The Missionary and the Pygmies (and other erotic stories)

Page 1

by Charlotte Roberts

The Missionary and the Pygmies

and other stories

by

Charlotte Roberts

Copyright © 2014 by Charlotte Roberts

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this collection are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Published in 2014 by

Charlotte Roberts

Harriet Colsden

"We'll be back on Sunday evening," said Mrs Colsden to her daughter Harriet. "Remember the brown bin goes out tomorrow evening. Don't forget, dear, or the smell will be terrible. And make sure the builders clear up any mess after they've removed the scaffolding. And any emergency, you know who to call."

"Yes, Mummy," said Harriet wearily, looking at the newspaper through her thick glasses.

"Leave the girl alone," said Harriet's father. "She's a grown woman for Christsake."

"Listen to the man," exclaimed his wife. "Talking like that. A vicar, would you believe?"

After what seemed like an interminable delay of fussing and endless instructions from her mother, Harriet's parents finally left for their long weekend in Margate, and the vicarage was hers for three days.

She spent the evening in front of the TV and when she woke late the next morning, she found the builders' van parked outside and saw two men taking down the scaffolding. She watched them for a while from the pantry window. One of them was a large, middle-aged man, but the other was young, around twenty she guessed, with blond hair and a muscular body.

Harriet herself was a confirmed spinster and, at thirty-two, still a virgin. She had a rather bookish face, her somewhat long nose giving her a bird-like appearance. This, together with her prim manner and thick glasses and her hair in a permanent bun, prevented men from seeing her as a sexual creature. As a consequence, she learned to see herself in the same way. She had long since accepted her fate, and had developed other interests. She was leader of the local brownies group, she did volunteer work for the local hospice and worked part-time in a charity shop. She kept herself busy and never felt sorry for herself for a moment.

She stood there at the pantry window watching the men, particularly 'blondy' as she had decided to call him, for about twenty minutes, and then they seemed to disappear. Probably gone for a tea-break, lazy buggers, she thought.

She went out the back of the vicarage and cycled over to Exwick to help with the brownies. It was awards day, and Harriet handed out the little medals to the girls. She then went to see old Mrs Poplar who was getting on rather and needed someone to look in every now and then. After that she did some shopping and returned to the vicarage. It was after teatime and the builders' van, as well as the scaffolding had disappeared.

She took her bike round the back and was surprised to see the back door wide open. Strange, she thought. I distinctly remember shutting it.

She took her shopping bags into the kitchen and placed them on the kitchen table, and as she did so, she heard a creak above her. She listened. More creaking. Someone was up there, walking around.

She quietly went up the stairs, not feeling the slightest fear (she was that kind of girl) and entered her parents bedroom. Blondy was there, looking into a cupboard.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she said in her forthright manner.

Blondy nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun round and started stammering an incoherent explanation.

"You were going to burgle the place, weren't you? You bloody burglar. I'll call the cops, that's what I'll do."

Blondy gave up with his attempted excuse.

"I'm sorry," he pleaded. "Please don't tell anyone. Please don't call the cops. I'll lose me job. Please don't tell on me. I didn't mean it."

"You didn't mean it?" snorted Harriet. "You accidentally tripped in through the back door and accidentally tripped up the stairs, did you? And you accidentally opened that cupboard door too, I suppose."

"I thought the place was empty. I was just having a mosey, that's all."

Harriet's expression remained stern and immovable.

"Honestly, I'll do anything just please don't tell on me. I've been in trouble before, see. If you tell on me, that'll be it for me. I'll be finished." He looked at her with an anguished expression. "Please, miss. I'll do anything."

"You'll do anything?" said Harriet. "What, like some building work?"

"Yeah, sure. Anything."

"Well, too bad, 'cos I don't want any building work," said Harriet, mercilessly.

"Something else, then. Anything."

The boy was in earnest, and Harriet suddenly had a naughty thought. She made a big show of deliberating, and then said, "Well, maybe I won't call the cops after all. But you'll have to do exactly as I say."

The lad seemed relieved. "Definitely. Anything you say."

"You understand that when I say 'anything', I mean you will be my slave and obey me unquestioningly."

Blondy seemed slightly taken aback.

"Don't worry. I won't ask you to cut your wrists or anything like that. Now, do you agree?"

Now it was Blondy's turn to consider. "So I have to be your slave? How long for?"

"One hour," said Harriet, looking at the clock on the bedside table. "At twenty past six, you'll be free to go."

Blondy looked at the clock too, then back at Harriet. He seemed to survey her for a few moments, then agreed. "All right."

"Follow me," said Harriet.

He followed her down the stairs and out the back door into the garden. It was a balmy summer evening, the sun still shining warmly in a blue sky and swallows darting through the air above them.

She stood in the centre of the lawn and turned to face him. "Take off your T-shirt," she said.

"What?" he asked, taken completely by surprise.

"You heard," she said. "Hurry up."

He looked about as if to appeal for help, but there was nobody around. The vicarage was two miles from the nearest village, and the garden was completely enclosed by laurels.

He took off his T-shirt and stood there, waiting to find out what was next.

Harriet looked at the lad's torso. He was built like a male model. She felt a thrill of power and anticipation run through her.

"Take of your trousers," she said.

He saw there was no escape, and he did what he was told, throwing the clothes onto the grass.

"What's this about?" he asked.

"Never you mind. You're my slave, remember? Now," she said, pointing to his underwear and shoes. "The rest."

"You're kidding," he said. But evidently she was not. He pulled down his underwear and stood, naked on the lawn.

She fixed her gaze on his cock. She'd never seen one in the flesh before. She didn't have much to judge by, but to her it looked like a fine specimen.

"Lie down and close your eyes. Go on. On your back."

Blondy lay down on the warm grass and closed his eyes.

"Don't move," she said.

She tip-toed over to him, trying not make a sound. She kneeled down beside him and peered closely at his cock. It lay flopped to one side, shaved clean, limp and warming in the sunshine. She checked the boy's face and his eyes were closed tightly. Then she leaned forward and breathed on his cock.

He felt her warm brea
th, then he felt fingers curl around his shaft and lift it up. Then he felt it enclosed by her wet mouth, the tongue licking the soft flesh, kneading it, wetting it, heating it up. He shot a quick glance but she was looking at him and caught him,

"Clothe you eyeth," she hissed, her mouth full of his cock.

She continued her attentions, and he started to respond. After a while she could no longer keep the whole length in her mouth as it expanded and hardened. She was amazed at how it grew, and the feeling of having this thing to play with, to do with as she wished, thrilled her. She started to feel a warm glow between her legs, and realised that she was growing wet.

She sucked the cock some more and kneaded the lad's balls with her free hand. Then she stroked his stomach and chest, and he started to respond more strongly, letting out some encouraging gasps.

She dropped his cock for a moment and began to loosen her blouse. He opened his eyes again to see what she was up to, but she shouted at him again to close them, and he did so.

She stood up and stepped out of her skirt and underwear and felt the thrill of being naked outdoors for the first time in her life.

She then placed her feet astride the boy and lowered herself, squatting above his cock, taking hold of it and then guiding it inside her. She gave a cry as it plunged into her soaking hole.

The lad opened his eyes and saw her slim body perched on top of him, her hips gyrating.

"Don't look," she said.

"Why d'you want me to keep me eyes closed?" he asked.

"I don't want to be looked at," she said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because I'm not pretty," she said. "So close your eyes, slave."

But instead of closing his eyes, he sat up and reached out towards her and removed her glasses and threw them to one side. Then he reached round the back of her head and pulled the elastic scrunchy from her hair, letting it fall free.

"You look all right to me," he said. He then looked down at her large breasts. "Better than all right, actually," he added, placing a hand on a breast and fondling it. Then he took a nipple in his mouth and flicked it with his tongue. She let out a moan and continued moving her hips, grinding her pussy against his cock furiously.

After some time, as their pleasure increased, he leaned forward and kissed her passionately on the mouth.

"It's my first time," she confessed with a gasp.

"No way," he said, genuinely shocked. He gave a toothy grin, then said, "It doesn't feel like it. I mean, you know. It went in easy, like."

She paused her gyrations. "First time for a cock," she said. "I've had other things in there."

"Like what?" he grinned.

She considered for a moment. "Carrots ... cucumbers ... bananas ... bottles. A clarinet once."

They grinned at each other, then he raised himself up, overbalancing her and pushing her backwards. She lay on her back on the grass and spread her legs wide. He pushed his cock, which had slipped out, back into her flooded pussy, causing her to moan in ecstasy. The knowledge that it was her first time increased his excitement, and he kissed her again on the mouth, then found her left ear and plunged his tongue inside. Her hands clenched around his back and pulled him closer.

After a couple of minutes, she felt the pleasure from her tingling clitoris rise to an unbearable intensity, and suddenly it overtook her in an explosion of sexual release, her pussy quivering and oozing with climactic liquid which the movements of his cock brought to the surface.

Soon after he withdrew and she took his cock in her hand and helped him to shoot his sperm across her body. One squirt landed on her face, some onto her full breasts, the rest dripping down onto her smooth stomach. He gave a final shudder and groan, then fell on top of her, spent.

After a few moments she said, "You're free to go now," and gestured towards her raised wrist, on which her watch showed it was twenty past six.

He glanced at the watch and then muttered, "I'm in no hurry."

They looked at each other and smiled.

" />

On the Phone

Charles and Margaret Golwich were a perfectly normal married couple. You probably know couples like them. Why, you might even know them, or if you don't, you might one day meet them, and if you do, you'd never suspect the truth.

So how did this normality express itself, you ask?

Well, they met at university. They married after dating each other for five years. They lived a perfectly ordinary life for the next seventeen years. Their sex life, which had started off, as with so many young couples, with them practically believing they invented sex, soon simmered down to a once-a-week routine of missionary-position, ten-minute grinding at the weekend, and then tailed off into nothingness. Margaret compensated by delving into the pages of trashy romantic fiction, Charles compensated by making his work life and salary scale the measure by which he judged his success as a member of the male species.

From what I've said so far, it must be clear that somewhere along the line something changed. What was the catalyst for this momentous event, I hear you ask?

Margaret bought a smartphone.

And on this smartphone was a certain application which enabled her to make video calls, primarily to their son, Stephen, who had recently flown the nest to go to university, and to her elderly mother Dorothy, who had recently bought her first computer and was taking a course at the local library on how to use it.

One day Charles was at home, fiddling around with a broken vacuum cleaner, when Margaret's mother called.

"Are you at your computer, mother?" asked Margaret. Upon receiving a response in the affirmative, she suggested that they switch to a video call, and Margaret proceeded to lounge on the sofa, talking to her mother via her smartphone app. You know how women talk when they get going. Let me rephrase that, because some men can gab away for hours on end and put women to shame in the gabbing department.

Margaret and her mother were gabbing away when and Charles suddenly had an epiphany. He had no idea where it came from. Presumably it was a result of so many years of repressed, unsated sexual energy. Wherever it derived from, he strode purposely over to the sofa where his wife was lounging and looked down at her.

Margaret was holding the phone up in front of her with her head resting on the back of the sofa. On the screen (though Charles couldn't see) was her mother's face, and of course on her mother's computer monitor up in Hull, her mother could see Dorothy's head and shoulders as they reclined back.

Margaret was wearing a pair of dark blue trousers and Peter knelt down on the floor in front of her and started to undo her zip.

Margaret, in mid-flow, managed to continue with her sentence while flashing a quick look of surprise at her husband.

Charles, having loosened the waist, then forcefully pulled the trousers from Margaret's legs. Her panties came off alongside them.

"Have you heard from Stephen recently?" came her mother's voice from the phone.

"Yes, he, um, called last night actually," replied Margaret, keeping up the conversation.

"Didn't he have some exams recently?" asked her mother. "How did he do?"

Charles pulled up his wife's legs with a firm grasp and placed one on each of his shoulders. He looked down at his wife's exposed pussy and, knowing what he was about to do, he started to feel a stirring in his own trousers.

"Very well, Mother," said Margaret, as Charles pushed his face into his wife's crotch and started licking and poking with his tongue. He hadn't done this for years, but for some reason the knowledge that Margaret only had to turn the phone around and her mother would see everything had suddenly made this scenario irresistable to hom.

Margaret gave a little gasp as his tongue slipped into her pink slit, but her mother was in mid-flow and didn't seem to notice.

Judging from Margaret's reaction, Charles reckoned that she found the illicit nature of what he was doing as much a turn on as he did. As her mother droned on and on, Margaret punctuate
d the conversation with groans and moans which her mother interpreted as acknowledgements of what she was saying.

"And so I told them I wouldn't stand for it."

"Mmmm."

"They said it was the rules and I said I didn't care if it was the law of the land, you can't treat a customer like that."

"Mmmm."

"I asked to see the manager and they said she wasn't there that day."

"Aaah."

By this time Margaret's pussy was soaking: a mixture of Charles' saliva and her own juices, and Charles himself had a raging erection. He withdrew his face from his wife's crotch and then yanked her legs forward so that her ass slid to the edge of the couch. He then proceeded to free himself from his own trousers.

"Are you all right dear?" said her mother. "It's quite dizzying the way the picture swings like that."

"Yes, Mother. Just getting comfortable."

Charles took his cock in one hand and started rubbing the head against his wife's wet clitoris. She let out a trembling gasp. It was very strange. Here they were, a middle-aged couple for whom sex had long since become a rather dull routine, and now their bodies had suddenly become super-charged with sexual frisson.

"Are you sure you're all right dear?" asked her mother.

"Yes, Mother."

"You sound upset."

"It's just something on the - ahhh! - TV. A nature programme."

"What channel is it?" asked her mother. "I'll take a look."

"Oh ... No, it's a DVD actually. Carry on Mother. I'm listening."

Her mother went back to her interminable story and Charles pushed the head of his cock down. The soft flesh of his wife's pussy parted and his shaft slid deep into her tunnel. He held it there as his wife gave another little moan, then pulled back and started rhythmically thrusting, savouring the delicious sensations and thrilled by the dischordancy of what he was doing against the sound of the two women's inane conversation.