He stopped abruptly and she thought he had done it up her bottom for the second time, only to realise that he had failed. Wheezing heavily and gasping for breath, he pulled slowly out, leaving her bottom-hole gaping wide for a long moment before it slowly closed. She turned, finding him sat down on the milking stool with his face the colour of a Victoria plum. Feeling sorry for him and also badly in need of an orgasm, Octavia got up to sit on the bench. Spreading her thighs wide in front of him, she began to play with her quim, allowing him to inspect every detail of her sex as she masturbated. It felt good, also deliciously cool after the heat of men’s cocks and balls being pressed against her. At first she played with her breasts; then, as her pleasure rose, she slipped her spare hand down between her thighs to penetrate first her vagina and then her anus. He watched, entranced, stroking his cock as she rubbed herself, then beginning to masturbate in earnest as he once more became stiff.
Revelling in the thrill of showing herself off so rudely, Octavia continued to rub her clitoris and wriggle her fingers about up her vagina and bottom-hole. He looked set to come and, just as her orgasm was approaching, he grabbed her hand away from her quim and thrust the two fingers that had been inside her body into his mouth. It was too late for Octavia to stop and she came, rubbing and rubbing as the climax swept through her and his fat lips sucked on her fingers.
He had not come and, before her orgasm had really finished, he was pulling her down by the hair towards his erection. She took it in her mouth and began to suck. Hands took her hips and a cock slid up her vagina. Somewhere in the distance a telephone rang and the man in her cunt began to slap her bottom, then once more she was lost in a welter of cocks, balls, male come and her own body.
She was still sucking when a loud demand for attention sounded from the direction of the door. Octavia lifted her face from the fat man’s cock to see Charles Truscott standing in the dairy doorway with his hands raised for silence.
‘That was my man in Exeter,’ Charles announced. ‘Jervis has just left the barracks, so finish off what you’re doing and the girls had better make themselves scarce.’
Octavia nodded absently and returned her attention to the straining erection in front of her face while the man in her vagina once more started to pump and slap her cheeks.
‘Damn!’ Jervis swore as he threw his driving gloves down on to the hall table. ‘Bloody Army buffoons! They don’t know their arses from their elbows!’
‘Didn’t you get your back pay then?’ Richard Haldon queried.
‘There never was any damn back pay!’ Jervis swore. ‘Some damned oik of a sergeant had the nerve to tell me I’d made a mistake! He said that nobody had even phoned me!’
‘Never mind, old fellow,’ Richard said soothingly. ‘Dinner will be served in a while. Come and have a cocktail, or a glass of Champagne.’
‘I will,’ Jervis answered. ‘I need it, believe me.’
Together they entered the main room, in which the guests were gathered. A genial cheer greeted his arrival and the call went up for more Champagne, five magnums of which were already in circulation.
Jervis’s nerves began to settle after his first cocktail and, by the time the butler announced that dinner was served, he had returned to his normal self. Caviar was followed by lobster, lobster by grouse and grouse by rib of beef. The guests became ever louder, the jokes increasingly dirty. The meal ended and the company retired to a collation of ports, Cognacs, cigars and more Champagne. Jervis selected a twelve-inch Habana and a glass of ancient port, then sat back to allow the mood of the party to mature towards devilment. This took little time, and he had finished scarcely a fifth of his cigar when voices began to demand why he had not supplied any girls. He sprang to his feet and raised his hands for silence, which came after a few catcalls and drunken remarks.
‘Girls? Of course I have girls!’ Jervis shouted out. ‘Here’s the plan, chaps. There are girls at Erme Head: Polly, Octavia, my maid Becky and little Alice, who’s seventeen now and a damned fine piece. We drive over, break in, and roger the four of them senseless!’
‘I say!’ Richard objected faintly.
‘Come on, man,’ Jervis laughed. ‘It’s just for a laugh and it’s not as if a good few of us haven’t had your Polly before!’
‘What about Colonel Penrose?’ one of the few relatively sober voices objected.
‘He’s not there, he’s in London,’ Jervis answered. ‘Why d’you think I chose this weekend?’
‘But surely the girls will object?’
‘Damned if they’d dare! You must look at my photo albums some day! Come on, where’s your spirit, damn you?’
A ragged argument ensued, with some in favour of the expedition, some judging it too risky. Finally those in favour prevailed, with the last few joining in when they saw that their cause was hopeless. Lanterns were fetched and lit, fresh bottles of port, Cognac and Champagne were broached, and the group set off across the moor in a noisy, untidy procession.
The night was clear and the moor a sheet of ghostly silver beneath a bright moon, creating an eerie, haunted atmosphere that was entirely lost on the drunken rabble of men. Only when they breasted the rise above Erme Head did Jervis prevail upon them to be quiet. Below was the farm, dark and quiet in the shadows of the shallow bowl of land it occupied. Jervis chuckled and gave his cock a brief rub, thinking of the warm cunts that the farm harboured and wondering if the fact that the beautiful, virginal Alice was his daughter was any reason not to fuck her.
Signalling the others forwards, he made for the farm buildings. They approached moderately quietly and no lights appeared in the farm windows. Then, when they had reached the gate, he felt a gentle tug at his shoulders. Turning, he made out the features of Charles Truscott in the dim light.
‘So we just barge in and take what we like, do we?’ Charles asked quietly.
‘That’s the general plan,’ Jervis replied.
‘Come on, Jervis old man,’ Charles said. ‘It’s traditional to give a fellow something a bit unusual on a night like this, something he won’t forget in a hurry.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Jervis responded. ‘I forgot to mention, Richard won’t actually be coming into the farmhouse with us. No, they’ve just had a fine public privy finished. I’ve had a look, and he’ll fit nicely in the sump!’
‘In the sump?’ Charles demanded, while grunts of surprise and guffaws of coarse laughter came from the others.
‘Don’t worry, he’ll enjoy every second of it!’ Jervis declared. ‘There’s nothing he likes better than a fat, female bottom in his face, eh, Richard?’
‘Well, I . . .’ Richard stammered. ‘I say, come on, chaps, that’s a bit strong!’
‘Nonsense!’ Jervis declared. ‘And besides, your Polly’s as likely as not to be the first to use it. After what I intend to do with her she’ll need it!’
‘But . . .’ Richard protested weakly.
‘The sump it is, then, chaps!’ Charles called out.
The response was immediate. The group came together, only focusing not on Richard but on Jervis.
‘Not me, you fools!’ Jervis swore as strong hands grabbed him. ‘Hey, what are you about?’
‘I’m afraid we’ve been bribed,’ Charles Truscott told him casually as he applied an armlock.
‘Ow!’ Jervis squeaked. ‘Bribed. What do you mean bribed?’
‘By the girls,’ Charles informed him. ‘A simple deal, by which whatever you suggest be done to Richard is done to you instead.’
‘What? I say, no, you can’t do that! I’m the best man, dammit!’
A balled handkerchief was thrust into his open mouth, stilling his protests. The bonds he had intended for Richard were found in his pockets and applied to his own limbs, despite his struggles. Helpless, he was hoisted on to his friends’ shoulders and carried to where a squat hut stood alone by the farmyard wall. He was dumped on the ground while they lifted a heavy wrought-iron grate, then dragged over to the hole it had exposed.
‘Don’t worry so,’ Charles said merrily. ‘It’s brand new, only finished this afternoon. Quite clean.’
Still struggling, he was pushed down into the hole and inserted into a cramped concrete passage. When they let go of him he tried to move back, but could do no more than squirm against the hard walls. Then he heard the grinding sound of the grate being replaced and an ominously final clang.
For a moment, there was total darkness, then a door latch clicked somewhere above him and a light illuminated the scene. He was looking directly up into the interior of a toilet bowl, with the edge of the seat visible and above that the cistern and ceiling. A face appeared over the rim: Charles Truscott. Jervis opened his eyes and shook his head desperately but his friend only grinned. Then an arm reached down into the sump, stretched and pulled the gag from his mouth.
‘Thank you!’ Jervis blurted out. ‘Now let me out, eh? There’s a good chap.’
‘Shh, you’ll wake the girls,’ Charles chided, ‘and I wouldn’t put my money on their choosing to rescue you.’
‘Now come on, Charles!’ Jervis urged. ‘This has gone far enough. I mean, a chap can take a joke but . . . Charles? Charles!’
Charles Truscott had left.
On the shoulder of Hangingstone Hill, Octavia and Polly looked down at the departing lantern lights. The men’s laughter could be heard clearly, also snatches of conversation, but no words. Being alone together was now a rare treat for the two women and they had decided to take a moonlit walk up on to the moor with the unspoken assumption that they would end up making love in some sheltered dell. It was warm, and Octavia had been enjoying the prospect of sex as they walked with their arms around one another’s waists. Then had come the sound of boisterous laughter in the distance and lantern lights had appeared in the direction of Kerslake.
It was obviously Jervis and his guests, and at first they had been concerned for Becky and Alice in the farmhouse. The lights had milled around at the front of the farm, then retreated once more, leaving them puzzled.
‘What do you suppose they’re up to?’ Polly asked.
‘I couldn’t say,’ Octavia answered. ‘No good, I’ll be bound. Still, the shutters are tight and the front door bolted. Maybe they tried but couldn’t get in?’
‘That’s not like Jervis Maray,’ Polly answered. ‘He’d have been in round the back or on the roofs and in the window.’
‘Maybe they’re too drunk for that,’ Octavia suggested.
‘Now that I can believe,’ Polly answered.
‘Well, they’re gone,’ Octavia continued. ‘Now where was I?’
‘You were saying that before I came, you used to come up here to play with yourself,’ Polly replied. ‘It’s no wonder old Mrs Arrish thought you needed your behind slapped.’
‘She never knew,’ Polly said. ‘Although I used to see Tom Apcott often enough, so I suppose he might have spied on me. He spied on us, after all.’
‘I remember,’ Polly said bitterly.
‘I used to think about being spanked by old Lias, or Jan Arrish,’ Octavia confessed, ‘then had by them, even though I didn’t know how it felt. Then you came along.’
Polly didn’t reply, and for a moment they walked in silence, each thinking her own thoughts. They had reached an outcrop of granite, three humps of stone that sheltered a triangular area of soft grass. It was a familiar place and, as Octavia stepped within the darker shadows, she had already begun to undress. Polly followed suit, and Octavia felt the old familiar excitement rising as the buttons of her dress came open one by one.
They watched each other undress, their bodies pale in the moonlight as dresses and underclothes were peeled away. Polly wore elaborate undergarments, with two petticoats, a corset, voluminous drawers, chemise and stockings. Octavia, as usual, wore less, with a simple set of loose combinations beneath her dress. Octavia was naked by the time Polly was down to her corset and she sat down on the grass and watched, idly playing with herself until her friend was ready.
Naked, they came together, Polly coming down on top of Octavia. Gentle touches and kisses to necks and faces soon became more intimate, with Polly’s hand burrowing down into the triangle between Octavia’s thighs. As her quim was stroked, she took Polly’s breasts in her hands, squeezed to make the milk start and then began to suckle. Polly sighed and began to stroke more urgently, finding Octavia’s clitoris.
For a while Octavia fed, sucking the warm, rich milk down and swallowing it as she was masturbated. The act of suckling made her feel exquisitely vulnerable, and also needful, both of a good spanking and to have her quim filled to bursting point. Yet she had been spanked hard for the benefit of the men that afternoon and her bottom was somewhat bruised, so as she pulled her mouth back from Polly’s swollen teat her thoughts were on having something put in her vagina and perhaps also up her bottom.
‘I want to be filled, Polly, really filled,’ she sighed. ‘Put your hand in me.’
Polly kissed her and burrowed her hand deeper between Octavia’s legs. Octavia spread her thighs, opening her quim fully to her lover’s exploring hand. Their tongues met as a finger slipped into Octavia’s hole. She was wet and it went in easily, then another. For a long moment two fingers were working in her vagina, bringing Octavia to a state of abandoned bliss. Then Polly had pulled out, only to once more probe the open, juicy hole, this time with her whole hand bunched. Octavia groaned deeply as Polly’s hand opened her, sliding in, then stopping, sliding in once more. Her vagina slowly opened to take in Polly’s fist, until the whole hand was inside her and she had the exquisite, full sensation she had been after.
With her hand buried in Octavia’s hole, Polly began to kiss slowly downwards. Octavia felt her lover’s lips on her chin, neck, breasts, belly and finally her quim. Then Polly’s muscular tongue-tip had begun to lap at Octavia’s clitoris. With one hand on a breast and the other on the back of Polly’s head, Octavia allowed herself to drift with the pleasure of what was being done to her. She was massaging a nipple and milk had begun to come, running out between her fingers and down over the soft mound of her breast. Polly’s whole hand was in her vagina, filling it and stretching it until her entire body seemed to be engorged, yet still she wanted more.
‘Up my bottom, Polly, your other hand,’ she begged and rolled her legs up to present her lover with easy access to the tight dimple in between her rear cheeks.
Polly made no answer, but her fingertips touched Octavia’s bottom-hole, one sticking out to make the first penetration, then the others in a ring. Octavia relaxed, allowing her sphincter to be eased wide, taking the first finger, then the tip of the others until it was stretched taut around all five digits.
‘More?’ Polly asked.
‘Yes,’ Octavia panted. ‘I want it all in, your whole fist.’
Polly pushed once more and Octavia felt her anus begin to stretch, the ring of muscle straining to accommodate Polly’s fist. It seemed that she could feel every knuckle, every bone of Polly’s hand as her bottom-hole struggled to take it all in. The first set of knuckles was already in, the second at the entrance. Then those too had been forced past her reluctant sphincter, only to slide out again. Octavia groaned in disappointment, only to gasp as Polly pushed once more. This time the second set of knuckles slid up easily, then the last set was going in and Polly’s whole fist was in her bottom, straining out the rectal chamber, making her feel so wonderfully full and so totally out of control that she was kicking her legs and squealing like a pig without really being aware of it.
Once more Polly’s tongue touched Octavia’s clitoris. She moaned aloud, kneading her breasts in abandoned ecstasy. A jet of milk from one of her breasts splashed down in her face. She licked at it, then the orgasm came, in a great rush, filling Octavia’s head and making her scream out again and again as her muscles spasmed, locked and then spasmed once more. Her vision went red, then black as both her holes clamped down hard on Polly’s intruding wrists, and she was fainting, mumbling endearments as her co
nsciousness slipped away.
The next thing Octavia was aware of was the starlit sky above her and a strange sucking sensation in her overfilled holes. Polly was pulling her fists out, slowly and gently. The one in Octavia’s vagina came easily, the one in her bottom with a little pain, but both holes remained gaping wide afterwards, closing only slowly as Octavia’s senses gradually returned.
They washed in the cool water of the Erme, playfully splashing each other’s bodies and laughing together until they began to feel cold. They emerged to stand dripping on a flat rock, both shivering despite the warmth of the night. Polly had not come, and took Octavia in her arms, kissing her and holding her gently until she felt like responding. Octavia let herself be touched, keeping her arms around her lover and her hands on the upper slopes of Polly’s full bottom.
Polly was becoming more and more excited. She moved down to Octavia’s breasts and began to suckle, taking one nipple into her mouth and then the other, until both were erect and wet with milk and saliva. She then moved a little lower and, turning her face up, began to milk Octavia’s breasts into her open mouth. Most went in, but a good deal squirted out over Polly’s face and down her front, until Octavia’s belly was wet with it.
‘You do it,’ Polly sighed, ‘do it over me.’
Octavia took her breasts in both hands as Polly rocked back on her heels. Squeezing the fat globes of flesh, she sent a spray of milk out from her nipples to land on her lover. Polly gave a deep sigh from the semi-darkness below and Octavia squeezed again, spurting milk over Polly and down her own front. A moist sound and a fresh moan showed that Polly had started to masturbate in the milk. Octavia squeezed herself again, once more showering Polly with breast milk. Polly had sat down and was masturbating with her thighs spread and her face and body sodden with Octavia’s milk. The smell of it was rich in the air, also the smell of aroused girl.
Devon Cream Page 25
