Miss Withers, though… The gloss of Time is not upon the evening yet, alas. Good memories should mature as does good wine before it is unbottled. Certainly, Miss Withers had begun to mature superbly well. She had those firm and marbled breasts, that arrogant posterior on which the male mind often dwells. Timidity dwelt in her, though, as well. Our conversation over dinner was not only well-laundered but stiffly starched to boot. I saw no future in the enterprise, thought it unfruitful at the least and left them to converse while I took to my port in the seclusion of my study. “As I suggested that you should before she came,” says Caroline who will not have me claim a move of tactics such as this.
Below, I heard their voices soft and hushed. Miss Withers was to marry-was afeared of it. To undress before a male was horror to her. My heart sank. I pondered on near ghosts of recent past: girls laughing on the lawns when skirts were upped, and those who shrieked and whom the summerhouses quick enfolded behind doors. Their muffled cries still linger on the air beneath the coarse complaining of the crows.
An hour passed and I took up post close to the door. I was minded to regard the thing a farce, and then heard Caroline say, “Girls are birched for it, my dear. Were you not birched?”-“No, I was not. Mama forbade it. Oh!” came. from Miss Withers who most evidently had never talked this way before.
Thus and thus the words passed, I can only add-for Caroline is very good at leading on.-“Oh, no!” was uttered by Miss Withers, and from Caroline a firm, quiet “Yes. You like the feel of it, I know you do.”
I descended, peered over the banisters. That which I prayed to see I saw. Miss Withers lay full length on our chaise longue. My love knelt by her side and licked the nipples which she had exposed. The glory of those tits- how firm they were! Miss Withers legs showed shapely, strong, up to her garters. And beyond. Beyond I glimpsed the fulsome gleam of flesh, the swellings where her garters bit. Her head, in a dismay of self-indulgence, moved from side to side, yet not uneagerly she allowed her thighs to spread until, with dress upswept by Caroline's deft hands, I saw the shadowed plumpness of her motte.
A foolhardiness it would have been to have disturbed them then. Two females at play are a lovesome thing to see. That Caroline knew I watched, I did not doubt for, having teased her well-furred cunny, then she turned Miss Withers on her hip and thus exposed her naked bottom to my view. Ah, what a globe-a globous globe indeed and deeply cleft and brown-tinged at the furrow's roll.
“Let me attend on you; be not ashamed, for there is no one else to see,” said Caroline with arch hypocrisy. Bearing in mind that Miss Withers then lay pressed into the back of the seat with her face all but hidden, she presented a royal feast to the lips and tongue of my beloved who commenced to assail the lady's most intimate orifices with abandon.
Miss Withers squealed, she moaned-she even giggled once: a wondrous sound to hear. Sometimes she pressed away and said, “Oh no, oh no!” as if disclaiming her own sins, but the insistence of my love won through. Her tongue teased everywhere. Miss Withers quivered, clenched her fists in ecstasy. The well-laved grotto of her slit was mine to see, as was her rosy orifice. She arched her back, clutched at the wall, then rolled upon her back, lay limp. One stockinged leg slumped to the floor, and thus her honeypot was fully opened to the bees of love: an awful simile, I do confess.
There is a decided awkwardness in mounting a female on such a couch, but therewith an extra sense of lewdness, too. Desire had carried me forward even before my conscious mind took note of my moving feet. Miss Withers had flung her arm across her eyes and so unwittingly had blinded herself to my approach. She heard though, at the last footfall, she heard. A squeal escaped her. She would have sprung up had Caroline not deftly pressed her down, smothered her mouth with hers and I already taking up my posture in between her most impressive legs.
“nah! he must not! Oh, heavens! Save me!” uttered she. Her fallen foot kicked soundly, caught me on the arm, then flopped again, for Caroline had pressed her thigh and held it still.
“A good poke, darling-that is what she needs,” breathed Caroline. A higher shriek greeted her words. I had the deuce of it to hold Miss Withers still the while my knob (most awkwardly) approached her curly-clustered dell. It touched. Ah, magic of that moment ever on when one assails an untried honeypot! I pushed one leg up and exposed the more her pouting cleft, fell on her full and sucked the swollen tips of her fine tits the while I eased John Thomas in.
“Stop him! Stop him!” she bucked again. My knob slipped out again and all seemed lost.
“I'll hold her legs, my pet. Now get it in again!” from Caroline.
“No-woh! You beasts, your horrors, no! Oh, don't!”
Ah, what a further struggling then ensued! Her hips churned this way, that-her pubic bush was brushed most maddenly against my knob as were the sleek lips of her cunt. What devil took me then I do not know. I brusquely motioned Caroline to stand and spun Miss Withers over by sheer force until she lay upon her belly, kicking still. Her hands clawed at the cushions, clutched them tight.
I began to smack her bottom then. She screeched at each descending stroke of my broad palm that made her pale cheeks redden.
“Save me, oh Caroline, oh save me, please!” Miss Withers squealed. I brought one knee to bear upon her back and smacked her harder on her wobbling cheeks. Her shrill cries filled the drawing room. I did not care. I meant to have the woman, luscious as she was and yet untried still, SMACK! SMACK! and SMACK! again, and then by innate cunning I let her go and stepped from her, my penis thrusting up beneath my shirt.
“We must let her be; she will not learn,” I said with due solemnity. Miss Withers drawers were on the floor. I kicked them carefully aside so that they fell beyond her sight in rising, as she did, her face tear-streaked, her hair awry, for half the pins had fallen out from it-a face that was a battlefield of love, as then I thought of it, and where my colours soon would fly.
“The poor, dear thing,” was said by Caroline. She sat beside the sobbing, rising woman then and placed an arm about her shoulders as if comforting.
“I want to go home!” Miss Withers sobbed.
“Of course, of course,” said Caroline, but no one moved. Her moistened nipples gleamed, her thighs were bared. Her eyes were closed; she sobbed a little more and let her head fall on to my love's shoulder. “Poor, spanked, naughty girl,” soothed Caroline and lifted up Miss Withers' face. Unconscionably their lips merged into one another's and thus stayed. I fell beside her on the other side and swept my hand up in between her thighs-felt no resistance, tickled up her motte.
“What are you doing?”-then a moan from her. Her head sank back. More luscious kisses were exchanged.
“Pleasuring you, my pet-what else?” purred Caroline.
“Shouldn't-you shouldn't-naughty things-no don't!” her cunny nipped my finger as I slipped it in-felt delicious oiliness, the warmth, the welcoming of silken walls.
I spread her legs the more-knew not a kick from her.
“Put up her legs-she'll do it with you now,” from Caroline.
I did not hasten at the task. We were as people moving in a dream. Heavy her legs felt as I lifted them until she lay supine and Caroline bent to her mouth again.
“Prepare her properly-pull up her dress the more,” I said. A masterful approach was plainly needed.
“It is time for bed, my love,” said Caroline more plainly and motioned with her head for me to go. There came a moan from Miss Withers, but she did not stir. My cock was rampant. I could near have spilled upon her thighs.
“Of course,” I said and betook myself upstairs back to the study where I quick undressed and waited in concealment, belly all a-swim with lust, my cock distended, rampant up my belly thrust.