"Shoot… in.. my… mouth…" she whimpered.
Jonathon held her head in both hands, fucking her mouth with sharp jolts. Her eyes crossed, looking in at his fat stalk as it disappeared from her vision into her maw. Her cheeks grew hollow as she sucked and pushed out. She blew; her lips turned inside out as they pulled up the shaft.
Jonathon suddenly rammed his dick in, pulling her pretty face tight to his belly so that the whole length of his big cock went into her gullet and her nose was pressed to his pubic mound, her chin jammed to his scrotum.
His cockhead slithered down her throat and spilled its hot cream beyond her mouth. It ran down into her belly, warming her like fine brandy.
But it was a disappointment to the girl, for he had come beyond her tastebuds and she had missed out on the rare succulence of his spunk. She pulled her face back so that only his cockhead was in her mouth; she sucked, dragging a second spurt from him. This creamy wad fell directly on her tongue.
"Ahhhh," she sighed, savoring it, then threw back her head and swallowed happily.
She sucked and licked until she was sure that she had pulled every precious drop from him.
His knees had gone weak, his strength sucked out along with his scum; he sank down beside her on the rug. Dolly curled up against him, holding his dick in her hand. It had started to soften, but she rubbed it a bit and it hovered there in no man's land-halfway between an erect and dormant state.
She figured she could get one more fuck out of that joystick before it was spent, but she didn't want to rush things and, stroking his semi hard pecker lovingly, she gazed into the dancing flames of the fireplace. It occurred to her that she had other duties as a maid; that her whole job of work was not limited to the milking of cocks and the providing of pussy.
She said, "I'll have to clear the fireplace… later. It's full of ashes."
"You needn't bother with that," he said.
Dolly flashed him a lovely smile.
"I don't mind hauling your ashes," she said.
"Ah," said Jonathon Wintergreen, and he thought that having a maid was a lot more work than not having, a maid. But Jonathon had never been afraid of hard work, as long as he had the proper, hard tools to do it. His dick began to grow again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The neighbors to the left of the Wintergreens had a Bentley. The residents to the right had three Cadillac's. The family across the road had a Mercedes. But the Wintergreens were so wealthy and so self assured with it that they had a three year old pickup truck and didn't worry about it at all.
This was terrible reverse snobbery, of course, but it worked, and the neighbors envied them their confidence and wished heartily that they, too, could drive old trucks.
There was no social climbing involved here, for they were all at the top of the social ladder but, balanced there on the top rung, they scrambled with one upmanship. This went beyond matters of wealth, extending even to amorality. The daughter across the way, for instance, when not motoring about in her Mercedes, was in the habit of fucking her Doberman. The wife to the left drove, in her Bentley, to The Midtown Bucket and places like that where she picked up an assortment of dockhands and fishermen for orgies. The man on the right dressed in women's clothing, although he was neither a homosexual nor a transvestite, simply so that he could lurk in women's toilets and watch nubile young girls piss. He boasted of this depravity.
But with their constant stream of servant fucking spiced by incest, the Wintergreens held the dominant position. But in one respect all these families were equal and could get no edge; that was in the number of servants and the number of jobs they could think of for hiring more servants. They all had butlers, maids, chefs and gardeners; they all had chauffeurs in livery and footmen and social secretaries. No one could pry out an advantage here, for it would have been the most obvious ostentation to hire, say, seven butlers. Now, sitting on the bearskin rug with Dolly stroking his dick, Jonathon saw where he could make a coup.
Jonathon decided he would have to hire some fellow for the job-some suitably loutish fellow who could be dressed as a chimney sweep and dusted with a fine coating of wood ash. The more common this man was, the better in the one-upmanship game.
And even as he was thinking of this, who should walk up the broad front lawn past the pickup truck but Duke, who was as loutish as a man can be.
Duke hesitated, wondering if he should go around the side to the servants' entrance. But, although a lout, he was not a lackey; he marched right up to the front door.
He figured that Dolly would answer the door.
But as it happened, Dolly was busy at the moment, pulling the master's cock to a new hard on. The butler, who would properly have answered, anyway, was busy pulling his own cock, and the chauffeur was in the garage servicing Amanda's dildo, and the chef was jerking off in the Hollandaise sauce because he knew that the mistress liked it creamy.
And Claire and Amanda, refreshed from sixtynining, were just coming down the stairs when Duke rang.
It was wondrous reverse snobbery to answer the door oneself; they did so together.
"Yes?" Claire said.
Duke whipped his cloth cap off and held it in his hand.
Claire's nose wrinkled from proximity to the lower order, but Amanda looked pleased.
"How splendidly loutish!" she cried. "Err…" said Duke. "Oh, Amanda… have you no taste?" Claire said.
"I do love commoners," said the naughty daughter. "Dusty Italian stonemasons, rancid Irish laborers, sweating assembly line workers with their dicks assembled in clusters."
Claire sighed, but she was smiling.
"I want to see Dolly McGuire," Duke said, nervously fondling his cap and licking his lips.
"Who?" Amanda said.
"The new maid, dear," Claire told her. "I think she's busy with Daddy." "I could come back later," Duke said, feeling uncomfortable in their presence.
"But just look at his jaw, Mother," Amanda said. "He looks like a gargoyle! He wouldn't be out of place hanging from the wall of a French church. How positively delightful!"
Duke scowled, not sure if he was being insulted. "Oh, may I screw him, Mother?"
"If you must," said Claire.
"Huh?" said Duke, with that massive jaw hanging down like a collapsed marquee.
"Do come in, you delightful creature," Amanda said:
Duke walked into the mansion. Amanda took his hand. His eyes rolled in disbelief.
"Won't you join us, Mother?" the oversexed rich girl asked.
"Certainly not. But… I might just watch, at that; I'm interested to see how the lower classes perform. And it's always exciting to watch my daughter misbehave."
Perform? Duke thought. He had an awful image of himself dressed up as a jester, juggling balls and turning somersaults while the nobility laughed at him.
He said, "What you talking about?" "Fucking," Amanda clarified.
"Fucking?"
"Of course."
"Who am I supposed to fuck?" He was suspicious; there was no telling what dubious hole they might want him to stick his cock in, these depraved society folk-maybe they had a crazy old aunt locked up in the attic.
"Why… me, silly," said Amanda.
Duke couldn't believe it.
"Naw!" he said.
Amanda opened her jeans and showed him her cunt; Duke became a believer.
I don't believe this, he thought, even as he saw that it was true; that through some quirk in the nature of the very rich, he was about to dip his wick in the spoiled little rich girl while the sexy mother observed. He saw that there was more truth than poetry in. the term, "filthy rich".