“Tell it to me later. On the way there tomorrow morning on the plane.”
“Oh, no. That’s your solo gig.”
“You wouldn’t think I’d undertake this jaunt without you-”
“It’s an easy stint. I’ll just give you a few hints and you can handle it.”
“Why don’t you wrap those beads around your balls real tight? Then collar your pecker with the other end. I want to suck them.”
“First tell me something I don’t know about you or the girls or these pearls.”
“Like what? You seem to be keened in on everything.”
“Offhand, in their present state, I cannot tell for sure if the pearls are fake.”
“Guess.”
“Yes.”
Constance wove the strand of baubles about Griffith’s ballocks.
She noosed the neck of the prick and pulled the nacreous bead into a tight cockring.
“No, these are not the fakes,” Constance said.
“I keep the fake ones as decoys and backups in the safe, as you certainly know by now.”
“See what I mean about your friends, Constance?
There were no pearls in the safe. And the spring to the screen door of this greenhouse wasn’t broken either. Tell me something, Lady Constance. Is either of us smart enough to fuck and talk at the same time or what?”
Chapter VI
Jasmine-mist piss flashed from Constance’s open-faced cuntgrin and slathered down her legs onto the entwined bellies of the two belles, bods rubbing in heat, between her feet. Constance popped black pearls from within her pussy and intestines, sinking into the sublimity of low-grade doctorial sexual climax.
Her long velvet gloves were encased in swirls set with pink pearls. Thigh-high high-heeled boots were likewise encrusted with designs accented with scatterings of nacreous gems.
She shoved one stiletto heel between Morrigana’s teeth. After that taste, she again dipped the spike into Veronica’s yeasty mulch.
Out in the foyer of the London town digs where Constance had secured lodgings through the diplomatic auspices of her current consort Lance Fondulac, a set of chimes struck a melody in light harmony. Then the muted words “ladies, tea is served” echoed gently through the marble hail.
“We better get on the ball,” Constance smirked. “We all have a full round of social engagements to keep this evening.”
“Shall I serve you ladies now?” the maid’s voice blew in.
“In the tearoom,” Constance chortled.
Veronica yammered nervously as she contorted with Morrigana in front of the Georgian-style brass screen to the fireplace. “But we still, like, gotta get off first.”
“What are you worried about, champ?” Morrigana spewed as she chewed Veronica’s pussy. “You medaled in three different events-including a gold in the overall.”
“That’s why I gotta get like froze out,” Veronica snorted out as she flailed her clitoris maniacally with slashes of fingernail.
“I want to chew on you two too,” Constance said. “But try to hurry up. You know we must take tea to regain our energy.”
Constance smiled primly as the porter, in company with the maid, wheeled in the heavily laden tea wagon.
The two tumbling girls tossed their wet hair back from their faces and dove at each other.
“Bitchkiss,” Morrigana insisted.
Veronica twisted her pertly trimmed pussy toward Morrigana’s brambly thatch.
Cuntlips smacked together.
Wet kiss giristyle.
Constance thanked the servants reassuringly. The porter kept a stiff upper lip as his hard-on grew dynamically. The maid curtseyed quickly, allowing her tits to flop out momentarily, and the two servants snapped out of sight.
“Jolly good show, girls,” Constance said. “The porter and the maid will be off and flicking in the first linen closet they can get into.”
“Oooooh, Morrigana,” Veronica jibbered. “I’m fuck-maddened! Now we gotta platypuss.”
Veronica and Veronica dropped their arms about each other’s waists and asses.
They brought their chattering snatches sat open against one another. Rocking their hips, partially entwining their fluid thighs.
Rubbing sideways across the pubic rise.
Twatfur tearing into flatfucking labia.
“As long as you forcefuck, my sweet-and-pungent Veronica-puss, you can do anything you like to me.”
“As long as I forcefuck it’s my choice?” ex course.”
“Ten I force you to make the choice.”
“Bitchbump me, baby.”
“Say it another way.”
“Bodyhump my hiney.”
“Now beg.”
“Consider it begged-for.”
“You nippleless whore!”
Veronica hit across Morrigana’s tits with the heel of her palm.
Whaaa-ack! “Ow!”
“Again?”
“No. That really hurt, Veronica.”
“So fuck me.”
Twiii-ing! “Eouwn! Those are my tits!”
“And what’s this? Your clit?”
Veronica twisted Morrigana’s clit in her fist.
Bandied her cunny up to the wrist.
“Phugh,” Momgana spat.
Veronica’s face was draped with thick saliva.
“It’s my game too.”
She spat repeatedly into Morrigana’s eyes as she gave her a whack in the belly.
She spanked Morrigana’s writhing body across her lap, clits crushing close with every slap.
With Morrigana’s reddened rump perched in the crackling warmth of the firelight, Veronica twiddled her thumbs up Morrigana’s arse. She worked up a Yorkshire pudding in her pussy with her diddling fingers.
“I do believe we should break for tea,” Constance again remonstrated.
Yes, this was her finest pleasure. The words Constance had put into the mouth of her latest fictional character seemed remarkably close to how she actually felt: “I never luck. I just watch.” Of course Constance did enjoy participation, but with some literary license she could say she saw her character as primarily a voyeur with a growing predilection for the sight and sounds of bejeweled sprinkles and the delights of pearifucking.
“Can you piss us up some more, Constance?” Veronica managed from between teeth clenched about slick underside of Morrigana’s foaming Hews. ‘We need your jasmine-tea peepee to give us the real good bitchbump traction.”
With Constance posing astride above, Morrigana slinked her legs through Veronica’s as they joined hump, ass to ass, on all fours. The lady Copstance giggled while she playfully sprayed continuous bursts of puzzle upon the haunches squeaking in bitchrut.
“Ni-ni-ni-ni-ni.”
Constance pulled the hairs at the napes of both girls’ swinging, sweat-wettened manes.
She licked her lips as the girls once again came together down under with delirious grimaces twisting their animated features.
Her piss pranced on the hollows of their ribcages, sounding like muted thunder.
Constance looked out the opened balcony doors, across the Albert Green and down past Buckingham Palace. She gazed toward the lit tower of big Ben seen glowing in the distance through the thin fog of early twilight.
“We should do this English style,” Constance said. “You can see how they first did that stuff to contend with the weather.”
Veronica sniffed in disbelief. “You mean piss on a moll’s behind while she’s fanny-fucking another dolly? Come on, Morrigana. Let’s cuke.”
Now, now, girls,” Constance chimed. “You know nothing warms the cockles and the skin like hot tea, melted butter, and leather.”
The two girls wrestled in the rustle of their silken piss-doused bustiers.
Asses bared.
Pulling hair.
Boobs bobbling out.
“Open your legs, Morrigana. I need to cuke you real bad. I want to see if I can get it all the way in you this time.”
“You couldn’t cuke a froufrou fruit any more than you could flick a face. That clit of yours is in miniature.”
“We’ll see.”
Veronica rubbed her pussyfuzz from side to side across Morrigana’s spread asscheeks.
Constance snaked out a razor strop of burnished leather. She applied it to the stunned behinds of the two bitchlets a fuck.
Overcome by the increasing expenditure of energy engendered by her speeding rays of orgasm, Constance’s knees grew weak. Whacking her own back and asscrack, she sank to the floor before the growling fireplace.