2 comments/ 54387 views/ 6 favorites The Young Duke of Tupping By: reminnes This work is copywrite Rem Innes and may not be reproduced without written permission The Right Honourable Tristram Framlingham-Smythe sat in his father's study staring blind–eyed at the letter in front of him. Still not quite believing what he had read he put the various pages of the letter in order and started reading again from the top: "My dearest son (the letter began) If you are reading this it is because, like all other mortals, I have passed on to what lies beyond. Shortly, you will be assuming the family titles of Duke of Great Tupping and Viscount d'Enculade and you will be thrust into the duties and conventional responsibilities which will now dominate your public life. I wish you all success. Having said that, I have absolutely no doubt that you will conduct yourself with the dignity, integrity and honesty such duties require and entail. As my health has been gradually deteriorating for some considerable time, I have been taking steps to try to ease your path in some of the areas in which you may be neither well-advised nor currently well-skilled. Alas, no time was available to arrange your introduction into one of the greatest areas of both potential bliss and danger a man can ever contemplate - the wiles of womanhood. Although fraught with danger, the female of the species can also be a source of eternal pleasure and enjoyment, if handled correctly. Today, in the time of our good Queen Victoria, we are seemingly bound by the concept that bare flesh and nudity should never be publicly displayed, nor mentioned in polite society; and that the only reason men and women should have sexual intercourse is to procreate our species. What utter tosh – sex between two consenting adults is probably the most gloriously enjoyable experience we will ever experience, if conducted in the correct circumstances. As I never had the time to discuss this, and God knows your mother would die if you ever uttered anything to her remotely inquisitively in this matter, I feel I must try and guide you from afar, as it were. As I have said, your Mother, though I love her dearly, distinctly falls into the "sex for continuation of the family lineage only" group, for as you know, she even has the piano legs covered up – a Puritanical nonsense if ever there were one. Now, what I am about to tell you must never be revealed to another soul (apart from one I shall discourse further upon shortly). On this matter I demand your word. If you cannot do this, then as an English gentleman, you must read no further and MUST destroy this letter at once. The honour and reputation of some very dear and sweet people depend on your complete discretion. For the past year or so I have seen you casting veiled glances at the full figures and particularly the bosoms and derrieres of our female staff and visitors, so I am fairly sure you have a penchant for such and, THANK GOD, you have shown no inkling of a "liking" for members of your own sex. As a result of your mother's frigidity in matters sexual I have had to, as a red-blooded Englishman, and this may shock you, resort to ladies outside wedlock for sexual gratification. As such matters can cause major damage to reputations if ever revealed, where better to conduct such liaisons than within one's own walls? I myself was introduced to the glories of sex by a wonderfully kind-hearted and jolly lady more than 30 years ago. Then a scullery maid, this lady is still employed within the household, and has continued to be a lover and, above all, a friend through all the intervening years. Knowing my views about your lack of sexual education she has graciously consented to act on my behalf to ensure you learn the requisite skills in this matter. How she goes about this is purely up to her and you, and to your willingness to be assisted by a lady significantly older than you, albeit one who has, in my experience, an open and refreshingly enjoyable attitude to all matters sexual. Should you choose not to avail yourself of this munificent offer then at least allow her to guide you in the direction of others who are more to your taste, and who will equally be keen to broaden your education, for she is fully aware a gentleman's needs. This lady's name is Mrs Annie Lovett our cook……….." Stunned by this revelation I paused, trying to comprehend the idea of my slim and well-born pater riding our voluptuous, large-chested and huge-arsed, common-born cook, Mrs Lovett. I must admit that she had frequently been a participant in many of my adolescent solo wishful sexual frolics, and often had I spurted copious amounts of sperm over, in and on imagined parts of her body, but never had I imagined that one day I would discuss any matters sexual with her. I picked the letter from where I had left off, and continued reading … "You may find this somewhat shocking and strange that I should mention the possibility of you assuming my position, as it were, with Mrs. Lovett. Have no fear, for although we have been friends and lovers for aeons, our relationship was mainly good friendship laced with mutual good-natured sexual need and gratification. I must stress that if you do wish Mrs. Lovett's assistance then you must be very discreet, and should only approach her when you know her to be on her own, preferably during a period between meals when she will either be preparing food or would be in her rooms…." Unable to read any more, my mind all a turmoil, Mr. Priapus achingly strutting and proud within my breeches, I carefully hid the letter in the secret drawer my father had shown me months earlier. What to do? After mulling this information to and fro for what seemed like hours, but was probably only mere minutes, I leapt up, and at a fairly brisk stride, headed towards the kitchens. Moments later, as I neared the kitchen I espied Mrs. Lovett, bent over the table kneading dough. The sheer pleasure of watching her immense globes strain first left, then right against her pinafore covered blouse, was enough to make my mind up for me. Standing slightly back in an attempt to overtly avoid drawing attention to myself I looked closer at this family fixture, who until shortly before, I would never have imagined would be anything other than a model of propriety. What did I see? A lady very full of figure, about 5' 4", aged well past 50, with greying short-bobbed hair atop a friendly, lined face and, with the aforesaid monumental chest perfectly counterbalanced by a large but firm arse, all supported by broad thighs and sturdy legs. In short, not everyman's cup of tea, but to my inexperienced eye – wonderfully mature and earthy. Sensing my presence she looked up and asked: "Can I help you Master Tristram?" Suddenly overcome by doubt I stammered a reply, "P-Please M-Mrs Lovett, I need to discuss a private matter with you when you have finished." A flash of understanding appeared in her eyes, and she blushed a delicate colour of pink from her neck upwards. "Young sir, I'll be finished 'ere in a few minutes," she replied. "If you'd like to come and see me in my room, we can discuss this further. Would 30 minutes be all right?". Quickly agreeing, I scurried off before I could say or do anything to embarrass myself any further. 29 minutes and 45 seconds later I approached her door, which I tentatively tapped. As if on cue, it was immediately opened and I was quickly ushered inside. "What can I do for you, young Master?" she gently enquired. "W – w – w – well, M-m-mrs. L-l-l-l-ovett," I stammered, greatly confused as to where to start. Sensing my discomfort, she softly asked: "Would it 'ave something to do with a letter your dear, dear father wrote to you, shortly before his sad passing?" "Y-yes", I stuttered, my eyes drawn to Mrs Lovett's gargantuan chest as it strained against the confines of her blouse. "You know of the letter?" I asked, somewhat stupidly. "Of course", she confidently replied. "Your father and me were very close. We've been friends as well as lovers for over 30 years now. I'm pleased to say he trusted me completely. So when 'e knew 'e was dying, we discussed ways and means of ensuring that you completed that side of your education not taught in the fancy schools you've been sent to. He was particularly concerned that you did not make any stupid mistakes – like marrying the first girl you tupped, or getting one of the maids pregnant," "Oh", I muttered, realising that Mrs. Lovett was indeed well versed in the contents of Pater's letter. "… and have you had time to think about what assistance you require me to give you", she asked coyly, whilst slowly leaning further back on the chaise was seated upon. As her comments intruded into my thinking, I instinctively realised she was displaying herself for my approval. This simple act of her proudly thrusting out her magnificent chest in my direction caused my cock to swell within the confines of my all too tight breeches, yet at the same time gave me a significant boost in my confidence. This experienced woman wanted me!!!! Before I could answer, she surreptitiously lowered her gaze and, seeing the large lump in my drawers, smiled hugely. Sitting up and moving to the edge of the chaise, she cooed, "Come here Young Master, I fear you will have an accident unless we quickly ease some of the tension you are feeling". As I stepped toward her she moved both her hands to the front of my breeched and deftly began undoing the buttons. Within seconds my breeches slipped to the floor, quickly followed by my drawers, at the same time undoing several buttons on her blouse. Leaning forward, she murmured "Oh what a luvvly cock. Poor boy, you must be bursting." Then she opened her mouth and gently fed my tumescent cock inside. Oh!! The sensations as she swirled her tongue around its head, all the while sucking and cooing, were completely unbelievable. Within mere seconds my legs started to shake and I could feel a cataclysmic build up of pressure. Briefly letting my rod slip from her mouth, she murmured, "Let it go, Young Master," and with that rammed her lips over the end of my rod just as I started to spurt like I had never done when masturbating on my own. Blast after blast of hot spend shot into her mouth and, though she gamely tried to swallow it all, it rapidly started spewing out of the side of her mouth. Realising that she could not cope with it all she aimed my still gushing cock at her magnificent chest and continued to milk all she could, until it was evident there was no more. She then lay back with a sigh, a smile playing gently at the corner of her mouth as she greedily licked any of my spend which her tongue could reach. This buxom, aging mother, lay there with her partially visible magnificent chest liberally coated with globs of my spending. So enamoured was I with the turn of events and the picture before me that Mr. Priapus remained as firm as steel. Opening her eyes she looked me in the eye, smiled then looked down, and gasped. Seeing that I had not wilted she rapidly pulled up her skirt and under skirts, revealing her meaty thighs…. and no drawers. A beautiful, hairless, reddish–purple slit slightly gaped open at the junction of her thighs, and glistened with an oozing clear liquid. "Quick" she said, grabbing my throbbing cock and pulling me towards her. Grasping my buttocks she lined me up and pulled me in – straight into that hot, warm wet cavern – oh what absolute bliss. Her mouth had been absolutely wonderful – yet this was indescribable. Pushing me away and then pulling me back, she soon had me moving in the manner she wanted. Once she was satisfied I would continue thus, she removed her hands from my buttocks, hoisted her thick thighs up around my back, and began stroking her own mammaries, at the same time scooping up any of my recent spend and greedily sucking every drop off her fingers. Within seconds her thighs tightened around me, and she cried out: " Oh God, I'm spending. Dear Master, I'm spending." As her quivering subsided, her eyes flew open and she cried out again, "Yes… oh yes!" This time her reactions were so acute, she clamped her muscles tightly around my cock; the increased friction was such that within seconds I exploded in her. At this she seemed to faint away as yet another spend overcame her. After such a bout my dick subsided and slowly slipped out of her haven. Taking a tottery pace back I marvelled at the raw sexuality of the scene in front of me: a seemingly proper, middle-aged mother lying there, chest heaving with her thighs wide apart showing my essence slowly seeping from her cunny. Oh, what an image if there were only a way this image could be recorded!!!!!!! "Well" she murmured, languidly stirring. "I think you're going to be just fine, young sir….. after a with a few more lessons". (to be continued……. maybe) Rem Innes 2005 The Young Duke of Tupping Ch. 02 This story may not be reproduced without explicit, authorized written permission. * Dressed in only his white silk shirt, the Right Honourable Tristram Framlingham-Smythe (newly elevated to be the Duke of Great Tupping and Viscount D'Enculade) reclined on his back on his huge four poster bed, one hand behind his head supporting his neck, the other slowly stroking his erect phallus. With a slightly bemused smile he removed his hand from Mr. Priapus and gently passed his fingers under his nose. Even though he had bathed upon returning from his sexual escapade in cook's room, the lingering feminine odour from her fanny was still faintly evident, and this essence was contributing mightily to the steely erection he was idly manipulating. Were it not for the wonderful smell of her on his fingers he could possibly be excused for believing he had been dreaming, as the motherly cook had first sucked his manhood until he had exploded in her mouth and overflowed onto her glorious mammaries, and then lost his virginity as she wantonly guided him into her hot, wet, clingy experienced cunny. His turgid cock seemed as rigid as a steel bar. As he idly stroked himself his mind drifted back to the unforgettable initiation he had undergone with the buxom and matronly cook, and her parting words that his education was only beginning. What to do? His dilemma was quite simple: should he spend into a handkerchief for some instant relief, or save it in the hope he could sally forth once more today into Mrs. Lambert, the cook? In his reminiscent state he didn't hear his bed chamber door open... ...and was rudely brought back to reality by a loud gasp... Still clutching his rampant phallus, he hastily turned towards the noise, and was greeted by the sight of the housekeeper, Mrs. Edwards, standing there clutching clean linen, wide-eyed, mouth agape, staring at his purple-headed heavily veined truncheon. A widow of some ten years, Mrs. Edwards was of the same middle aged vintage as the cook, and was another retainer who had been in the family's employ for as long as the young Lord could remember. Also like the cook the housekeeper had an exceedingly ample, well-fed figure. In the midst of hastily searching for something to cover himself up with he glanced at the interloper, and was surprised to find that her eyes were still fixed on his weapon, her cheeks blushed ruddy and her bountiful bosom was heaving in a quite delightful and becoming manner. More importantly, she had not been overcome by an attack of the vapours and fainted, nor had she made any move to turn and flee. Armed with his new-found sexual confidence the young Duke quickly surmised that the widow Edwards was fascinated by his manhood, and may not be averse to resolving his dilemma – if he approached her in the correct manner. So, abandoning his attempt to cover himself up, he slowly advanced towards the housekeeper, his prick rampant and jutting out from beneath his shirt. "Mrs. Edwards, I am sincerely apologetic for any distress I may have caused you by my unseemly behaviour," he quietly murmured, with an apologetic smile. "I... I... I...I'm sorry sir..." "No, Mrs. Edwards, it is I who must apologize. I had completely forgotten that you make your rounds at this hour. I should have been more considerate," he continued. Quite involuntarily, her right hand strayed towards his magnificent tool, and as she touched it's heat, she groaned: "Gawd," she muttered, "It's been years since I seen one of these, let alone one as 'andsome an 'ard as this." Resisting a victor's smile, the young Duke quietly whispered, "You can do more than touch it if you wish Mrs. Edwards." "Rose, please sire, it's Rose; an' wot would you want wiv an old bag loik me?" "But you have a mature beauty Rose; a magnificent chest, a beautifully rounded arse..." "Make the most of this girl," she muttered to herself, quickly shedding the linen she had brought into the room. Dropping to her knees, she reverently held his tool in both hands, brought it slowly to her face, and gently rolled it around her cheeks. Having savoured that for a few moments she then slowly fed his rigidity into her mouth and started to slurp on his manhood. This woman was certainly no stranger to the art Tristram realised as his cock began to throb. "If you continue that Rose I am going to spend in your mouth, and I am sure you would wish to avail yourself of my weapon more before I do so," "Oh sir" she gasped, "It's been more than 10 years since my Bert passed on, and I 'aven't seen one let alone one as beautiful as this in all that time, and I damn well 'aven't got this close to one in an age before that." "Up you get then" he said, handing her his arm for leverage. "Did you really mean it, sir," she implored. "I can do more than touch.." "Of course, what do you have in mind?" It's been so long sir," she sighed. "Just take me please." With that she hunched up her skirt and petticoats, rapidly untied her drawers and pushed them down her legs and kicked them off, then turned round and bent over his bed... Faced with the sight of this mature, demure housekeeper displaying her charms Tristram quickly moved forward, spread her large arse cheeks, ran his turgid prick along the hairy slit nestled between her cheeks, then slid forcefully up her hot, wet cunny. "Oh my Gawd," Rose cried out, "I never thought I'd ever again feel an 'ot cock throbbing in me." And with that, she screamed out another loud "Oh Gawd," and convulsed into an earth-shattering orgasm. It was all Tristram could do to hold on as all her ample charms seemed to jiggle in different directions. As soon as she began to calm down Tristram commenced to ream her hot, wet old hole, which soon had her screaming into another spend. Enjoyable though this was, because he had already had two major spends himself earlier that afternoon, Tristram was quite content to let the old housekeeper enjoy herself... for the moment... as he was nowhere near another eruption himself. So after a couple more of her quaking orgasms he pulled out, jumped onto his bed and lay on his bed, and invited Rose to climb on top. This she quickly did, guiding him into her soaking hole. As she started to bounce up and down on him he managed to undo her blouse one laborious button at a time. As soon as her magnificent chest was revealed he pulled down the top of her corset and out they spilled – two pendulous huge, blue-veined tits with large stiff crinkled nipples. As he stuffed an erect nipple into his mouth Rose screamed out again, dissolved into a quivering orgasm, then flopped forward onto his chest. As her heaving bosom gently slowed to normal she sat up and with surprise realised she was still impaled on his tumescent prick, and that her young Master had not yet spent. "You haven't..." .." Not yet," he interjected. "I've been enjoying you enjoying yourself." Whilst this was true, he was, of course, omitting to inform her that the cook had already coaxed two large loads out of him already just hours before. Shakily climbing off him she surveyed the soaked and matted hair which surrounded his massive erection. Then, leaning forward she grasped his manhood in one hand then guided him into her accommodating mouth. A few hand strokes, combined with her talented mouth soon had him at boiling point. And with a large groan his throbbing prick squirted several powerful jets into her willing mouth. "Lovely," said Rose, as she licked up some stray strands of his cream which had coated her lips. "Can we do this again, please Sir?" "Of course, Rose" he murmured as he drifted off to sleep. The day's exertions finally catching with him. * (To be continued... maybe.) May I thank all of you who have kindly written to me. When I occasionally write these fanciful ramblings it is really nice to know that some of you derive some enjoyment from them. The positive feedback encourages me to write. The vicious feedback is somewhat sad: constructive criticism is always welcome – but the nastiness puzzles me, as it seems to be vindictiveness for its own sake. I suppose that's life. Rem Innes