Mike took his hands from caressing the girl's body, gripped the ropes, and swung himself up on to the seat-it was a wide one-without uncunting. He too had been a distinguished gymnast in his time, and, without difficulty he swung his legs up till they entwined with Tilly's. Their hands clasped together on the ropes, their lips and bodies met and the two were joined in the utmost ecstasy of mutual human lust-you might have even called it 'love', for Mike was by now very desperately smitten with the pretty music-hall artist.
They still swung lazily, but Cissie, rising in contentment from her fuck with the servant, and still full of lustful thoughts, ran up and gave the swing a push, and another and another. Higher and higher they swung, still clasped in mutual contented lust, till the swing almost reached the ceiling. Cissie stopped from pushing the swing, and picked up Mike's whip.
She waited till the swing had almost come to a standstill, and then lashed Mike viciously across his buttocks again and again till the red weals showed up in vivid lines across his white flesh.
The two remained coupled. Cissie knew they were coming, knew too that the physical pain she was inflicting was lustful heaven to Mike.
She dropped the whip. The naked attendant picked it up, and gave it to her. His cock was rampant again now and he knelt, presenting his bottom supplicatingly to her. The lovers were passive, uncoupled on the swing. I wish, dear readers, we had an illustration of this scene. It was prettier than words can paint. (So do I. Proof Reader)
Cissie, taking no notice of the slow descent of the lovers from the swing, caressed the servant's bare behind, fingering his buttocks with loving care. She thrust one of her fingers into his arsehole, and played with his diminutive balls and penis.
Then a sadistic fire flamed up in her and she rose and lashed him. She was stopped in her frenzy by Mike patting her on the shoulder.
'That's enough,' he said, 'you know you can hit hard.'
She turned and kissed him savagely, biting his lip.
'Well, if you're so fond of him, go and bugger him,' she snarled, crossly.
The remembrances of public-school days surged up within Mike. He lifted the naked youth in his strong arms and carried him to the couch. The Sisters Lovett looked on in randy expectation-Cissie twirled the whip ominously.
'No, no, don't hit him this time,' Tilly said. 'Watch me!'
She ran across to the couch and threw herself on it before Mike and his pretty burden could reach it.
'Lay him on me, this way up,' she commanded.
Mike laid the servant on her stomach, his prick between her legs. With a twitch of her fingers she had it hard into her, and at the same time Mike with a hard thrust penetrated the fellow from behind. It didn't seem to hurt him-on the contrary.
The three were coupled. Mike was well into the native, the native well into Tilly. Leaning over the lad's back, Mike was kissing Tilly, and the lad was kissing Tilly's nipples.
Cissie could stand it no longer. In a twinkling she switched off her clothes, and crouched over Tilly's face. Tilly licked her cunt, and Mike and Tilly exchanged wet seminal kisses with their tongues darting in and out of that passionate cunt. All Cissie, in a hell of lust, could do was to nervously feel the native's body. It was a triumph of four-handed fornication. Again I wish I had an illustration.
The end was pretty mutual. Perhaps the youth was the first to spend, but not by much. Cissie was the first to get off and sink exhausted, then Mike withdrew from the native, and the native rolled off Tilly. Tilly lay absolutely still and inert.
They drank deep and fell asleep, all dead-beat, in each other's arms on the cushions of the floor.
The distant sound of the violins of Naroina's band made a fitting lullaby.
Meanwhile fate in the person of the bosun was tripping resolutely towards the chateau, Naroina, and the all unexpectant Lady Tittle.
He found the Naroina household in a combined state of siesta. The band was still dreamily playing, and a few servants lazily swished the punkahs.
But the bosun had not come that far for nothing. He meant having his greens, and wandered upstairs in sturdy and determined search.
There were few doors in Naroina's house. Thick bead curtains, flapping idly in the light breeze which percolated the place, did duty instead. The bosun peeped into several vistas of sleeping loveliness, but dared not wake it up. At last fate drew him to the curtain which concealed Lady Tittle.
That brazen lady, not a quarter satisfied with her amourette with the boy, reclined, stark naked, smoking, drinking, and reading a lascivious book The loves of the lads and lassies in that book had made her randy again with a vengeance and her whole attitude showed it.
Supremely conscious now, for the first time for many years, of the perfection of her middle-aged figure, she lay with her legs apart, one hand resting the back of her neck, the other holding the book The cigarette ash fell on her naked stomach, but she did not mind. Her thoughts were all cock.
When the bosun entered she bowed in the famous manner of the Tittles-the Regent had once said that the curtsey of the then Lady Tittle after she had completed sucking him off added four-fold to the delights of the operation. The story spread through Brighton, and even the great Beau Brummel endorsed the prince's verdict.
Lady Tittle laid down her book and lightly blew the ash from her stomach. 'So again, major, we meet in a varied sphere.'
'The honour and the pleasure overwhelm, me madam,' replied the gallant bosun. He knelt and kissed Lady Tittle's hand, then, ascending his head, kissed devotedly the hairs above her cunt.
Lady Tittle smacked his cheek friskily and, as he stood up, placed her hand playfully on his prick.
It was in righting trim. All the blood of his ancestors who had fought at Agincourt and fucked on the Field of the Cloth of Gold, and the blood of longs-on the left hand side-flowed through his veins. So it did through Lady Tittle's, and that fact came to him in a flash. 'Bon chien chasse de race,' he reflected. Here was meat for good meat. He almost blushed to remember the chorus girls, even servant girls he had fucked. What! Though the first connection he had had with Lady Tittle had been on the top of a hen-coop on the wind-swept deck of the New Decameron, was she not, naked as she lay, a grande dame of the old regime'?
Reverently he kissed her, while her hand still toyed with the vibrant lump within his trousers.
He was fully dressed, and had felt somewhat out of place walking through the island glades peopled by semi-naked men, and wholly naked women.
Lady Tittle slowly undid his trousers.
What a contrast to that dark night at sea. This sunlit, lotus island, these delicate surroundings, this everything appealing to the sensuous senses. Quelle reve d'amour! With old world courtly grace he assisted Lady Tittle to complete the unfastening of his fly, and the triumphant standard blew forth.
'Tobias,' cooed Lady Tittle-she had remembered his name for the first time.
'Lavinia,' softly answered the bosun.
And then they got to business. It was a magnificent example of the sedate, early Victorian fuck.
The bosun disrobed himself with a suspicion of shyness, and stood erect before Lady Tittle, blushing a little, but conscious of the fact that his more than middle-aged figure still took a lot of beating.
Lady Tittle squirmed all over, and her legs opened wide. The bosun knelt between her thighs. She gracefully grasped his penis. 'Permit me, major,' she said. 'Forgive me, madam,' he replied, gently disengaging her hand, 'but my family has always been accustomed to fight its own battles.'
With one bang he was right in.