She lost all control, limbs shaking and stomach tensing, she felt her-self let loose a gushing flow of her juices onto his pumping cock. Then he pulled out of her and with astonishing accuracy unloaded a half-dozen thick lines of cum across her stomach and the panties Doyle had tossed there.
Through all this Kettering had been completely silent apart from his ragged breathing. All those boarding school wanks, she thought a little pityingly. I’d like to be the one to make him scream my name during sex.
Kettering staggered away a little and Doyle took his place. She felt limp, completely drained, but when Doyle said, ‘More?’ it was as if her cunt spoke for all of her and she said: ‘More.’
He leaned forward and lifted her into a seating position by her throat. The feeling of his powerful hands, cutting off just enough air to show he was in control made her already dripping pussy even wetter. She realised she was sitting in a wet patch of her own making, the papers stuck together by her sexual emissions.
With his other hand Doyle reached behind her and turned the key in the lock of the cuffs and brought her hands to the front. His cock still thrust out of him, but now at a half mast. A glistening white drop of cum still sat on the tip of it and Karen leaned forward to lick it up with her tongue. He seemed to like that, swelling a little.
She gave the head another long loving lick, aware that his first load was drying to a crust on her neck. ‘This time,’ she said. ‘I want you both to cum inside me.’
Kettering came up and stood beside Doyle. As she took Doyle in her mouth, her other hand began to tug Kettering to attention. Their cocks were more sluggish having cum once. But Karen knew what she wanted, her hand moved up and down, watching the facinating give of the skin as it moved over the pattern of blood vessels. Slowly the two huge cocks came to life, jutting once more like the spar of a ship.
She kissed them, sucked on them, ran her lips down the base of them to the balls, moving from one to the other, and back again. Eventually their hips began to grind into her movements, their breath became harder and shallower like they had been running. With both of her men now standing proud she let them go and stood up. ‘I want you both to cum inside me.’
Kettering stood back and made a you-first gesture to Doyle. ‘Rank has its privileges.’
But Doyle smiled and said, ‘No, you get her warmed up for me, by all means.’
Kettering sat down on one of the gambling benches and with ex-traordinary ease picked Karen up and dropped her astride his lap. She could feel his cock press against her cunt and just frotted against it for a while, enjoying the feel of him against her. He spanked her ass with one hand and with the other played with her breasts, even gently slapping them a bit. Karen moaned, the little flashes of pain felt good and drove her onwards.
Unable to wait any longer she reached down and guided him into her. This time it didn’t hurt at all, warmed up and still a little stretched out she was able to, with a little wiggling and the application of a little extra sa-liva slide him right into her. ‘That feels good,’ she whispered in his ear, kissing his neck and beginning to undo the white shirt of his uniform.
She held him almost still inside her and giving away as little move-ment for him as possible ground her clit against him.
The shirt came away in her hand. ‘Wow,’ she gasped looking at his lean, muscular body. She ran her hand over his pecs and gave his biceps a squeeze. ‘Someone works out,’ she said, he started to reply but she took that moment to slide up his cock until it almost pulled free of her and then drop back down onto it. She enjoyed the feeling of his cock slamming into her, but not as much as the sudden change in expression from the relaxed enjoyment of her grinding to a sudden spike of pleasure. His head rocked back and eyes closed.
His muscular hands gripped her waist and lifted her up and down, she helped but was almost entirely under his control.
God he’s strong, he’s practically using me as a fleshlight! She felt like she was about to cum and not wanting to miss out on Doyle was about to roll off him and give him some assistance with her mouth when she felt two hands on her shoulders which pushed her down onto Kettering’s cock and pinned her there then pushed her forward so her tits pressed into Ket-tering’s chest and her face into his neck.
It also brought her arse up and while one hand held her firm, and as Kettering writhed, frantically trying to get some movement with his cock, she felt the other hand grip her arse and a thumb wet with saliva began to rub the little circle of her anus.
Doyle spat a few more times until her crack was soaking and he’d worked his thumb right into her. Just like the sex, after the initial pain of entry, his thumb started to feel really good.
‘Yes,’ she moaned. ‘Fuck my ass.’ She felt unbelievably dirty. She had been a virgin half an hour ago and now she was Doyle’s butt-fucking slut. But it felt good to be dirty like this, with these two beautiful men. Doyle let go of her neck and with his thumb firmly in place she was once more in a position to bounce up and down Kettering’s shaft.
As her arse got comfortable with Doyle’s thumb he pulled it out, and replaced it first with his middle finger, then added his ring finger. I guess that’s where its name came from, thought Karen.
He kept them wet with thick slick gobs of saliva, and then began to slide them in and out. She felt her whole body tighten with the pleasure of Kettering and Doyle inside her, then it would hurt and she’d have to relax. Constantly chasing the orgasm then having to back off.
Then the moment she had been waiting for, Doyle felt something was right with her body and his fingers slipped out of her, he pinned her down again and she felt the huge presence of his cock between her cheeks. She breathed in and held it relaxing as much as she could.
He entered her slowly, it felt bizarre to have something so big going into her arse. She did her best not to think about the bathroom. The tip seemed to take forever, stretching her more and more until she was sure something would tear right up her. Then suddenly it was in. She felt herself close up behind his head and her arse gripped his slick wet shaft.
Doyle move faster now. Thrusting in and out in small strokes, each one going a little further until it felt like his cock was battering at her lungs and heart. She could feel Ketterings cock stationary inside her but still pulsing with the flow of blood and in the strange sensational illusions it felt to her as if Doyle’s cock were rubbing up against Kettering’s inside her. They felt crammed in. She felt full, filled to bursting with the members of these two huge cops.
She wanted to cum on their cocks so badly. ‘Please,’ she whispered. And they began to fuck her.
What followed was a building rhythm of thrusting four hands groped her body, caressing her skin, worshipping her. Doyle pressed against her back. He had stripped off and the hair of his chest scratched a little. His tongue and lips sucked and lapped at her neck he bit her back and slapped her ass. He reached around to play with the breasts that Kettering was sucking on, only to abandon them and kiss her on the mouth hard, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and taking her tongue in his.
She turned to kiss Doyle and saw the look of pleasure, of desire on his face. Karen felt like all three of them were melting into on writhing mass of sweat and limbs, the cocks inside her seemed to pass into synchronised rhythms, thrusting into her in unison, then slowly changing the pattern until one was balls deep as the other nearly pulled out, then swapping with great speed. She was aching from the pounding, her muscles were sore, her mouth felt bruised and the sweat and cum on her face stung her eyes and dripped onto her breasts and Kettering’s chest. But she wanted more and more and more.
Then with an almighty, gutteral moan, and and explosive cry of: ‘Fuck,’ she felt Kettering explode inside her. He didn’t change his rhythm thrusting up and into her over and over his neck straining so the tendons showed and his chest glistening with their mixed sweats. She felt him pumping his seed into her again and again until it was dripping out of her cunt and down his balls. The fee
ling of him cumming pushed her over the edge and she threw her own head back gripping her tits as hard as she could and continuing to slam herself down on Ketterings cock which had already begun to deflate.
Still, even at half-mast Kettering was more than enough for her. She came hard her body tensing and her arsehole suddenly gripping Doyle with all the power of her orgasm.
Then she slumped forward onto Kettering whose cock remained in-side her as it slowly wilted. The shuddering orgasm seemed to have put Doyle over the edge and he too seemed to build to his orgasm, pounding her as she lay there his cock in parallel with the now still cock of Kettering.
An aftershock, or perhaps an anal orgasm, hammered through her again as she realised he to was erupting into her. He jerked hard inside her spasmed once and she felt the rush of liquid into her. Then her spasmed again, jerked again and fell forward onto her. They lay like that exhausted for a while until the two men were too soft to stay in.
As they slipped out of her she felt a gush of their cum follow them. She cupped herself front and back to catch it.
‘Here,’ Doyle said, his hulking body naked under the harsh lights of the shop his hand extended. In it he held the balled up scrap of cloth that was her panties. Covered with her cum and theirs. He stepped forward and pulled them up onto her catching the spilled cum in them as he pulled them snug with her crotch.
Her panties were soaked, drenched with her saliva, streaked in the crotch by her cum and everywhere else by a thick white skin of theirs. The damp rag was cold where it stuck to her, cupping her soaking cunt and ab-sorbing more of their seed as it leaked out of her.
She blushed, again that feeling of dirtiness and excitement mingled.
She pulled her jeans on and was pleased to see the damp didn’t soak throught. Even though the feeling reminded her of when she was young enough to still wet herself. These two men had marked her as theirs. They had saved her as a girl, and now were claiming her as a woman, their wom-an.
‘Now,’ said Doyle, buttoning his shirt. ‘We really do need that state-ment from you, Karen.’
‘Of course.’
Kettering took out his pen and pad. ‘In your own time and your own words,’ he said.
Chapter Three
After giving her statement, she straightened her hair in the bathroom mir-ror and checked her clothes. She had taken the two policemen’s phone numbers and thumbed the scrap of paper in her pocket as she walked to the bus.
She took her seat opposite an old couple and wondered about their life together. If they had ever done something as outrageous, as crazy as what she had just done.
Going over the events of the day, she found herself playing with her breasts, with her crotch, through her shirt and jeans. Just idly brushing it, but clearly it was enough to get odd looks from the old couple. The old woman looked shocked and deeply disapproving.
The old man winked at her. She smiled back at him. She didn’t feel at all self-conscious anymore the way she would have done this morning.
She balled up the number in her pocket and instead took out her phone and searched for HOT SUIT GUY and hit the green call button.
The phone rang a few times, then: ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, its Karen from the bookies. I was just wondering if you still wanted that drink?’
‘Yeah sure.’
‘You free this evening?’
‘Yeah, I think so. Seven alright for you?’
‘Better make it eight, I need to go home and change…’
Story 32
My father was dying.
I stood beside his bed, trying not to weep, trying in vain to be brave. The village priest had already given him his last rites and taken his coin in recompense, and gone. Only my father’s widowed servant, Camille, and I remained at his bedside. My father, a landed knight who fought for the king at Bosworth Field, paid the price for his loyalty. After Richard was slaughtered and tossed into his nameless grave, the new king, the tyrant, called for the heads of those who fought against him. Citizens and nobles cried foul, for the tyrant, King Henry the Seventh, dated his reign the day before the battle. And King Richard, third of that name, was named traitor as were all who fought for him on that bloody day in August, the year fourteen eighty-five.
Though the tyrant pardoned my father, the heavy fines for his disloyalty to king and country cost him his manor, his servants, his men-at-arms, and his wife. Now, ten years later, aged before his time, Sir William Atworthy, sworn liege to the long-dead Duke of Norfolk, lay dying, penniless, in a hovel he wouldn’t have stabled his war stallion in. Though I grieved for my father, as I had my mother, I couldn’t help but fear what would happen to me. Camille would go live with her aged sister in Leicester. I had only two options: marriage or the nunnery.
As my father hadn’t yet arranged a suitable marriage for me, I feared I would be sent to the abbey at St. Margaret’s. There, they would cut my glorious hair, put me in a wimple and force me into a vow of silence. I prayed every day on my knees since my father fell ill to not be sent to the abbey as a Bride of Christ. Lord Jesus, you don’t need another bride, do you?I knew my garrulous and headstrong spirit would die is such a place.
As though hearing my thoughts, my father stirred. His eyes opened, roamed and fell on my wretched face. “Child,” he whispered.
I seized his hand, tears flowing. “Father.”
Trembling, his other hand rose, his fingers beckoned. Camille rose from her stool and fetched a sealed parchment. Dropping to her knees beside the small bed, she rested it within his hand. Then she bowed her head and began to tell her beads.
“Child,” he whispered, his faded blue eyes on me. “My Katherine.”
“Father, don’t talk. Save your strength.”
“No.”
His voice, so faint I bent my head closer to hear him at all, spoke on. “This is my will. I would have you – attend the Duke of Norfolk. Henry – King Henry pardoned the son for his father’s treachery. Go. He will look after you.”
I clutched the will to my breast, my tears falling. “Father –”
His shaky hand rose once more with a tiny leather bag clutched in it. “Your dower, lass. All I have left. I saved it – from Henry’s greed. His Grace will find a suitable husband for you.”
I wept, great sobs breaking from my chest. “Father! Don’t leave me.”
His watery eyes rested on me. “I must go now, my daughter. Your mother – your mother is here, waiting. I – go to her. And to our dear king, Richard. Blessed be, my Katherine.”
His eyes stared into nothing. His thin chest no longer rose or fell. Camille rose from her knees to flung wide the shutters, permitting my father’s soul to escape, and be free. The bag and the will sat forgotten in my hands as I wept for him, grieving for the one I lost. I was now alone in the world, with no kin, and no one to turn to. Only a namefrom a distant place. I had no idea how to even get there.
Camille and I were the only mourners at his burial where hundreds should have come to mourn his passing. He fought for the true King of England, the last Plantagenet, who died on the field of battle. Richard perished because he’d been betrayed. Now the Dragon ruled England. Part of me wished to leave this land who killed my father before his time. It was said that in Ireland they still raised their cups to Richard.
The priest intoned prayers. My last tears had dried. Camille and I shared one last embrace before she took up her walking stick for travel to Leicester. I still had duties – to sell what few valuables my father had to pay for my journey north, collect food and my few belongings into a sack, close up his house. It was twenty-five leagues from my village in Suffolk to Castle Acre in Norfolk and I would walk the entire distance.
The village butcher told what road to take. “Follow that north, lass. There be signs to help you on your way. Now the ways are not safe for a young lass to be traveling alone.”
I smiled. “You are kind, sir. I’ll be all right.”
“Here, a moment.”
“Thank you, sir, for your kindness. Bless you.”
“May the Lord walk with you, lass.”
Swathed in a warm cloak and stout shoes on my feet, I expected to arrive at Castle Acre in about three days. The Lord blessed me with fair weather, cool but not too cold and little rain. I slept under hedges, once in a cowshed near the road, but ate sparingly of my limited amount of food. Other travelers: friars, monks and the occasional yeoman shared the road with me. Yet, if I saw someone in the distance on horseback or on foot that appeared even slightly suspicious, I departed the road and hid behind the hedges until they passed.
Given that I was the daughter of a knight, my father insisted I learn to read. Thus, I had little difficulty with the signs that pointed me toward Norfolk and the Duke. Wayfarers such as a round-faced mendicant priest gave excellent directions to the Duke’s castle and by late afternoon of my third day walking, I approached the castle’s walls. Inside the keep lay a myriad of activity: a blacksmith shoeing horses, washerwomen with bundles on their backs, men-at-arms mock fighting with deadly looking halberds. Hounds roamed at large, nosing through the straw. High above me, I noticed tiny murder holes where archers could fire down into an invading force and above them the battlements where more soldiers paced.
With no idea of how to approach the castle and ask to see the Duke, I walked forward, hesitant. A set of huge doors inlaid with iron opened as I drew near. A monk in brown robes tied with rope stepped out, a scroll in his hands. He started when he saw me.
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