Five Minute Fantasies 3

by Cathryn Cooper

  ‘God, yes, Gregor, suck my tits!’ she groaned, her amber eyes closed, her head lolling back on her shoulders, her mountainous tits and rubbery nubs quite obviously super-sensitive to the touch.

  I suckled her swollen tit-cap like a hungry baby, and then mouthed as much of her tremendous right breast as I could. I pulled on her fleshy, fiery tit with my mouth, scoured the firm underside of it with my whipping tongue, before eventually disgorging its dripping, snowy-white mass and attacking Daria’s other breast. I licked and sucked on it as I had her other tit, and then pushed her wicked knockers together and flailed my tongue back and forth across both of her stiffened buds at once, tongue-lashing her rock-hard nipples.

  ‘Make me come, Gregor!’ she hissed. ‘Make me come!’

  I took it by this that the writhing girl with the spit-slickened jugs wanted me to make love to her pussy as I’d made love to her tits, and my thoughts were confirmed when she anxiously pushed my head down. I fell to my knees and grasped her plump, trembling butt cheeks, stared at her glistening sex momentarily, breathing in the damp, musky scent of her want. Then I held my breath and plunged my nose into her springy pubes, my tongue into her slit.

  ‘Yes!’ she screamed, clutching her mammoth mams and savagely kneading them, twisting and pulling her rosy nipples in a frenzy.

  My head spun with the intoxicating smell of her sex, but I resolutely tongued her twat, dragging my rough tongue over her sticky lips from butt-hole to clitty, over and over again, lapping at her labes with an earnestness I was sure would be rewarded and reciprocated. Then I formed my thick tongue into a hardened spear and drove it deep into my girl’s cunt.

  ‘I’m coming!’ Daria squealed, her flame-licked, undulating body misty with perspiration, her giant jugs jouncing up and down in her small hands as she was rocked repeatedly by orgasm, as I vigorously stabbed her gash with my tongue.

  And when the darling girl with the lust-inducing body finally calmed down again, I withdrew my tongue from her dripping twat, licked my slimy lips, and climbed to my feet. I quickly shrugged off my suspenders and pulled down my pants, and my swollen cock sprang out into the cool evening air, twitching for attention. ‘Don’t forget to blow out my birthday candle, Daria,’ I quipped, grinning wolfishly at the lovely, nude young woman.

  She looked down at my straining manhood, as it billowed out to its full seven inch glory, then up into my face, then over my shoulder, and suddenly her brown eyes flooded with a terror more than that of a nervous, barely legal babe about to devour her very first cock. ‘Ohmigod! Run, Gregor, run!’ she wailed, twirling around and rushing off into the bushes, leaving her clothes and my raging hard-on behind.

  I stood there, confused and frustrated, and then I heard a soft, rustling sound behind me, like that of a bat landing and folding its wings, and I spun around – and beheld an exquisitely beautiful woman who I instinctively knew was the Countess Sabrina Comaneci, the evil, erotic blood and soul-sucker my father had warned me about.

  She was small in stature, vertically, but so much, much larger horizontally, where it counted, and she was completely and utterly naked save for a black satin cape with blood-red lining that hung about her shoulders, tied at the neck. Her breasts were absolutely gargantuan, translucent, blue-veined spheres that hung heavily from her chest like ivory melons. Her face was a perfect, porcelain oval, her hair long and black, and both her face and her hair shone and shimmered in the light shed by the crackling fire, by the giant, glowing orb in the sky known as the planet Venus.

  The Countess spread her arms, her cape, and hissed at me, baring a pair of long, lethal-looking fangs. ‘You are ready for me, mortal!’ she shrilled, in a voice as sweet as the honeysuckle and deep as the grave, her black eyes glittering as they ogled my penis.

  I looked where she was looking, and was astounded to see that I was still steel-hard, in fact, amazingly, longer and harder and thicker than any time previously. The wicked lady’s uninhibited, almost tangible, lust engulfed my ready and willing body, and I felt compelled by some unknown, primal force to grip the instrument of her desire (and my release), and urgently stroke it.

  ‘You will satisfy me tonight, and I will satisfy you for all time!’ the Countess shrieked, grasping her massive mammaries and fondling them, her demon eyes rolling back in her head and her crimson mouth falling open.

  And then, before I could even react, she swooped down upon me, pushed me to the ground with the strength of ten women, and mounted my upthrust stake, impaling herself on my wood. She let out a primeval scream that shattered the night for miles around, started bouncing up and down on my cock, pumping her ass, her moist, musty pussy easily swallowing up my entire granite length. She leaned forward, and her colossal tits bounced rhythmically across my face, her spike-like nipples slapping my lips as she rocked back and forth on my prong.

  The unearthly eroticism of that sexy she-beast rendered my mind incapable of thought, my muscles incapable of action. Some sort of resistance may have been possible, I suppose, but after the agonizing frustration with Daria, both this night and many nights before, I only too eagerly embraced the prospect of all-out relief that the Countess provided me with. An eternity of damnation be damned, I was going to get laid that night.

  ‘Beelzebub, yes!’ the Countess cried, as I stuck out my tongue and licked at her blood-red nipples flicking across my lips, as she plunged my super-hardened cock in and out of her gripping pussy.

  She kissed me on the mouth with a pair of cold, scarlet lips, but her chill breath did nothing to bank the raging fire in my loins. She savagely bit into my erect nipples, then sealed her lips around first one punctured protuberance and then the other, sucking long and hard and deeply, before finally lifting her head and smacking her plasma-smeared lips.

  She bucked up and down on my calcified cock, faster and faster, frenziedly riding my tool, building and building her towering pleasure to a cataclysmic conclusion, whereupon her tombstone-white body rippled with orgasmic fulfilment. Her pale twin globes shimmied with ecstasy, and her jutting nubs spouted curdled milk, as she was jolted again and again by brutal orgasm. The satanic siren gushed slime out of her crimson gash, slathering my rock-hard member with her ferocious joy, and I could only lie there, dreamy-eyed and defenceless, and take it, unwilling and unable to stop the hellish carnality.

  The Countess tilted her face up to the heavens and howled at the planet Venus, before collapsing on top of me and whimpering like a wounded animal. The Earth literally had moved, getting ready to swallow me up. The sexy lady vampire licked her pap off my face in long, slow, satisfied tongue-strokes, then snaked her tongue into my mouth and down my throat, almost choking me with her gratitude. She gorged herself on my mouth, kissing and frenching me, licking my lips, before finally setting her sights a little lower and sliding down my sweat-slick chest to get face-to-phallus with my stiffened dong.

  She slithered in between my legs and grasped my glistening cock in one of her talons, began licking up and down my swollen shaft with a forked, velvet-sandpaper tongue. She slobbered all over my painfully-erect dick, swirling her wanton tongue all around my mushroomed, purple cock-top, my yawning slit, eagerly lapping up and swallowing down my oozing pre-cum. She greedily sucked my bloated hood into her slavering mouth, tugged on it for awhile, her cheeks billowing in and out, and then she dropped her beautiful head down and easily inhaled the entire length of my pulsing dong.

  ‘Jesus!’ I groaned ironically, my body weak with her witchery, my cock strong. The whole of my meat was lodged in her devilish mouth and throat, packed hot and tight and wet.

  She stared up at me as I stared down at her, her ebony eyes glittering, depthless pools reflecting my own uncontrollable desire. Her tongue, incredibly, glided out of her crammed-full mouth and licked at my furry pouch, juggled my balls around, cool, damp breath steaming out of her flared nostrils and onto my rippling abdomen. Then, just as the semen in my sack was about to go to full-boil, blow up my shaft and into her mouth, she rear
ed her head back and disgorged my slathered, supercharged cock.

  The Countess grinned evilly at me, her razor-sharp fangs gleaming, growing, getting ready to…

  Well, suffice it to say that I sprayed more than sperm that glorious night – although I did spray plenty of that. My ecstasy went on and on and on, she insatiably milking my dick with her mouth and throat, me plaintively, pushing my hips off the ground to feed my mistress’s eternal hunger, till, finally, the cold light of dawn broke, sending us scuttling for shelter. Down into a dark, dusty, centuries-old crypt we journeyed, home of the Countess Sabrina Comaneci and her many manly followers; my home.

  Educating Master Tom

  by Kitti Bernetti

  I peered out of the carriage as it rumbled its way along the rough stone road.

  ‘This is the beginning of Lord Harestone’s land Miss. It’ll be another five minutes till we reach the Manor.’

  Exhausted though I was by this interminable journey, I studied the land. It was bleak with lumpy hills reminiscent of an old hag’s face with the odd tuft of sedge grass. The hillocks were cropped by sheep who stared as we rattled past, then went back to pulling at what nourishment the impoverished earth afforded them. Heavy drips of rainwater spilled off the sheep’s grey wool, and off the edges of the carriage window, splashing on to my cloak. Hunger, the aching cold in my bones and hours of journeying all sapped my strength.

  Joy entered my heart as the driver announced, ‘Here we are, Miss. Harestone Manor.’ I stepped out in front of the imposing stone house and pressed precious pennies into the driver’s hand, he’d earned them. He closed his wet glove over them and pulled at his cap. ‘Thank you, Miss. You’ll be staying here a while then, as Governess to Lord Harestone’s heir?’

  ‘That’s right, at least a year, to complete the young master’s education.’

  ‘Well, good luck to ’ee.’ The driver handed down my one small bag and I watched as he clambered up and whipped the horses into action. I stood alone. All around me, for miles in the evening half-light brooded the empty sodden heath. Behind me, Harestone Manor. Having come this far, twelve hours ride from home, I would not get away easily, should the position not work out. I shuddered at the thought of being caught in the situation if it did not suit me, but lifted my chin, determined to see it through. After nursing a husband now dead from the coughing sickness and with only few pennies in my purse after paying off his debts, I had no choice. Here was my destiny.

  I curled freezing fingers around the bell-pull and heard it clang inside the house, summoning a middle-aged woman. ‘You must be Miss Canning. Welcome. I am Mrs Alderly. My daughter and I keep house for Lord Harestone and the young master. Come and take off that wet cloak or you shall catch your death.’ We walked through a hallway lit by a central chandelier of candles which threw a ruddy light. Mrs Alderly showed me into a warm kitchen. ‘Come now, we’ll place your cloak across the chair to dry. You’ll be hungry after your journey. In future you will dine with his Lordship and the young master but tonight we have for you some hot soup and bread. Then I will show you your room and after that introduce you to your Masters.’

  Feeling considerably revived after the steaming meal, I followed Mrs Alderly’s candle up a wide staircase decorated with green wallpaper of an ivy-leafed design. My bedroom was grander than any I had experienced, with a high four-poster bed in the centre. It felt a little odd when Mrs Alderly showed me a connecting door and opening it explained that the young master’s bedroom was attached to mine allowing for constant observation by myself of his movements. For a young child this would be the norm, but my young charge, Master Tom, would be nineteen years old this summer and surely able to look after himself. I thought I had been taken on to refine his education in respect of French and Latin before he entered the Church, not to nursemaid him.

  Mrs Alderly left me, saying that I was expected in the front room at eight o’clock to meet Lord Harestone and Master Tom. After checking my grey woollen dress was not much affected by splashes from my journey, and neatening the hair piled on my head, I ventured downstairs. The front parlour was a comfortable room with a roaring fire in front of which stood the two gentlemen. Lord Harestone, the father, immediately struck me, so much did his presence fill the room. Over six foot tall and wide-shouldered, he blocked the heat from the fire. Pale breeches clung tightly to thighs powerful from country pursuits and I registered that he was well endowed in every way. There was a stern darkness about him. He scrutinised me appraisingly before beckoning me to him.

  Next to him stood Master Tom, a long-nosed pale youth utterly lacking the force and presence of his father. The callow youth smiled weakly at me whilst glancing at his father, as if fearful of his reaction.

  I curtsied. On my rising, his lordship traced a finger along my jaw line and raised my face to the firelight. ‘What do you think, then, boy? A good choice or not?’ Both men studied me as though I were a prize brood mare.

  ‘Turn around, Miss Canning and let us observe you better.’ My cheeks burnt red with embarrassment. This intrusive appraisal made me acutely conscious of my figure which was a little too rounded for a woman my age and my rough dress which was all I could afford.

  ‘She’ll do extremely well, father,’ said the boy, eyes lighting up as if he were choosing buns in the baker’s shop. I swear I even saw him lick his lips.

  ‘Miss Canning, you will be pleased to hear you have my son’s approval.’

  I curtsied, feeling as though I had passed some sort of test.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I would be pleased if you would outline my duties. You explained in your letter that I am to complete Master Tom’s education. I assumed this was in the classics and languages but perhaps you could elaborate.’

  Lord Harestone laughed gently as if I had made some kind of joke. ‘Ah now, Miss Canning, permit me to offer you a seat, and perhaps a small glass of Madeira?’

  Lord Harestone’s delay in getting to the point troubled me. I gratefully accepted the Madeira to calm my nerves. I was acutely aware of Master Tom’s eyes constantly upon me, as if he had never seen a woman before. I was also aware as I took the seat and kept my back straight and my legs together, as befits a lady, that Lord Harestone too never took his eyes off me. They roamed from the hem of my skirt, up my legs, over my waist and bosom and down again in far too direct a manner for comfort. His gaze gave me the sensation of being uncovered; so much so that I raised my hand to my chest to ensure my buttons were securely fastened and felt there the rise and fall of my bosom.

  I jumped as Lord Harestone spoke again. ‘We discussed a wage in our correspondence, did we not?’

  ‘Yes sir, my Lord.’

  ‘I should like to treble it.’

  ‘But my Lord, why?’ I gasped. I was torn between my delight at this extraordinary news and concern that my duties might be too onerous to complete. Never had I been offered such riches.

  ‘Miss Canning, I will come to the point. I have a direct nature. My ward,’ he looked over at Master Tom who sat opposite me in silence, ‘has had an expensive education. He is exceptionally bright and is in all ways ready to enter the Church. He needs no more coaching in normal subjects.’

  ‘Then why –?’ I stopped, aware that I must not interrupt my employer even though I burned with curiosity.

  ‘Your role, Miss Canning, and one I am sure you are eminently able to fulfil, is to teach Master Tom the ways of adults. We are so isolated here that Tom has become shy, particularly around women. He knows nothing of their…more intimate ways but he wishes to learn in this, his last year of freedom. He needs to partake of the pleasures of the flesh with one whom he finds irresistible before he enters the church and is denied that pleasure for ever. Tom, I can see, is very taken with you. He admires womanly curves and soft plump skin. In fact I think I can go so far as to speak for him and say that he yearns nightly for feminine charms like yours,’ Lord Harestone looked over at his ward who nodded eagerly. ‘We will treat you extremely well, you hav
e seen your room. Your only duties will be at night time. In the day you will be free to partake of my extensive library and live the life of a woman of leisure on an extremely good wage. Your only duty will be in educating and pleasuring this young boy. And being pleasured by him.’ I saw a glint in Lord Harestone’s eyes that made me swallow hard.

  Hearing his words, my eyes became rounder and rounder. I had been a married woman so was well able to fulfil this task but never had I been asked to perform such extraordinary duties nor offered such wealth. My life of late had been unbearable, living in near poverty, and an escape from it was most appealing. But having the hands of this callow, pale youth upon me, could I cope with that? I looked at the father. So much more commanding than the son, a man any woman would be pleased to take into her bed, with his knowing eyes and masculine figure. Now if only he were the subject of my nightly task I would not hesitate.

  Lord Harestone twirled the neck of his glass in sensuous fingers, lifted it to full lips and drained the glass. ‘I can see you are thinking it over; one more thing which may sway you. My son admires fine clothes and likes to see women in them. There is a wardrobe upstairs full of outfits purchased for his ‘governess’ from the seamstresses of Paris. I think you may like to take those into account when you think over our offer. We will leave you now, Miss Canning. If in the morning you have dressed yourself in one of the fine outfits upstairs we will take that as a signal that you accept your duties. If however you are still in the grey woollen garment you stand in now, I will arrange for a coach to be called to take you back home and we will assume you do not want the post. Goodnight.’

  Thus dismissed, I retired to my room shocked at the offer made to me. I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, my thoughts in turmoil. In the next room, only a thin door separating us, I could hear Tom about his night time ritual. I heard him undress and the creak of the bed as he got into it. I wondered if he thought of me in my bed. I shuddered. Could I possibly allow that boy to make love to me, show him, guide him when I found him to be utterly repulsive. Like a greyhound, he was all skin and bones and angular features. And yet the money I had been offered would solve all my difficulties and allow me to start afresh. Pondering, I rose and went to the wardrobe. Inside were delectable dresses in silks and taffetas. Reds and golds sat alongside deep aquamarine and purple, the skirts a cloud of colour. I buried my face in their finery and rubbed the cool softness of the materials over my poor skin, chapped with cold, neglect and poverty. Opening a drawer, I beheld half a dozen beautifully stitched corsets. I ran my hands over the boning and the laces of one which was a glorious shade of turquoise. I lifted it up and held it against myself in the mirror. It was a work of art and I knew that if I were to wear it I too would feel like the most precious object. The fact that I would be pawed by that creature next door, who gave me a feeling of sickness every time I thought of him, was something I could possibly learn to block out.