They know not how to kiss, or are not minded to. Their mouths are rubbery and soft, but have no fine responsiveness. Their eyes are dull, their fingers loosely clasp one's arms. The are obedient and yet not amourous.
Yet curiously they drive one on to try to overcome their laxity. I have heard this so from others, too, recalled their tales as I lay there, fingering Miss Withers' bottom lazily. “They are bovine; they take the cock and suck it dry, then lie there quiet, bemused, in some far cloud of their own making,” so one said, and added pensively, “They seem scarce to know what passed or what one has done with them. Their bellies ripple while they're being fucked, and yet they seldom come. One birches them the more and puts it in again. It does no good. Their arses are invariably ripe, and that's the waste of it. Some have the body of a goddess, yet are cold as marble. There's no teaching of them-not at all, dear boy.”
The fellow was right. Miss Withers was one such. To fail to yield such treasures lustfully I count as a dire sin. The deuce of it-their very laxity spurs on the cock to prove its point, yet all in vain. The champions colours are ignored by them. “I shall liven her up,” it is said of such by bold, brave souls, and yet they never do, they never do. Cocks limp, they sigh and take to port again, or douse a whisky and may even try the citadel once more to stir the flames where no fires burn. One tries again, again-and that's the oddity of it.
My cock stirred at such thoughts. I turned and pressed it up against her lustrous bum. She squirmed, cried out, was held between us. Prising her plump cheeks apart, I had my knob a-throbbing at her brown-rimmed ring, and gritting teeth a little, urged it up. Her head jerked back and bumped my forehead as she did. My arms met Caroline's around her waist.
“No-no-my god, no!” came Miss Withers' cry.
“Be quiet, you naughty girl,” from Caroline. Such teasing, though, has little more effect than does the prick itself. There is a deadness, surely, in their souls, and yet such females are penetrated all the more to try and make them flower. The challenge is for every male to meet. He cannot help himself, alas.
“Come-yield your bottom to me, woman!”
“Nooo!” she moaned and wriggled like a fish in our embrace. By then I was embedded a full inch in her tight, slowly-yielding anus that so hotly clenched itself around my pego with its stiff demand.
“Yes, dear, sink back on it. Take it right up you, sillikins,” breathed Caroline.
“Don't woh-woh-want to! Oh, such wickedness! How dare he put it up my… oooof!”
I rammed her suddenly. I wished to feel the sweet ballooning of her cheeks against my belly, fleshy, round and warm pulsating out its joy to take a cock. Her heels kicked to my shins; I had her though. The cork was in the bottleneck-my balls nudged underneath her sticky quim.
“Now let her be,” I grunted out to Caroline, shifted my posture, drew the woman up with me and brought her slowly on her knees, my prick still buried in her fundament. Caroline made to hold her neck. I uttered sternly, “No!” She caught my mood and smiled and then lay back, her legs spread wide, dark bush against pale skin, one knee up-bent and pressing to my thigh.
“Yes, darling, she needs a cock up her bottom,” whispered she.
“no-oooh!”
“Be quiet!” I thundered to Miss Withers who, at that let head and shoulders droop, her warm arse mounding tightly into me.
“I shall-I shall-I'll die of this!” she moaned.
“No young girl ever has, and nor shall you. Now, roll your bottom, woman, or I'll cane you-that I will!”
“Oooh-Hooo, you beast!” and yet her cry was soft. I felt the working of bumcheeks to my skin, the squeezing of her muscles deep within, and knew indeed how tight a cork feels in a bottleneck.
“Tickle her cunny, Caroline.”
“My love!” Lithe as she is, my wife spun round her feet against the headboard of the bed, then serpent-like slid underneath Miss Withers till her mouth came under her moist quim.
“NEE-HEE!” Miss Withers squeaked. We had her then-prick up her bottom and a sleek tongue to her cunt. Then Caroline reached up and held her waist while I began to pump. Ah-how I pumped! Miss Withers' bottom smacked against my belly as I did. My prick was tightly-squeezed. Perhaps a pearl of come exuded from the tip, for she was lubricated soon enough, her fine arse made to swing between the pair of us, all three a-panting, moaning as we worked. I cupped Miss Withers' tits-her nipples stiff. They dangled on my palms like melons ripe, the skin so silky and so swollen up.
“Ah, she is taking it-the lovely. What a bottom she has!”
I could not help myself. My wife's tongue flicked beneath my balls. She had a mouthful of us both. I bent upon Miss Withers-kissed her neck, the reaches of her velvet cheek, but could not reach her mouth. I hated her for that, and yet she yielded then, permitted me to move her bottom back and forth.
“The darling-she is coming! Bugger her, my pet!” gargled my wife. Miss Withers' fingers twisted up the pillow tight. Her head drooped, lips apart. I seized her mouth at last. O wondrous passion of that kiss as then I came-her bottom screwing into me, her tongue a serpent round about my own. I pulsed, I jetted out my cannonade deep in her bum and felt her squirming joy, her warm saliva trickling in my mouth, and on and on the icy fire of it until I quivered in her and was spent.
I straightened up and held her thus. She wriggled just a little and was still. Then Caroline slid up from under her, affording me a very salty kiss.
“Oh, darling, you're still in her! Take it slowly out. The treasure that she is-I knew she would!”
Out came my stricken slug of flesh. It hesitated at the rim, was squeezed once more and then fell limp. Miss Withers had been conquered, so it seemed. She slumped and hid her face and closed her eyes. I felt the throbbing of her bottom in my balls, collapsed with a deep sigh upon my back and let my leg fall over hers.
“Oh, don't! I did not want to, but you made me,” so she moaned, and even Caroline then looked bemused. The would-be comfort of her hand was shaken off, and up Miss Withers sat, an ooze of come squeezed to the sheet, as afterwards I saw.
“You want to go home?” My wife's tone then was stiff. She rose and put her nightgown on. I slid my leg away, drew up the sheet. Miss Withers clambered out of bed. I regretted even then the departure of that globous bottom from my clasp.
“I will go home.” Her voice was soft. It spoke of raindrops rather than of flowers. The scent of sperm was all about the room. I thought it heady; she did not.
“I will see to a coach; your own has gone,” said Caroline. She drew a peignoir on and trotted out-the hostess to the last, salt-rimmed her lips. Miss Withers slowly gathered up her clothes. I was not there: a ghost from her dim past. I watched her dress. Her drawers were still downstairs, that pleased me at the least. She dressed with an untidiness that did not, though. I did not want her anymore; I did not want. Lacing her boots at last she went downstairs. The muffled voices-different now-came up to me. The front door slammed. I heard a coach depart. Then Caroline returned.
“A scandal will there be?” I asked.
“I have told her there will not-or she will be the loser of it, that I'd see to, mark my words. I told thus. She understands. But now embrace me-take my lips to yours.”
Naked again she came into my arms. We kissed and whispered sultrily and then were still. Home is a haven when it can be thus. I felt her nipples, twiddled them about.
“You liked it, though?” she asked and sighed.
“Not much.” I told the truth and yet in part I lied. The power of womanhood is such as lures one even in dismay. “At least, she'll not forget this night,” I said.
“And yet will place no value on it. What a fool! Her husband-to-be will turn to looser women. That I tried to warn her of.”
“It does not matter.”
“No. I know. There are such-dry as husks. They have no juice. I swear that when she came she did despise herself or thought it some strange accident.”
“It does not matter, dearest. How you tried!”
“I did; I know I did. I thought it best for her. She will not even twiddle her own cunny so she said. Oh god, what a drab place the world becomes with such as she.”
A sigh. The night grew warmer then. We lay together quietly, and we slept.
