Perdita was an all-over fuck. No part of her was unaffected. Yet in the end all her hunger became centred in her wide-open pussey as it filled and flooded with her juices. I was very happy that I had not missed her. I suspected that anyone who lived with her or passed much time with her would find that they were spending a disproportionate amount of that time looking after or looking for Perdita. What she needed was some sort of chaperone. Not-Heavens Forbid!-to prevent her from fucking, but to look after her when she was fucking: someone to ensure that Perdita, her belongings and her clothing were gathered together roughly in one place-and the right place at that. Our fuck could not last much longer. I had already been on the verge of my coming while I had been still ensheathed in her bum. I quickly felt the first unstoppable surge of my cum coursing its way up my cock, eager to discharge into the sea of her secretions. Perdita was beginning to be wracked by great shudders that rippled through her body so that each time, however impossible that might be, she seemed to open a little wider. She didn't cry out loudly, but, half under her breath, as each shudder jolted through her she was saying 'Yes! Yes!
Yes!' as though she was willing herself on, driving all the tensions from her, draining them from her body and her mind. She rose up to meet me as I plunged into her. Time and time again I rammed into her, trying to fill her to overflowing. Jet upon jet gushed up and spurted into her. My balls banging unmercifully against her and sticky with her cum, throbbed with the power of their emptying ejaculations.
Her hands were clenching and unclenching, her breathing harsh. I in turn felt a tide of relief ebb through me. Everything that was in me was now in her. My pace slowed. The last irregular spasms of my coming shook me but soon I had nothing left. She gave one final convulsive heave and then lay very still, legs and arms splayed out, only her breasts still quivering with the energy she had expended.
Quite quickly I slid out of her. Our combined juices were dripping out of her and soaking into the damp moss on which she lay. I pressed my face into the wet warmth of her pussey, breathing in deeply and tasting the pussey hair, smooth as silk against my cheek. Lazily, I licked the inside of her thighs. One last, belated drop of cum hung on the end of my prick before dropping to the ground. We were both spent and exhausted. All seemed very still around us. Little by little life resumed. I became aware of a chaffinch or some such bird singing in the tree above me. Some small animal rustled through the leaves and I watched a glossy black beetle feeling its way across the moss only inches from my nose. Two Red Admiral butterflies were dancing and twisting in a shaft of sunlight above our heads until one fluttered down and settled on Perdita's left breast. As she felt the light touch she squinted down her nose to see what was happening. She lay still and the butterfly opened and closed its wings. No doubt it had been attracted by the fresh sweat that glistened on her. As it drank-for that was what I assumed it was doing-I thought it a great improvement on the slapping tongue of the cow that had been similarly attracted to Ian's bared bum earlier. 'Have you seen my clothes?' said Perdita about a quarter of an hour later. 'They're over there,' I said, 'And over there, and over there.' We staggered to our feet. Perdita stretched like a cat. There was a dazed just-fucked look to her that was most beguiling. For a moment I felt Mr. Pego shift and stir but in reality I was both too fatigued and beginning to get concerned about collecting the party together again.
There remained the Rosie problem. As far as I was concerned she had indulged in her last naked bicycle ride. We would have to find something for her to wear. Perdita was retrieving her clothing item by item, pulling something frilly off a bush here, unearthing a shoe there. As she hopped about, clutching at a foot where she had stepped on something sharp, her hair had fallen over her eyes and her naked breasts swayed. Again there was a twitching hint of interest from Mr. Pego. The damp blackness of her pussey showed up in stark contrast to the whiteness of her skin. Sadly I resigned myself to the fact that I might never see it again. 'Oh, there it is!' she said. 'My dress. I thought I'd lost it.' I was conducting an inventory of my clothing. One sock short. I shut my eyes, trying to picture where Perdita had thrown it. 'To the left of that tree over there,' I said to myself, deciding to dress myself as fully as possible before searching for it. I did not want to risk an unprotected Mr. Pego among the thorns. Perdita and I began to dress.
We both heard the sniffling noise at the same time. 'Who is it?' I called out. There was no answer except more sniffling, then the sound of someone blowing their nose. 'I can see her,' said Perdita, trying to untangle her dress from a broken bough on which it must have got caught earlier when she tossed it away in her cavalier fashion. 'She?' I queried. 'Rosie,' said Perdita.
'Bother, I've ripped it.' Sure enough she had torn her dress so badly that short of a prolonged session with needle and thread it was clearly unwearable. 'Where?' 'Over there, under that beech tree.' 'I don't know what a beech tree looks like,' I said.
'That tree, over there,' said Perdita, mournfully peering at the ruin of her dress. I scrutinised the shrubbery. Sure enough, there was Rosie, tightly bundled up from throat to ankle in what looked like a tablecloth. 'Becky and George did it,' she said. 'They said that I couldn't go on flitting around the countryside without any clothes on. And in particular, I had to be properly wrapped up before we all cycled home. They wound me round in this spare cloth like some horrid Egyptian mummy and put me under strict orders not to take it off again under any circumstances.' 'Very sensible of them,' I said.
'But it's completely spoilt the game for me,' she said. 'I can hardly walk, I'm so hobbled up. I'm so afraid of some mishap that I daren't try to get through the prickly bits and I keep having to clutch hold of the trees to avoid falling over. I didn't catch anyone.
They'd all gone much deeper into the woods or else could get away from me if I did spot them. I nearly got Monty but Gwendolen saw him at the same time and caught him first. And I did so want a fuck with Monty.
Ever since I saw him doing it doggy style on the train here. And he's funny. And besides, I want to broaden my clerical experience.'
'He's not a proper clergyman,' I reminded her. 'I know,' she said, 'But he dresses like one and he talks like one when he wants to.
And he smells like one. Do you not detect an odour of sanctity hanging over him sometimes?' 'I think you will find it is more the result of the occasional over-liberal application of pomade,' I said. 'Or those carnations he seems to have an endless supply of.'
'Anyway,' she said. 'I've had a rotten afternoon.' With that she started to sniffle again. 'There, there,' said Perdita. 'You can dry your eyes on the remains of my dress. I'm sure I'll never be able to wear it again.' She mopped down poor Rosie. Bad though her behaviour had been, I felt a twinge of sympathy for her.
'Come back with us,' I said. 'We really do have to go back to the others and then go home. But I promise you, I'll have a word with Monty this evening. I know he likes you. You'll get your fuck, believe me.' 'On a train?' she sniffed, obviously trying to drive a hard bargain. 'Hardly this evening,' I said. 'You'll have to make do with the house or the garden. No travelling and no wheels.' 'Not even one of the tricycles,' she said. 'No,' I said. 'Rosie, you know perfectly well that you cannot always be in motion when you fuck.
Anyway, you were quite happy at the prospect of fucking Monty behind a tree.' 'All right,' she said. Then she brightened up. 'Maybe we can go on an excursion somewhere next week. We can get a train from Northampton to Leicester I think, and then we could go on one of the Midland expresses to, maybe, Derby.' 'We'll try something, although I would prefer an outing to somewhere more interesting.'
And so we retraced our steps to the picnic glade, Rosie hobbling along in her tablecloth wrapping, me fully dressed except for one missing sock and Perdita with the remains of her dress thrown round her shoulders like a shawl and carrying the rest of her things in a bundle. Most of the others were already there when we eventually stumbled out of the trees. They were sitting about in various states of dishevelment and fatigue. Cecily was looking thoroughly presentable as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Monty and Gwendolen were fully dressed but in each other's clothes. 'If women were ordained,' said Donald, 'I for one would become a regular attender at any service taken by Gwendolen.' She did in fact look most fetching, her generous bosom barely contained in Monty's white shirt, his clerical collar sitting demurely at her throat while his frock coat and trousers accentuated the neatness of her waist and hips.
Monty, an actor to his fingertips, was thoroughly enjoying flaunting himself in Gwendolen's dress, strutting and hip-swinging.
Hannah and Becky were engaged in animated discussion. Donald and Ian were standing shoulder to shoulder, each with his kilt lifted high in front, like a pair of French Can Can dancers. Their stout Scottish staffs were being paraded under orders from the two sisters.
'They are so alike,' said Hannah, lifting up Donald's prick and displaying it to Becky. 'Are you sure you can tell which is which?'
'That's the one that I had,' said Becky firmly, pointing to Ian's member. 'But you said he came at you from behind,' said Hannah.
