Winston's Witch Ch. 02

Despite the fact that she was in gaol, Mistress Nicola slept tolerably well, until about eight of the clock the next morning, when Bertram Thicknoll, the Chief Gaoler, awakened her and informed her that there was food here if she deigned to partake.

Actually, in interests of perfect accuracy, Bertram rattled the bars and announced "Got summat fer brekfus' here if so be ye want some, Mistress." Not one of life's mental prodigies, was Bertram, but a kind enough fellow withal, given the nature of his job and possible future of many of his clients. Bertram had early on in his years as gaoler realised that prisoners treated fairly and kept as happy as possible were less likely to do naughty things like attempting escape or hanging themselves in their cells, and that this, in turn reduced the amount of paperwork he had to fill out to account for missing or dead prisoners.

For instance: Bertram made sure that his prisoners ate at least as well as he did himself, often enough serving them whatever he was having himself for that meal, which was the case this morning. Accordingly, Nicola found herself tucking in to a bowl of hot corn mush, fried bacon and mushrooms, and a boiled egg.

Taking back her plate, she smiled through the bars at Bertram, another of her occasional evening visitors, and thanked him kindly for his consideration. As she did, her fingers somehow seemed to accidentally stroke his thick wrist and the back of his large hairy hand, just as the tip of her tiny pink tongue darted out and moistened her red lips.

{Tiny pink tongue, my...! Who was it I'd swear was tickling my cervix yesterday with the tip of her 'tiny pink'...}

{Fwop! "Respect your elders, young woman! And if respect won't keep you quiet, I have three more pillows handy...}

"Oh, thank you Goodman Gaoler," she said. "I appreciate your consideration, but, you know, the meal is incomplete."

"Oh? Is there owt else I might get ye, Mistress? Some salt, mayhap, or a bit o' vinegar?"

"Oh, no... i was just recalling my old Granny Esmeralda; very often she made us breakfasts like this, when my sisters and I were at her cabin.

"No, it's just that Granny..." her hand continued to stroke his hairy wrist, gradually slipping further and further up his arm at each stroke. "Well... Granny always added something a bit special to our corn mush."

"Special?" he echoed, stepping a bit closer, so that her fingers could brush across his chest.

"Oh, aye. Special... Different kinds, sometimes blueberry preserves, sometimes honey fresh from the comb..."

Her sharp nails were playing with the coarse, curly hair that showed in the v-neck of his shirt.

"Uhmmmm... really?" he stammered, with some difficulty managing to prevent his eyes from crossing in sheer sensual pleasure.

"Oh, yes." Her hand had somehow slipped down from his chest, tackled its way down his belly, and somehow, inevitably seemingly, had come to rest, cupping the suddenly rather-too-tight crotch of his trousers. Fondling the growing bulge she found there, Nicola smiled up at him and said "Oh, my. I would so appreciate it if you could halp me with some thick cream sauce for my mush."

Urging him forward with gentle tugs on the long thick handle she now held, she brought him right up to the bars, so that his hips and chest pressed against them.

Still stroking what she held in her warm soft hand, rather like a rider meeting a rather nervous horse for the first time, who gently strokes the steed's neck in a manner that reassures the horse and, at the same time, gives a sort of physical gratification of touch to both horse and rider.

Looking upward from under halfclosed lids, her gaze caught and held his eyes as her other hand fumbled with his belt and then with the lacings of his breeches. Still he stood, unmoving, eyes fixed upon hers.

She let his open breeches drop away, catching his massive length and girth with both or her own small, warm hands, urging him to press just a bit more tightly against the bars of the cell.

Slowly, teasingly, she stroked his length with both hands, loosening and tightening her gasp, making him stand even more massive and rigid in her grasp.

Holding him still with one hand, she touched one finger to the very tip of his huge organ, picking up the single drop of precum that trembled there, lifting it to her own red lips. Her tongue darted out, licking it from her fingertip.

"Mmm," she murmured, licking her lips clean, catlike. "I believe that the cream is almost ready to serve."

Reaching up with the other hand, she unlaced her own bodice, exposing her fine, firm breasts, standing chaste but exciting, tipped with fine nipples like pink...

{Fwop!}

{Hey!}

{I've got pillows, too, you know, and this is not an exercise in auto-eroticism, so let go of yourself with both hands and finish the story...}

{Oh, all right -- no respect, I tell you, I get no respect around here...}

{Don't look at me for support; I have to live in a file cabinet when I'm not here. A dark one.}

{Oh, very well. Where was I...?}

... her quite acceptably nice tits, taking his hand and lifting it up to caress one of them.

"Oh, yes, good sir. Stroke it just so, if you please, for it pleasures me greatly. And excites you, as well, it would appear."

The hand that clutched his member continued stroking its length, the other reached upward to press against the back of his neck, pressing his head downward until his lips found a nipple. Evidently {no matter what SOME might say} the nipple so presented to him was quite satisfactory, as he began to suckle at it enthusiastically, while his hand stroked, cupped and lifted the other, fingertips flicking at the stiffened nub at its end.

More and more rapidly her hand caressed his dick, more and more firmly she grasped at it.

His hips began bucking back and forth against the bars, matching the motions of her small warm hand.

He moaned past a mouthful of her breast, his tongue still busy at its firm bud.

She felt a single warm drop on her wrist, and momentarily clutched tightly near the base of his cock, temporarily blocking what she knew was about to happen, then reached down with her other hand and seized the bowl of mush, lifting it up as she released her tight clasp, and, with one final stroke from base to tip, released the full stream of his hot white cum.

It gushed into the bowl, splashing up the side and across the yellowish surface of the mush. Several more streams flew form his balls up his length and into the bowl, as the gaoler continued to gush, experiencing the most intense and draining orgasm of his entire life.

Finally, he was done, and he began to soften in her grasp.

"Oh, thank you, Master Gaoler," she exclaimed, setting the bowl aside. "I always do love a good bit of cream to my mush."

Still holding his near-flaccid dick in her gentle hand, she dropped briefly to one knee and kissed its sticky head gently but warmly, eliciting a bit of a stir from even one as exhausted as her current victim.

"Run along now and rest a bit, Master Gaoler, and mayhap we two shall find some other way to pass the time pleasantly, later; right now, I believe I shall eat my mush."