Aratheon Wicked Witch of the Woods
- 1 year ago
- 30
- 0
The House In The Woods - A Sexual HistoryChapter 33 free porn video
New Year 1981, and after all the hoo-ha surrounding the opening of Elvestone Hall in the autumn, followed by the official press launch on January the 1st, I had one of life's more pleasant surprises. I was at my desk in the new admin block when the phone rang. I readied myself to repeat the usual spiel when the caller's voice jolted me back a decade.
"Ed? Is that you?"
"Jill? Yes, of course it's me! How the hell are you? All grown up and crusading?"
"Yes, that's me! It took a while Ed, but your groupie heiress girlfriend has found a useful niche at last."
"And are you really a lesbian these days? No men at all? No chance of us..."
"Sorry Ed," I said, laughing. He was already teasing me like he used to. "Not even if you threw in David Bowie as seasoning!"
We ended up chatting for ages, and rekindled some long dormant embers. Ed had been a friend as well as a boyfriend, and with or without romance there was still something of value in that. What began from nostalgia and curiosity soon became something more solid, and some of Ed's more liberal-minded rock music connections were soon persuaded to part with substantial donations. In Ed's world my lesbian apparatchik jailbird reputation was a significant asset not an obstacle.
A few weeks after his first call, when Ed came to visit the Hall, he told me I looked beautiful, but tired. Exhausted was the right word. Em treated him warily, even with some hostility at first. I took her to one side and explained that Ed and I had shared strength as well as weakness. In the good old bad old days indulgence has been the name of the game, but he had never pressured me into anything I hadn't been willing to try, which included the sexual excesses.
"Hmmpphh." She grunted "I suppose you know best." But after that, she made an effort to lighten up.
"Listen," he said over dinner, "Here's an idea for the two of you to kick around. I've got this place near Marrakesh, an old Kasbah; I bought it for a song a few years ago from one of my more wayward acts when he hit the skids. I use it as a hideaway, and the odd band goes down there to write songs and make demos. You really should go there, you and Margaret, and just indulge yourselves. There's a terrific Hammam, olive groves, fields and mountains on your doorstep. The chap who looks after it for me knows all about discretion, I don't think there's much the servants haven't seen, so there's no need to stint yourselves whatever your depraved tastes. Anyway, the place is yours if you want it, pretty much, for as long as you like, and babe, it's the least I can do, because I'm so proud of you!"
Ed's visit bucked us up considerably, and he was right, I was physically and mentally shattered from the long effort of getting the Hall up and running. All I had worked for had finally come to pass. The Hall was buzzing, full-staffed and fully occupied. I was thirty-three years old, and I'd been working flat out for two long years. Em had been complaining, no longer as mildly as at first, that I always seemed to be too tired to make love, and had begun to threaten that she would soon seek serious retribution for my neglect of her needs. A few days later, I was up at six, already looking at my wall planner, at the myriad notes of meetings galore, interviews and fund-raising, I remembered Ed's words, and something in my head said 'Enough!' I spent the next couple of days in tears and in bed, while Em looked on, anxiously. At the weekend she came to me with an ultimatum.
"I've spoken to everyone at the Hall, and we all agree that you must take a month off. It's ridiculous the amount of work you've done. You need a rest, and you need it now. And frankly, so do I, you've not been he easiest lover to live with for far too long, Madam!"
My team now numbered a ten at the Hall, and another five in London. I was just a cog in a much bigger machine, and the machine proceeded to assure me it could function perfectly well for a few weeks without my constant presence. Stupidly I began to protest, but Em took decisive charge and ordered me to my knees in a voice that told me she meant business in a big way. Suddenly I thought 'fuck it, she's right, Em's the most important thing to me.'
Felicity and Mel would handle my workload at the Hall, Jodie relished the idea of taking over in London for a while, and Lady H was as insistent upon my welfare as her daughter. The whole world said it could do without Jill Gaskell for a few weeks, an I was convinced.
A fortnight to the day after Ed's offer I found Em in the day room at the Hall, cuddling her favourite little boy, who was recovering from an accidental nosebleed, and waved two airline tickets under her nose, having perfumed them with Shalimar, which always tends to have an effect on her. Em followed me into the side office, once the snug where her mother used to get steadily izzled, and let her read the destination. She threw her arms around me and kissed me in an uncharacteristic semi-public display of emotion.
A few days later our plane landed in Marrakesh. This was the first trip to Africa for both of us. Apart from the flights, Ed had fixed everything, even arranging for a car to collect us from the airport. A handsome Moroccan in a flowing white djellabah greeted us in fluent French, introducing himself as Hassan. We were soon gabbling away at him like a couple of excited geese, as he pointed out the Walls of the old Medina, the Grand Mosque, and so many other exotic sights they began to blur as we whisked past in his big old Mercedes. Soon we were outside Marrakesh, climbing steadily through warm evening air towards the Atlas Mountains.
An hour or so later, just as night fell on a landscape we could hardly wait to see in daylight, we arrived at the Kasbah. The tall earthen walls loomed above us, and huge castle doors swung open to reveal a lamplit courtyard. I was thrilled to bits, it was every Arabian Nights fantasy I had ever had, come to life. Several men in Blue cotton djellabahs and white turbans appeared as if from nowhere, and spirited our luggage away.
"Mr. Ed says you will have the best apartment, you are our honoured guests," said Hassan, "but first, please, join me for tea in the Salon and relax from your journey."
We were led through the verdant courtyard into a tunnel like corridor, which led to another corridor, doors open and closed, dark mysterious spaces beyond the meagre electric bulbs, until we emerged in a large opulently decorated hall. The air was suddenly redolent of spices and incense. We looked around us in wonder at the sheer foreign-ness of our surroundings. Hassan disappeared for a moment and then returned with another turbaned servant bearing a large silver tray, teapot, and small gilded glasses. He poured the tea with great ceremony and handed it to us. I tasted the tea; it was sweet, heavily minted and instantly reviving. Each moment brought a new experience, and by the time we were shown to our quarters with were both in love with Morocco. We had one huge room, a massive bed at one end, cushions carpets and draped cloth everywhere, like a dream bazaar. There was also a large bathroom with a built in steam room. On the shelves were bottles of rose water, argan oil, and other exotic unguents for us to try out. Hassan also indicated a small table in a cushioned recess upon which sat an elaborately inlaid box. He tipped back the lid, and it was a hippie paradise inside.
"Kif, hashish, pipes, tobacco and papers," he said, "and in the cupboard you will find wine, brandy, arak ... there also beer in this little fridge." Ed must have prepared Hassan with information as to our romantic status, because when he finally withdrew, he wished us a good night with a distinctly prurient twinkle in his dark brown eyes. We were alone together in the lap of Moroccan luxury, still gasping like a couple of schoolgirls let loose in Harvey Nichols as we explored, ooh-ing and ah-ing with delight. Too thrilled to go to sleep, Em poured herself a whisky, and watched as I rolled a joint with very out of practice fingers.
"Well, when in Morocco," I laughed.
"You know, I've never touched any of that stuff, never so much as had a puff in my whole life," she said curiously as she lit the joint for me, and a Senior Service for herself.
Since the light and dark days of 1973 when my flirtation with morphine had driven me into Em's arms, and my ill-timed relapse in jail, I smoked dope only very occasionally with Mel and Jodie, never with Em, and took nothing else illegal.
"Too old for the sixties I suppose, and I hate what the hard stuff does to people ... but ... even so ... what's it like? Em asked, studying me as I held the smoke in.
"Mmmm ... this time ... so far ... light, warm ... and pleasantly ... sensual, I said, letting the remaining smoke out a little at a time. It was very good hashish, very good indeed. My brain felt soothed, smooth, but very alive. I smiled at Em.
"You're smiling," EM observed. A soft caressing blanket of sweet sensation began to envelope me. The cares and worries of the pre-departure days receded into a distant corner of my mind.
"Why don't you try some Em? It's far more appropriate to our present setting than Whisky, you know. We're along way from the misty moors of Scotland. Just a little puff..."
"God, you're starting to sound like Mummy with her little double entendres," Em snorted. "Oh well, what the hell." She sighed, and spirited the joint from my fingers.
Several drifty minutes later I stubbed out the joint and led a newly stoned and sweetly quiescent Em to bed. She was wearing the collar that night, but there was little in the way of domination as we shared out first, deliciously high kiss on Moroccan soil. After lapping each other to drawn out orgasms, we slept deeply in each other's arms until morning.
Beside the bed was a dangling rope that caught my eyes I awoke. 'Looks familiar' I thought vaguely, and then realised that Hassan had told me that if I pulled this rope, it would summon a member of staff. After a quick trip to the bathroom I returned to bed and the still sleeping form of my lover, and gave the rope a tug. A couple of minutes later Hassan himself appeared, followed by one of the blue men carrying an even larger silver tray than last night, bearing our breakfast. He placed it on the low table in the window nook, and withdrew. Hassan told us that he would personally care for our every need for our entire stay, and after a number of flowery felicitations he left us to our breakfast. There was coffee, English tea, Berber mint tea, freshly baked flat bread, covered dishes that revealed olive oil, freshly churned butter, honey, apricot and fig jam and oranges sliced and dusted with nutmeg. By the time Em joined me I was already mewing with pleasure at the exquisite flavours. We both sat naked and cross-legged on the cushions and fed each other morsels of heaven. A heavy teardrop of honey fell from a piece of bread and landed right in Em's dark luxuriant bush, where it glistened like a jewel. I felt my pulse quicken at the memory of her squirming to the fast beat of my tongue last night. I looked at the jewel, at Em's handsome face and blurted:
"I want you ... now."
Em smiled.
"Your wish is my command, oh Mistress," she responded in a mock-Hassan accent.
I pushed her back amongst the cushions and buried my face between her thighs, tasting honey and musk, shivering with long pent-up desire. When I had cleaned Em completely, and after several more applications of honey I decided that oral sex had never tasted so good.
After that we showered out sticky bodies, and concluded our breakfast with fresh appetite. When the last crumbs had been washed down with mint tea, I took the key-chain from around my neck, unlocked the collar from around Em's neck, and knelt before her, holding up the links that bound us together, like a sacrament. Em collared me tenderly, and I meekly awaited her commands.
"You will ask Hassan to provide us with some scarves and ropes..." Her eyes roamed the twinkling wall coverings, and I knew she was looking for places to tether me. "And perhaps he can find us some poles ... wooden poles ... like the tent-poles in that painting..." she said speculatively. "You will also ask for more oil and honey; then you will roll us more of those joints ... You will remain naked. I spoke to Ed ... yes my darling, without telling you, and he told me that our new friend Hassan is an avid voyeur. You ... well you will provide his entertainment, my pet." Morocco was already bringing out a new and more daring streak in Em!
"When did you speak to Ed?" I asked, which I was not supposed to do once collared, but this was something I hadn't expected, my lover confiding in a man. "We had a little chat a few days ago, he called for you and you were out. Most illuminating." Her eyes twinkled.
Kaidence
- 31.03.2022
- 5
- 0
The House In The Woods A Sexual HistoryChapter 8
- 2 years ago
- 13
- 0
The House In The Woods A Sexual HistoryChapter 29
- 1 year ago
- 8
- 0
