by Pamela Prim
It took just a few minutes for her to feel the orgasm growing again. Much harder than last time. Jeff was moaning into her neck as his tongue ran between her collar bone and her ears. ‘Fuck, baby, fuck, baby, you feel so good. Your tight wet cunt….’
She came, it felt amazing, better than last time. As she felt herself gripping his cock he suddenly took back control. In one long stroke he pulled his cock right out of her, repositioned slightly and slammed it back into her in a bruising thrust that rocked her table. She lost her grip on him and fell backwards as he began to pound her with an animal fury.
His hands were on her breasts gripping them tight, her hand was on her clit assisting the second wave of orgasms which crashed over her with more intensity than she could ever have imagined.
With a roaring heaving groan he pumped several jets of semen into her, then pulled out splashed a small puddle of spunk onto the front of her skirt.
She lay there for what felt like several minutes but may have been only seconds before she half rose into a seated position. Her skin was shining with sweat, her every muscle was trembling. She tried to say something but her voice was just a hoarse whisper.
Ted stepped up to take Jeff’s place. ‘You’re not such a little princess any more are you,’ he snarled.
He pulled her to her feet and turned her around. Pushing her against the wall her legs barely held her weight and she felt unable to think.
Her whole crotch was throbbing with a dull, satisfied ache. Ted cheerfully slapped her arse and from behind worked his cock into her cunt again. She could barely feel him through the aftershocks which rocked her body. He reached around to play with her tits, her clit, even choking her a bit. It all passed like so many movie moments cut down into a montage.
She came again, then found herself on her knees, her mouth filled first with the taste of her own cunt, then a creamier saltier flavour that burned her nostrils.
Ted filled her mouth with his cock, then his cum, then with almost no ceremony, his cock still wilting in his hand he said ‘Right. I’ve made the corrections. You best go see Derek about these minutes.’
He slid a hand around her waist and pulled her to her feet. Straightened her shirt, pulled her dress down frowning at the wet patch which was already showing signs of a little white crust at the edges and pushed her towards the door.
She stepped out into the office, painfully aware of the soaking dampness between her thighs, the small patch on her skirt, her exposed and now very hard and very red nipples.
She walked in what she hoped was a casual way over to Derek’s office and had almost made the door when she began to feel Jeff’s seed beginning to slide out of her. She narrowed her stride trying to wipe the slowly sliding cum against each thigh. Anything to stop it dropping straight out of her onto the carpet, or sliding tell-tale down her legs.
She crossed her legs at Derek’s door and knocked.
‘Come in.’
She almost laughed. But straightened her face. Opened the door and stepped in.
She immediately felt like she knew, that it must be like sign above her head: I JUST GOT FUCKED.
Instead he very calmly looked at her and asked, ‘Well, what do you need.’
‘Just your signature on these,’ she came round the table and set them on the table. He sniffed the air suspiciously and glanced up at her. She adjusted her legs again to catch a little more of Jeff’s seepage.
Then his eyes fell on the wet patch.
Shit, Catherine thought.
His hand lifted a little way and almost touched it. Then he thought better of it and turned to the papers. Her stomach was cold. He knew. He would tell her father. This would be the end of her ever leaving the house.
Instead he read the papers, signed them and handed them to her.
‘Good work,’ he said. His smile was tight and his voice tense. ‘Off you go.’
She swallowed back the taste of Ted’s cum and was about to walk to the door when an idea struck her.
She slid between Derek and the table. ‘Tell me, Derek. What does it take to run a company like this?’ she asked. She lifted herself to sit on the table. ‘See I really need a business mentor. Someone to look out for me. Make my case to Daddy, as to why I should stay in this office.’
She parted her knees as wide as they would go.
Derek stopped breathing. He was no longer looking at her face.
Not such a gentleman now, she thought.
‘I wonder if you’d help me out a bit?’ she asked him, leaning forward to run her hands through his greying hair. She closed her fist on it and pulled him forwards as if to kiss him. He seemed terrified, but a quick glance at his crotch told her how much he appreciated her attentions.
Just before their lips met she pushed his head down towards her groin.
I hope you enjoy the taste of Jeff’s load, she thought to herself.
His tongue was like a salve on her parts. Pleasurable as Jeff and Ted’s attentions were they were rough and had left her sore. This gentle lapping was just what she needed.
Maybe I still am a princess after all, she thought as Derek kissed her cunt exactly as she guided him too.
When she finally came on his face she wiped his chin clean with her thumb. Pulled down her skirt and grabbed the papers.
‘No touching yourself until I see you tomorrow,’ she said.
By then she hoped Ted and Jeff would have given her some more ideas of what to do with him.
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TEMPTATION TALES
Story 3
Chapter One
The landlord of The Garter Knights, a venerable old pub in Shirepoole located exactly halfway between the Bristol docks and the Bristol Channel proper was staring at two of his patrons with eyes agape. It was not just the sight of two such Lordly fellows – identifiable by their dress as wealthy and their signet rings as high-born – in his run down pub in which no one of a higher ranked than an ensign would drink in most days. Nor was it the five pound note they had paid for their gin with – an amount that covered almost a full year’s pay for the boy he had working as general dogsbody now that his knees were going and he couldn’t haul barrels like he used to. No, what had him staring through the fog of tobacco smoke at these two gentlemen was the astonishing coarseness of speech. The filth the sailors talked would turn the air blue in the courts of the great and mighty, until he sat down and heard these “Gentlemen” speak. True they spoke with a lighter touch, and used all the right words for all those dirty parts, but there was in their speech more filth than he’d heard from an entire boatload of sailors.
Where Johnny Jack-Tar might have “fucked a whore” last night, or have boasted briefly of his successes in seducing an especially delicate cabin boy, these “Gentlemen” were talking in no such generalities, and their boasts carried with them a multitude of detail.
The older one, thirty-something and showing the lightest dusting of grey in his jet black hair was expounding on the sensitivities not only of a young ladies rump but of her “anus”, her “sphincter”, the risk of “passing wind” and the embarrassment of “ejaculating” too soon within her “clenched arse-hold” instead of “pulling out” to finish in “a glorious spattering across her moon-like buttocks”.
It was, in the landlord’s view, almost like being there.
The younger man – a fair young man who appeared nearer twenty-five than thirty – laughed rather harshly at his older compatriot at the end of the story and told him scornfully that while his obsession with the female rump was of course understandable there was little in it for the woman, and that as a lover, he would always put the “climactic pleasures of the woman first above even his own.”
To this end he had a number of techniques which the landlord leaned in closer to hear thinking with some fondness of his wife of twenty-eight years and eleven offspring once she birthed the current one.
But before the younger man could expand upon his a
rray of techniques the older man shook his head and told his friend to stow his advice.
“A man of my years has little to learn from a little sprite like yourself. Trust to experience and listen well to your elders.”
The younger man shook his locks and laughed at his friend’s teasing tone: “I’m sure your ways work wonders with the tired old widows you target, but the real test of masculine talent is the freshest young virgins. Why I was just at Lady Elizabeth’s country estate last week –”
“I hope you are not going to suggest that Lady Elizabeth is the freshest of young virgins, my boy. I have myself made sure that is not the case.”
“No, Lady Elizabeth is no fresh virgin. I have myself some experience of her experience between sheets. That woman has a mouth I was ready to marry by the time she had run it up and down my flagpole a few times. No, you are correct my friend that Lady Elizabeth is no fresh virgin.”
“Well, what was your point in bringing her up then?”
“As of last week, neither is her ward.”
“Really?”
“Yes, and though I was myself as stealthy in my repeated entrance and egress from her saintly body, she was in such paroxysms that I had to finish my ravaging of her cunny to the sound of Lady Elizabeth’s butler trying to break the lock on the door in the belief that Miss…” The blonde youth trailed off. “You know I’ve quite forgotten her name.”
“Cecelia,” said the older man a little wistfully. “You know when I sat with her at supper once I could have sworn I could smell her charming little cunny through her petticoats. How sad that I was not the first to penetrate her secrets.”
The younger man looked decidedly smug.
“Point is that she was brought to the most remarkable climax by my works, to the point where her cries in the grips of the petit mort were thought to be of a more permanent sort of death.”
“An unverifiable story is hardly proof of youth over experience. Besides I’ve had my fair share of virgins in my time and any given one might be made to sing an Ave Maria but it’s a trickier business getting a consistent result.”
The landlord was aching by this point to know how it was not only that these rakes were able to rack up so much data on the habits of virgins but exactly what the younger man was doing to Miss Cecelia that made her enjoy her first encounter quite so much.
He listened closer.
“I propose a bet, old man.”
“Propose away, boy.”
“We find ourselves a few fine young fillies, one each and in the delightful and within witness of the other enjoy the fruits of their flesh. The first person to bring their partner to fruition wins.”
“I see and the stakes.”
“One hundred pounds.”
“Let’s make it two-hundred, I have a gambling debt needs paying.”
“Two hundred it is.”
With hope they looked around the bar and took in the array of sailors. Both men met the eye of the barman and winked at him, and rather unsure of himself he winked back.
With a sudden horror he thought of his daughters and ran to tell his wife to keep the girls indoors for a while. Until these rakes had settled their bet.
Chapter Two
The coach bore four young ladies into the Shirepoole markets with great aplomb. It was a two horse open top which showed off its precious cargo to great effect. Four young women in the neat dress expected of the daughters of successful merchants.
Nancy, the oldest was nearly one-and-twenty and felt her companions to be rather foolish young girls who were obsessed as most girls of eighteen are with the prospect of meeting a dashing member of the Shirepoole regiment in officer’s dress.
She had no need of such silliness, after all she was engaged to be married to Richie Price as soon as he brought back father’s boat from the West Indies loaded with a stock of spices, tea and tobacco plus whatever profit he had turned on the delicate English China and he had sailed out with in his hold.
As the oldest, it was her job to supervise her three charges. Her younger sister, a naive and excitable blonde short and curvy and a contrast to Nancy’s own tall, slender body and brunette curls. This was Kelly.
Their companions were Kelly’s closest friends, Moira, a pale and freckled half-Irish redhead and Alice an octaroon with exotic dark and frizzy hair and sun-tanned skin. Her grandfather had fought for King George against the America Rebels before being given passage to Shirepoole.
Nancy watched in silence as they discussed their romantic hopes and spoke in hushed tones of marital duties they had heard performed. She watched a prostitute talking to some sailors as they pulled up outside The Garter Knights and their old and tired looking driver hopped down and opened the carriage door for them.
Kelly smiled shyly as the driver took her hand and helped her down to the street, Alice with great dignity stepped down without taking his hand and the lithe, tall, fairy like Moira followed without needing to.
Nancy took the offered hand and settled down on the street. The conversation of her wards had her worried. With likely marriage coming up she felt a deep yearning to know what was in store. There were so many things she would have to learn and no one to ask to find them out.
“Wouldn’t it be fun to go in,” said Alice. “It would quite shock the men to see four young women in such a place.”
“You’ll only attract ruffians to us if we do,” replied Moira.
“Wouldn’t it be wicked to enter such a sinful place? Don’t they sell gin in public houses like that?” asked Kelly.
Nancy, who at first had rejected the idea of being seen in such a working class pub, was ready to tell them to go on and head into the market but some urge to prove her worldliness to these youngsters suggested a new plan to her.
“It is just as well for young women like you to learn something of the world, let’s get a single gin in this place. Perhaps have a short conversation with the local colour then we really must move on to the market, girls.”
“Oh, what fun,” yelped Alice.
Moira’s haughty look changed a little, Nancy had noticed that Moira would often try to follow her own lead in an effort to appear older. The result was much the opposite but Nancy found it rather flattering.
Kelly had fallen silent and looked rather nervous about it all.
The smoky gloom of the pub made Nancy’s eyes water a bit. But she couldn’t help but notice that the soft lighting and smoky air showed her and her companions in a very flattering light. The hoops of their skirts and corset bound midriffs made for a beautiful silhouette and the fact that they were all dressed in white dresses with pink and grey trim gave them a somewhat angelic appearance in this den of vice and sin.
The four of them made their way into the small snug which was empty and rounded about by leather benches set into the wall. The single table sat in the middle and filled up the room. It was very private and once seated they all felt a little more comfortable. Moira and Kelly sat on one side, while Alice joined Nancy. Sat close now, she noticed the smell of Alice’s perfume and the smell reminded her of something warm and soft. Alice was very beautiful, Nancy thought looking at her. Large full lips and an elegant carriage. Her wiry hair was piled atop her head in a bun and Nancy found herself wondering what it would smell like if she leaned in for a fuller, warmer smell.
Lost in this unexpected reverie Nancy was suddenly startled awake when the quizzical voice of the landlord came from the doorway of the cramped little room: “What might I be able to get you young ladies today?”
Nancy spoke up and with great authority said, “Four cups of gin please, landlord.”
A voice from the pub behind him spoke up, “Best make that six cups and a full bottle, landlord. I’m sure these young ladies wouldn’t object to the company of two gentlemen.”
The accent suggested aristocracy even before the tall and muscular figure of the man filled the door. He had dark hair with a sprinkling of grey but his face didn’t look much more than a few
years older than Ritchie.
Moira looked up and said, “We couldn’t possibly allow men to join us unchaperoned.”
“Don’t be a wet blanket,” snapped Alice. “Of course these men can join us.”
A younger blonde man had emerged from the gloom too and the landlord disappeared off shaking his head in a way that Nancy couldn’t quite understand.
“Yes, I think after proper introductions that should be quite alright,” she said eventually. Giving Alice’s outburst her seal of approval.
“Well I am Jacob, Lord Earheart,” said the older one. “And this is Alfie, also of the peerage but a far lesser family.” The slur would have seemed an insult but they were clearly old friends used to making fun of each other.
Jacob slid between the table and Alice and took up a seat between Nancy and Alice while the younger man, Alfie, did the same between Moira and Kelly.
Nancy introduced all four of them being careful not to give away their family names. Something told her that their families would not want to be named parties in this little adventure.
The bottle of gin arrived soon and Jacob poured out the gin into the China teacups they each had been handed. As he did so Nancy noted that the landlord quietly closed the door behind him as he left.
The gin was cold at first then, as she swallowed, boiling hot searing her throat and settling in her stomach like lead. She wanted to cough but instead managed a quiet hiccup.
Alice drank hers like a seasoned drinker and immediately asked for a top up. Moira sipped hers elegantly while Kelly took a sip and exploded into a flurry of sputters. Her cheeks burned bright red when with great delicacy Alfie turned to her and with a gentle thumb brushed the dripping gin from her chin. He looked around for somewhere to wipe it then, catching Nancy’s eye he casually put his thumb to his mouth and sucked the gin from it.
“Tell me about yourselves. What is the gossip among the young and beautiful women of Shirepoole,” asked Jacob.
