0 comments/ 41883 views/ 1 favorites Astoria By: Cosmic The Cat When I was nineteen, I had an encounter with a stranger that has remained my most erotic sexual experience. It was at a gig at the Astoria in London, a band I'd been following around the country with my mates – they were called Firestorm and we thought they were the most exciting musical phenomenon we'd ever come across! Well - they weren't bad looking too, which had a lot to do with it. This particular gig was in August. We had another few months of summer before we all fragmented off to universities up and down the country. The weather was sultry and hot, even more so in London without the cool Sussex breeze in the evenings, and as we headed up on the train that evening we were all dressed more for the beach than the city. Karen was wearing shorts and a t shirt, her sister Lindsay a bikini top and a denim skirt. I was wearing my favourite dress, a short white cotton sundress that showed off my tanned legs. I'd been swimming with a club for the last few months and I was fit and toned. My hair was long then, before I had it cut short, and I was itching with the anticipation of seeing my favourite band. We arrived ridiculously early and queued by the doors to be sure of getting a good place in front of the stage. Firestorm hadn't played London since New Year, and they'd had a lot of radio coverage since then. Within minutes of us arriving, the queue stretched round the block, a full hour before the doors were due to open. I spotted him while we were sitting on the steps waiting to get in. He was about twenty people back from us, just a bit taller than me, blond hair, tanned like me, fit like me. Actually I spotted him because he was wearing a "Demons" t-shirt and black jeans – the t-shirt was from one of Firestorm's earliest gigs, "Demons" was their first album. Not many people had a copy of the album, let alone a t-shirt. I'd been coveting one they'd been offering in a competition in their newsletter. I recognised a true soulmate and gave him my widest smile. To my delight, he smiled back, a warm, wide, sexy smile that made my heart beat faster. The sun was going down now and a sudden cool breeze blew, and I self-consciously crossed my arms across my chest as the sudden coolness made my nipples harden to little points. He saw this and his smile turned into a grin. I blushed furiously, but there was something about his smile that made me feel just a little bit frisky. Just then the doors opened behind us and we all leapt to our feet, sprinting through the corridors and merchandising to the main stage area. We were fast but so was everyone else – within five minutes the arena was heaving with people, already starting the chant: "where's the Storm… where's the Storm…" and I'd all but forgotten about the lad with the sexy smile… Once the gig had started, chaos broke loose. The noise was phenomenal, as it usually was, my ears would be singing for the rest of the week. The crowd roared their way through most of the songs, swaying like a living mass from side to side. I was held up on all sides by other people, but I wasn't scared – I'd done this so many times before. There were moments when my feet left the floor and eventually touched down again several metres further away. It was exhilarating. I lost sight of the others a few tracks in. Karen had been right at the front, gripping the crush barrier for dear life, right under Simon's mike, gazing up at her hero. Lindsay was gradually pushed over to the left. As for me, I was about ten people back from the front of the stage, in the most scary place of all, the middle of the heaving throng. When the lights dimmed and the cool guitar riff of 'Cold-Hearted Lover' started, the pressure eased around me and – bizarrely – I felt a soft kiss on my neck from the person behind. I looked round and the lad with the sexy smile was behind me. I smiled at him and he snaked his arms around me from behind, holding me against the length of him. We were both damp with sweat, that lovely Demons shirt damp and smelling of lovely masculine warmth. My heart was thudding like mad, with the sheer thrill of it. Being touched by the massed throng was one thing, but this intimate contact with a complete stranger was quite another. I put my hands over his and he let his fingers twist through mine, squeezing them. He dropped his head to my shoulder and breathed into my ear. Even above the voices raised in the chorus "…don't need a cold-hearted, kick-started lover, oh no…." I heard his whisper, "You're lovely. What's your name?" But before I could answer the song drew to its achingly lovely close, and the crowd erupted again with cheers and applause, deafening us both. I wriggled round so I was facing him, slipped my arms up around his neck and kissed him deeply. Pressed tightly against his body, I felt him harden more against my tummy. One of his hands gripped my bum, pulling me up into him even more, the other hand threaded through my hair which piled down my back in soft, damp waves. The humidity in here was making it go curly. When the next song started I released him and twisted round to the front again. His expression told me all I needed to know. He was dazed now, by that kiss. Firestorm started up 'Losers' and the crowd went berserk – this was my favourite too, and I started to move my body in time to the heavy bass – along with everyone else. It was as if we were all part of the same body. His arm went around my waist, his free hand dropped to my thigh, moving slowly up my warm skin, making me feel hot and breathless. I lifted one arm up and felt for his head, snaking my arm around his neck, tilting my head back onto his shoulder. I pushed back a little with my bum, grinding my hips into his hardness, which was growing bigger and hotter by the minute. "… so we're all just losers… in the Game of Life… you and me babe, you and me… we're all losers in the end…." His hand had pushed my skirt up and had slipped underneath, and now it was moving to the front, skimming across my knickers which were wet with the sweat of all these hot bodies. I gasped a little and pushed back even more, knowing what was coming next… He hooked one finger under my knicker elastic and pulled it to one side, allowing access to my pussy which was just aching to be explored. I felt his fingers feeling for my clit, finding the right place and then starting a rhythmic circular motion, just the right pressure. Totally in time to the music, it felt like the music was inside me, the sensations pulsing through my whole body, from the vibrations in the floor travelling up through my legs to his gentle, insistent fingers. I turned my head a little and he was there, watching me, not watching the band – totally absorbed in what he was doing. I licked his cheek and he took my mouth with his, in a deep, sensuous kiss, while all around us people danced and swayed and yelled and screamed. 'Losers' came to its sudden end and there was more chaos. For a moment his hand was knocked away from its activity and we were almost torn apart by the crowds moving suddenly to the right. He'd got me around the waist still and as my feet left the floor he held me up and kept hold until the crowd settled down into the next number. Once he decided I wasn't going to be snatched away again, he dropped both his hands to my hips, directing the grinding motion of my bum and pulling me back against him. Then before I knew much about it, he'd lifted my skirt, hooked his thumbs under my knicker elastic and pulled them right down! They dropped to my knees and since I was still being held up by the crowd there was no way I was going to be able to bend down and retrieve them. At the same moment I realised I was in danger of tripping over if the crowd suddenly moved away, so I did the only thing I could do. I wriggled so they dropped to my ankles and stepped out of them. Some caretaker would find them later, I guessed… Something about the hot draft on my bare pussy was making me incredibly horny. I wanted to be fucked hard, preferably now. I felt behind me for those black jeans. Despite the noise from the crowd I heard him gasp when I undid the buttons of his fly and freed his cock. My hand held it firmly behind my back, feeling its size. It was huge, and hard as stone, hot and damp already, a droplet on the head dribbling over my thumb. I started a slow, firm stroke, up and down, wanking him to the beat of 'Yours and Mine'…. His hand was on my pussy again, his fingers rubbing me harder and faster, still in time to the frenetic beat. When I was so close to coming I thought I was going to faint, he pushed my hand away suddenly, lifted my skirt at the back. I was pushed slightly and his arm grabbed my waist again, keeping me steady. I knew what he was doing and leaned over a little to help him get access. Then I felt his huge cock between my legs, slipping down between my thighs. He pulled back a little and this time it slid up between my ass cheeks, that whole part of me was just sopping wet and slippery by this time it was going to be hard to get him inside me. Now, suddenly, I felt my pussy filled with a huge, hard cock and I gasped at the feel of it. My skirt dropped down to my thighs again, covering us both up, which was good because Firestorm had started another slow song and the crowd had slowed and parted a little. The lights went right down, so you could only just see people's faces in the glow from the stage. Now he started fucking me seriously from behind, gliding in and out of me in long sensuous strokes, almost all the way out, then slamming back into my pussy with force. I was pushing back onto him as hard as he was pushing into me. If it hadn't been for the noise of the crowd, you would have heard our bodies slapping together. I felt juices running down my leg – not sure if it was sweat, or come, or just the product of my lust. One hand around my waist, guiding me, the other slipped under my skirt again and felt for my clit, rubbing me hard and fast with the side of his thumb. The combination of his hot prick pumping me and his fingers rubbing my clit made me come suddenly and I screamed out with the force of it. Just then the song ended again and everyone was screaming so it didn't matter. He held onto me tightly while I bucked against him, throwing my body back onto his cock. He nearly lost his footing when I pushed back on him suddenly. His thrusting got faster and I think it was the force of my orgasm gripping his hot cock that made him start to come too… I felt his come spurting inside me like a hot jet as he yelped in my ear and he pulled me back onto him hard, one last time. Gasping for breath, holding on to his arm to keep myself from collapsing, I felt him ease himself out of my dripping pussy and with one hand pack his cock away into those black jeans… We listened to the next song like that, dancing together, my hand on his arm, his warm come dribbling down the inside of my thigh, bodies all around us who had felt the force of our orgasms but not recognised them for what they were. We had fucked with people all around us dancing and singing and not one of them had noticed… The gig was drawing to a crescendo as the band launched into their traditional final number, 'Eye of the Storm'. All around us bodies thrashed and his grip on my waist kept slipping. Once or twice we lost each other totally, until I felt his hand grabbing at mine. Once I lost him and then saw him, clambering my way through people, throwing myself into his arms, wrapping my legs around his body as the crowd held me up and pushed me against his body. I kissed him hard, licking his lips, nibbling at him, feeling his tongue pressing gently into mine, his arms under my bum holding me tightly up against him. He dropped me gently back to the floor to join in the applause, the pounding of thousands of feet on the floor, the arms waving in the air… I lost him again. When I finally saw him, I hardly recognised him because he'd taken his t-shirt off! Then I saw the black 'Demons' t shirt in his fist, he was waving it at me, mouthing something inaudible above the noise. I grabbed at it, thinking he'd use it to pull me to him like a lifeline, but he let go of it just as I caught the end. With a smile, he was gone completely, leaving me clutching the precious t- shirt. After the encores, when the lights finally came on, I looked everywhere for my lover, but he had gone. I found Karen and Lindsay and we made our way back to Victoria, our bodies and clothes soaked with sweat. I put the wet 'Demons' t-shirt on over my dress, feeling the cool breeze swirling around my naked pussy, a secret smile on my face. "Where the hell did you get that?" Karen demanded, madly jealous. "My secret," I replied. Astoria I blame the papers for this. I read the local rag that day- and I never read the paper- to find his face pressed to another woman's. At a seafood festival, no less. Oysters. It figures, I know. When I had him, he was just... a child. Being two years younger in high school together shouldn't have made him jailbait, but he was. He wanted and clung to me, but a Cockney man had claimed me (sort of) before he arrived out of nowhere (if nowhere is Queens). Why should I want to possess this boy ten years later, a man now? The dark, tumbled mess of hair he'd grown made me want to pull it, pull him by it into an alley and teach him what all those boys (and a few girls) had taught me. I tracked him down. He let his phone number tumble out one night, and half-conversations flew between us for weeks. Not enough, really. Is there ever enough before complete surrender? He got hold of me Sunday morning before Yule, about to board the train a track over to Manhattan. The normal wary smiles, teasing words, and predators' games struck sparks in me like I'd never felt from him before. The lips I found obscene at 16 had a man's voice behind them. He invited me back to his place for what we knew wasn't coffee. We toured his apartment, the one I'd seen in his girlfriend's photographs, under the watchful, devious eye of their small spotted kitten. The tidy well-stocked kitchen, the bedroom, the Christmas tree in the heart of it hiding the view of concrete streets. The conversation we had in his living room started to make my head hurt- "I don't know who you are now," more of that filler. Important, but filler just the same. We had some very unfinished business and we didn't have to solve it by talking. So I took a gamble and kissed him, fingering the box of mistletoe in my pocket to keep my too-eager hands busy. I'd convinced myself it was appropriate as a housewarming gift: "for your new life with a sweet girl" my clever little card read. Now as I relearned lips I last pressed a lifetime ago, wicked things sprang to mind. He tasted sweet, still young as I'd thought he might. The full mouth I remembered, with more blissful urgency to it, more force. Less asking and far more demanding. Luscious. He gasped first as I bit his bottom lip. We'd circled around each other before, and in that moment I knew why. A kind of spreading fire took to my legs, made us both shake. "I should have done this years ago," I mouthed into his neck, and lay him out slowly along the couch. Stupid pull-over jumper, ridiculous shirt and prep-school winter layers. I worked up under them, down his belt. He let out a low moan, a yelp really, and jumped up to take refuge across the room in a desk chair tucked by the tree. "She'll be home soon, I can't... I can't do this," he whined. He wasn't telling me, though, he was pleading. Weakness and lust; irresistible. "Of course not. And you wouldn't do this now if you had ten years ago. She'll just have to play along with us if she does come back," I shrugged, loping over to spin his chair to me. I wove one leg and the other into the chair's arms, the way I'd played on swings with him. He couldn't move. I kissed him again, teasing this time, refusing argument. Laughing, I pulled back his shirt to kiss along his shoulders, ran my hand along his arm. He was so light for Italian, a pale Northern boy with muscles gently firm under his smooth skin. Not a virgin, but damn near virgin skin. I liked this. I peeled his jumper from him, mussed the curls he'd grown so wisely since last time. Perfect tousled waves, soft as I put a curious hand to them. He shook a little then, and I gently nudged his ears. I knew his conflict, saw the confusion, but I still wasn't letting up. We owed each other this, and it had nothing to do with her. The grip he had on the chair started to loosen a little, as if his hands were making a decision the rest of him refused to. Maybe it would lessen his guilt to be victim, to be seduced and bound. So I murmured "stay there," and pushed his hands back on the chair's arms. Reaching over, I unwound the lights off the tree, as they gave up blinking and became loops of twine around his wrists. Nestled in the branches, I tied him to the chair with sailor's knots. Evergreen needles caught in his hair, and stuck to my stockings. Very deliberately, carefully, I wrapped the wire along his arm, bound him to the thin metal bar. Each place I marked with my lips before laying the thin green rope (after a fashion) to his skin. He was part bewilderment, part anxious desire, and his eyes widened as his predicament registered separately with his body and brain. Half tied to the chair, festively at my mercy, we fast approached the point where he could do nothing I didn't want of him. My mind read this and it wet my lips to think of driving him mad this way. Half yes, half no was how I'd wanted him all along. Looking anguished and ravenous, he had his choice before him. Raising the bar unfairly, I turned around to wriggle out of my skirt, leaving me in blood-colored lace, seamed stockings and garters. My little round ass I left in his lap, sliding it slowly around to find his head- and to see which of his two would win. His jeans responded first, before his mouth formed another protest. Whatever his conscience thought of it, whatever his moral dilemma, his body agreed. I slid my shirt down my shoulders as I reached for a few prickly things. The tree was good enough to oblige with a few sprigs not hung with ornaments, and I trailed them along his forearms, then his collar, then his other arm as I bound it down. Always teasing with a kiss, firing us both as I set to work, I left his chest free. I wanted to play with him, test him, and his breath changed in such satisfying ways when it rose and fell. I left him unbound there, to watch the way his back arched as he moaned. Pulling the soft velvet of my vest down the pale of his chest, I dispensed with his belt. Its metal hit the floor as I picked off the buttons at his fly and followed the curve of his hips south with my hands. His prick rose beautifully at the touch, and I wrapped a hand around it to pull gently. A good size, I thought to myself, as I felt what I'd missed the first go-round. Licking my other palm, I worked my knees to the floor and stroked him with it, slowly. I wanted my mouth on him. Gripping his jeans, I pulled them down enough to work his dick free and ran my tongue around the tip. Another lick up the front, and my breath lightly on the very end, a deep moan escaped him. Good. Maybe I'd let him beg for release. The back of my throat kept him slick enough to slide down and softly nip with my teeth, all the nerves in his head like strings to be deftly plucked. I tasted a small salt pool as he fought orgasm, and I swallowed knowing he couldn't last much longer. Looking up into his eyes, I pouted "but maybe you don't want to do this now. I mean, she could come home..." and moved to back away. "FUCK ME... oh, god, come... here..." he growled through ragged breaths. The force in his voice made me want to fuck him right then, but I just smiled as my cunt throbbed, waiting for him. I looked innocent as possible, feigned ignorance, as I shook off my shirt, grabbed a condom, and ambled back. "Well I just thought you'd want a break. Silly me," I sighed as I leaned over him. The words were just out when he kissed me, hard, and drew blood from my lip. With my pulse now at warp speed, I quickly straddled him. Hell, I wasn't going to last much longer. My lips slick and too ready, I ripped my panties to one side. He slammed into me, bucking in the chair to meet my body. Without free hands, he braced in his binding and fucked like the 'Italian stallion' he'd claimed. He nipped at my neck, biting down on my collarbone to secure me as he drove further into me. Spurred by the screams he got from me, he let loose a rumbling sound in his throat, and as I panted and rode him harder, I felt him tense to cum. "Not without me" I thought, but as I moved to get off him, he thrust to fill me, so far beyond control that I went off in orgasm. Wet and shaking, hungry and sweaty and insatiable, my whole body throbbed as he spilled into me. Turning to whisper in his ear, my hands unwinding the lights, I breathed "mine now. My turn." Astoria Park While this story begins in the present, it is set largely in the mid 19th century. It is set in Sydney and rural New South Wales during the reign of Queen Victoria where sex was, for men not much more than a release of sperm inside a woman, and for women, they were encouraged to 'lay back and think of England', sex was seldom a joy for them. Under the 'Chattel Laws' they were expected to be totally submissive. That there were exceptions to this is obvious, but these were not spoken of in public in polite society. This narrative looks at what became to be known as the 'Squattocracy', those men who took up large landholdings and became very wealthy as a result of the toil of the farm labourers. This fortune enabled them to build large city houses where they mixed with the high society of the time. When the action centres on the 'society' it will use the dialogue of that class and eschew such vernacular as 'cunt', 'pussy', 'fuck', 'cock' and 'dick'. C. * * * Somewhere between a rural city and a hamlet is the small country town. Some of these have delusions of grandeur, viewing themselves in a magnifying mirror, the reality of their existence somewhat blurred by their refusal to accept their status. Some are acutely aware that the glory days, when they were the centre of some vital rural industry, were long gone, along with the young people who, witnessing the reality of the slow death of their families that coincided with the town, moved to the city where they found better opportunities, better lives. Some were stars on the rise, a commodity in demand was driving them ever upwards, new life, new people, coursed through the veins and arteries of these towns bringing with them a renewed, infectious, vitality. Astoria now had no delusions of grandeur, the magnifying mirror had broken when Astoria Park, the last of the original land holding of the founding Astor family was sold up by the bank, a bank that had no sense of history, driven instead by commercial reality. There were no rising stars living in Astoria, the commodity that for so long had supported it had, because of climate change and an inability, or the unwillingness, of the farmers to change, to seek new farming strategies, slowly clogged the arteries, atrophied the muscles, of the district, the town. Astoria the town grew from Astoria the village that grew from the need to supply the provisions to the growing workforce that drove Astoria Park towards its pre-eminent position in the rural scene. Astoria Park, a property of some ten thousand acres that in its heyday had witnessed such things as the annual migration of shearing crews, come in a wave of rowdy behaviour to remove the fleece from the prize sheep for sale to the world, along with the harvest crews, and their powerful horse teams dragging the combine harvesters across the fields of gold, reaping the grain for the bread of the world. Sir William Astor was a proud man who stood on the broad veranda of his homestead, his tweed jacket over moleskin trousers and beneath his broad brimmed hat that kept the harsh summer sun from his eyes and from the skin he brought with him from England, watching the labourers toiling to earn his wealth. Beside him stood Lady Priscilla Astor, her broad brimmed artificial flower laden bonnet made useless by her floral printed parasol that shaded her floral printed ankle length dress. "It is a pity is it not, Willy, that young William isn't here to see this, it would make him so proud." Young William Astor aged seventeen, was in Sydney attending his final year at boarding school along with other sons of rural gentry. The distance from family was accepted by these young scions of the country as an integral part of their future that consisted of boarding school followed by a sea voyage to the 'Old Country', England that is, where they would attend either Oxford or Cambridge to further their education, or become part of London debauchery, also to further their education. Either way they were expected to return to the family property with an education, and/or a wife acquired through family connections from a wealthy country family. What they were not supposed to bring home with them was a wife from the more disreputable sections of England, such as an actress or musical hall artiste, usually accompanied by a dose of 'Vicar's Dilemma', the inevitable consequence of mixing in that society. Lady Priscilla did not mention in that observation their other two children who were also in boarding school in Sydney. Elizabeth, at eighteen was the oldest of the three children. She was blessed with her mother's good looks and, along with the social graces acquired from her schooling, both from the Private School that she attended until last year, and her year at the Constance Armitage Academy, a finishing school for young ladies, that prepared her for her inclusion in the social elite of Sydney, was attracting the attention of young men, and was well on her way to a potentially suitable marriage. Isobel was fifteen, cursed with her father's stature and coarse features, was an intelligent young girl who had realised at that early age that she had little chance of a suitable marriage and had chosen to concentrate on her education. She had always taken an interest in the property and its management, something that pleased her father who held little hope for the property under his son. While Elizabeth was the belle of the Debutante's Ball that coincided with the annual Agricultural Society Show held over Easter each year, Isobel was content to hover in the background. Not for her the superficiality of her sister's friends, their frivolous chatter about nothing more serious than the latest modes to be found in the society dressmaker's stores, and who was interested in whom. What Isobel didn't realise was, that beneath this veneer of sophistication, emotions of a more basic nature flowed. Elizabeth's first real exposure to this occurred after a lavish dinner party held at the home of one of her friends at Vaucluse, the city base of many wealthy 'Pitt Street farmers', those who spent more time in the city than on their property. The men had adjourned to the smoking room to discuss affairs of state and the latest commodity news from England, over Cuban cigars and brandy. The ladies were in the salon discussing over tea and petit fours such esoteric topics as the latest needle point patterns, rumours of dalliances within their circle and the latest society news to arrive by mail ship from England. The young gentlemen were gathered in the games room playing billiards and various card games and while no sizable amounts were wagered on the outcome of these games, they were taken very seriously indeed. In undertones around the room, notes were compared on the availability and desirability of the young ladies gathered in another part of the house. The name of Elizabeth Astor was prominent in these discussions. In the bedroom of the young lady of the house, Isabella Hamilton, 'Bella' to her friends, the discussions centred entirely on boys, in particular one Hamish Macgregor, rumoured to be the heir to a Scottish dynasty that had survived the clan wars and the short-lived and bloody Stuart attempts to regain the throne of England. The general consensus was that he was a handsome and desirable young man and that the young lady who enticed him into her arms was lucky indeed. "I wonder if he wears anything under that kilt of his?" Lucy Standish asked rhetorically. "It is rumoured that Scottish gentlemen wear nothing under their kilts." Bella responded. "There is but one way to find out." "And who is to find out?" The answer was a universal flood of volunteers. "I wonder what it will look like?" Lucy asked. "Have you never seen a man's thing?" "No." "Did you ever wonder why, when they served up those saveloys at boarding school they had to be cut into pieces? Well one of the girls in the form above us told me that the girls used to smuggle them into their rooms with them because they were very much like a man's thing." "What did they do with them?" "Let me show you." Bella opened the draw of her dressing table and removed an object wrapped in paper. She removed the paper and held up for the girls to see, a red skinned cooked sausage about six inches long and an inch and a half in diameter. She raised her skirts, untied the waist of her knee length underpants and pulled them down to her feet. Stepping out of them, she sat on the edge of her bed and parted her legs, revealing her vagina. Taking the sausage she slowly, with her eyes closed and mouth slightly open, and pushed it into her until only an inch projected from between her lips. She then began to move it in and out, mewing as she did so, until, with an intake of breath, her hips shook for several seconds and she stopped. Her eyes opened and she was once more aware that she had an audience for what was, until this night, been a private experience. "The beauty of this is that when you have finished you eat the evidence." "What does it feel like?" Elizabeth asked on behalf of the other girls. "I cannot describe the feeling, it is like nothing on Earth, it is like, Heaven. Would you like to try it?" "Ooh yes please." "Don't rush me, it so happens that I have enough for all of you, if you want to try it." Elizabeth was the first to take one. She did as Bella had done, raised her skirts and lowered her undergarments. Spreading her legs she slowly pressed the sausage into her vagina, but she felt a resistance that was painful. "I can't get it in, it hurts too much." "It does the first time, but it passes quickly, just push a little harder." Elizabeth did as instructed, her eyes closed tightly and whimpering in pain, she applied more pressure. With a rush and a moment of intense pain, it pushed through her maidenhead and was inside her. She stopped for a while until the pain had subsided, and then she began to push the sausage, now stained with the blood of her loss of virginity, in and out of her vagina. The more she did it, the less the pain and the greater the pleasure. She felt a tingling through her body that began between her legs and spread throughout her entire body until she lost control of her movements, her body convulsed and she felt something wet flow from her. "Oooh, my God, that was wonderful. I wonder if it is like this when a man puts his thing inside you?" Bella looked at her with a smile on her face but said nothing. Some of the other girls took a sausage and tried it out, while others declared the practice to be rude and unhygienic and that there was something wrong with doing 'that'. At around eleven o'clock a maid came to the room and announced that the party was breaking up and that people were leaving. "Can you stay the night?" Bella asked Elizabeth. "I'll have to ask my Aunt and Uncle, but I don't see why not." They both walked downstairs to where the guests were clustered around, saying their 'good-byes' to their hosts. "Aunt Meg, Bella has invited me to stay the night, can I please?" "Why certainly, if it is no bother to the Hamiltons." "I'll ask them shall I?" Elizabeth didn't wait for permission, she and Bella asked her mother who accompanied them back to Aunt Meg and confirmed that it would not be a problem and arranging for Elizabeth to be returned home the next day in their carriage. Elizabeth and Bella sat on the huge feather bed dressed only in camisoles, chatting about the events of the evening and how Elizabeth was, technically, no longer a virgin although she was yet to feel a man between her legs. "I have a surprise for you, wait here." She walked to the door and opened it quietly before slipping out of the room. She returned a couple of minutes later with her twenty-one year old brother Roderick and his friend Simon. "Tonight Simon and I are going to 'do it' and I thought that you and Roderick might like to do the same." "I don't know about this, it doesn't seem right." "It's no less right than shoving a sausage up your vagina. Come on, I promised Roderick." Roderick came over and sat next to Elizabeth. He took her hand in his and bent to kiss her fingertips. "You are incredibly lovely, do you know that?" Elizabeth blushed and turned her head away. He took her face in his hands and turned it back to face him. "I shouldn't say this, but I find you much more attractive than Bella." "But she is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, how can you say that I'm more beautiful?" "Because my dear girl, you are, take it from an expert." He bent to her and kissed her, at first gently then with increasing passion. "Oh." Elizabeth was flustered. She looked to Bella for help but was confronted with the sight of her friend lying on the bed with Simon's hand between her legs and a finger plunging in and out of her vagina. Bella's hips were rising and falling in time with the thrusts. Roderick's hand slid down the front of her camisole and cupped her breast. Elizabeth grabbed his wrist and was just about to remove his hand when his fingers brushed across her nipple and all thought of resistance left her, she held his wrist but made no move to force the withdrawal of his hand. Emboldened he slipped the straps over her shoulders and pulled the camisole down to her waist. "You have such perfect breasts." He bent and kissed her nipple. She placed her hands behind his head and held his mouth to her, his tongue began to circle the hardened point as his hand reached between her legs, feeling the moistness. Roderick knew then that she was his and, while he wouldn't have the pleasure of taking her virginity, that honour having gone to a sausage, he would be the first man to savour the promised pleasure. His finger entered her vagina and he began his assault on her, sliding his finger in and out of her while he caressed her clitoris. Elizabeth's legs parted further as she fought a battle in her mind between denying him and giving in to the feelings that radiated from the touch of his hand. After a brief struggle his hand won and she gave in to him, allowing him to kneel between her legs and replace his finger with his swollen penis. At first there was some resistance, his penis was larger than the sausage. "Relax and it will be easier my love." Did he love her, or was he just saying this so that he could have her? It mattered not to her now as she felt her body relax and accept him into her. As he moved in her she felt once more the sensations that she had experienced with the sausage and her hips began to jerk as a wave of pleasure overcame her. Just as she thought, she hoped, that it wouldn't stop, he pulled his penis from her and, with a grunt he squirted a flood of warm sticky semen onto her stomach. Elizabeth felt, in that instant, somehow deprived, as if the act wasn't complete. Simon had also emptied himself on Bella's belly and she was wiping his semen from it. Seeing that her brother had finished she picked up a flannel from beside her bed and tossed it to Roderick, who gently wiped Elizabeth. "You must stay with us more often, my Sweet." "I must, mustn't I?" She replied, in a dream. Roderick and Simon left them and went to their own rooms. Bella sat next to Elizabeth. "You liked that, didn't you?" "Yes, he was very nice." "Would you like to do it again?" "Yes I would." "Then we will have to arrange for you to stay here with us more often." "That would be nice, I would like that." "Simon was very good as well. I have known him for some time, he and Roderick are good friends and I have wondered what it would be like to do it with him, so I arranged for Roderick to invite him to dine with us this evening and to bring him to me when all of the others had gone. I'm glad I did. I am also glad that I asked you to stay, I didn't want Roderick to miss out." "You love your brother don't you?" "More than you would know. I would do anything for him." Wills and his friends in the dorm were drunk. One of his friends had been working as an Altar Boy in the school chapel and had purloined a bottle of sacramental wine and the three of them were drunk. This wasn't the first time that they'd been drunk, in fact it was a regular occurrence. When each of the boys returned home for the holidays they would try to get as much alcohol as they could. Over the past six months they had consumed several bottles of scotch some gin and rum as well as the sacramental wine from the church. "I say Thompson, this wine is most unusual, what is on the label, 'Chateau Piss de Chat', you'd think the priests would have better taste than this." "The priests wouldn't touch this stuff, they don't even sip the communion wine, you should see the wine cellar that they've got, all good French wines. You can bet that they don't serve that up in the church." "Oh, oh." Chilcott put his hand over his mouth and made a mad dash for the toilets. In the distance they could hear him vomiting. "It would appear that something didn't agree with him." Wills said and they both began to laugh. The noise brought one of the Masters into the dorm room. "What is going on here?" "Chilcott isn't feeling too well, Sir." Mister Cullinan was the House Master and ruled with a rod of iron. As soon as he smelt the contents of the toilet pan the boys knew that they were in serious trouble. "I'll see all of you in my study in the morning before chapel. It was a sad and sorry group that stood before the House Master the next day. "What do you boys have to say for yourselves?" "What do you mean Sir?" Thompson had been elected the group spokesman. "What I mean is that you boys have been drinking. Where did you get the alcohol?" "What alcohol?" "The alcohol that you were drinking last night?" "We found what we thought was red cordial in the kitchen so we took it, how were we to know that the kitchen staff had alcohol?" That's good, Thompson thought, shift the blame to the kitchen staff. "You want me to believe that you cannot tell the difference between red cordial and sacramental wine? Do you honestly believe that I wouldn't check the stocks of wine in the church to see if any was missing? Do you think that I would allow you snotty little twerps to shift the blame to an innocent party? You must take me for an idiot! Each of you will receive six strokes of the cane and your parents will be notified. Now off to chapel, and I hope that while you are there you will contemplate the seriousness of your crimes, and ponder on your fate, because as soon as chapel is over and before you go to your first class your punishment will begin. Dismissed!" As was usual in such situations the lads were elevated to heroes among the other students, and they took advantage of their new found fame to increase their access to alcohol. Their drinking club gained new members and the amount of alcohol available, and consumed, increased to the point that something had to go wrong, and that something turned out to be a mole in the ranks. Simpkin's father was a publican. He had begun to notice that an increasing amount of spirits was disappearing from his pub. "Which one of you has been helping hisself to the gin?" "Wot you mean, Sir?" "Wot I mean is that there is gin missing from the shelves and I ain't seen any drunk rats a' lying around the cellar, so I puts two and two together and I think that someone is thieving it, and you lot are the likeliest culprits. Wot say ye?" "Wot we say Sir, is that none of us is thieving from you. But Fred here saw young Thomas down here the other day. We can't say for sure as he took nought, but it did seem odd like that 'e be 'ere." Simpkin's Senior kept a close watch on his son and his worst fears were soon realised. "Wot you got in yon bag?" Astoria Park "Nothing." "Give over and let me see." Reluctantly the bag was handed over. A cursory glance revealed not one, but two bottles of gin inside. "Wot are you doing stealing my gin?" This question was closely followed by a heavy smack to the ear. "I took it for some lads at school. They told me that if I could get some for them that they'd let me in their gang." "I think that it's time I took a visit to that school of yours. It's costing me a pretty penny to have you taught right and I find that you're being taught to thieve, and from your own father." The summons to appear before the Headmaster was both an inconvenience and a blessing for William Astor. It was an inconvenience to have to go into Sydney, a journey of several days, during the harvest season, but then he could kill three birds with one stone. He could combine this un-expected and inconvenient appearance before the Headmaster with a visit to his agent to discuss the sale of his wheat, and, while he was in town he could call on a certain lady friend who was always willing to accommodate his sexual desires in return for his contributions towards the rent on her house. As he left the property and his wife behind him, his thoughts drifted to the accommodating Juliana Langtry and her beautiful body. Priscilla, he thought, was a more beautiful looking woman but it was a cold beauty, their lovemaking had taken on a sameness that came from familiarity, while Juliana was ever ready to do whatever he proposed, no matter how bizarre that might be. As his mind wandered into the near future there was a stirring of anticipation in his loins. His horse stabled he caught a carriage to a small discreet terrace house in a small discreet street in Paddington. He had sent word ahead so that when he knocked on her door his knock was answered by a darkly beautiful young woman who threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately on the lips. "William, as always it is a pleasure to see you. How long will you be in town?" "Three days only. I have an interview tomorrow with the Headmaster at Wills' school and then I have to meet with my agent for a few hours, the rest of the time is yours." "What is your pleasure?" "To get out of these dirty clothes and have a bath, then we'll see what happens." She pulled a tassel and in a back room a bell rang. A woman emerged from the rear of the house. "Lily would you please run a bath for this gentleman and lay out his clothes on my bed." Lily picked William's valise from the floor and carried it into the main bedroom. Juliana went to a cabinet and poured William a whisky and invited him to sit beside her on the chaise longe. "What has young Wills been doing that has brought you into town to meet with the Headmaster?" "It appears that he has been a part of a group of lads that have been caught drinking." "You know what they say, boys will be boys. I suppose that you would have done the same thing when you were in school." "Yes, but we didn't get caught at it." "I hope for your sake that the school isn't too hard on the boys." "We'll see I suppose." As they chatted and drank Juliana's fingers brushed lightly up and down the inside of his thigh, the more she stroked him the longer and harder his penis became. "The bath is ready Ma'am." William and Juliana entered the steaming hot bathroom and Juliana closed and latched the door behind them. She reached for his coat and hung it on a peg on the wall before un-buttoning his shirt and placing it on a bench along with his trousers and under-garments. Before he stepped into the bath she knelt at his feet and, taking his now hard penis in hand, began to stroke and suck on it in the manner that she knew gave him great pleasure. He stood looking down at her head bobbing back and forth, her long curls forming a black wave until, with a moan he emptied himself into her mouth. When he had finished she withdrew his penis from her mouth and looked up at him with a smile, a semen drooling smile, which told him that she had taken great pleasure in pleasuring him. She stood up and kissed him before leading him to the bath tub. He tasted himself in her kiss. Juliana washed him thoroughly, taking care to remove from him the dirt of the trail as well as the traces of their sex. When she had finished, she dried him thoroughly and led him to her bedroom, where the covers had been drawn back in readiness for them. She did things to him that Priscilla would not. She allowed him to things to her that Priscilla would not. Priscilla was seated at the dining room table as the kitchen staff cleared up from her solitary meal. She wondered if William had arrived in Sydney safely, whether he was staying at his club or a hotel, or whether he was staying with his whore. She knew of the existence of Juliana and was glad of it because she no longer felt guilt at denying him his obscenities, she would no longer have to tell him that she was never going to take his penis in her mouth, or allow him to put it in her anus. If he wanted that, he had his whore who was willing to do that. She heard someone walking down the hallway from the back door. It could only be Ben Robinson, the overseer, the man who looked after the day to day running of the property. He was everything that Willy was not. He was tall and his body was tanned and toned from spending every day in all weathers, from the searing heat of the summer to the cold, frosty and wet days of winter. It was he who supervised the lambing during which he often spent all night helping the hands tend the ewes and their newborn lambs. He thought nothing of this because that was his job. "Missus Astor, there will be a crew arriving next week to begin the spring sowing. We will need to get in extra supplies and let the cook know so that she can arrange for extra help in the kitchen." "Ben, we've known each other for how many years now? Is it ten? I think that it is about time that you began to call me 'Priss' in private, after all we are friends, aren't we?" "If you say so." "Well we are. Now come here and sit down, I want to talk to you." Ben sat across the large table from her. "You work too hard, do you know that? What I would like you to do is to take the likeliest looking of the hands and teach him some of the things that you do yourself so that you can take some free time to do what you want to do. What do you do in your spare time? Do you have a lady friend that you call on?" "I have none of that Missus, I mean Priss. I haven't had the time to take up with anyone." "What about when you go to the pub, is there anyone there that you are friends with?" "No-one, no-one at all." He said quietly. "I tell you what, tonight, you will come and dine with me. It is ridiculous that I have to sit at this huge table on my own, with no-one to talk with. I want you to be my guest this evening, will you come?" "I would be honoured." "I'll see you then, there's no need to dress up for the occasion, just wear whatever's comfortable." Ben rose, bobbed his head to her and left. Priscilla had just walked into the dining room when there was a tap at the door leading from the rear of the house. It was Ben. He stood self-consciously in the doorway waiting for permission to enter. "Come in Ben, don't stand on ceremony. Would you like something to drink while we wait for dinner, a whisky, or would you prefer beer?" "Whisky would be fine thank you." Priscilla went to the sideboard and selected one of the crystal decanters and poured both of them a liberal amount of whisky. Passing his to him she raised it in a toast. "Here's to a pleasant evening. Sit down why don't you." She indicated a chair opposite where she was seated, half way down the long table. She picked up a small bell and rang it. A minute later a serving girl walked into the room carrying a platter on which was a roast leg of lamb. She was followed by another with a dish of steaming roasted vegetables. "Would you carve?" Ben picked up the carving knife and touched it lightly with his thumb to test its sharpness. Not satisfied, he picked up a steel and expertly honed the edge to razor sharpness. He then carved several slices and placed some on her plate and some on his. Priscilla lifted the bowl of vegetables to beside her plate and took all that she wanted before passing it over to him. She picked up the gravy boat and poured some of the rich brown liquid over her meat before passing it too, over the table to him. "I think that we can dispense with 'Grace', don't you?" "Never held any store in that, we know what's in the food and who produced it so why should we pray to God for providing something that we worked hard to produce." He cut a piece of lamb and placed it in his mouth. "I'll say this for Cook, she really does know how to cook lamb." They ate in silence for a while before Priscilla broke that silence. "Don't you miss not having a woman in your life Ben?" "Don't say that I miss something that I never had." "You've never had a woman?" "I had a girlfriend back in England before I came out, we was young and her parents didn't take kindly to her taking up with a farm boy such as me, so they shipped her off to an Aunt somewhere and I never saw her again." "How sad. Have you ever made love to a woman?" "Yes. A lady on the ship coming over invited me to her cabin one night, I met her as I strolled the deck getting some fresh air, it gets kinda stuffy in those cabins, so I went with her. She got off the ship at Cape Town." "You haven't had a lot of luck have you?" The maids came in and cleared up the plates from the main course. "Would Madam like us to serve dessert now?" "Yes please." Presently a steaming treacle pudding and a jug of pouring custard were placed on the table and Priscilla and Ben helped themselves. This was followed by a good brandy and she offered Ben one of William's best cigars. He politely refused it. After the table was cleared Priscilla stood up and extended her hand to Ben. He took it a in a handshake grip, but she withdrew her hand before he could shake it. "Come with me, I have something to show you." She held out her hand again, this time he took it in the correct manner and followed her down the hallway to the main bedroom. "This is where William sleeps." She then led him to the adjoining bedroom. "This is where I sleep. You will notice that there is no connecting door. What you don't know is that it has been an awfully long time since my husband and I have slept in the same bed. Oh he does come into mine occasionally to have sex with me, but there is no love involved. He is now probably thinking of what he will be doing when he is in bed with his whore in Sydney." "Why are you telling me this?" "Because my dear Ben, tonight I aim to rectify this deplorable situation. Tonight I want you to spend the night with me. Tonight I want to feel the arms of a man, a real man, around my body. Tonight I want to feel the penis of a real man inside me. Be that man for me Ben, please." She turned to him and placed her arms around his neck and kissed him, passionately. He did not resist. He did not resist when she placed her hand over the bulge in his trousers. He did not resist when she placed his hand between her legs, she wore no undergarments. Neither of them resisted the needs of the other, Priss did to Ben the same things that she refused to do to William and she allowed, encouraged, Ben to do those things to her that she refused William. She was once more a complete woman. Isobel poured over her books. In the background she could hear the other girls giggling with each other. That she didn't join them caused them to make fun at her expense, but she cared little for their amusement, nor did the reputation that she had amongst her peers, that of being aloof and distant. Her interests were wholly centred on gaining the best formal education that she could with the hope of becoming one of the few females who gained a position at University. To be continued...