David's French Tutor Ch. 10byThorilla©
(It was 1885 and, as a nineteen year old boy, I was staying with family friends at their large house in the English Midlands. My name is David Shaw and I was there to learn French conversation under the tutelage of Miss. Marie; the family had two 18 year old twins, Anna and Sarah who were also learning French with me, this is part ten of my tale.)
I was feeling ravenous and we both dressed and decided that we needed something to eat. I told Miss Marie that I'd go and find Cook and see what she had to offer.
Cook was in the kitchen with the two girls. She had baked some bread and it was cooling on some wire trays on the large oak table. She had picked some pears too and some vegetables.
"Are you refreshed from your sleep Mister Shaw?" she enquired. "The young Mistresses were telling me that you insisted in sitting outside their door all night long; you are indeed very kind and it was a noble act to remain on call," she concluded.
"Yes it was an exhausting and eventful night," I replied and smiled like a leopard.
I told her that I had just met Miss Marie on the stairs and that we both desired some tea if that was at all possible. Cook prepared a light meal of bread, butter and fresh strawberry conserve, and some Dundee cake too. She brought it to us in the drawing room and we ate it in relative silence. Miss Marie decided to go for a walk by the lake and I returned the tray to the kitchen.
"Well Mister Shaw," said Cook, now on her own, "I dare say that you deserve a reward for your chivalry last night," she said and smiled at me in an uncharacteristic way.
"It was nothing, really," I replied, "Any Englishman would have done the same," I said, and meant every word.
"Well Mister Shaw I have decided to reward you anyway. I know what you and Charlotte got up to in your bed chamber as I've got eyes in the back of my head," she said.
My memory cells hammered into life as I recalled the time, several weeks earlier, when I had asked Charlotte, the house maid, to sit on my face.
I wondered what on earth Cook had meant by a 'reward' and now I saw the cold truth.
"I have got exactly one hour to spare, until I have to prepare the evening meal, and I insist in rewarding you in a way that I hope you will approve," she said in a flirtatious way, in her rounded country dialect.
"If you would please follow me, young gentleman, I shall take you to my room," she said removing her large apron and hanging it from a hook behind the kitchen door.
I followed her up the narrow servants' stairs which linked the kitchen, scullery and butler's pantry to the servants' quarters in the north wing of the house. I watched her huge buttocks and hips swivel from side to side as we wound up the narrow wooden steps in front of me. She was clearly out of breath when we reached the top of the house and arrived at her attic bedroom.
"I must apologise for the disarray in my room but I have only recently had a chance to change out of my clothes," she said and I noticed a pile of soiled petticoats, stockings and under drawers on the floor next to her bed.
"Now if you would care to remove your clothing Mister Shaw and lie on the bed it will be my pleasure to sit on your face and help you masturbate," she said in a casual, and almost unbelievable, off hand manner.
I felt as if she was being very forward with her presumption that I would enjoy lying beneath her huge rounded arse. Did she not have any inkling that I had spent the whole of the previous night and much of the day releasing my sperm into the world? I always thought that women intuitively sensed certain things, particularly as I was screaming my thoughts to her inside my head.
I decided to follow her instructions, partly because I was curious to experience such a massive bottom over my face, but partly because I did not want to offend her, as she so clearly considered that I deserved her 'treat'.
"Do not be embarrassed Mister Shaw; other house guests have often asked to be face sat by me, and indeed by Charlotte too," she said taking off her house boots to reveal black cotton stockings.
"We are always happy to oblige and think nothing of it," she went on. "I regularly take afternoon tea with gentlemen in the village, including the young verger, and, well, I need not say more need I?" she concluded.
As far as I was concerned she had said enough and I quickly undressed and lay on her low double bed under the dormer window overlooking the vegetable garden.
I studied Cook's face. It was round like the moon and her eyes appeared small and pig like but they twinkled in a lively friendly way. She smiled to herself and to me. She hummed a tune as if to put me at ease.
"Drawers on or off?" she asked and I blurted "On."
I watched her rounded figure. She clearly enjoyed food judging by the thickness of her waist and general plumpness.
"I hope I don't squash you, young gentleman," she said standing at the edge of the bed looking down at me, "I'll not put my whole weight on you; but just enough for you to be able to breathe." said Cook.
By now my fierce penis was rock hard and ramrod stiff and lay on my belly pointing straight toward my navel. Precum had already gathered at it's exposed tip.
Cook beamed at me with her rosy cheeked, dimpled face. I looked at her uniform which appeared totally different from normal without her large apron and floppy cook's cap.
Her uniform was dark grey, almost black in colour, which buttoned all the way up the front to a crisp white collar. The skirt was incredibly full and was gathered at the waist. This seemed to exaggerate the dimensions of her hips which were very 'ample' to say the least.
She put both her podgy hands on my naked shoulders and smiled at me in a reassuring, almost motherly, manner. She then placed a knee on the bed and swung the other leg over me so that she was kneeling, straddling my waist.
She knelt up and stared down at me. I grinned insanely at her, feeling that we had already broken every rule in the book of etiquette and social behaviour.
"There young gentleman; almost ready for your facesitting are we?"
She pulled up her skirt so that it became disentangled from her legs and petticoats; then she pulled up her petticoats and arranged them, along with her skirt, in a circle around her and over my legs and chest.
"That's it all nice and ready for your head to go under my skirt," she chortled to herself in her country voice.
The feel of her cool cotton petticoats against my skin stirred my erection which again extended to its maximum length and girth. I smiled inwardly as I felt the body warmth from her thick thighs encased in her white drawers and black cotton stockings against my legs.
"Well you do make a picture, you lying there starkers on Cook's bed," she said beaming at me. She touched my chest and I felt my penis ripple with expectation.
"Are you ready my young gentleman?" said the buxom woman with 'lechery' written all over her face.
"I'll not say no to a spot of licking neither," she continued, "And a bit of tongue diddling if you please," and she cackled loudly to herself which shook the whole bed.
I pulled in my arms to allow the heavy middle-aged woman to edge her way up the bed toward my face. As she did so she lifted her vast skirt to reveal her petticoats.
She wore four white cotton ones trimmed with Broderie Anglaise lace in deep double flounces. On seeing her undergarments my heart seemed to thump into my mouth and I swallowed several times with excitement.
"Do you like what you see Mister Shaw?" she enquired. "Many a young man has been under my petticoats and drawers, I can tell you, They all like me sitting on their faces, I can tell you" and she laughed some more.
At this stage she sat on my chest and pulled her petticoats and skirt off me so that she could see my face. I smiled up at her uneasily. Her weight did seem very unyielding and I was now being pushed firmly down into the bed.
Her body heat appeared intense and I could sense that she felt excited at having a 'young gentleman', possibly thirty years her junior, lying naked under her, and under her vast skirt.
She reached behind her and fished out my penis which was now covered in petticoat lace. She squeezed its tip and jerked it up and down somewhat clumsily.
"Are you ready to begin masturbating young gentleman?" she said looking down her nose at me.
She appeared massive from my low angle and I could only nod at her insanely. I slipped my hands down to my erection and gently began wanking. I watched, riveted, as she pulled up the front of her dress and petticoats to reveal her loose open-crotch drawers. These were extremely baggy above her thighs but were laced tightly, just above the knee, where it was trimmed with a wide generous flounce of eyelet lace.
Inside her open-crotch drawers I could see her black stockings where they ended a few inches above the legs of her drawers. Her flesh 'ballooned out' both above and below her thick lace trimmed garters and Cook was, in no doubt, a well-fleshed woman.
Slowly she eased her hefty frame up to my neck and spread her legs so that my upturned head became wedged between her soft warm thighs. I felt her gartered stockings against my cheeks.
"Are you ready young gentleman? You may diddle me with your tongue, as I should like that ever so much," she said still holding her garments aloft and smiling down at the face between her legs.
I felt that I had no choice and now understood that Cook's offer to provide me with masturbatory pleasure was her means of obtaining similar pleasures for herself. I found myself thinking that she was a crafty old cow.
I watched her smile disappeared as she dropped her four crisp white cotton petticoats over my face and spread them evenly around me. She then arranged her thick grey skirt over me and threw her hems over me so that I was concealed from view.
She patted down her skirts and said, "There we're now all nice and cosy aren't we," as if she were merely sitting sipping tea with the other ladies of the village.
In the half light under her clothes I watched her slide her gaping drawers up to my lips so that my nose made contact with her coarse pubic hair.
Her odours were very strong, almost unbearably so, and I wondered whether she had bathed since her ordeal of staying at the village inn during the storm. Her vagina reeked of urine, sweat and other female smells with which I was now becoming increasingly familiar. She smelled more like Miss Marie than the twins.
Her odours overwhelmed me and once again my penis stiffened and squirmed deliciously and I thought that I was perhaps the luckiest chap in England.
Her weight held me in place as I began to probe her with my tongue. I felt her take a sharp intake of breath as I wriggled my way between her prominent portals.
Cook's vagina was vast and her lips protruded like engorged silken flaps which engulfed my tongue and slid, with suction, across my face. It was as if her labia were seeking to suck the very soul from me, they were so large and blubbery.
I licked my way deeply into her cleft and administered every little delve, lap, lick and probe that I could muster, failing to tongue her most sensitive nub hidden under her clitoral hood. She realised that I was holding back and admonished me.
"You are teasing Cook, my young gentleman," I heard her grunt above me and then squeeze my ears savagely between the thick flesh of her thighs.
In the meantime I had been jerking and wanking my rampant appendage taking me ever closer to my inevitable orgasm. I felt as if my penis was three times its normal length and it was only a question of minutes before I 'came'.
Cook sensed my condition and reached down behind her and held my wrist.
"No you don't young master," she croaked, clearly wishing to delay my pleasure until she had satisfied her own," You will finish me off first; Is that understood?" she concluded, slapping my hands.
I told her that I would comply and now knew that Cook's primary motive for sitting on my face was for her own self gratification and that her verger, curate or whoever, she visited for 'tea' at the village was employed mainly for her own advantage, and not vice versa.
I could picture this verger, this respectable 'pillar of society' flat on his back, in his verger's parlour, with his trousers and underpants pulled down to his ankles. I visualised Cook's large feet standing astride his face and her stout heavy skirts and wide petticoats above him, concealing his upper body from view. I imagined that he would be twitching hysterically with excitement as she lowered her massive fat haunches onto his face. I could see him jerking his manhood wildly, seeking relief from his week of celibate solitude.
"What are you doing? You are certainly not doing as I requested young gentleman," exclaimed Cook, clearly angry that I was ignoring her clitoris.
She aimed a slap at my genitals and she heard my muffled groan from under her petticoat layers. She slapped me again, this time harder and grabbed my wrist.
I groaned more loudly and waited for the next slap.
"You will finish me off first young master. Understood?" she shouted in her strong country accent.
With some reluctance I slurped my way up between her prominent fleshy flaps and nuzzled her mound of Venus. Her curls engulfed my nostrils as I ran my tongue under her clitoral hood. I heard her gasp and felt her buttocks clench while I flicked and lapped her small most sensitive spot.
"Oh my goodness," squealed Cook, "Don't bloody stop young master; whatever you do don't stop," she said and let go of my wrist. My hand naturally returned to my penis and I began wanking gently.
Cook was indeed correct when she ordered me to allow her to 'come' first. I would have clearly 'lost interest' in pleasuring her had I erupted before she did. These words were true.
My tongue and lips stimulated her and sucked at her clitoris over and over again. She gripped my head by my ears as she positioned herself firmly over my face. She was immensely strong and I felt the urgency of her movements as she bucked herself savagely against my now sticky and slimy facial features.
Around me, and over me, her petticoats swished and rustled noisily. I tongued her ferociously, feeling the tendons and sinews of my neck stiffen as I rammed my face into her and slobbered my tongue over her clitoris with almost violent movements. Judging by her breathing and swearing I could tell that she was close to her orgasm.
"Oh my young master, diddle me more young gentleman, diddle me deeper, harder, don't fucking stop," she screeched as if she were Rowena Armstrong, the woman in my school day dreams.
I ploughed on mercilessly feeling my face flooding with her sexual secretions. Her grip on my ears became more savage and now she was riding my face as if it was a galloping racehorse. With her vice-like grip she pulled my head off the bed and firmly up into her pubic area. She let go and repeated the process over and over again, as if I was a rag doll.
Again and again, in time with her pelvic thrusting, she smashed my face up and down into the warm stickiness which dribbled steadily from her vagina. Her movements became more bestial and frantic as she upped the tempo and rhythm.
"Oh, oh, oh, oh," she whimpered as her jerking became more ferocious.
By now my face and neck were covered with her sweat, vaginal juices and saliva. Up and down, up and down she pulled and pushed, forcing my face into her clitoris as if it was an inanimate object. I tried to lick her nub but felt that we had passed that stage and my facial contours now only served her as her masturbatory aid.
"Oh lovely, lovely, lovely," she cried out violently dragging my head up and down against her gaping labia.
Over and over again she wiped herself vigorously and strenuously over my upturned nose.
It seemed to take at least fifteen long minutes of constant jerking, swearing and shouting until she 'came' and I felt her shudder, then shake as if gripped by an earthquake, then quiver and eventually reach her climax.
She threw herself off me and my head jolted onto the bed between her legs.
"That were lovely, that were truly lovely," she said in her country dialect. I remained trapped beneath her as her breathing gradually became less laboured.
My penis still lay unemptied against my stomach. Flat on my back I began to wank. Cook heard the rustling of my penis amongst her petticoats. I wrapped some lace around it and felt the cool scratchiness of the cotton on my exposed glans which had now weeped more precum.
"You go ahead young gentleman," said the large cook her legs splayed over my face. "You wank into my petticoats while Cook recovers," she said.
"Have a nice good long wank; you deserve it," she said again to me as if thanking me for hers.
I licked her soft sweaty thighs which were almost sticking to my cheeks. I reveled in the sweet intensity of the odours which surrounded me in the small underspace beneath her petticoats.
Soon my nostrils had parted her vulva and my masturbation became more urgent. My wanking became more ferocious and vocal. I groaned and rammed my face firmly between her legs. I breathed in every odour which came from her cunt. I breathed in quickly and violently until I felt as if I was suffocating in her pungent musky oromas.
I felt boiling semen gather in my shaft and slowed down my exertions to delay the very last millisecond of sheer luxurious pleasure.
I groaned again, shut my eyes, twisted my face and expelled five ferocious spurts of semen over the white lacy hems of Cook's petticoats.
I lay back and waited to catch my breath.
I lay there, beneath her petticoats, until Cook had decided to get up. She placed her heavy arms on the bed above me as she swung her legs off me. I watched as she slowly dragged her petticoats and uniform from me and I emerged into blinding daylight.
The low afternoon sun shone through the bedroom window and illuminated the painting of flowers above her mantel shelf.
"That was lovely Mister Shaw," said Cook putting on a fresh apron and cap. "I daresay that you will be requiring my services again?" she enquired, and I smiled at her like a hyena.
"Yes that would be nice," I lied, as I secretly yearned for Miss Marie or the two twins.
I left Cook, after I had dressed, and sought the bathroom where I lay in refreshing warm water for half an hour and allowed my muscles to relax and become restored. My pores seemed so clean after being having absorbed sweat and sexual secretions from all four women.
My neck felt particularly fatigued and so too my shoulders. Cook must have weighed twice my weight and I marveled that the human body being could withstand so much abuse.
I have to admit that my penis once again extended to it's full length as I washed it with a bar of Pears 'lilac and mint' perfumed soap. The steamy, echoing properties of the tiled room encouraged me to sing loudly, which I did, to my hearts content until I heard the sound of the dinner gong from the floor below.
I quickly dried and dressed and descended to the ground floor where I entered the dining room to be greeted by Sarah, Anna and Miss Marie sitting at one end of the long dining table. Their faces gleamed in the flickering candle light.
They were all smiles and had left a space for me to sit between Anna and Sarah.
I pulled out the chair and sat down and underneath the table cloth I splayed my legs so that they were touching the twins' knees through their turquoise blue dresses and white cotton petticoats.
Miss Marie sat opposite us and she gave me a look of contented triumph which made be feel both happy but at the same time lecherous and ready for another love making session in her bed. Naturally my penis stiffened once again.