From Teen Bride to Hot Wife, 6: While Hubby Is Away, Hot Wife Will Play

Caroline and Harrington discuss 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 isn’t tight enough?

“Far from it, Caroline: yours is one of the tightest little pussies, it was my fortune to have fucked, and can I also say, the most beautiful to look at. My dick and I will be eternally grateful for the pleasure of his embrace. Still, I think I’d find your a little tighter.

Caroline and Harrington are lying together in bed, which all week seemed so big and empty with Joe away in Germany. As stated in the Dammartin Manor invitation, Caroline phoned Harrington to finalize the details of her next visit to the mansion. While they were talking on the phone, she suggested he come to her house to talk more.  Since that phone conversation last week, she’s been thinking about Harrington’s impending visit.

Tonight, for a few hours, Harrington fills the void in Caroline’s life created by Joe’s absence. When she’s in Harrington’s arms, it’s as if the rest of her life doesn’t matter, all those nibble worries about friends, family work and money are gone like a puff of smoke. During those few hours, his pining for Joe is now forgotten.

The couple only have moments before they get away from the depths of self-abandoned love, and now they find themselves side by side talking about what Caroline’s party might be at dammartin Manor’s scheduled next event. As they converse, Caroline gently caresses Harrington’s cock, which she finds quite beautiful, even in her current state of lameness. There is robustness even in its softening. Its interiors still hum for the pleasure of working inside it a few minutes before.

“What do girls have to do for dammartin’s friends?” Caroline asks.

“If I told you, he’d ruin the surprise.”

“I’ve already seen Lady Dammartin tied up and hit with feathers of a peacock, surely it doesn’t get much weirder than that?”

“So far, Caroline, you have only plunged your toes into the unholy 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.

“If this is an example you want, let me see.”

Harrington thinks, has his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Finally, he says:

“Let’s take one of their usual guests, Viscount Chesterbridge, as an example you are so desperate to have. His lordship is a great one for filming – and it’s not just wild game that he likes to hunt. His favorite scenario is to play hide-and-seek with the girls; his “little pheasants” that he likes to call them. He sends four or five people into hiding — they have the freedom of the house — and then starts tracking them down with his bloodhound, Archie.  And when he found his first two “birds,” he takes them to the reserved room for his only use and has one of the servants tie them together naked, their wrists handcuffed and carried high – just as you saw Lady Dammartin stretched high. A game hug, he calls the pair as they hang with outstretched arms, their bodies flat against each other.

“And when he examined them — and it might be for many minutes that he observes them — he pushes and stings. Oh, as he likes to see them squirm as his fingers investigate every nook and cranny. And when he has done with his fingering, is finally quite excited, each girl is fucked in turn from behind while they remain hung up together. And if the old goat feels particularly excited, he could have four or more daughters gathered in a fleshy group and left to hang.

“God! he looks sick,” says Caroline.

“Don’t you like the idea of being a captive – used with other girls?”

“I could if they pay me enough.”

“Do you want me to fix something?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m going to have to think. I can’t say that anal sex has the same appeal, though.

The idea of being penetrated into the by the Duke lodged in Caroline’s mind, and she struggles to get her head around the idea.

“You shouldn’t hit him until you try it,” Harrington said.

“Surely it hurts?”

“He doesn’t have to if the man knows what he’s doing. Maybe a little discomfort at first.

“I decided: I don’t think I could do that.”

“It is not a given that the Duke will choose you for the role. In general, he prefers a more mousy looking girl. Harriet was her type.

“So why talk about it?”

“I prepare you for all eventualities.”

“How many girls did he get like that?”

“As I said, this little nuisance, Harriet for one – and of course she was well rewarded for her troubles. He always picks someone. Too many things you remember over the years.

“I can’t think of anything worse than — you know? That!

“You will have to get used to the ways of the aristocracy if you want to keep winning.”

“What he asked, and I said no?”

“Your wishes would be respected, but they would never invite you again.”

I said, “Oh.”

Caroline’s lying thinking for a moment.

“Could I try it with you? Some kind of taster.

“Anal sex?”

I said, “Yes.”

“Now?” he asked.

I said, “Yes. I think I better know what it feels like.

“You’ll need to be clean first.”

“I took a bath before you got here.”

“No, I mean clean internally. Do you have one of those shower pipes that you attach to your bath faucets?

“What do you want?”

“Your laema.”

Harrington explains how to use the hose and faucet, and she goes to the bathroom and follows her instructions. Caroline uses soap to lubricate the tip of the hose — now minus her shower head — and gently inserts it into her anus. The edge-end of the rubber hose is quite rough, and she grimaces as he rubs her pucker before she finds the right angle. She turns on the faucet and smells her inner balloon with water.

Purged and empty, soaped and dried, the toilet rinsed, she returns to Harrington with the baby oil and towel he asked her to bring.

“How can I lie?” she asks, standing at the foot of the bed, looking at him now half leaning on pillows.

“Give me the towel and the oil?”

He puts the towel on the satin eiderdown, “You don’t want it to get greasy,” he says. He lays on the bath sheet and smears his cock with the oil, which is hard again from the thought of his tight little ass.

“Come and ride me,” he told her. “This way is best for a first timer. You’ll be in control.

She kneels and takes a position so that her legs form an arch to support her heavy hips that span her abdomen. He reaches out with a hand whose palm holds a pool of oil that he smears between his buttocks. Then rub and rub, pushing his damped flesh until the ball of his palm massages his anus, his fingers coming out of the crack at the top and brushing against his tailbone.

When it is oil-rich, it repeatedly sends its hand back and forth between its buttocks, up and down. He works with determination. Again and again, his fingers slip, sometimes his hand crossing his cunt lips, then higher to graze his clitoris, then back to his anus. The filthy succulence of her preparations undermines her rationality, and she may think she is now in a place where there is nothing she would refuse a man like Harrington.

“The most important thing is to relax. Can you do this for me?”

“I’ll try, but I’m nervous.”

She feels a hard-lined, focused, accurate poll. An inch, she thinks it’s who works her sphincter, gently teasing the muscle. Her flesh rebels against incursion, clamping and loosening as the manipulations of his thumb unravel it. Gradually, she feels her resistance disband. Then there is more than an inch at work. She’s preparing to suffer.

At first, it as bad as she imagined. A tightness that makes her think that she could tear like a fabric too tight. And then there is the passage over a threshold; acceptance of his body. The head of Harrington’s cock is a transgressor who now moves beyond the clinch of his ass.

“It’s up to you now. At your own pace,” says Harrington. “Go easy at first.”

The head of her cock is an inch inside her, motionless and waiting for her to begin. Its presence is indisputable, obliges it to move things forward in an attempt to dispel the localized sense of enormity it generates. As she straddles her body, she steers her hips slightly, trying to improve discomfort. Gingerly, reluctantly, she accepts more of him, sends him deeper, slowly descends and draws him into it, and her cock begins to fill her like newly loaded cargo.

She hears him say, “Remember. Slowly,”

But it’s an impaling, and she doubts she can continue. It reaches and dabs the oil on each breast to encourage it, to distract it.

“Touch your key/h,” he says.

She barely moved, said, “Oh-God! You feel gigantic.

Before she touches her clit/h, begins a rhythm, she moans aloud to dispel the pain.

“Do you feel pain?” he asks.

“It’s like I have the biggest teddy bear ever and its stuck in there! Oh-fuck. I will never have a baby. Everrrr!

His words become a grunt as his muscles try to expel him, again contracting around his cock determined to be closed from him. She’s afraid of losing him, and she’s respling even further.

“She’s my daughter,” he says. “Steady does. Oh, beautiful! Oh, damn nice. You’re my beautiful daughter.

Gradually, millimeter by millimeter, her buttocks go down to the ground floor of her lower abdomen. She waves her hips as subtly as ever and mumbles an air to herself like a lullaby to soothe her ordeal.

She has never felt so deeply penetrated. Never has a dick felt so excessively deep in it. For a while, he came to rest in a place she had no knowledge of until that time, and she wonders if it is her very core. The intensity is beyond pale, is out of the scale compared to vaginal penetration.

She feels her cock in the reflex inside her as if she were a living creature who was striving for freedom among her interiors, disrupting her vital tissues as he digs to escape. And yet there is a kind of satisfaction to be had in the midst of this demantile of its vital signs. Now the fingers that manipulate his clitoris become more insistent and begin their thrash.

There is a pinch of pain, and for a moment she thinks of irreparable damage and her mind flies to improbable speculation: the visit to the hospital, her ridiculous explanations. She moves slightly, and the pain is gone, and a calm settles on her. She sits motionless on her cock, now feels a trophy, mounted and displayed. This moment is a resit that is not a resit, because she must see this through.

After the slow descent of his hips, and his moment of rest now comes ascent. And as it rises, so begins the sweetest of ripples. It’s as if his body was an anchored boat displaced by the laziest swell in the ocean. Such a gentle ascent and fall.

Her fingers play her nipples, and her fingers play her cunt. In its depths, something seismic threatens. In an instant, her male hips, and she rises, carried up by their momentum as Harrington empties into her depths. The thought of her cock ejaculating so deep inside makes her feel carefree whore that she fears she is in danger of becoming one day. Her hand on her clitoris increases her tempo, becomes frantic as she tries to exercise her self-loathing. But it is the knowledge of her unloaded cock that generates her orgasm, so sublime that she will never find words to define it. It is a pure pleasure born of pain, and it will never do how it affects its understanding to another person. Not even Joe.

He extracts his cock, and it’s as if his interiors follow in his wake. When she looks, she expects to see her curvaky and bloody bowels under her, but sees only an oily stain and ugly sperm and lotion spoiling the bath sheet, and she thinks of the water washer needed to move it. They’re lying on their backs, side by side. Caroline’s breath beating, her heart still beating. His hand reaches out for his. They find themselves in silence.

Later, she asks, “How many guests will there be?”

“Maybe fifty.”

“All men.”

“No, especially couples.”

“How many girls will there be for couples?”

“At least ten. It has not been decided yet.

“What should I wear?”

“The family will provide your clothes; something in tune with the theme.

“And what’s the theme?” Caroline asks.

“You’ll know soon enough,” Harrington says. Do you feel to the duke’s manipulation, now you have …?”

“Only if it’s smaller than you.”

This story is protected by international copyright law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found displayed anywhere other than with this attached note, it was displayed without my permission.

From Teen Bride to Hot Wife, 6: While Hubby Is Away, Hot Wife Will Play