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Ambridge Affairs Ch. 1

By: quinn rogan



"I'm getting too old for this cricket lark," pronounced Tony Archer as he shambled into the living-room and flung himself down on a chair.

"You mean too old for the post-nets drinking," came the response, in a soft Welsh lilt, from his small dark wife, Pat.

"Not at all!" said Tony, grinning. "That's the only thing that keeps me going!"

Tony was medium-size, with fair thinning hair and a narrow face with a bony prominent nose. His work on the farm, and his cricket, kept him lean and tanned.

"Who was there?" asked Pat, with just a little more than the usual non-committal interest in her voice.

"At nets? Oh, just the usual – David, Eddy, Tommy, William, Sid, Neil - you know. And Roy, of course."

Pat registered the momentary shadow flitting across Tony's face at the mention of Roy Tucker. Tony and Pat's elder son, John, had died in a farm accident just over two years ago, at the age of twenty. Roy had been his best friend and, just three weeks previously, had married Hayley Jordan, a lovely girl who had been John's girlfriend – and, probably, his future wife – at the time of John's untimely death.

They had slowly come to terms with the loss of their son, but it had been hard to stand by and watch the growing love between Hayley and Roy, while their own close relationship with Hayley had slipped further and further into the background. They had attended the wedding, along with the rest of the village, but their feelings as they watched the radiant bride on the arm of her new husband had been very mixed.

"How was Roy – after his honeymoon?" she asked.

"Oh, full of beans," replied Tony, unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of his voice. "What man wouldn't be, after two weeks in a hotel bedroom with Hayley?"

"And what woman?" murmured Pat. Tony, narrowing his eyes, glanced across at his wife. In her early days, as a radical left-wing student, Pat had sampled most human experiences and had never tried to conceal her enjoyment, from her husband, of her not infrequent visits to the Isle of Lesbos. Like most men, Tony was aroused by the thought of woman-on-woman sexual encounters and had always encouraged his wife to describe her past adventures as graphically as possible.

"Meaning – someone not a million miles away?" he guessed, feeling a stirring in his loins as he spoke.

"Well, what do you think?" said Pat, unfolding herself from the settee and coming over to sit on the arm of Tony's chair. Her fingers ruffled his tousled thatch absent-mindedly. "She looked good enough to eat in that wedding-dress."

"Even better out of it, I should think," sighed her husband.

There was a short silence, then Pat took a deep breath and seemed about to speak, then lapsed into silence again.

"What were you going to say?" asked Tony.

"Oh, nothing," replied his wife, then, before Tony could say any more, suddenly left the room and Tony could hear her running up the stairs. A worried frown on his face, Tony stayed where he was. Pat had had a very bad time after John's death, which she had shared with Hayley, and Tony wondered if their discussion had sparked an emotional reaction in her. He felt even more guilty about the erection their speculation about Hayley in, and out, of her wedding dress, had aroused in him.

Then Pat appeared at the living-room door, clutching an envelope in her hand. The colour in her cheeks was high, and her eyes were bright. She went back to the settee and sat down, leaning forward, facing her husband, the envelope clutched in both hands.

"Tony," she said, a little breathlessly, then stopped.

"What is it?" he replied, also leaning forward in his chair. "What's in that envelope?"

She ignored his question. "How do you feel, now – about Hayley? I mean, now that we're no longer really part of her life – not her potential parents, any more?"

Well," said Tony. "I'm still very fond of her – and I accept she had to … move on, as it were, after John. After all, she's a young woman – and a very attractive one. We couldn't expect her to – well, you know. But things definitely aren't the same as they used to be."

"And what if you saw her now, for the first time? Say she walked into the Bull while you were having a pint? What would be your first thought?"

Tony gave a little embarrassed laugh. He knew only too well what the answer to that question would be. With her long auburn hair, her wide brown eyes, her full-lipped generous mouth, her high firm breasts, her narrow waist above wide, flaring hips, set at the top of long shapely legs, Hayley sparked the same natural reaction in every man who clapped eyes on her. Tony had had enough difficulty suppressing it when she had been his son's girlfriend.

In fact, one of his first thoughts, once he had accepted the fact of John's death, had been a fervent prayer that his son, before he died, had had a full sexual relationship with Hayley. It was dreadful for any man to die a virgin – to have missed out on a stunner like Hayley Jordan would have been too sad for words!

"Well?" demanded Pat, her eyes glittering. Tony shrugged and smiled, weakly.

"OK," she said. "I'll make it easy for you – I'd be thinking exactly the same. I'd be wondering what she looked like – stripped naked. I'd be wondering what her tits would feel like in my hands, whether her nipples would rise as I kissed them, what her pubic bush looked like, whether she had a responsive clit – and how she would sound when she had an orgasm with my fingers plunging between her open thighs."

She had crossed the floor by now and was kneeling in front of her husband, her hand caressing his erection on top of his trousers. Tony was groaning, his hand dipping down Pat's open shirt, squeezing her small, hard-nippled breast.

Not looking at him, she resumed talking.

"I always hoped John had screwed her, you know. It would be such a shame if he had died, without ...... "

"Me, too," muttered Tony. "I'd hate to think Roy Tucker had been the first."

"Well, he wasn't!" announced Pat, triumphantly. "Our boy gave her a bloody good seeing-to. Roy's got a lot to live up to!"

Tony knew the envelope held the key to this pronouncement, but he bided his time. Pat would tell him in her own time, in her own way. He was overjoyed to hear her say that she, like him, had prayed that John had fucked his lovely Hayley before his life had been cut short – and that she knew that he had.

"You remember when we redecorated John's room just before Christmas?" Pat went on. Of course Tony remembered – it had been a symbolic, cathartic gesture which had caused them both no little pain.

"Well, when I was clearing it out beforehand, I dismantled an old chest of drawers and … and I came across those in the back of it," Pat said, her hand clutching her husband's groin tightly. "Before you look at them, though – just, be prepared. They're photographs, and John's in them. They were taken on that Greek holiday they had the summer before – before ...... "

Tony nodded and, hand shaking, took the envelope from Pat. As he did so, she stood up and retreated to the settee, her eyes fixed on him. Tony took a deep breath and lifted the flap of the envelope. It was not sealed. Two photographs slid out, face down, into his hand. He checked that the envelope was empty and it fluttered down to the carpet.

He turned over one of the pictures and his eyes widened in shock and astonishment. The setting was hotel bedroom. His son, John, was standing, naked, supporting himself by his hands leaning against a dressing-table. He was smiling down at the camera. Kneeling in front of him was Hayley. She, too, was completely naked and the top third of John's erect penis was in her mouth. Her face, too, was turned towards the camera and her lips were parted in as wide a smile as she could contrive, under the circumstances. One hand was holding her hair back from her face, the other lightly gripping the base of John's penis. Her breasts were obscured by her elbows, but her delectable bottom jutted enticingly towards the camera, milky-white against the golden tan of her thighs and belly.

"Jesus!" he breathed. He was conscious that he ought to be affected by the hitherto unseen picture of his dead son, but he could not pull his eyes from the delicious form of the lovely girl in front of him. Tearing his eyes away, he turned over the second photograph.

It featured the same dressing-table but, this time, it was Hayley who was using it to support herself. She was bent forward, thighs spread wide, hands on the dressing-table, arms straight. Once again, her head was turned to the camera and she was attempting a smile. Behind her, John was leaning forward, his hands clasped round the girl's breasts, his rock-hard penis halfway into her spread vagina. He, too, was turned towards the camera, but his attempt to smile was doomed to failure. His mouth was forced open in a mirthless grin and he was obviously in the grip of an imminent orgasm.

Tony spread the pictures on his thigh and looked back and forth at them. Somehow, Pat had re-crossed the carpet and was sitting on the arm of his chair again.

"Jesus!" he said, again, his hand reaching up and clutching hers.

"They're quite something, aren't they?" she whispered.

"Christ, you can say that again," Tony stammered. Pat's hand snaked down and found his cock again. This time, she unzipped his trousers and pulled it out, at the same time sliding off the arm of the chair to kneel in front of him again. Her head dropped and her tongue licked round the head of his throbbing erection.

"Now, you look at these pictures and pretend you're John, squeezing these big tits and shoving you hard cock between her spread thighs, into her warm, tight, wet cunt," she whispered urgently as her hand squeezed the base of his cock. "Listen to her gasping as you thrust it further and further up her cunt, until she starts to scream with ecstasy ... "

And Pat wrapped her lips round her husband's rampant prick as he stared at the pictures and imagined himself taking his son's place between those gorgeous thighs, his cock supplanting John's in that receptive fresh vagina, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting until .... ohhhhhhhhh!

He pushed his buttocks up off the chair, fucking his wife's willing face. His thighs squeezed together, he felt the eruption start deep down in his balls, then starts exploded behind his eyes and he jerked uncontrollably as the first jet shot out.

"Ahhhhhh! Ahhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhh!" he yelled, as he shot jet after jet of fluid into Pat's willing mouth. He hadn't come like that for years. It seemed to go on for ever, but, at last, she expertly squeezed the last blob out of him and licked his cock clean.

Tony collapsed in his chair, gasping, as his wife stood up in front of him and slipped her shirt off, exposing little breasts with no hint of sag, and two very long, hard brown nipples. She lifted her hands and toyed with her nipples, emitting little gasps of pleasure, as she waited for her husband to recover.

"Bloody hell, Pat," he gasped eventually. "That was incredible – and please stop playing with your tits like that. You'll get me going again, and I'm not sure I'll survive it this time."

As he spoke, his wife could see his recumbent cock begin to stir again. She slipped off her jeans and stood in front of him, her hand down the front of her panties, the outline of her fingers clearly visible as she stimulated herself. She bent over and picked up one of the photos, which had fallen to the carpet. It was the one of John fucking Hayley doggy-style.

Pat sat down on the floor, her hand still down her knickers and held the picture up so they could both see it.

"She's even more gorgeous, stripped, isn't she, Tony?" she asked. "Wouldn't you just love to give her one?"

"Yes," he muttered, leaning forward and cupping Pat's tits in his hands. He rolled her erect nipples between fingers and thumbs. "And you? You'd like to watch, wouldn't you?"

"More than watch," she said. 

He laughed, a trifle bitterly. "Ah, well," he said. "Dream on! She's a one-man girl, our Hayley, and I don't think Roy's leaving her short!"

"Mmmm," said Pat, thoughtfully. "I wonder what he'd say if he saw those pictures, though?"

As she spoke, she dropped the picture and slipped her fingers round Tony's semi-erect cock.

"Oh, I suppose he knows she and John 'did it'," replied her husband, sighing contentedly as Pat stimulated him again. "He must have had to come to terms with that. In fact, John probably told him, at the time – they were best mates, after all, and I can't imagine John could have kept it to himself when he first got inside her knickers."

"Why – is that what you did when you first had me?"

"You know I did," laughed Tony. "I told Alan and Paul – and it turned you on, knowing that I had!"

"Yes, but I wasn't Hayley," replied Pat. "You knew I'd been with other men – and women. Hayley's an innocent. I bet she's only had John and Roy in her whole life – and I don't see John going into all the gory details with Roy, anyway. I think he'd just have said that he'd shagged her, and left the rest to Roy's imagination."

"Yes," mused Tony. "You're probably right. Anyway, there's no way Roy's going to see those. I wouldn't do that to her – she's a nice girl and they're really in love. You can see that."

"Oh, I know," said his wife. "I wouldn't dream of showing them to Roy." Her hand slid up and down her husband's erection, then she quietly added – "but Hayley doesn't know that."

"What do you mean," asked Tony, in genuine puzzlement.

But Pat didn't answer. Instead, she turned her head and planted a kiss on the end of his knob.

"Come upstairs and give me a good fucking, you horny bastard," she said. "Remember – I haven't come yet."

She held on to his cock as they stood up, and pressed his hand against the front of her panties. They were soaking, and he pushed his middle finger against the thin material, forcing it inside her sopping slit.

"Ohhh," she groaned. "Why can't you grow a nice big pair of tits for me to play with while you're stuffing that big dick inside me? I could do with a nice young girl to fondle, right now."

And she turned and ran up the stairs, followed by her husband, who was throwing his clothes off as he pursued her. By the time he entered the bedroom, she was on the bed, stark naked, her legs wide apart, one finger teasing her clitoris while the other squeezed a nipple ecstatically.

Tony fell between his wife's spread thighs and he tongued her open cunt, forcing his tongue inside, tasting her strong juices. She reached down and grabbed his hair, pulling him up her flat belly.

"I need a cock in there," she hissed. "I want to feel it filling me up and splitting me apart."

They had played this game before, and Tony enjoyed it as much as she did.

"Any old cock would do, wouldn't it?" he said. "As long as it was big enough!"

"Yes," she replied. "If you hadn't come home, I'd have phoned Brian Aldridge. I hear he likes a hairy bush, and he must have a big cock, the way he likes to put it about. I bet he'd love to give me a good fucking, the arrogant bastard. I bet he doesn't get much from your stuck-up sister!"

"Oh, I don't know," said Tony, as he slid his weapon into Pat's eager orifice and felt her vaginal muscles close round it, pulling it in. "He certainly used to get up her plenty when I used to spy on them in our summer house at home."

"What did it feel like, watching your sister getting a good rogering?" she gasped. "Miss Snooty, with her tits out and her knickers round her ankles – did she make a noise when she came, or was it quiet and refined?"

"I'm not sure," replied Tony, the visual memories clearer than the audio ones. He had always spied on his sisters – watching them through cracks in doors and between curtains as they changed or bathed, enjoying the sight of their developing breasts and the hair growing between their legs. Lillian had been better than Jennifer in the tit and pubic hair department, but Jennifer had been more careless, probably because it had never occurred to her that her brother would behave so badly.

Jennifer had also been the careless one where boyfriends were concerned, and Tony had often masturbated as he peeped at the sight of her latest boyfriend uncovering her small firm tits, to the accompaniment of excited gasps of protest and excitement from Jennifer. Then it progressed to hands sliding up her skirt or dress until, finally, a man called Roger, ironically, had stripped her naked in a barn one summer's night and, in full view of a breathlessly excited Tony, had spread her thighs and inserted what had seemed, to Tony, a truly massive cock into his sister's eighteen-year-old vagina.

After that, he had seen four different men and boys pleasure themselves on Jennifer's receptive naked body, the last of these being Brian Aldridge, now her husband – but not the father of her oldest daughter, the lovely Debbie, who had been the fruit of Roger's loins, as far as anyone knew!

"So, does he have a big one, then – Brian? Would it be big enough to fill me up, Tony? Think back to when you watched him stick it up Jennifer, then think about him spreading my legs and sticking it up me! I'm thinking about it – oh, yes, I can just feel it travelling up inside me. Oh, yes, it's thicker than yours, Tony – and longer! Oh, I don't think I've ever had one so big inside me. Out of all the cocks I've had – oh, yes, it's a big one! And his hands on my tits – oh, he's squeezing them so hard. It's really sore – but I like it and – oh, yes, Tony, the dirty swine, he's going to make me come – he's really pounding it in and out of me and – ohhhhhhhhh!"

Pat's head shook from side to side as Tony rammed his cock into her repeatedly, his hands squeezing her breasts brutally. As he felt her go over the final edge, into the abyss of orgasm, he allowed his mind to conjure up the picture of his brother, Brian, plunging his penis through Pat's thick thatch of black hair, and the image provided the final stimulus he needed to release his second come of the night and he spurted jets of his semen into the woman writhing frantically beneath him.

But his very final thought, before collapsing into a contented post-coital slumber, was of what his wife had hinted at earlier – would she really use these pictures to 'persuade' the lovely Hayley – the new Mrs Tucker – to ………??????????

E-mail comment welcomed - especially from "Archers Addicts"

Ambridge Affairs Ch. 2



(Author's note :- I never expected my Ambridge 'saga' to have mass audience appeal - it is a pretty specialised 'market'! But, readership of chapter 1 is teetering on the verge of a very respectable 1,000 - and, so far, it has attracted five 'straight 5' votes. The only disappointment has been a complete absence of e-mail feedback, and I really would welcome an exchange of ideas with 'Addicts' anxious to delve into the murkier depths of Borsetshire life. So, see what you think about Clarrie's hidden secrets - then let me know...)

Rum-ti-tum-ti-tum-ti-tum...

"Good-morning, Joe," Clarrie Grundy greeted her father cheerfully as she bustled round the kitchen in her dressing-gown, fresh from her morning shower.

"I don't see what's so good about it," he grumbled as he picked up the cup of tea waiting for him, and drank it noisily, looking round for the morning paper.

"Where's Eddie?" he asked. "Ain't he up yet?"

"Been up ages," said Clarrie, heaping four rashers of bacon and two eggs on to Joe's plate. "He's laying slabs for Linda Snell this morning. He went half an hour ago."

"Better him than me," said Joe, attacking his breakfast vigorously. "That woman could talk for Borsetshire – drives me mad. What about Edward?"

"He's working up Oliver Stirling's – mending some fences, or something."

Joe nodded, his mouth full.

"What about you?" Clarrie asked. "'Ave you anything on this morning?"

"No – nothing much," came the indistinct reply, as Joe mopped up the remains of his egg yolk with a piece of bread.

"Well, I'm on lunchtime shift at The Bull," Clarrie announced as she picked up Joe's plate and carried it over to the sink, dropping it into the basinful of hot water. Turning round, she leaned against the sink and folded her arms in front of her.

"So, I've got a good hour before I have to start getting ready," she said. Her father looked up at her. 

"Is there anything you need, while I've got a bit of free time, then, Joe?" she said, her voice a little lower than before.

"What you got on under that thing?" he asked, his eyes glittering.

"Why don't you come over and find out?" As she spoke, Clarrie's tongue slid over her lips, and she watched as Joe levered himself out of his chair and crossed the kitchen floor. She unfolded her arms and put her hands on the edge of the sink, supporting herself with her arms.

Joe's rough, gnarled hand reached up and pushed the material of one side of her dressing-gown aside. A full, heavy naked breast was revealed. Joe's fingers closed round it and his index finger and thumb gripped the thick brown nipple and twisted it. Clarrie gasped and closed her eyes.

"Ah, you got lovely tits," said Joe. "My Susan had nipples like yours, God rest 'er. Her tits wasn't so big, though."

He always said that, Clarrie reflected, but she did love the way he treated her breasts – roughly, painfully, sometimes, but it always aroused her. He had never kissed her – she wouldn't want him to. To Joe, sex was an animal act and it excited Clarrie to be treated the way a stallion would service a brood mare. Not that Joe was everyone's idea of a stallion, but, for an old man, he was astonishingly virile and his cock was half as big again as his son Eddie's – Clarrie's husband.

Joe's other hand was already busy unbuttoning his trousers and Clarrie reached down to help him. As usual, his cock was already hard and it was difficult to get it out. Joe gave up in disgust and left it to Clarrie, raising his other hand to drag the top half of her dressing-gown fully open so that he could grab her other breast.

As he twisted her stubby nipples, Clarrie felt the wetness between her thighs and her mouth dried with excitement as she released his penis and it slapped against her palm. The tip was already leaking and her fingers grew sticky. She gripped his cock at the base and flooded as her fingers failed to meet round its circumference and she anticipated it stretching the mouth of her vagina as it pushed its way into her.

As a young bride, when she had first come to live at Grange Farm, Clarrie had been very careful about locking the bathroom door and getting fully dressed before she emerged from the bedroom she and Eddie shared. Not that Joe ever tried anything with her, but she could sense his eyes on her, especially if she was bent over, showing a bit of cleavage, or sitting awkwardly, affording a view up her skirt.

Eddie, of course, never noticed a thing and she never talked about it to him. As far as Eddie was concerned, Clarrie was his wife, pure and simple. It would never occur to him that his own father could think of his daughter in a sexual context. 


Things had been different with Eddie's brother, Alf. He had never made any secret of his sexual interest in his fresh young sister, and Eddie, who looked upon his no-good elder brother as some sort of a hero, had been quite unable to cope with the situation. Fortunately, when Clarrie first arrived at Grange Farm, Alf had been serving time in Winson Green prison – not his first prison sentence, by any means.

But he came out, a year after the wedding and, from that point on, Clarrie had never felt safe. Whenever he was in a room with her on his own, he bombarded her with suggestive remarks about what she and Eddie got up to, in bed, together – and, even worse, he lost no opportunity to touch her whenever he had a chance. His favourite trick was to creep up behind her when she was reaching up to a cupboard and grab her breasts from behind, holding her in a tight hug, so that she could feel the pressure of his erection against her bottom as she squirmed and wriggled in his embrace.

At first, Clarrie had said nothing to Eddie, and had coped as best she could by taking pains to ensure that she was alone with Alf as seldom as possible, but the dam had burst the morning he had caught her returning to the bedroom, after a bath. Clarrie had been wearing a dressing-gown, but nothing underneath, and Alf had pinned her up against a wall and thrust his hand inside the dressing-gown, and between her legs...

Clarrie would never forget the shock as his middle finger slid inside her moist vagina, or his mocking laughter as she wrenched herself free and fled to the bedroom, in tears. The other thing she would never forget was the arousal she had felt afterwards. At first, she had cowered in the room, terrified that Alf would come in after her, but then she heard the front door slam and, looking down from the window, saw Alf jump into the old van and roar off down the farm track.

It was then that she realised, for the first time, that her vagina had been wet when Alf had slid his finger inside her – and that it still was – even more so. The thumping of her heart, which she had attributed to fear, she now realised, had more than a little sexual arousal mixed in with it and, as she contemplated what might have happened if Alf had pursued her into the bedroom, she felt her insides turn to liquid and couldn't stop her own hand straying down between her thighs...

It was the first time she had masturbated since she had been married and, when it was over, and she had enjoyed a tumultuous climax, her conscience – and her fears – kicked in and she had forced herself to confront Eddie. In all fairness to him, her nerve had failed her when describing the extent of Alf's advances, and she hadn't been able to confess that he had fingered her pussy, but she had told her husband about his brother's sly tit-gropes – and Eddie had said he would talk to Alf.

Clarrie often recalled the night Eddie 'talked' to his brother. She was had spent the evening, alone, in the house, watching an old black and white 'weepie' on television, with a bottle of sweet white wine for company, and was feeling quite relaxed when Eddie and Alf returned from the Cat and Fiddle. It was clear, right from the moment they came through the door, that Alf had managed to get his younger brother very drunk, while remaining relatively sober, himself. 

It took a little longer for Clarrie to realise that their 'talk' had consisted, mainly, of Eddie boasting about his love-making technique, and prowess, and that, by the time Alf had worked on him for three hours, he was determined to give Alf a demonstration...

At first, the danger signals hadn't been clear – it wasn't the first time Eddie had rolled home from the pub, his ardour greatly enhanced by several pints of beer – and, probably, a series of increasingly lustful leers down the barmaid's cleavage – and Clarrie was prepared to fend off his drunken advances with a certain amount of indulgent good humour – and even give in to them, later on, in the privacy of their bedroom...

But she hadn't reckoned with Alf's intervention. As she wriggled free from Eddie's attempted embrace for the umpteenth time, with increasing irritation, another pair of hands gripped her upper arms, and Alf pulled her back on to him, so that she was lying across his chest, on the settee, her arms pinioned by her sides. 

Eddie had just cackled drunkenly and knelt on the rug beside the settee, his hands falling on to his young wife's large, unprotected breasts, fondling them openly in front of his watching brother. 

Clarrie had kicked and screamed, but they had ignored her protests, laughing, and Eddie, becoming more and more excited by the minute, had begun to wrestle with the buttons on her blouse. Clarrie couldn't believe what was happening as he finally lost patience and tore at the thin nylon, tearing it away from the buttons.

As her blouse fell apart, Clarrie felt real fear. Eddie had done things like this before, and she had found it exciting, feeling the strength – the rawness – of his desire for her. But this was different – they weren't alone. Her lacy bra was practically transparent, and she shuddered as she thought of Alf leering down at her virtually exposed breasts. 

Eddie was torn between wanting to feel her bra-clad breasts and trying to unclip the bra itself. Eventually, he compromised, and tugged Clarrie's brassiere upwards and over her generous mounds, and Clarrie screamed in renewed protest as her naked breasts bounced free.

But Eddie was deaf to her pleas. His hands grabbed her exposed tits, mauling them – then, worse – much worse – Alf's hand had snaked downwards and, knocking one of Eddie's groping hands away, had closed round Clarrie's left breast... Her blood ran cold as she struggled helplessly in their combined grip.

She realised, very quickly, that Eddie was unperturbed by the sight of his brother fondling his wife's bare breast. 

"I told you she had great tits, didn't I, Alf?" Eddie had crowed, taking hold of Clarrie's thick nipple and pulling it. Clarrie was now in tears of shame and frustrated rage, as her naked breasts were mercilessly mauled – and then her blood froze afresh, as she felt Eddie's hand grope its way up her skirt.

Snapping her thighs together, Clarrie protested violently as Eddie tried to get hold of her panties and pull them down, but her protest fell on deaf ears. Taking his other hand away from her breast, Eddie lifted Clarrie's hips and pushed her skirt up to her waist, grabbing the waistband of her panties at either side.

Alf, meanwhile, was taking full advantage, both his hands now caressing his sister's exposed breasts, teasing her nipples skilfully. Distantly, Clarrie realised that his touch was quite arousing and that, under other circumstances, she might even enjoy having her breasts treated this way... 

To her horror, she realised that she was beginning to lubricate, the sensations from her rapidly erecting nipples sending irresistible signals downwards.

Involuntarily, she relaxed her tension and, with a grunt of triumph, Eddie dragged Clarrie's panties halfway down her thighs. As he jerked his head up, however, to draw Alf's attention to his wife's exposed pubic bush, the sudden movement brought on an attack of nausea. Beneath his ruddy tan, Eddie's face paled, and he tottered to his feet, trying to take deep breaths. Then he clapped a hand over his mouth, and rushed from the room...

Clarrie watched in disgust as he disappeared, then listened with revulsion to the sound of him being violently sick in the adjacent toilet. It was some seconds before she was aware that Alf was stroking her moist pussy-lips with a large, gentle finger – occasionally dipping it into her juices, then raising it to rub against her hard clitoris.

His tongue was tracing lazy circles around the tip of her right breast, while his hand continued to stimulate her other nipple. Clarrie could feel her arousal increase by the second, and she was uncomfortably aware of the outline of what felt like a very large erection lying across the small of her back.

The noises from the toilet had ceased. Clarrie thought, with distaste, of her husband – in all probability, sleeping with his head resting on the pan of the toilet – not for the first time...

Alf's fingers at her pussy were concentrating Clarrie's mind on that area of her body with increasing excitement. A country girl, born and bred, she had become familiar with the sex act at a very early age, taking a keen interest in the mating of horses, particularly, and had soon graduated to conducting enthusiastic research of her own with the village boys in the privacy of the stables.

As a result, she was no stranger to the male penis – of both the animal and human variety – and she was feeling an increasing curiosity about the hard shape throbbing underneath her... 

A small moan escaped her, and Alf chuckled. Raising his head, he planted an unhesitating kiss on Clarrie's lips, and she opened her mouth, pushing her tongue at him. He eased his body round to lie beside her on the settee, and, taking her hand, placed it over the rock-hard shape in his jeans. Instinctively, Clarrie tried to pull her hand away, but Alf held it down, and, as she felt the girth of the throbbing piece of rigid flesh under her palm, her trapped hand closed round it, and squeezed.

Alf grunted, and his hand again pushed between Clarrie's thighs. All reason – all scruples – gone, Clarrie parted her thighs, and groaned as his fingers delved into her moist cunt. Her fingers scrabbled around to find the top of his zip, and she dragged it down, frantically, raising her head to look...

His cock seemed huge to her – it was certainly longer and thicker than Eddie's – and uncircumcised. A trail of silvery fluid dangled from the huge knob on the end of it...

"Oh, give it to me, Alf," moaned Clarrie. "Come on – fuck me." Her hand reached out and grabbed the shaft of his cock. She wriggled her hips so that she was under him, on the settee. The back of the settee stopped her right leg, but she pushed her left one down on the floor, and pulled Alf down between her spread thighs, her hand guiding his prick between her open thighs...

"Oh, yes," she groaned, as she felt his knob-end stretch the entrance to her sopping vagina. "Oh, yes, Alf – stick it up me – fuck me with that huge cock..." Her words trailed away incoherently as Alf pushed and Clarrie's lubricated channel was stretched wide as his massive penis penetrated her. He was kneeling beside the settee, leaning forward, his hands squeezing Clarrie's breasts brutally, his cock sunk deep into her womb. 

Part of Clarrie's mind was in a turmoil of guilt, but the sensations of being penetrated to hitherto unplumbed depths had her in a frenzy of sensual abandon, and she was jerking her hips wildly against him, approaching her orgasm, when she felt him stiffen, then, with a series of hard slams against her spread thighs, ejaculate jet after jet of sperm deep inside her...

Alf's sudden climax took Clarrie by surprise – Eddie usually lasted much longer than that – and, as she felt Alf soften inside her, then, almost immediately, slide out of her, when he stood up, her first overwhelming reaction was one of frustration. Her climax had been so close – just a few more seconds...

But Alf had grinned down at her, already zipping his penis away, inside his jeans.

"Always wondered what you'd be like, girl," he said. "You're a really good little fuck – thanks." And he had turned and Clarrie had listened as his footsteps thudded up the bare wooden staircase, his cum already leaking out of her...

Then she had cried, while rearranging her torn clothing, and, after a short battle with her conscience, went to sort out her unconscious husband. She had spent a troubled night, with Eddie snoring stertorously beside her, but had awakened to feel his fingers sliding over her thighs and, memories of the way Alf had stretched her the previous night still fresh, she had willingly opened her legs and, at last, achieved her long-delayed climax.

Alf had left her alone after that and, in any case, had 'disappeared' shortly after. Eddie and she never mentioned the night he had 'talked' to his brother, and Clarrie had learned to appreciate Eddie's staying power, even if she sometimes wished his cock had more in common with his brother's in the girth and length departments...

Eddie's sexual urges, however, had dwindled over the years, as the boys had been born, and grown up, and there had been more and more problems with Grange Farm.

But Clarrie still had a physical appetite – and she still got offers. Mike Tucker often tried his luck, especially after he had had a drink – and even Neil Carter, from time to time, and Clarrie had been tempted, but she had managed to resist temptation, despite one or two 'close calls'.

Then, about a year ago, the Grundys had finally lost Grange Farm and had to move into a council flat in the town. It had been a terrible time – for all of them, but especially for Joe, who had lived there all his life. Over the years, Clarrie had grown to be very fond of her irascible father, and it had hurt her generous nature to see him suffer. But, even after all those years, she was still careful about how she dressed, in Joe's presence, and was very wary about bathing and undressing, especially in the flat.

The flat had been too small, and privacy was very difficult. Even the bathroom had a frosted glass panel on the door, through which a watcher could get a slightly fuzzy view of what – or who – was inside and, several times, Clarrie had felt she was being watched when she dried off after a bath or a shower. It had to be Joe.

Then, one day, when she was alone in the flat, she had undressed in the bedroom and wrapped a towel round her to go into the bathroom for a shower. As she was drying herself, she heard the front door, and she listened to the footsteps, wrapping the towel hurriedly around herself.

It was Joe. She heard him come through the small living-room, then stop outside the bathroom door. She could see his silhouette as he peered through the pane of frosted glass. She cursed herself for not bringing her clothes into the bathroom, as she usually did. Now, she'd have to run past him, with only the towel for cover.

Then, suddenly, instead of feeling annoyed and threatened, Clarrie had a rush of sympathy for the old man. He had lost everything. Why not give him a little bit of pleasure? It wouldn't cost her anything, and it would take his mind off his troubles for a bit. She felt her nipples begin to stiffen, and realised that Joe wouldn't be the only one to get a bit of much-needed stimulation, if she were to give him a 'quick flash'. She drew the rough towel slowly across her nipples, and felt a sensation of warmth between her thighs.

Her mouth dried a little with trepidation but, before she could talk herself out of it, she began to dry herself again, holding the towel up with both hands, drawing it up and down across her back, then slowly turning to face the door where, she knew, Joe would get a hazy view of her breasts swinging across her chest – and he'd also be able to see the dark smudge between her thighs.




Ambridge Affairs Ch. 2



Clarrie was a little breathless, now, and she could feel her nipples pucker with excitement. This was the first time she had ever deliberately displayed herself to a man, and it was having an unexpected effect on her. She wondered if Joe was touching himself – oh, God, might he take his cock out and be playing with it as he watched her?

She waited for the rush of disgust as this thought occurred to her but, instead, to her astonishment, she felt a renewed rush of warmth between her thighs, and a flush covered her entire body. Her nipples tingled and, confused, she hurriedly wrapped the towel round herself again. A second or two later, she heard Joe's footsteps hurry away, and she realised that it must have looked to him as if she had covered up rapidly when she became aware he was watching.

Clarrie stood, trembling and indecisive, in the middle of the bathroom floor. She couldn't analyse her feelings at all. She felt guilty, now, about a number of things. About letting Joe see her like that, but also about frightening him off, even if she hadn't meant to. The idea had been to make him feel better, but he probably now felt worse, knowing that she knew he had been peeping at her.

But there was something else. She, herself, was aroused – there was no doubt of it. She was alone in the flat, wearing only a towel – well, not alone, because there was a man in the next room who had been interested in her body for years, and was probably, even now, worrying about having been found out.

Poor old sod, she thought. And poor old me, too! When did Eddie last look interested in my tits and bum?

Suddenly, without knowing quite why, or how, Clarrie found herself walking into the lounge, clad only in her towel.

"Hello, Joe," she sang out at the startled figure in the armchair, as she marched through, on shaking, trembling legs to the little open kitchenette area at the end. "Want a cup of tea?" Not waiting for his reply, she filled the kettle and put it on the gas ring. At the same time, her mind racing, she slightly loosened the towel above her breasts and turned round to face him, as if waiting for the kettle to boil.

She could not credit the excitement she was feeling. Her heart was like a triphammer. She did not dare actually think about what she had in mind – if she did, she would lose her nerve, and end up, as usual, lying on her bed, her fingers plunged between her thighs, bringing on yet another self-induced climax. The TV advert phrase – "Just do it" – hammered in her brain.

She poured two cups of tea and, lifting one in each hand, turned away from the worktop. She felt the towel slip, just a little. She knew that, if she moved, it would loosen more and could easily...

"Just do it!" Don't think – just do it... Taking a deep breath, Clarrie stepped forward, as if to head for the settee. She could feel the towel loosening its grip but she willed herself to keep holding up the cups, and to continue walking.

Then, it happened. The towel gave up the unequal struggle and, with a rush, fell to her feet. Clarrie stood stockstill, her heart thumping. There was what seemed to be an endless silence, then, in a very small voice, Clarrie said "Whoops!"

Joe sat, mouth open, staring up at his daughter, his eyes never leaving her face.

Suddenly, Clarrie felt calm and confident. She still had a good body – her breasts firm, stomach flat, hips round, but not flabby. She placed the cups carefully down on the kitchen table, then put her hands on her hips and pushed her chest out.

"Well, Joe," she said. "Do you want a look? You've been trying for long enough – what do you think?"

Now, he allowed his eyes to travel down her naked body, his expression now its normal dour self. His eyes lingered on the prolific bush of brown hair below her belly.

"Turn round," he said, and Clarrie obediently turned her back on him, jutting her bottom towards him. 

It was a shock when she felt his hand clutch one of her cheeks, and she turned back, hastily, but Joe kept his hand on her buttock. He was grinning, now, as he levered himself to his feet. "Ah," he said. "You're all right, our Clarrie. All right if I give your tit a squeeze?"

Without waiting for permission, he raised a hand and took hold of her left breast, bouncing it up and down in the palm of his hand. He nodded in approval, then rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb.

Clarrie's calmness and confidence had fled. She realised now – too late – that she had assumed Joe would be grateful for just a sight of her unclothed body. Letting him feel her up hadn't been on Clarrie's agenda. It had been a shock when he had put his hand on her bottom, but he had just taken control from then on and now his fondling of her breast was sending irresistible signals down between her legs.

Then she felt his hand move from her bottom. It grasped her own hand and, without hesitation, pressed it against the front of his trousers. Clarrie gasped as her fingers touched a very large, hard object, and she looked down, in shock, to see the bulge in Joe's trousers reaching up, almost, to his waist.

Old memories re-surfaced...

Then Joe's hand released hers and grabbed her between the legs. His middle finger unerringly found the damp lips of her vagina, and slid inside, and Clarrie gasped.

"Ah, you're ready then, girl," he said, with satisfaction. "I've got something for you – all you got to do is take it out, and you can have it!"

"No, Joe," Clarrie whispered, at last. "I – I didn't mean for this to happen. I - I just thought you'd like a look - at me, after all this time..."

"And I did," said Joe, calmly. "And very nice it is, too. You're a very fine woman, Clarrie. Your tits are lovely and firm – just like my Susan's were, though she weren't as big as you in that area."

"And I like a woman with a hairy snatch – can't be doin' with all that new-fangled shaving business," he went on, his finger sliding expertly in and out of Clarrie's vagina as his thumb teased her erecting clitoris.

"And now," he announced, "I'm going to give you a really good fucking. I reckon as you could do with one, and I've never had no complaints."

And he did.

He'd had to take his own cock out, in the end, but Clarrie hadn't complained when he pushed her back against the dining-table and lifted her on to it, her legs dangling over the edge, then slid his massive cock up her slippery, ready cunt. She came before he did, screaming unrestrainedly as his hands squeezed her breasts brutally and his prick rodded into her repeatedly.

They never went to bed together, but, since that first time, Joe had screwed her in every other place imaginable in that little flat – including her hanging out of the living-room window while Joe rogered her from behind. Mercifully, he had allowed her to keep a t-shirt on so that she didn't have to show her bare breasts to anyone who happened to be looking.

But, this time, Joe retreated to a kitchen chair and sat down, his thick, gnarled cock jutting up at Clarrie. She sank down on it gratefully and Joe clasped her tits as his cock embedded itself in her. In that position, his capacity to thrust in and out of her was limited – which Clarrie enjoyed, as she had got to the stage when her cunt felt empty every second Joe's cock wasn't in it.

Joe always waited until his daughter had climaxed before releasing himself to ejaculate inside her, and today was no exception. Clarrie had orgasmed violently on his lap, her full breasts shaking against his rough shirt, Joe's greased finger sliding into her anus, then, as she sank down on him, fulfilled, had felt him shoot up inside her...

His cum was still dribbling down into her panties as she pushed open the door of The Bull, and she smiled with remembered pleasure, like the cat that got the cream.

Who would have thought it, she mused – Alf's size, and Eddie's staying-power – now she knew where they came from...



Ambridge Affairs Ch. 3



(Author's note – In my preamble to Chapter 2, I bemoaned the absence of e-mail response to chapter 1. I've since discovered that there was a technical problem with my inbox, so, if you did write, and didn't get a response, please write to me again. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this tale – it had to be just a matter of time before Jennifer's superior legs were spread for us...)

* * * * *

The doorbell rang, and Jennifer Aldridge's heart sank. It must be Matt Crawford – ten minutes early. She checked her reflection in the full-length mirror – immaculate, as always. At least, her appearance didn't reflect the turmoil inside her.

"That'll be Matt, darling," called her husband, Brian, from his dressing-room, where he was putting the final touches to his bow-tie. "Will you get it, please? I'll be another five minutes – I have to make a call before I come down. Oh – and remember what I said about being nice to him."

Brian casual tone belied the pounding in his heart. Ever since the bastard Crawford had run across Brian and Siobhan in that restaurant in London, he had made Brian's life hell. Crawford had done a bit of local snooping, and it hadn't taken him long to discover that Brian's beautiful Irish dinner companion was the estranged wife of the Ambridge doctor – and that the cause of the estrangement had been an affair with a 'mystery' man, from which Siobhan had emerged pregnant and separated from her shocked husband.

Of course, Crawford had put two and two together – and made four! Since then, he had been able to exert his will on Brian on all decisions affecting Borchester Land, of which Crawford was chairman, and Brian was a member of the board of directors.

Brian had always loathed him, anyway – despite his wealth and power, he was a 'common' crude type of man. Brian wouldn't have been surprised to learn he had started life as a barrow-boy, or a second-hand car dealer, polishing up his natural Cockney accent to the pathetic Estuary English he affected these days.

Brian's wife, Jennifer loathed and despised Crawford, and made little secret of it. Brian had a shrewd idea that Crawford had 'tried his luck' with the cool, sophisticated Jennifer a couple of times, and had been told, in no uncertain terms, where to get off ......

As Crawford himself had said to Brian – "She looks at me as if I were the shit off her shoe, old man. Next time I see her, I hope you'll have persuaded her to treat me a bit more civilly – or I might just feel inclined to wipe the superior smile off her face by revealing your little secret ......"

Brian's blood had run cold as Crawford had grinned evilly at him, but he had nodded with apparent confidence. "Oh, that's just her way, Matt – but, I'll have a word with her."

"Good idea, Brian, old chap – tell you what – next time I'm in the area, you can have me round for dinner, and Jenny and I can get to know each other a bit better."

"Yes, of course," Brian had replied, intending no such thing, but he had reckoned without Crawford's crass nerve and, when Crawford's secretary had called a few days later to arrange a suitable evening, while Crawford was at a conference in Birmingham, he had been put on the spot ......

Jenny had protested, vehemently, but Brian had had to stick to his guns, and the arrangement had been confirmed. For a couple of days, Jenny had continually complained, but then seemed to have become resigned to the inevitability of it, and had gone quiet. She had even agreed to be as civil as she could, which Brian regarded as a major victory, and he was quite hopeful that the evening could turn out to be, if not enjoyable, quite tolerable.

As she descended the stairs, immaculate in her royal-blue, shot silk, wrap-around long dress, Jennifer's heart was pounding, furiously. If only ......

If only – what? If only she hadn't had that extra glass or two of Frascati at the Hunt Ball? If only she hadn't agreed to take a turn in the fresh air with her son, Simon, after they had danced together? It had been such an exhilarating dance, with him – he was, after all, such a charming man, with his easy manners and Canadian accent. And – it had been so thrilling to feel him against her. At first, she had thought it must be her imagination, but after a while there had been no doubt about it – he had an erection, and he was making no bones about letting her know it.

He stayed close to her for long periods, and he even moved it against her, his dark eyes smiling down into hers. She ought to have moved away but, somehow, it felt deliciously naughty, arousing her daughter's husband with her physical proximity. She thought about her daughter, Debbie, moaning and gasping passionately as the length of hard flesh Jennifer could feel, even now, pressed against her trim stomach, thrust between her opened legs, and the thought had set off a minor flood between Jennifer's own slim, graceful thighs.

Unconsciously, she had returned Simon's pressure, luxuriating in the feel of rotating her groin against his, and had smiled at him, conspiratorially. Oh, Debbie had better watch out tonight – little would she know, as Simon took her, quickly and roughly, that it was her own mother who had stoked up the fires ......

The music had stopped, and Jennifer had reluctantly eased away from her partner, flushed with her thoughts. His suggestion that they take a turn on the terrace, to get some air, had seemed like a good one – she needed to cool down, and to restore their relationship to its 'proper' footing. He retained possession of her hand as they strolled out through the French windows on to the terrace, and that seemed perfectly natural ......

It was a glorious midsummer night – the moon full and round in a cloudless sky. The air was still warm, and Jennifer could hear birds singing. Simon led her down the wide steps on to the lawn, and they took one of the avenues leading through the well-kept grounds. The avenue was flanked with bushes and tall trees, the leaves whispering in the slight breeze.

"You're a lovely dancer, Jennifer," Simon had said.

"Thank you," she replied, enjoying the warmth of his hand, holding hers, and occasionally brushing against her thigh as they walked together.

"In fact," he went on, "you're kinda lovely, altogether. No-one would believe you're Debbie's mother."

Jennifer laughed, softly. "Well, I did have her when I was quite young," she murmured, modestly. His hand left hers and slipped round her waist – it seemed only natural to return the gesture. Jennifer was feeling a little light-headed – the wine, and the music, and the dancing, she supposed. They'd soon have to turn back – she hadn't better leave Brian on his own for too long ......

The avenue widened out into a little tree-lined glade. The sound of the music from the ball was only barely discernible, and the lights from the hotel did not permeate this far. There was no exit from the glade – only the way they had come.

They stopped, and turned. Only – they turned in opposite directions and, for a moment, they were facing each other. 

"Oops – sorry," giggled Jennifer. Startled by Simon's close proximity, she staggered a little, and he supported her instinctively, his hand round her waist, pulling her against him. Again Jennifer felt the hardness of his erection against him, and she let out an involuntary gasp.

Then both his hands were behind her, sliding over her hips, pulling her into him, grinding her against his tumescent penis. Jennifer closed her eyes, and pushed against his hardness. Her hands slid up the back of Simon's evening jacket and, as his mouth descended on hers, she kissed him, fiercely, passionately.

Somewhere, in the deepest recesses of her mind, the voice of her conscience was struggling to make itself heard, but her lips mashed against her sons', and her mouth opened to let his tongue slide in ......

His right hand slid up from Jennifer's gyrating bottom, and she groaned as it found her silk-encased breast, his fingers seeking out, and finding, her erect nipple. One of her hands pushed up into his thick, bushy hair, pulling his mouth harder against her own.

Jennifer felt the zip at the back of her dress slide smoothly down, then felt the cool air on her exposed breasts. Simon's hand quickly covered one of them, then she thrilled as his lips fastened on the other and his tongue teased her nipple with almost unbearable dexterity.

She leaned forward to kiss his exposed neck – and saw a shadow move among the trees, slipping away, through the bushes. It was like a dash of ice-cold water, and Jennifer pushed frantically at Simon's shoulders.

"No," she gasped. "No, Simon – stop! Please!"

He stepped back and, for a moment, the expression of frustrated rage on his face alarmed Jennifer, then it resumed its customary urbanity, and he nodded.

"Yeah," he assented. "I'm sorry – I guess I got a bit carried away."

Jennifer was on the point of telling him what she had seen, but then decided against it – she would have stopped him, anyway. It was unthinkable that she ... with her daughter's husband ... anyway, she wasn't at all sure, now, what she had seen, and she was already in the process of convincing herself that she had been about to stop him, anyway ......

Turning away from Simon, she bent forward to cover herself up again, zipping up her dress. She realised her legs were trembling as she turned to face him again.

"You stay here," she said, with an attempt at her usual sang-froid. "Wait five minutes before you come back." She turned on her heel and hurried down the path, slowing her pace only when the lights of the hotel flooded over the lawn. She decided not to enter through the French windows and, instead, went in by the main reception, hurrying into the adjacent powder room, to check her appearance.

Having carried out minor repairs, she took several deep breaths and emerged into the hotel lobby. Matt Crawford was sitting in an easy chair, leafing disinterestedly through a glossy magazine. He rose to his feet as he saw Jennifer.

"Jennifer!" he called, with his usual odious bonhomie. "How are you? How nice to see you! Where's my old mate, Brian?"

Jennifer bared her teeth in an unwelcoming smile.

"Good evening, Matt," she said, in her most glacial manner. "I'm just on my way to find Brian. Are you staying here?"

"Yes," he drawled. "Short notice visit – couldn't book anywhere decent – still, it's only for one night."

Jennifer bridled. The man was so rude – so uncouth. She smiled distantly again, and made to brush past him. He raised a hand and Jennifer drew back, thinking for a second that he was going to actually touch her.

"I've just had a little walk round the grounds," Crawford went on, and Jennifer stopped. Her stomach lurched. Crawford grinned, an evil, lascivious smile.

"Surprising what you see – isn't it, Jennifer?" he murmured, then – "oh, don't worry, Jennifer. I'm not a blabbermouth."

Jennifer stood stockstill.

"Was that – you?" she eventually stammered. He leered, smugly, at her.

"Yes," he said. "Actually, I saw you and the young man come out, and thought I'd just – take a look. But don't worry – your secret's safe with me. Just make sure you say the right things to Brian – about Borchester Land, and the housing development – you know?"

Jennifer nodded, dumbly, resisting the impulse to try to explain her momentary lapse. As if this – animal – would understand. Anyway, at least she now knew who it was, and she was able to influence her husband in his business affairs, so, with any luck, she would be able to keep it quiet.

"Yes – Matt," she forced his name out, with an attempt at friendliness. She tried to smile, but it was a ghastly failure, and she turned on her heel.

"You scratch my back …" he had called after her, and Jennifer had shuddered .....

Her heels clicked across the hall as Jennifer walked to the door. This was the first time she had seen Matt Crawford since that terrible night. He had been true to his word, though, and she was beginning to feel a little safer. For weeks afterwards, she had been able to think of little else – her worries were more, even, about Debbie than Brian. What would she think, if she knew? It would destroy her.

It had become clear to Jennifer that Simon was a philanderer, and she knew that, one day, her daughter would be turning to her for support, when he was finally found out – just as long as it was with someone else! Simon had betrayed not a trace of embarrassment since that night ......

Jennifer opened the door. Crawford stood in the porch, half-hidden by a massive bunch of red roses. He thrust them towards her.

"For my beautiful hostess," he pronounced, and leant forward to kiss Jennifer, lightly, on the cheek. Succumbing to the kiss as graciously as possible, Jennifer suddenly started as she felt his hand lightly caress her bottom.

She leapt back, outraged. "How dare you?" she snapped, her anger taking her over, but he just grinned. Reaching forward, he dexterously extracted an envelope from the bunch of flowers, and handed it to Jennifer.

"There's a card, too, " he said. Jennifer made to re-enter the hall, but he held her arm.

"I think you'd better read it here," he said, and something in his voice made Jennifer obey. Holding the bouquet in the crook of her arm, she opened the envelope, and slid out the white card inside.

Her face turned ashen. It wasn't a card – it was a photograph, showing Jennifer's face, her mouth frozen open in a gasp, in Simon's embrace. She was clearly naked to the waist, her breasts invisible only because of Simon's hand, and the back of his head, as he fondled and kissed them. Simon's face could not be seen, but the back of his distinctive dinner jacket made his identity easily recognisable by anyone who knew him.

Jennifer's head reeled as she stared at Crawford, horror-struck. He sniggered at the expression on her face.

"I had my new digi-camera with me," he explained. "You never know when it'll come in handy, do you? I bet Brian would just love to see that – not to mention Debbie!"

He took a step towards Jennifer, and, once again, his hand slid round behind her. Arrogantly, confidently, it closed on the shapely, firm contours of her bottom, and he squeezed her flesh through the silk. Jennifer's skin crawled in revulsion, but she forced herself to stand still, submitting to the ordeal.

"That's better," he murmured, in a low, self-satisfied tone. "I've always admired your bum, Jenny – it's one of your best features."

Jennifer swallowed, hard, cursing her moment of weakness with Simon – what a price she was paying, now. His fingers were pushing the silk underneath the trim of her panties, lifting them away from her hip.

"Just one more thing," he breathed. "Take these off – I'll want to know you're bare-arsed, sitting beside me tonight." He released the elastic and her panty-leg snapped against Jennifer's thigh.

"No!" she expostulated, instinctively, her face flaming. 

Casually, he retrieved the picture from Jennifer's nerveless fingers, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

"It's up to you," he said, "but I wouldn't like to be you, waiting for this to appear on the table halfway through the meat course."

"You bastard," hissed Jennifer, her face white as a sheet, her whole body trembling.

"Oh," he added, cheerfully, "and give the panties to me – when Brian's not watching."

He stepped back, and looked beyond Jennifer, into the hall.

"Brian!" he called out. "Good to see you, old mate. I think I've just bowled over your good lady with a few roses ......"

"Matt!" Brian reciprocated, striding forward, hand outstretched. "Welcome! And what lovely flowers – aren't they, darling?"

"Oh, yes," muttered Jennifer, weakly. "I – I must put them in water." 

She fled, on shaking legs, to the kitchen.

"Come in and have a drink, Matt," said Brian, heartily. "Let me take your coat."

Fighting panic, Jennifer spent the next fifteen minutes in the kitchen, automatically preparing the soup starter for dinner, but it wasn't until Brian appeared at the door to ask if she was ready that she agreed she should all sit down, now.

As Brian turned away, she took a deep breath, and quickly slipped her panties off. They folded into a very small bundle in her fist, and she shuddered at the thought that Matt Crawford would be able to examine and handle them, in the privacy of his hotel room ...... She put the starters on a tray, and, squaring her shoulders, entered the dining-room. They were using the small, circular dining-table, as there were only the three of them, and, as Jennifer served the soup, she contrived to drop the miniscule bundle in her hand onto Crawford's lap. Unobserved by Brian, he casually slipped the panties into his pocket, beside the photograph.

Jennifer was uncomfortably aware of the proximity of the two men, at the small, intimate table, as she tried to show some sort of appetite, for both the food, and the conversation. She was aware that Brian, too, seemed to be under a strain, his replies to Crawford's ebullient chatter seeming very forced – as were her own.

But the conversation didn't take any dangerous turns, and Crawford kept his distance from her, apart from the occasional brush of thigh against thigh under the table. Jennifer reasoned that he was hardly likely to do anything with Brian around and, provided she made sure she wasn't alone with him again, she ought to survive the evening, at any rate. Although what the future might bring was very worrying ......

Gradually, though, she began to relax a little, and even managed to maintain her end of the conversation throughout the soup and main courses. She served the sweets and began to think about coffee and brandy, and, even, Crawford's departure to his, no doubt, five-star hotel ......

Then, she suddenly felt a hand on her thigh, and froze. Crawford continued to talk, easily, but his left hand pressed the flesh halfway up her left thigh. Automatically, Jennifer tried to move her legs together, but the grip tightened, as if in a warning, and she forced herself to relax her legs again.

His hand began to caress her thigh, then, and the bile rose in Jennifer's throat.

"Are you all right, darling?" asked Brian, concern in his voice, and, swallowing hard, Jennifer nodded. Crawford's hand was sliding confidently up her thigh, now, slithering over the folds of loose silk, closer and closer to the top. Jennifer lifted her spoon to her lips. She was utterly helpless – one word of complaint, of protest, and Crawford would go into his jacket pocket and ......

His fingers were parting the folds of her dress, easily, insouciantly, and her dress slid away to the sides of her thighs. Then, his fingertips were resting on the tops of her stockings, and Jennifer knew that, under the table, her dress was parted up to her groin. Her fingers were shaking uncontrollably, and she put her spoon down.

She just couldn't stand it any longer – she would have to stand up – then, suddenly, the hand was withdrawn, and Crawford sat back with a sigh of satisfaction, placing both hands on the table.

"Ah, that was good," he said. "My compliments, Jennifer!"

She couldn't speak, but, in response to a frown from Brian, tried to smile. Crawford chuckled.

"Ah, you are a lucky man, Brian. Such a good-looking wife – and a great cook, too. No wonder you're so contented with your lot. It's not fair on the rest of us – you should hire her out!"

Brian laughed, a little weakly, as if detecting an undercurrent he didn't quite understand.

"I might have to, if this Hungarian thing doesn't work out!" he tried to joke.

Crawford turned, putting his arm casually across the back of Jennifer's chair.

"No, I mean it, old man," he said. "Just look at me, going back to my lonely hotel room tonight, while you – well, you have this lovely woman all to yourself."




Ambridge Affairs Ch. 3



In full view of Brian, he dropped his right hand onto Jennifer's thigh, and squeezed. Brian stared at Jennifer, waiting for the explosion and his mouth opened slowly as she looked straight ahead, her face flaming. Crawford chuckled deeply as, out of Brian's view, his fingers caressed the bare flesh of Jennifer's upper thigh.

"What do you say, Brian?" breathed Crawford, his eyes glittering in arousal. His fingers slid up Jennifer's thigh, and she gasped as they found the uncovered bush of thick brown hair between her legs.

Brian was speechless. Although he couldn't see what Crawford was doing to his wife, it was obvious that his hand was groping her most intimate area – and that, while she was hating it, she was permitting it. To his shame, and astonishment, Brian felt his penis beginning to erect, and realised that the thought of his haughty wife having to submit to being groped by a man like Crawford was intensely arousing.

Then Crawford's hand reappeared. His eyes were still fixed on Brian, triumphant, challenging, as his hand slid up the front of Jennifer's dress and closed, deliberately, round her right breast. He cupped it, then squeezed.

"Oh, very firm, Brian," he said. "Very nice. You don't mind – do you?"

Brian's cock was rigid with excitement, now, his mind whirling in a ferment of confusion.

"Do you?" insisted Crawford. Brian licked his dry lips. His voice was shaking.

"No," he stammered. "Not if ... if ... Jenny doesn't ..."

Crawford laughed. He took his hand off Jennifer's breast and turned her face towards him. Her eyes were filled with pleading, but she allowed her head to be turned, then opened her mouth as he leaned over to kiss her, full on the lips. 

She was practically numb with the shock of the evening's events and, in the back of her mind, could not fathom why Brian had done nothing to stop this – obscenity. But she knew that, as far as she was concerned, there was no choice. Debbie had to be protected from the knowledge of what her mother and her husband had done ......

Crawford's mouth was fastened on hers, his tongue forcing its way through her lips. Jennifer forced herself to return his kiss, and shuddered as she felt his hand slid down the front of her dress and inside her brassiere, cupping the bare flesh of her breast. His mouth left Jennifer's, and he looked down, watching his hand fondling her breast, under the distended material of her dress.

Crawford looked over at Brian again, and grinned.

"She's got nice tits, Brian, hasn't she?" he said. "Lovely long nipples." As he spoke, he trapped Jennifer's nipple between his finger and thumb, and rolled it, feeling its hardness.

"Don't mind me giving them a little feel, do you?" continued Crawford, relentlessly, and Brian was forced to shake his head, still unable to tear his gaze away from the sight. His insides were a maelstrom of emotions – this was like a nightmare – but his cock was straining with excitement.

Jennifer was no less stunned. As though it was in a dream, she felt Crawford ease open the front of her dress, revealing her upper body, naked apart from her lacy white brassiere.

As Crawford's hand slipped inside one of the cups of her bra, again feeling the firm flesh beneath, she could restrain herself no longer.

"Brian!" she cried, her outrage bursting out, but her husband just looked at her, then his eyes slid away, abjectly, and Crawford gave a little chuckle. He had her nipple trapped again between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing it gently, massaging it to an involuntary erection.

Slipping his hand out, he whispered – "Stand up, Jennifer."

As if in a trance, Jennifer obeyed, pushing her chair back. She stood, acquiescent, sickened, numb, as she felt Crawford's fingers open her dress fully, and ease it off her shapely shoulders. It slid to the carpet with a gentle rustle, and Jennifer tried to quell her trembling as she stood facing her husband, Crawford behind her, in just her white bra, and black stockings and suspender belt.

Brian's mouth gaped in further shock as he took in the absence of Jennifer's panties, staring at the thick bush nakedly displayed above her stocking tops. He couldn't sit still any longer. He stood up, pushing his chair back ......

Crawford's hands ran lightly down her sides, over her naked hips, down her upper thighs. Deliberately, he moved forward, and Jennifer felt his hardness pressing against her hips. His lips nuzzled the back of her neck, and she moved her head away, involuntarily.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp, stinging pain as Crawford's hand slapped hard against her bottom. She cried out, and tears started to her eyes. Brian took a step towards them, a momentary anger taking him over.

"Yes, Brian?" breathed Crawford, ominously. "You want to say something?"

For a second, raw rage blazed in Brian Aldridge's eyes, and it looked as if he was going to launch himself at the man, but then the light died, and his body, once tense, slumped in defeat. 

Crawford reached up and deftly undid the catches on Jennifer's bra. He lifted the straps away from her shoulders and dropped the bra to the ground. Her breasts were full and round, with just a hint of sag, her nipples long and erect. The eyes of both men were on them and, despite herself, Jennifer felt a stirring between her thighs as she recognised the naked lust in both mens' eyes.

As Crawford reached round and took hold of them, she felt his erection pressing against her bottom again. Instinctively, she dropped her gaze and, for the first time, became aware of her husband's aroused state. The shape of his penis was obscenely apparent, jutting out from the dark material of his trousers.

Jennifer felt a flush creep over her body, and sensed a lubricating sensation in her vagina. Involuntarily, she moved her hips and Crawford, feeling the motion against his erection, slid a hand downwards ......

As his finger touched her clitoris, Jennifer reacted, her hips pushing backwards, and she felt Crawford's intake of breath, the hardening of his organ against her. Brian's hand dropped to adjust his bulge and, suddenly, Jennifer felt a renewed flood between her thighs ......

Crawford's middle finger slid easily through the now matted bush around her vaginal lips and Jennifer could not suppress a moan as it slipped into her moist channel. Thrusting her hips further back, she felt his hardness between her bottom cheeks, then his hands were on her shoulders, pushing her forward. She reached out and gripped the edge of the small table.

Crawford's hands slid away from her dangling breasts and Jennifer sensed, rather than felt, them behind her, heard the quick rustle of the zip – then felt his hot hardness, the unique sensation of a naked penis against her bare flesh.

As Crawford put his hands on the back of her thighs, and Jennifer willingly – almost eagerly – parted her feet, Brian moved closer and his hands closed round her breasts. Jennifer raised her head, and saw Brian's uncovered erection in front of her face. 


"Take it, Jenny," her husband muttered, hoarsely, his hand closing round his cock and pushing it towards her mouth. All conscience, all reservations gone, Jennifer opened her lips and Brian fed his tumescent organ between them. Jennifer lifted one hand from the table, and felt for her aching clitoris as Brian put his hands on her head, pushing her mouth down on his cock, fucking her willing face ......

Then, she felt Crawford's hands on her hips, the unmistakable sensation of a hot, erect prick probing at the mouth of her waiting channel. Her hand darted down from her clitoris and clutched the hot, throbbing piece of rigid flesh and muscle. Unerringly, she guided it, feeling a flood of desire as the bulbous tip first touched, then stretched, the mouth of her receptive cunt.

Her breathing stopped, momentarily, as she felt its full thickness enter her – the first cock, apart from her husband's, to do so in more than twenty years – then, as it pushed upwards, filling her, stretching the tight walls of her channel, she released her breath in a long sigh of pleasure and passion.

As Crawford sank inside her, feeling the firm moist walls caress every millimetre of the sensitive flesh, he reached forward and grabbed Jennifer's swinging breasts, squeezing them hard as he reached the pinnacle of his first thrust, then partially relaxing his grip as he withdrew, then drove into her again.

Brian was in a ferment as he watched Crawford pull out his heavy, hard cock and thrust it between his wife's parted thighs, and the sight of her reaching down between her legs to take it in her hand and feed it into her waiting cunt was too much for him. With a strangled groan, he surrendered to the intolerable pressure building up from his testicles and his hands gripped his wife's hair as he shot spurt after spurt of sperm into her sucking mouth ......

Jennifer felt the sperm hit the back of her throat, but her breathing was so jerky, as Crawford rode her, hard, with his pounding rhythm, that she couldn't work her throat muscles properly. She let her mouth fall open, and Brian's sperm slid out of the sides of her gasping mouth, on to the polished mahogany surface of the table. Unheeded, as it softened, his cock also slid away, and he retreated, gasping, and sank down on one of the chairs, his prick dangling limply from his trousers.

But he could not tear his eyes away from the sight of his moaning wife, bent over the table, her hips thrusting frenziedly back at Crawford as he fucked her with a vigour and strength which was clearly fulfilling a deep need in her. Brian had never seen her so abandoned, her fingers openly, lewdly, fingering her clitoris, her mouth opening and closing, muttering, then yelling, obscenities, her entire body jerking in a passion-fuelled orgy of pleasure, her breath coming in rasping, shuddering gasps ......

Within a minute, Brian's hand was round his cock again, and it was stiffening and when, eventually, Crawford emitted his own massive roar of release, and plunged deep into the receptive depths of his wife for the final thrust, his arousal was completely revived. 

Crawford jerked against Jennifer's twitching hips, his hands clutching her breasts tightly, letting out huge breaths as he pumped his semen into her, then, with a final shudder, released her to flop onto the polished wood, and staggered back, sinking, like Brian, into a chair.

Brian got shakily to his feet and put his hand on wife's back. She was breathing very heavily but, not, as far as Brian could tell, in distress. He knew he had to act, now, to set the pattern of events for a long time to come. He gripped her shoulder, gently but firmly, and pulled. Jennifer allowed herself to be rolled over, so that she lay, naked, on her back, on the table, her legs slightly apart.

Brian bent over and placed his lips between the junction of her thighs. He kissed the swollen puffy lips of her vagina and felt, with pleasure and relief, an answering quiver. Putting his hands up, he caressed her full breasts, and he felt her thighs tighten round his head.

He stood up. Crawford was beside him. They each took one of Jennifer's hands and lifted her from the table, so that she stood between them, naked apart from her stockings. Brian put an arm round her shoulders, and lovingly caressed one of her breasts.

"Shall we have coffee now, darling?" he suggested. Jennifer's eyes lifted to his, then switched to Matt Crawford. Crawford lifted a hand and gently cupped her other breast. Jennifer looked down. Crawford's cock was still dangling from his fly. She touched it with her fingers, then gave it a small squeeze. It began to stiffen.

Jennifer smiled.

"In the lounge?" she asked.

"I think that would be best," answered Brian, and both men watched, their cocks rising, as her naked hips swayed towards the kitchen...



Ambridge Affairs Ch. 4



“Damn!” Caroline thought to herself, as she stepped into the taxi. It certainly had not been ‘the plan’ to conclude her night out with Oliver by putting him to bed, in a state of hopeless inebriation.

Bed had certainly been on Caroline’s agenda. After the last couple of weeks at Grey Gables, what she needed most in the world was a leisurely dinner and romantic conversation with the current man of her dreams, followed by – let’s face it, she thought to herself, with a wry smile, a bloody good shag!

Oh, yes, she ruminated, despite the ‘posh’ exterior, she had always had very earthy appetites, and it had always been difficult for her to go more than a week or two without a good stiff cock thrusting its way up her. And, up to now, Oliver had been pretty good in that department, but, tonight, one glass of wine had led to another and, although he had been very ‘keen’ just an hour or so ago – his prick stiff as a rod while they had been dancing together – emergence into the fresh air had hit him for six, and it had been all Caroline could do to get him back to Grange Farm and safely tucked up in bed, out for the count.

She had asked the taxi-driver to wait, and now she was on her way back to her lonely bed at the hotel. Remembering Oliver’s erection poking against her stomach, his hands caressing her bottom, as they waltzed slowly round the small dance floor, Caroline’s nipples hardened under her dress, and she felt a small trickle of moisture between her thighs.

Oh, god, she thought – I don’t suppose the taxi-driver would settle for ‘payment in kind’ tonight? But he looked well past it and, anyway, she wasn’t reduced to that, just yet. But she had been looking forward to a really good rogering ......

Oh, well, she thought, there’s always a lonely girl’s best friend, in the dressing-table drawer …… Now, which one would she have tonight? It would have to be the thick black ten-incher …… She shivered in anticipation, and squeezed her thighs together. How far to go?

Glancing out of the window, she saw a lonely figure striding along the darkened, deserted country lane. Something about the set of the young shoulders seemed familiar, but it wasn’t until the taxi had left him about fifty yards behind, that Caroline recognised her godson, William Grundy.

“Stop, please, driver,” she exclaimed. “Can you back up a bit and pick up that young man?” She saw the driver’s face register surprise in the mirror, and hastened to reassure him. “Oh, it’s all right,” she said. “I know him – he’s my godson.”

The driver put the cab into reverse, and backed carefully down the lane. Looking out of the rear window, Caroline saw William’s face register surprise, then a certain amount of wariness. He slowed his pace as the car drew up just in front of him. Caroline wound down the window.

“Hop in, William,” she called. “You don’t want to walk all the way, do you?”

His face cleared. “Oh, hi, Caroline,” he said, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Thanks very much. You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Don’t be silly, “ replied Caroline. “Jump in.”

He made for the seat beside the driver, but Caroline opened the rear door. He’s such a polite boy, she thought, fondly – never takes anything for granted. William hesitated, then got in beside Caroline on the long bench seat, taking care to sit right in the corner, so as not to ‘invade her space’. “Where does he get this shyness from, Caroline thought – certainly not his father! 

“So,” she asked, as he perched forward on the edge of the seat. “What have you been up to tonight?”

“Oh, just the disco – in Borchester,” William replied, and, had it not been dark in the cab, Caroline could have sworn she saw him blush.

“Any luck?” she teased, and he gave an embarrassed laugh. 

“Not really,” he said. “I’m not much of a dancer – just had a drink or two with some mates, then set off back – I’ve got to be up early in the morning. Greg’s got the day off, so I’m in charge!”

He said this with a touch of shy pride, straightening his shoulders. He really had turned out well, Caroline thought – and he’s a good-looking boy, if only he knew it. He must be nearly six feet tall, and his game-keeping work gave him a rugged, healthy appearance. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, and Caroline noticed how his chest and biceps stretched the tight cotton.

The taxi drew to a halt, and William fumbled in his jeans pocket. Caroline poked a ten-pound note through the connecting window and told the driver to keep the change. William was still fishing in his pocket as the cab drove away, and Caroline remonstrated with him, waving away the proffered five-pound note. William gave in and pushed the note back in his pocket.

“Well, thanks very much, Caroline,” he said. “I best be off, now.” 

He turned away and, on an impulse, Caroline said – “Look, how about coming in for a coffee – we haven’t chatted for ages – and I am your godmother. You can tell me how the job’s going.”

“We-e-e-ll,” he hesitated. Caroline took his arm. “Oh, come on – you have to see me safely home, anyway – don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied, confused, and Caroline laughed and squeezed his arm in hers as they set off towards her private quarters. She could spend half an hour chatting to her godson – then she could settle down with her ten-inch black ......

Five minutes later, they were sitting in opposite easy chairs, on either side of the fire in Caroline’s comfortable sitting-room. William had opted for a can of beer, rather than a coffee, and Caroline had indulged herself with a gin and tonic. The beer had loosened the boy’s tongue a little, and he was talking, animatedly, about his game-keeping activities.

Caroline listened, patiently, and gradually became aware that William was having a little difficulty in keeping his eyes away from her crossed legs. Her dress did not quite reach her knees and, every so often, William’s eyes would stray from her attentive face, sliding downwards.

“Well, that’s not bad!” Caroline thought – I can still get a roving eye from a young man less than half my age. Hmmm, I might have a different imaginary partner with me when I finally tuck up with my vibrator, tonight – someone a good deal younger than Oliver! She slowly uncrossed her legs, and re-crossed them. Covertly, she kept an eye on William, and was gratified to see the colour rise beneath his tan, as a length of her stocking-clad thigh was momentarily exposed.

She felt a little frisson of daring, and automatically glanced at the front of William’s jeans. She chuckled inwardly to herself – well, what had she expected to see – the Eiffel Tower? Still, her godson’s ‘package’ looked – fully-fledged? – he had quite a satisfactory bulge down there. He was going on twenty – he must have slipped a length up a few of the local girls, by now – and yet, he seemed still so – innocent.

Caroline tried to remember how long it had been since she had had a really young guy’s cock inside her, then pushed the thought from her mind. For God’s sake, she was forty-seven years old and, even if she was in spectacularly good nick for her age, she couldn’t compete with all the fresh young totty which was around these days. And, anyway, William was her godson – it was perverse even to think about it!

“So, you didn’t meet anyone ‘special’ tonight, then, did you, William?” She almost took herself by surprise with her question – she certainly caught her guest off-guard, and his face flamed as he dropped his eyes, and mumbled – “No – ‘fraid not.”

“Have you ever had a ‘steady’ girlfriend?” Caroline persisted, now leaning forward, gazing at him, keenly.

“Not really,” William replied, his embarrassment increasing. Caroline emptied her glass and refilled it, with the emphasis, now, on the gin. She was beginning, to her surprise, to feel her earlier feelings of arousal returning, and she shifted her position on the chair, crossing her legs again. She wondered if he had caught a glimpse of bare thigh – even her panties? Her mouth momentarily dried.

“It’s so much easier for you youngsters these days, though,” she said. “When I was your age, you weren’t supposed to have sex until you were, at least, engaged. Nowadays, there are so few taboos, and the girls have unlimited access to the pill – well, it’s just so free and easy.”

“Well,” William replied, his face still brick-red, as if he couldn’t believe he was having this discussion with his ‘posh’, but still very sexy, godmother. “It’s maybe not quite how you think it is – not round here, anyway.”

“Hah!” Caroline couldn’t help exclaiming. “You mean – in the country?”

“Yeah,” answered William, a trifle bitterly. “Maybe, in the cities, the girls are prepared to – do that sort of thing – but it’s different round here.”

“Well, things have changed,” said Caroline. “I wasn’t brought up round here – but I am a country girl, and, even when I was young, I saw things going on ......”

William’s eyes were bright with curiosity, and he took the can Caroline pushed over to him, without comment, flicking the top open.

“Like what?” he asked, taking a long swallow. He, too, was now leaning forward in his chair, his keen interest only too evident. Caroline, too, was feeling unexpectedly aroused at the way the conversation had veered. She had an irresistible urge to take it further – to see if she could excite the shy young man sitting opposite her – to see how he would react ......

She thought back, her heart beating a little faster as she recalled 'that' day ......

“Well,” she said, “when I was in my teens, I spent all my spare time helping out at the local stables, doing all the mucky jobs, just for the chance to ride the horses. There were quite a lot of us, almost all girls, and, of course, we frequently saw the stallions ‘cover’ the mares, so, inevitably, we would talk about – well, what we were seeing, and how it felt for the mare, feeling that huge hard thing inside her.”

Caroline glanced down again – there was no doubt that her words were striking a chord with her visitor. She could see a definite protrusion in William’s jeans ...... She was feeling moist herself, down there, as well, as she recalled the dry-mouthed excitement of watching the stallion’s cock lengthen and harden, inexorably.

“One day,” she carried on, her voice low and breathy, “I was helping the farrier shoe one of the young stallions in his box. There was a mare in the next stall, and – well, the stallion began to get – excited. You know what I mean, William?”

He nodded, vehemently, as if concerned that he might not know even this basic fact of life, but his eyes would not rise to meet hers. Caroline felt a little breathless, recalling that long-ago afternoon from her late teens. Her lips were dry, and she took another drink.

“The farrier had a bit of a ‘reputation’. One or two of the girls sometimes came out looking a little dishevelled after working with him, and there were stories about how he would ‘try things’ with them when there were just the two of them in the stall – although he had never bothered me. This day, however, he caught me looking at the stallion and he said – ‘He’s got a bit of a hard-on, hasn’t he?’ Well, I was very embarrassed – I went to an all-girl school, and I hadn’t had much to do with boys, or men, so I suppose I just blushed and looked at the ground.”

“But the farrier laughed and said – ‘You know what causes it, do you?’ That made me even more embarrassed, and I sort of nodded and kept looking at the ground. I was holding the horse’s foot for him to put the shoe on, and I was bent over towards him. Then he said – ‘I’ve got one from looking down your shirt – at your tits!’ I nearly died with embarrassment, but I also found it very exciting, hearing him talk about me, like that.”

“’You’ve got a nice pair of tits, there,’ he said. ‘Have you had your first shag, yet?’ I didn’t know what to say. My face was brick-red, and I didn’t dare put the horse’s foot down until he told me to, and I could feel his eyes looking down my front.”


“I suppose, with the stallion being excited like that, the atmosphere in the stall was – well – very sexual, and I remember feeling very shaky, and not knowing what to do. Then the farrier put down his tools and slipped his hand down the front of my shirt. It went right inside one of the cups of my brassiere and he took hold of my bare breast.”

“He said – ‘Yes – you’ve got really nice tits, now, Caroline – I’ve been watching you for a while. I’ve wanted a feel of those.’ His fingers were playing with my nipple, and it felt really hard, and sensitive. Then he took the horse’s foot from my hand, and walked me back so that I was against the back wall of the stall. I was so – excited – I felt that I shouldn’t let him be doing this – he was well over thirty, and married – but, well, I just couldn’t think straight.”

“He put his arms round me and kissed me on the mouth and, at the same time, started unbuttoning the heavy shirt I wore at the stables. I didn’t put my arms round him, but I kissed him back, and I felt my buttons being undone. He opened my shirt and pushed it right back, over my shoulders and down my arms, but he couldn’t get it off, because the cuffs were still buttoned. Then he put his hands up my back and I remember thinking how surprised I was that he unclipped my bra so easily – and then he just pushed it up and stood back, holding it up so that he could look at my bare breasts.”

Caroline’s hands were trembling and she gripped her glass, tightly. She raised her eyes. To her surprise, William was looking at her, and he held her gaze. His tongue slid out and ran round his lips.

“What happened, then?” His voice was low, almost a croak, and Caroline felt a surge of power, of excitement.

“Well, he played with my – tits – feeling them, and squeezing them, then he reached down and opened his trousers. I nearly stopped breathing, William – I had never seen a man’s penis before. He pulled it out – it was very hard, and it was a strange purple colour, as if it was – angry. He took my hand, and put it on his penis. It was like nothing I had ever felt before – so hard, and hot, but still, sort of, yielding. It felt – wonderful – I felt as if I was taking advantage of him, not him of me.”

“Then he said – ‘We haven’t got time for a fuck – it’d take too long for you to get those jodhpurs and boots off.’ I’m sure he didn’t realise I was still a virgin. But I knew what he meant, so I put my fingers round him – his cock – and started moving them up and down. I had never done anything like that before, but I must have done it right because he suddenly started breathing heavily and his hands really dug into my tits – and then he started to come, shooting all over the place ......”

William Grundy was in a state of utter shock, compounded by a very strong sensation of sexual arousal. He had practically worshipped Caroline all his life. He had always thought of her as the most beautiful, sophisticated woman he knew, but, since reaching puberty and indulging in erotic fantasies about almost every woman he knew, he had tried, manfully, not to think of Caroline in ‘that way’.

Quite apart from the fact that she had been a wonderful, caring godmother to him, he was nowhere near her equal in ‘class’, and, when he had become aware that she must have had sexual relations with some of the men with whom her name had been linked, he had always imagined these encounters as almost clinical, with Caroline in a silk nightdress, hair perfectly coiffured, in a pristine white bed with a man who treated her in a respectful, gentlemanly fashion.

He had imagined that words like ‘tits’, ‘cock’ and ‘fuck’ – words which he and his ‘common’ friends used all the time – would actually be unknown to Caroline, and, to hear her pronounce them, with her cut-glass vowels, was a tremendous shock to him. It was bad enough, when she had been quoting what someone else – the farrier – had said, but, when she talked about her own breasts as her ‘tits’, William had never experienced such a charge of sexual energy. His cock had become almost painfully hard, straining against the rough denim of his jeans, and he had practically disabled himself, trying to conceal his state from his godmother.

Obviously, he rationalised, she was only using these words because she thought he would feel more comfortable with them, since people like him – common people – only spoke that way. She would be scandalised if she thought her words were causing a sexual reaction in him.

But, try as he might, he could not, now, rid his mind of the searing image her words had etched indelibly on his mind. A young Caroline, standing against the wall of a stable full of shit and straw, her tits and nipples on full display, her hand curled round a hard cock, wanking it ......

He groaned, as his cock reared again, almost painfully.

Caroline, herself, was revisiting her youth, in her mind. Two days after the events she had described to William, she had ‘dropped in’ at the stables again. She knew the farrier would be returning to check his work, and she had worn a loose summer dress. When she appeared at the door of the stall, the farrier had grinned and pulled her inside. He had made short work of the dress and it had been a mere five minutes before Caroline had been on her back in the straw, her bra round her neck, her panties in the corner of the stall, her long slim legs parted, with the farrier’s buttocks thrusting up and down between them, his thick hard cock ploughing her virgin channel with unrestrained enthusiasm.

That summer had been a voyage of discovery for Caroline. The farrier had dropped enough hints around the yard for the stable-boys to take an interest, and three of them had cornered Caroline in an empty barn one afternoon. At first, she had thought they were just going to make suggestive remarks, as they usually did, but, when they mentioned the farrier, and two of them grabbed her wrists, she realised that this was different ......

She began to struggle, and kick out, but they had had two or three lunchtime pints and they held her down on the rough dirt floor. Kneeling on her outstretched arms, they had unbuttoned her work shirt – the same one that the farrier had undone – and pulled it out of her jodhpurs. Then, despite her tears and cries, they had ripped open her brassiere and pawed her full, firm breasts, fighting each other to get their hands on them. Inevitably, they had then turned their attention to her jodhpurs, announcing their intention to give her ‘a good fingering’. Two of them had held her down while the third wrenched off her riding-boots, then her ‘joddies’.

They had been surprisingly gentle in removing her brief white panties, pulling them slowly down her thighs and calves, then had held her ankles apart while they all took a close look at her involuntarily displayed vagina, in its nest of black pubic hair. Then, as her sobs renewed, and redoubled in intensity, the first finger had slid inside her moist slit, and the owner announced she was ‘as wet as a fish’. They had taken turns at fingering Caroline’s most intimate part, and then the inevitable had happened, when one of them dropped his jeans and fell between her splayed knees ......

Urged on by his friends, he had pushed his cock inexpertly between her thighs and, more by good luck than judgment, found her entrance and thrust it inside her. He hadn’t lasted long but, by the time he ejaculated inside her, Caroline had become resigned to the inevitable – and, indeed, had begun to enjoy the sensation of this new penis, which was noticeably longer than the farrier’s, and was even speculating about what the other two would be like ......

The four of them had spent over two hours in the barn that afternoon, and Caroline had passed a lot of time there, in the ensuing weeks, with different combinations of the three stable-boys, as well as one or two other boys from the village and, occasionally, one of the other girls from the stable – a blonde girl called Wendy, who was endowed with the most enormous breasts, and an unquenchable appetite for rough sex.




Ambridge Affairs Ch. 4



Although Caroline had gone on to university, and an almost endless succession of sexual encounters, that summer always held a special place in her memory, and talking about just a part of it, now, to William, brought back all the excitement, the uncertainty, of her first steps. Her hands were shaking, her mouth dry, her nipples tense, and her vagina awash with flowing juices.

The stable lads had been younger than William was, now. She remembered how their cocks had been utterly rigid, and how, ten minutes after ejaculation, they had been ready for action again. She was now in no doubt that William was aroused – he had been writhing around on his chair ever since she had described the farrier slipping his hand inside her shirt to feel her tits ......

Caroline leant forward and put her hand, lightly, on his knee. She knew that the action would cause the square top of her dress to fall forward. The pressure in her loins was now too strong – any scruples she might have had had dissipated. She could see the bulge in his jeans only too plainly, now, and she wanted him. She wanted his fresh young cock – with a thrill, she even contemplated the possibility that he was a virgin.

“I hope I haven’t upset you, William,” she said, solicitously, sensing a delicious thrill as his eyes flickered down her top, where, she knew, the upper slopes of her still firm, creamy breasts were all too visible. “It wasn’t too bad, you know. There are worse ways for a girl to lose her virginity than to an older, experienced man.”

Tongue-tied, William stared at her, willing his eyes to stay fixed on hers, and not drift down to her tits again ......

“Was your first time – with a girl of your own age?” Caroline dared to ask, but he continued to stare dumbly, at her. In his eyes, she detected an awful uncertainty and, suddenly, she realised this was too much for him to take in. He was becoming poised for flight.

Without further thought, Caroline reached further forward. Her hand closed over the bulge in William’s jeans, and she drew a sharp breath as her fingers sensed the rigidity of his distended young manhood. Instinctively, William jerked his hips backwards, but Caroline followed him, adjusting her fingers to close round the upraised shape of his erect penis.

Caroline stared at him, willing him to meet her eyes. At last, he did so, his eyes bright with apprehension. Caroline did her best to give him a loving, confident smile.

“That’s very impressive, you know, William,” she breathed, gently squeezing his denim-encased shaft, so that he was in no doubt about what she was referring to. She half-stood, then lowered herself to her knees and, leaning in again, placed her lips on his mouth. His mouth opened, then he kissed her urgently, and she breathed a subdued sigh of relief. Automatically, her hand closed again round his erection, and she felt his arms go round her, one hand ascending into her hair, pulling her mouth against his.

Gently, Caroline eased her mouth away, nibbling round his jawline, up to his ear.

“Do you think you can find the zip of my dress, William?” she whispered. She felt his hands at the back of her shoulders, and prayed he would manage without difficulty. As she felt the top of the zip go, she experienced another surge between her thighs. Oh, God, she thought, I want so much to fuck him – to feel his prick fill me up. The temptation to pull his zip down, to feel his hard pulsating cock between her fingers, was almost irresistible ......

But Caroline concentrated on her dress being released and, as the zip reached her waist, she eased herself to her feet, and reached round and caught the zipper, pulling it down the last few inches over the flare of her hips. Then she crossed her arms over the front of the dress, and slowly lowered it, watching his soft brown eyes, big as saucers, as her white silk underwear was revealed. The dress slid soundlessly to the carpet, and Caroline let her arms dangle by her sides.

She knew she looked good. Regular work-outs had kept her stomach flat, and her bottom and thighs firm and shapely. Her breasts no longer stood proud, of their own accord, as they had when the farrier had first exposed them to his lascivious gaze, but they still had shape, and texture, sufficient to arouse Oliver to something of a frenzy. Caroline shivered as she thought of their effect on William ...

She smiled at him, wickedly. “Do you want me to show you my tits, William? Get them out for you?” 

For the first time, William grinned and, as Caroline stepped back a pace, putting her hands up her back to unclip her brassiere, he stood up. Again, her eyes dropped to the front of his jeans. She shivered with excitement – it was like a totem pole! She had heard rumours that Joe Grundy, William’s grandfather, had been very impressively endowed, and much sought after, in his youth – might there be a bit of advantageous genetic inheritance here?

The last eye slid out its hook, and Caroline held the bra-cups across her breasts. Her eyes glittered. “Show me what you’ve got, William,” she breathed. “You show me yours ......”

Confidently, William unbuckled his belt and slid his jeans down. He didn’t turn his back. To Caroline’s surprise, he wore no undershorts, and, as his jeans descended to mid-thigh, his cock sprang up, massive and erect. It was long, and thick – very thick, thought Caroline, for his age. He was uncircumcised, but his huge mauve corona was almost totally exposed, thrusting out of his foreskin, almost golf-ball sized. His testicles were large, although drawn up tightly in his scrotum, and a bush of light brown hair set off the impressive magnificence of his equipment. 

Caroline’s cry of admiration was genuine.

“Oh, William,” she breathed, licking her dry lips. “That is really beautiful.”

Her hands fell away from her chest, and William Grundy gazed at his godmother’s exposed tits. Despite his shyness, he had had limited success with a few girls, but the fresh pink-nippled breasts he had managed to uncover, so far, were no match for the pair he gazed at, in awe, now. Caroline’s breasts were full, sitting comfortably on her chest, with massive circular dark aurolae, and thick brown nipples, which her fingers reached up to caress, right in front of his eyes. 

William’s heart was thudding wildly and, even though he was standing in front of her with his cock out, he still lacked the courage to reach out and feel them.

Then Caroline dropped her hands from her breasts, and slid her fingers round his distended manhood. William gasped at her touch, and she took his hand and pushed it against the front of her panties. Instinctively, he pushed his fingers downwards, to the junction of her thighs, where the material felt moist and warm. He rubbed his middle finger against the silk, and it gave under his touch, pushing inwards, and he felt warm, damp flesh against the sides of his knuckles.

Caroline moaned.

“Oh, yes,” she urged him. “Finger me – finger me down there.”

Her own fingers were sliding over the tip of William’s throbbing cock, bathing themselves in a coating of pre-cum. She raised her fingers to her lips, and licked them, one by one.

Then she eased William backwards until the backs of his knees touched one of the oak dining-chairs, and pushed him down into a sitting position. Caroline took a pace backwards, then swiftly slid her panties down her thighs.

As her dark, trimmed pussy came into view, William groaned, and clutched his cock in his hand. Caroline wasn’t to know it, but hers was the first pussy he had ever seen, properly.

Once, at the shank end of a party, he had stumbled over a sleeping Emma Carter, lying stretched out behind a couch, her mini-skirt rucked up, showing her thighs and brief black panties. William had looked at her for a long time, and she hadn’t moved – she was totally wasted. She was on her back, legs slightly parted. There was no-one else around who was still awake and, eventually, William had got down on his knees beside Emma. 

He had touched the inside of her thigh, very cautiously, and she hadn’t stirred, then he had put his finger on the front of her panties. She still didn’t move. William had knelt there, moving his finger very slowly up and down the gusset of her panties, for some minutes, his cock iron-hard in his jeans. Then, very carefully, he had slid the tip of his finger under the elastic, and had felt the matted hair beneath – then, as he pushed a little further, the opening to her slit.

He had leant right over her, and pulled the black material as far to the side as he could and, in the dim light, had been able to see Emma’s puffy vaginal lips, and her sparse covering of reddish-blonde pubic hair. 

Then she had moved, in her sleep, and turned over on her side, and William had leapt to his feet in alarm, letting the elastic snap back against her leg, and fled from the room ......

William’s eyes were like saucers as Caroline straightened up and allowed him to look at her. He stared between her thighs, his heart pounding painfully with suppressed excitement. Caroline’s pubic hairs were trimmed away around her full, blood-engorged cuntlips, and, above her pussy, there was only a thin line of dark curls, running up the centre of her tight belly. Her right hand slid down over her belly and hovered over the top of her cleft, her middle finger flickering quickly over the top of her slit.

“Close your legs, William,” she breathed, and he obeyed. As she moved towards him, he reached up and his hands closed, for the first time, on her breasts. They felt so soft – so warm, so yielding. He felt for her nipples – they felt hard, and thick, in his fingers, and he rolled them between his finger and thumb, luxuriating in their womanly, mature feel. God, she was a real woman – not a kid, like Emma Carter, with her little pink pussy.

Then the insides of her thighs were touching the outsides of his, and her hand was sliding, expertly, onto his rigid cock. William nearly jumped up as, suddenly, he felt the sensitive tip of his glans encounter a moist warmth he had never experienced before. The excitement drove the breath from his lungs, and his hands closed, convulsively, round Caroline’s soft tits.

“Oh, William,” she breathed, as the rough skin of his calloused fingers scraped over her rock-hard nipples. “Do you like my tits?”

“Oh, yeah,” he responded, “they’re great, Caroline – I can’t believe you’re lettin’ me feel ‘em.”

“What do you want to do, now, William?” she whispered, slowly sliding her damp cunt lips along the distended head of his upraised cock, aching to feel it plunge inside her, but wanting, also, to hear him talk like the stableboys had, so many years ago ......

“Can I – can I – make love to you, Caroline?” he muttered, and she nearly screamed in frustration. She slid downwards half an inch – half of his bulbous head was in her, now, stretching her entrance – the anticipation was nearly unbearable ......

“Use the words, William,” she urged. “Use the proper words – tell me what you want.”

“I want – to fuck you,” he gasped, the words coming out in a rush. 

“Oh, yes,” she groaned. “Say it again – what do you want to fuck?”

“I want to fuck your cunt – and – and – stick my cock up you – and squeeze your soft tits – and ……”

But Caroline shuddered and drove the breath from his body as she propelled herself downwards, emitting a long, rising moan as she felt herself impaled on his steel-hard rigid shaft. It pushed deep inside her, thrusting against the front wall of her vagina, massaging her G-spot, and she dropped her hands behind him, clutching his tight buttocks, pulling him as deeply inside her as she could.

Her orgasm had started already, and her body juddered against his as she shook uncontrollably, spasms of ecstasy thundering through her.

“Oh, Jesus,” she moaned. “Oh, Christ, what are you doing to me? Oh, William – oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” 

As his incredibly sexy godmother writhed in sexual abandon on his thighs, William, too, felt an irresistible surge well up from his over loaded testicles, then the first jet of sperm shot through his long thick cock, followed by another, then another, then he was pumping furiously inside her, each surge sending a driving throb of heat into his pulsating prick.

It was the greatest feeling he had ever experienced – he would never, ever forget this moment – his first fuck.

And – he would never, ever forget his ‘fairy godmother’.

(My email inbox is 'back in action' - as ever, I do like to hear from you, and will reply where a return email address is supplied.) 



Ambridge Affairs Ch. 5



They were both unsteady on their feet as Sid unlocked the door. They turned to wave to Neil and Susan, in the departing car, then, as they crossed the threshold, Sid groped for Jolene's breast. She stopped as he gripped the full, firm flesh over the peasant blouse, and gave it a hard squeeze. Her hand snaked down and felt the outline of his hard cock, beneath the rough denim of his jeans.

"Oh," she laughed. "So there is something else to life but cricket, then! A whole fucking hour you spent at the bar, talking fucking cricket!"

"Well," he replied, his fingers tracing the outline of her hard nipple. "There's only so much barn dancing one man can take – and, anyway, you weren't lonely, were you?"

"Oh, no," Jolene breathed, her wide, generous mouth now nuzzling his neck, her hand now fully cupped round her husband's turgid erection.

That was one of the things he loved about his new wife, Sid thought. She was independent, gregarious – not clinging, like Kathy had been. And – she was much more 'upfront' about sex...

His heart beat faster at the memory of how Jolene had casually discarded her top, on their recent Mediterranean holiday, to display her gorgeous tits. He had always wanted Kathy to do that, but she wouldn't even wear a bikini on the beach. 

He had seen men watching her slim, dark figure, admiring her 'racing-snake' bum, in her one-piece bathing-suit, and his cock had stiffened at the thought of her showing off her small breasts, with their amazingly long, stiff nipples, but it had been 'no way' – and, of course, he couldn't tell her that it would excite him, thinking about the men on the beach wanting to get their hands, their mouths, on his wife's tits.

But Jolene was different. Jolene enjoyed the attention. She had sat on the towel, that first morning, and asked Sid to put her sun-block on. Kneeling behind her, he had massaged the cream into her back, then, when he had reached round to the front, Jolene had raised her arms behind her head, pulling her tits up, making them stand out...

Sid had oiled her stomach, first, then, when his hands had reached the underside of her breasts, she had breathed – "Give my tits a good seeing-to, Sid – we don't want them burning, do we?" And his oiled hands had slid over her nipples, to find them standing out like pieces of chalk. Over her shoulder, he could see many eyes fixed on her – most of them men, but quite a few women, as well, and his cock had throbbed, and his hands blatantly squeezed and fondled her naked tits.

He had had an almost permanent hard-on, throughout the entire holiday. Jolene had a superb body for her age – of course, she had always worked out in the gym, and done her line-dancing. And she had no qualms about being the centre of attention – her singing career had got her used to that. And – most excitingly – she expected men to become aroused at the sight of her tits, and basked in it.

After a day or two, she would whisper to Sid – "Whoops – there's another stiffy over there, lover – think he'd like to slide it between my boobs?" And Sid would turn, to see a furtive husband, desperately trying to hide his erection from his disapproving wife, and his mouth would dry as he thought of the guy dreaming of fucking Jolene's tits as he slid a length up his unresponsive wife in the hotel bedroom that night...

He pushed her back against the wall, standing back and surveying her, in her brightly-coloured peasant blouse and skirt.

"Aha, my proud beauty," he announced, striking a pose. "You won't look so haughty when that blouse is up round your neck, and the skirt circling your waist..."

She cowered, in mock terror. "Oh, master," she quavered. "What are you going to do to me? I'm only an innocent serving-girl..." Her arm crossed, protectively, over her breasts, and her hand flattened against her groin. Her eyes were large, and full of simulated fear. Sid felt the blood flow hotly into his penis.

"Upstairs for you, my girl – into the master bedroom, and await my pleasure," he called, and she scuttled away, still protecting her body, ascending the stairs in quick, hurried steps. His inhibitions loosened by the drink he had consumed, Sid roared after her, quickly assuming the role of the dominant master.

When he entered the bedroom, Jolene was backed up against the wardrobe, still clutching her body, protectively, her head downcast, eyes looking up at him, fearfully.

"Oh, please, sir," she quavered. "I know naught of things between man and woman – I am an innocent servant-girl."

Sid's acting ability did not match his new wife's, though, and he could think of nothing to do, or say, but to stride forward, and envelop her in his arms. To his surprise, he could actually feel her shaking, as though she was really frightened.

Unresisting, she let him propel her towards the bed, and they collapsed on it, together, Sid's mouth closing, urgently, over hers, his hand pushing up between her thighs. With a thrill, he felt the wetness seeping through her thin panties. Then she groaned, and clamped her thighs round his wrist, trapping his hand against her soaking pussy, humping it against her fingers.

Her breathing quickened, becoming harsher, and she thrust herself onto his probing hand. "Oh, oh, oh..." she moaned, then, suddenly, Sid felt her stiffen, and she rocked wildly against his rigid fingers, throwing her head back, in a violent, raging orgasm.

Sid lay, clutching her, his fingers now under the thin strip of cotton stretched across her sex, delving deep into the soaking, twitching flesh beneath. Slowly, the tightness of her body relaxed, and she slid back on the bed, letting out great, shuddering breaths.

Her skirt was bunched up round her waist, her strong dancer's legs played apart, Sid's hand still at their apex, two fingers plunged inside her soaking twat. Jolene opened her eyes and smiled, shakily, uncertainly, up at him.

"Oh, you hit a fucking big trigger there, boy," she murmured. "Fucking hell – can't remember when I last came so quick."

Sid flexed his fingers inside her, and she jerked as if an electric current had gone through her.

"Whoah – steady, boy – I think we're in multiple orgasm territory, right now – but give me a chance to get my breath back!"

Her hand slid down to join his. Sid thought she was going to pull him out of her, but she simply laid her fingers across the back of his hand, and stroked it, gently, idly.

"What trigger?" he asked, quietly, and immediately felt her vaginal muscles tighten round his fingers.

"It's the 'servant' thing," she breathed. "You know – master/servant – the 'big house' – droit de seigneur – that sort of thing. It just – turns me on – always has done."

"Ah," said Sid, a little nonplussed. He was more than nonplussed – he was surprised. He thought he didn't know a woman more self-confident, more independent, than Jolene, and he just couldn't see her in the role of – well, what, exactly?

She laughed, shakily, and squeezed his hand.

"Surprised, eh?" she whispered. "Difficult to see me as a – victim? There's a lot about me you don't know – yet."

Sid felt his cock rise, again – he hadn't even realised his erection had subsided as Jolene had thrashed about in her sudden climax – and he flexed his fingers in her, experimentally.

She sighed with pleasure, and pressed down on his hand again.

"When I was – well, pretty young, I had a holiday with my great-grandma's younger sister. She had a little cottage at the seaside, in Norfolk somewhere, and I was sent there for the summer because my folks couldn't get away, because of the shop. I wasn't looking forward to it. Auntie Mary was pretty old – well over eighty – and I thought it would be really boring."

"But – it turned out to be not bad – not bad at all. We actually got on very well together. Auntie Mary had all her marbles – and she was quite happy for me to go off, exploring the place on my own, and didn't make a fuss about where I had been, or who I was with. I met a few people my own age, in fact, and – well, that's another story. But, in the evenings, Auntie Mary liked a drop of whisky, and she would get talkative, and tell me about her life."

"It was interesting – all about the war, and her two husbands, and her schooldays. She wasn't shy about sex, and she told me all about her sex life with her husbands – and a few other men she had fucked. I was amazed – I thought, like most people, that my generation 'invented' sex, and I definitely didn't think that old people like Auntie Mary had 'slept around' when they were young."

"Then, one night, near the end of my stay with her, I asked her how, and when, she had lost her virginity, and she told me she had gone into domestic service when she had left school, and, on her third night in the 'big house', she had been sent to serve the port to the gentlemen, after dinner, and the master had ordered her to strip off her uniform!"

"Well, you didn't argue with the master in those days, so Mary had to strip, and serve the drinks, naked. She was completely innocent, and utterly terrified. There were five men in the room, all terribly upper-class, in their dinner jackets, and, as she served the drinks, they reached from their leather armchairs and touched her – feeling her breasts and her bottom, and running their hands up her legs."

"Then the master laid her down on the rug, in front of the fire, and took her virginity, and the others took turns until they had all had her. Of course, she found out, after, that all the young servant girls were expected to allow the master and his guests to fuck them – but, in any case, apart from the first time, Mary discovered that she actually enjoyed it, but only with the upper classes. She said there was something about their posh voices, and their air of authority, that really turned her on, and got her really wet between her legs."

"She said there was wholesale fucking 'below stairs', between the male and female servants, but she was there three years and she never allowed one of the other servants in her knickers, although she was fucked almost daily by one or other of the master, or his sons, of his guests. At first, she worried about getting pregnant, but it turned out she couldn't conceive – she never did have kids, even after she was married."

"Did her husband know about all that?" asked Sid.

"No," laughed Jolene. "She even convinced him she was a virgin, but – she never enjoyed sex with him. She just couldn't get excited about sex, unless it was with a dominant man with an upper-class accent. That was why she had all those 'extra-marital' shags, throughout both her marriages – she just couldn't resist a man who 'talked posh' and treated her like dirt."

"Good job she never met Oliver Stirling, then," laughed Sid, who, in truth, had not been all that excited about the tale of Jolene's Auntie Mary. Maybe, if he had known the lady ……

He noticed that Jolene had gone quiet.

"Are you all right, love?" he asked. He slid his fingers cuntwards again – he still hadn't got his rocks off, yet. Jolene gasped again as he felt her. Sid felt his cock stir.

"So – that story turned you on, did it?" he said. It was time to get her 'going' again, so he could have a good shag before getting off to sleep.

"Oh, yeah," Jolene murmured. "Imagine being her – being stripped naked by all those masterful upper-class men, then laid down and serially fucked."

"Yeah," muttered Sid, trying to catch the mood. "Well, I think Oliver Stirling would do that to you, given half a chance – would he do?"

He felt Jolene's pussy tighten around his fingers, and she murmured – "Yeah, I think so." But her tone was less casual than her words, and Sid felt a sudden tingle of - what? Excitement? Curiosity?

"You had a couple of dances with him tonight, didn't you?" he said, apparently casually.

"Mmmmmmm," replied Jolene, wriggling a little, her hand snaking round his cock, slipping down to cup his tightening testicles.

"Did you – get close?"

"Close enough..."

"For what?"

"Oh, close enough that I could tell he was enjoying it." Her voice was low, breathy, with a touch of something else – triumph?

"You mean – he was...?" asked her husband, hesitantly.

"Oh, yeah," answered Jolene. "He had a hard-on."

"You felt it?"

"Yeah – like you do, when you're dancing – sort of close."

Sid took this in. His mouth was drying, his cock really stiff, his insides slowly turning over. He felt there was something else here...

"Did he – try anything?" he asked.

"No – not really," answered Jolene. "He sort of – pushed against me, you know – just in case I hadn't noticed."

"Ah," said Sid. "Was that all?"

"Well – he did a bit of pulling, too. You know – pulling me towards him."

"What – with his hand round your waist?"

"Yeah – most of the time."

"What about the rest of the time?"

"Well, a couple of times, he sort of dropped his hand a bit, then pulled..."

"You mean – to your bum?" 

"Yeah."

"Just one hand?"

"Yeah – well, maybe once or twice, he had both hands down there, having a bit of a grind."

"Oh," said Sid. He tried to remember if he had seen them dancing together. He visualised Stirling's hands cupping Jolene's shapely bottom, pulling her in against his erection... "And what did you do?"

"What do you mean – what did I do?"

"Well – what did you do?"

"Well – I didn't pull away, if that's what you mean."

"So you – pressed back against him? You rubbed yourself against him – against his hard-on?"

"I guess so – a couple of times. You were at the bar – talking fucking cricket!"

"Yeah," agreed Sid. Jesus – she had rubbed her cunt against him! Sid's heart was thumping – was it anger, jealousy, or plain excitement? "So I was. Do you like Oliver's accent?"

"Ooohhh, yeah," replied Jolene, her voice catching, a little, with excitement.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Jolene," Sid suddenly burst out, in a fit of impatience, "did you get up to something with that stuck-up bastard tonight?"

She squeezed his throbbing cock, and leaned her head back to look at him, in the half-light of the darkened bedroom. A secret smile played around her lips. Sid realised she was still fairly drunk – and very, very turned on...

"What do you think?" she asked. "And why do you want to know, anyway?"

By now, he knew why he wanted to know. The thought excited him – it excited the hell out of him. It was the same as watching the guys on the beach get hard when she flashed her tits at them – when he though about Jolene grinding her wet cunt against Stirling's hard cock, it nearly made him come …… She was holding his cock in her hand – she knew – she was teasing him...

"Just tell me," he groaned, and her hand gripped his shaft, tightly.

"We were in a corner – we weren't really dancing, at all – just moving – against each other. His hands were round my bum, squeezing my cheeks – I could feel the outline of his cock, right up the length of my belly. His mouth was beside my ear, and he said – 'I need some air. Come outside with me.' And he let me go, and walked towards the door, assuming I would follow."

"I did think about it, Sid. I looked over at the bar, and you were nattering away with David Archer. Then I looked at Oliver. He turned and jerked his head, and I walked over to him. We didn't speak. There were people going in and out all the time, so I didn't feel conspicuous. He turned to the right, outside the door, and he led me into that dark little copse."

"As soon as we were out of the light, I felt his hand on my bottom. As I walked, it was sliding between my cheeks, touching the tops of my thighs. I could still feel the hardness of his cock when we had been dancing, and I was soaking... Then he suddenly stopped, behind me, and pushed his hands through my arms and onto my breasts."

"He just grabbed them, Sid – he took hold of my tits, and squeezed them. I could feel his cock again, pressing against my ass, this time. He pulled my blouse up and, when he felt my bra, he said – 'Get that out of the way', and stood back. I just – did it, Sid. I unclipped it, and slid it off, through my armholes, and stuffed it in my pocket. Then I just stood in front of him – and waited."

"What he did he do?" muttered Sid. His hands were now covering his wife's breasts, his mind tortured – illuminated – with a vision of her standing meekly in front of Stirling, her breasts unfettered beneath her brightly-coloured peasant blouse.

"He lifted the bottom of my blouse – up to my shoulders – and looked... Then he put his hands on them – on my tits – he put his hands on my naked tits and gave them a good feel, Sid. He liked my nipples – he kept trapping them between his fingers and thumbs, and pulling them, and rolling them round."

Her hands were now on her husband's, educating his fingers to repeat the treatment, moaning as her hard nipples were manipulated, almost to the point of pain.

"Yeah, Sid," she gasped. "Like that – harder."

She was writhing, now, her voice trailing away ……

"And then he started feeling for my cunt, Sid. He pushed his hand under the waistband of my skirt, then inside my panties. His fingers trailed through my bush, and I – I opened my legs a bit, and his finger slid inside me. It was like a knife through butter, Sid – I was so wet – and then... then I heard Fallon..."

"Fallon?" exclaimed Sid.

"I was sure it was her," said Jolene. " I heard a scream, or a shriek – I couldn't make out whether it was a laugh, or a frightened cry – but I immediately thought – 'Fallon!' and I jumped back – away from Oliver. He had heard it, too, so I didn't imagine it."

"So – what did you do?" asked Sid, realising, as he spoke, that he hoped the answer would be that Stirling had slipped his hand into Jolene's panties again …… Sid's cock was like a steel rod...

"Well," replied Jolene, "we both stood around, listening, but we didn't hear anything else, and, suddenly, I realised that – well, I had been pretty far gone and – well, anything might have happened. I'd got my senses back, so I just took off, back to the barn, before he could say anything."

"Was that when you – joined us, at the bar, and asked if I'd seen Fallon?"

Jolene nodded, and Sid wondered what he'd have done if he'd known she'd been fingered by Oliver Stirling not five minutes before...

His fingers were still inside Jolene's cunt, and he began to move them...

"How wet were you?" he breathed. "When Stirling had his finger up you... Were you as wet as this?"

"Oh, yesssss," she muttered. "I think I was wetter – my cunt was soaking."

"Were you going to let him...?"

But his question was never finished. The front door slammed, loudly, and they both froze. There was a few seconds' silence, then they heard footsteps ascending the stairs, unsteadily, stopping every few seconds, then carrying on.

"That's Fallon," murmured Jolene. "She doesn't sound right."

Sid cursed, inside. "Oh, she's maybe had a little too much cider – she'll be OK."

"No, Sid," said Jolene. "It might be – the other thing. She's been with Ed, and Jazzer. I'll have to check …… make sure she's all right."

She slipped out of his embrace, pulling on a short nightdress.

"Don't be long," groaned Sid. She grinned, and leant down to give his erection a squeeze. "I won't," she replied. "You just keep this warm for me."

She slipped out of the room, and Sid leaned over and picked up the whisky bottle from the bedside table...

Jolene was conscious, as she slipped along the landing, that she was still half-drunk – and very fired up, sexually. But she had to make sure her daughter was all right, before she could attend to her own needs. Jazzer's recent drug escapades made her very wary of Fallon associating with him, but the girl was 18, now, and she couldn't keep her locked up...

As she knocked softly on Jolene's door, and entered, her daughter was pulling down her jeans, with some difficulty. As she got them halfway down her thighs, she staggered, and sat down on the side of the bed.




Ambridge Affairs Ch. 5



"Are you all right, love?" asked Jolene. Fallon looked up at her, a curious look in her eyes. At first, Jolene thought she looked a bit 'spaced-out', and her heart sank, then she realised Fallon was taking in her mother's state of undress. Too late, Jolene realised that the nightdress she had dragged on afforded her little cover. It was not only transparent, but very short. It didn't even cover her hips.

Of course, she had no embarrassment about her daughter seeing her body, but she was still a little reserved about pushing her sex life with Sid into her daughter's face.

Fallon sneered at her, nodding at Jolene's worse than useless nightie, as she dragged her jeans off.

"Interrupted something, did I?" she accused. "Was 'big boy' giving you one?"

"Now, Fallon," remonstrated her mother, but Fallon laughed, bitterly.

"How many does that make it, tonight, then?" she said. "Let's see – there was Oliver Stirling, in the woods..."

Jolene froze. "That was you, then," she whispered, aghast.

"Oh, sure," flung out the girl, "but don't mind me..."

"But how...?" her mother stammered.

"Me and Ed and Jazzer were just settled down – having a bit of a smoke, if you must know, when we heard Stirling's voice. Well, the boys reckoned he'd come out with Caroline Bone – for a bit of nooky – so we stood up, for a look. And sure enough, there he was, with some tart, tits right out, and his hand in her knickers, and she was moaning and groaning …… Only it wasn't Caroline, was it? It was good old Jolene, getting a fucking good fingering..."

"Oh, Fallon," said Jolene. "I'm sorry – it – well, I don't know how it happened, but – nothing else happened..."

"Oh, didn't it?" retorted her daughter. "Well, maybe not to you. You took off like a scalded fucking cat, didn't you? And left me with those two..."

She took a deep shuddering breath, and dropped her hot, angry eyes.

"What happened, love?" Jolene had to ask, her heart thumping.

"It was Jazzer," her daughter replied. "Watching – it turned him on – it excited him. He said – things – about you – your tits, and things, then he said – 'Let's have a look at yours, Fallon!' I told him to fuck off, but he was really pushy and he grabbed at me. I pushed him away and told Ed to sort him out, but then Ed said – 'Go on, Fallon – let's have a look – come on – we're your mates. Mates are supposed to share!' I told him to fuck off, too, but then Jazzer grabbed my arms and – and..."

Fallon took a shuddering breath, and shook her head, unable to speak.

"What did he do?" asked Jolene. Her mouth was dry, remembering a bus journey with a country and western group when she was nineteen. There had been seven in the group, and just Jolene and her friend, Annie – and no escape...

"Jazzer – held my arms, and Ed – touched me. He put his hands on me and – and squeezed – and Jazzer said – 'Pull her fucking shirt up, you dick." And Ed lifted my t-shirt and pulled it over my head. Then Jazzer undid my bra, and they both started touching me – feeling my tits. It ended up with Ed holding my arms, and Jazzer was all over me, with his hands, and his mouth – then he opened the front of my jeans and pushed his hand between my legs, on my panties."

"And what happened then, love?" Jolene was almost scared to ask, but Fallon sniffed and said - "Ed told Jazzer he'd gone too far, and made him stop. In fact, they had a fight, and I thought I'd better get out of it..."

"Whass all this, then?" Sid lurched against the doorway, the whisky bottle in his hand. "Who was feeling your tits?"

"Jazzer – and Ed!" replied Fallon, without hesitation. "Why – jealous, are you?"

"Too fucking right," said Sid, pushing himself round the doorjamb. "I've fancied a feel of your tits for while, now..."

Jolene whirled round.

"Sid!" she cried, then screamed at him, when she saw him. He was totally naked, his thick cock, half-tumescent, rising above his heavy, hairy balls.

"You get out of here – right now!" yelled Jolene, but, as she rose, Sid pushed her back down on the bed. She fell back, her nightdress round her waist, legs in the air. Sid's cock jerked upright a little more, and he laughed, drunkenly.

"Ah," he said. "Ready – and waiting!"

He sat down heavily, between mother and daughter, his left hand groping obscenely between Jolene's parted thighs, holding her down. Then he turned his head to look at Fallon. His cock was fully hard, now, and she was staring at it, jutting up from between his thighs.

"Jesus," she breathed. "It is a big 'un, isn't it?"

Sid looked at her again, taking in the expression on her face. Reaching across, he took her wrist.

"Here," he said. "Why don't you give it a feel?"

"No!" screeched Jolene, thrashing round, trying to get up, but Fallon allowed her hand to be drawn over Sid's knees, then, of her own volition, closed her fingers round his throbbing organ. 

Sid released her hand, and felt the inside of her taut, firm thigh. He felt her fingers close round his cock, and slid his hand up his stepdaughter's leg. As his fingers touched the crotch of her panties, he felt a telltale dampness and, taking his opportunity, he pulled aside the leg hole, and pushed two fingers under the material. He felt her pussy lips, slippery and warm, then pushed his fingers inside her channel, instinctively feeling for her g-spot.

"Oh, that feels good, Sid – no wonder Mum's always gagging for it," breathed the girl, her eyes wide and excited.

"Sid – you bastard – cut it out!" sobbed Jolene. "She's only a kid!" She had struggled up to a sitting position now, as Sid moved his hand away from her crotch, to slide it up under Fallon's t-shirt, and it was Fallon, herself, who replied, angrily.

"I'm no kid, Mum – I'm 18, now. And I'm no virgin, either – I've been shagging Ed – and Jazzer – for over a year, now – and one or two guys, at college."

"But – tonight – you said ……" stammered Jolene. 

"Yeah," sneered her daughter. "I've been fucking them both, but neither one knows about the other, and Ed reckoned Jazzer was muscling in on his territory when he started feeling me up. That's why they had a fight..."

Her voice trailed away as Sid pulled her t-shirt over her head, and Fallon raised her arms to assist its passage. She reached up behind her back, and unclipped her bra, and slid it down her arms.

"What d'you think then, Sid?" She smiled at him, her hands cupping her round, firm breasts. "They ain't as big as Mum's, but they ain't as floppy, neither."

Sid reached out and pushed her gently backwards. She fell back, willingly, on to the duvet cover, and sighed with pleasure as Sid bent over her. His right hand cupped her left breast, while his mouth descended on her right nipple.

Fallon's hand slid down over her stomach, through her sparse blonde pubic bush, and located her clitoris. Drawing her knees up, her short, but shapely, legs spread apart, her fingers teased her moist lips, while her thumb rubbed her hard button. Jolene was on her feet, now, a welter of mixed emotions.

Through her outrage, and – yes – disappointment, there was a curious sense of arousal. Her daughter, spread wide as she was, now, reminded her so much of herself at that age – a healthy sexual animal, always ready to sample a new, big cock. Jolene knew that, had the positions been reversed, she would have acted like Fallon – taking the initiative. And, after all, Fallon was 'family' – it wasn't really as if Sid was 'straying' – and, he had such an appetite for fucking, Jolene knew he would be able to keep them both happy, until Fallon moved on to pastures new...

Jolene reached out a hand and slid it round her husband's long, thick cock. She was tempted to drop her head and close her lips round it, but resisted and instead, guided it between Fallon's open thighs. 

Sid moved his position, crouching over the excited, aroused girl, and allowed his wife to slide the bulbous head of his penis into the tight wet entrance. Then, he braced his hips and plunged downwards. Fallon's gasp was followed by a series of ecstatic moans as her stepfather's prick slid up her tight channel, and her thighs locked, vicelike, round his waist as he started to fuck her in earnest...

Jolene licked the ends of her fingers as she watched, then slid them into her melting honeypot. She knew Sid would be good for 'seconds', once he had started 'educating' her daughter... 

(As ever, email comment is more than welcome, and those with a return address will get a reply.)



Ambridge Affairs Ch. 6



Kate had to stretch to kiss her husband's cheek, as they said goodbye. On her waiting mother's 'blind side', Kate's hand slithered across the front of Lucas' jeans and she breathed a whispered 'Good luck' in his ear. She gave his cock a hard squeeze and turned to join her mother as they set off on their shopping expedition. 

Lucas looked after them. He smiled as he realised, for the first time, that mother and daughter had identical ways of walking, of swinging their hips enticingly – and that Jennifer Aldridge's bottom was nearly as firm and round as her daughter, Kate's. Lucas felt his cock stiffen as he remembered... 

Then it hardened even more, in anticipation, and he turned away and strode towards his sister's flat... He was looking forward to this, but Debbie, he thought, would be a real challenge. Thirty-two, married, lovely, but quiet and apparently respectable and hard-working – but she'd be worth it, with those large firm breasts and athletic hips and legs. He wondered what her pussy looked like... 

Debbie Gerrard was working on her computer when she heard the ring of the doorbell. She ran her hands through her thick dark hair in frustration. With Simon tied up at the university where he lectured until at least six o'clock, Debbie had hoped to put in an uninterrupted day on the farm estimates. The last thing she needed was a caller... 

For a second, she failed to recognise the tall young black man at the door, then she smiled in welcome. 

"Lucas!" she exclaimed, in pleasure. "How nice to see you! I was just thinking we haven't seen enough of you and Kate on this visit..." 

Lucas bent forward and planted the ritual brother kiss on Debbie's cheek. Debbie held the door open. 

"Is Kate not with you?" she asked. 

"No," answered Lucas. "She's gone off shopping with Jennifer, and she suggested I should pay you both a call and arrange for the four of us to have dinner together before we go back to South Africa next week." 

"Oh," Debbie looked disappointed. "Simon's not here, just now. He'll be sorry he missed you – but, yes, we'll make a date and I'll check with him later. Would you like coffee?" 

"That would be nice," said Lucas. As Debbie walked ahead of him, he noticed her hips were leaner than her sister's, and her mother's, but she had the same sexy roll, her cheeks thrusting upwards alternately with each step. She was wearing a light summer dress which emphasised her nice slim legs, and her large firm bust. Lucas felt her cock give a little twitch. 

As she sat down opposite him, in the lounge, Lucas was pleased to see that her legs were bare, and that her dress was above her knees. He greatly admired Debbie's legs, and enjoyed the glimpses of her thighs as she sat, relaxed, chatting to him. 

This was the first time they had ever been alone, together, and Debbie was feeling quite stimulated. She had taken a little time to come to terms with her little sister marrying a black man – but that was before she met him. She had quickly grown to like the handsome, educated, quietly-spoken addition to the family, and was glad of the chance of a 'one-to-one' with him – to really get to know him. 

They talked easily, and with mutual liking, and Debbie soon felt emboldened enough to ask about the problems their mixed-race marriage had brought about – especially in Lucas' native South Africa. But Lucas made light of them, insisting that the modern South Africa was a very different place from the apartheid-ridden country of a few years ago. 

Then – "Was Kate your first – white girl?" Debbie asked, then instantly regretted it when she saw the troubled look cross Lucas' face. That really was an intrusion, she thought – quite unforgivable! 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Lucas," she added, immediately. "That's none of my business – please forget I asked." 

"No, no, Debbie," Lucas responded in his deep voice. "No – it's OK for you to ask. It's just that – well, it's not a very 'nice' story." 

Debbie's curiosity was whetted. She found her black brother fascinating, anyway, as a person, and she couldn't help wondering about him, with her 'little' sister, Kate, in bed. Debbie had never 'known' a black man, sexually, and she found the thought of Lucas, with Kate, very stimulating. 

If the truth be told, she often speculated about Kate's pale body spreadeagled under Lucas' black one, while his black cock pistoned in and out of Kate's eager pussy... And, although the seven years between them meant that they had never really been 'confidantes' on their love lives, she knew enough about her little sister to know that Kate's pussy had been 'eager' for a long time, now... 

She moistened her lips. 

"Oh, you won't upset me, Lucas," she said, reassuringly, "but I will understand if it's – difficult – for you." 

"No," said Lucas, settling down in his chair. Debbie found her eyes unwillingly drawn to her visitor's groin, to the well-filled jeans, and her lips dried a little... 

"No," he said. "I can tell you about it. Kate knows about it, of course, and she was – well, OK, about it. And – I was very young, at the time – I suppose it's some sort of an excuse …… It was in my early days as a journalist. I had just graduated from Witwatersrand University and started working for the paper in Johannesburg. I was nearly twenty-one. After a few months, they asked me if I'd like to cover the war in Rhodesia. I would be attached to a unit of black freedom fighters, and present the struggle from their point of view. Well, of course, I said yes. It was a great opportunity for me." 

"So I went over the border into Rhodesia – Zimbabwe – and lived rough with a fighting unit of about a hundred men, in the bush. A lot of things happened, and I really grew up, then. One night I was invited to go out on patrol with a small unit of men – a lieutenant, a sergeant, and six or seven men, and, of course, I agreed." 

Debbie wondered where this tale was going, but began to relax as Lucas carried on with his story. 

"The lieutenant was well-known. He had been to University in England, but he was a very daring and cunning bush fighter, and his men worshipped him. His sergeant, on the other hand, had been a farm worker. He was a huge, burly man, who said very little, but when he spoke, the men obeyed him instantly." 

"I was surprised when the lieutenant produced a bottle of whisky at the briefing, and passed it round the men as he talked to them. What had happened was that a white officer had been captured, and was being questioned. He owned a farm some miles away, and we had to survey the farm, to see if there was any tactical battle data there, which could be of use to us." 

"Then we loaded ourselves into a jeep, and set off for the farm. I sat in front with the lieutenant, and he explained to me that this was a 'rest and recreation' job for his men, who had just come back from two weeks 'in the field', where they had done some pretty serious fighting – hence the whisky and the relaxed atmosphere. They didn't expect much in the way of opposition here." 

"After about twenty minutes, the jeep stopped, and the sergeant and the men disappeared in to the darkness, while the lieutenant and I walked openly towards the farm. He told me that the patrol would dispose of any guards before we arrived, and we would then search the house. This was the first indication I had that we would be going into the house, but it made sense." 

"We walked right up the drive to the farmhouse, unchallenged. At the door, the sergeant and his men materialised from the bushes round about, and the sergeant confirmed that we would be unhindered, now, from which I took it that the guards had been 'dealt with'. The lieutenant nodded, and the men disappeared again, spreading out around the house." 

"The officer knocked at the big front door, and an elderly black woman answered. As soon as she saw him, a look of fear came onto her face. The lieutenant told her to let us in, and to fetch her mistress. When we entered, however, it was obvious that the commander's wife and another woman were in the adjacent dining-room, finishing a meal, and the lieutenant just strode in, followed by me." 

"He was very correct, polite, but also very forceful. He told the women – who I assumed, correctly, were the farmer's wife and daughter – that the man of the house had been taken prisoner, in battle, and was being questioned, and that we were going to search the house." 

"The older woman treated him with icy disdain, but knew that there was no future in arguing. We sat down and waited for the sergeant to report back. The two women sat in absolute silence. They were both in flowery, light dresses – quite informal. The older one – the wife – was probably in her late forties. She was what you might expect, as a farmer's wife. Strongly built, with square shoulders and a lean, tough body – but she was quite shapely – large breasts and round hips. The daughter would have been in her late teens or early twenties. She was not so tall, and softer - more rounded – and dark, like her mother. Not exceptionally good-looking, but quite pretty in a quiet sort of way, and I remember she had very soft, brown eyes. She looked very nervous, and frightened, but took courage from her mother, and sat, quietly, waiting for us to go." 

He paused, and Debbie sensed a hesitancy in him. Her own heart was beating quickly, as she imagined herself as one of the beleaguered women, wondering what was about to happen. She was beginning to get a sense of it, though, and she waited for Lucas to go on, with a feeling of apprehensive anticipation. 

"After a minute or two, we heard footsteps from the hall, and the sergeant entered," said Lucas, after a couple of deep breaths, during which he raised his eyes to Debbie, then looked down, again, at his clasped hands. 

"The lieutenant looked up at him, and the sergeant nodded, and sat down. But, still, no-one spoke. I could feel the tension rising. I didn't understand, myself, what was going on. There was utter silence for more than a minute ……" 

"…… then, suddenly we heard a scream, followed by a laugh. Then, the air was full of female screams, and male laughter. We could hear running feet, and the occasional slap of flesh on flesh. And I realised that the men – our men – were starting their 'R and R' – with the female house servants." 

Debbie sat looking at Lucas, as he told his story. He told it well, painting a word picture, and Debbie felt her heart beating faster as she imagined the frightened servants trying to elude the half-drunk, tough soldiers... 

"The door burst open, " Lucas went on, "and a pretty black girl rushed in, pursued by two of the soldiers. She was sobbing with fright, and they were laughing, delightedly, as they chased after her. I could see, immediately, that they were enjoying the chase, letting the girl stay just ahead of them." 

"She ran past us, to the French windows leading to the garden, but she couldn't open them. The two soldiers slowed down and advanced on her, one from each side. The girl was gibbering with fright, her arms held out to try to ward them off, tears streaming down her cheeks. They both grinned at her, then grabbed her round the waist. One of them held her and the other gripped her white blouse and wrenched it open, exposing her breasts. They were large, and firm, with long black nipples. Both the soldiers grabbed her breasts, and squeezed them, and she threw her head back and howled, struggling to try to get away." 

"Then they ripped her skirt off. I remember the stark contrast of her white panties against her black shiny skin. The one who was holding her grabbed her crotch, pushing her thighs apart – then the sergeant grunted an order. Immediately, one of them opened the French windows, and they bundled the girl outside." 

"We could no longer see, but we heard another long shriek from the girl, then a low, helpless moan, which just tailed away – and we knew her panties had been torn off, too, and she was now being raped. But still, no-one spoke. The women, strangely, looked almost unconcerned. It was obvious that they assumed that forced sexual intercourse was a common occurrence in their servants' lives, from the moment they reached puberty. It wasn't something which touched them – with their 'civilised' standards of behaviour." 

"The sergeant stood up and walked over to the French windows, closing them, so that we could no longer hear the sounds of the rape on the veranda. Then he turned back into the room and looked at the lieutenant, with an enquiring look on his face. The lieutenant grinned, and nodded. 'OK, sergeant,' he said. 'You've earned it.'" 

"The sergeant looked over at the older woman, and grinned. His teeth, which I hadn't seen before, were yellowish stumps, which gave his face a wolfish look when he smiled." 

"Suddenly, the woman realised what was about to happen. She jumped up, and her chair toppled over, backwards. She began to run, but the sergeant was between her and the door, and she stopped, a look of naked fear on her face. She turned to the lieutenant, but then the sergeant grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him." 

"He pulled her right into him, clamping a huge hand over her bottom and pressing her against him. He tried to kiss her, but she wrenched her head to the side, and he sank his mouth onto her exposed neck. She was struggling, wildly, but his grip was like a vice. She began to plead with him – with all of us – 'No! Please! No!' – she was crying, but the sergeant ignored her and ripped her dress down the back." 

Lucas was talking more quickly now, and Debbie knew he was stimulated and excited by the memory of what he had seen – and, despite her revulsion at the thought of it, on a sexual level, Debbie was aware that she, too, was aroused by the word picture he was painting, and the images he was creating in her imagination. She could not restrain herself from glancing, again, at the front of his jeans, and she felt a thrilled reaction as she saw the long thick shape outlined by the blue denim. With difficulty, she tore her eyes away... 

"He tore her dress all the way down, then released her. As she fought her way out of his grasp, he held on to the dress, and she staggered away, in just her underwear – pale blue matching bra and panties. The sergeant dropped her dress onto the carpet and stepped over it, in pursuit of her. Like her servant, she backed towards the French windows, her arms outstretched in front of her, her face working, her composure gone, still pleading, uselessly." 

"Again, the sergeant grabbed her arm, then whirled her around, holding her against the front of his massive powerful body. Facing the lieutenant, he pulled her brassiere up, over her breasts. They tumbled out – they were well-shaped, and firm, with dark brown, prominent nipples. She was sobbing, now, with shame and humiliation. The sergeant put his hands up and felt her breasts, seeking out her nipples, and squeezing them. Then, he pushed his huge hand down the front of her panties, and she jack-knifed against him, then pushed herself forward as she felt his cock digging into her from behind." 

Lucas was aware of Debbie's burgeoning excitement, which was adding to his own. He recalled Kate's excited reaction when he had first told her about this episode from his past – if her big sister was half as 'interested' – well, he had plenty of time before Simon returned from work... 

"The sergeant ripped the crotch of her panties across and pulled them up, holding her thighs apart so that we could see her pubic area. At first, I thought she had another pair of panties on, then I realised that what I was seeing was a very thick pubic bush – dark brown hair growing in wild profusion between her thighs. Of course, all the women I had seen had had black bushes – but I had never seen one framed by white thighs before..." 

Debbie realised, now, that Lucas was openly relishing retelling his story. It could even be that recounting these events in detail to a female – a white female – was exciting him even more, and Debbie fought to control the irresistible sensations of arousal the tale was wakening in her. 

"But then the sergeant opened his trousers and pulled out his penis." Lucas went on, licking his lips. 

"Now, I'm pretty big, myself, but I've never seen one like that. It was long - and thick – and very, very hard. He turned the woman round to face him, and she screamed again, but he simply lifted her and put her down on the carpet, one hand holding her down on her midriff. She was writhing furiously, her head shaking from side to side, but she couldn't move." 

"The sergeant pulled his uniform trousers down and forced the woman's knees apart with his legs. Then he took her wrists and held them behind her head and lowered himself between her kicking legs..." 

"I don't think I've ever heard such a sound as the one she made when he penetrated her – a cry of total desolation, followed by wracked sobbing. But he paid no attention. He drove his cock deep inside her, then began to fuck her mercilessly, his buttocks thundering up and down like a steam engine. At some point, he released her wrists and put his hands on her tits, gripping them like a pair of oranges, as if he was trying to squeeze the juice out of them – then he let out a huge roar and climaxed, deep inside her." 

Debbie noticed his descent into crude language, and tried not to let it add to her arousal, but, in moments of passion, she, too, had a taste for the earthiest sexual expressions, and she was becoming uncomfortable as she felt the clinging moistness seeping between her thighs. 

"Four or five thrusts, and he was finished, jetting his sperm into the woman sobbing underneath him. But he immediately stood up, and lifted her in his arms. He turned to the lieutenant, displaying her naked body, and said – 'You want her, sir?' – but the lieutenant shook his head and said – 'No, sergeant – you take her away and find a bed – I'm sure you can keep her amused for a while, yet.' And the sergeant nodded, and left the room, carrying her, weeping, his massive cock still dangling from his trousers, one of his hands clamped between her open thighs, his fingers probing inside her slit." 

"Then the lieutenant turned to the girl. Her face was as white as a sheet – what she had just seen had obviously shaken her to the core. He pushed his chair back from the table, and slowly started to open his trousers. The girl's eyes widened, in sheer fright, and he said – 'Your turn, now. Stand up.' She shook her head, and he smiled at her. 'Do you want me to call the sergeant back?' he said, and she shook her head again. He looked down again, and pulled his penis out. It was hard, and long. She stared at it, her eyes wide with fright." 

"But then she stood up, slowly, holding the back of her chair. He was stroking his cock, now, slowly, enjoying it. 'Take off your clothes,' he said. 'If you're any good, I'll keep you for me. If not – well, my men like a piece of white meat, too!' She was crying, now, but she undid the zip at the back of her dress, and let it fall to the carpet. She wasn't wearing a brassiere, and her breasts were exposed – small and round, with little pink nipples. They were so – different, Debbie – I was hard, already, but I felt a thrill, just looking at her tits. They were so different from the black ones I had seen, and felt..." 

"Then, she bent down and pulled her panties off. Her bottom was really beautiful – white and peach-shaped – completely unmarked. The lieutenant was still sitting, smiling, and stroking his cock. Then he spoke to me. 'Find out if she's ready, Lukey,' he said, quietly. I didn't know what he meant, at first, and I panicked. I was really frightened of him, Debbie – I knew he would kill me without a second thought if I got in his way..."




Ambridge Affairs Ch. 6



"And then – I realised what he meant. I got up from my chair and approached the girl. She looked at me, fear etched into those soft brown eyes. She had a brown bush, as well, but I think she had trimmed it. My own cock was very hard as I reached down between her thighs. Her legs were closed, but, when I pushed against her thigh, she parted them a little and – and – I felt her pussy lips with my finger. They felt moist. I pushed my finger against them, and I felt it go inside her a little, and she gasped. I wanted to push it in further, but I was too scared. I said – 'I think she's ready, Lieutenant' and he said – 'Come over here, girl.'" 

"She didn't move, so I pushed her towards him, and she began to walk. I was watching her bottom – it was so beautiful. She stood in front of him and he reached forward. His hands clasped her bottom cheeks and he pulled her towards him. She opened her legs to get round his knees, and he pulled her to him, until her legs were parted above his erect cock." 

"Then, he pulled her down onto him. I saw his black cock disappear up into her body, and I heard her sob as she felt it penetrate her. He started to play with her tits as he pushed his hips up and down. Then he kissed her on the mouth. I think she returned his kiss because of what he had said to her about letting the men have her. He took a long time to fuck her – a long time before he came – then, when he came, he pulled her against him and held her tight as he shot his sperm up into her. She was still sobbing, softly, but still doing her best to be 'good' for him, so that he wouldn't turn her over to the men." 

"And then, as he finished, and she was clinging to him, still sobbing, I saw him pull the cheeks of her bottom apart and, before she realised what he was doing, he had slid his middle finger inside her anus! She stiffened, but he held her tight to him, with his other arm, and started to fuck her again, with his finger plunged deep in her other hole. And then I saw her begin to quiver, and shake, and then she let out a cry and was plunging up and down on him..." 

"She ended up, clinging on to him like a limpet, jerking and moaning every time he moved his finger inside her, then he looked over her shoulder at me, and said – 'Your turn, now, Lukey. And don't argue – you've got to be involved, too, in case of – consequences. Anyway, she's a pretty good fuck.' To be honest, Debbie, I don't think I was going to argue, although I knew what I was about to do was wrong. I was really roused, because of what I had seen – and I had never had a white girl..." 

"So I took her out of the Lieutenant's arms. She was limp, in my arms, but I inadvertently felt her tits as I lifted her up, and I laid her on the carpet. She lay on her back, looking up at me, her expression blank, then her eyes widened when I took my cock out. I spread her legs, and she didn't object. Then I leant forward and put my hands on her little tits. Her nipples were hard, and she gasped when I squeezed them. I knelt between her spread thighs and put my cock into her. She was very, very wet and as soon as I was fully in, I felt myself starting to come... I came inside her for a very long time. Every time I thought I was finished, the thought of being inside a white girl's cunt stimulated me again, and my balls found another stream to shoot into her..." 

He stopped, and took a deep breath. Debbie didn't dare to breathe. She was shamefully aware of a flood of wetness between her own thighs, and an urge to squeeze her legs together, to quell the insistent tingle she was feeling... 

"So – that was my first white girl, Debbie. I'm not proud of it, but, well – you asked." 

Debbie felt very confused. Of course, it had been rape, but she felt, somehow, that the young Lucas had been coerced almost as much as the unfortunate girl, and his relation of the story had undoubtedly triggered off some very strong feelings of arousal in her. 

"What – what happened, then?" she asked, unable to quell her curiosity. 

"The Lieutenant and I left," answered Lucas, his head bowed, again. "He had been lying to the girl - about the rest of the men. He called for two of them and – well, they took her away. The sergeant returned to camp, with the rest of the men, the following morning. The girl, and her mother, and the servants – well, they put in a long night..." 

"Were they – harmed?" breathed Debbie. "I mean..." 

"No – not that way," Lucas answered. "Apart from – well, using their bodies – they weren't injured or harmed, in any way. But – the men – well, you have to understand, they didn't usually have access to white women, and they did – make the most of it. They had all the women in the same room – they enjoyed fucking the black servant and the white mistress, side by side, on the same bed. And they made the women do –things – to each other – black with white. I know – I saw the photographs." 

"Photographs!!!" exclaimed Debbie, genuinely horrified. 

"Yes," replied Lucas. "They took pictures to show to the husband – the officer they had captured. I understand he talked quite a lot, after he saw them... They were very – explicit. Very explicit. I've still got most of them, on my PC at home. Kate and I – look at them, sometimes. She – seems to enjoy it ……" 

His voice was thick, as thought the remembered images, and his young wife's reaction to them, were causing an obstruction in his throat. Again, Debbie's eyes were drawn, irresistibly, to his jeans. His erection was sticking up like a tent pole. 

She tore her eyes away and, to her horror, met his. Her face flamed and she started to stammer an apology. But he was smiling – a curious, unamused smile – and Debbie's heart plummeted as she saw his fingers draw down his zip. 

"No, Lucas," she stuttered, in complete confusion. "No – please – don't..." 

But she couldn't drag her eyes away. She sat, transfixed, as the zip rasped downwards, and Lucas slid his hand inside and smoothly drew out his large cock. 

His penis was fully erect – circumcised, long, thick, jutting upwards – but, most impressively of all to the dry-mouthed Debbie – shiny jet black. Lucas sat back, his hands on the arms of the chair, his massive black cock rearing aggressively out of the blue denim. 

"Touch it, Debbie," he breathed. "See what it feels like in your hand. Let me see your fingers close round it..." 

"No," she whispered, brokenly, but it was as if her hand had a mind of its own. Even as she spoke, she was reaching out for it... Its warmth surprised her – somehow, she had expected it to feel almost – metallic – but, as her trembling fingers closed round the thick shaft, she practically recoiled from the throbbing heat transmitted through her fingertips. 

"Kiss it," his voice was harsh, strained. Debbie had no idea how she had come to be on her knees, her face hovering so close to it – but, she couldn't resist. The gleaming knob-end was almost golf-ball size, and she had to open her lips... A tiny trail of pre-cum adhered to her lower lip and her tongue moved to lick it off, at the same time running around the lower surface of his knob. 

Greedily, she swivelled her tongue round its entire circumference, and felt another dribble emerge. At the same time, Lucas leaned forward and his hands found the zipper at the back of Debbie's dress. 

All her instincts cried 'No!' – except the one she was following – and all she felt as he deftly opened the back of her dress was a mounting passion – a desire which she knew could only be quenched by... She nearly passed out as she contemplated it. 

She couldn't be considering opening her legs for him... she mustn't... he was Kate's husband... her brother... and what about Simon...? Oh, God, she couldn't let him fuck her ……

She was dimly aware of the catches of her bra snapping open, and Lucas' hands gently lifting her head. Meekly, all power of reason gone, she knelt on the carpet in front of him as he eased her dress and bra off her shoulders. She had to release his penis to let him get her clothes off, but, as his hand cupped her naked left breast, she reached out for it and took it again in her hand. 

Lucas slid his other hand down her stomach, under the waistband of her panties. Debbie knew she ought to stop him, but her cunt was craving his touch, and she felt his fingers push down through her pubic hair as if she was in a trance. Only Simon, for so many years, now, had felt her there, but Lucas' fingers, as they located, and rubbed against, her prominent clitoris seemed to be as familiar with it as Simon was. 

Debbie was unaware of the moans emanating from deep in her throat as Lucas teased her sensitive clitoris to erection, and eased her backwards on to the carpet. 

Still holding his cock, she lay back, and felt her panties slide easily down her thighs, opening up her saturated vagina to his gaze. Without thinking, she slid her other hand between her thighs, holding her lips apart. 

Lucas grinned, triumphantly, savouring the warmth of his sister's fingers on his pulsating prick, his eyes devouring the sight of her blatantly-displayed spread cunt - a black hairy pussy, thick-lipped, blood-engorged, nestling between creamy white thighs. He so wanted to fuck her, but he wanted more – he wanted to hear her beg for it, in her educated, English voice ……

"Do you want it, Debbie?" he breathed. "Do you want my cock, now?" She lifted helpless, lost eyes to his face, and nodded, shakily. 

"Yes," she said. "Do it to me, Lucas – do it, now." 

"Do what?" he demanded, as her hand tried to pull his penis towards her centre. "Do what?" he repeated, keeping himself upright, resisting her pull. 

"Oh, do it, Lucas," she pled. "Do it to me - please!" 

But still he held back and, her voice breaking, Debbie implored – "Fuck me – please – fuck me, Lucas." 

But still he held off, as she pulled desperately. 

"Oh, Lucas," she sobbed. "Stick your big black cock into my cunt – please fuck me – fuck my cunt with your black cock – please... Fill me up with it..." 

And then he relented, a salacious leer on his face as he crouched between the panting girl's spread thighs. Debbie pushed herself up on her elbows, looking down her body, savouring the sight of his huge black prick between her slender white thighs. As the head butted against her moist pussy lips, she withdrew her hand, to improve her view. 

She groaned with pleasure as she felt Lucas begin to enter her, stretching her lips to accommodate his girth, but she had no doubts about her capability to take him – and all of him. She knew he was no bigger than Simon, and she doubted that he had more staying-power. Her sex life with Simon was fabulous – which was why she had let him back into her life, after their previous break-up – but the sheer sluttishness of letting herself, the quintessential English rose, be fucked by a black man – and her brother – was absolutely irresistible to her. 

The very idea raised her to such a sexual peak that she was having difficulty in even breathing and, as she watched his big shiny black cock slide into her welcoming cunt, she nearly choked with sheer excitement at her out and out wantonness. But, she didn't forget her manners and, as he progressed up her channel, she used her vaginal muscles, as Simon had taught her to, to give him the absolute extreme of pleasure, himself, flexing her inner membranes around his hard surfaces so that he felt as if his cock was being caressed by a velvet glove. 

As she lay back, Lucas' black hands coming up to caress her ripe tits, Debbie savoured his astonished reaction to her treatment of his cock, deep within her. His gasp of pleased surprise was music to her ears – clearly little sister Kate hadn't educated her pussy properly, yet. Slowly, the tables were turning – Debbie was assuming control. 

As Lucas squeezed her tits harder and harder, tweaking her bursting nipples almost painfully, Debbie concentrated all her energies on caressing the large pole thrusting up inside her, one hand reaching down to cradle his big black balls. She realised she was giving him the best fuck of his life, and she gloried in that knowledge. 

Debbie had always been the 'respectable' one of the family. Kate was the adventurous, sexy sister – well, after this, Lucas, for one, would know better. After Debbie had finished with him, fucking Kate would never be quite the same again – unless, of course, Debbie arranged for Kate to have a lesson or two from Simon. 

It was intended to be a humorous thought, but, as a picture flashed across her mind of her little sister impaled on Simon's hard cock, Debbie felt her pussy begin to flood... At the same time, Lucas began to groan as his climax became inevitable. Debbie felt him grow even harder inside her – then, without warning, his rigid index finger pushed between Debbie's splayed ass-cheeks and penetrated her anus. For a split-second, Debbie felt a little burst of pain, then a sensational warmth flooded through the whole of her lower body and she could contain herself no longer. 

"OoooooooHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!" she screamed, jack-knifing her body up off the floor, thrusting her searing hot cunt against Lucas, as the first jet of his sperm shot up her soaking channel. Her fingers dug into the lean cheeks of his taut black buttocks as she tried to pull his cock even deeper inside her twitching body. 

Clutching each other violently, brother and sister rocked in the throes of a tumultuous orgasm, fingers raking each other's bodies as eruption followed eruption. 

As Lucas gave one last convulsive shudder, emptying his last drop of cum inside her greedy cunt, Debbie squeezed his balls, then released them, subsiding underneath him, her head to one side, taking huge gulps of much-needed air. 

"Oh, Debbie," he groaned. "Oh, Jesus – I've never been fucked like that – it felt like I was being milked, like a cow. Oh – can you teach Kate how to do that?" 

Again, Debbie saw Simon, in her mind's eye, giving her naked little sister 'Lesson One' – while she and Lucas watched from the settee, herself impaled on Lucas' hard black cock, his black hands playing with her soft white breasts... 

She giggled. 

"Well, maybe not me," she said. "But – I know a man who can..." 

"What?" breathed Lucas, in wonder. "You mean – Simon?" 

"Yes," said Debbie. "My darling husband – and, I know he'd just love to put your sweet little wife through her paces. He's always wanted to fuck my little sister – would that be OK with you?" 

"Oh, sure," said Lucas. "I love seeing her get another guy's dick up her tight little twat... As long as you and I..." 

"Oh, of course - that goes without saying!" replied Debbie. "So why don't we fix up that dinner party, now – I think we should have it here, don't you?" 

Lucas slowly lifted his hands and teased Debbie's nipples, with a long, slow laugh. Against her thigh, she could feel his cock uncurling again, and she slid a hand down to feel its growing hardness. 

"Yes, big sister," said Lucas. "Let's make it here – and soon – very soon..." 

Debbie slid her hand up his length, feeling the drying juices. Her own juices were moistening again. 

"Oh, just one more thing," said Lucas. 

"Yes?" Debbie breathed, her head descending slowly to take the black shiny head in her mouth. He laughed, again, a deep velvety sound. 

"Can your mother come, too? She could do with some lessons, as well..." 

Debbie's head shot back up, her fingers tightening convulsively around his shaft, as she took in what he was saying. 

"Wwwwwwhhhhhhaaaaaatttttt...??" she stuttered, her mind reeling, the images so unbelievable...

(E-mails always welcome - I'll reply if you give me an address)



Ambridge Affairs Ch. 7



Alistair Lloyd sank into the passenger seat and sighed contentedly as his wife, Shula, slid the car smoothly into gear. Her strapless evening gown showed off her well-shaped shoulders, and the tops of her creamy breasts, and Alastair's cock twitched in anticipation of easing it downwards once they had reached the privacy of their bedroom.

They had only been married a little over two years - the second try for both of them - and Alistair was continually amazed, and delighted, by the passion his normally reserved wife revealed, once the bedroom door was closed. Her previous husband, Mark, had died in a car crash, leaving Shula pregnant with Daniel, their only child, and Alistair had the distinct impression that their sex life had been pretty uneventful and that Shula was determined to enjoy that side of marriage to the full, from now on.

Alistair had been the lucky beneficiary of that resolution, and he wasn't complaining! They had spent the evening having dinner with Shula's younger sister, Elizabeth, and her husband, Nigel, and Alistair had to admit that an evening with Elizabeth was definitely calculated to make a man remember what his cock was for. 

His sister's dress had been much more low-cut than his wife's, and she was very generous about bending forward and allowing her guests a long glimpse of her small, but firm tits. Three times, that evening, Alistair had observed a cute pink nipple, and his cock stiffened, again, at the memory. Elizabeth wasn't shy, either, about bodily contact, and Alistair was certain that the way she had slid her hips against his crotch when passing in front of him at the dining-room door had not been accidental. 

He didn't think Nigel would be much good to his sexy wife, in the bedroom department. A 'spoiled little rich boy', he was nothing more than a good-natured idiot, in Alistair's estimation, although amusing company. But it was difficult to imagine him slipping the slim, sexy Elizabeth a decent length - hard to see him make her pant with ecstasy and desire. Maybe, one of these days, Alistair might get to know his young sister a little better ......

Which reminded him ......

"What were you and Elizabeth talking about in the hall, as we left?" he enquired. "Why did she call you 'spoilsport'?"

Shula glanced over at him, quickly, before returning her eyes to the road. Her eyes had betrayed a startled, curious expression.

"Oh, nothing," she mumbled. "It was just one of her silly suggestions." Alistair noticed her fingers whitening as they tightened on the steering-wheel, and his curiosity was piqued. He also sensed an unusual tension in his wife, and he had a feeling it was sexual ......

"What about?" he persisted. "Was it about us driving home?"

It had been suggested, earlier, that they stay overnight with their hosts, so that they could both enjoy, fully, the excellent wines from Nigel's cellar, but Shula had insisted that they return home, and had limited her intake accordingly.

"Yes," snapped Shula, clearly uncomfortable and irritated. "It was just Elizabeth being silly. She had far too much to drink tonight."

Shula was nine years older than Elizabeth, and was inclined to overplay the 'big sister' role, sometimes, Alistair thought. But, clearly, Elizabeth had caught her 'on the raw' tonight.

"Look at her in that dress," Shula suddenly burst out. "And don't tell me you didn't notice, Alistair - I know you better than that! She was practically inviting you in there with her!"

Alistair hadn't realised it had been so obvious to his wife, and was a little taken aback, but he recovered quickly.

"Why would I want to get in there with her, when I'm coming home with you?" he said, smoothly, his hand drifting over to rest on his wife's thigh. Her hand slid down to cover his, and she slid it upwards, nearer her crotch. This was what he loved about her - she could turn so quickly from a respectable, butter wouldn't melt, country lady into - well, something much more earthy. He felt a lot of the credit for that, though, belonged to him.

He pushed his fingers against the join of her thighs, and Shula let out an anticipatory "Mmmmmm."

"Won't be long, now," she said, softly, her hand pulling his deeper between her legs. Alistair imagined her thick-lipped pussy lubricating inside her black thong panties and pressed his middle finger against her crack.

"Steady," she murmured. "You don't want me to go off the road, do you?"

His cock was rigid, now, and he slid his finger up and down the front of her dress.

"You don't fancy Elizabeth's little breasts, anyway, do you?" Shula went on.

"No, I much prefer your big, luscious ones," asserted Alistair, his mind, nevertheless, dwelling on the remembered sight of his sister's firm pink-nippled breasts. He wouldn't mind getting one of those hard nipples between his teeth, and feeling what lay between those slim, long thighs ......

"Well, that's all right, then," said Shula, dreamily, "because Nigel's little prick wouldn't do anything for me, any more, either."

Alistair's eyes widened - it wasn't like his rather prim wife to use a word like that - even in the bedroom, let alone in the car. Anyway, what did she mean?

The car slowed, and stopped. Shula switched off the engine and turned to him. Her mouth was hot and eager, her tongue pushing into his mouth. He placed his hand gently on the curve of her right breast, and squeezed. She moaned, slightly, and pulled her mouth away. Alistair's heart was pounding - he had never seen Shula so - eager.

"Let's get inside," she said, opening her door. Alistair hurried out of the car and followed her to the empty house. He was glad Daniel was with his grandparents - no babysitter to pay off, and get home. As soon as they were inside, he could ......

Shula entered first and Alistair paused to lock up behind him. When he turned, Shula's fingers were unzipping the back of her dress. She pulled it down to her waist, then flipped the front forward. 

Alistair licked his lips as her large naked breasts tumbled forward. Her thick brown nipples were already erect, but she cupped her hands round her tits and flicked them with her thumbs. He recognised the look on her face - it was an expression which she never showed at any other time. It was almost sly - an admission that here was her true nature - the slut, showing off her tits to an admiring audience, turning herself on by sensing the lustful reaction, revelling in it.

He stepped forward, putting his arms round her, dropping his head to take her engorged nipple into his mouth, biting it, lightly, with his teeth. His hands slid down her back to fondle her jutting bottom. Taking a cheek in each hand, he pulled them apart, squeezing each of them, digging his fingers into the firm flesh.

But her little sister was still on his mind. He tried to imagine what he would feel if he had Elizabeth's tight little bum in his hands, at that moment, and his cock told him he would like to know.

Suddenly, a thought flashed again, unbidden, into his mind.

"Any more?" he said. "What did you mean - any more?"

Shula stiffened, then slowly exhaled against his hair. He slowly lifted his head from her breast and looked at her. Her expression was still wanton - but wary. He slid one hand from her bottom, to cup her breast, his thumb rasping across the still taut tip of her nipple.

"I meant," she said, hesitantly, breathily - "Nigel's penis - his cock - it wouldn't do, for me, any more."

"You mean - it did - once?" Alistair asked, his mind struggling to take in the significance of the comment. He knew Shula and Nigel had 'gone out' for a while, but, surely ......

"Well - yes," replied Shula. "You knew that he and I - went out - for a time - long before Elizabeth."

"Yes," Alistair stammered. "But I didn't think that ......" The words wouldn't come, and Shula looked at him in disbelief.

"What did you think, Alistair? Did you think we just - held hands - and kissed a little? Did you think that Mark was my first - man?"

"Well - no," Alistair said. "But - Nigel? You mean - you and he ......?"

"Yes - of course," replied Shula.

"So Nigel has ......?" Alistair struggled, again, for words, as he took in the reality that the idiot Nigel had had these lovely tits in his hands - had seen Shula - his Shula - naked - had actually fucked her - had inserted his cock into her wet, warm cunt ......

"Yes, Alistair," Shula said, gently. "Of course he's - had me. But, it was a long time ago - I thought you knew, and understood."

Alistair's mind was reeling. How could he have been so stupid? He knew that Shula and Nigel had been an 'item' for about a year - but Shula seemed so straight-laced, and Nigel was such a wimp ...... 

He thought back to the dinner table tonight - it seemed so odd - Nigel having fucked both the women there and everyone knowing that - presumably, Elizabeth knew - except him! He just couldn't come to terms with the fact that, when Nigel looked at his - Alistair's - wife, he knew as well as Alistair did what lay beneath the long flowing dress - her soft warm tits, her peach-shaped bottom, her thick dark pubic bush, her long, full-lipped vagina.

But the biggest question Alistair was asking himself was - why did a thrill of excitement run through him every time he thought of Shula, naked, legs spread, gasping, panting, as Nigel repeatedly fucked her?

His hand closed round her breast and, as he visualised Nigel's hand doing the same, a charge ran through him, and he squeezed it, hard. Shula gasped, and her hand pushed down between them and clasped his erection. She couldn't remember him being so hard and, following an instinct, she whispered - "I just assumed you would know that Nigel's fucked me. He's played with my tits, and kissed them. He's seen me naked. He's fingered my pussy. He's even tongued me, down there - and I've had his cock in my mouth." 

"Jesus!" exclaimed Alastair, and Shula wondered if she'd gone too far, but his thick cock was still rigid in her hand.

"But you're bigger than little Nigel, darling," she whispered. "You've spoilt me for the little guys. Let's go upstairs and you can show me how much better you are ......"

They undressed, hurriedly, and clutched each other as they snuggled under the duvet. Instinctively, Alistair made for the core of her luscious body, her thighs parting, slightly, to allow his fingers to slide along the sensitive lips of her damp pussy. She closed her own fingers round his massively erect penis.

"The shock hasn't put you off, then," she breathed. Following her instincts again, she went on, feeling her husband's cock carefully. "You don't mind the thought of Nigel playing with my tits, then?"

She felt the sudden jump of his cock, and an answering surge flooded her thighs. Alistair moaned, and Shula, gaining confidence, carried on.

"He loved my tits, you know - he used to play with them for hours. I think it was because he went to a boys' school, and didn't have a lot to do with girls. I bet mine were the first decent pair of tits he came across. Not that I was much better, despite being brought up on a farm - knew all about horses but pretty ignorant about people ......"

"Was he - the first?" muttered Alistair, hoarsely, trying desperately to keep himself from coming, as Shula's fingers gently ran up and down his straining shaft. He couldn't believe his own excitement. 

He had always taken his respectable wife at face value - she seemed as strait-laced as her parents - regular churchgoer - lay reader - supporter of good causes - active in village affairs. Her enthusiasm for the physical side of married life had been, up to now, just that - a wholehearted appetite for frequent and energetic fucking. Alistair, for whom imagination had always played a large part in sex, had had to fantasise on his own, occasionally imagining himself plunged deep in some other woman while Shula writhed energetically, impaled on his plunging cock.

But now - this wasn't even fantasy - this was the recounting of fact, and the dawning realisation on Alistair that the thought of his wife in the arms of another man was more erotic, by far, than himself fucking some other woman.

"Oh, no," came Shula's reply. "No," she repeated, thoughtfully. "But I - I'm not sure if ......" 

For the first time for a while, a note of hesitation came into her voice. At first, she had been almost amused to find that Alistair had not surmised that Nigel and she had had sex - and then she was intensely aroused by the effect of the revelation on her husband. But what would he think, once the excitement wore off - would jealousy kick in, and life become difficult ......?

"Tell me about it, Shula." Alistair's voice was strained, almost with a note of desperation. "Please," he added. "I won't - think less of you, afterwards. I've a few secrets, myself, on that score - I haven't been a saint, either."

Shula thought about a long-ago night. She had a shrewd idea that Alistair would find it intensely arousing - and, well, she had been something of an innocent party - especially if she told it carefully, with the right emphasis. 

Alistair's hand was now cradling her breast, rolling her nipple between her fingers. His hand was just lying along her pussy-lips, gently stroking, and Shula's passion had reduced a little in intensity, to be replaced by a 'slow burn' of banking desires. As she thought about 'that' night, she felt the old excitement, mixed with fear, well up in her again. Her lips dried a little, and she moistened them with her tongue.

"All right," she whispered. "But no-one else knows about this - you mustn't speak about it, you understand? And it wasn't exactly - my first time, but it was a very significant experience." 

Alistair nodded, feeling his balls tighten in anticipation. He was no longer on the point of coming, although his cock, sheathed in Shula's soft hand, was still very hard ......

"My parents were very protective of me," she started, "where sex was concerned. When I was at school, I was hardly ever allowed out in the evenings - at any rate, 'out', in the sense of going to Borchester to go out with boys. That was a little ironic, considering that one of the main risks was right under their noses. Once I started to develop, my twin brother, Kenton, was always trying to touch me, or catch me undressed."

"He used to like having 'wrestling matches' with me, especially when we were alone in the house and, at first, it didn't dawn on me that he was touching my breasts a lot, but then, one day, he had me on the carpet, on my back, and he put his hand down and deliberately squeezed my breast, then tried to put my hand on his - his penis. I went mad, and threatened to tell mum and dad, and he left me alone after that - although, I often felt him watching me, and had to be very careful about changing, and having baths."

"Anyway, one New Year, there was a party at Brookfields - our house - and I was allowed to stay up for it. Everyone was there and - well, I think there were so many people that it all got out of mum and dad's control. Kenton and I managed to have a few drinks - mainly vodka - and, by the time midnight came, I was - well, probably drunk, for the first time in my life."

"Of course, at midnight, everybody kissed each other. Most of the time, it was the usual 'peck', but some of the men did more than that - to me. I felt very daring, and excited by it all - especially with some of the older men - the married ones. I knew they really shouldn't be kissing me like that, and I shouldn't be kissing them back, but - well, it seemed that nobody minded."

"What were they doing?" muttered Alistair, imagining his wife as she must have been, then, young and innocent, but with all her burgeoning female attributes.

"Oh, it wasn't so special - it was just that it was new to me, then. Some of the kisses were full-lipped, and went on for quite a long time, and some of them pushed their tongues into my mouth. And their bodies were pressed against me. My breasts were pressed against their shirts, and sometimes I felt a hand reach down and feel my bottom. I could see quite a few married women being kissed that way, as well, by other men - it was as if the rules had been sort of suspended."

"I even saw one or two women with a man's hand on their breast, squeezing it, as they were kissing, and a lot of the men who kissed me had erections, which I could feel, pressing into me. Then they began dancing, and there was a lot of noise, and laughter, and the lights were turned down."

"I could see people dancing together who weren't married - to each other, I mean -and some of them were dancing very close together, hardly moving, sometimes. I was standing, watching, and feeling quite excited as I imagined their bodies pressed close ...... Anyway, then I suddenly felt like trying to get another drink, and I went into the kitchen."

"My aunt Jennifer was there, with Roger Travers-Macy - my cousin Debbie's father. They were still married, but separated, at the time, and I had had no idea he was at the party. Jennifer was already seeing Brian Aldridge, who she's married to, now, and I couldn't believe it - they were kissing, and Uncle Roger's hand was right up the back of her dress. Her dress was pulled up, and his hand was inside her panties, feeling her bare bottom."

"I panicked, and turned back into the corridor. Then, suddenly, the vodka must have caught with me, and I began to feel very dizzy. I leant against the wall, then Roger appeared at the kitchen door, with Jennifer behind him."

"'It's Shula, isn't it?' he said. 'I haven't wished you a Happy New Year, yet.' And he came forward and took me in his arms, and kissed me. I immediately felt his erection pushing against me. His mouth was open, and his tongue slipped between my lips - then his hand cupped my bottom and pulled me hard against him. I looked over his shoulder, and Jennifer was smiling, watching his hand caress my bottom!"

"And then the dizziness hit me again, and I staggered, and would have fallen, if Roger hadn't been holding me up. Jennifer stepped forward and looked at me. 'I think you've been drinking, my girl,' she said, in that plummy voice of hers. 'Time for bed, I think.' I tried to argue, but my legs were all wobbly, and I felt tired. So I let the two of them take me upstairs, and showed them where my room was. They took me inside, and sat me on the bed. Then Jennifer swung my legs up so that I was lying on top of the bed."

"As she was bending over me, Roger leaned forward and cupped his hands round her breasts, and Jennifer giggled. That was when I realised that she was at least as drunk as I was. I watched Roger feeling her breasts, only inches away from my face. Jennifer stopped giggling, and her eyes closed. She started moving, and I realised she was rotating her bum into Roger's crotch. The room had stopped spinning, and I began to feel myself reacting. It was as if I wasn't there, as far as they were concerned."

"Then one of Roger's hands slid down between Jennifer's legs. I could see his fingers digging into her pussy, and she was letting out a series of little gasps. He pulled her upright, and lifted her dress at the front. She was wearing stockings, and brief white panties. I'll always remember how his fingers splayed out over the front of her panties, the middle one sliding in between the junction of her thighs. She squealed, and called 'Roger!' then I saw his finger slide in the leg of her panties, and disappear inside her."

"Then I saw him looking down at me. His eyes travelled up and down my body. I felt as if he could see me naked. I remembered how his penis had felt against me and, without realising what I was doing, I put my hand down to press my - my pubic area. I tried to make it look as if I was covering myself, but I think Roger realised what I was feeling."




Ambridge Affairs Ch. 7



"He grinned, and slid Jennifer's panties aside, exposing her to me - showing me her bush, and a glimpse of her long pink slit. She was moaning, and calling his name, and her hand was behind her, obviously feeling his cock. Roger straightened up and let her dress fall. He said 'I think we should make this young lady comfortable, don't you, Jennifer?' Jennifer's eyes were somehow - vacant. She looked at him, then whispered - 'Oh, Roger', and turned to look at me. The expression on her face was odd - it was almost apologetic, but excited at the same time!"

"My dress buttoned down the front, and Roger stood, watching, as Jennifer undid the buttons. I didn't even think of protesting - I just lay there. I was pretending to myself that I was numb, helpless, but the truth was that I wanted to be involved. Watching them was exciting - taking part would be the most exciting thing I had ever done."

"When she had finished unbuttoning my dress, Jennifer carefully opened it and stepped back. I lay there, in my bra and panties, becoming more aroused by the second. I felt very 'grown-up', all of a sudden, watching them doing sexual things, and I wanted to share the excitement with them."

"Jennifer put her arms round Roger and tried to kiss him. He kissed her back, briefly, then said - 'Just a little more, Jennifer.' She said - 'No, Roger, you mustn't' but he just laughed and slipped his hand between her legs again. She moaned and turned to me." 

"'Can Roger - see a little more of you, Shula?' My heart jumped, and I couldn't speak, but I nodded, and she slid her hands under me and undid my bra. She eased the straps out from under me, then slid them over my shoulders, and down my arms. It took a huge effort of will, but I managed to leave my hands by my sides, and I kept my eyes on Roger."

"When Jennifer moved to the side, he got his first look at me, and the expression on his face thrilled me to the core. It was sheer, unadulterated lust - I had never seen a look like that before, but I recognised it immediately, and I felt my panties suddenly becoming sticky. I actually thought I had wet myself, at first."

Shula pushed her hand on top of her husband's, forcing it down between her legs, on to her damp, quivering mound.

"Oh, God, Alistair," she moaned. "I can almost feel it, now - the heart-stopping excitement as the pair of them looked at my naked breasts. Then - Roger moved forward, but Jennifer grabbed his arm. 'No, Roger,' she said. 'You mustn't touch her - I mean it!' For a moment, I thought he was going to defy her, but then he relaxed, and I saw his eyes slide down my body ......"

"Then he said 'OK, Jenny - I won't touch her - if I can have a look at her sweet little pussy. Then, I'll attend to yours.' His hand was groping her again - it was up her dress, and she was moaning ...... She looked down at me - her eyes were pleading. 'Can he, Shula?' she asked. I didn't move - I couldn't - then Roger reached down and took hold of my panties by the waistband, and started rolling them downwards. His face was very close to me, and I was looking up into his eyes. At some point, I must have raised my bottom because my panties came down smoothly and, when they were at the tops of my thighs, he pulled them and they slid right down over my legs, and he pulled them off."

"I - I remember he slipped them into his pocket, then he eased my ankles apart and looked up between my legs ...... I was absolutely on fire with excitement. I remember feeling so grateful that I had a nice full bush down there- that I didn't look like a little girl. His hands slid up my calves, then he held my knees apart - opening me up - and ... and I thought the next thing would be that he would take out his ... his penis ... and ... and ..."

"Did you want him to?" muttered Alistair, hoarsely, trying desperately to delay his imminent climax, but unable to restrain his desire - his need - to see inside the mind of his wife at that momentous time in her young life.

"Oh - I don't know, Alistair," she moaned. "I wanted - something - I had never felt that sort of - hunger - before. I - I don't think I could have stopped him - if he had ......"

"But he didn't?"

"No," Shula breathed. "He might have done, but, when his hands got up to my knees, Jennifer grabbed one of his wrists and pulled his hand back between her legs. She had pulled her dress up again, and her panties were off, and I saw two of his fingers disappear into her - into her cunt. I remember thinking of it as her 'cunt', at the time - it was so wet, and open, and - 'ready' ...... It was a 'cunt', ready for fucking - and then I thought of mine like that - for the first time ever. I mean, that was the first time I thought of my vagina as a cunt - as a purely sexual thing ......"

"Then, Jennifer was dragging Roger away, clutching him, and moaning, like a bitch on heat. Then, at the door, as she turned to close it behind them, I saw she had his cock out - in her hand - her fingers wrapped round it. It was the first time I had seen a penis - erect, like that - all stiff, and red, and angry-looking. And then the door closed behind them ......"

"What did you do?" breathed Alistair, his fingers soaking with the juices pouring from his wife's excited pussy.

"I just lay there, not moving, with my eyes closed, remembering the expression on Roger's face when he had spread my knees and looked up into my open pussy - my - my cunt ......  Then, almost without knowing it, I found my fingers straying down between my legs and I began playing with myself, imagining what would have happened if Jennifer hadn't been there ......"

"Did you come?" asked Alistair.

"Oh, not for ages," Shula confessed, with a little giggle. "I kept bringing myself to the point, then stopping, then building myself up again. But, eventually, I did - it was a long, gentle one, then I fell asleep immediately and didn't wake up until morning."

Alistair's heart was pounding like a triphammer, but, he realised, his erection had subsided just a little, and he rolled on his back and tried to think about something else - anything else - to delay his climax a bit longer. But it was so difficult - no matter how hard he tried, the image which kept recurring was of an innocent, much younger Shula trembling with fear and excitement as her stupid, drunken aunt exposed her young breasts, then her vagina, to that filthy swine of an ex-husband of hers ......

He groaned as Shula's hand closed gently round his prick.

"It excited you, didn't it, Alistair?" she whispered to him. "Hearing about me - and another man - seeing my breasts - and my ... my vagina?"

He nodded, gulping his breath in, afraid to meet her eye. She slid her hand slowly up the thick shaft.

"Do you wish Jennifer had let him fuck me?" she whispered, her head now bent over his lap, the tip of her tongue just touching the corona of his penis. 

Alistair thought about it, then - "No," he whispered, "but I'd like him to have touched your breasts."

"Call them 'tits', Alistair! You mean - you wish he'd played with my tits?" She chuckled throatily, aware that her choice of words would arouse her husband even more. 

"Played with my big tits - like Nigel used to?" she tormented him. 

"Ohhhh! Yes!" muttered Alistair, fiercely, hoarsely.

"Oh, yes," Shula reminisced, playfully, "Nigel really enjoyed my tits - I often wonder how he copes with Elizabeth's little perkies - do you think he closes his eyes and tries to remember what mine used to feel like?"

Alistair groaned and his hands closed convulsively round Shula's breasts, and he thrust his hips forward, trying to fuck her hand with his stiff cock, but she quickly removed it, then wriggled her body round so that they were in the 'spoons' position. She pushed her soft round bottom back towards her husband until the shaft of his penis fitted snugly into the crack between her cheeks, then fitted his hands over her full, luscious breasts.

She knew he loved to be in this position while they indulged in verbal foreplay - she just hoped she'd be able to prevent him from coming too soon.

"Oh, I bet Nigel thinks about your tits, constantly," murmured Alastair, in her ear, his hands constantly massaging the firm heavy flesh. A thought struck him, and his cock jerked. "Have you ever let him have a feel - after you broke up with him, I mean? I mean - since he's been married to Elizabeth?"

This was unexpected, and it threw Shula. She had thought Alastair was only interested in her early exploits -as a single girl - not as a wife and mother. The trouble was that she could think of several occasions when she had let Nigel 'pay a return visit' to, not only her tits, but her moist, hairy vagina – the last twice, after she had become Mrs Lloyd – but she wasn't sure how Alistair would react to hearing about it.

She thought he would be fairly relaxed about her letting him – Nigel – have a feel while she was with her first husband, Mark Hebden, but ......

"Well," she whispered, "there may have been the odd time, at a party ......"

She felt her husband's cock jerk, with fierce arousal.

"Tell me," he demanded, hoarsely.

"Well," she murmured, "there wasn't really much to it. It was a party at the Hall – it was late on – we were dancing, and we came close, and I could feel Nigel was – well – excited ...."

She let her voice trail off, deliberately, to encourage her husband to ask the question.

"How did you know?"

She chuckled, softly.

"He had a little hard-on!" 

Actually, Nigel was reasonably well-endowed in the cock department, but she didn't want to worry Alistair.

"Was he pushing it against you?"

"Oh, yes – he always does!"

"What did you do?"

"I – I moved against him, and he slipped his hand up to fondle one of my tits."

"Did you touch his cock?"

"Only through his trousers."

"Jesus!" muttered Alistair. "What happened then?"

"We slipped out into the servants' quarters, into a quiet corridor. Nigel pushed me against a wall and grabbed my breasts – my tits. He always said he liked them so much better than Lizzie's. He reached round the back of my dress and unzipped it to my waist, then pulled it forward so that I was naked to the waist. Then he – he stood back, and looked."

"Looked at your tits?" Alistair asked the rhetorical question, with relish.

"Yes, Alistair", whispered his wife, with a chuckle. "He couldn't take his eyes off them – even when he reached forward and got his hands round them!"

"Did you enjoy it, Shula?" muttered her husband, his cock jammed hard up against her bottom. "Did you like feeling him squeezing your big soft tits? Did you take his cock out?"

"Oh, I loved it," she murmured, remembering. "He's actually very good, you know – he knows just how to graze the end of my nipple to send a signal right down between my legs – just like you, Alistair – you can always get my pussy moist, can't you?"

"God, Shula," he groaned. "You're so – sexy – when you're in this sort of mood. You drive me mad!"

His cock was absolutely hyper-sensitive now and he wanted desperately to plunge it into her, to feel it gripped by her super-soft cunt walls, and yet .... and yet ...... he didn't want to spoil the moment. Something told him that Shula was ready to talk – to confess – to describe things he hadn't imagined her capable of, and he was still reeling with astonishment that his reaction to these descriptions was one of massive arousal, and not the resentful envy he thought should be the 'proper' response of any decent husband hearing such stories about his wife.

His mind was reeling with the images of Shula, pinned up against a wall in a dingy corridor, her evening dress collapsed to her waist, her breasts brazenly bare, being groped and fondled by the wimp, Nigel, and ......

"Did you take his cock out, Shula? Did you?" he implored her.

"No," she whispered, then, as she sensed, and chuckled at, his disappointment, added – "he did that himself, then he took my hand and put it round it."

"Jesus!" Alistair groaned, again, and Shula reached round behind her and slipped her fingers round his throbbing erection. 

As she felt the slippery precum leaking from the tip, she ran her thumb over it. Alistair gasped, involuntarily – he knew his climax was only seconds away, now.

"Nigel was leaking, too – just like that," she whispered, and she ran her hand gently up and down her husband's shaft.

"It was just as well," she carried on. "It only took two or three strokes before he came all over my hand – just in time! I could hear you calling me, saying it was time for us to go home!"

Alistair's heart thudded wildly, as Shula increased the pace of her fingers.

"You mean?" he exclaimed. "You mean ......?"

"Oh, yes," she murmured, as she squeezed it gently. "Oh, yes, Alistair – it was your wife Nigel was with in that corridor – playing with her tits while she slid her fingers up and down his ......"

But Alistair didn't hear the rest – the roaring in his ears as his climax burst drowned everything, but, even as his semen spurted wildly over Shula's hand and thighs, he was thinking of the adventures which lay ahead – the stories she could tell him ......



Ambridge Affairs Ch. 8



Helen's heart sank as the shop door opened and Brian strode in, smiling confidently. He hadn't been around for several weeks, now, and she had dared to hope, maybe, that ......

But his opening words dashed her optimism.

"Hello, my darling niece," he leered. "And how are you today?"

Helen's flesh crept as she felt her uncle's eyes examine the swell of her breasts under the overall she was wearing, but, paradoxically, she could feel a moistness starting between her thighs as she contemplated the inevitable outcome of Brian's visit.

How many years had it been since that first, awful, time when Brian had coerced her into letting him have her? Five, or even six? Brian had unhesitatingly grasped the opportunity presented to him by Helen's late partner, Greg Turner, when Greg had started to wilt under the pressure – pressure which eventually led him to kill himself – and had impulsively resigned his post as Brian's head gamekeeper, after an accident on a pheasant shoot, for which Greg was undoubtedly ultimately responsible.

Helen had been alone, the morning after Greg's resignation, in the tied cottage she lived in with him. Greg was in France, visiting his daughters, from an earlier marriage, having flung his resignation at Brian in an emotional rage just before his departure.

When Helen heard the knock on the door, and recognized her Uncle Brian, her heart had lifted. He must have come, she surmised, to see if Helen could persuade Greg to change his mind about resigning – and Helen was sure she'd be able to do that, once Greg was back, and she could sit him down and talk to him. So she had hurried to the door, and flung it wide open – but the expression on Brian's face had told a different story.

Clearly, her uncle was in no mood to forgive and forget, and, no matter how hard Helen had pled with him to disregard what Greg had said to him, and to give him a chance to rescind his resignation when he returned from France, Brian remained grim-faced and adamant.

"Look, Helen," he insisted. "You didn't hear what he said to me. He wouldn't tell me what the 'emergency' was and then, eventually, he - well, frankly, Helen, he insulted me, personally, in a way which will be very hard to forgive."

"Oh, Uncle Brian, please give him another chance," Helen argued. "It's just – Greg is such a proud, and private, man. His daughters mean so much to him, and Sonja is at such a very difficult age ......"

Helen's voice trailed off, and her eyes filled with tears as she stared at her uncle's blank, stern face. Returning her stare, Brian's face gradually relaxed, and took on a reflective, thoughtful expression. He leaned back in his armchair, and Helen felt a surge of hope.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Uncle Brian?" she offered, and he smiled at her.

"Yes, thank you, Helen - that would be nice."

Helen hurried through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Somewhat to her surprise, she realised that Brian had followed her through. He leaned against the door lintel.

"You know, Helen," he said "a lot of people wonder just what it is you see in Greg Turner."

"I know," Helen smiled ruefully. "I see a side of him he doesn't reveal to many people, I think."

"I wondered," Brian went, in a measured, quiet tone of voice "if it was just that he has a big cock."

Helen, scarcely believing her ears, whirled round and looked at her uncle, incredulously. He had straightened up and was standing in the door opening, looking at her.

But, she realised, looking at her in a way she couldn't recall him ever doing before. His dark eyes were lazily taking in the contours of her body - her firm breasts in the angora sweater, and her strong thighs and bottom stretching the tight material of her blue jeans.

Helen's heart began to race, and her face flamed in embarrassment, and anger, but she couldn't think what to say.

"Well?" Brian grinned. "Is that it? Has he got a long thick one that really stretches you? I heard Adam tell Ian that he'd sneaked a look at Greg's dick once, when they were having a piss in the loo at the Bull - and he seemed quite impressed by it. He described it to Ian in a lot of detail ......"

Hating herself for losing her 'cool', Helen managed to stutter - "I - I think you'd better - better - leave, now, Uncle Brian. Get - get - out of my house!"

Brian laughed. "Well - my house, actually," he said. "If Greg leaves my employ, I'll need it for the new head keeper."

"Well, that hasn't happened yet," snapped Helen, "and, until it does, I want you to leave!"

The smile faded from Brian Aldridge's face.

"Oh, do you?" he sneered. "Well, I've got news for you, my girl - I'm going nowhere. I've had my eye on you for some time, now, and I think the time has come for us to get to know each other much better – much more ...... intimately."

Outraged, Helen opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a peremptory hand.

"It's not just the job, or the house, is it, Helen? It's a question of whether or not Jack Woolley takes any action about that 'accident' on the shoot. If he decides to sue, it would ruin Greg. There's no doubt that it was his fault, after all - and I can tell you that the only reason Jack hasn't been on to his lawyers is me. I've persuaded him, so far, not to take action, but all I have to do is withdraw my support - and it'll be curtains for your precious Greg ......"

Helen stared at her uncle, a cold feeling of helplessness stealing over her. She had never dreamed that her uncle would think of her in 'that' way, but there was no doubting his intentions, now – and, deep down, the distressed girl knew that to refuse him would cost Greg his job, his house and, probably, his sanity. Brian's eyes met hers, and, recognizing her probable acceptance of the inevitable, he began to move towards her. Helen backed towards the sink and felt it against her hips, stopping her progress.

Brian was right in front of her, now, and he raised his hands to close them round the twin mounds of Helen's breasts. As she felt his hands close round them, and squeeze, she knew she should push him away, or wriggle free, but, if she did ...... Greg was very fragile, right now, and the consequences, if he were sued over the shoot accident, could even be fatal.

Helen involuntarily closed her eyes as she felt her breasts being explored and fondled. With massive self-control, she let her hands grasp the edge of the sink. Opening her eyes, she dropped them to watch Brian's hands on her sweater. She saw his tongue slowly dampen his lips. He squeezed her, firmly, and she gasped, a little.

"Very nice," Brian breathed. "Very nice tits." 

Expertly, he located her nipples through the sweater, and her bra, and rolled them between his thumbs and forefingers. Helen felt a little quiver of excitement as her nipples reacted to the pressure of his fingers. Somewhat irrelevantly, the sudden thought came into her mind that he was probably quite good at arousing a woman's body - he had had enough practice, if all the stories were true ......

But, suddenly, she – no! - she couldn't just let him ...... She grabbed the backs of his hands, trying to pull them away.

"No! No!" she gasped. "You mustn't - please, Uncle Brian. Please! No!"

It was then that she realised he had closed in on her completely - and that his lower body was pressing hard against hers - and, she could feel the hard solid length of his erection against her belly ......

Brian hadn't been so far off the mark when he had suggested that it was the size of Greg's penis which attracted her. Helen had always been a keen student of the male appendage, and had lost no opportunity, when growing up, to snatch a look at her father's – and her brothers'.

She had even watched, unobserved, several times, when her parents had spent the occasional Saturday afternoon in bed, and had listened, fascinated and highly aroused, to the fantasies they wove around their lovemaking. She had not had a very good view, but she had seen her father's erection two or three times, and had been dry-mouthed with excitement at the thought of taking something like that between her legs 

But it was her brother, John - now dead - who had interested her most. She had been about thirteen when she first saw him, then aged about sixteen, naked, and the thickness and length of his young penis had taken her breath away. She wished, now, that she had had the courage, while he was alive, to creep into his room and let him play with her developing body while she got her hands round that massive piece of flesh between his legs.

She had tried, several times, to see him fucking the arse off that stupid girlfriend of his, Hayley, but she had had to satisfy herself - literally! - with her fingers up her own soaking twat while only being able to listen to Hayley squealing with pleasure as John's huge prick split her in two ......

Informed opinion in the village had always suggested that Brian Aldridge was fairly well-endowed, and, Helen thought, the length of the piece of taut flesh pressing against her belly was, as far as she could tell, well up to expectations.

Brian's hands were now squeezing Helen's breasts hard, and he was dry-humping her, her hard cock pushing against her, then receding. She realised that her protests had ebbed away - and that the area between her legs was moistening, rapidly. The thing was - with all his worries, Greg had been no bloody use in bed for about six weeks, and ......

Helen's resolve was weakening. She was a girl who had always enjoyed being penetrated, and six weeks was a long time. Helen couldn't help herself. Her hand slid between their two bodies, and her fingers traced the shape and size of Brian's thrusting cock. Her palm closed over it, and Brian groaned in a mixture of pleasure and triumph, and his mouth closed on hers. Helen opened her lips and pushed her tongue up into Brian's mouth.

Waves of desire were now sweeping through her, mingled with acute sensations of shame and self-disgust.

She tore her mouth away from Brian's and buried her head in his shoulder. "You dirty bastard," she mouthed, with feeling - "I don't believe you can do this!"

Brian chuckled arrogantly and thrust his right hand up under Helen's sweater. She felt it close around her left bra-cup, the heat of his fingers on the naked flesh of the upper slope of her breast. He located her thick, distended nipple and rolled it, again, between his finger and thumb. He chuckled again as her body betrayed her, and she moaned involuntarily and her hand convulsed round Brian's throbbing cock.

This time, it was Brian's turn to groan. 

"Come on," he muttered, hoarsely. "I want to see you naked ......" and he pulled desperately at the girl's sweater, lifting it up over her head. Before he had managed to pull it clear, Helen, surrendering completely to the passion of the moment, had raised her hands behind her back and deftly unclipped her brassiere. As Brian threw her sweater aside, Helen pulled her bra down her arms and displayed her taut firm breasts to her uncle's hungry gaze.

"What a pair of beauties!" Brian breathed, and his hands began to caress the superb twin mounds. Helen reached down again to the bulge in his trousers and, as if by automatic reaction, Brian released her breasts and his hands began to fumble with the top of her jeans.

"Here," Helen breathed. "Let me." 

She had long since given up any moral qualms she might have had - the longing between her legs was irresistible - and her fingers flew as she popped the catch at the top of her tight jeans and pulled the zip down. She had no worries, either, as she pulled the stretched denim down over her bottom and thighs - she knew that men drooled over all aspects of her nakedness - and not only men ......

As she kicked her jeans away from her feet, Helen bent over to pull her trainers off. A pair of hands grasped her dangling naked breasts and squeezed them - hard - and, at the same time, Brian moved up close behind her and she felt the strength and weight of his unfettered cock prodding against her panty-covered bottom.

She couldn't restrain her curiosity, and whirled round to look at it. Brian had dropped his trousers and undershorts to his ankles, and his penis, thick, red and erect, was pointing straight at Helen out of a bush of brown curly hair - hair which also covered a heavy, hanging pair of testicles. His cock was certainly bigger, and thicker, than Greg's, which meant that she had never had one so huge inside her vagina before.

Her mouth dried with excitement at the prospect and she couldn't resist putting her hand out and feeling it.

"Do you like it?" Brian grinned, and Helen nodded.

"Do you want it?" he persisted, and she nodded again.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"Oh, fuck you, you bastard!" Helen gritted. "I want you to fuck me with it - like you fucked Jennifer and Caroline and Debbie and Siobhan ......"

Brian grinned and his hand shot out and pushed between Helen's thighs. He felt the dampness on her panties and pushed two fingers against the material, pushing it up inside her. Helen gasped, ecstatically, and threw her head back. Brian reached up and grasped the waistband and pulled Helen's remaining garment swiftly down her shapely legs, revealing the shiny black curls of her pubic mound.

"Oh," he grunted. "I do love a hairy cunt ......"

Then he bent down and pulled Helen's left ankle aside, forcing her legs apart. She leaned back against the sink for support, then, before she had a chance to even think about it, she felt the thick rigidity of his penis entering her, then filling her up – further up her than anyone had gone before.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Christ, Brian!"

"You love it, don't you?" he grunted, withdrawing, then pushing into her again and again. His hands were squeezing her tits as he pistoned into her. "I knew you'd love it – just like your mother."

Helen knew she should be outraged at the reference to her mother, but something told her this was no empty boast on Brian's part and the mental image it created was the final stimulus, releasing her pent-up orgasm, and Brian, immediately sensing the pressure of her contracting vagina around his ultra-sensitive glans, released his own brakes and felt his semen pump deep into the gasping girl, as she flung her arms round him and clung to him as she shuddered to a monumental climax ......

But, she hadn't clung to him for long. Once the passion had worn off, Helen had pushed herself away, grabbed her discarded clothes, and rushed into the bedroom to dress, crying with shame and self-disgust at having allowed herself to be taken so easily. When she was clothed again, she listened, but there was no sound from the rest of the cottage, and she slowly opened the bedroom door.

Brian, fully dressed, himself, was sitting in an armchair, quite relaxed and smiling.

"Hello, Helen," he greeted her. "Come and sit down!"

"Please leave my house," Helen said, icily. "You got what you came for – now go!"

Brian laughed.

"I don't think so!" he said. "It wasn't a bad first instalment – in fact, it was really pretty good – but that's what it was – an instalment. Nothing's changed – I can still ruin your precious Greg with one word to Jack Woolley, so, for the next little while, at any rate, you, my darling niece, are going to have to play ball."

His words hung in the air. Helen's heart was like lead. She knew he was right – and she cursed herself that, even as she loathed the air her uncle breathed, she knew that the thought of his long, thick penis penetrating her again was causing her innermost depths to liquefy.

But she could think of nothing to say, and it was, eventually, Brian who broke the silence.

"So," he went on, quietly, "I think I would appreciate a more – considered – appraisal of your – very fine – assets, my dear."

Helen looked at him, uncomprehendingly, and he grinned.

"I'm telling you to strip – again!" he commanded.

Helen felt dead inside, but she knew resistance was pointless. He held all the cards, and, now she had allowed him to have her once, how could she say 'no', now? Robot-like, her hands grasped the bottom of her sweater and pulled it up over her head. The rest of her clothes followed and, within a minute, she was entirely naked.

"Come over here," Brian ordered, watching her, carefully, as she crossed the floor. She stopped in front of him and stood over him, as his eyes raked the front of her naked body. She tried, but failed, to ignore the frank appreciation in his facial expression as he took in the firm shapeliness of her breasts, her tidy waistline, the dark inverted V between her strong thighs. 

Helen cursed herself, and her own weakness, as she realised that she was becoming aroused, again, by having to parade her nakedness in front of his very appreciative gaze. Wordlessly, Brian twirled a finger, and Helen did a half-turn. She knew her bottom was one of her best features, and wasn't surprised that her uncle took his time, studying it.

"You're very lovely," he said, at length, and Helen took that as her cue to turn back, to face him.

He motioned to her to sit on his lap, and she complied, wordlessly.

Brian draped his left arm round Helen's shoulder and let the fingers of his right hand trail along her thigh.

"You don't look much like your mother," he commented, idly. "Naked, I mean," he added, with a very small chuckle.

Despite herself, Helen felt a further minor response. Into her mind's eye came a picture of her mother, remembered from those Saturday afternoon spying sessions. Pat had favoured, very much, sitting on her husband's cock, looking down at him, on his back, while he reached up and alternately fondled and squeezed her dangling breasts, and grasped the cheeks of her slim bottom, pulling her down on to his upwards-thrusting prick.

As she now visualised Brian under her mother, pushing his – much thicker than her father's – cock up Pat's lubricated vagina; reaching his hands up to squeeze Pat's tits, as he had squeezed Helen's, Helen sensed her cunt moistening, then, with a shock, felt Brian roll her left nipple between his finger and thumb. Her nipple, she realised, was almost painfully erect and, at the same time, she became aware that Brian's penis was hardening, underneath her.

Brian chuckled, and pinched her nipple, gently.

"No, she's much slimmer, isn't she?" he mused. "Nowhere near as well blessed in the tit department as you, my darling – and her bush, well, it's almost gingery, isn't it?"

Helen tried to mount some sort of protest, but Brian was now caressing her breasts, stimulating her nipples – which were now standing embarrassingly erect.

"You know she's – well, versatile, don't you, Helen? Likes the girls, I mean – as well as a good length of cock. Jenny and I got to know your mum very well when your dad first brought her to Ambridge. She did a bit of babysitting for us one night – we were at a party, and the arrangement was that Pat would stay overnight, at ours, as we would be late home."

"But, as it turned out – not purely by accident! – we were back earlier than expected, and Pat was still up, watching television. Well, Jenny had sensed a few vibes, so I made myself scarce – went upstairs, ostensibly to check on the kids, to leave the field clear ......"

His voice trailed off and he turned his head to look at Helen. Her eyes were bright with interest, and, he thought, arousal. She tried to avert her eyes from his, but he laughed and turned her head back to face him. He leaned down and kissed Helen on the mouth and slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, easing her legs apart, and unerringly locating her clitoris.

"You'd like to hear the rest, wouldn't you?" he breathed, and wordlessly, her heart beginning to race with excitement, Helen nodded.




Ambridge Affairs Ch. 8



"Jenny and Pat went into the kitchen to make coffee," continued Brian. "Jenny had had a few gins at the party and, she tells me, as they waited for the coffee to percolate, she told your mother she wanted to give her a 'welcome to the family' kiss – which she did. Jenny says it was Pat who started the tongue action, but, she, of course, co-operated and they went back into the sitting-room, coffee forgotten."

"Now, in those days, Jenny's breasts were quite magnificent and, by the time I returned from checking Adam and Debbie, Pat and Jenny were on the settee and Pat had stripped Jenny to the waist and had her lips all over Jenny's tits and nipples ......"

Brian stopped talking. His fingers were alternately caressing Helen's breasts and teasing her clitoris. Her breathing was coming in excited, shallow gasps.

"Do you want me to carry on, Helen?" he asked.

She nodded, but he insisted.

"Do you?"

"Yes!" she hissed.

"What do you want to hear about?" he went on, remorselessly.

"All of it," replied the girl.

"But particularly?" 

Helen took a deep, shuddering breath. 

"Tell me – tell me – about fucking her," she groaned. "Tell me how you fucked my mother!"

Brian sighed with pleasure.

"Well, when I came back downstairs," he continued "your mother was all over Jenny, playing with her tits, and pushing her hand down inside her panties. I came up behind Pat, and lifted her dress – from the back. She didn't know I had come back, and she squealed a bit, but I held her dress up and Jenny leant forward and – well, she slid your mum's panties off. Then they both stood up, and Jenny told me to sit down. I sat on the settee and Jenny made Pat face me, with Jenny behind her, then Jenny began to strip her."

"Well, of course, as your mother's clothes came off, I got harder and harder and, when Jenny exposed her cute little tits, I couldn't take any more, I shucked my trousers, etc, off and – you know, I'll never forget the expression on Pat's face ......"

"When she saw your cock?" breathed Helen.

"Yes," Brian replied. "Of course, I knew I was bigger than Tony – Jenny had told me that."

Helen's mind reeled – how well did Jenny know her little brother? But that could wait ......

"What happened, then?" Helen asked, and Brian grinned.

"Stand up for a second, and I'll show you," he said. Helen moved off his lap and Brian quickly dragged his trousers and undershorts off. Once again, his cock was massively erect, reaching up out of its nest of wiry pubic hair. He moved to the edge of the chair, keeping his thighs together, and reached his hands to Helen.

"I discovered your Mum is very fond of sitting on a big, hard cock, feeling it thrust up into her, and having her tits felt. Do you like that, too, Helen?"

Helen opened her legs wordlessly and moved forward, feeling Brian's thighs brushing against the insides of hers as she advanced towards him.

He reached up and took hold of her breasts.

"Reach down and put it in," he ordered, and Helen obeyed, her heart racing as her fingers closed as far round the thick shaft as she could. She slid the tip along her moist cuntlips, torturing herself with the almost unbearable sensitivity, and then, unable to delay any longer, pushed down and once again felt her channel being stretched and filled like never before ......

Since that terrible day, she had never been able to refuse him. No matter that the original threat had lost its bite – even when Greg had killed himself, and Helen had gone into a complete nervous decline, Brian would turn up and she would find herself, eventually, impaled on his insatiable cock and, invariably, gasping her way to a shattering orgasm.

And even when she had found the moral courage to protest, and try to refuse him, it had been fruitless. Early on, Brian had secretly filmed them together and he now had a series of stills and carefully edited videos, showing Helen naked, and clearly climaxing with a stiff cock ploughing her cunt, and sometimes her mouth, and he only had to remind her of the effect of leaving one or two of those round the village green, to persuade her to strip off, again.

Recently, he had been coming round less frequently, though, and she had wondered ......

She looked across the counter at him, apprehensively. As usual, his eyes were raking her body up and down.

"I do like your overall, my dear," Brian chuckled. "Tell me – what are you wearing under it?"

"Just – just my underthings," Helen replied, quietly, unable to stop the blush spreading to her cheeks. It was ridiculous, considering what she had done with her uncle over the years, but he still had that ability to make her feel like a little girl, caught out in some naughtiness ...... 

"I see," he breathed, his eyes settling on Helen's bust, again. "Just ......?" he waited for the answer to his unspoken question.

"Bra," Helen breathed, eventually. His eyebrows rose. " .... And panties," she added, her face now flaming.

"How lovely!" Brian exclaimed.

The shop door opened, and Helen started, an automatic smile of welcome springing to her lips. 

Oliver Sterling strode in.

"Morning, Brian!" he boomed. "Morning, Helen! Well, afternoon, really, I suppose. Good lord!" he went on, looking at his watch, "it's almost one o'clock."

"And it's Wednesday," Brian took up the theme. "Early closing. You'll be shutting up shop, soon, my dear, won't you?"

"Yes," she responded, trying to sound confident – normal. "Yes – once I've attended to you – and Oliver."

Brian grinned at her, then turned and went over to the front door. Flipping over the sign to read 'Closed', he dropped the lock, and turned back to face Helen and Oliver.

Helen looked at him, not understanding – then at Oliver Sterling. Sterling's eyes were bright – looking at her in a way she recognised only too well.

"Oh, no," Helen breathed. "No, Uncle Brian – you can't. Please – not this."

"Let's go into the back, my dear," Brian insisted, coming towards her, followed by Oliver. 

Tears pricking her eyelids, Helen retreated, still protesting. "No – please, Uncle Brian," she implored, "it's not fair – please, Oliver – don't make me ......"

Her eyes met Sterling's, but there was no sympathy there. As Brian bundled her through the door into the back shop, it was only too clear to Helen that Oliver was cut from the same cloth as Brian, and even at this, of all times, the thought flashed across her mind that Caroline Sterling, now married to Oliver, but ex-mistress of Brian, among several others, must be a very different woman in the bedroom from the cut-glass, confident socialite she appeared to be, in upper-class village society.

The back shop would be more accurately described as a store shed. It was a lean-to wooden building on the back of the produce shop, with no windows, an earth floor and a single bare light bulb, which Brian flicked on as Oliver Sterling closed the door behind them. Crates of organic vegetables were stacked all around the wooden walls, each with its individual aroma, the combined effect of which was quite overpowering – but the smell was the last thing on the minds of the three people present.

Helen stood, facing the two men, her arms folded across her chest, trembling and apprehensive.

"So, Helen," said Brian, coolly. "Just – bra and panties, I think you said. Time to let the dog see the rabbit, don't you think?"

She stared at him, hopelessly. The thought of exposing herself to Oliver Sterling was absolute anathema to her. His position as Master of the Hunt made it even worse – it was like some little medieval village girl having to give herself to the local squire for a few minute's amusement before he consented to her marrying the honest man of her choice.

His supercilious drawl made her hackles rise.

"Yes, young lady – what delights does that beautiful designer overall conceal? Time for a show, I think!"

And he stepped forward, hands raised to start unbuttoning the garment. Reflexively, Helen lifted her own hands to prevent him, but then Brian gave a warning cough and caught her eye. He didn't have to say anything – with a heart like lead, Helen let her hands drop to her sides and allowed Sterling to undo her top button ......

It hardly took a minute to open her overall all the way down, and Sterling lost no time, once it was fully open, in pushing it back over Helen's shapely shoulders, from where it puddled down to the rough earth floor, leaving the helpless girl standing in only virginal white, albeit scanty, bra and panties.

Sterling stood back and gave a little whistle. 

"Excellent trim, Brian – as you said," he remarked, as his right hand slipped between Helen's thighs, cupping her pubic mound, his middle finger sliding along her slit, from which sufficient moisture had leaked through her panties to wet his finger. He raised it to his mouth, and licked it, tentatively.

"Thought so!" he crowed. "This one's ready for siring, and no mistake!"

The tears had spilled over Helen's eyelids the moment Oliver Sterling's hand had cupped her vagina, but he was completely oblivious to the girl's distress. His hand was now working between her legs, rubbing her clitoris, and teasing the lubricating inner lips of her pussy. Briefly, he removed it, to allow him to employ both hands to roll her panties over her hips and down her legs.

He knelt down to pull them off her feet, then, from his kneeling position, looked up at her. Despite herself, 

Helen covered her pussy with both hands, and he laughed and stood up and then looked down at her.

"You can do the bra, my girl – come on – show willing!"

He laughed again, turning towards Brian – at the same time beginning to unzip the front of his corduroy trousers. 

"Come on, old boy – let's spit roast the filly, eh?" he whooped. "You take the front end – I'll take the back!"

Helen's blood ran cold, even as she automatically obeyed Sterling's orders and reached up to unclip her bra. She had never had it – done to her – there! Oh, God, would she be able to? It was bound to be so sore!

And then Sterling's hands were on her breasts, for the first time. She hadn't even noticed her bra fluttering to the floor. His hands were surprisingly gentle on her tits, squeezing gently, lazily flicking her nipples to erection. Then his mouth dropped to take her left breast, and his tongue did an even better job of arousing her very sensitive nipple.

She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. She was aware of his hand between her legs, again, teasing and stroking her clitoris, and then he was moving behind her, exerting gentle pressure on her shoulders, bending her forward at the waist.

Helen opened her eyes again. As she bent over, the familiar impressive dimensions of Brian's erect cock rose towards her, and she realised that she had not actually looked at Oliver's penis, although she had been aware of it pressing against her thigh as he had massaged her nipple and clit.

But, now, she could feel it nuzzling between the tops of her parted thighs, seeking her opening. For a second or two, her heart grew cold again, then she felt its tip pushing against her spread cuntlips and, such was her relief that her rape was not to be anal, that she pushed her hips back and – as always happened – experienced such a wonderful sensation at the moment of her penetration by a hard male appendage that she grunted with pleasure, and contracted the walls of her vagina, to increase the pleasure for both him and her.

As she heard Oliver's appreciative groan, she raised her head and, slipping her right hand round it, guided Brian's waiting cock into her mouth, closing her lips round it and laving the sensitive tip with her tongue ......

Oliver's pace increased and his hands reached underneath Helen and grasped her breasts, firmly, but gently. She felt the familiar arousing sensations – no doubt, the regrets and self-recrimination would come later, but, just at this moment, she was very happy to be experiencing her first "spit-roast".