The Practice Bed The nurses want me in it Why
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Rosie2 free porn video
Rosie
Part 2
A year had passed.
Rosie's last case as a lawyer had been to take apart the haulage firm
whose driver been the other party in the M3 smash up. She won a massive
settlement, of course.
Throughout the lengthy trial Rosie moved back to London, while I mourned
and moped and and occasionally compensated by intense bursts of
housework. I also took refuge in comfort eating and drinking increasing
amounts of Scotch. I had no desire to go out or rebuild my life. I was
torn between my loss and my futile, illicit passion for Rosie.
She, it seemed, was too busy chasing her revenge to spend time with me.
However, the trial came to an end, with its spectacular result, and Rosie
phoned to say she was coming for the weekend, and maybe a bit longer. I
made a special effort, cooking a full roast, and breaking open one of my
best bottles of claret. She arrived quite early in the morning, and after
a quick peck on the cheek, she rushed to her room. "I'm meeting the girls
for a ride" she said over her shoulder. "Can you squeeze them in for
lunch too?"
"How many?" I asked, trying hard to keep any resentment from my voice. I
wanted a little bit of Rosie time to myself. "Just my four little
helpers. You can thank them for all the work they did at the funeral."
With a click of heels and the swish of jodhpurs, she was gone. "My
luggage is in the boot. I'll be back at two."
Of course, I rose to the challenge. I unloaded a surprising amount of
luggage from Rosie's sports car, and then tackled the kitchen. More
vegetables, Yorkshire pudding and a meringue would feed six. I did manage
to polish off most of the first bottle of claret, though, and by the time
the girls arrived, nearer three o'clock than two, I had been through an
emotional kaleidoscope. I was also more than a little drunk.
There was a lot of giggling when the five young ladies arrived at my
door. Led by Rosie, they poured in through the hall. Jumping into my
arms, Rosie gave me an enormous hug, followed by a big kiss on the lips.
"Nunkie, I've missed you so much!" Flustered, I put her down, only to be
surrounded by her four prot?g?es, all hugging and kissing.
"Nunkie Dwoo! What have you been up to? Why haven't we seen you?"
"Nunkie! How fat you are getting. Your bottom is nearly as big as
Annabelle's!" "You naughty boy. How are you managing without Rosie to
tell you what to do?"
In some confusion, I retreated to the kitchen, leaving Rosie to pour out
the wine and sit at the head of the dining table.
Over lunch, while I quietly carved and served the roast, Rosie quizzed
each of the girls about their "A" level exams, and plans for the future.
Annabelle, a striking blonde, was five or six years older than the
others. She was at least six foot, and although it was unfair to call her
fat, she was of Amazonian build. Besides riding, she loved the Gym, and
she had spent a year at Sandhurst, but had decided to become a Doctor in
civilian life, not the Army. She was in her last year studying medicine
at the local University. In the run up to the funeral, it was always
Annabelle who took over when I couldn't lift something, and Rosie was
proud that Annabelle was stronger than most men. It was a standing joke
amongst the girls that she had a fat bottom, but in her tight jodhpurs it
seemed to me that it was very firm, all muscle. I admit I found her
intimidating, with her piercing blue eyes, impressive breasts and
muscular physique.
Georgie was a Romanian orphan, brought to the UK by a charity in the wake
of Ceaucescu. Like Rosie, she was whip smart, and had the ambition to
follow Rosie into the Law. She kept her black hair cropped very short.
She very rarely spoke, lacking confidence in her English in amongst these
chattering girls, but by herself she was very clear thinking. Having
experienced the mess that men had had made of her native country, and
experienced some of their most appalling excesses herself, she was the
one who was most supportive of Rosie's strongest political views. She
would talk passionately about the establishment of the Gynarchy, and
theories about the elimination of masculinity.
Maria's father had been the Brazilian ambassador to the UK, and she now
lived with her divorced mother in our local town. A beguiling
black/Hispanic mix, she came across as a feral party animal, with a
reputation for breaking the hearts of all the local boys. She concealed a
ferocious drive, with the ambition to be a psychotherapist. She was
always kind to me, explaining that it wasn't my fault that I had been
born a male, and comparing my kindness to Rosie with her and Rosie's
fathers selfishness and egotism. "You always look after Rosie so well.
You always do what she asks you to. I want to help men be like that," she
said. In reality, she was so gorgeous, just about any man would do what
she asked, psychotherapy training or not.
Molly, unlike the other girls, had no academic ambitions. As a young girl
she had experienced cancer, which led to the removal of her womb. The
irony is that she was the most maternal of the girls, deeply caring and
definitely the mother of the group. Irish born, she was the eldest of six
sisters, and had a full time job helping her mother, who was the family
breadwinner. Her father was no longer welcome at home, but was often seen
on the streets of town, having been thrown out of yet another pub or
betting shop. Molly was not a big fan of alcohol, and her Catholicism
seemed more centred on Mother Mary than Jesus. Despite her tribulations,
she was always cheerful, and her freckly Irish skin would light up when
laughing at one of Rosie or Maria's outrageous jokes.
As Rosie led the conversation towards one of her favourite themes, that
of how women were gradually taking charge, and how her "girls" had the
world at their feet (or "under our butts," as Maria laughingly put it), I
sat quietly, mesmerised by Rosie's flashing brown eyes and animated
gestures. Always caring, Molly chipped in. "But what about the men? What
should we do with them, in this new world of yours?"
"There will be no men," whispered Georgie. "The time for men is past. We
will find things for males to do. But there will be no men!"
Rosie favoured Georgie with her broadest smile. "Exactly, Gee-Gee, you
are absolutely right." She turned to look at me. Four other faces
swivelled in my direction. "Nunky Dwoo. That was a lovely lunch. So sweet
of you. I need to talk to my girls about something private. When you have
finished clearing up, perhaps you would like to bring the coffee through
to the sitting room for us."
I gaped like a fish. Rosie had always been a bit bossy with me, but never
issued direct commands before. And in front of a bunch of eighteen year
olds! "B-but" I stammered. "Chop-chop," she cut me short, "haven't got
all day." And then she favoured me with her most dazzling smile, as if to
say, "it's just a game, just for my posse. Play along...."
So of course I did. Half an hour later, when I took a coffee tray
through, the sitting room was quite a sight. Georgie was curled up on the
sofa, her head on Annabelle's lap. Annabelle was absent-mindedly stroking
her short dark hair, like a cat. Maria and Molly were reading a Cosmo
together, Maria's head leaning in on Molly's shoulder. Rosie sat in my
large rocker, making notes on an iPad.
"Ah Nunkie, there you are. What took you so long?" The girls all chimed
in. "Poor Nunkie, so slow." "He can't help it. He's only a male." "He's
so fat now, he can only move slowly." "It's his bottom, it's like a big
anchor."
"Come on now, girls, be kind." Rosie looked up at me. "Nunkie, I want you
to sit down here on the rug."
Clumsily, I sat down. My head was at the same level as Georgie's, and I
could see her black eyes boring into me with an unreadable expression.
Hatred? Excitement? Cruelty? I looked up from a forest of boots and
jodhpurs, and above them the faces of Rosie's crew. I had fortified
myself in the kitchen with brandy, and my head spun a little.
Rosie's voice cut through the fog. "Nunkie, dear, we're worried about
you. You need taking care of. So that's what we are going to do. We're
going to take care of you."
"Wha-what do you mean?" I stammered. "Well there are going to be some
changes around here." Rosie smiled. "We're going to help you get into
shape, and restore some purpose in your life."
"We love you, Nunkie, and we want to help," Molly said. "Now come and
give me a hug." I shuffled over to the sofa on my knees, and was
enveloped in the warm embrace of Molly and Maria.
While I was being overwhelmed by the girls, Rosie and Georgie had opened
a briefcase on the bureau and pulled out a pile of legal documents. "We
need you to sign these" Rosie said. "What am I signing?" "Oh, just a
power of attorney for the court case."
Molly pulled me tight against her generous breasts, while Maria whispered
in my ear. "Don't do it, Nunkie. Don't leave us. Stay here. More cuddles.
More Molly and Maria!"
Groaning, I tore myself from their embrace. I didn't get up, largely
because a straining erection would have been even more obvious, and
shuffled over to the bureau on my knees. Behind me, Molly and Maria kept
up a constant refrain. "Oh! Come back Nunkie. Come back to Mummy Molly.
More cuddles for Dwoo" in voices blending schoolgirl teasing with
motherly affection.
I glanced over at Annabelle, who had a quizzical smile on her handsome
Viking face. She raised an eyebrow at me, as if to say, "What are you
going to do now?."
I knew what I was going to do. Do what Rosie wanted, sign the documents
and get back to the comfort and excitement of the girls' embrace. As I
signed the papers, without even looking at them, I once again noticed
Georgie's enigmatic stare. She muttered something under her breath as she
signed as witness. It sounded like "we've got you now..."
"It's bedtime for you, Nunkie Dwoo," Rosie stated flatly. "Bella, would
you do the honours?" Overriding the chorus of sighs and other expressions
of disappointment, Rosie quieted the room. "You've got plenty of time to
play with Nunkie later. To celebrate our new arrangements you can all
kiss Nunkie good night when he's ready for bed."
Annabelle brooked no argument, and I was marched to my rooms. "A nice
shower, and then it's bedtime. We have a little present for you."
I showered and brushed my teeth, coming back to my bedroom in my
towelling robe. Annabelle was standing by the bed, and there was a large
box waiting for me, wrapped in a pale blue ribbon. "Open it," she said.
"It's from all of us."
Inside was three pairs of pyjamas. Made of shimmering satin, there was
something a bit strange about the cut. The chord fastened at the back,
and ran not just around the waist, but also in a vee at the front running
into a single line between the legs. I clumsily struggled to put a pair
on while preserving my modesty, and eventually Annabelle ran out of
patience. "Here, let me do it," she tutted.
She pulled the trousers back down again, and gently taking hold of my
erection, she slipped it in between two layers in the front of the
gusset, a sort of internal sleeve. She then tightened the chords at the
back. This had the effect of flattening the front so that my cock was
clearly outlined straining upwards, while my balls were pushed up and
outwards by some internal arrangement. The rear chord drew the material
up tightly between my cheeks, stimulating the entire area, while
increasing the apparent fullness of my buttocks.
I felt ridiculous and very excited at the same time. Because it was
Annabelle, matter-of-fact, no-nonsense Annabelle, treating this as a
normal everyday event, I seemed to have no opportunity to protest.
The matching top was very short, coming down to just below my chest, and
leaving my back and tummy exposed. I felt ridiculous. They weren't
pyjamas. They were harem pants! I felt absurd. But I could neither deny
nor hide my excitement. Annabelle went to the bathroom to shower and
change, handing me the Cosmo that Molly had been reading. Placing a
pillow on the middle of the bed, Annabelle commanded me to lie face down,
groin over the pillow. "Read this" she said. "Rosie will be testing you
later." The magazine was headlined "Special Edition. Lavender Love," over
a picture of a pouting Cara Delavigne. One article was titled "Sappho was
right! 10 reasons why Males don't measure up."
I lay on the bed, face down, reading the article, my satin pyjamas
intensifying the erotic sensation. The drawstring of the trousers
stimulated the nerves between my buttocks, so I found myself pushing my
bottom slightly in the air to increase the feeling. Unable to resist the
temptation, I gently started to hump, the silken sleeve built into the
trousers caressing my aroused member.
I tried to concentrate on the Cosmo article, but in my befuddled state,
could only focus on a few phrases, which seemed to excite me further.
"Why girls prefer cunnilingus to penetration." "The key statistic: more
women cheat with women than men." "Women bosses: work and play."
At this point, the bedroom door burst open, and the girls tumbled in,
giggling and chattering.
"So, Nunkie Dwoo, you like your present then" smirked Rosie. All at once
I was surrounded, girlish hands stroking the fabric, accompanied by the
usual mocking commentary about my weight and the size of my bottom. One
finger traced the line of the chord between my cheeks.
"So sweet, Nunkie, such a cute big girlish bottom you have." I couldn't
prevent myself emitting a groan. "Oh he likes that. What a naughty little
boy. What a naughty little botty boy!"
"Turn over, Nunkie, we want to see the full ensemble." Reluctantly I
rolled over, the pillow below me pushing my groin upwards. Immediately my
satin-encased 'man'hood was the centre of attention, led by Rosie, who
started to give a lecture about the origins of the male organ, and how
controlling it was the key to female advancement.
As she expounded the theory that males were imperfect because of their Y
chromosome, and that the penis was a birth defect, a deformed and
degraded version of the clitoris, she was lightly stroking the front of
my pyjama pants. She continued to talk fluently about the use of feminine
fabrics as a training aid, about "feminizing" the penis.
She lightly gripped my testicles, and talked about how sensitive they
are, and how vulnerable they made males. As she squeezed, she spoke about
the control of genitalia, about the relative merits of confinement,
chastity and castration. She encouraged the girls to feel me, the shape
of my throbbing organ in its satin prison.
And of course, notwithstanding the extreme nonsense she was spouting, the
physical effects of her manipulation had their inevitable result. With my
hips forced upwards by the pillow underneath me, the drawstring around my
genitals and between my buttocks, the feeling of drowning in a sea of
feminine beauty and, of course, the gentle stroking of my member by the
young lady I adored, with a series of explosive convulsions, I came.
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