4 comments/ 47197 views/ 16 favorites The Blossoming By: geronimo_appleby One I put together after an idea, but it went a little out of control. As ever, I hope you enjoy the story. If you do, post feedback saying what you enjoyed; if you didn't like it, again, post feedback citing why. Personally, I'm unsure about the premise of a finishing school, but I wanted to manage a contrast between the [apparently] stern Mrs Blythe and Mathilda. How to arrange a mixing of all three characters that's plausible? Difficult, so I probably pushed the boundary in terms of suspension of belief. What the hell, it's only stroke! I self-edit, and as a result there are undoubtedly errors still embedded. As usual I ask you to forgive any that remain. GA - Samara Beach, Costa Rica. 7 March 2012. 'Mrs Blythe – I'm sorry to disturb you but there's a little problem.' The woman, Marion Ingles, Mrs Blyth's deputy for the past eighteen months, took a timid, birdlike step into the office. 'I know you're awfully busy,' Marion added, her diction suited to a BBC newsreader from a bygone era, 'but,' she pecked a cough against the back of her hand, 'well, it's about one of the blossomings.' Mrs Blythe looked up from the papers on her desk. Marion Ingles wrung her hands and grinned, her typically meek defence to the Iron Lady's glare. 'I'm sorry, Mrs Blyth ...' the woman simpered. Years of practice, and indeed, her grounding as a Young Lady in the very establishment in which she presided, efficiently masked Mrs Blythe's irritation at the interruption. 'Not at all, Marion,' she said, brusque but smiling to ease her deputy's sensitivities. 'Never too busy if there's a problem. Especially if it's a blossoming.' The two women walked the corridors, with Marion speaking hurriedly as they went. Again, Mrs Blythe's years of practice concealed her surprise when, after a peremptory knock upon a door, she encountered the scene. Closing the door behind her, she left her deputy on the other side. Oh, my ... she thought, her dilating pupils the only outward sign of interest while she asked: 'And what seems to be the issue, Mathilda?' Marion had given a quick brief, the girl's name and a quick outline of 'the problem'. The girl, cheerleader blonde, tiny and afraid amid the swathe of a thick cotton bathrobe, looked up, eyes wide, from where she knelt on a huge bed. Everything about the room whispered opulence, spoke of money and luxury. It was that sort of place. Mathilda's eyes widened further at the ominous presence of Mrs Blythe. Her lower lip trembled. 'Am I in trouble?' 'Trouble? Why no, dear, not at all. Put that nonsense out of your head. I'm here to help. Nothing more.' Mrs Blythe turned to face the room's second occupant, the one who'd elicited such a dramatic response from her. Giving no outward indication of her inner turmoil – clenching, oiling sex, heart jack-hammering inside her ribcage, nipples that had thickened and ached to be touched ... bitten, she asked: 'May I come in?' The man stood, offering his perfect, white teeth. 'Of course,' he replied. Mrs Blythe saw a tall man, mid-thirties, short hair, and with rich, brown skin. 'Emily Blythe,' Mrs Blythe said, stepping further into the luxury of the suite and extending her hand formally. 'You must be Jason?' The man paced forward. His long, dark fingers closed around Mrs Blythe's extended hand. 'I am,' he responded. The mature woman felt suddenly warm at the touch, a heat that suffused through her body, the epicentre of which was her pulsing vulva. He's so beautiful, she thought. And so well-mannered, so well-groomed, and he smells divine! 'A solicitor, I gather,' she said out loud. Jason nodded, holding her hand for a second or two longer than was entirely appropriate. Mrs Blythe's stomach, despite her maturity, fluttered and her clitoris pulsed. 'We only use the best for our little ceremonies, Mrs Blythe added.' Why did she say that? she wondered. A pointless observation, the man knew all about the selection process; he'd been through it after all. He knew why he was there. It was the girl who was the problem. 'Thank you, Mrs Blythe,' Jason said, smirking slightly, taking in the businesslike air – no nonsense, straight-talking – of the immaculately groomed, well-presented professional lady. Jason saw a woman in her early-fifties – great legs, matronly bust; a bit serious in the face but pretty when she softened and smiled. A stunner in her day, he thought. In an effort to regain some degree of self-control, Mrs Blythe said: 'Why don't I sit here ...' she settled, after smoothing the skirt of her suit over her hips, into the embrace of a velvet covered chaise. 'We can discuss the problem and hopefully triumph.' The man sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his hands and their long, black fingers hung loosely between. Big hands, Mrs Blythe thought. I wonder ... She shifted on the seat, crossing her legs, noticing Jason's eyes flick down; saw them widen with appreciation as he took in the smooth sweep of her calves. The woman moved again, ostensibly in an effort to get more comfortable, whereas her real motive was to ease the tight hem of her skirt higher up her thigh. 'So, Mathilda ...' Mrs Blythe concentrated upon the forlorn figure on the bed. The girl looked up from where her chin had sunk onto her chest. 'Mrs Blythe?' the girl replied. 'What is it, dear? Please, take your time. I don't want to upset you. But why am I here?' Mathilda's eyes flicked towards Jason. 'It's ..." she began, and then shrugged. 'Oh, Mrs Blythe,' she said, her voice tremulous. 'I know I'm being silly, but ...' She shrugged again. 'I can tell you what it is,' Jason interjected. 'Please do,' Mrs Blythe said. 'It's a cliché,' Jason explained, 'but ... Well ...' He actually looked embarrassed. And he was embarrassed. Here he was, with a gorgeous but shit-scared nineteen year-old girl, while Margaret Thatcher stared at him from across the room. OK, the Thatcher thing was a bit unkind. Mrs Blythe, Emily, came across as a stern disciplinarian type – a superb dominatrix, he thought – Pretty sexy in that ripe way some women blossomed into. He nearly laughed. Blossomed, he mused. That's apt. That was what they called ... this. What he was doing, what he was meant to be doing. With the girl. Blossoming. 'Please, Jason,' Mrs Blythe said. 'Do continue. Don't feel awkward. After all, I know why you're here.' She smiled and shifted her rump on the chaise. The hem crept higher, showing more leg. 'I'm unshockable, be assured of that. You can speak frankly.' 'It's just too big.' The voice was Mathilda's. 'When he showed me ... It's just too big,' she repeated. Oh. Dear. God. Mrs Blythe thought when, sans underwear as was her custom, the throb in her clitoris lubbed more urgently and desire slid from her opening. She imagined Jason's long, black cock, and wondered: How big is he? 'Like I said, a cliché.' Jason offered an apologetic smile and spread his hands, a gesture that showed the pale skin of his palms. 'Show me,' Mrs Blythe instructed, somehow keeping the tremor from her voice. 'Just so I can make an accurate assessment,' she added. A moment's hesitation, then the man stood and slid the belt at his waist undone. The robe parted. Mrs Blythe, po-faced, in an enormous effort of self control, said: 'Hmmm. Yes. Well, I see.' Jason looked down at the thing hanging there like a length of fire hose, a great outgrowth of black meat. 'There it is,' he said simply. 'It certainly is larger than the average,' Mrs Blythe commented, sliding her spectacles down her nose as she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward to inspect Jason's offering. A snort erupted from Mathilda's nose at this understatement. 'Sorry, Mrs Blythe,' she murmured, eyes downcast, appalled at her outburst. The whole point of being in that establishment – a finishing school as it was known in Mrs Blyth's day – had been to teach her etiquette and deportment and other essentials for the daughter of a wealthy family. The Blossoming, as the euphemism went, was just a single element of her learning. 'Mathilda, please,' Mrs Blythe reprimanded quietly, pushing her spectacles back up to the bridge of her nose. At the reminder of the school's purpose, Mathilda flushed. 'I apologise, Mrs Blythe,' she returned. The older woman inclined her head, almost imperceptibly. Mathilda understood. 'Of course, I extend the apology to you also, Jason,' she finished. 'Not a problem,' the man shrugged. Two pairs of female eyes noticed the effect the movement had on the penis lounging between his legs, the pale tip of which reached to the mid-point of the long muscles in his thighs. The curvature of the languid, insouciant jib meant that the already impressive length was foreshortened. A detail not unnoticed by Mrs Blythe's practiced eye. You beautiful boy, she thought. That gorgeous black cock ... She squirmed against the irrepressible itch between her legs. 'Don't be intimidated by it, Mathilda,' Mrs Blythe said. 'It looks big, in fact it is big,' she continued, nodding. 'But, you know, darling girl, you're designed to accommodate it. You are,' she added when the girl's face indicated her incredulity. 'You might not think so, but you can do it.' She thought to herself: And I should know. 'I ...' Mathilda began, shaking her head, staring at the exposed length. 'It just—' '—Are you a virgin?' Mrs Blythe asked, bluntly interrupting. The girl shook her head. It had been so different in Mrs Blyth's era. In those days, when she herself had undergone The Blossoming, the young ladies, very nearly every one of them, had been virgo intacta. There had been the soft lesbianism, of course; the sharing of rail-thin beds in the dormitory, as it had been, when shared accommodation had been acceptable. Times had changed, the place was now more a country house hotel, but in the days of the dorm there'd been the kisses and soft caresses; the occasional licking of nectar-sweet vulva; wet fingers, muted sighs and the rustling of sheets in the dark; all permissible; more a comfort than anything overtly sexual. Mrs Blythe sighed at the passing of a more innocent age. And she had been innocent. Until her blossoming. And then her marriage ... 'Well now,' said Mrs Blythe,' her hands leaping in a gesture that implied the answer was obvious. 'You're comparing Jason to ...' she paused momentarily, the first occasion, for at least two decades, been lost for words. 'Whatever you've experienced in the past, trust me,' she implored, recovering her composure, her eyes meeting the girl's, 'You can manage it.' She turned her attention the black man who still stood there, his threatening length ever visible. 'Tell me, Jason. What's been your experience? Have you ever known a woman who can't accommodate you?' Jason shuffled his feet. 'No, Mrs Blythe,' he admitted. 'I haven't.' He shrugged again. 'Sometimes it took a little ... ah ... shall we say easing ... But no, there's never been much of a problem. 'I didn't think so.' Mrs Blythe paused, her mind whirling despite her outward calm. 'If,' she began, hesitating again. She regarded Mathilda, still huddled inside the protective shield of the voluminous robe. 'If,' she continued, reaching a decision, 'I reveal an aspect of my past that's rather ... sensitive. I might remind you of our philosophy here, Mathilda. Integrity ... Can I count on it?' Shocked by Mrs Blyth's questioning of her accepted values, a morality instilled both by instinct and breeding, and which had been reinforced by the teaching at the school, Mathilda whispered, 'Of course, Mrs Blythe.' 'And you, Jason,' Mrs Blythe asked, her eyes moving, somewhat reluctantly upward from his cock to his eyes, ' Can I rely upon your discretion?' 'Unquestionable, Mrs Blythe. Beyond reproach.' 'In my younger days,' the woman began, taking a step towards Jason, her hands moving to the buttons of her blouse. 'After I went through this very school,' she added, 'I married young.' The buttons flicked open under her fingers. Her blouse gaped, revealing the well-filled and pale skin beneath. Both Jason's and Mathilda's mouths dropped open with surprise. Ignoring them in her reverie, Mrs Blythe carried on. 'My husband was a diplomat and our first posting together was Kenya.' She shrugged the suit jacket from her shoulders, uncaring about where it fell. The white blouse followed. In her bra, knickerless below her skirt, Mrs Blythe reached for Jason's cock. 'I came home one day...' she went on, hefting Jason's stiffening length in her palm, testing the weight of it. '... and found him balls deep in the maid.' She barked a laugh. 'At first I was angry – I mean, how could he do that to me? But, of course, I took my revenge ... Or so I thought.' Jason, staring down at his slowly burgeoning erection, swallowed heavily. 'I did the obvious thing,' Mrs Blythe said. 'I went out, found two of the biggest, blackest boys I could, took them home, and fucked them in the reception room of the house.' Mathilda gasped. Jason groaned. 'This was in the days before AIDS,' Mrs Blythe said. 'Of course there was a risk of me baking a brown loaf in my oven, but I was so spitting mad ... I timed it so he would catch me – in flagrante,' she revealed, squeezing Jason to a full, heavy tumescence. She spoke directly to Mathilda in words designed to shock: 'I was on my hands and knees, with one of them in my mouth and the other one behind, stretching my cunt.' The girl gasped at the obscenity while Jason merely smiled, his eyes closing. Oh yes, he thought. Oh yes. Oh yes. Oh yes. 'Unzip my skirt, Jason,' Mrs Blythe instructed. The man complied. Mrs Blythe wriggled her hips and the skirt fell to the carpet. 'Stockings,' the man commented. 'Stockings and no knickers and a shaved pussy ...' Mrs Blythe smirked. 'I'm not as I appear,' she said. 'I have a role to play here. I'm in charge. But, underneath ... Oh, my dear boy ... You just don't know.' She spoke to Mathilda, commanded the girl to join her. 'Come here,' Mrs Blythe barked. 'Stop being such a silly girl. There's a beautiful black cock for you to enjoy. It will open you, fill you; you'll be fucked so deep and so hard ...' Mrs Blythe groaned, her fist quickening as she recalled her past experiences with dark pleasures. The girl jumped up, numb with shock at the enormity of what Mrs Blythe had revealed. Stunned by the crude obscenities, and startled into action by the harsh tone. She timidly moved to where Mrs Blythe, naked less the suspender belt, flesh-toned stockings and heels, lazily coaxed Jason's erection to life. The cock swayed in the woman's fist, the single-eyed, blunt snout of it wavering as though sniffing the air; as though the thing sensed fresh, sweet meat. Jason let his robe slip to the carpet, where it lay in a heap, forgotten, alongside Mrs Blythe's skirt. He looked at Mrs Blythe's fingers wrapped tightly around his cock. 'Tell me about Kenya,' he murmured. 'I had one in my mouth, sucking on him so deep I could only gag, spit, and then let him fuck my throat some more. The one behind me, the one with his black fingers digging into the flesh of my pure-white hips, was so deep I thought he would shatter my back teeth. I was stuffed with black meat, so full of him that I couldn't fart.' 'Mrs Blythe!' Mathilda gasped, shocked and appalled. 'You don't understand, you silly girl,' Mrs Blythe sighed, her eyes glazed in rapture at her reminiscing. 'It was the most beautiful feeling, the experience ... the sensation of those two boys, those two huge, beautiful cocks ... I was so full, overwhelmed by how fucking good they felt inside me, stretching me and filling me up like my husband never could.' Jason groaned when Mrs Blythe's fingers squeezed his circumference and she uttered the profanities. The mature woman reached for Mathilda's hand. 'Touch him,' she instructed. 'Hold him, just like I am. Feel it. It's so thick and heavy ...' She looked at the girl, her eyes glazing as desire swept aside the facade of her dignified manner. 'Touch his fucking cock,' she murmured. Mathilda slowly reached out her hand. She gasped when her fingers touched the gnarled, thick-veined length of gristle. When she looked down and saw Mrs Blythe's ringed fingers at the root, with the edge of her own hand alongside, there still remained a good-sized portion of cock waving in the air from their twin grasp. 'Oh ... Mrs Blythe,' the girl mumbled. 'I ...' She shook her head, unable to convey the sensations touching that penis elicited between her legs. In her mind she saw Mrs Blythe, a younger Mrs Blythe, one recently married, who knelt under a rotating ceiling fan, while a dark-skinned man fucked into her cunt and another forced black meat between her stretched lips. 'Touch him,' Mrs Blythe said. 'Squeeze it and stroke it. Make the gorgeous bastard groan.' She moved behind Jason, releasing his appendage to the girl's solo effort. 'Lovely muscles,' she sighed as her hands touched the man's shoulders before tracing a line down his tapering back to Jason's waist. 'Such taut buttocks,' she added with a sigh. Jason craned his neck to look at Mrs Blythe when her hand slid between his legs from behind and her fingers gently squeezed his testicles. 'Heavy balls,' the woman muttered approvingly. 'Full of jizm for us ladies.' 'Stroke him, Mathilda,' Mrs Blythe coaxed. 'Keep him interested. But don't get him too carried away. We don't want him to come ... Not yet. That would be such a waste.' She smirked and squeezed the hanging sac again. 'He's got some work to do before we let him come. He's got to fuck us both.' 'Oh, Mrs Blythe,' the girl moaned. 'The way you say it ... It's so ... I feel so ...' 'I think you should take off that dressing gown, dear,' Mrs Blythe suggested. 'Let us have a look at you. I think,' she added, releasing Jason's scrotum and moving to the girl's side, 'I think I'd quite like to have a little taste of your cunny. Is it wet yet, my darling poppet?' 'Yes,' Mrs Blythe,' Mathilda whispered, blushing. 'Sweet Jesus ...' Jason blasphemed. Could this really be happening? 'Isn't she just divine, Jason?' The man opened his eyes. The old bitch was right, the girl was gorgeous. Long, straight hair brushed her smooth, tanned shoulders. He saw her little tits, peach-sized mounds high and tight, with button nipples centred within the coins of their areolae. Her body was lithe, virtually flawless, her navel decorated with a jewel, pudenda smooth, and with the shy folds of her neat labia just visible, peeping from that place between her thighs. 'Oh but she's just perfect,' Jason agreed, nodding. 'Feel her cunt,' Mrs Blythe ordered crudely. The man's fingers slid between Mathilda's legs. The girl, open-mouthed at the affront, looked beseechingly into Mrs Blythe's eyes. 'Oh–!' she managed. 'Black fingers upon white skin,' Mrs Blythe groaned, a hand moving to saw urgently at her own sex, jugs shivering like jellies as she fingered herself. 'Kiss me,' she whimpered. 'Kiss me, girl.' Jason stroked his erection slowly with one hand and fingered the girl's slippery vulva with the other. He stared at the women. The older one, the one with the immaculately sculpted, honey-coloured hair piled atop her head, the one wearing the stockings and heels, kissed the younger, and the girl's mouth opened after only a moment's hesitation. Their tongues slid together. The mature woman's hands came up to cover the girl's breasts. 'Mrs Blythe,' Mathilda gasped when the kiss broke. 'What's happening?' 'The Blossoming, my dear little girl.' Mrs Blythe leaned towards the girl's breasts, squeezing the fruit together and sucking at each nipple in turn. 'The Blossoming. And you're so lucky to have this beautiful, black penis for your adventure. When I went through the Blossoming,' she revealed, 'I didn't have such luck.' The Blossoming 'You went through it, too?' asked Mathilda, moaning and squirming against Jason's fingers. 'I did say I'd attended the school. My mother insisted. It's always the mothers who choose whether their daughters go through it. The fathers,' she smiled slyly, 'never know. It's a little secret between us girls. Quite often, mostly in fact, the mothers are alumni.' Mrs Blythe winked theatrically, a conspiratorial gesture of sorority. 'But now,' she continued, suddenly brusque and businesslike, more like the Mrs Blythe Mathilda was used to. 'Now we really should get on. Jason will be growing impatient. And besides,' she eyed the man's erection. 'I want to get fucked by that absolutely enormous appendage of his. What about it, Jason? Would you mind fucking me, from behind, while I lick Mathilda's little honey-pot?' Moments later, after Mrs Blythe led the way to the bed, Jason held himself ready, cock in hand, with the pink dome of his cock poised ready to enter Mrs Blythe. Nice arse, he managed to think as he gawped at Mrs Blythe's retreating form. 'Ah,' he grunted when, after encountering the slightest resistance, he eased half his length into the woman. Mrs Blythe's breath hissed through her teeth when she felt body open to accommodate the dark invader. 'Oh, Mrs Blythe,' Mathilda sighed as the warmth of Mrs Blythe's exhalation wafted across her sex. 'You're going to lick me ... Oh ...' And so, while the mature lady laved and slurped and fingered Mathilda, Jason, with his fingers digging into the woman's hips, slapped the ribbed washboard of his stomach against Mrs Blythe's buttocks. Her flesh quivered under the impact, and Jason withdrew his cock, inch by slow inch, until he heard a mewling – Mrs Blythe's signal that he should fuck into her again. 'Harder,' Mrs Blythe hissed, grimacing as she turned her face from Mathilda's sex. She glared at Jason, her eyes flashing. Snarling, she exhorted the man to: 'Fuck me harder. Go on and see if you can turn my cunt inside out with that beastly, black thing.' Mathilda moaned at the pulses of pleasure that radiated out from her clitoris. Her limbs tingled and her fingers went numb. She pushed her hands into the precise coiffure, immediately freeing long strands of Mrs Blythe's hair; wispy tendrils that caressed the woman's temples. 'I don't believe this is happening to me,' Mathilda gabbled. 'Not you, Mrs Blythe ... It just can't be you.' 'It's me, sweetie. Rest assured, it's me. This is something you can treasure all your life. And ...' Mrs Blythe paused, closing her eyes as her head lolled forward. 'Fuck, that's deep, Jason,' she groaned. 'My cunt ... Is it ..? Oh fuck ... Am I tight Jason? I can feel myself clenching around you. You're so fucking big ... Oh ...' Jason grunted a reply, his fingers shifting position. He looked down to see the contrast between his colour and Mrs Blythe's pale skin. He splayed the woman's buttocks with his thumbs. His cock, slick and shiny with Mrs Blythe's lust was stretching the pink cunt-flesh so taut he thought it might tear. 'It feels so tight,' Mrs Blythe babbled. 'So big, so tight ... You're filling me with black cock, stuffing me with meat. And it feels divine.' Jason's stomach slapped her buttocks again and again. 'This is something you can treasure all your life, Mathilda,' Mrs Blythe groaned. 'And it's going to get better. He's going to be fucking you soon – Just as soon as I've come.' She thought of what she'd witness, the beautiful young girl, her opening cerise, bubbling with lust. That black thing,' Mrs Blythe imagined, fucking into the pretty blonde. One of her hands slid between her legs. She rubbed her clitoris, urging herself towards her climax. In her mind, with the sensations from her gristle-packed cunt adding to her delight, Mrs Blythe saw the girl's face, that desperate, scared look, open-mouthed with awe at what her body was accepting, as she stared wide-eyed at Jason's length splitting her open. 'I'm ...' Mrs Blythe managed before a long, deep groan came from her. Her body convulsed and her head jerked backwards in a whiplash of orgasm. She shuddered and writhed, mewling and sobbing at the intensity of her climax. 'Shit,' Jason swore when the woman's violent jerking bent his cock, which, at that moment, was only half embedded. He pulled away from Mrs Blythe and, as he did, a squirt of viscous gloop splashed from her opening. 'Your turn, Mathilda,' he growled, holding his juice-smeared cock in his fist and waving it menacingly. 'Time for Black Daddy to give you a taste.' 'Suck it first,' Mrs Blythe groaned from where she'd slumped forward alongside the girl. 'Lick my cunt off him,' she gasped. Which is what Mathilda did. She clambered from the rumpled bed, knelt in supplication in front of Jason and lifted his cock-head to her lips. She sucked gamely, her cheeks a concavity until the length of him touched the back of her throat. The girl gagged, spitting silver drool that hung shivering from her chin. 'Please,' she begged, as a dollop of gloop splatted onto a breast. 'Fuck me now. I want you to. Please.' Mrs Blythe, energised by the girl's pleading, sprang upright, her eyes glittering with expectation. She piled pillows against the ornately carved headboard. 'Lean on the pillows, Mathilda,' she urged. 'Lay against them so you can watch as he slides into you. You can watch each inch slowly go in.' She grinned, her make-up ruined, her hair a tangled mess – no longer the poised, calm ice-maiden. Mathilda complied, easing back against the cushioning and opening her legs. Her fingers slid through her labia, slipping over the nub of her clitoris. She squeaked and closed her eyes, languidly strumming her sex. Her eyes snapped open when she felt the pressure of Jason's movement on the mattress. 'Look at that sweet picture, Mrs Blythe,' Jason said as he stroked his long cock and watched the girl. He shuffled forward, upright, on his knees, cock in hand. Lifting Mathilda's hand from between her legs he rested the length of his cock against her stomach. With his balls hanging against the moist piss-flaps, the end of his penis stretched well past the girl's bejewelled navel. 'Good lord!' Mrs Blythe exclaimed. 'It's so heavy on my tummy,' Mathilda murmured in awe. 'And so long.' She turned an anxious face to her mentor. 'Mrs Blythe ... I don't think I can ... It really is just too big. Too fat. It'll hurt me.' 'Easy, baby,' Mrs Blythe soothed. She moved to the bed, climbing up next to the girl. 'Look at me,' she instructed. Mathilda's blue eyes stared into hers. The girl swallowed, gave several heavy gulps. 'It'll be fine,' Mrs Blythe said quietly. Her hands caressed the peaches of Mathilda's breasts. The woman slid a hand down to the girl's sex, palm cupping over the pronounced mound of her mons, splaying the lips apart with her fingers. 'Just the tip, Jason,' she instructed. 'Rest the end at her opening.' The man eased forward. Mathilda gulped again, flinching as she instinctively tried to move back, away from the danger. 'Everything will be all right, Mathilda. Just relax. He's just going to nudge you.' She nodded a signal to Jason. 'That's it, darling girl. Just lie there and watch it. Look at it, the end is just there, just touching your pretty little pussy. Good girl. Now, just breathe slowly while Jason pops an inch into you. That's all, just a tiny little inch.' 'I can feel him,' Mathilda panted. Mrs Blythe saw the rapid pulse of Mathilda's anticipation beating in her throat. 'Oh,' the girl squeaked. 'He's there ... Right there ... Inside me.' 'Slowly, Jason,' Mrs Blythe cautioned. She faced Mathilda again; saw the cords in the girl's neck tensing with effort as she gazed down at the length her body still had to accept. The woman grasped Jason's penis close to the root. 'I've got him, Mathilda,' she said. 'I won't let him go any further until you say so. In her head, Mrs Blythe thought: Take that thing, little girl. Let that black thing fuck your tight cunt. I think that, soon enough, you'll be begging him to tear your cunt apart ... Oh, but I want him to spear your white body to the bed. 'A bit more,' Mathilda urged. 'Please, a little more. She groaned as two inches eased inside. 'Fuck,' she swore, then apologised. 'Sorry, Mrs Blythe.' 'Don't be silly, Mathilda. In the bedroom, with your man, you can be the consummate whore. If you're a lady in the rest of the house – and a cook in the kitchen, if that's not an outmoded thing to say – if you use filthy obscenities in the bedroom, they go berserk at the contrast. Use those words to excite your man.' 'Put more into me,' Mathilda instructed, her confidence growing with each inch she took. 'Slide more of that black ...' she giggled '... cock into me.' She looked towards Mrs Blythe for approbation. The older woman nodded. 'Stretch my ...' She hesitated. '... Cunt,' the girl whispered eventually. 'You foul-mouthed slut,' Jason grinned, joining in. 'You want me to fuck you with this? Is that it? You want Black Daddy to give it to you?' Mathilda whimpered. 'Yes, please. 'I want you to give me that black thing. Go on,' she said truculently through gritted teeth. 'Push it in. See if you can hurt me with it. Go on. Give it all to me. I fucking dare you to stuff it inside me. Inside my tight. Wet ... Cunt.' 'Mathilda, darling,' Mrs Blythe crowed exultantly when Jason's balls kissed the crease between the girl's buttocks. 'You've done it. He's inside you. All of him.' 'Fuck me,' Mathilda insisted. Her legs lifted as she offered her uptilted sex to the man. Jason leaned forward and hooked Mathilda's bent knees around his arms. Mrs Blythe, as the conjoined couple groaned and sighed, Jason's long cock sliding, effortlessly now, in and out, in and out, stroked Mathilda's breasts, her fingers busily squelching into her own sex. She kissed the girl, accepting the soft moans of delight that wafted into her mouth on Mathilda's breath. Jason began to thrust harder, eliciting deeper grunts of satisfaction from the recumbent girl beneath his perspiration-sheened body. He began to moan, bubbles of obscene inanity slipping from his mouth as he slid into a delirium of ecstasy. Mathilda, in her own world of pleasure, urged the man further with mewls and groans and epithets. Mrs Blythe watched. She saw Jason's clenching buttocks; witnessed the glory of his penis, slick and shimmering with Mathilda's natural lubrication as it pistoned relentlessly; heard the juicy sounds of their coupling; and, through it all, she mauled her own tits, pinching her nipples to bruised points of flesh while she thrust two, then three wet fingers into her opening. The colour of the man's skin against the girl's, the bunched muscle flexing and relaxing; his tight buttocks; all of the sensations and images melding as she crashed into her second climax. Just as her orgasm tapered, Mrs Blythe saw Jason pull his length from the girl's body; she saw Mathilda's sex gape and clench hungrily, a grasping maw, before Jason, goo-smeared cock in his fist, pumped a huge squirt of semen over the girl's pale breasts. A flick of gloop spattered across Mathilda's cheek from that initial burst ... and then a hot rain showered down upon her. Mrs Blythe, with a yelp of delight, reached for Jason's spitting cock. She took him into her mouth to catch the final squirts, feeling the stuff splashing against the roof of her mouth. He's going to take the top of my head off, she thought as the penis pulsed its load into her mouth. Eventually, after sucking and slurping the last tear of spunk from the eye of the penis, she let it plop from her mouth, where it hung, twitching, cooling and oozing more stuff from the slit in its end. With Jizm between her teeth, and more of the stuff dribbling over her chin, Mrs Blythe went to Mathilda. 'Kiss me,' she said, and slid her gloop-covered tongue into the surprised girl's mouth. 'I've never seen anything like ...' Jason muttered, sweeping the back of a hand across his brow. 'What a woman.' 'I'll leave you two to it,' Mrs Blythe said after a few minutes of recovery. 'I'll have to creep back to the apartment to repair the damage,' she added, smiling as she surveyed her reflection in a mirror. She smeared spunk into her breasts before, apparently unconcerned by the mess, she slid her skirt over her hips, shrugged into her blouse and suit jacket, and attempted to tidy a few loose strands of her tousled hair. With her hand on the door handle, Mrs Blythe paused. 'We're ... my husband and I,' she said. 'Are having an little soirée at the weekend. A private gathering of like-minded souls,' she added. 'It's completely unprofessional of me, yes, but ...' Mrs Blythe regarded the pair entwined on the bed. 'But since we've got this little secret between us ...' She shrugged. 'I wondered if you'd like to join us. You too, of course, Mathilda. I include you in the invitation, naturally. It's a nice mix. A sprinkling of ages. I think my husband would appreciate you very much, Mathilda. Perhaps you could experience two men simultaneously? And I have one or two ... perhaps three girlfriends who'd be delighted to ... accommodate you, Jason.' She twisted the door handle. 'I'll pop back later for an answer.' Mrs Blythe smirked. 'And perhaps I could have another taste of black cock?' With that, she was gone.