437 taking Monty s cherry
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439 After Monty`s Cherry free porn video
439 [Cc52] after Monty`s cherry
A continuation of parts 1 [437] and part 2 [438] at Mallow Manor, huge sprawling and remote, set in the Wiltshire countryside, in September of 1930
It was well past eight on that warm summers evening when Betty somewhat nervously tapped on the lads door. He had been waiting her arrival with somewhat mixed feelings, he was doing this as a favour to his mother, as he no longer hankered after the big titted old cook, not as he once did, she had just been a woman, a sex object for his hormone riddled youthful mind , but now… now he knew about the layout of women`s bodies and had supped at the cup of sexual enjoyment with his delightful mother Muriel, Lady Muriel Pargeter, the mistress of this manor house here in deepest Wiltshire, now he was not so sure. He felt he didn’t need this, though he knew she would be so, well, so different and the rampant part of him said, enjoy her, it can do no harm, it will boost her morale and well it can do no harm in the brownie points stakes with mother either.
He opened the door to a newly bathed and neatly attired cook, round of features and body, dressed in her best Sunday blue suit, white blouse and low heals. No oil painting, but a woman, and a big woman none the less. He kissed her hand and led her into his room. The windows open it being warm, the sounds of the peacocks crying on the lawn echoed round the room as he stood, dressed in his pj`s and dressing gown, appraising the woman whom he normally saw mostly in her cooks whites. There was no doubt she was formidable.
He offered her sherry, having lifted a bottle from the drawing room, along with a couple of glasses. They sat at the window seat, sipping the sherry, neither quite knowing what to say, or how to break the spell. In desperation he said that he had dreamed of her visiting him often over the last few years and tonight she was to call him just Monty, and she was Betty, his date, not the young master and the cook, not age different folk but…but someone he had picked to enjoy, because he wanted her.
It was flattery and she was flattered, he refilled her glass and though she knew in her heart why she was here, she appreciated his attempts to set her at her ease. She began to talk, explain about having been married, and why now she was here in service. He continuously topped her glass, as she rambled a little, telling him of Joe, and the daughter, and her c***dhood, and her girl marrying the American lad and going overseas with him, leaving her and her Joe… unused to the sherry she was getting more at ease with him when she said suddenly, “so you want old Betty to play with, do you Monty, use her big fat old body as a plaything…well perhaps you had best start or I shall be late at work tomorrow and that will never do…!”
He kissed her, on the elderly lips, putting the most energy he could muster into putting her at her ease, but knowing she was under no illusions about her body, or why she had come. he wanted her to feel she was his date, not some paid brass.
He began by helping her from her jacket, the thin white blouse starched within an inch of its life, just about managing to concealing substantial brassier straps, white against the pale skin. She sat with her left arm on the sill, the glass beside it, her right hanging at her side, smiling, benevolently at him, her double chin wobbling as she swallowed apprehensively.
“No man has seen what lies under my clothing since my Joe died, much less touch me, so I am sorry if I am nervous and unhelpful, Joe used to like me to sit still like this as he undressed me, before he…” she realised what she was about to reveal and in confusion said, “please continue, but allow me to just sit here for you while doing my best to stay still.” He unbuttoned the sleeves at the cuffs, then the buttons, six small and pearly ones down the frilled front, each one revealing a little more of the strong white foundation garment to his eager gaze. Easing the still crisp white garment from her shoulders and placing it on a spare chair he asked he about Joe, prying as to what she had so nearly said. She blushed, then took another sip of her sherry and then, as if making up her mind, she began to tell him of joe and his ideas of delicious discipline.
She had she said always been a big girl, even at school, and it was there she had met Joe, it was he who had taken her virginity. He who had married her as soon as she was 18, and he who had given her a lovely daughter. But it was she that, if she made any tiny mistake`s felt his belt on the Fridays he was home from the fishing. They had grown to love the strokes of his belt, enjoyed the stinging welts, while wearing a very full single foundation garment just so as he could use his full force. Latterly by mutual consent he would tie her from a beam in the cottage and strike her all over until she managed to climax just from the joy of the pain, his pain. She would revel in the marks and pain to remind her of him all week, while he was at sea. But he was `lost at sea, drowned when his little craft was caught in a storm, and since no one wanted this fat old cook, it never has happened again.
He smiled said “perhaps next time, if she was lucky he would oblige but she would need to tell him exactly if he was to copy her Joe, as he had no idea about that sort of games” and “she was now to stand up for him now as he wished to remove her skirt and see more of her.”
She stood for him, her face a picture, partly embarrassment partly expectation with a hint of joy thrown in. peaking as his hands released the waist button and the zip then allowing the skirt to crumple softly to the floor. He ease of the half-slip, fetching them as she stepped from them and folding them neatly up with the jacket and blouse. He turned back to her, stood now in a white and massive brassier and the high girdle that was working hard to containing the obviously big belly, white knickers tight over a big fat backside and tan stockings, held up from the girdle by suspender clips over thighs like tree trunks. A vision less like his mother he could not envisage, but an erotic if massive one none the less...
By now the peafowl had gone to roost, and the sun was falling over the horizon bathing the world in a ruddy sunset glow that matched her blushes, his errection was tenting his PJ`s and the dressing gown was long disguarded, as he told her to remove the bra.
Mesmerised, she reached to unclip the familiar support, then she slid the straps from either shoulder in turn holding the cups in place with her arms. There was a moment of silence then she released her arm and a huge floppy waterfall of breasts slithered towards her naval, there seemed to be more soft breast-meat that he could ever have imagined, twin soft, floppy orbs the nipples so unlike his mother`s, like short fingers or a cows teats, pink in the light stiff with excitement and facing downwards.
His mouth opened in amazement, then before she could grab her clothes and run off with embarrassment, his fingers shot out and gripped the bloated nubs. “They are magnificent”, he said “wonderful, lovely and so different from my dear mother’s…!”
Until then his mothers involvement with her son had never been mentioned , or had even crossed Bettys mind before… but how would a boy know without seeing his mother undressed… she hesitated, he liked her breasts it was obvious, she had been worried he would have hated her body, but either he was a great actor or he really did like her…she shook her head, here she was, Betty the manor cook, naked to the waist standing for the young master as his plaything and she was enjoying every living breathing moment of giving herself to him!
Without being told she removed her now damp knickers, silently threw them at the chair, then turned faced the bed and laid across it presenting the lad with her backside and her hair covered fanny, thick of lip but damp of excitement. He took no telling, without removal of his clothes, he bounded to her and without preamble, slid his now rampant tool into the giant cave of the woman`s body. She took him in with a groan that spoke of long starvation, and with subsequent strokes and groans they began the age-old dance.
It was not to last, he was by now so excited, that no man would have staved off the inevitable. With a strong ejection he came, deep into this big old girls body his hand contracting involuntarily on her shoulders, her gripping his bedclothes, and both crying out as his seed splashed into her long dry womb. He rested, then began again as only vigorous youth can, she was soon sobbing with shear emotion, gasping with pleasure, enjoying ever youthful stabbing strokes as he strove to fill her once again…it was magic, and with a gasp as he climaxed one more time before they fell forward collapsed and limp, his balls empty and nearly inside her big body.
He rolled off and was soon snoring, while she slipped on her skirt and jacket and spying from the door that no one was about slipped away, clutching her underclothing.
Betty served breakfast as usual, spot on to time once more but with a bounce in her step that showed that she was a happy soul. She and Monty hardly daring to exchange glances, though he was the one that had the extra sausage on his plate this morning! they both knew that they would soon meet again.
A continuation of parts 1 [437] and part 2 [438] at Mallow Manor, huge sprawling and remote, set in the Wiltshire countryside, in September of 1930
It was well past eight on that warm summers evening when Betty somewhat nervously tapped on the lads door. He had been waiting her arrival with somewhat mixed feelings, he was doing this as a favour to his mother, as he no longer hankered after the big titted old cook, not as he once did, she had just been a woman, a sex object for his hormone riddled youthful mind , but now… now he knew about the layout of women`s bodies and had supped at the cup of sexual enjoyment with his delightful mother Muriel, Lady Muriel Pargeter, the mistress of this manor house here in deepest Wiltshire, now he was not so sure. He felt he didn’t need this, though he knew she would be so, well, so different and the rampant part of him said, enjoy her, it can do no harm, it will boost her morale and well it can do no harm in the brownie points stakes with mother either.
He opened the door to a newly bathed and neatly attired cook, round of features and body, dressed in her best Sunday blue suit, white blouse and low heals. No oil painting, but a woman, and a big woman none the less. He kissed her hand and led her into his room. The windows open it being warm, the sounds of the peacocks crying on the lawn echoed round the room as he stood, dressed in his pj`s and dressing gown, appraising the woman whom he normally saw mostly in her cooks whites. There was no doubt she was formidable.
He offered her sherry, having lifted a bottle from the drawing room, along with a couple of glasses. They sat at the window seat, sipping the sherry, neither quite knowing what to say, or how to break the spell. In desperation he said that he had dreamed of her visiting him often over the last few years and tonight she was to call him just Monty, and she was Betty, his date, not the young master and the cook, not age different folk but…but someone he had picked to enjoy, because he wanted her.
It was flattery and she was flattered, he refilled her glass and though she knew in her heart why she was here, she appreciated his attempts to set her at her ease. She began to talk, explain about having been married, and why now she was here in service. He continuously topped her glass, as she rambled a little, telling him of Joe, and the daughter, and her c***dhood, and her girl marrying the American lad and going overseas with him, leaving her and her Joe… unused to the sherry she was getting more at ease with him when she said suddenly, “so you want old Betty to play with, do you Monty, use her big fat old body as a plaything…well perhaps you had best start or I shall be late at work tomorrow and that will never do…!”
He kissed her, on the elderly lips, putting the most energy he could muster into putting her at her ease, but knowing she was under no illusions about her body, or why she had come. he wanted her to feel she was his date, not some paid brass.
He began by helping her from her jacket, the thin white blouse starched within an inch of its life, just about managing to concealing substantial brassier straps, white against the pale skin. She sat with her left arm on the sill, the glass beside it, her right hanging at her side, smiling, benevolently at him, her double chin wobbling as she swallowed apprehensively.
“No man has seen what lies under my clothing since my Joe died, much less touch me, so I am sorry if I am nervous and unhelpful, Joe used to like me to sit still like this as he undressed me, before he…” she realised what she was about to reveal and in confusion said, “please continue, but allow me to just sit here for you while doing my best to stay still.” He unbuttoned the sleeves at the cuffs, then the buttons, six small and pearly ones down the frilled front, each one revealing a little more of the strong white foundation garment to his eager gaze. Easing the still crisp white garment from her shoulders and placing it on a spare chair he asked he about Joe, prying as to what she had so nearly said. She blushed, then took another sip of her sherry and then, as if making up her mind, she began to tell him of joe and his ideas of delicious discipline.
She had she said always been a big girl, even at school, and it was there she had met Joe, it was he who had taken her virginity. He who had married her as soon as she was 18, and he who had given her a lovely daughter. But it was she that, if she made any tiny mistake`s felt his belt on the Fridays he was home from the fishing. They had grown to love the strokes of his belt, enjoyed the stinging welts, while wearing a very full single foundation garment just so as he could use his full force. Latterly by mutual consent he would tie her from a beam in the cottage and strike her all over until she managed to climax just from the joy of the pain, his pain. She would revel in the marks and pain to remind her of him all week, while he was at sea. But he was `lost at sea, drowned when his little craft was caught in a storm, and since no one wanted this fat old cook, it never has happened again.
He smiled said “perhaps next time, if she was lucky he would oblige but she would need to tell him exactly if he was to copy her Joe, as he had no idea about that sort of games” and “she was now to stand up for him now as he wished to remove her skirt and see more of her.”
She stood for him, her face a picture, partly embarrassment partly expectation with a hint of joy thrown in. peaking as his hands released the waist button and the zip then allowing the skirt to crumple softly to the floor. He ease of the half-slip, fetching them as she stepped from them and folding them neatly up with the jacket and blouse. He turned back to her, stood now in a white and massive brassier and the high girdle that was working hard to containing the obviously big belly, white knickers tight over a big fat backside and tan stockings, held up from the girdle by suspender clips over thighs like tree trunks. A vision less like his mother he could not envisage, but an erotic if massive one none the less...
By now the peafowl had gone to roost, and the sun was falling over the horizon bathing the world in a ruddy sunset glow that matched her blushes, his errection was tenting his PJ`s and the dressing gown was long disguarded, as he told her to remove the bra.
Mesmerised, she reached to unclip the familiar support, then she slid the straps from either shoulder in turn holding the cups in place with her arms. There was a moment of silence then she released her arm and a huge floppy waterfall of breasts slithered towards her naval, there seemed to be more soft breast-meat that he could ever have imagined, twin soft, floppy orbs the nipples so unlike his mother`s, like short fingers or a cows teats, pink in the light stiff with excitement and facing downwards.
His mouth opened in amazement, then before she could grab her clothes and run off with embarrassment, his fingers shot out and gripped the bloated nubs. “They are magnificent”, he said “wonderful, lovely and so different from my dear mother’s…!”
Until then his mothers involvement with her son had never been mentioned , or had even crossed Bettys mind before… but how would a boy know without seeing his mother undressed… she hesitated, he liked her breasts it was obvious, she had been worried he would have hated her body, but either he was a great actor or he really did like her…she shook her head, here she was, Betty the manor cook, naked to the waist standing for the young master as his plaything and she was enjoying every living breathing moment of giving herself to him!
Without being told she removed her now damp knickers, silently threw them at the chair, then turned faced the bed and laid across it presenting the lad with her backside and her hair covered fanny, thick of lip but damp of excitement. He took no telling, without removal of his clothes, he bounded to her and without preamble, slid his now rampant tool into the giant cave of the woman`s body. She took him in with a groan that spoke of long starvation, and with subsequent strokes and groans they began the age-old dance.
It was not to last, he was by now so excited, that no man would have staved off the inevitable. With a strong ejection he came, deep into this big old girls body his hand contracting involuntarily on her shoulders, her gripping his bedclothes, and both crying out as his seed splashed into her long dry womb. He rested, then began again as only vigorous youth can, she was soon sobbing with shear emotion, gasping with pleasure, enjoying ever youthful stabbing strokes as he strove to fill her once again…it was magic, and with a gasp as he climaxed one more time before they fell forward collapsed and limp, his balls empty and nearly inside her big body.
He rolled off and was soon snoring, while she slipped on her skirt and jacket and spying from the door that no one was about slipped away, clutching her underclothing.
Betty served breakfast as usual, spot on to time once more but with a bounce in her step that showed that she was a happy soul. She and Monty hardly daring to exchange glances, though he was the one that had the extra sausage on his plate this morning! they both knew that they would soon meet again.
Liesl
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