‘Certainly, sir,’ Polly answered and pulled the hose from Genevieve’s bottom-hole.
The instant the nozzle of the clysopomp popped out of his wife’s anus, Jervis realised his mistake. Many a time he had buggered her, while taking enemas had always been her favourite perversion. She could take the largest of his phalli up her bottom and had once managed to accommodate a young marrow. She was simply too loose to hold her enema.
He had one leg either side of the rope when Polly pulled out the hose. Genevieve’s bottom-hole held closed for an instant, everting to a golf-ball size mound of wet pink flesh. Then it opened and the water sprayed out in a high arch, catching him full in the face. He gave a cry of alarm, then tripped and fell full length on the stage. The remains of Genevieve’s enema emptied slowly over him as he lay dazed and sodden on the floorboards.
Octavia had watched the performance with unconcealed delight, laughing and clapping until the tears were streaming from her eyes and she was having difficulty staying upright. The idea had been to humiliate Jervis in front of his friends by revealing how Genevieve had changed at the most awkward moment possible. It had worked. Indeed, it had worked far better than she could have dared hope for. Everybody was laughing: the crowd, the girls, even May and Judy, despite the one being on a milking machine and the other having just been caned. Only Jervis Maray was not laughing and, as he got unsteadily to his feet, Octavia found her amusement turning to concern.
Jervis gave a stiff bow to the audience and left by the back of the room, heading into the servants’ quarters. Octavia took a glass of Cognac from Becky’s tray and glanced around, wondering how she could avoid or at least postpone the squire’s revenge. It would probably be a week in the pigsty on a short chain but, for the moment, she could avoid more immediate recriminations.
On stage, Polly was continuing the cabaret as if nothing had happened, hosing Genevieve down. The crowd were intent on either this, Judy’s whipped bottom or May’s breasts. Octavia looked from face to face. Several of the guests were too rich or important for Jervis to gainsay, but these were invariably the older, less appealing ones. One alone among the remainder did not defer to Jervis, and this was a close friend of his, Charles Truscott. Deciding to make her move and accept what fate then brought, Octavia started to move towards him.
Charles proved receptive to her flirting and soon had a hand in the back of her drawers. As her bottom was kneaded and the cabaret went on, Octavia began to become aroused once more. Despite it having been a decoy, she had enjoyed being buggered by Jervis and was beginning to wonder if Charles might not enjoy the same pleasure when Jervis appeared unexpectedly at their side, once more in immaculate dinner dress.
‘Jervis, old chap!’ Charles greeted his friend. ‘A truly splendid entertainment, although I had not expected your wife to participate so intimately – nor you, for that matter.’
‘A slight change in the original program,’ Jervis responded with a smile that was no more than slightly forced. ‘In fact, a little joke played by the girls. Still, the audience enjoyed it and that is what matters, eh?’
‘Absolutely!’ Charles agreed heartily. ‘Good show, good sport and all that.’
‘Won’t you be taking some awful revenge on us?’ Octavia asked as she felt a familiar blend of relief and disappointment at the implication that she was not to be put to the expected abuse.
‘Revenge?’ Jervis laughed. ‘No, no, not at all. It is, after all, my dear wife’s nature to enjoy tribulations of an erotic nature, so I suppose it was ultimately inevitable that she would submit to Polly’s penchant for dishing them out. Now, the guests will want your attention for a while and then you can have a good wash down in the scullery.’
‘Then I must claim first choice,’ Charles announced. ‘In my room, perhaps?’
Charles had been allotted the room that had once been Jervis’s own, and they went there, pausing only to collect the butter-dish from the master bedroom. On the bed Octavia gave his cock a leisurely suck and then allowed her somewhat sore bottom-hole to be buttered for the second time that night. She was buggered in a kneeling position, but before Charles had come two other guests had entered the room. Both greeted Charles with polite nods and produced their cocks. One was put in Octavia’s mouth and the other in her hand, both coming quickly erect.
For an hour the three of them used her, taking their pleasure in her cunt, in her mouth, between her breasts and up her bottom until she was sore in every hole and sodden with sperm. After their first orgasms, she was tied to the bed and tickled with peacock feathers until she was writhing helplessly with laughter and finally wet herself all over the bed. For that she was turned over and soundly spanked with her pee-sodden drawers stuffed in her mouth as an impromptu gag. By the time her bottom was red enough to satisfy them that justice had been done, they were ready for her once more and the routine of cock-sucking and spreading herself for their use began once more. Towards the end Sir Oswald Cranstone-Vine came in and insisted on buggering Octavia, despite her bottom-hole being red with use and oozing sperm and melted butter. Sir Oswald’s orgasm deep up her bottom signalled the end of the session and Octavia was allowed to make for the scullery and a much-needed wash.
The other girls had been treated in much the same way and were gathered in the kitchen. Each was sore and only Polly had come, as usual getting more considerate attention from Richard Haldon. Becky had finally succumbed to the chamber-pot treatment, allowing her face to be pushed into a full pot of her own pee while she was mounted from the rear. Now her face and hair were wet and dishevelled as she waited for May to vacate the sink. May was filthy, having been spread out on a table and plastered with food. Her vagina was full of paté, her hair filthy with salmon mousse, her breasts smeared with a disgusting mixture of girl’s cheese, gravy and semen. She had also had several potatoes forced up her bottom and was struggling to extricate these with a finger. Judy and Eliza had been done together, tied head to toe with a man at each end while they licked at each other and cocks probed mouths, quims and bottoms. Despite the licking, neither had come, simply because each time they tried to concentrate, a new cock had been presented for their attention.
Those girls who still had any clothes on stripped, casually shedding corsets, drawers and stockings and then going into the scullery. When all six of them were inside the small room, it was impossible not to bump against naked breasts and bottoms, and the girls were soon giggling as the sexual charge between them began to rise. Octavia was sandwiched between the wall and Judy, whose plump breasts were touching hers. Intent on enjoying the opportunity for girlish intimacy, Octavia reached up, took Judy’s breasts in her hands and squeezed. Little fountains of milk erupted from the nipples and Judy giggled, then returned the favour. Octavia had not been milked and instead of a trickle her breasts produced a copious surge, which squirted up in Judy’s face and over both sets of breasts.
Becky had seen, and laughed at the state of her sister’s face, only to catch a stream of milk herself as Octavia aimed a breast towards her. Becky retaliated, taking one fat globe in each hand and spraying milk full into Octavia’s face and across both girls’ chests. May attempted to join in, but managed no more than a feeble dribble from her well-milked breasts and was immediately squirted by both Becky and Octavia.
The group dissolved into a mêlée of giggling, squealing girls, with milk spraying in every direction and those who could produce no more resorting to the use of hands on convenient bottoms and thighs. Octavia, already exhausted from her excesses, quickly began to fail and sank to her knees in an effort to rest. Immediately, she was sat on by May, who set to work spanking her with hard, accurate swats to her already sore bottom. Octavia squeaked in alarm and tried to unseat May, only to have Polly’s breasts pushed into her face and a jet of milk hit her in the eye.
Surrendering completely, she sank down, allowing May to continue spanking until her bottom was red and smarting. May dismounted, leaving Octavia prone on the scullery floor
with her face in a puddle of milk, sweat and other things. Her whole body ached and the air was so thick that breathing had become difficult. With some difficulty, she climbed to her feet, then, desperate for a breath of fresh air, she pushed her way to the door, only to find it locked. Polly noticed and gave her a worried glance, then hammered on the stout oak panel. The girls went quiet and turned to see what was amiss. For a moment there was no response, then Jervis’s voice sounded from the far side of the door.
‘Good evening to you girls, especially the bumptious Polly Endicott,’ he called. ‘You have clearly discovered that the door is locked, and so it will remain for a not inconsiderable period. It may become a little warm but, as you have no clothes, this should not prove a major inconvenience. Indeed, I would like you to think of your confinement as not dissimilar to a Turkish sweat-bath, uncomfortable but ultimately to be enjoyed!’
He finished with his cruel laugh and his footsteps faded from hearing.
10
1923
Octavia lay back in the seat of the wedding carriage with a happy smile. The day had passed like a dream. She and Polly had risen early and milked each other, then set about the final wedding preparations. By ten o’clock she had been fully dressed in an elaborate confection of white silk and lace, by eleven in the back of Richard Haldon’s car on the way to the church. The ceremony had passed in a haze, with the young vicar’s voice seeming strangely distant as the vows were made. Then it had been the public hall in Kerslake for the reception, Champagne, speeches, dancing and more Champagne. Finally the carriage had arrived to collect the colonel and herself, now Colonel and Mrs Edward Penrose. Polly had caught the bouquet, and Octavia’s last view of her friend had been her radiant face as she linked arms with Richard Haldon.
As the farm was in Ermecombe parish, they had married in Ermecombe Church. This had been in the face of Mrs Arrish’s open disapproval, and as always she had made no secret of her opinion. The new vicar, however, had served as an army chaplain in the war and had faced Mrs Arrish, Mrs Apcott and Mrs Athwell down all at once, a feat that had filled Octavia with admiration. None of the three matrons had attended the wedding, although in a fit of mischief Octavia had sent them invitations.
There had been only one, minor hitch in proceedings. On arriving at the church she had decided to walk once around the building in order to be suitably late. Jervis Maray, himself late, had accosted her among the tombs at the rear of the church and demanded a farewell suck of his penis. Octavia had acquiesced, although feeling more than a little put upon. Memories of the two days spent in the sweat-bath still rankled in her mind, yet her love of Jervis’s cruel ways had never died. In a nook sheltered by the church wall, a buttress and a large tomb, she had squatted down. He had pulled her veil up and popped her breasts free of her bodice, then pushed his cock into her mouth. While her beloved had been waiting at the altar, she had sucked another man’s penis not thirty yards away. Jervis had come in her mouth and she had swallowed, eager not to walk into church with her face spattered with come. Nevertheless, her mouth had been full of the taste of it during the service.
From Kerslake they drove to the station and took a train to Paignton, arriving in the late afternoon at the Grand Hotel. Here they had booked the honeymoon suite and were presently relaxing in comfortable chairs and looking out over the promenade and the sea beyond.
‘Well,’ the colonel declared happily, ‘we are man and wife now, so I feel a little marital discipline might be in order. Start as you mean to go on and all that, eh?’
‘We’re sure to be heard!’ Octavia giggled.
‘So they’ll hear an erring wife getting a good spanking,’ he answered as he began to take off his coat. ‘What could be more proper on a wedding night?’
‘Only if you catch me!’ Octavia teased.
The chase was brief and the outcome inevitable. The colonel cornered Octavia in the window bay and pushed her on to the padded seat, facing the open window. Then, with her head and shoulders thrust out high above the street she had her wedding dress and petticoats lifted and her drawers unbuttoned and pulled down to her thighs. With her upper half fully clothed and visible to several dozen people in the street below, she was first spanked on the bare bottom, then entered from the rear. During the spanking she giggled and squealed, while the fucking soon had her moaning and grunting in ecstasy. Several times people looked up, their faces showing amusement, puzzlement or outrage, according to their temperament.
Even when he had come deep inside her, the colonel did not allow her to draw back from the window. Instead he placed one hand in the small of her back and the other between her legs. Then, with short, deft movements of his fingers, he brought her to orgasm. Octavia managed to choke back the scream that rose in her throat at the moment of climax, but could not resist slumping down over the sill in reaction to being made to come. Pulling back into the room, she collapsed into his arms in a fit of giggles, then sank to her knees to lick the mixture of his semen and her cream from his penis.
Temporarily sated, they undressed, bathed and then dressed once more, Octavia in a nightie, the colonel in a robe. Noting that the time was approaching five, they ordered tea, which was left discreetly on a tray in the antechamber of the suite. Octavia fetched it and made herself busy, pouring two cups and laying out the food. The colonel sat back, watching with a benign smile as she added sugar to each and then sat back.
‘A drop of milk, my dear?’ she enquired politely.
‘I don’t mind if I do,’ Edward answered.
Octavia leaned forwards, pulled one plump breast from the top of her nightie and poised it over her husband’s tea cup. With a deft squeeze she let out a spray of milk, the majority of which went into the tea. Three times she did this, until the colour of the tea had reached what she considered the ideal shade. She then sat back and coolly passed the cup to the colonel.
‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said and took a reflective sip.
There was a brief silence, broken only by the faint splashing sound of Octavia milking herself into her own tea.
‘This is pleasant,’ she remarked as she returned her breast to her nightie, ‘and ever so grand. Imagine having tea brought up to us!’
‘It’s quite usual at hotels,’ the colonel assured her.
‘Cream, scones, bread and butter, two sorts of jam,’ Octavia went on. ‘It’s ever so select.’
‘We could do cream teas at the farm, you know,’ he suggested. ‘What with the camp nearby and more folk taking leisure, I dare say there’ll be plenty of call for it.’
‘Should I serve the milk from my breasts?’ Octavia asked. ‘It would be sure to attract custom.’
‘Not unless you want more chastisement than you would care to take,’ he answered with a dry chuckle. ‘No, I am serious. I suspect that Polly is likely to marry Richard Haldon, in which case her income will no longer be of benefit to the farm. We will then have only my retirement stipend and the income from your milk. A little extra is bound to come in handy.’
‘Maybe,’ Octavia answered, ‘but for now it’s our wedding day and, if you’ve recovered, I’ve a mind to suck your lovely big cock.’
‘Octavia, really!’ he exclaimed. ‘You must learn to moderate your language!’
Octavia merely smiled and picked up the dish of clotted cream from the tray. Going down to her knees, she opened the front of his robe and exposed his penis. This was flaccid, but soon began to stir after Octavia had applied a liberal wad of clotted cream and rubbed it in. With his cock and balls smeared with the thick yellow cream, she began to lick, cleaning the area around his genitals, then his balls, and lastly his cock. When the last dab of cream had been licked up and swallowed, he was once more fully erect, while her quim felt in deep need of filling. Turning rapidly, she threw up the tail of her nightie, exposing her naked rear, the cheeks still pink from her earlier spanking. He wasted no time, but mounted her and pushed his cock deep up her hole.
For some time they fu
cked, both moaning and gasping out their passion without restraint. Octavia was soon rubbing at her clitoris and came with him still inside her. Then, as the muscles of her sex were still contracting on his cock, he gave a loud grunt. Suddenly her vagina was slick with sperm and she knew that once more he had come inside her.
As the colonel reached his second orgasm in Octavia, Polly and Richard were walking slowly up the track that led from Ermecombe to Erme Head Farm. Both were pleasantly tipsy and a little unsteady, but immensely happy. Polly was thinking of what the colonel was likely to be doing with Octavia and feeling more than a little aroused. At the bridge over the Erme, she paused and sat down on the parapet, wondering if Richard might not be game for dalliance.
‘Shall we rest a while?’ she suggested. ‘Perhaps walk a little way into the woods?’
‘I’d rather push on, if you don’t mind, my dear,’ he answered. ‘I was thinking you might enjoy a little . . . er . . . sport at the farm.’
‘Why not here?’ Polly asked.
‘Here?’ Richard queried.
‘Not here on the bridge, silly,’ Polly laughed. ‘In among the trees. Come, what would you like to do best of all?’
‘If you were to drop a curtsey on my face, I would be in heaven, as you know,’ Richard declared fervently.
Polly giggled and threw a quick glance either way along the track. It was deserted, and the only sounds were bird song and a faint rustling of wind in the trees. Pushing in among the trees, she made for the same spot where once Mr Arrish had pushed her into sucking his cock. Somehow it seemed appropriate that another rude act should be performed at the same spot. The small glade was much as it had been, with the little patch of sunny grass and the sheltering birches. The old beech trunk was now a mass of decay, but the birches had grown high and the shelter was as good as it had been so long before.
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