‘Octavia still has a soft spot for me, I’ll be bound,’ he said, as much to himself as to Richard. ‘No girl who’s had my attention forgets me. You’re a game one for the girls, Richard. How d’you fancy seducing a nice fat, cream-fed wench?’
‘I’m ready at this instant,’ Richard answered.
‘Then I shall tell you the most remarkable tale,’ Jervis replied and began to explain the history of his father’s obsession with girl’s milk.
The evening milking was reaching its conclusion. Polly had gone first and was seated on the stool in drawers, mop cap and pinny. Octavia was kneeling, naked and flushed with pleasure as Polly squeezed the last few drops of milk from one dangling breast.
By mutual consent, they knew what would happen when the milking was complete. The yield would be placed in a closed churn to await the morning and the girls would sink into each other’s embrace. Orgasms would follow in due course, after a period of sex-play that might be straightforward or might be embroidered by a little spanking, tying up or playfully rude games.
On this occasion, no sooner had their mouths met in the long, open kiss that usually preceded sex than they were interrupted by a raucous noise from outside. They exchanged worried glances and hastily began to dress. The noise came again, followed by voices, one of which was unmistakably the arrogant drawl of Jervis Maray. The girls increased the speed of their dressing, making themselves hastily decent and then spilling out of the old pigsty to find Jervis and another man standing by a motor car.
‘Evening, girls, care for a jaunt?’ Jervis announced as they approached.
‘We’d love to, I’m sure!’ Octavia announced, even as Polly struggled to find a suitably icy reply to Jervis’s extraordinary arrogance.
Octavia had always taken what Polly felt to be an unreasonably fatalistic approach to what was generally seen as her shame. Now, as ever, she refused to snub Jervis, but went straight over to admire the motor car.
‘How dare you!’ Polly eventually managed, but nobody was taking any notice of her.
It was a large vehicle, dun-yellow in colour and now spattered with mud from the track. The rear compartment was enclosed and contained two comfortably padded benches, while there was an open driver’s bench to the front. Octavia was already cooing over it as Richard boasted of its specifications.
‘We can’t leave Alice here,’ Polly pointed out, ‘and I’ll not let you go alone, Miss Octavia. Not with these two.’
‘Then let’s take her to Eliza’s,’ Octavia pouted. ‘Come on, Polly, we’ve never had a ride in a motor car before, and there’ll be the two of us!’
‘Three of you,’ Jervis corrected her. ‘We’re taking little Becky Arrish as well. In fact, it was she we originally intended to take out, as an apology for that little mistake we made in firing her.’
‘Then that’s bound to be all right,’ Octavia continued. ‘Come on, Polly, or I shall go on my own.’
‘Oh, very well,’ Polly answered, attempting to sound annoyed but secretly delighted at the prospect of a motor car ride – even if it was in the company of Jervis Maray.
Alice was collected from the orchard where she had been happily playing with apples, and exchanged for Becky at Eliza’s cottage. They then set off, heading out across the moor road as the sun set and the western horizon slowly turned to a blaze of turquoise, coral pink and scarlet.
‘We’ll have supper in Princetown!’ Jervis declared merrily as they reached the crossroads at Two Bridges. ‘The Plume of Feathers does a good roast and keeps some passable claret in the cellar, to boot.’
Nobody objected and presently they had stopped in a gravelled area behind the hotel. Within, Jervis brought cocktails, then at dinner he ordered with lavish generosity. As the meal progressed, Polly found herself becoming increasingly relaxed. Champagne was served with oysters, claret with jugged hare, Sauternes with the pudding and port with the cheese. Jervis then ordered more Champagne and port and paid the bill.
Outside, their car was the only occupant of a sizeable yard and Polly made no objection when Richard first put an arm around her waist and then gave her bottom a meaningful squeeze through her dress. From Princetown, they drove out across the empty moor on the Ermecombe road, only for Jervis to pull off to one side and stop the car.
‘What’s happening?’ Becky giggled.
‘Cunt time!’ Jervis declared loudly.
‘You’re nothing but a dirty little boy, Jervis Maray,’ Polly declared. ‘You always were and you always will be.’
Yet her comment was made only so as not to seem too urgent. Richard’s arm was around her and his hand was resting lightly on one breast, while the drink she had put back was making it difficult to remember to behave with propriety.
‘Come on, girls,’ Jervis urged. ‘Skirts up, drawers open, cocks in your cunts: there’s no point in denying that you’ll enjoy it!’
‘What, and like as not end up with another child born out of wedlock?’ Polly objected. ‘You must think we’re soft!’
‘Ah, but no,’ Jervis answered her. ‘Richard has just come from London, where he took the opportunity to purchase a dozen riding sheaths.’
‘Riding sheaths?’ Octavia queried.
In answer Jervis delved into his coat pocket and withdrew a long cylinder of what appeared to be gut. He was grinning, as was Richard. Polly and Becky stared at the thing in open disgust, Octavia with a thoughtful frown.
‘Come on, girls,’ Jervis repeated. ‘Don’t think we don’t know what you’re like. You like your cock as well as the next trio of common little strumpets, and you can’t even fall for a child! Damn you, it’s that or you can all walk home across the moor!’
‘Well, I suppose if we must, then,’ Becky said, looking at the ground, then at Jervis, ‘but no funny tricks, mind.’
‘My word on it,’ Richard assured her. ‘Besides, do you think I’d risk spoiling the upholstery? It’s calves’ leather, you know.’
‘Very well, if you must,’ Polly snapped, ‘but not here. Somebody’d be bound to see us.’
‘Certainly not here,’ Jervis answered. ‘I have my reputation to think about, you know. I’d a mind to drive round to the prison quarry.’
‘The new picnic ground to Belever would be better,’ Octavia suggested. ‘It’s well in the trees, and we’re sure to go undisturbed.’
‘Octavia!’ Polly exclaimed. ‘You don’t have to sound so eager!’
As they drove, a bottle of port was passed around, making the third they had drunk. At the car park the three girls were upended over the rear bench and their bottoms laid bare. Spankings were given, leaving the girls red-bottomed, giggling and ready for sex.
Becky Arrish giggled as she was helped from the car. She was dizzy with drink and warm-bottomed from the spanking, aroused and ready for the men’s attention. Outside the car the night was warm, the picnic site showing as a cluster of low shapes against the grey of the grass and the black of the trees. They led her over, each supporting an arm; then, abruptly, they both ducked down, grabbed the hem of her skirts and hoisted them high over her head. She squeaked in alarm as she found herself blind and pretty well helpless. Jervis laughed in response as she felt a cord pulled tight around her upraised wrists.
A moment later she was pushed down across an edge. She went over, then down further, so that her face and arms were pressed to some irregular surface and her bottom and legs were high in the air. Her petticoats were turned up and interfered with in some way, then eager hands grabbed her drawers and they were pulled open, exposing her bare bottom to the warm night air. All the while she giggled and struggled, half outraged at the way they were treating her, half delighted.
There was a pause broken only by an odd, fleshy slapping sound which she knew only too well was the noise of cocks being hastily brought to erection. Then she had been taken by the legs and something firm and round was probing at her quim. Twice it slipped, nudging her clitoris and bringing a jolt of pure bliss. Then it was in, slid
ing up her hole.
Helpless, blind and dizzy, she was fucked, the big cock going in and out of her while she was held by the legs. She did not know if it was Jervis or Richard who was inside her, nor whether they had troubled to put on their riding sheaths. All she knew was that she was in heaven and that she would stay there as long as the cock inside her kept moving. Soon she was gasping out her passion, then grunting as she abandoned her last efforts to hold back.
Just when she was sure that she was to be filled with sperm, the motion stopped. Words were exchanged between the two men, muffled to incomprehensibility by her skirts. Once more a cock probed at her vagina, slid in and began to move. The second fucking was shorter than the first, brief, almost perfunctory, and as if done simply for whoever it was to be able to say he had been inside her.
It stopped and she was left, upside down with her naked bottom thrust high into the air. She struggled, attempting to right herself, only to discover that her petticoats had been fastened in some way to whatever structure she was in. Escape was clearly hopeless, although a faint smell of rotting fruit which had permeated her prison of skirts made her need to be released greater still. Voices sounded again, also lewd male laughter and female giggles. Thinking of how she must look to them, she renewed her struggles.
Octavia heard Becky’s squealing but could make out only a vague white shape in the dim moonlight. She had been cuddled up to Polly in the car while Becky was used, kissing and caressing in a wanton abandonment that owed a lot to the quantity of drink they had taken in. On the men’s return she had attached herself to Jervis, Polly to Richard, and she was now expecting the pleasure of his cock as she made her way unsteadily across the moonlit picnic ground with Jervis supporting her. She heard Polly stumble, giggle and thank Richard for his help. Then, suddenly, her skirts were above her head and strong, male hands had gripped her wrists. She giggled in response, knowing the trick of old. As her hands were tied and her drawers unfastened and pulled down her only regret was that she would be unable to suck cock while she was tied.
Much as she expected, she was laid down on a flat surface that she took to be one of the picnic tables. Someone took hold of her ankles and lifted her feet. She assumed this to be Jervis, as Richard had been paying so much attention to Polly. Then he put his cock inside her and she no longer cared. With her legs rolled up and held, all she should have been able to do was wriggle in the sack made of her skirts while she was fucked. Yet by good fortune she had chosen a skirt that wrapped around to leave a slit that made walking easier without revealing any leg. Even as the cock moved in and out of her vagina she struggled to find this, intending to release a hand and put it to her quim while she was used. If she failed she was sure to be left without her own climax, and as the pushes inside her became faster and more urgent she increased the pace of her struggles. Even when she realised that she was lying on the double part of her outer skirt she felt the cock inside her jerk. Yet there was no wetness of sperm and for an instant she found herself hoping her partner had not come, only to remember the riding sheaths.
Polly had wriggled in a half-hearted attempt to prevent herself being tied up. The prospect of being made love to by Richard delighted her, but she would rather have been free to respond to his caresses. Instead, she found herself caught in her upturned skirts, then rendered entirely helpless as they were tied off above her head. His arms then closed around her and began to explore. First they slid up under her dress to feel her breasts, moulding them and tweaking the nipples until she had begun to gasp with pleasure. Her petticoats were then pulled up and her bottom and thighs fondled, first through her drawers and then on the bare once the panel had been let down to expose her bottom.
He put an arm around her waist and guided her away. She had no idea where they were going, only that it would be somewhere private where they could make love without Jervis seeing her body or her passion. Sure enough, after what seemed an interminable period of pushing through long, dew-wet grass he stopped and she was pushed gently down to her knees.
She tried to turn, feeling that bottom upwards was an undignified position in which to accept a new lover. He resisted, forcing her to maintain her position, then urged her forwards with a push on her bottom. Her head bumped something hard, which she managed to get under, only for her breasts to scrape against a lower object. She gave a muffled complaint as his hands began to work on her corset laces but he took no notice. Using the laces, he strapped her to whatever was above her back, fixing her firmly in place with her bottom stuck out behind. Her dress was then nudged yet further up and her breasts pulled free of their restraining cups to hang naked in the cool air with the nipples touching wet grass.
It was a rude position, and one that she new made her easily available for beating as well as entry. Half of her was hoping a stick would be taken to her bottom before she was used; the other half dreaded the prospect. Not that it mattered, as she was entirely under his control. Once more hands began to explore her naked rear, stroking her, pinching the soft flesh to her thighs and bottom, tickling the plump mound of her sex until she was writhing with need. She squirmed, lifting her bottom and pushing out, too aroused to worry about the rude and wanton display that this entailed.
He gave a light chuckle and an instant later his cock pressed between her legs. It went in, sliding up her vagina with ease as the delicious feeling of being filled went through her. Hands gripped her hips and his belly pressed to her buttocks, his balls slapped against her thighs as he started to fuck her. She groaned in ecstasy and pushed her bottom up, clutching at the material of her dress with her tied hand. The fucking was long and slow, an unhurried use of her vagina that quickly had her desperate for the touch of her hand on her clitoris. Then, just as she was about to beg for the application of his tongue to her quim, he stopped.
His cock withdrew, bumped against her quim and slid back up her vagina. She sighed with the pleasure of entry, then began to gasp and grunt as he started to fuck her again. Once more he pulled out, only to push in again. This time his cock slipped in the slime of her juices, going up to bump against her anus. She gave a muffled squeak of reproach, only for the cock-head to push more urgently against her tight ring. With a pang of horror and shame she realised that it was no accident. He was intending to bugger her.
She knew she ought to thrash about and shout out angry reproaches, anything to avoid the disgrace of having a man put his cock up her bottom. At the very least she knew that she ought to make a proper show of resistance, making it quite clear that she had not acquiesced to the disgusting act. Yet she didn’t want to, and instead of the angry resistance she intended, she found herself unable to do anything that might stop it happening.
Not that it made any difference. The head of his cock was pushing her anus in, hurting as her sphincter stretched, strained and then abruptly gave in to the pressure. She squeaked in breathless shock as the head of the penis popped into her bottom-hole. Then the shaft was going in, easing slowly into her rectum inch by inch as she stared, pop-eyed and gape-mouthed into the blackness of her skirts. Her whole body seemed to have been invaded, to have been stuffed to bursting with bloated, male cock. In it went, until his balls met her empty quim and his coarse pubic hair touched the crease of her bottom. She felt completely controlled, spoiled and used in a way that she could not imagine getting any more intense.
Then he began to move inside her and she knew that she was wrong. Kicking, squirming, gasping for breath, she was soundly buggered until she could think of nothing but the fat cock that had been forced so deep up her rectum. Her need for an orgasm was desperate, making her scream out to have her quim touched and struggle in desperate futility to release her hands. He took no notice, but only pushed harder, knocking the breath from her lungs with each shove. For a moment, she lost all control of her body, only for him to jerk inside her and grunt aloud, then begin to pull slowly out. With an unbearable mixture of ecstasy, shame and despair she realised that he had come in her rectum.
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As the warm sperm trickled from Polly’s anus, Octavia was lying on the picnic table with her thighs spread as wide as they would go. When her man had pulled out, she had been left like that, legs wide and desperate for a climax. Since then, she had been explored as if he had never before touched her body. He had pushed her dress up over her breasts, pawed them and suckled them. He had slid his hands under her bottom and caressed her cheeks while kissing her chest, and tummy. Finally, he had applied his lips to the area around her sex, kissing her inner thighs, belly and pubic hair, but never touching her quim.
She gathered her breath to cry out, intent on demanding a finger or a lick, only to feel the firm dampness of lips press to the undertuck of one bottom cheek. Something touched her quim, a tongue. She sighed with relief as he began to lick, touching her outer lips, then the middle, flicking against her clitoris, moving down, probing her hole, lapping the bar of muscle between vagina and anus, touching her anus, slipping inside.
Octavia moaned in ecstasy as her bottom-hole was licked out. It was a new and exquisite sensation to her, both ruder and more sensual than having a finger up her bottom. His face was pressed close to her buttocks, his tongue well up her anal orifice, performing an act either dirty and debasing to the one who was doing it or extraordinarily loving and intimate, ecstasy for the one it was done to. A thumb found her clitoris and began to rub it, sending her into a wild passion of wriggling limbs and bucking hips. Her orgasm welled up inside her, her whole body focused on anus and clitoris as she tensed her back into a taut arch. Then she seemed to explode and found herself screaming out her passion into the folds of her dress.
Even as she began to come down from her orgasm, she realised that something was wrong. For years she had been Jervis’s plaything and never once had he shown the least inclination to lick her anus. On the rare occasions that he had licked her quim, part of the sensation had always been the tickling of his moustache. Whoever had licked her bottom was clean shaven, and so could only be Richard Haldon.
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