“Lay Carrie then upon the couch. Prepare the audience. Have all be quiet. Let there be no seekings of fingers upon me, for I shall spurn all. Constance will assist.” My tone is firm.
“Come, sweet. The lady is to amuse you. Is she not pretty?”
“Oh, Mama!”
Carrie would fain struggle, but is borne to an ottoman. The others take their seats; all is prepared. Wrists held, the young one looks around in wild surmise. No giggles break the silence as I move, a wraith among them and then kneel to her.
“Draw her skirt up first. Let Constance attend her mouth.”
“Mama! No!”
“What a silliness! Are you not soft as a dove, plump as a pigeon's breast?” So I coo and hold her legs apart. Mama, replaced by Constance, takes to wine. There is a passing of canapes. A gentle air attends. At the piano someone plays a minuet. Some gurgles and sweet Carrie is undone, her drawers brought down, her melons brought to view. A man rises. From the corner of my eye I see his cock revealed. Impatience takes its due. The others so prepare and seat themselves to have Priapus nursed by willing hands.
Carrie kicks. Her squeals resound. In parting her thighs I have uncovered her nestling quim while Constance at her nipples pecks. My arm intrudes to hold her legs apart. I lick, lick in my licking lick and find her spot, sweet taste of acridity and youth. “Blub, blub!” she chokes as inward my tongue flicks, her bottom blatant on my cupping palms.
“Wooo! Wooooo!” Her choking cries now change. Her bottom twists, I seek the chubby cleft and ease my thumb against her orifice, her rubbery, her ring. Nose nuzzled at her nest, my tongue flicks fast, her knees now hinged upon my shoulders' thrust. Her oiliness exudes. I sense her lips to those of Constance now and raise my head. The two are sweetly paired. My lips, sheened with the spendings that I drew, invite the tasting of my tongue. Her legs lie limp and from my shoulders glide. Her bottom bumps, exhorts my tongue again. I plunge anew and bring her to a peak. All is well done, so quickly done, that I would be as she, dazed by the tremulous as once I was. Let it be seen. I, who was never seen but listened only to the needles' minuet, the chairback creaking, and the waiting of my aunts, would have it so.
I know not why. Was there once a mirror at my bed and so arranged to see the pestle put, the parting of my seared cheeks to his knob?
I rise, for Constance has her at her will. Sweet prey to her, Carrie absorbs her tongue, her jellied bubbles wobbling to her palms. I turn. The ladies are divested of their clothes. All pellmell thrown, their drawers, chemises, gowns are mingled, cocks upstand. Mama in her voluptuousness is embraced between two males, one young and one mature. She rubs between them as betwixt two masts. Assailed by hands, the young girl in chemise would run to me. I let her come.
“I do not want to, do not want to, no!”
“Very well, you shall not. Have no fear of the occasion, my sweet. Helen-shall I call you that? Turn your back to me. Place your bottom upon my palms. Bend your knees a little, so. There-you may watch.”
“I do not-”
“Yes! Or I shall bring the first male to you whose cock is more arrogant than most. He eyes you now. Let him but see. Raise the front of your chemise a little-display your bush!”
“I…I thought you to save me! Oh, save me!”
“Shush! You are well stanced now. My eyes fend him off. Is it not the selfsame cock you played with in the carriage?”
“Yes.”
“Did he come in your glove?”
“M…M…Mama would not let him. Oh! He is coming closer! Oh, your finger!”
“Work a little upon it. Keep your legs apart, it will do you no harm. Hold your back to me. Regard his penis, how it quivers, strains, is taut. Remark the veins, the bulbing of the knob. Did you not enjoy caressing it?”
“I do not know! Ooooh! Oh, do not make me stand so! He approaches! Oh!”
“Part your legs more.” I am implacable, ringmistress to the pair. “Has he not caressed you-bubbies, thighs-his hand within your drawers upon occasion?”
“Yeth.” She lisps in her excitement, bottom-squirms, rosette upon my thumb, forefinger at her quim. Do I betray? His balls hang heavy for the joust. His stem is thick and sturdy, richly stiff. Her eyes roll and her head hangs back to rest upon my shoulder. Gritting teeth, she mews as both my fingers urge now in and hold her thus, knees quivering and bent, lewd in her stance.
“Shall you have him? Say you will have him. It is for the best. He will come upon you in the night else, will he not?”
“Yeth. Oh, Mama is naughty-look!”
“So be encouraged, my sweet. She nightly takes the selfsame prick that waits your moans, plays furrow to his plough and draws him in. His spendings cream her quim night on, night on, while quiet you lie abed and listen to the singing of the walls. Extend your palm. Let his balls be cupped upon it. Come-he will strap you otherwise and put you to it.”
“Oh-woh!” Her voice quavers, dies. My free hand takes her hair, her face upheld, fresh oval to his visage hungry, stern.
“Put her upon the floor. If she will go upon the floor, put her upon the floor.”
His voice commands, rings out, then hesitates. Carrie and Constance are at a soixante-neuf. Cocks pump and bottoms heave around we three.
“Shall you go down? Go down, go down. Helen, be not perverse. You are come to this. Upon the floor receive his foaming shaft. Hold your legs wide open, ever straight. Be proud, my love, be proud, go down, go down.”
Do I betray myself in my beseechings, urgings ever pushing on? She has acceded perhaps before. I would not doubt the matter. Her pad, well furred with curls, slips, slithers on my hand. My fingers draw without. Persuaded to her knees she gives a wailing cry and slumps, her arms, legs, awkwardly awry.
“Hold her shoulders, for she may yet struggle.” So croaking he sinks down between her legs, his ceiling-pointing piston fisted now.
“She may not be held. She knows better than to wish to be.”
Puff, pant, and groan. “Ooooh-ah!” Her cry and then he is within. I have seen pictures on a drum the which revolved and through a slit gave semblance of reality. So is it here, though close I bend and watch her tummy ripple, slim legs strain. Her eyes at first hold anguish, then surprise. Full muffled under him, she stirs, twists neck, licks lips, and curves her supple back, her peach full split around his throbbing rod.
“Cup her bottom on your palms, enter full and hold.” I move about them. “Bend your knees a trifle, Helen- work your bottom.”
Such exhortations, trite, are even so exciting. For the moment, for the moment, for the moment. Her cries grit out, her torso writhes, eyelashes flutter on her cheeks. Unmoving, heavy on her, so he lies. Her knees bend not enough-I nudge her feet. With somnolence she draws them back, his balls like ripe plums at her cleft.
“Absorb her tongue, suck upon it, work her a little but not overmuch until she knows the length and girth of it.”
A mischief takes me, I kick off my shoe, caress his buttocks with my stockinged toes and delve beneath to his receptacles. His mouth now smothers hers, she whimpers, jerks. In but a moment they will be in full and lusting flight of it. I would have my aunt, paternal aunt, be taken thus, full-hipped, full-bottomed as she is, my toes between their mouths, there both to lick. I would be conqueror thus, the unconquered risen. I would show my garters. The view perhaps would be alluring.
“Ma-ma, Ma-ma, Ma-ma!” Her voice quick jerks as might a marionette's in speaking. Full at her now, he draws his pestle forth and enters it anew within the spongy cleft, she apple-round upon his palms, tits jogging to his thrusts, her eyes berserk.
She is falling now, falling, falling as the leaf falls to meet the warmth earth, the welcoming grass. She stutters, “P…P…P…,” and squirms her hips. The moment is divine, absurd, or lewd, though not within their minds where devils dwell. All about me are possessed. Carrie lies glazed of eyes. A gentleman is upon her. Constance kneels like one forlorn, her head to Carrie's shoulder, corked by another twixt her bulging cheeks.