Written by Linda
16 Dec 2011
A weekend in the country
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19 minute read
Andy had failed to organize anything and we had agreed it would be left to me. Friday night last week he told me we were going to the Lake District for the night on Saturday, which was lovely treat. We left after breakfast and enjoyed the drive up through the Dales from Leeds, had lunch at our favourite pub, the Drunken Duck near Windermere and from there on to a remote imposing Edwardian house. I want to call it a “mansion” but it was too small for that. An “imposing gentleman’s residence” would be nearer the mark. Up the long gravel drive to the forecourt and we were met by a very smartly dressed chap who took our bags into the house and asked Andy to leave his keys in the car so it could be parked. We were shown to our room and told that tea was at four o’clock in the drawing room and that we should be there to meet our fellow guests. We would not be allowed back into the rooms until six o’clock in order to dress for dinner. Cocktails would be served in the Great Hall at seven thirty with dinner served at eight. There was strict dress code for dinner, which I had known about, DJ’s for the chaps and long or short evening dresses for the ladies. What I found strange was that before leaving us in the room, the smartly dressed gent opened a draw and pulled out two ornate Venetian style face masks. “These must be worn from when you leave the room for dinner until you return to retire for the evening.”
It was a large period room with rich furnishings, a beautiful bathroom with an air bath and fluffy towels and robes provided. The pictures on the walls were all a little risqué for their era but tastefully so – there was a massive bed with a single bed at the other end of the room. The TV was hidden behind doors that opened like a cupboard next to the large ornate dark wood wardrobe. Tea and coffee making facilities were on a set of draws and I put the kettle on. I switched the TV on to find there was no access to Channels 1 to 6 but 7 to 10 were showing hardcore movies.
I looked at Andy quizzically. “What’s going on here And?”
“It’s quarter to four Lind, why have you put the kettle on – tea’s served in a few minutes”.
I used the bathroom and we went down to tea.
We were one of six couples congregated in the drawing room. Smart gent was serving tea in lovely china and handing out cake. Most looked like any ordinary couple you could meet in an afternoon browsing the shelves of M&S, some younger than us, some older. One of the women caught my attention. Spray on tan, spay on jeans and the biggest chest I’d ever seen. That’s me being catty – or insecure with my size 10 figure and B cup puffy rosebud nippled boobs. I always hoped they’d grow some more – and that chapel hat pegs would emerge but it was not to be. Slowly we began to mingle and as we all relaxed things became apparently all the more bizarre. We were told that we could only call ourselves by our room numbers. Andy was “Mr 4” and I was “Mrs 4”. (Typically, large breasted orange woman was “Mrs 1”!)
After half an hour Andy and I took our leave and enjoyed a smoke in the garden. It was almost dark as we came back into the house and decided to explore. We talked about the folk we’d met but I couldn’t get Andy to enlighten me as to what was planned. “Wait and see” was all I got out of him – along with a knowing smile. Being an unreasonably jealous woman I reminded him of our pact. “Just remember husband dear, I shag others because you want me to. That doesn’t allow you to do the same.”
“I promise I won’t Linda and I’ll keep you safe. So just relax and go with the flow.”
Back in the drawing room people were now enjoying an early evening drink. Andy and I asked for a G&T each and mingled some more. There were some interesting people but I’m guessing you don’t want to hear about that. At six we went up to our room. Bathed, shaved, make-up on – my long thick auburn hair took some wrestling with to accommodate the silly mask. There was a strange eroticism to the situation. Andy stood next to me as I sat at the dressing table. He was looking at my reflection in the mirror. I glanced sideways and the bulge in his crotch was unmistakable. My pussy was juicing up without encouragement. Perhaps it was the excitement of not knowing what lay ahead? I walked to the wardrobe naked but for my stockings and patent black high heels. The dress I had brought was a long black satin evening dress with a deep plunged back and front, thin straps holding it in place on my shoulders. A gold clasp held the dress together just below my bust, the slit continuing to my tummy button where I wore my most ornate ring. The sides of the dress were split to two thirds of the way up my thighs. This was not a dress that could be worn with panties or bra – and the stockings had to be hold-ups as a suspender belt would equally spoil the lines of the dress. A quick spray of perfume and I picked up my bag with essential supplies (lippy, perfume and cigs) and I took Andy’s arm and we descended the wide small steps to the great hall from the landing.
We weren’t the last to arrive, I counted three or four other couples. “Mrs 1” had not yet arrived I noticed and was bitchilly looking forward to see how she turned herself out. There were a number of butlers doing the rounds with a variety of cocktails, all of them dressed in long black cloaks with full face masks. Weird. On my second cocktail I whispered to Andy, “Don’t let me have another or I’ll be pissed before we get to the dining table!” And in walked Mrs 1. She was wearing a really short silver dress and silver high heels with orange legs stretching between them. I’d love to tell you that they were covered in cellulite thereby giving them an even closer resemblance to the fruit coloured spay she had used but I can’t. They were long and toned. Her chest was doing its best to burst out from her dress, much cleavage on show and she was clearly feeling a little chilly. A gong sounded and smart gent’s voice boomed forth, “Ladies and Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to follow me to the dining room, dinner is served”.
Name cards (well, numbers actually) told us where to sit along a long dark wooden table which was beautifully laid out with cutlery and wine glasses, flowers dressing the middle of the table. No one sat at the ends of the table. Smart gent then announced he was taking his leave of us and that he would see us at breakfast in the morning. We should now rely on the manservant who was allocated to each couple, who would serve the evening meal and stand behind the ladies so as to be available should we want anything. Mr 3 was on my left, nobody to my right. Andy sat opposite next to Mrs 3. They had travelled up from Rochdale, he ran his own IT Business and she had a Boutique shop in the town. We chattered away happily enjoying the food and the wine served to us by our own personal manservant.
All seemed terribly normal in a bizarre kind of way until we arrived at the last course of the meal. Here one of the menservants from the far end of the table instructed us: “Ladies, you must choose a fruit desert for yourself. You will find an interesting and exciting way of serving it to your partner and to your manservant. You may wish to invite others to partake of your desert, that is a matter for you alone.” The menus were handed out, table cleared of all but drinks glasses, choices made and the menservants disappeared to the kitchens and returned with the orders.
It may not surprise the reader to learn that Mrs 1 was the first to serve her desert. She wiggled a lot as she stood up and using the chair sat on the table. Whether I liked it or not, we were all looking on intently as she took hold a couple of grapes and laid back across the width of the table, her head dropping over the edge of it so that she was looking up at her husband. “A grape for my husband” she said and put a grape between her lips and pouted. Her husband bent his head down and took the grape from his wife’s mouth, smiled and pushed his mouth on hers kissing her hungrily. Seconds later, she came up for air. She sat up, her feet resting on her chair, wiggled some more and pulled her dress above her hips. She was wearing a red g-string. In one hand she took hold of a banana, with the other she maneuvered her panties to one side and inserted the fruit. She peeled the top saying “And for my manservant, a banana”. He lifted his mask just enough to allow him to burry his face in her crotch and eat. She lay back across the table, her head where it had been with grape in mouth. “Husband, I am now hungry for your banana”. It was so pathetic. Anyway he stood, flopped out his willy and she squealed with delight and took him in her mouth. It wasn’t long before her tits (surgically enhanced) were on display and her manservant had eaten his banana and was busy thrusting his cock in her from the other end. She annoyed me with her drama but I was feeling sexy, whether from what we were observing or because I now knew my turn was looming, I didn’t know. Other couples performed until it was a hive of activity on that dining table. I was relieved that Mrs 1 had gone first in so much as attention would not be focused solely on my performance – sideways glances were fine and with everyone busy with their own thing, I decided it was my turn.
I had chosen strawberries and cream. I leant over the table with a strawberry in my mouth and fed it to Andy. Like Mr and Mrs 1, we ended up kissing passionately. I sat back down. Our manservant was beside me holding a dish of whipped cream. Andy asked “Would you like some cream darling?” pointing at the dish. “I’d love some”. With that our caped crusader, saying not a word, opened his cape. He was naked beneath it with his cock hard and bobbing away. He took a hold of himself and scooped a load of cream out of the dish onto his cock and offered it to me. Andy was smiling across the table at me. I took him in hand and sunk my mouth around it. I sucked and licked until every last drop of cream was gone. I looked across the table at Andy again. He stood and unzipped himself, his cock in hand. He motioned for me to go down on him. I leant across the table and took him in my mouth, my tongue exploring it’s contours, I pulled back to look at it, spat on it, my creamy saliva dribbling down its length. I was oblivious to everything else going on around me. I didn’t care that others might be watching. I went back down on it, bobbing my head to and fro. Andy took hold of the side of my head to guide me in rhythm. Suddenly I felt my dress lifted from behind. I tried to look to see what was happening but Andy had a vice like grip on my head. Suddenly someone had thrust their meat inside me, my pussy was dripping but I was anxious. I wanted a condom on it because I didn’t know who was doing what. The table was hard and uncomfortable but the ramming from behind was ceaseless. Andy told him, “Shoot your load up her juicy cunt”. I nearly bit Andy’s cock off when I heard that but almost instantly I felt the splat of jizz hitting the head of my womb, spitting hard and fast. Only then did Andy release his grip on my head.
“You bastard!” I shouted at him. “You were supposed to look out for me”.
“See who it is first Linda”.
I span around. Our manservant lifted his mask so I could see who it was. “Fuck me Ken” I said.
“Think I just have” was the retort.
“Not very well. I haven’t come yet” I chided.
He sat on my chair and I on his knee. His cock was still hard. I stood and groped it, “What’s this? So soon?” I queried.
“When Andy invited me, it was a chance I was not going to waste Linda. So I acquired some little blue pills.” We laughed. “What strength?” I asked.
“It’s what porn stars use, so I guess I’m good for a few hours yet”.
“In that case……….” I stood, lifted my dress and slipped him back inside me as I sat back on his lap. It was a new sensation to sit on a man’s lap, his cock twitching inside me. Perhaps I should explain who Ken is.
Ken is an ex-work colleague, a mentor and a good friend. His wife Mary died last year after a couple of years fighting cancer. He took early retirement to look after her through the latter stages. I’d known Ken and Mary for years and Andy and I had become close with them during Mary’s illness. Mary had been the only one for Ken. He had been a teacher. I was a nurse and had decided to take up teaching and I turned to Ken for advice and support as I went on to do my PGCE. But I first had a crush on my English teacher when I was 13, some 25 years ago. Ken was a good looking guy in his mid-thirties then.
“What do you want me to do now Sir?” in my best school girl voice. His hand was beneath my dress fondling my breasts as we talked. It felt perfectly normal, relaxed, friends talking. But it wasn’t normal at all. Which kind of made it really sexy and perfectly OK.
Eventually he said, “Come on you two, I want to play. Make good use of this whilst I’ve still got it!” pointing at his groin. I slipped off his length as I stood, God I hate that empty feeling when a nice hard cock slips away! Ken turned me and sat me on the table. He lifted my legs either side of his legs on the chair and gently rubbed my stockinged legs, inching my dress ever higher, thigh exposed and still he slowly moved upwards both on the outside of my thighs and tickling the inside with his fingers performing like epileptic spiders. He tipped his mask and dipped his head straight into my groin. His nose parted my tight little lips, his fingers squirmed inside my quim and his tongue hit the mark immediately. I moaned and leaning back propped myself up on my elbows. Andy was beside me, stoking my neck which he knows I love. He helped me lay back flat on the table, my eyes closed I felt his prick on my lips. I took hold of him and slowly rubbed him back and forth just holding the head of his cock on my tongue. The pit of my tummy was almost cramping from the size of orgasm I was about to enjoy – I started, nearly ripped poor Andy’s cock from his torso as my orgasm hit, I felt something warm and wet hit my leg but didn’t care what it was – and I came – a big one that seemed top go on for ever but also felt over too quickly. Flushed I sat up, my leg feeling a little cold in places and I was reminded of what I had felt, glancing to see what it was. Mrs 3 had been jerking some guy off and splattered my leg in the process. She apologized and seemed nice. She asked if I’d like her to clean it up. I told her that would be nice and before I knew what was happening, she was licking it off my leg. She wrapped both hands around my leg and moved them ever upward, much as Ken had done. Her hand reached my cunt. “God you’re wet. Or is it spunk?”
“Could be both” Andy said.
“Mmmm, I like both”, she purred and with that this perfect stranger was down on me sticking her tongue in my pussy, sucking and nibbling ever so gently my clit. God she was good. Someone at the side of me was fondling my boobs. I reached out in that general direction and found a cock pulsating in my hand, so did the decent thing and wanked him. As I came at the hands (and tongue) of a very skilled Mrs 3, Mr 3 shot all over my lovely black dress. Mrs 3 came out from between my trembling legs and leant over me. “You enjoy that?” before I could answer her tongue was in my mouth. Kiss over, “Sorry about the dress. My husband – your fault” she smiled and was led away by her husband.
I was ready for a cigarette break. Andy and Ken joined me outside. We were all having such a damn fine time we agreed to go back in for one more session before we retired to our rooms. “Yes, the single bed’s mine you’ll have gathered by now?” commented Ken.
“Save the sheets Ken” I said, “Our bed’s plenty big enough for 3 and I’m not letting you away from me until that hard-on goes down!”
“You ever been with a girl before?” Ken asked.
“Until about four weeks ago I’d only ever known my husband in the biblical sense, the only man, woman or beast!”
“Would you like to go down on her, Mrs 3?” Andy asked.
“Not for now husband dear but never say never!” Cigarettes extinguished we went back into the party.
We sat and watched a while. It was just a mass orgy now, all very sexy but not a place I wanted to go without knowing I’d wake up AIDS free. And I didn’t know, so we went back to Room 4. It was great to get the damn masks off. Both Andy and I had red lines where the masks had been – Ken was OK as his had been a full face mask. He looked old bless him. The last couple of years had taken its toll. But he was sweet. I slipped out of my dress and kicked off my shoes and settled on the on my tummy in the middle of the bed. The boys flopped down either side of me. I was facing the foot of the bed. I propped myself on an elbow and was facing Ken’s feet. His cock was still rock hard, “You got a headache yet? I enquired.
“Not yet but I know it’ll come when this wears off” he said despondently.
I was fascinated with his balls. They were massive. I was fondling his scrotum, all smooth and hairless. His cock was an average size but looked small because of his stupidly large bollocks. “I can’t waste this” I said taking hold his cock and starting to pump it slowly up and down. Andy was making a coffee and came over with a lit cigarette for me. I finished the cigarette and coffee and suggested that Andy put the TV on. I straddled Kens face and went to work on his cock with my mouth, glancing up at the TV. I sat up, fascinated by what was on channel 1 – and 2. Writhing bodies on beds – not that you could see much detail. “Try channel 4 And”. There was an image of me, straddling Ken’s face, his cock in my hand staring straight ahead. The camera must have been above the TV. “We’re porn stars now Ken, “As seen on TV” Andy added.
“Get over here Andy” I instructed. I had him lay beneath me, kissed him and told Ken “Stick that thing up my ass” he duly obliged, pumping away, his balls slapping hard against my swollen pussy. All the while I was whispering naughties in Andy’s ear or kissing him. I could feel his cock harden on my stomach. It was all very nice but I wanted cock up my pussy and so instructed Ken to change holes. His pace slowed but his intensity grew. He had hold of my hips and was pulling me roughly to meet his thrusts. My face next to Andy’s, “Come on Ken, fill me full of spunk, drain those big balls in my pussy – and then I felt his prick tense and spit, spurting jizz deep inside my hole. As he pulled out of me, spent with his energetic performance I grabbed Andy’s cock and slipped it between my lips. “Keep Ken’s spunk up my hole until we’ve both come Andy. Can you feel your cock squelching around inside me mixing up another man’s seed? Go on spurt your spunk up there too, fill me up”. All the while I was grinding my swollen and very sensitive clit against him as I fucked him hard. Then it happened, almost out of the blue. We came torrents together, on and on we went. I lay there until Andy’s cock shriveled and slipped out, rolled on my back and could feel all their joint efforts draining out of my pussy. I cupped my hand down there, gathered a load and put my hand above my mouth and let it drip down onto my face and into my mouth. Ken was smiling at me – Andy looked absolutely knackered but still managed a grin. I swallowed it down and kissed them both before slipping into a deep sleep.
Next morning we all woke about the same time. I was still wearing my stockings, crusty in places with dried spunk. I sat on the edge of the bed and slipped them off before showering and dressing, the boys following my example. Over breakfast we all agreed it had been a very special weekend. I whispered in Andy’s ear, “Can I invite Ken over for tea on Wednesday?”
He agreed and Ken has said he’ll be delighted!