by Iona Blair
On impulse, Jay asked the old man if he had known a woman named Emma, who used to live in the Manse.
Isaac's bleary eyes looked blank for a moment, and he cupped his ear to indicate that he had not heard. Jay repeated the question in a suitably loud voice and watched as a rewarding flicker of recognition lit up the lined face.
"I'll say I do,” Isaac replied with an unmistakable leer in his voice. “She was one hot dish.” Then he leaned towards Jay in a conspiratorial fashion and confided. “She's still here you know?"
Jay felt a tremor of excitement rush through his veins at the implication of the old man's words. If only it was true, he thought longingly. Even a spectral Emma would be preferable to none at all.
"She's been seen a number of times over the years,” Isaac added. And seeing Jay's intense interest added, “Always, as far as I know, in the garden."
Just then the telephone rang, and by the time Jay got back from answering it, Isaac and his grandson were heaving their equipment into the back of their pickup. Jay strolled out to join them, but Isaac was now deeply involved in a lengthy lecture about peat moss and other mulches. Any discussion of the hot sexy Emma or her ghost had to be postponed to another day.
After the gardeners had left, Jay did his best to concentrate on the program he was designing for a chain of furniture stores. But the necessary concentration eluded him and it took great willpower not to pick up Emma's diary and devour it in one rapturous sitting.
Morag jumped up on his lap, purring loudly while she kneaded his trousers with flexing claws. The sun blazed above the shimmering ocean and the warm air was vibrant with the screeching of gulls. “I'm going to pack a picnic lunch and spend the afternoon on the beach,” he decided on impulse.
Several small yachts were out enjoying this ideal boating weather. Their sails gleamed white against the bulk of the city, crouched darkly on the horizon. Jay sat down in his favourite spot, a grassy knoll with a large boulder for back support that overlooked Fenner Harbour. The noon ferry blew its piercing whistle as it glided slowly from the dock.
There was a black dog running along the water's edge after a twig, while its owner picked a pebble out of his shoe. The soft air redolent with the tangy smell of the ocean mingled with the acrid fumes of a barbecue.
"Penny for them.” The voice was familiar, but it took Jay a moment or two to place it as he struggled out of an after lunch slumber that had been electrified with lurid dreams about Emma.
In his dream, he'd had been thrusting his cock into Emma's shapely behind as she bent over a chair. He could hear the slap of his balls against her vulva and feel her breasts in his hands.
"Oh, hi Gladys,” he mumbled fuzzily, screwing up his sleepy eyes against the blinding glare of sun on surf.
"Your little soldier is standing to attention,” Gladys whispered seductively, raking her fingernail teasingly over his bulging crotch.
"Hey, any more of that and I'll fuck you right here,” Jay warned. He cast around quickly for a private place to do just that. There were caves slightly north of them.
Gladys’ face was flushed and her breathing heavy, and Jay suspected it was from more than just the exertion, as they made their way slowly across the rocky expanse of boulders and marshy bog.
The cave was deep and dark with moss-covered walls and a ceiling rutted with stalactites.
"Take your panties off,” he immediately ordered in a voice thick with desire. He was inflamed with passion, and his need was too urgent for polite preliminaries.
Obediently, Gladys tucked her skirt up around her waist and stepped out of her underwear. An inviting smile played sensuously on her lips.
Jay unzipped his fly and his rigid cock strained free with relief. He stroked it as he watched Gladys position herself for fucking. With her back to him, she rested both hands on the rough wall with her feet placed well apart.
"Poke your bum out a bit more,” he instructed and without preamble thrust his cock into her twitching cunt. He fucked her hard and fast. The sounds of their lovemaking echoed around the ancient cave.
Jay could feel her hungry little cunt grasp him with steely muscles around his vigorously thrusting cock. “Oh man it's good,” he gasped, pounding her for all he was worth.
Gladys cried out, moving her behind like one demented. She was near the apex of her passion, and when she reached it, she convulsed as if in a fit.
With three powerful thrusts, Jay followed her with a shattering orgasm that left him seeing jagged lights.
"That was marvellous,” he whispered, patting Gladys’ bottom and fondling her breasts. She moaned and moved herself closer to him. Jay was soon rigid again and this time he entered her anus, delighting at the tightness of this hot little orifice and the way it sucked in his cock then fastened itself greedily around it.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, his cock poked away at Gladys’ twitching asshole. She was now so aroused that Jay was able to insert a finger in her bum alongside his cock. He drove four fingers of his other hand into her seeping cunt.
* * * *
Jay was now spending as much time as he could in the attic. This was where Emma had once had her bedroom and he felt closer to her there. He imagined what the small room at the top of the stairs must have looked like a hundred years ago with the few sparse pieces of furniture and the flickering oil lamp casting eerie shadows up the walls. It wasn't the best or most dependable source of light, but it was the only one available to hold back the darkness hovering between the rafters. And as Emma had recorded her story in the pigskin bound journal, she would have heard the occasional boat horn wailing through the inky blackness from nearby Fenner harbour.
He had now reached the part of the narrative where Emma had left the convent school and started work as a governess. But her abundant energy and high sex drive made her ill suited for this type of employment.
My school days, at the convent of St. Thomas Aquinas, ended unexpectedly and abruptly when I was barely seventeen years of age...
My father, a notorious squanderer and wastrel, had lost the last of the family fortune at the gaming tables and was unable to pay my tuition fees for the following term.
"This unfortunate circumstance will change the course of your entire life,” the Mother Superior informed me in her gravest tones. “Without a dowry, you will be unable to find a suitable husband. It's regrettable that you don't have a vocation for the religious life,” she continued, absentmindedly scratching a piece of flaky skin on the back of her hand.
I shook my head apologetically, imagining with something akin to horror what a lifetime spent in a convent would be like.
It was arranged that I take up employment as a governess. And, although I had no inclination towards that sort of life either, it was preferable to becoming a novice. My employer was a bluff, self-made brewery owner who had a meek, whey-faced wife and two puny children. It was a sombre, unsmiling household and I chafed miserably, longing for some excitement and gaiety.
It was around the time when the tenure of my employment was slightly over a year, that I began to notice the head groom with a great deal of lusty approval. Dick Farquar was muscular and tanned with sleek black hair and a roving eye. I watched his strong, yet tender hand gentling down a high-strung filly and longed for similar attention.
So it was that on a brisk autumn day, with the fallen leaves swirling in great gusts everywhere, Dick treated me to one of the best gamahuchings I'd ever had. With my legs spread wide apart and my feet resting on his broad shoulders, I lay back on a pile of hay in the tack room with the earthy smell of the stables redolent in my nostrils. I moaned and writhed and bucked like one possessed as his tongue licked at my rosebud, like a cat lapping cream from a saucer.
His fingers probed my excited orifices, first one and then the other, until I felt I must implode from the maddening and feverish frenzy he had created. I shook with desire; grabbing his head and rocking back and forth like some wild imp on a hobby horse. Never, despite all of thes
e considerable locomotions, did his handy and magnificent tongue miss a single beat of its rapturous tempo.
When I reached the pinnacle of my great agitation, I screamed out my joy with reckless abandon. That unfortunately was my undoing. For, just as the trusty Dick was romping me with great vigour—his purple-headed member lancing into my cunny like a sabre in a scabbard—Mrs. Biggs, the sour-faced housekeeper, discovered us.
"I came to see what all the noise was about,” she gasped out disapprovingly, as I desperately tried to cover up my exposed and rosy privates. Dick scrambled to stuff his hard prick back in his trousers.
She immediately reported our lusty behaviour to the master, who had just returned from his usual Sunday afternoon visit to his mistress. The embarrassing circumstance of my being caught in flagrante delicto with the groom would in itself have been reason enough for my dismissal. But at that very moment, another more serious event was unfolding that would well and truly seal my future.
As a cruel stroke of fate would have it, at the same time Dick was so enthusiastically ploughing my furrow, the master's youngest son had chosen to wade into the duck pond and consequently almost drowned.
Fortunately, the gamekeeper had found him in the nick of time and was able to revive the child by way of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and with the application of a clyster. The latter method was accomplished by blowing tobacco smoke up his rectum and into his bowels with the broken stem of a pipe.
The master, of course, was furious and berated me at length for my negligence of duties and lewd behaviour.
"Engaging in carnal and degrading acts in the stable while my son almost drowned,” he thundered in the sternest of tones and dismissed me on the spot with no references.
Dick, however, was not similarly discharged. Perhaps because his part in the romp had not been as “degrading” as mine? Or it may have been more difficult to replace a head groom than an inexperienced governess of tender years.
But for whatever reason, I was the one who, with a hastily packed carpetbag in hand, walked nervously down the long dusty road to town, through the gathering dust of an October evening. Despite the seriousness of my plight—without a reference I would be unable to find other employment—my cunny still twitched with ardour and my nipples rubbed erotically against the starched cotton of my bodice. All parts of my sensuous being were still stubbornly on flame with a passion that had been so joyously ignited by the handsome Dick. But not, alas, due to the untimely interruption of Mrs. Biggs, extinguished...
Jay was inflamed by what Emma had written and longed to gamahuche, as she had termed it, her hard little rosebud until she exploded with all the pent up velocity of one whose passion has been denied release.
Later that night, in a session with the pretty prostitute who subbed for the nineteenth century enchantress, Jay acted out the part of the lusty Dick with utter abandon. He licked Emma's palms and wrists, the soles of her feet and in between her toes. His tongue coiled like a sensuous snake lapping every part of her body. He nibbled and kissed and blew until they both flailed around in a frenzy of arousal that would not be denied.
After they had rocked their way to an atom-splitting climax, Jay positioned himself on an armchair in front of the dresser mirror. Then he took Emma on his lap and she slid naturally down on his erect cock, gripping it with her strong flexing vaginal muscles.
Emma moved up and down in frantic fashion, crying out when his cock jabbed against her sensitive G-Spot. Jay placed a hand on each shapely buttock and spread them apart. His cock was up her pussy to the hilt, and their erotic reflection looked tantalisingly like one of the photographs of Emma. In it, she had been sitting astride a male partner who had penetrated her cunt with his penis, and spread apart her bottom cheeks, exposing her lovely little bum hole to the eternal lens of the camera.
Now as Jay re-enacted this most lusty of couplings he stroked the delightful little orifice with his finger much to the delight of the horny prostitute who rode him with all the wildness of a Valkyrie.
"Oh Emma, Emma...” he moaned, as their combined movements culminated in an electrifying finale. “I love you, my darling."
Later, as he lay sucking on her breast, his tongue flicking adoringly around the stiff little nipple, his fingers pushed up her cunt as far as they would go, Jay was dimly aware of the sound of traffic speeding past in the street below.
* * * *
"Be sure not to shower afterwards,” Lydia had reminded Emma when she'd arranged her latest session with Jay. “I'll pop in and see you as soon as he leaves."
Now as the owner of Never on Monday waited patiently outside the hotel, her genitals and tongue tingled with anticipation at what was to come.
"God, you're so beautiful,” she murmured to the alluring little hooker as she stretched out beside her on the stained bed sheets. “I'm going to lick his sweat off your body and his cum out of your pussy.” Her voice broke with excitement as she spoke.
Emma moaned and arched her back.
Lydia licked every inch of Emma, working her way up from the tips of her painted toenails to the top of her head. Then she turned her over and repeated the performance on her back.
"Lovely little bum,” she commented huskily, bathing the shapely buttocks with a worshipping tongue. She licked, tasted, nibbled and kissed until the girl was senseless with desire. Lydia tasted Jay's sweat in her mouth and, when she licked Emma's dripping genitals, the salty taste of his semen.
Her tongue probed deep inside the girl, and she swirled it around the walls of her cunt. She lapped at the small genitals until she had ingested every last drop of Jay's cum.
Emma cried out in ecstasy at a pleasure so acute it was almost unbearable. But Lydia had not finished tongue bathing her yet.
"I've left your little asshole to last,” she breathed passionately, her heavy face flushed with desire.
The girl squirmed and moaned like one demented as Lydia reamed her bumhole, poking in her tongue as far as it would go.
"Oh ... oh ... oh ... oh...” Emma called out, bucking and heaving like a ship tossed on a stormy sea. Her swollen genitals clamoured for release with an urgency that was almost painful.
Lydia fetched a double-dong dildo from her purse. Then she inserted it in her own steaming cunt and quickly mounted the girl penetrating her with the other end.
The excited women shrilled out their rapture in a litany of raw desire. The bed buckled and shook under the onslaught of their frenzied movements.
"I'm coming ... I'm coming,” Emma yelled and Lydia felt the girl convulse violently, her feet and hands clawing and clasping at Lydia's broad back. It was too much for the stout, middle-aged Madam, who had been teetering on the brink of orgasm for several minutes.
"Oh God ... me too ... me too,” she cried, driving the double-dong into Emma's dripping pussy until she too, became engulfed in the most planet rattling orgasm of her life.
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Chapter Seven
The seashell was a red abalone. It was almost twelve inches long with an iridescent pink interior. Gladys had picked it up on the day she'd met Jay on the beach. Now, as she held it against her ear to listen to the roar of the sea, she smiled to herself, remembering their torrid encounter in the cave.
She could hear the high pitched buzz of a chain saw from the nearby woods, and in the harbour, the ferry gave a short two blasts with its whistle to signal its departure from the quay.
Gladys stretched out on her bed, which was still unmade. She stared blankly into space, fastening her drowsy gaze on the lines and flowers of the regency striped wallpaper. Olive was away for a week visiting her sister, and consequently Gladys was enjoying a new found freedom, which on the downside had left her at something of a loose end.
She would have dearly loved to spend all her time with Jay but instinctively knew that would not be welcomed. In fact, since their erotic and impromptu coupling at the beach, he'd been distant and uncommunicative, spending most of his time
in the attic, which he'd cleaned and was now furnishing.
Gladys suspected he must be sleeping with someone else. Yet, although she had spied on him regularly, she had been unable to catch him at it.
She knew he'd been going over to the city more frequently and often not returning until the following morning. He must be seeing someone there. She decided to mount a more rigorous surveillance of the Manse and to follow Jay on his next excursion to the city.
* * * *
The chance to follow Jay came more quickly than she'd expected.
It had been a long, rather gloomy afternoon and she'd almost fell asleep, huddled down in her hiding place behind the foliage. The sound of Jay's vehicle starting jolted her fully awake.
As the red Durango headed towards the ferry terminal, Gladys followed at a discreet distance in her old Volkswagen Beetle. The dark clouds that had hovered throughout the day, now released a heavy burst of rain that left the windscreen greasy and visibility poor.
She cautiously manoeuvred her way along the winding road and recalled with lusty longing the last time she'd been on the ferry. Jay had guided her to his vehicle on the boat deck, where they had coupled with feverish abandon.
Once on the ferry, Gladys remained sequestered in her car. She was afraid Jay might spot her if she ventured into the lounge area on the upper deck.
The torrential rain continued throughout the voyage, and as she tailed Jay through slippery city streets, her windshield wipers scarcely kept up with the downpour. Gladys soon realised this type of surveillance looked much easier in the movies than in actual practice. The knack was in making sure to stay far enough behind to remain undetected while at the same time not allowing the target to get so far ahead that you lost him.
When Jay ran an amber light at an intersection, she panicked, swerving out from behind other cars to boot the Volkswagen after him in hot pursuit. She ignored the chorus of angry horns that followed this reckless act and hoped fervently that Jay had not spotted her.
