Hotwife Chapter 3A The Continuation Of My Hotwife s Weekend
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From Teen Bride To Hot Wife, 6: While Hubby Is Away, Hot Wife Will Play free porn video
Caroline and Harrington are discussing The Duke of Mercia, a regular guest of Lord Dammartin.
"Why would he want to do it like that?" Caroline asks Harrington.
"Some men prefer it."
"But why, when I have a perfectly good vagina?"
"It's tighter."
"Are you saying my pussy isn't tight enough?"
"Far from it, Caroline: yours is one of the tightest little pussies it's been my fortune to have fucked, and may I also say, the loveliest to gaze upon. My cock and I will be eternally grateful for the pleasure of its embrace. All the same, I think I'd find your arse a tad tighter."
Caroline and Harrington are lying together in her bed, which all week has seemed so big and empty with Joe away in Germany. As instructed in the Dammartin Manor invitation, Caroline has phoned Harrington to finalise the details of her next visit to the manor. While they spoke on the phone, she suggested he come to her home to discuss things further. Since that telephone conversation last week, she has thought about nothing but Harrington's impending visit.
Tonight, for a few hours, Harrington fills the void in Caroline's life created by Joe's absence. When lying in Harrington's arms, it is as if everything else in her life is irrelevant, all those niggling worries about friends, family work, and money have vanished as if in a puff of smoke. For these few hours, her pining for Joe is now forgotten.
The pair has only moments before they emerged from the depths of self-abandoned lovemaking, and now they lie side by side talking about what Caroline's part might be at the next scheduled Dammartin Manor event. As they converse, Caroline gently strokes Harrington's cock, which she finds quite beautiful even in its present limp state. There is heftiness even in its softening. Her inners still hum for the pleasure of it working inside her only minutes before.
"What other kinds of things do the girls have to do for the friends of the Dammartin's?" Caroline asks.
"If I told you, it would spoil the surprise."
"I've already seen Lady Dammartin all tied up and whacked with a peacock's feathers, surely it doesn't get much weirder than that?"
"So far, Caroline, you've only dipped your toes into the ungodly decadent world of the Dammartins. I don't think you could even begin to imagine the depths of their depravity."
"God, Harrington. Don't be so melodramatic."
"You asked."
"But I want examples, not bullshit."
"If it's an example you want, let me see."
Harrington is thinking, has his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Finally, he says:
"Let's take one of their regular guests, Viscount Chesterbridge, as an example you are so desperate to have. His lordship is a great one for the shoot — and it's not only wild game he likes to hunt. His favourite scenario is to play hide and seek with the girls; his 'little pheasants' he likes to call them. He sends four or five off to hide — they have free rein of the house — and then sets about tracking them down with his bloodhound, Archie. And when he has found his first two 'birds', he takes them to the room set aside for his sole use and has one the servants bind them together naked, their wrists cuffed and hauled high — just like you saw Lady Dammartin stretched high. A brace of game he calls the pair as they hang with arms straining, their bodies flat against each other.
"And when he has looked them over — and it could be for many minutes that he observes them — he prods and pokes. Oh, how he loves to see them squirm as his fingers investigate every nook and cranny. And when he has done with his fingering, is finally aroused enough, each girl is fucked in turn from behind while they remain hung in place together. And if the old goat is feeling particularly horny, he might have four or more girls gathered into one fleshy bunch and left to hang.
"God! he sounds sick," Caroline says.
"Don't you like the idea of being a captive — used along with other girls?"
"l might if they pay me enough."
"Would you like me to arrange something?"
"I don't know yet. I'll have to think. I can't say anal sex has the same appeal, though."
The thought of being penetrated in the arse by The Duke has lodged itself in Caroline's mind, and she struggles to get her head around the idea.
"You shouldn't knock it until you've tried it," Harrington says.
"Surely it hurts?"
"It doesn't have to if the man knows what he is doing. Perhaps a little discomfort at first."
"I've decided: I don't think I could do that."
"It isn't a given that the Duke will choose you for the role. In general, he prefers a more mousy looking girl. Harriet was his type."
"So why mention it?"
"I'm just preparing you for all eventualities."
"How many of the girls has he had like that?"
"As I said, that little nuisance, Harriet for one — and of course she was well rewarded for her trouble. He always chooses someone. Too many to remember over the years."
"I can't think of anything worse than — you know? That!"
"You'll have to get used to the ways of the aristocracy if you want to keep earning."
"What he asked, and I said no?"
"Your wishes would be respected, but they would never invite you again."
"Oh."
Caroline lies thinking for a moment.
"Could I try it with you? A sort of taster."
"Anal sex?"
"Yeah."
"Now?"
"Yeah. I'd think I had better find out what it feels like."
"You'll need to get clean first."
"I had a bath before you got here."
"No. I mean internally clean. Do you have one of those shower hoses you attach to your bath taps?"
"What do you want that for?"
"Your enema."
Harrington explains how to use the hose and tap, and she goes to the bathroom and follows his instructions. Caroline uses soap to lubricate the pipe end — now minus its shower head — and gingerly inserts it into her anus. The edge-end of the rubber hose is quite rough, and she winces as it rubs her pucker before she finds the correct angle. She turns on the tap and feels her inners balloon with water.
Purged and empty, soaped and dried, the toilet flushed, she returns to Harrington with the baby oil and towel he asked her to bring.
"How should I lie?" she asks while standing at the foot of the bed looking at him now half propped on pillows.
"Pass me the towel and oil?"
He lays the towel over the satiny eiderdown, "You don't want this getting greasy," he says. He stretches out on the bath sheet and smears his cock with the oil, which is hard again from the thought of her tight little arse.
"Come and straddle me," he tells her. "This way is best for a first timer. You'll have control."
She kneels and takes up a position so that her legs form an arch to support her heavy hips that span his abdomen. He reaches up with one hand whose palm holds a pool of oil which he smears between her buttock cheeks. Then rubbing and rubbing, pushing apart her cushioning flesh until the ball of his palm massages her anus, his fingers exiting the fissure at the top and brushing against her coccyx.
When she is rich in oil, he repeatedly sends his hand back and forth between her buttocks, upwards and downwards. He works determinedly. Again and again, his fingers slide, sometimes his hand traversing her cunt lips, then higher to graze her clitoris, and then back to her anus. The filthy succulence of his preparations undermines her rationality, and she thinks perhaps she is now at a place where there is nothing she would refuse a man like Harrington.
"The most important thing of all is to relax. Can you do that for me?" he asks.
"I'll try to, but I'm nervous."
She feels a hard-edged probing, focused, precise. A thumb, she thinks it is that works her sphincter, gently teasing the muscle. Her flesh rebels against the incursion, a clamping and slackening as his thumb's manipulations unravel her. Little by little she feels her resistance dissolving. Then there is more than a thumb at work. She prepares for hurt.
At first it as bad as she imagined. A tightness that makes her think she might tear like over-stretched cloth. And then there is passing over a threshold; her body's acceptance. The head of Harrington's cock is a transgressor that now moves beyond the clinch of her arse.
"It's up to you now. At your own pace," Harrington says. "Go easy at first."
The head of his cock is an inch inside her, motionless and waiting for her to begin. Its presence is incontrovertible, compels her to move things along to try and dissipate the localised sense of enormity it generates. As she straddles his body, she orientates her hips slightly, trying to ameliorate the discomfort. Gingerly, grudgingly, she accepts more of him, sends him deeper, descends slowly and draws him into her, and his cock begins to fill her like newly loaded freight.
She hears him say, "Remember. Slowly,"
But this is an impaling, and she doubts she can continue. He reaches up and daubs the oil onto each breast to encourage her, distract her.
"Touch your clit," he says.
She hardly moves, says, "Oh-God! You feel gigantic."
Before she touches her clit, begins a rhythm, she groans aloud to dissipate the hurt.
"Do you feel pain?" he asks.
"It's like I'm having biggest pooh ever and its stuck in there! Oh-fuck. I'm never going to have a baby. Everrrr!"
Her words become a growl as her muscles try to expel him, repeatedly contracting around his cock determined to be shut of him. She fears she might lose it and so she coaxes herself down onto him further.
"That's my girl," he says. "Steady does it. Oh, beautiful! Fucking beautiful. You are my beautiful girl."
Little by little, millimetre by millimetre, her buttocks descend to the ground floor of his lower abdomen. She undulates her hips ever-so-subtly and mumbles a tune to herself as a lullaby to soothe her ordeal.
She has never felt so thoroughly penetrated. Never has a cock felt so inordinately deep inside her. For a moment it has come to rest in a place of which she had no knowledge until this moment, and she wonders if it is her very core. The intensity is beyond the pale, is off the scale compared to vaginal penetration.
She feels his cock in reflex inside her as if it is a live creature straining for freedom among her inners, disturbing her vital tissues as it burrows to escape. And yet there is a kind of satisfaction to be had amidst this distending of her vitals. Now the fingers that manipulate her clit become more insistent and commence their thrash.
There is a twinge of pain, and for a moment she thinks of irreparable damage and her mind flies to improbable speculation: the hospital visit, her ridiculous explanations. She shifts slightly, and the pain has gone, and a stillness settles over her. She sits motionless on his cock, feels herself now a trophy, mounted and displayed. This moment is a reprieve that is no reprieve, for she must see this through.
After her hips' slow descent, and her moment of resting now comes ascension. And as she rises, so begins the gentlest of undulations. It is as if her body is an anchored boat moved by the laziest of ocean swells. Such a gentle rise and fall.
His fingers play her nipples, and her fingers play her cunt. In her depths, something seismic threatens. In an instant, his hips buck, and she rises, carried upwards by their momentum as Harrington empties himself into her depths. The thought of his cock ejaculating so deep inside makes her feel the wanton whore she fears she is in danger of one day becoming. Her hand on her clit increases its tempo, become frenzied as she tries to exercise her self-disgust. But it is the knowledge of his discharging cock that generates her orgasm, one so sublime she will never find words to define it. It is a sheer pleasure born of pain, and she will never make how it affects her comprehensible to another person. Not even to Joe.
He extracts his cock, and it is like her inners follow in its wake. When she looks, she expects to see her insides curled and bloody beneath her but sees only an oily, ugly stain of cum and lotion spoiling the bath sheet, and she thinks of the hot wash needed to shift it. They lie on their back, side by side. Caroline's breath racing, her heart still pounding. His hand reaches for hers. They lie in silence.
Later she asks, "How many guests will there be?"
"Maybe fifty."
"All men."
"No, mainly couples."
"How many girls will there be for the couples?"
"At least ten. It's not decided yet."
"What should I wear?"
"The family will supply your clothing; something in keeping with the theme."
"And what is the theme?"Caroline asks.
"You will find out soon enough," Harrington says."Do you feel up to handling the Duke, now you've ...?"
"Only If he's smaller than you."
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