Lesson 01

Lesson 01 -- Lustfully Trapped

Preface

This story is inspired by the novella "Stalky & Co" and, in later chapters, by R. Kipling's "Kim." It is set in England in the early to mid-1800s, a time when the Empire was still powerfull and Victorianism held it firmly in its grip.

During research into fashion, transportation, the education system, society, and various other topics, it became apparent that the era was characterized by an unprecedented sexual openness. While the influence of the Anglican Church did indeed lead to a certain prudishness, these rules were not applied as strictly above a certain social status or standing.

The influence of the colonies and their cultural diversity on the society of the British isles itself also affected social and moral developments of it's conventions. Many people seemed to be sexually quite active in a relatively uninhibited manner.

Homosexual sex between men was still considered unnatural and "obscene" and was practiced only behind closed doors. There have been many cases of blunt police violence against gay men. Women, on the other hand, were allowed to live together and establish households akin to marriage, including having sex.

The erotic literature mentioned, "The Pearl" and "Fanny Hill," are merely prominent examples of the abundance of erotic literature of the time and likely circulated widely in a college for young men. Both are available online for free.

The various sex toys are also not inventions of our time but have always been part of the sexual lives of many people, especially many women.

This story is a personal translation of my previously submitted text "Lektionen 01, Venusschülerfalle".

Since this is a translation and I am not a native speaker, please leave a comment or contact me for suggestions and corrections on the use of English.

All sexually active individuals are adults. Any resemblance to existing people is purely coincidental.

...

Spring had arrived. The trimester was drawing to a close, and the boys and young men of Wilstbury Common College looked forward to a period without Latin, Algebra, and tedious interpretations of Shakespeare. Escaping the boarding school, even for just a few weeks, had been the sole focus of the entire school since Christmas. The teachers were no longer as quick to assign punishments as they had been at the beginning of the year. Which matched the boarding school students' creativity in circumventing rules. One more week, and they would all depart for at least three weeks. Some would stay with relatives, others would visit friends, and only a few would travel to their parents.

In imperial England, families were scattered across the Commonwealth. They were often found on the other side of the world. Fathers held government positions in India, uncles were stationed in remote outposts on the fringes of civilization. Mothers and aunts, if not widowed by the brutality of a colonized world, hosted dull parties on the edges of the world's jungles and steppes. Their children were educated in boarding schools in England to become the next generation to protect the Commonwealth's borders. Thus, families were dispersed across the globe, and it was not uncommon for years to pass before all family members would see each other again. There was always somebody missing... or dead.

As previously mentioned, Easter holidays would begin soon. In the dormitories of Wilstbury Common College, the excitement ran like a tidal wave. Even the threat of draconian punishments was not able to quiet down the vast sleeping halls. At some end of the long halls, the whispering would begin anew, spreading like wildfire and would soon reach the House Masters' rooms. These were mostly bachelors who ruined their health with cigars and port in the college library while wondering about the developments of the world. They were always in search of a good match that would allow them to secure a position in the civil service. Until then, they educated other people's children and occasionally attended parties where they made the acquaintance of the better-off, rose-cheeked, daughters from the surrounding area.

The only teachers who lived on the grounds with their families were the headmaster, Mr. Wimby, and the mathematics and Latin teacher, Hunting. Both were married, childless, and in their mid forties.

Mrs. Wimby could be described as a Rubens-esque woman. With curves in all the right places, ample breasts, a round stomach. She was always dressed in off-the-shoulder gowns that allowed for a deep decolletage. Her rosy complexion suggested a comfortable, carefree, and above all, indulgent life. With her long legs, large posterior, ample hips, and impeccable appearance, she was an imposing figure and stood out at every party, picnic, and sporting event. She was always busy, in motion, and bustled her way across the boarding school grounds like an erotic tall ship under full sail.

Mrs. Hunting, on the other hand, appeared to the boarding school students as if she had swallowed a broomstick. Stiff and brittle, her slender, bony hands folded demurely in her lap. She was tall and thin, with hardly any hips and sagging breasts that no support could effectively lift. She was the complete opposite of the vivacious Mrs. Wimby.

Her long face was made even thinner by her slender nose and pale complexion, and her thin, fingers were often intertwined. The dresses she wore were not significantly different from Mrs. Wimby's, except that Mrs. Hunting covered her decolletage with a white lace scarf and her skinny shoulders were not quite as exposed. Her sagging breasts simply followed gravity and could not be made to offer a daring decolletage by any clever bodice, corset, or binding. On cold days, her large nipples could be seen under the fabric of her dresses.

In this environment, Arthur McDuffle and George P. Bold III spent their time receiving the final polish for a career in Her Majesty's army or some other state service. Just having reached adulthood, at the beginning of their lives, and brimming with lust, they felt their way into the world of growing up. Arthur was a tall Irishman from a good family but not necessarily blessed with riches. Healthy and lively, but moving through the world n a way that suggested he hadn't quite figured out where he ended and the world began. Blessed with a vivid imagination and a cheekiness that allowed him to implement most of his ideas.

George P. Bold III, on the other hand, had a more refined demeanor. Sometimes he seemed arrogant, as if the world belonged to him. But he knew his limits. He was always accompanied by an aura of understatement, a cultivated form of possession born from the security that inherited old and new money brings. Somewhat short in stature, George had a boyish physique, which gave him a cat-like suppleness.

One evening, a week before the end of the term, George and Arthur were heading out after evening prayers to enjoy a quiet smoke in a secluded corner of the expansive school grounds with a pipe and a few books. This, of course, did not comply with school rules. Smoking was strictly forbidden and their choice of literature would certainly not have met with approval. Arthur had grabbed "The Pearl," and George intended to delve into Homer's works. Precisely because of the prohibition, it was a sport for every student at the college to evade the teachers and find a place of retreat despite the threat of punishments.

It was warm, the crickets chirped, and the insect life buzzed and hummed around them on the entire path to their secret spot by the cliffs. A reddish twilight lay over the peaceful, sprawling grounds.

Their path led them past housemaster Huntings' house. A tall rhododendron hedge separated the imperial bungalow-style building from the extensive college grounds. One could only glimpse the garden through a small gate, which was usually closed.

Shortly before Arthur and George reached the small gate, a delicate woman's hand in a blue glove emerged through the hedge and beckoned. The two looked at each other, discreetly turned their heads to ensure they were not being observed, and only then curiously followed the hand. The garden gate was open, and a blue glove hung on one of the many rhododendrons. George and Arthur followed this trail and looked around. From their vantage point, they had a good view of the veranda and the widely open door to the salon. In the encroaching twilight, the garden lay in a soft shadow, while the veranda and salon were brightly lit by gas lamps.

It was clear to both of them that they had no business in the teacher's garden. They currently broke every rule in the book. If discovered, they could pack their bags immediately. However, their curiosity was stronger than their fear, so they remained behind the rhododendron marked by the silken lady's glove and waited uncertainly.

On the veranda stood a large rattan armchair facing the garden. The deep seat neatly lighted by the lanterns hanging from the rafters. Large cushions were indistinctly indented but clearly used. Next to it was a small, round glass table on which sat a filled glass.

The wife of the Latin and Mathematics teacher and House Master of Arthur and George came through the salon with a book in her hand. She made herself comfortable in the armchair, sipped from the glass, adjusted one of the cushions, leaned back and immersed herself in her reading. In the salon behind her, the maid appeared, a petite, red-haired Scottish woman with large breasts. She stood in the doorway, seemingly unnoticed. From there, she had an unobstructed view of her mistress without being seen by her.

Arthur and George could no longer leave. Any movement would have betrayed them immediately. Any rustling in the bushes would have led to discovery, which would have inevitably meant the end of their careers at this college. According to college rules, they were committing a mortal sin.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Hunting sank deeper into her armchair. With the book in front of her slim nose she had pressed herself far into the chair. Her feet dangled to the left and right, and her long dress was uncomfortably taut between her lower legs. Dressed in mid-calf black boots, they formed an erotic contrast to the white silk of her stockings.

Mrs. Hunting absently touched her hem and pushed her dress up over her knees. Arthur and George gasped for air. The long legs, encased in white silk stockings, were like a hot shower for them. They had expected anything today, but that their teacher's wife would present her slender legs so openly would not have occurred to them even in their wildest dreams.

Mrs. Hunting licked her finger lasciviously and turned a page. By now, she had pressed herself upright against the backrest, her legs slightly spread, her dress loosely draped above her knees. From their position behind the rhododendron, George and Arthur could see her lower legs, clad in white silk and delicate black boots. Something stirred in their trousers. Both had never had such an undisturbed and long look at a woman's legs. Everything that could be guessed above the tips of her boots and below the bust line under her clothes had been taboo for them until now. George had indeed once caught a shy, fleeting glimpse of his sister's bare bottom and slightly hairy pussy, but he couldn't enjoy it for fear of discovery.

What presented itself to him now far surpassed his imagination, which was fueled by novels and blurry woodcuts on cheap paper.

As if unintentionally, Mrs. Hunting's dress slid further up her knees, granting an ever-deeper view between her legs. The top of her stocking and the clasps of her garters were visible. The first skin showed, its paleness barely distinguishable from the white stockings. Despite the twilight that was now descending upon the garden, George and Arthur could clearly see Mrs. Hunting's body from their position. The rattan armchair was so skillfully illuminated by the gas lamps that it resembled a small theater stage.

Mrs. Hunting's hand wandered as if unintentionally to the cord that held her dress together over her shoulders and slowly untied the bow. The loose dress slipped over her bare shoulders, revealing the deep neckline between her flaccid, sagging breasts. A short, skillful movement of her shoulders caused the rest of the dress to fall so far that her sagging tits were now completely exposed.

George and Arthur took a deep breath. What presented itself to them was the jackpot at the horse races. They were willing to risk their stay at college for it. Arthur was the first to open his trousers to give his cock more freedom. George was already fumbling with his trouser buttons to make more room.

The teacher's wife, with her free hand, absently stroked her sagging breast, enclosed the tip, and rubbed the now clearly visible nipple. With her elbow, she skillfully ensured that her dress slid down to her hips. Slowly, she spread her legs as far as she could and placed one leg, then the other, over the armrests of the chair. She gathered her dress at her hips so that her pubic area lay naked. The two observers were presented with a heavenly sight.

Mrs. Hunting had forgone underwear and petticoats, so in the light of the gas lamps, the two could clearly see her black triangle of pubic hair and her thick inner labia beneath.

Her hand slid deeper, caressed her gaunt body, and then made its way to her vulva. Tenderly, she dipped a finger between her wrinkled, fat labia and left it there. Again, she turned a page in her book and focused on her reading. She left her finger resting between her lips and began to move her pelvis in small circles. A second finger dipped between her labia and parted the thick curtains, so that the two observers could now glimpse the rosy, moistly glistening flesh in between. She performed light fucking movements with her hips, and her fingers slid up and down her cleft. Her mouth opened slightly, and the tip of her tongue traced her lips. Her masturbating hand returned to her breasts and occupied itself with her stiff nipples.

With legs spread wide, naked pussy, and breasts spilling out of her dress, Mrs. Hunting sat in her armchair, seemingly engrossed in her book.

George and Arthur now had their cocks in hand and were masturbating in time with Mrs. Hunting's thrusting movements. The gaunt woman reached under the cushions and pulled out a thick, black rod. The book fell from her hand and landed face down on the floor. Her left hand moved to her sex, and with her index and ring fingers, she parted her butterfly wings. Her middle finger rested on her clitoris, and with her right hand, she slowly pushed the black rod deep into her flesh. Mrs. Hunting's eyes were closed, and a soft, satisfied sigh escaped her lips. Slowly, she pushed the rod back and forth. With each withdrawal, her long labia clung to the material, making it look as if her pussy had a soft, moist grotto entrance to the outside. The black rod formed a sharp contrast to her pale skin, allowing George and Arthur even from a distance to see exactly how deep Mrs. Hunting pushed it into herself.

She held her arms in such a way that her long, sagging tits were pressed forward as much as possible. The two voyeurs behind the rhododendron felt as if the stiff nipples were looking directly at them. Mrs. Hunting changed her pace and fucked herself faster and faster. Her left hand gently, with soft slaps, struck her clitoris, and the rod was repeatedly pushed deep into her open cunt. The moaning swelled and turned into gasps. Mrs. Hunting lifted her pelvis, bucking slightly, her bottom hung in the air between the armrests of the chair. The rod now danced irregularly back and forth in her steaming pussy, and her left hand maltreated her stiff clitoris. With a final, slightly louder moan, Mrs. Hunting convulsed with orgasm. Clutching the black rod firmly with her cunt, grabbing the armrests with her bony fingers, she sank back into the seat from her tensed position. The handle of the glistering, black rod sticking out of her wet flesh pointing towards the two voyeurs behind the rhododendron.

The two observers were presented with a picture of pure female lust. Mrs. Hunting leaned back, exhausted, her pussy wide open, the thick rod still buried deep between her wrinkled, fat labia. Her dress was in complete disarray. Gulping Mrs. Hunting gasped for air. Her sagging tits spilled out of her dress, completing the picture of erotic disorder. The way Mrs. Hunting lay in her armchair exuded unbridled lust, wicked charm, and the willingness of a whore. No literature, no fantasy, no art print, and no furtive peek through a keyhole could have prepared George and Arthur for this concentrated eroticism. Both were now masturbating their stiff cocks ever faster, on the verge of ejaculation.

With a sudden movement, Mrs. Hunting opened her eyes and looked directly in the direction where the two voyeurs behind the rhododendron were rubbing their cocks. Both drew in air in horror. Instantly, their cocks shriveled. Their lust had not vanished, but the panic had drained all the blood from their erections.

Grinning smugly, Mrs. Hunting slowly withdrew the black rod from her wet pussy and brought it to her mouth. Still looking in their direction, she traced the rod with her tongue and licked it clean. Her legs remained spread wide open over the armrests, giving them an unobstructed view of her open labia, the entrance to her warm body and the curly, black triangle above.

In a fluid motion, she brought her long legs back from the armrests and stood up. Her tits now swung freely and dangled down, their stiff nipples boldly pointing forward. Mrs. Hunting turned and disappeared through the open door into the house. There was no sign of Charlotte. At some point, the little Scottish woman must have withdrawn from her post unnoticed.

When the coast was clear, George and Arthur hastily made their way towards the garden gate. The twilight had advanced so far that they difficulties to find their way back to the college grounds.

A shadow waited for them in front of the garden gate. They almost ran past it if George hadn't felt a touch on his arm. Frozen, he stopped. This was now their judgment. Shameful expulsion from college, a humiliating letter to their parents, and a career setback were the consequences for their transgression.

Charlotte giggled: "You silly things. Back here tomorrow evening! Go into the salon." And with that, the shadow disappeared into the darkness. These three sentences were not a question, not a simple invitation. These sentences were a command.

Arthur and George knew they had to be back here tomorrow. They just had to be back.

Mrs. Hunting was not always called Hunting. And Mr. Hunting, the college's Latin and mathematics teacher, was not her first husband. She was born Margaret Anne Smith. Her father was a minor official in the British administration of India. Margaret's mother had died in the great cholera epidemic that raged in India at the time, claiming the lives of British colonizors and their Indian subjects alike.

The Smiths' Indian housekeepers took care of not only the household but also of little, shy Margaret. They had a daughter of the same age. Radha and Margaret spent their days together under the care of the housekeeper and his wife. When both were old enough to go to school, Mr. Smith hired a tutor to teach them at home.

Radha, in contrast to Margaret, was somewhat plump, soft around the edges. When both became women, the differences became even more apparent. Margaret's breasts hung low and had to be supported by a bodice from an early age. Radha, on the other hand, had small, perfectly round breasts that fitted one hand. Her bottom was also round, and the baby fat had stubbornly settled on her hips. Her small cunt looked like a clam. Protected by silky soft labia, which she shaved smooth in the Indian fashion of the time, her vulva disappeared well hidden between her plump thighs.

Margaret, however, had hardly any noticeable hips, long legs, and thick, long inner labia that opened easily and sat prominently between her pubic hair. Her big clitoris boldly poked its head out between her lips and, much to Margaret's erotic amusement, frequently brushed against the fabric of her breeches. Her body did not fit the prevailing beauty ideals of the Victorian era, and often enough she complained to Radha of her worry that with such an unappealing body, she would not find a husband.

The topic of husbands and children became increasingly important in the lives of the two unequal women. Female desire was superficially frowned upon in some parts of society. But behind any respectable family facade lurked lust, and it was socially acceptable for women to share a bed. And so it happened that the ugly duckling, Margaret, had her first experiences with the plump Indian Radha.

Radha deliberately seduced the shy and prudish Margaret, with all her means. While bathing, dressing, or walking in the gardens, she would repeatedly, as if by chance, touch Margaret's hanging breasts through the clothes. She would tenderly stroke her shoulders or wash her legs with a sponge, as if unintentionally stroking up her inner thighs to Margaret's virgin cunt and then stopping, feigning fright. She kissed her long neck and nibbled her earlobes. In the next step, she soaped Margaret's sensitive hanging breasts, paying particular attention to the large areolas and stiff nipples.

For Margaret, all these touches were new, unsettling, but also exciting. Of course, she touched herself, ran her fingers between her thick labia, and dipped her finger into the warm moisture of her pussy. But it was something else to be explored by foreign fingers and kissed by tender lips. Radha skillfully set out to discover the secrets of Margaret's desire. Stimulated by the touches, the ugly duckling became curious for more.

Radha had a completely different approach to her body and awakened the lust in the brittle, inhibited Margaret. For weeks, Radha teased Margaret's erogenous zones, playing with and on her desire to awaken her lust. Radha herself did not have this prudish self-chastisement. For her, her body was something wonderful. Every feeling had its place, and her natural lust belonged to her, unadulterated and uninhibited, like her dark skin. As soon as her desire was awakened, she embraced it with every fiber of her being.

Radha's parents had a rather open approach to their own desires in their small home, so the little Indian woman, on her mat in the next room, would listen to the loud lovemaking of her parents and wished to be part of the wild activity. Imaginary scenes played out in her head like an erotic play, and she envied her mother a little for the man her father was. Radha knew that her thoughts could never be realized, so she contented herself with wet fantasies and a dip of her fingers between her wet folds.

Often, Radha explored her budding, round breasts, touched her velvety labia, which closed around her pleasure canal like an oyster, stimulated her clit, and felt the moisture that arose between her thighs. The images of her fantasy, of taking her mother's place, further fueled her desire and she tried to match her timing with that of her parents in the next room.

Naturally blessed with only sparse pubic hair, she shaved her cunt as soon as the first hairs appeared, just as she had observed her mother doing. Even the shaving became a weekly ritual, which she quickly made part of her pleasure. Shaving and masturbation soon became inseparable for Radha. Her father's shaving brush with its badger bristles became her erotic toy once a week. Radha relished knowing that her father would be rubbing her dried cunt juice over his chin the next morning.

She watched her mother use various artfully carved ivory or valuable wooden dildos to satisfy herself. What surprised her most was how deeply her mother pushed the rods between her pussylips and the sounds she produced while doing so.

Curiously, she sneaked into her parents' bedroom one day and helped herself on the bed with an ivory replica of a male penis. She pressed the molded glans as far as her narrow, virgin pussy would allow. The orgasm she triggered with it surpassed all previous ones and became Radha's goal of desire.

But she too was bound by certain social conventions that limited her urge to explore. Letting a man fucking her, was out of the question. In her fantasy, she could let her father into her cunt. But in real life, not even the fact that she had such thoughts was allowed to come out. Desire between women was less dangerous. So Radha set out to conquer Margaret, using all her erotic creativity to soften the cultural and familial corset of the inhibited Englishwoman.

The weeks of teasing, stroking, and kissing finally resulted in Radha lying between Margaret's thighs and licking the thick, long labia with her tongue. She ran her pointed tongue through Margaret's cleft and worked on her wet, wide-open hole until she came with a loud moan and, to both their surprise, a small gush of salty juice.

After that, it was only a matter of opportunity. As often as possible, the two young women fell upon each other. Sometimes Margaret took the lead and pressed Radha against a sideboard. She ran her hand under Radha's clothes, parted her small labia, and penetrated her dripping, shaved cunt with two or three fingers as deep as possible. While doing so, she explored the rounded Radha's mouth with her tongue. Then Radha would take the lead again, pinning Margaret against the wall with a wild tongue kiss, and kneading her hanging breasts through her clothes until the no longer so brittle Englishwoman stood before her, panting and whimpering, begging for Radha's tongue on her clit.

Eventually, the two young women deflowered each other with one of the artfully carved dildos from Radha's mother's nightstand. By then, Margaret had long discovered some of her inclinations and desires and could no longer be held back by social conventions. Both knew there were boundaries they should not cross, but such boundaries also had their appeal. Radha's father was taboo, even for Margaret. Even though they often told each other in lustful fantasies how they would seduce him and get him between their legs. They often sat opposite each other with their legs spread, watching each other as they pleasured themselves. Sometimes they acted out the fantasies, with Radha taking on the role of the father one time, and Margaret the next.

The ultimate moral low point from the parents' perspective was reached when Radha seduced the young tutor and not only kissed him but finally blew him. Fortunately for the two young women, the parents knew nothing about it. This time, Margaret was merely a spectator. She enjoyed watching the plump Radha, with her bright red lipstick, enclose the tutor's shaft. At first cautiously, then more boldly, the plump woman pampered the cock. Magaret wasn't yet ready to slip her own hand under her skirt during such a performance to rub her wet cunt. She still lacked the courage and self-confidence. Nevertheless, she noticed how much she craved to finally get a real cock into her fingers, mouth, or wet pussy. When the tutor finally left, spent and exhausted, Margaret fell upon Radha and sniffed her mouth with interest, finally trying to lick the rest of the semen from Radha's oral cavity with her tongue.

During the next lesson, it was Margaret who gathered her courage. She unbuttoned the tutor's trousers and devotedly took care of the freed cock. For the first time, Margaret experienced the power she had over men. His first orgasm didn't take long in coming. Inexperienced as he was, he couldn't hold back and ejaculated his semen onto Margaret, moaning loudly. Startled, she recoiled, so that the white slime landed on her dress and not on her face. His second ejaculation that day landed on Radha's chin. The plump woman had by now developed a faint sense for the tutor's pre-orgasmic signs and was not surprised when his semen came out of his cock in thick clumps. The lesson ended quickly that day.

Everything changed a short time later when Margaret's father was transferred back to Great Britain and took a position as Postmaster near York. The tutor was paid for another year to continue teaching Radha. The plump young woman used this opportunity and learned a great deal that was not on the Victorian curriculum. Eventually, she couldn't stand it anymore and mounted the stiffly blown cock of the tutor. Radha fucked herself and him to orgasm. From then on, the learning sessions were limited to practical matters.

Margaret was lucky in her misfortune, as her aunt's family also lived in York. So, she was not left alone without companions or family. Her aunt had two daughters and a son, all of whom were around Margaret's age. Cousin Hugh was slightly older, Anne the same age as Margaret, and Christine a year younger. The young adults welcomed Margaret into their circle and introduced her to York society and its erotic customs.

At a picnic where the fat, rosy-cheeked Reverend Wallace was supposed to keep an eye on the young people as a chaperon, Margaret and her cousin Hugh wandered away from the group and strolled through the English summer. Reverend Wallace had his butterfly net with him to indulge his hobby of butterfly hunting, and soon he was stalking a particularly rare specimen for his collection.

Besides Margaret and Hugh, other couples had also wandered off to find a spot in the undergrowth for their personal butterfly hunt.

The cousins strolled hand in hand along a forest path, joking and flirting. Finally they came to a gate separating the forest from the fields. Under a willow tree they sat in the tall grass and began to kiss cautiously, letting their fingers explore their bodies through the fabric of their cloths. Eventually, Margaret knelt beside Hugh, her cheeks flushed and panting. She leaned over his trousers, working on his buttons. Carefully, she freed her cousin's bulging cock.

Smiling dreamily, she made brief eye contact with Hugh and then boldly took hold. Finally, the gaunt Margaret blew her cousin's cock and massaged his thick balls until he could no longer hold back and sprayed a gush of semen between her lips and onto her decolletage. Margaret amusingly compared the result of her efforts with her experiences with the tutor.

Young and fresh as Hugh was, he had a lot of semen in his bulging balls, so it was not surprising that some of the white goo did not land in Margaret's beautiful mouth but as excess on her decolletage. With foresight, Margaret had peeled her dangling tits out of her dress so that she wouldn't have to explain the telltale stains later on. She stood up, turned around, and leaned on the gate. She pulled her dress up over her hips and stood with her bare bottom in front of her cousin. Between her legs, he could clearly see her long, dangling labia. Margaret looked back at him cheekily over her shoulder, inviting Hugh to make his move by pulling her buttocks apart with both hands. Her cousin needed no further invitation. He stood behind her with his stiff cock and placed his glans against her invitingly open pussy.

Margaret sighed contentedly and pressed her wet sex against his cock. Hugh obviously wanted to enjoy the new sensation a little longer, so he pulled his cock out of Margaret's line of thrusting. Her movements became more insistent. Nevertheless, Hugh managed to pull his cock back just in time to avoid being captured by her labia. A longing moan escaped Margaret's lips, and Hugh seized this very moment to slowly sink his shaft into his cousin's warm, still fresh pussy. Margaret's moan first grew louder and then ended with a deep, satisfied rumble. Lustfully, she looked at Hugh over her shoulder and bit her lip. She realized she needed some time to get used to the big member inside her.

"Slowly," she moaned softly, almost inaudibly. Hugh understood and impatiently restrained his lust a little. He enjoyed the moist warmth that surrounded his cock and the bony rear view of his cousin, but he wanted to thrust further. He wanted to fill and possess Margaret, he wanted to give her pleasure.

Almost imperceptibly, she began to circle her pelvis around Hugh's bolt. Her muscles worked and milked his cock. For her cousin, this was the signal to resume the conquest. He carefully thrust further, withdrew when Margaret became too tight, and then slowly thrust again. Margaret worked her way down Hugh's shaft from her side, trying to find her rhythm. After a few more thrusts, Hugh had sunk his cock to the hilt inside his cousin and paused again. Margaret nodded slightly with her head, thus inviting him to continue.

Hugh didn't need to be told twice. With unexpected energy, he suddenly plowed through Margaret's now dripping wet folds. His cock entered her with a squelching sound, pulling her long labia with it on withdrawal. All caution had given way to uninhibited, possessive lust. Hugh rummaged in his skinny cousin as if his life depended on it. Her moans and the squelching of her wet sex drove him on and on. He rammed, slightly changed the angle to touch other areas deep in Margaret's body, and then returned to wild ramming.

Surprised by this onslaught, Margaret clung even tighter to the wobbly gate. Her knuckles turned white, and she repeatedly struggled to absorb the thrusts with her arms. Her dangling breasts hit the wood hard, and her already stiff nipples rubbed painfully against the rough surface of the crossbars. Margaret moaned, whimpered and bucked with pleasure as she never had before. The cock in her pussy awakened a desire that echoed in the loudness of her moans. She didn't think about being discovered, she couldn't think at all anymore. Her body, her lust, had completely taken control. All Margaret wanted was to be fucked by her cousin. Her first orgasm rolled in, and Margaret perceived it as relief. With a drawn-out scream, she pressed herself against the cock and clasped it with her muscles. Convulsing and with trembling knees, she hung between the gate and her cousin, enjoying the feeling of being completely spent and fulfilled.

Hugh began to thrust more unevenly. Margaret knew that her lover could not last much longer. The tutor in India had also made such irregular movements before ejaculating his gush of semen into her throat. But now, a twitching cock was stuck in her pussy. The premonition that thick clumps of white semen would soon be shot into the warm, moist walls of her sex drove her on once more on the road to her next climax. Shortly before her cousin ejaculated into her with a grunt, Margaret came for the second time, this time a little of her juice spurted from her plum and smeared his curly pubic hair. The twitching of her pussy made Hugh lose all self-control, and his thick balls pumped their contents deep into her overflowing sex.

Sweaty and happy, they separated from each other. A mixture of semen and pussy juice dripped from Margaret's clef, leaving wet traces on her stockings.

"So much!" she whispered in amazement. Her dress was completely disheveled, and traces of bodily fluids were found here and there. Her dangling breasts had redness and slight abrasions from the rough wood, and her nipples were painfully irritated. Hugh also had trouble removing the traces of the fuck. A wet spot, caused by Margaret's juice, was clearly visible on the front of his trousers. Precisely where any explanation would be difficult.

Both tried to tidy themselves up somewhat. Margaret winced painfully as she tried to put her breasts back into her dress. Hugh, on the other hand, wiggled his cock a bit more before tucking it back into his trousers. The anticipation of another fuck and the half-naked, disheveled Margaret beside him ensured that he was already getting hard again.

Margaret shook her head, bent down again, and tenderly kissed his glans: "Hugh, my darling. I'm completely exhausted. Let's stroll back. We've been gone too long. And we mustn't arouse suspicion."

Reluctantly, her cousin agreed. His cock was still in charge.

Four months after an Easter celebration, when other family members also came to York, the lascivious connection between Margaret and Hugh came to a temporary, abrupt end.

At Easter, he had gotten involved with another cousin and had her ride him. In the heat of the moment the usual happened, and the riding had consequences. Hugh ejaculated his hot semen into the willing wetness of his cousin and she became pregnant. To save face, the cousin was sent to the provinces to give birth in a secluded home. Hugh was scolded and then had to attend an expensive college near London.

Margaret was inconsolable, as her potent stud was the only male variety in the large, boring house. Fortunately, there were her other cousins, and Margaret had supplied herself with a range of ivory or hardwood imitations so that she could pleasure herself.

At one of the many parties, also known behind closed doors as marriage bazaars, she met the naval officer Cornelius Williams and eventually married him.

For Margaret, he was like a second revelation after her cousin Hugh. Cornelius was a bear of a man, tall, strong, with a hairy and muscular chest. His cock completed the overall picture. While not unusually long, it was so thick that Margaret was pushed to her limits when performing oral sex. He took the gaunt Margaret like a locomotive, plowed through her cunt as if it was a field. He had the endurance of a racehorse. Whether in bed, on the veranda of her house, or in the stable, he was insatiable. It didn't matter to him if the household servants watched them in their activities or heard Margaret's cries of pleasure. His wild escapades made her come. And then Margaret discovered an exhibitionist streak in herself. When she lustfully pushed her bony buttocks and thick-lipped cunt towards Cornelius during his onslaught, it made her particularly horny when one of the servants watched her and pleasured themselves.

Since Cornelius was a naval officers on the rise, he was also married to his ship. Their time together was limited. When he was ashore, they lived extravagantly and wildly. At times, Margaret didn't even have time to dress properly. When he was at sea again, Margaret brought out her best friends from the drawer. Occasionally, she treated herself to a stable boy. A few times, Cousin Hugh visited, and they renewed their lustful bond with several fucks. Hugh had matured by then, had more self-control, and could cater to his cousin much better. The pleasure Margaret experienced during these amorous adventures was great, but it was nothing compared to being loved by Cornelius.

About ten years after the wedding, Cornelius, now First Officer, did not return. His ship had run aground on a rock in some godforsaken part of the world in Her Majesty's service and sunk. There were no survivors. A naval court posthumously acquitted Cornelius of all blame, so Margaret was entitled to a small pension and some prize money. Since the marriage had remained childless, Margaret only had to support herself. Thus, she had enough money to live a modest but carefree life. Dull and mostly uneventful she lived the bitter life of a widow on dry land.

Margaret, now in her early thirties, went to boring parties again, occasionally took a stable boy, or mounted her cousin Hugh, who now had his own family. She treated herself to a few outdoor adventures with party guests at garden parties and occasionally pleasured one of the gentlemen or their fathers of the neighborhood. Occasionally, a neighbor woman was also willing and available for tea. Otherwise, she amused herself with her best friends from the drawer.

To avoid dying of sheer boredom and feeling like a neighborhood whore, she finally took a position as a governess with one of the many nouveau riche industrialist families. She kept her property, handed over the house management to her cousin Hugh and packed her best friends from the drawer within easy reach in her luggage.

Her new position was nothing special. The family welcomed her kindly; she had a luxurious room and, according to her employment, a slightly higher status than the other servants. The children were as children are, and Margaret had no major problems fulfilling her role as governess.

Only the sex was missing.

The household was characterized by a sober, un-erotic, and strangely asexual attitude of its members. There was no closeness, no tenderness, and certainly no wild excesses between the spouses. Margaret could hardly imagine how the children had been conceived.

The staff were obviously equally prudish and showed no desire or signs of a sexually active life. No moans echoed through the halls at night, no trousers bulged, no breasts were secretly touched, no flesh was visible, no secret kisses were blown across the halls and rooms of the house. The prudish wife of the house managed the affairs of the household and organized charity events. The master of the house was rarely present. He was some high ranking politician in London, steering the political fortunes of the Empire from the parliamentary bench. Margaret suspected he probably had a mistress in London who regularly emptied his balls. In any case, the wife had no lover. The couple did not spend any pleasurable hours together in bed.

The mistress's brother visited often. When Margaret took up her position, he visited even more frequently. He took her on long walks through the fields and woodas of the surrounding estates. Favorite issues of his talks were his antique views on education and morality. At that time, he was Housemaster and mathematics and Latin teacher at a college. After some time, he proposed to Margaret. She became Mrs. Hunting. More because of concern for not being provided for in old age than because she loved him. She simply did not want to become an old bickering single widow.

Mr. Hunting, like his sister, was a bore when it came to sex. In bed, he would roll over her and sink his average penis between Margaret's thick labia. He groped her sagging breasts, and then came quite quickly. Margaret craved attention, wanted to be licked, fingered, and then taken. Really taken, plowed, fucked. Mindlessly fucked. Mr. Hunting performed his marital duties and had no interest in the many variations his wife enjoyed. He didn't even know what Margaret liked. He didn't like licking her cunt, but he also didn't want her to give him head. And although his average penis was more than suitable for it, Margaret couldn't persuade him to fuck her ass.

She was in danger of drying up and saved herself with her best friends from the drawer.

It wasn't long before she tried to find a potent lover among the men in the vicinity. She made advances on Pete, the gardener and man for the odd jobs. She was rebuffed. The other male employees of the college, the teachers, kitchen staff, even the milkman, and Mr. Dunn, the grocer, were strangely unreceptive to Margaret's advances. This permanent rejection of her desire made Margaret increasingly horny and frustrated.

She expanded her dildo collection with small cone-shaped toys, made of ivory or hard wood, which she wore in her anus during the day. Then, through her cousin Hugh, she acquired an ivory egg to wear in her needy pussy. Both of these increased her desire but did not lead to satifaction. Her thick-lipped sex could hardly recover from the constant arousal and produced viscous threads of off-white goo. The nipples of her hanging breasts were constantly irritated and sensitive, so much, that they were clearly visible through the fabric of her clothes. Her stiff, prudish husband noticed none of this. He noticed neither the slightly flushed cheeks, her stiff, clearly visible nipples, nor the trembling of her hand when she brought the teacup to her lips to drink.

Margaret was desperate. She needed sexual attention. She longed for being touched and eaten out.

One day, she sat in front of her dressing mirror, preparing for one of the college's boring receptions. Today, the families of prospective students were to have a tour and a concluding event in the college's festival hall. Mr. Wilby, the headmaster of the college, had invited them to maintain the number of students. It was therefore a purely promotional event. The first of its kind for Margaret.

She sighed. Was this to be her life now? A husband who was a bore in bed? Who, with great effort, ejaculated his scarce semen into her cunt and then rolled over to sleep? A life on campus, surrounded by forbidden fruits and promotional events where she had to put on a fake smile and display her breasts to rich fathers of future students?

Something had to change, but societal conventions offered few ways out. She could cuckold her husband, but she couldn't simply leave him. Strangely, cuckolding seemed not to work in this area. Not one of her quite obvious attempts to get the adult men around her to fuck her. Margaret knew she wasn't a beauty, but such little interest in an obviously willing woman was strange to her.

The reception was as boring as Margaret had suspected. On her prudish husband's arm, she smiled at well-dressed mothers, spoke to maturing sisters, conversed with stiff governesses, and agreed with gray-haired fathers on anything they said. She drank a few glasses of cherry and helped herself to the appetizers. Otherwise, it was a purely obligatory event that she performed because it was expected of her. Just as she spread her legs for her husband because it was expected of her. Joy and pleasure played hardly any role in her life anymore. Sighing, she took another deep sip from her cherry glass.

Margaret stood at the edge of the large festival hall, observing the bustle of parents, siblings, and governesses, and sipping her third cherry. Behind her was a heavy curtain that concealed a niche where chairs and boxes were stacked.

Suddenly, Margaret flinched. A hand had emerged through the curtain and tenderly touched her bony buttocks. As she lustfully began to move against the caressing hand to increase the pressure, the unknown hand gripped tighter and began to vigorously massage and knead her. The hand repeatedly moved through her cleft, touching the region where Margaret's rosette was hidden under her dress. She knew, this was no accidental touching. The deliberate overstepping of moral lines added to the kinkiness of the situation. This morally questionable stimulation quickly caused her under-fucked vulva to respond. She became moist. To clear the way for the searching hand, Margaret spread her legs slightly. This opened up the path for an attack on her tender rosette. On cue, a strong finger pressed through the fabric of her garments and rubbed her rear entrance with circular motions.

This was too much for the long neglected woman, who longed for sex. She took an uncertain step back and felt the curtain directly at her back. Margaret hoped to provide the pressing hand with more opportunities for contact. She didn't want to know whose hand was giving her such unexpected pleasure yet. But she definitely wanted the hand to find its way under her dress and to her already overflowing vulva.

A mother approached her and engaged Margaret in a conversation about modern educational styles. Margaret struggled to hide her arousal and was forced to concentrate on the conversation. This somewhat dampened her desire, but the massaging hand ensured that the longing for more remained. The alcohol gave her a certain self-confidence. She pressed herself against the searching hand again.

Now Mrs. Wimby, the headmaster's wife, also approached her. Like a frigate under full sail, the large woman with her huge, bouncing breasts and swaying hips sailed towards Margaret and smiled at everyone.

Margaret was in despair. On the one hand, she had to pretend to be interested in the conversation with her interlocutors, and on the other hand, she was dripping with lust, craving a cock, or at least a strong hand, or even just two fingers. Whatever. If necessary, she would do it herself again. She desperately needed some relief.

Fortunately, Mrs. Wimby took over the conversation with the concerned mother. Margaret pressed her buttocks tighter against the probing hand. A second hand joined in, and both now kneaded her cheeks quite vigorously. Margaret leaned slightly forward to allow the hands to find their way to the center of her lust. She had to be not too obvious, however. Mrs. Wimby smiled mischievously at her, and Margaret flinched in shock. Had the headmaster's wife noticed something? But why didn't she react with shock or indignation? Margaret couldn't finish the thought, because now the strong fingers had found their way to her dripping sex behind the fabric and thrust upwards with a jerk. Margaret gasped and had to briefly lean on Mrs. Wimby's arm.

"Enjoy it," Mrs. Wimby whispered to the completely bewildered Margaret. "You need it."

She was utterly confounded and confusion took hold of her. How could Mrs. Wimby know what was happening? How could she guess how much Margaret enjoyed the long-missed touches or what unknown fingers were doing to her longing pussy? Mrs. Wimby drew the concerned mother away to another corner of the room under a pretext and gave Margaret an encouraging smile as she left.

The curtain behind Margaret parted, and she was gently pulled into the dim room. A hand was placed over her mouth.

"Shh, be very quiet," a deep male voice, which Margaret couldn't recognize, whispered. Margaret only nodded and made no sound. The hand moved towards her decolletage, opened the cord that held the dress together at her skinny shoulders, and freed them. Held only by her breasts in the bodice, the dress lay loosely and open enough for the hands to find their way to Margaret's nipples without having to work around her clothing. They tenderly stroked the soft flesh of her breasts, searching for the hard nipples. Margaret sighed. She realized once again, how much she had missed such foreign touches. The hands peeled her hanging breasts out of the bodice's fastenings and tenderly cupped the tips. Slowly, the touches became more purposeful, less searching. Margaret's exposed tits were massaged with increasing force, and now and then her now stiff nipples got caught between thumb and finger and were thoroughly twisted and rubbed. Now Margaret moaned loudly and bucked her hips and back against the man.

"Shh," the voice said again, and Margaret startled, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Quietly. No one will notice if you're silent."

The hands resumed their journey over Margaret's body. This time, their target was her midsection. The man tenderly kissed her exposed shoulders and neck. His lips caressed her skin and blew lightly over it. Margaret's dripping wet pussy longed to be touched. Margaret needed strong fingers on her clit, and a stiff cock inside her. Any fingers and any cock.

His hands made the beginning, and like scouts on a reconnaissance mission, they explored the unknown territories under the dress. They carefully slid under the clothing and up her long, thin legs. The hands stopped at the garters and then followed the suspenders to the warm, hairy center of Margaret's lust. Again, she had to moan, this time more softly.

Margaret spread her legs even further so that the hands could more easily find their way to the center of her desire. A finger tentatively stroked the warm flesh above the garter and then cautiously moved further towards the moist warmth. Then the other hand followed, and soon they were rhythmically, almost meditatively, stroking her bare thighs. Margaret couldn't help it, she had to moan again. Quickly, she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the betraying sound. At that moment, the hands worked their way towards her pussy. First, a finger stroked her thick, slightly parted labia. Then the fabric of her knickers was pulled aside, and a second finger brushed through Margaret's open, slickly wet cleft. Margaret trembled with arousal and tension. Her knees went weak, and if the second hand hadn't moved back to her hanging breasts, she would have lost her footing. Thus, she was held by two fingers in her wet cleft and one hand on her tits. Caught between strong arms, she let herself fall into the security of his strength and enjoyed the feeling of being held.

The man led Margaret to the back wall of the dim room, took her hands, and placed them on one of the stacked boxes. Instantly, she understood that she should brace herself, and almost instinctively, she spread her legs as wide as possible. She arched her back slightly and to lift her ass even higher, she rested on her forearms, presenting the stranger with unimpeded access to her tender rosette and moist, warm plum.

The man busied himself behind her, and shortly thereafter, her dress was pushed up over her hips. Her underwear was pulled down, so it hung in Margaret's knees. Her thighs pressed against the boxes, and with her knickers in her knees, Margaret had to spread her legs wide. With a bare bottom and trembling knees, she eagerly awaited the next onslaught.

It was not long in coming. The man knelt behind her and buried his face between her buttocks. His tongue licked from her stiff clitoris through her overflowing cleft, around her rosette, and back again. Every time his tongue tip hit Margaret's sensitive clitoris, it sent a jolt through her body. To make it even easier for his tongue to reach her clit, she arched her back even further, presenting her buttocks to the stranger. Eventually, the man only licked her rosette and slipped two fingers into her smacking pussy. He began to fuck her skillfully, driving her desire forward until Margaret betrayed herself with a gasp. To avoid being too loud, she bit into her dress. Then he let go of her and only licked her asshole with relish. Skillfully, he found the transition to Margaret's lust and began to fuck her with two or three fingers again. Margaret had by then lost all sense of detail. All she could perceive was the uninhibited desire she finally felt again. The man launched a final assault on her overstimulated sex, and then Margaret could finally come. Muffled by her dress, she moaned and whimpered herself into her first orgasm by a stranger in a long time, and finally came shaking and bucking with a small gush of juice that dripped onto the floorboards beneath her.

Panting and trembling, Margaret hung on the box, slowly regaining her composure. The man behind her gave her just enough time to catch her breath and then launched his next attack on Margaret's pussy. This time, he had his cock ready and ran it through her thick labia. At the entrance, he paused each time, waiting for Margaret's reaction. Then he withdrew again and rubbed his shaft lengthwise through her cleft. This delaying tactic, this slow teasing of her dripping pussy, was too much for Margaret. She wanted to be relieved and feel this cock inside her. She needed satisfaction.

"Fuck me already!" she moaned, muffled by her dress, "Push it in!" Margaret knew she was not in a position to make demands, but her lust had overtaken control of her consciousness uttering the soul of her longing. The man knew what he was doing, and he was doing it well. He let the horny, gaunt woman hang in his arms to increase her desire. He drove her forward, controlled her, made her his willing toy. In essence, he fostered her addiction to sex. He played with her body like a musician with an instrument. He had himself and Margaret under total control. And Margaret accepted this control devotedly, completely surrendering to the role of a toy in this man's hands. For her, at that moment, it was the role she enjoyed.

Twice more the stranger drew his glans through Margaret's cleft and then prepared to sink it into her. For fear that he might withdraw again, Margaret remained still and inwardly prayed for the cock that slowly went into her wet pussy. Fortunately, she had worked with her egg recently and stretched herself, otherwise the stranger's thick stick would not have been able to make its way so easily into the depths of Margaret's overstimulated body. Piece by piece, he pushed his piston deeper into her, widening her pussy even more. Finally he thrust it to the root into Margaret. From her mouth, muffled by the fabric of her dress, came a soft, lustful whimper. Her sagging breasts dangled freely below her and occasionally rubbed against the box with their nipples. What a painful gain of pleasure.

Both remained still and enjoyed the connection of their sexes. Margaret got used to the size of his cock inside her and began to gently massage it with her cunt muscles. A grunt from her lover confirmed her efforts.

Now he began to stir inside her, tilting his pelvis slightly to work around inside her. He was still fully inserted into Margaret, letting her feel his size, keeping her aroused simply by filling her. Margaret's pussy responded with moisture. A long thread of almost transparent juice dangled down and finally stuck to the middle of her thigh.

Slowly, very slowly, the stranger withdrew his cock, pausing only when his glans reappeared between the wrinkled, thick labia. Margaret panted, sighed, and moaned into the cloth she still held between her teeth. Again, her lover pushed his large cock deep into her cleft and lingered when he was fully inserted. Margaret rolled her eyes in lust.

The cock was withdrawn and again the stranger pushed it in as far as it would go. The pauses at the end became shorter, but he did not change the speed at which he guided his pole through Margaret's pussy. For Margaret, this was torture and pleasure at the same time. She wanted to be fucked faster, harder, to finally feel relief. She wanted to be taken, like Cornelius had taken her. At the same time, however, she noticed how this stranger, with his slow, steady rhythm, was taking her on a wave of pleasure she had never known before.

The completely uniform movements in her cunt had something magical. Margaret felt the orgasm approaching with every deep thrust but could never quite reach it. Her cramped position between the box and her lover meant she had little to no room to maneuver or change tempo or angle. Thus, she was completely in the stranger's hands.

And again, he was deep inside her pussy. By now, she was so wet that her juice was squeezed along his shaft as he thrust. The viscous threads between her legs grew longer and longer.

His rhythmic movements continued to increase her pleasure. Margaret had not known how much her lust could grow without her coming. Hugh had been good, Cornelius a revelation, some of the lovers in between had fucked her raw and sore, given her great pleasure, and made her come. But this stranger, with his enormous cock, had a technique that could keep her on the verge of explosion for hours. Imperceptibly, Margaret relaxed, her unconscious tension eased, she finally let go.

The stranger sensed this moment and used it to fuck Margaret over the cliff. With three or four quick thrusts, he abruptly changed the tempo and rhythm, thus carrying her over the last threshold. Margaret practically exploded. Her pussy spurted. She moaned deeply into the fabric between her teeth and lost control of her legs. A tremendous tremor ran through her body from her toes to the tips of her hair. Goosebumps followed the tremor and remained as a sweet afterglow on her skin, echoing the explosion. Cramped between the bolt in her twitching pussy and the wooden boxes, she was fortunately unable to fall over.

Slowly, the stranger withdrew. With a squelch, he pulled his cock out of her wet pussy. Margaret remained in position, trying to think clearly again and breathe evenly. She was so preoccupied with herself that she didn't even notice the man disappearing through the curtains. She only realized she was alone when she carefully straightened up and searched for her fucker in the dim chamber. She felt a strange emptiness within her. Rarely had she had a man who only cared about her pleasure and wasn't intent on sinking his semen deep inside her. Margaret's sex was dilated, dripping wet, and still ready.

A large, dark female figure emerged through the curtains. Mrs. Wimby fumbled for her, and when she knew where Margaret stood, she embraced the gaunt woman. Margaret stood there with her tits hanging out, her underwear down, and her pussy steaming, processing the fuck.

"Welcome to Wilstbury Common, my dear," Mrs. Wimby whispered tenderly in Margaret's ear and handed her a glass that smelled seductively of cherry. Margaret emptied the glass in one gulp, and slowly the trembling subsided.

Mrs. Wimby lit a candle, took a small pocket mirror and some makeup from a small bag next to the box. Both was handed to Margaret.

"Freshen up and come back to the reception." And before Margaret could open her mouth, the large woman had already disappeared as quietly as she had come.

Margaret pulled her breeches back up, wiping away the juice clinging to her thigh. She adjusted her bodice and stowed her hanging, sensitive breasts back into their cups. Then came the dress, and after a critical glance in the small makeup mirror and a little touch-up with rouge, Margaret was at least outwardly somewhat restored. Internally, lust and curiosity burned. She was still a bit insecure on her feet.

Who was the man with the thick rod, who was so imaginative and planned and seduced the wife of a House Master? And what did the voluptuous Mrs. Wimby has to do with it?

Margaret was at the same time strangely satisfied and confused. She felt like she was starting a new chapter in her life.

For Margaret, the reception from then on was a little more exciting. She was in search of her potent, unknown lover.