‘Bloody workmen. You just can’t rely on them.’

Emma cringed as Matt slammed the phone down. ‘They were supposed to be here at seven. I wanted to brief them about the layout.’ She knew what was coming next. ‘Can you sort this out, Emma, love?’ he wheedled, giving her a boyish grin that had once charmed her into agreeing to most of his requests, reasonable or otherwise.

‘You know I have to go to the office. I’m late as it is.’
Before she could answer, he’d grabbed the car keys and was already on his way out.

‘Of course, Matt. No problem, Matt,’ she muttered irritably to the empty kitchen.

She’d planned to spend the day working on an essay for her counselling course.

Sighing, she made herself a strong black coffee. She needed caffeine. It wasn’t that she minded sorting out the builders. It was the assumption that she would, without question. Being taken for granted. She tried the number again, but there was no reply. The builders were probably on their way over. She glanced at the clock – eight fifteen. She was sure they’d be here soon. They weren’t unreliable – just a bit lax when it came to timekeeping. But they did a good job, took pride in their work. Nice couple of blokes, really – brothers Steve, who was twenty-five and Gus, eighteen. She knew their ages because after they’d finished work on Friday night and joked over tea and biscuits Gus had mentioned his recent birthday party and complained that his brother was getting ‘past it’ at twenty-five, which made her laugh. Then he’d tried to guess her age.

‘Twenty-one at most,’ he’d suggested.

‘And the rest,’ she’d replied, blushing. She was already thirty-three when she’d met Matt and they’d been living together for nearly ten years. She sometimes wondered where the time had gone. Still, it was flattering in a way, even though she knew Gus probably played the same game with all his female clients. He was quite good-looking too, in a rugged sort of way. Muscular, strong, well-built. It came with the territory, she supposed. All that lifting and carrying and hammering and screwing.

There was a knock on the door.

‘Where’s Steve?’ she asked, surprised to see only Gus unloading tools from the battered Escort van.

‘Hangover,’ Gus replied. ‘We went to a night-club last night. Poor old sod, I told you he can’t keep up the pace. Don’t worry, he’ll be here later. It’s okay, we won’t let you down.’

As Gus disappeared up the ladder into the new loft conversion, Emma hoped he was right. They’d agreed to get the job finished by six-thirty, on the dot. It was to be a surprise for Matt, who wasn’t expecting the work to be completed for another two days. The old loft, over a period of weeks, had been slowly transformed into a spacious extra room. There had been problems with the structure, delays in getting the right materials, but soon it would be ready. A new office space for Matt, with a computer, fax and modem, and big oak desk that Matt had already ordered from a catalogue he had brought home from work. The walls had been painted white-with-a-hint-of-plum, contrasting with a subtle shade of chalk blue for the ceiling. Pine bookshelves and a luxurious swivel chair, black leather and chrome, were stored in the garage, protected by plastic sheeting, awaiting their unveiling.

Hopefully, with such a great space, Matt would work from home more often and they would get to see more of each other. He always put work first, but at least this way he would be home for dinner more often, although she sometimes wondered if it was really work that kept him out so late. They both knew that their relationship was hanging by a thread – a flimsy one at that.

‘Some people have children to cement a relationship – we convert the loft,’ she had joked bitterly to Steve over tea one morning.

He’d smiled and she wasn’t certain whether it was sympathy or pity.

‘So, what is it today – custard creams or bourbons?’

Gus had come back downstairs quietly, without her hearing and was standing behind her, close enough to feel his breath on her neck.

‘Chocolate hobnobs,’ she replied, without moving away. ‘Your hair smells good,’ he said suddenly and for a moment she felt her heart racing. Quickly, she moved away and clattered mugs and plates, tearing the biscuit wrapper with shaking fingers. Pull yourself together, Emma, she told herself fiercely. You’re acting like a silly teenager.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked briskly. ‘Think it will be finished on time?’

Gus nodded. ‘Trust me.’ He took a swig of tea. ‘That’s a nice blouse you’re wearing this morning.’

‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ she replied.

‘Only the pretty ones,’ he laughed.

Emma groaned. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.’ ‘Worth a try,’ he retorted. He glanced at the clock.

‘Where’s that delinquent brother of mine? I’d better give him a call.’ He had just started to key a number on his mobile when Steve arrived.

‘The back door’s open,’ Emma shouted through the window and Steve came in through the patio, carefully wiping his boots on the mat.

‘Just in time for tea break,’ he said, heading purposefully for the hobnobs. ‘I hope you’ve saved something for me,’ and Emma thought that he winked at Gus.

Despite being unable to get on the computer, Emma spent a productive afternoon, writing notes for her essay, with the background sounds of Radio One punctuated by
drilling and hammering from above the ceiling. By six fifteen, chicken was roasting in the oven, the wine was chilled and the strawberry trifle had been spooned into a cut glass bowl. She had prepared a special meal for a special night. In twenty minutes Matt would be home. She just had time to change.

‘Ready for your inspection, madam,’ announced Steve, peering into the kitchen at six forty, then added, ‘Wow!’

Emma didn’t often dress up – there never seemed to be the opportunity and suddenly she felt self-conscious in a clingy lycra dress, stockings and high heels.

Ignoring his gaze and feeling flustered, she said swiftly, ‘Is it finished?’

‘Come upstairs and see,’ he responded, gesturing her to follow.

It wasn’t easy ascending the loft ladder with stilettos but the struggle was worth it. When she saw the room, Emma felt quite emotional. It was a dream of a room.

‘It’s perfect,’ she breathed.

‘Glad you like it,’ replied Steve. ‘Now, before we go, is there anything else you need us to do?’

She hesitated. ‘There is something. I hope you won’t feel I’m taking advantage by asking.’

‘If you don’t ask, you won’t get,’ joked Gus.

‘Well, could you possibly bring up the bookshelves and leather chair from the garage?’

‘No problem.’

‘Thanks, I do appreciate this. It really is a lovely room.

Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it. Oh, and payment in cash of our outstanding fee would be nice.’

‘Yes, of course.’

Back downstairs, fumbling in her purse for the right cash, Emma felt a warm glow. The meal was going to be perfect. The room was perfect. She even felt good about herself. It was going to be a perfect evening.

Then the phone rang. It was Matt. ‘Sorry, love – I really hate to do this to you, but we have a major problem at work, need to meet an important deadline. Have to stay late and I have an early start tomorrow, so I’m going to book into a hotel.’

Feeling crushed, Emma put the phone down.

‘Anything wrong?’ asked Steve, who was hovering in the doorway.

‘Nothing I’m not used to,’ she muttered quietly. ‘Hey, are you sure you’re alright?’

‘No. I’m not, actually. But it’s my problem. I’ll get your money, if you can just hang on a minute.’

Staring at herself in the bedroom mirror, feeling ridiculous in her black fuck me dress, Emma visualised her relationship with Matt spiralling down into a vortex, taking all the anger and upset with it. To her surprise she began to laugh. How ironic – their relationship was finished at the same time as the completion of the loft room. It was both funny and pathetic. Why was she wasting her energy and emotions on someone who clearly didn’t feel she was worth the effort? Emma took a deep breath and went back into the kitchen, where Steve and Gus waited awkwardly.

‘Would you like to stay for supper?’ she heard herself say. ‘I mean, it seems a shame to waste all this food. Anyway, I hate eating alone.’

Gus opened the wine and they polished off the chicken in double quick time before starting on the dessert.

‘This is delicious,’ commented Gus. ‘Terrific,’ agreed Steve.

‘You’re right,’ said Emma, spooning the creamy substance between her lips and licking the spoon provocatively.

‘Here, you’ve missed a bit.’ Steve leant across and wiped cream from the corners of her mouth, his fingers lingering. Gus watched with interest.

‘Actually, I hadn’t realised just how hungry I am.’ And with that, she took hold of his finger and began to nibble.

‘You’re tipsy,’ laughed Gus.

‘Not tipsy enough,’ she replied, pouring more wine. ‘Hey, steady on,’ said Steve.

‘Bloody men,’ she complained. ‘All the same.’ ‘No we’re not,’ protested Gus.

‘Show me, then.’

Gus leaned across the table and gently kissed her on the mouth. Responding instantly, Emma pulled him towards her and their tongues entwined. Simultaneously she felt Steve’s hands around her waist. He had got up from the table and was standing behind her, kissing her neck. She groaned and his hands slipped between her legs, feeling her wetness. Her head was spinning.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ she gasped. ‘I want to christen the loft room.’

On the newly polished wooden floor, Emma lay spread- eagled, her dress indecently hitched up around her waist with Steve between her legs, tonguing and licking her, while Gus peeled off her stockings. She came quickly, her eyes swimming, while she was sucking Gus’s delicious cock, and while she was still recovering, he thrust his throbbing hardness into her. She heard a woman’s voice scream – ‘Screw me to the floor, you fuckster!’ and realised it was her own. She was amazed at Gus’s stamina and he kept going until she came again, which wasn’t difficult when Steve was pinching and sucking her breasts while simultaneously caressing her clitoris. While Gus was getting his breath back, Steve slid into her welcoming pussy and she came again in waves, melting into what she imagined she could describe as a state of fuckstasy. They did it on the floor, against the wall, on the rug, twice on Matt’s new desk, and on the leather chair. Emma hadn’t realised it was possible for one woman to enjoy so much pleasure and attention. Finally, exhausted, they slept.

They awoke in the early hours, limbs entwined. Emma stretched languorously and went down to the kitchen, naked except for her high heels, and made them coffee. Soon after, Gus and Steve packed their tools away and kissed her goodbye and she thanked them for all they had done.

When they had left, Emma gradually returned to earth with a thud. She couldn’t quite believe what had happened, that she had behaved so wantonly. She told herself it wasn’t her fault, that it was a combination of frustration, neglect, a need for attention – perhaps even revenge on Matt for making her feel invisible.

As soon as he arrived home from work that night, Matt knew something had changed. He couldn’t articulate what it was, but for some reason, Emma seemed different. When she said, ‘I have a surprise for you,’ he wondered what to expect. Taking him by the hand she led him upstairs and asked him to follow her up the loft ladder. Then he saw the completed loft room and he was quite overwhelmed.

‘God, Emma, I don’t know what to say. I love it. It’s wonderful.’

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. ‘I feel dreadful now about last night, for spoiling everything you planned for me.’ Suddenly he put his arms around her waist and
pulled her towards him, holding her close so she could feel his hardness pressed against her. ‘I know you think I’m work obsessed, but I really missed you last
night. I hardly slept at all.’

‘Neither did I, darling,’ she replied, her clit still tingling from the night before. ‘Shall we christen our new loft room?’

The post Men At Work appeared first on sexstories.org.

I peered out of the carriage as it rumbled its way along the rough stone road.

‘This is the beginning of Lord Harestone’s land Miss. It’ll be another five minutes till we reach the Manor.’

Exhausted though I was by this interminable journey, I studied the land. It was bleak with lumpy hills reminiscent of an old hag’s face with the odd tuft of sedge grass. The hillocks were cropped by sheep who stared as we rattled past, then went back to pulling at what nourishment the impoverished earth afforded them. Heavy drips of rainwater spilled off the sheep’s grey wool, and off the edges of the carriage window, splashing on to my cloak. Hunger, the aching cold in my bones and hours of journeying all sapped my strength.

Joy entered my heart as the driver announced, ‘Here we are, Miss. Harestone Manor.’ I stepped out in front of the imposing stone house and pressed precious pennies into the driver’s hand, he’d earned them. He closed his wet glove over them and pulled at his cap. ‘Thank you, Miss. You’ll be staying here a while then, as Governess to Lord Harestone’s heir?’

‘That’s right, at least a year, to complete the young master’s education.’
‘Well, good luck to ’ee.’ The driver handed down my one small bag and I watched as he clambered up and whipped the horses into action. I stood alone. All around me, for miles in the evening half-light brooded the empty sodden heath. Behind me, Harestone Manor. Having come this far, twelve hours ride from home, I would not get away easily, should the position not work out. I shuddered at the thought of being caught in the situation if it did not suit me, but lifted my chin, determined to see it through. After nursing a husband now dead from the coughing sickness and with only few pennies in my purse after paying off his debts, I had no choice. Here was my destiny.

I curled freezing fingers around the bell-pull and heard it clang inside the house, summoning a middle-aged woman. ‘You must be Miss Canning. Welcome. I am Mrs Alderly. My daughter and I keep house for Lord Harestone and the young master. Come and take off that wet cloak or you shall catch your death.’ We walked through a hallway lit by a central chandelier of candles which threw a ruddy light. Mrs Alderly showed me into a warm kitchen. ‘Come now, we’ll place your cloak across the chair to dry. You’ll be hungry after your journey. In future you will dine with his Lordship and the young master but tonight we have for you some hot soup and bread. Then I will show you your room and after that introduce you to your Masters.’

Feeling considerably revived after the steaming meal, I followed Mrs Alderly’s candle up a wide staircase decorated with green wallpaper of an ivy-leafed design. My bedroom was grander than any I had experienced, with a high four- poster bed in the centre. It felt a little odd when Mrs Alderly showed me a connecting door and opening it explained that the young master’s bedroom was attached to mine allowing for constant observation by myself of his movements. For a young child this would be the norm, but my young charge, Master Tom, would be nineteen years old this summer and surely able to look after himself. I thought I had been taken on to refine his education in respect of French and Latin before he entered the Church, not to nursemaid him.

Mrs Alderly left me, saying that I was expected in the front room at eight o’clock to meet Lord Harestone and Master Tom. After checking my grey woollen dress was not much affected by splashes from my journey, and neatening the hair piled on my head,

I ventured downstairs. The front parlour was a comfortable room with a roaring fire in front of which stood the two gentlemen. Lord Harestone, the father, immediately struck me, so much did his presence fill the room. Over six foot tall and wide-shouldered, he blocked the heat from the fire. Pale breeches clung tightly to thighs powerful from country pursuits and I registered that he was well endowed in every way. There was a stern darkness about him. He scrutinised me appraisingly before beckoning me to him.

Next to him stood Master Tom, a long-nosed pale youth utterly lacking the force and presence of his father. The callow youth smiled weakly at me whilst glancing at his father, as if fearful of his reaction.

I curtsied. On my rising, his lordship traced a finger along my jaw line and raised my face to the firelight. ‘What do you think, then, boy? A good choice or not?’ Both men studied me as though I were a prize brood mare.

‘Turn around, Miss Canning and let us observe you better.’ My cheeks burnt red with embarrassment. This intrusive appraisal made me acutely conscious of my figure which was a little too rounded for a woman my age and my rough dress which was all I could afford.

‘She’ll do extremely well, father,’ said the boy, eyes lighting up as if he were choosing buns in the baker’s shop. I swear I even saw him lick his lips.

‘Miss Canning, you will be pleased to hear you have my son’s approval.’

I curtsied, feeling as though I had passed some sort of test.

‘Thank you, sir. I would be pleased if you would outline my duties. You explained in your letter that I am to complete Master Tom’s education. I assumed this was in the classics and languages but perhaps you could elaborate.’

Lord Harestone laughed gently as if I had made some kind of joke. ‘Ah now, Miss Canning, permit me to offer you a seat, and perhaps a small glass of Madeira?’

Lord Harestone’s delay in getting to the point troubled me. I gratefully accepted the Madeira to calm my nerves. I was acutely aware of Master Tom’s eyes constantly upon me, as if he had never seen a woman before. I was also aware as I took the seat and kept my back straight and my legs together, as befits a lady, that Lord Harestone too never took his eyes off me. They roamed from the hem of my skirt, up my legs, over my waist and bosom and down again in far too direct a manner for comfort. His gaze gave me the sensation of being uncovered; so much so that I raised my hand to my chest to ensure my buttons were securely fastened and felt there the rise and fall of my bosom.

I jumped as Lord Harestone spoke again. ‘We discussed a wage in our correspondence, did we not?’

‘Yes sir, my Lord.’

‘I should like to treble it.’

‘But my Lord, why?’ I gasped. I was torn between my delight at this extraordinary news and concern that my duties might be too onerous to complete. Never had I been offered such riches.

‘Miss Canning, I will come to the point. I have a direct nature. My ward,’ he looked over at Master Tom who sat opposite me in silence, ‘has had an expensive education.

He is exceptionally bright and is in all ways ready to enter the Church. He needs no more coaching in normal subjects.’

‘Then why –?’ I stopped, aware that I must not interrupt my employer even though I burned with curiosity.

‘Your role, Miss Canning, and one I am sure you are eminently able to fulfil, is to teach Master Tom the ways of adults. We are so isolated here that Tom has become shy, particularly around women. He knows nothing of their…more intimate ways but he wishes to learn in this, his last year of freedom. He needs to partake of the pleasures of the flesh with one whom he finds irresistible before he enters the church and is denied that pleasure for ever. Tom, I can see, is very taken with you. He admires womanly curves and soft plump skin. In fact I think I can go so far as to speak for him and say that he yearns nightly for feminine charms like yours,’ Lord

Harestone looked over at his ward who nodded eagerly. ‘We will treat you extremely well, you have seen your room. Your only duties will be at night time. In the day you will be free to partake of my extensive library and live the life of a woman of leisure on an extremely good wage. Your only duty will be in educating and pleasuring this young boy. And being pleasured by him.’ I saw a glint in Lord Harestone’s eyes that made me swallow hard.

Hearing his words, my eyes became rounder and rounder. I had been a married woman so was well able to fulfil this task but never had I been asked to perform such extraordinary duties nor offered such wealth. My life of late had been unbearable, living in near poverty, and an escape from it was most appealing. But having the hands of this callow, pale youth upon me, could I cope with that? I looked at the father. So much more commanding than the son, a man any woman would be pleased to take into her bed, with his knowing eyes and masculine figure. Now if only he were the subject of my nightly task I would not hesitate.

Lord Harestone twirled the neck of his glass in sensuous fingers, lifted it to full lips and drained the glass. ‘I can see you are thinking it over; one more thing which may sway you. My son admires fine clothes and likes to see women in them. There is a wardrobe upstairs full of outfits purchased for his ‘governess’ from the seamstresses of Paris. I think you may like to take those into account when you think over our offer. We will leave you now, Miss Canning. If in the morning you have dressed yourself in one of the fine outfits upstairs we will take that as a signal that you accept your duties. If however you are still in the grey woollen garment you stand in now, I will arrange for a coach to be called to take you back home and we will assume you do not want the post. Goodnight.’

Thus dismissed, I retired to my room shocked at the offer made to me. I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, my thoughts in turmoil. In the next room, only a thin door separating us, I could hear Tom about his night time ritual. I heard him undress and the creak of the bed as he got into it. I wondered if he thought of me in my bed. I shuddered. Could I possibly allow that boy to make love to me, show him, guide him when I found him to be utterly repulsive. Like a greyhound, he was all skin and bones and angular features. And yet the money I had been offered would solve all my difficulties and allow me to start afresh. Pondering, I rose and went to the wardrobe. Inside were delectable dresses in silks and taffetas. Reds and golds sat alongside deep aquamarine and purple, the skirts a cloud of colour. I buried my face in their finery and rubbed the cool softness of the materials over my poor skin, chapped with cold, neglect and poverty. Opening a drawer, I beheld half a dozen beautifully stitched corsets. I ran my hands over the boning and the laces of one which was a glorious shade of turquoise. I lifted it up and held it against myself in the mirror. It was a work of art and I knew that if I were to wear it I too would feel like the most precious object. The fact that I would be pawed by that creature next door, who gave me a feeling of sickness every time I thought of him, was something I could possibly learn to block out.

I released the pins in my chestnut hair, felt it tumble heavily down my shoulders and lay myself down on the crisp cotton sheets. My mind was made up. However disagreeable I found Master Tom, I would accept my fate.

At dawn, after washing myself in the bowl provided, I opened the wardrobe again. The glare of the colours was even greater in the morning light. As I again fingered the turquoise corset there was a gentle knock on my door. I gathered my nightdress about me suspicious it might be Master Tom come to gain his prize early. But it was a young girl who announced herself as Sarah, Mrs Alderly’s daughter, and offered me help as a lady’s maid in dressing. Never had I had the luxury of a lady’s maid. As she assisted me into a fine muslin shift which fell over my breasts and would protect the fine silk of the corset from the oils of my skin I began to warm to my part. I did not have to like Master Tom to teach him, but I did enjoy the feel of the corset as Sarah laced me in. A pleasant sensation of constriction, like a frighteningly tight embrace overcame me as Sarah pulled harder and harder. My breasts overflowed like velvet-skinned apricots over the tight boning and my buttocks appeared lush and full underneath the tight silk. ‘These are the latest corsets from France, ma’am, with little suspenders to hold up your stockings. Here let me help you on with these silk stockings.’

The feel of the material against my ankles, then my knees and finally halfway up my thighs, delicately rolled and pushed up my legs by Sarah, made my legs tingle. I watched the girl kneeling as she clipped the stockings into their holdings after which she laced up my boots and helped me into a white muslin day dress. Never had my waist appeared so pinched and tiny and never had I been so acutely aware of my breasts pushing and straining over the top of my dress. As the corset pressed against the pubis at the bottom of my stomach I felt a sensation of desire for animal satisfaction which had never affected me before.

I went down to breakfast and witnessed Master Tom’s evident admiration at my hourglass figure and delight that I was staying. I almost expected him to salivate at the mouth in anticipation of his coming night’s education. I was given the freedom of the house and, as I moved about, became aware of eyes upon me. Looking around, I caught not Master Tom, but Lord Harestone, staring blatantly at my form. I stood examining a book in his library at the time. Whether some devilment had entered me in my fine new clothes I cannot say. But, aware of his Lordship’s eyes burning into me, I reached as high as my constricting undergarments would allow, and purposefully revealed a well turned ankle in black silk. Lord Harestone stared, smiled and walked away.

The evening came, dinner was done with, and feeling as though I were jumping into a pool of cold water, I announced to Master Tom that he and I should now go upstairs and begin his education. I felt very ill-disposed towards him, as if I wanted to tell the poor naive creature off for his lack of knowledge. At the top of the stairs I ordered him into his bedroom and commanded he kneel by the side of his bed and wait for me. Going into my room, I breathed deeply, feeling nauseous at the thought of his hands upon me, and trying desperately to summon up the courage for my task. My beautiful skirt swished as I walked across the room and just as I was about to enter through the open connecting door, I noticed a door at the other end of Master Tom’s room. Through the narrow slit I could just make out Lord Harestone, seated, his eyes directed at his young ward.

Of a sudden, a warmth spread through me and a pleasurable sensation shot up between my stockinged legs, moistness creaming my maidenhood. I had to squeeze my legs together as I walked, to stop the liquid dripping down my legs, as I imagined Lord Harestone’s eyes following me across the room. Acutely aware of his gaze, I did not give away that I knew his secret but looked down only at the kneeling Master Tom. Tom’s eyes looked up at me like a spaniel’s and I watched a flickering nerve tick at his temple. I moved around him, holding him with my gaze until I was sure I was in the best position for Lord Harestone to
view our antics.

‘Lift up my skirts.’ I commanded in a harsh voice. Tom’s hands fumbled at the layers in his eagerness. My heart quickened, not at Tom’s inept touch, but at the knowledge that as my legs were being uncovered, Lord Harestone leant forward in his secret place, in order to see me better.

‘Stay kneeling. Don’t you dare do anything until I tell you,’ I barked. Tom nodded his head, petrified and bewitched as he stared at my ankles, my knees and finally the ivory whiteness of my thighs bulging out of the stockings. ‘You may kiss my thighs,’ I said. The boy held my leg as if it were a soft feathered bird and pressed his hot lips against it. Like a starving man, he slavered and sucked. I watched the top of his head as he got carried away and saw him breathe deeply, enjoying my scent. I spread my legs a little wider, tempting him in but when he moved his mouth over my labia I slapped him hard on the cheek.

‘How dare you presume to do anything before I tell you.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lord Harestone smile wickedly, enjoying my harshness. I directed my gaze at Tom but kept Lord Harestone in my sights as I leant down and kissed poor Tom, the pink marks of my hand on his cheek. ‘There, there, don’t be upset. Tell me what you’d like to do.’

His voice came so quiet I could barely hear although I knew what he said. ‘Louder,’ I demanded. ‘Speak louder boy, tell me what you want to do.’

‘Lick you,’ came his voice. ‘Go on then.’ I ordered.

Still kneeling, he moved around until his head was under my cunny and pressed his face upwards. As his pink tongue came out and the tip dipped into my juices I let out a moan of satisfaction, loud enough for Lord Harestone to hear and saw, with satisfaction, Lord Harestone’s hand move to rub the front of his britches. I held the back of Tom’s head, forcing him rhythmically up and down, pressing him into me. He slurped and pawed at my thighs, his tongue darting in and out. I used him to work around my sex again and again, riding on his face and savouring the pleasure of watching Lord Harestone’s brooding stare as his Lordship continued to rub himself.

‘Give me your finger.’ I commanded to Tom.

Still sucking at me, the boy put his finger slowly towards me and gasped, as I used it to mop up the trickle down my thigh and then buried his finger deep into my waiting redness as high as it would go. I had to congratulate the boy here. Instinct made him push his finger in and out without instruction and when he felt me get comfortable on it, he pushed a second finger in, stretching me most agreeably. Still laced up tightly, I felt as if my breasts would burst out of their confines: they were becoming so swollen, the nipples painful against the edge of my corset and straining against the thin muslin.

I now felt uncontrollable with desire. I knew I needed a real man inside me. This simpering youth was acceptable for starters but I was so heated I felt I would go mad without proper fulfilment. The time for subtlety was over. I turned blatantly to Lord Harestone. His secret was a secret no more. I watched petrified as, still seated, he kicked the door open with his foot. Tom barely flinched so intent was he on drinking my nectar. Lord Harestone ripped open the panel on the front of his britches and displayed a jutting, magnificently veined erection. Getting up, he strode over to where

I stood, and Tom knelt. Standing next to me, he pulled my hair back, and prised open my lips with his tongue, thrusting it viciously into my mouth. I kissed him back, wild with desire. With Tom still pleasuring me with his tongue, Lord Harestone moved his fingers over the muslin at my breasts and tore it away exposing my jutting bosoms topped with hard sensitive nipples. He took one feverishly in his mouth and nipped it in his teeth making me cry out with ecstasy. Once it was moist he took it between thumb and forefinger and rolled it like a cigar. Taking my other nipple, he sucked it mercilessly till it reddened and peaked. Once my breasts were fully sensitised, Lord Harestone moved around behind me, and pressed himself against me. His huge throbbing member forced up against my buttocks. He pushed me over the bed till I was bent double and commanded me to hold on to the bed rail, which I did to steady myself. His knee between my legs prised me open, spread-eagling me still wider.

Tom stopped for a moment to wipe his mouth and take his fingers out of my aching cunny. Then, taking the initiative, while Lord Harestone positioned himself behind me, Tom gently fingered my fanny and gazed lasciviously at the swollen red sex lips. Poking out his tongue he licked me with the whole length of it, flicking it mercilessly over my point of ecstasy. Driven to distraction, I clung on to the bedpost, my buttocks jutting upwards, the tight corset cutting into my flesh, waiting for Lord Harestone to enter me. Shockingly I felt his almighty prick drive into me as he gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging in. He pummelled me back and forth, panting like a demon possessed. Tom’s licking became more urgent as Lord Harestone drove his cock deeper. Lord Harestone moved his hands to grip my breasts, pinching the nipples between his fingers, giving me the most mind- numbing sensation of being totally and utterly dominated.

With the two men gasping and pushing, sucking and thrusting, I felt my eyes flicker and my swollen sex peak into a shuddering, bursting orgasm. Just after I came, Lord Harestone gripped my hair and yelled as he pumped his load into me, his seed running down my legs.

Thus began the best year of my life. Each night was a journey. Each one longer than the last. Tom proved an apt pupil, and an interested observer when my Lord and I allowed him the privilege of watching us sate our passions on each other. Tom is now a pastor at a small parish many miles from here. And me? I stayed on, for why would I not? The educator became the educated at Lord Harestone’s fine hand. And yes, dear Reader… I married him.

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