I would -- everyone a winner really. Perhaps they carry me back and can only fuck me when you have."

"You like the image? Four young men carrying you helpless, raised high in the air, their penises firm with the excitement of the chase and what they will do."

"Mmmm, gorgeous men naked and all hard for me. That'd be five men, Sir Hugh, rather a lot for me."

"Be greedy, Hannah."

She arose from Sir Hugh's penis. "Do you think they push me to my knees and force me to suck you?"

"Would there be much forcing? I am sure you will have to suck them all. Wouldn't you like that -- five different cocks to suck?"

Hannah dropped to her knees and once more slipped her mouth over Sir Hugh's crown. All wet from her, she clamped her lips around it and pulled them up and down. She was liking the way Sir Hugh kept introducing more men into his ideas. More men to poke at her with their hard cocks. She rose from the cock and reached out for the back of the bench next to him, spreading herself, placing her weight forward onto her hands and sticking her bottom out as she imagined the young men might place her ready for Sir Hugh, their hands holding her wrists apart on the bench's back; strong hands holding each ankle meaning all she could move was her bottom: and what did wriggling female bottoms do to men -- they inflamed their lust!

Sir Hugh got up from the bench and caught hold of her by the hips, steadying her and then he plunged back in. From vagina to mouth and back again, but this time he was not going to come out until he had come. In and out, a slapping sound against her soft bottom, a sucking, squelching sexual sound from the pumping action of penis in vagina. And what do pumps do -- they pump liquid! And Sir Hugh did just that. Hands clasped to her breasts; his penis spurted inside Hannah -- profusely.

A pleasant way to pass much of an afternoon, a natural and healthy activity. Afterwards. they walked and talked some more but without Sir Hugh's fine manly staff pointing the way, the conversation deviated from its more usual sexual subjects. The baronet and his young friend came up the lawn together, all the way back to where they had started. Old Jebediah Bradshaw saw them from afar and leant upon his digging fork. He noted the lack of erection to Sir Hugh and surmised his employer had used that stiffness somewhere in the woods and most certainly within or upon the young lass' body. Not his though -- Bradshaw's was not used up; unbidden it poked up and out through his open fly. Perhaps the young missy might like another taste of 'Bradshaw's Champion.' She might, perhaps, as she rode on her way home, stop and see how his onions grew; might indeed like to peel his onion -- would it make her eyes water?

In his greenhouse the fig trees had ripened early. Bradshaw thought about young Hannah's 'fig' and how succulent that would be, most certainly rivalling his best. He would like to taste that very much. Not a green or pale green fig -- hardly - nor a black fig, but pale pinkish brown. Bradshaw stood there imagining, thinking of both fruit and Hannah.

A fig halved and then squeezed would open like an exotic flower with velvet skin and delectable pink flesh. He grew several varieties of 'Ficus carica.' 'Goutte d'Or' was one of the sweetest figs he had tasted in his long career as a gardener. He well knew the pink fleshed fruits of that variety were delightfully prone to exude sweet droplets when fully ripe. Delicious and large fruited. They were a favourite of Lady Lyanthe, served with yogurt and cinnamon.

'Bourjasotte Grise,' another large-fruited variety with dense red syrupy flesh and excellent flavour, grew in his greenhouse against a brick wall. Pale green with a purplish flush. A profuse cropper. Might the young lass like to try one if he was to taste her fig in return? Bradshaw's excellent teeth and lips broke into a broad grin through his grizzled beard. He watched Hannah reach for her blouse and button it, delighting in still seeing her denuded mons beneath; how delightful girls were in just a little clothing, hiding some but not all. How pleasing to see her bottom and bifurcated pubic mound peeping out from under her blouse. Beyond and beneath her little slit lay her 'fig.' How, he wondered, had Sir Hugh enjoyed that -- had it been luscious enough? Bradshaw had enjoyed the ripe figs of young girls before. Not a few times. His mind whirled back the years to when Maeve and he had buried their faces in the sweetness of Hester and Clara, the two so naughty sisters.

Bradshaw still maintained his preference for the black fig. He had recently planted a Turkish variety -- 'Bursa.' Its description had reminded him of those sisters, Hester and Clara. The catalogue had read: 'a medium to large black fig. It is an excellent fresh fig variety with a deliciously honey-like flavour when really tender and mature. With its dark purplish-black colouration, the fruit is ripe to enjoy when a velvety tenderness can be detected on gentle touch.'

How ripe Maeve and he had found dark, dark Hester and Clara. How their juice had come running as the two of them had buried their faces in the girls' sweetness.

Bradshaw stood there with his large cock curving upwards out of his corduroys. The smooth, taut membrane of his knob not unlike the purplish colouration and soft skin of a fig. But when squeezed the juice was not at all the same, yet most certainly went well with the fig. He could so remember the dark almost black skin of Hester and Clara, the excitement as Maeve and he slowly opened their legs revealing their figs and later, the dark red within, more than drizzled with his cream.

Hannah had wondered if she might be invited upstairs by Lady Lyanthe before or after tea, but the invitation was rather different. It was made as she was leaving and putting her foot to the pedal of the bicycle.

"I wonder if you might like to come to dinner one evening, Hannah, we might have a little dinner party in a week or two and perhaps you might enjoy the company and evening. Nothing too formal... well, black tie of course."

Hannah accepted and rode up the drive, the wheels of her bicycle on the gravel, wondering what dinner at the hall would be like. What should she wear? Clothes seemed normally rather optional at the hall with Sir Hugh and Lady Lyanthe. A rather different matter at a formal dinner of course! But what should she wear?

Ahead by the gate, Bradshaw's cottage or lodge. Should she pop in and see him? Hannah had rather been expecting to... well, take her jeans off again with either Lady Lyanthe or Sir Hugh -- or perhaps both. She had very much enjoyed the sex down by the lake, but she had been more than ready for more. Hannah had not exactly been sexually inactive in the past, whether with boys or, from quite a bit earlier -- an early start, pleasure from her own fingers. Yet, since meeting Sir Hugh at the railway station, she seemed to have developed somewhat of an 'itch.' The lodge loomed larger as she approached it. Bradshaw certainly had something to 'scratch' such an itch. Might she just pop in for a quick one?

It was not, then, quite that Hannah was enticed into the lodge by Jebediah Bradshaw against her will; rather the contrary, as she had probably made up her mind to visit him anyway. His appearance rather settled the matter of whether there would be intercourse -- in the sense of social intercourse though the likelihood of sexual intercourse was immediately heightened by their interaction. Hannah answered his polite and concerned enquiries about her knee and was not at all surprised at his insistence that he should 'take a look.'

Whilst jeans rather than skirt or dress might hide the sticking plaster and graze, it did make it rather difficult to show anyone how the healing was progressing without lowering the jeans or taking them off. Hannah unbuttoned the brass button at their top. Her blouse had ridden up a little and, in any case, the bottom button to her blouse was undone, and Bradshaw could see her navel. Pretty feminine tummy button, lovely young girl skin seen a little through the part-open blouse and the sight of just the undone brass button, letting the denim open a little revealing the mere top of white knickers. It was more than enough to send an old gardener's penis surging upwards within his corduroys.

"Come you on in, we don't wants you falling over with yer jeans around ankles on t'gravel."

Seated on a chair it was Bradshaw who tugged her jeans down and over her knees. Rather than leaving them around her ankles he pulled them right off. A pleasing sight, Hannah's long legs running up to her white knickers, the feminine bulge to the front -- the mons veneris -- so pleasing to the eye. Carefully Bradshaw peeled the sticking plaster and nodded with approval. Hannah was mending nicely.

Bradshaw took another large plaster from a box, removed the paper, and applied it carefully over Hannah's knee. Then he bent and kissed the plaster -- kissing it better, indeed!

"I'm not a little girl, Mr Bradshaw!"

"I can sees that!" Rising from his knees the gardener was most definitely no longer looking at her knees but her breasts. The action of standing must have moved things within his corduroy trousers. He had not done his flies up since watching Sir Hugh and Hannah on the lawn, and the lack of security of metal zip or buttons was immediately demonstrated. His erect and substantial cock surged out of his fly, rearing up before Hannah.

"And you're not exactly a little man either, Mr Bradshaw!" No, not at all, the shiny plum at the end of his stalk was more than enough to please a young girl.

"Would you like ter come an' see me prize aubergine in't hothouse, missy?"

"I rather thought I already was!"

The old boy's cock certainly had something of the aubergine about it -- the shiny head was more than a little purple. Hannah stood and Bradshaw's hands went to her knickers. Clearly, he did not think them at all needed for a greenhouse visit. Best taken down. Hannah rather suspected he was right. They would be an encumbrance to what, she was sure, would happen. Down they came, and she walked to the greenhouse with Bradshaw in just her blouse; Bradshaw for his part fully dressed, albeit as if he already had an aubergine with him -- rather rudely sticking up out of his fly as if it were... but, of course, it was indeed the real thing!

Bradshaw patted her bottom when they reached the greenhouse, encouraging her through the door. Ladies first, of course, but with a pat to the bottom!

The aubergine plants were magnificent. The plants, reaching up to the sloping glass of the roof and with really big leaves, showed their fruit in various stages of development. A number of varieties including a rather surprising type producing white fruit very much the size of hen's eggs -- hence the American name of 'eggplant.' Other varieties included the Turkish orange -- really orange -- and the more usual purple varieties, some even striped, albeit like the orange and white varieties, rather small. Not so the magnificent specimens Bradshaw then showed her. Simply enormous, their skin so shiny and squeaky taut.

Lastly Bradshaw showed Hannah a variety which produced slender but still long fruit.

"Lady Lyanthe, she likes a good purple fruit. I shall takes this up t'hall on the morrow." His hand touched a particularly fine specimen.

The aubergine shone, the deep purple reflecting the sun's rays; unblemished smooth purple skin, the fruit curving as it hung upon the plant, its shape undeniably phallic, not least its bulbous end. Had it perhaps been bred to look like... or was that just happenstance? Bradshaw's fingers went around the aubergine, very much as if he were wanking a cock. He moved his fingers. It could just about have been the action of a gardener showing someone the quality of the fruit but really, unless remarkably innocent, few ladies would have missed what was being suggested. Did Lady Lyanthe come to the greenhouse? Did she enjoy being teased by Bradshaw with his hand upon the growing aubergines? Was anything said? Did Lady Lyanthe perhaps take advantage of Bradshaw's own fine 'aubergine?' Did she finger it? Might perhaps Lady Lyanthe visit with Sir Hugh -- might Lady Lyanthe take pleasure in such a profusion of aubergines -- both real and, well, manly?

Bradshaw fingered a second aubergine. Not quite as plump as the first, the one destined for Lady Lyanthe's table -- or perhaps bed -- his moving fingers waggled it a little in the air in the direction of Hannah. A giggle from her as her eyes moved from aubergine to Bradshaw's erection and back again. Much similarity but Bradshaw's had that little oval opening from whence came... Hannah licked her lips, both readying them and to please the gardener. Men like to see women's tongues touching or encircling lips. It gives them ideas.

Hannah bent her head, and it was not to smell the scent -- if any -- of the little mauve aubergine flowers. Her mouth enveloped the fruit. It was firm but rubbery -- indeed like a cock. With her eyes closed, her body leaning towards the raised pot of the aubergine and being knickerless she wondered if she would suddenly feel the firm rubberiness of Bradshaw's cock entering her. It would be as if she were sucking one cock whilst being fucked by another -- not dissimilar to when the week before she had been buried in Lady Lyanthe's sex whilst Sir Hugh and, just maybe, another man had fucked her. The thought of two men was pleasing. Hannah could hardly smile having her lips around a large aubergine, but she felt like smiling at the way her thoughts were going. The demure but not inexperienced girl who had become so wet in the rain at the station would not have thought that way. She had changed -- was developing.

Her actions upon the aubergine more than suggestive. Had such a thing happened in the greenhouse many times before? Had young Victorian girls in lovely white dresses and black stockings fingered the fruit and perhaps giggled together? Hidden behind plants had some old gardener enjoyed the sight of virginal girls being naughty together? Whispering and giggling at the sight and feel of the bulbous fruit. Had one offered the aubergine for another girl to mouth? Would such girls even know of sexual intercourse let alone fellatio? Might the old gardener extract his 'aubergine' from trousers and wank in delight at the sight? Might manly juice have been spilt upon the greenhouse floor? Might even the naughty girls have cut an aubergine from the plant, one not too thick but with a nice, rounded end, and disappeared into the woods to share their stolen fruit and see if it did indeed fit in their wet cunnies?

Of course, thought Hannah, that depended on whether such fruit were grown back in the 1800s!

Hannah went from flora to fauna, from sucking upon aubergine to penis. A bob up of her head from the plant and a bob down upon Bradshaw. It was no doubt what he had been wanting since his cock had sprung from his fly. She spent rather longer on that than the aubergine.

"Tha' be good, missy. Ah yep, the sap be rising!"

Bradshaw stepped back. Rising indeed but not yet spurting! From the little oval opening, right in front of her, Bradshaw oozed his sap.

"I gets you a fig to try!"

Hannah shook her head. What was she doing? Standing barefoot on the warm flags of the greenhouse, watching the aged gardener shuffle away with his impressively large penis sticking up out of his corduroys. She was, though, in heat. Her eyes dropping to that organ as he walked back towards her. The oozing had carried on. There was now a growing bulb of translucent 'sap' at the penis' end. Hannah again licked her lips. The penis was just so strong and rubbery. In the man's hand a fig.

"Goutte d'Or," he said, "watch!" A squeeze and the skin easily gave way, exuding golden droplets of juice. "Try," he said, and Hannah knew what to do. She bent forward and her tongue touched. So sweet, so delicious -- but it was not just the fig to be sampled. Of course not! Hannah's tongue went from fruit to oozing penis, her tongue pushing into the bulb of fluid. Sweet and salt -- sweetness from the fig and saltiness from Bradshaw - a delight! A gourmet's delight.

Bradshaw split the whole fig and stuck his tongue into the pink flesh. It was completely obvious to Hannah just what the fig now looked like and what Bradshaw was suggesting.

"You like?"

"Oh, yes, very much." Hannah bent and stuck her own tongue into the fruit -- had she not done just that to Lady Lyanthe? And then, young girl as she was, she hopped up onto the staging, between aubergine plants, spreading her legs, opening her own fig for Bradshaw to sample. A grin from the old gardener and he bent to his task. Hannah was not to know she was not exactly the first to sit there and have her fig sampled; not the first to have her sweet juice sucked up by the gardener -- that gardener and, indeed, others before him; not the first to feel his firm tongue wriggling and seeking, circling, and poking into the so juicy flesh.

How lovely for the girl just to sit there, legs spread, and enjoy the feelings. Her hands loosely upon the old man's head as he snuffled away between her legs. Hannah could freely grimace and be wide eyed at the sensations. It was hot in the greenhouse and she was certainly hot. Could bite her lip and shiver as a first orgasm came. Could grin at Bradshaw in delight as he rose and then very much nod her head as he snipped the stalk of the aubergine she had sucked and turned it, bulbous end towards her and then lowered it down between her thighs. Was she like those imagined Victorian girls in the woods? Did they do that to each other? Bradshaw watched and Hannah watched, both insertion and play. In and out went the long purple fruit in Bradshaw's hand. Close by the real thing stood no less firm, and with sap dripping. When would the aubergine be replaced?