Little Standing Chronicles 4

Literotic asexstories – Little Standing Chronicles 4 by derectus,derectus
My arrival in the village of Little Standing had been quite a success, sexually speaking. In three days, I had fucked three women and my manservant (to use an old term for the penis) had been fiddled about with by a manservant! * Not bad going. Just to clarify things I would describe myself as 75% heterosexual. I spent my adolescence at an English Public (that’s a private to the rest of the world) Boys school so my sexual awakening was alongside 250 others in the same boat. I’m also involved with the artsy side of life. So, you know, things happen. Generally, though, I seek out women but if any other thing else comes along at the apposite moment well, who am I to refuse?

My luncheon date with Lady Penelope Standing had been a particular hit, the action following the meal especially. Lady Standing had performed an ancient legal (she claimed) welcoming ceremony that involved some very medieval ideas about the treatment of the commoner by the entitled. After this I had wiped myself down with the towel that Marston (that’s the manservant) thoughtfully provided and dressed again as he did the same. The robe he’d worn, briefly, was a sodden mess but he’d stowed my set of clothing next to his on one of the benches in the chamber we had used for the ceremony.

The butler made short work of seeing me out of the large front doors, returning to his typical detached persona; just as if I had not seen him shoot a big load of cum over his Mistress and myself not twenty minutes before. His farewell was quite warm and friendly, however, and it was with a jaunty, post coital, step that I headed homewards.

Lady Penelope’s home, the “Big House” according to my cleaner, Mrs. Carter (who had been my second fuck,) ** stood high at the Northern end of the valley that protected and isolated Little Standing. All of it lay at the feet of the Big House; behind said house was the open moorland that surrounded the valley. The first building I passed was the Church and its picturesque Vicarage. The old families kept themselves in good with God.

I passed by but did notice a shapely, and obviously female, bottom clad in faded jeans. The owner of this bottom was on her hands and knees in a piece of garden to the South side of the Vicarage, seemingly attacking the weeds with a trowel and a lot of vehemence, but I could not see her face as she wore a large sun hat.

I continued the journey down the steep incline ignoring the little lane that which ran beside the churchyard and, indirectly, to my own house. The cross roads lay below me and the turn to the right was the steep way to my new home. It was around four in the afternoon and few people were about. I knew the pub, to the left, was open as a couple of folks sat outside it on wooden bench-tables keeping half an eye on a little group of sprogs playing a makeshift game of cricket on the large village Green. They looked like Townies to me and I should know as I’m as about the biggest Townie going.

I’d put off going to the pub so far as I was a little wary of being the new guy from “The Smoke” barging in on the locals. However, Lady Pee (as I was coming to think of her – see previous chronicle for details) had assured me that the “locals” didn’t bite. I thought I could blend in with these other outsiders and get a feel for the atmosphere of the place until I had tested this assertion. So, I went in to the Standing Arms.

I needn’t have worried. The pub’s smaller room was mainly set up for dining and the lunch service was clearly over as it was empty. There was a bigger bar to the right of the entrance that was solely for drinkers. I went in and there was a momentary pause in the muted conversations but, focusing solely on the barman, I strode to the counter and I ordered what I knew to be a locally brewed cask ale. He seemed to approve of the choice and I quietly mentioned I’d take the pint outside to enjoy the weather. Again, he gave a muted approval then turned back to the solo drinker sat at the end of the bar to resume conversation. A pair of elderly gents, drinking what seemed to be cider, sat at another small table just inside the door and I nodded to them, receiving the same cautious nod back.

I’d had wine and water with Lady Penelope because it had been her intention to load my bladder prior to our recent ceremony. She even, I’m pretty sure, had had the food well salted to increase my thirst – which Marston made sure was easily slaked. I’d well and truly drained myself of that lot (all over the pair of them) so the first half of my pint was gone in two gulps. I let that settle then finished the rest in a leisurely fashion. I returned to the bar and ventured a little further chat. I asked about the usual opening times and when was the place busiest and so on. The Landlord, Mr. Jolly as he turned out to be, seemed pleased in my interest then asked me the inevitable question in his rumbling, blurry West Country accent.

“So, are you the Gent what’s bought the old Colonel’s place, then?”

I confirmed this and then he asked if it was correct that I’d been to see Lady Penelope today. My look of surprise at this knowledge amused him.

“Don’t worry, Sir. I’m not prying, but not much escapes the notice of people around here. News soon spreads of peoples’ doings. We always sniff out the truth,” he added, with an emphasis on “sniff” and a slightly smug grin. This last remark brought a couple of suppressed sniggers from the pair of old men by the door.

I smiled along and made an inane remark about better minding my P’s and Q’s. This too seemed to elicit laughter and the Landlord said, “Oh, very good, sir!” I smiled again, a bit bemused, and went back out again to the sunshine. As I pulled the door shut behind myself, I thought I heard the solo drinker say,

“He’ll fit in, all right.”

As I sat in the sunshine, I replayed the conversation twice before the penny dropped. What helped was the sun settling on my trousers and heating them. I caught a distinct whiff of urine and realized that the cuffs of my trousers must have got a bit of a soaking despite Marston’s best efforts. My comment about “Pee’s” had also been taken to have a deeper meaning than I intended. It seemed that the ceremony, and my role in it, was a well-known item of gossip already. God knows how, I thought.

Once I’d finished the second pint, I politely returned the glass inside and bid the Landlord goodbye. No more comments came my way and I puffed my way up the steep side to my house, hoping that I’d soon get used to the hilly terrain. The rest of the day consisted of a second shower, a meal, a little more alcohol and, finally, some very deep sleep. For some reason I dreamed of fountains.

xxxx

Once again, I awoke early. I really was forming some bad habits in my new house! I had my breakfast and planned my day. I decided to spend the morning walking the boundary of my land. Rising upwards behind the house was a wood and to the front were two fields, all of it mine. The fields were divided by the road that led up the hill to my front gate before it did a dog-leg (to the right as I looked out) and passed my property to lead up to the Moorland surrounds. I chose to head upwards first.

I put on a polo shirt of a pale blue and a pair of khaki knee-length shorts. I’ve been told that this combo highlights my eyes’ colour – blue – and shows off my shapely arse. The khaki goes well with my tanned legs. I also donned a pair of light-weight, but well worn-in, hiking boots with thick socks rolled over the tops of them. I had a small pack with some water and snacks in it.

I exited from the back of my house and walked the woods’ boundary of walls and hedgerows uphill, which was Westwards, then across the level-ish top, which was South and finally back down again, Eastwards. I skirted the outer line of the trees and saw that there were houses and cottages tucked away both West and South of my property line.

Looking in to the trees from the boundary I saw that they were dense and random, dank and dark, throwing off an earthy reek. There didn’t seem to be much birdlife or other noise coming from the area. It was actually a little spooky. Finally, I was coming back North, completing the rough rectangular shape, toward my house, with the road that snaked up from the village now below my right hand on the other side of a sparser hedge.

Then I reached a gate in the hedge. I knew that straight ahead led to home as it was clearly visible. Instead, I went over the gate, another five-bar job like the one I’d had my first fuck in Little Standing against***, and saw a similar one on the opposite side of the road twenty yards further along. This led to the right hand, or Southern, of my two fields (looking from the front of my abode). I like you to know where we all are!

I hopped this gate and took in the vista. It was roughly the size of two soccer pitches and dropped quite steeply, exposing the village below. There were a dozen or so disinterested sheep chomping their way through the verdant grass. In the bottom right-hand corner was a barn. I cut across towards this planning to explore it.

It looked quite a recent addition to the landscape as it bore few signs of the decay that other similar buildings nearby had shown. It was a smart metal construction, about 10 or 15 yards long and 7 yards or so high, and was a dark green/olive colour. As I approached, I could see that the two sliding doors were partly open by about a foot. My city-honed senses kicked in and I went into stealth mode. I’d never been to this building so I had no idea if this was usual or not, but a sudden noise alerted me to the fact I was not alone.

The noise was nothing threatening but was familiar. It was the sound of sex. I stopped dead in my tracks, about 5 feet from the open door, and strained my ears. A similar sound came again, a long, low moan. I got as close as I could to tip-toes in my walking boots and edged forward. As I did so I heard more of the sounds but some sounded higher-pitched and feminine compared with the first.

I reached the gap in the door, the terrain in front of it devoid of grass and tacky with mud. The floor inside the door was a compressed mass however. I could see some hay bales along the far side wall, stacked two or three high. Creeping further forward I caught my first glimpse of the creator of some of the sounds. It was Tanya Carter, the provider of my first fuck in Little Standing. She was sitting on a stack of hay two bales high, which she’d covered with her jacket.

She wore nothing but a denim skirt, probably the one I’d seen her in previously, and a pair of Wellington boots! Actually, as I gawped a little longer, I saw that her knickers were hanging around the top of the left boot. She’d obviously slipped them over the other rubber-clad foot but left her scanties where they were easy to find. Tanya wore her light brunette hair centre-parted and fairly slick to her head, reaching her shoulders. Her face was a pretty oval shape with flashing hazel eyes and a bit of a snub nose.

She was tanned all over, something I hadn’t really appreciated before: there wasn’t a patch of white flesh visible at all, not even as if she’d wore the briefest of thongs to cover her mound. Her breasts were not huge but a good medium size and slightly loose, the nipples a little low but quite dark and very stiff. I hadn’t seen them before as she had not removed her bra during our shag. Her stomach had a few little rolls in it and her navel was quite deep. Her hips flared provocatively from her waist under her bunched skirt as her hands thrust down between her thighs.

This meant I couldn’t see her pussy now but I’d had a good close up look a couple of days prior to this and knew her mound had a trimmed bush matching her head’s hair and her plump labia were shaved. She was a young woman whose inner lips were tucked away from sight but whose clitoral shaft was clear as the slit seemed wider at the top. Her legs were just the right side of sturdy without being either too thick or too emaciated. My gaze soaked her in as she lazily masturbated herself, her concentration focused away from me into the barn.

My clue as to what was entrancing her was a series of low, masculine moans. I was loathe to put my head further around the door but I spotted a couple of small holes drilled next to where the lock sat at chest height. I pressed my eye to one of these and was taken aback by what I saw. Two young men, early twenties I’d guess, one black and one white, were standing opposite Tanya. I could see that behind them were more stacks of hay so that a passageway of sorts was formed down the middle of the barn. They were both facing her but the one furthest from me, the black man, was a foot or so closer to her, but angled towards his mate.

Both were of a similar small-ish build, around 5’7″, but quite well toned, something I was to grow used to in Little Standing. Both men were naked and both were proudly erect. I noted that their dicks were of a similar size, a little above average and quite chunky; also, that both were sporting foreskins. I, myself, am circumcised, and I’ve grown used to the fact that this is not a particularly common thing in England, though not unheard of. I could tell these lads were uncut because they were both working the collar of skin back and forth over gleaming glans. As I took a second look it dawned on me that, in fact, they were masturbating one another; and doing so for the delight of Tanya. She was returning the compliment by lewdly exhibiting herself.

As I leered at this tableau I felt my prick stiffening in my shorts. Automatically I let my hand drop to my groin and I started to manipulate myself through the material. Then I had a sudden flashback to my luncheon of yesterday, before which Lady Penelope had shown me the view from her Manor house. She’d pointed out the clear line of sight to the five-bar gate against which I’d ridden Tanya, doggie-style.

I looked back over my shoulder towards the Manor house and thought I could see some of its roof and upper levels behind the rise of the field. I wanted to be sure I was not visible even if it would have needed some sort of telescope to get a clear view from that distance. I stepped forward to try to improve my sight-line, momentarily forgetting that this would put me bang in the doorway of the barn. My mistake was made apparent by the sudden, subdued howls and curses from within the barn as I did so. My head snapped around and my gaze locked with Tanya’s.

Her face was flushed and one of her hands had shot up to cover her boobs. The two chaps had released one another and both, comically, stood with two hands trying to cover their wilting dicks.

“Oh, it’s only you,” gasped Tanya as I stepped through the door. “We thought it was someone important.”

“You always say the nicest things to me,” I replied: and then, taking a deep breath, said, “Sorry to interrupt, don’t let me stop you.” It was a gamble, a throw of the dice, but I was aroused by the presence of three well-formed youths displaying their attractive bodies.

The white lad spoke up, saying, “You’re right, Tan. ‘Ee is a bit of a perv, ain’t ‘ee?”

“Says the bloke holding his mates’ dick. Anyways, I told you he was, Dean,” retorted Miss Carter. “But ‘ee’s OK, really. An’ it is ‘is barn, after all.”

I took a moment to work out the cadence of her speech but realised it was complimentary. Sort of. A second or two of silence buzzed between the four of us until the black lad spoke up in a soft voice.

“I’m game,” he stated simply. Having said his piece, he tentatively loosened the covering grip on his own penis and reached for his friends’.

“Good ol’ Gavin,” sighed Tanya with a smile, which only broadened as the white bloke exposed his length to the grasp of his pal and clasped firmly his re-thickening black rod. He deftly exposed the lighter coloured helmet with a tug at the prepuce.

I advanced into the barn and made a bee-line for Tanya. I loosened my belt and top button of my shorts but instantly felt Tanya’s hand join mine. She grasped my hard-on through the cloth with her left hand and pulled on the zip with her right as I faced her. Swiftly, she lowered my garments in one movement so that they rested on my bulky boots. My naked arse was facing the two lads and one of them wolf whistled me. He wasn’t wrong! I wasn’t going to faff about trying to strip completely; I had better things to be doing.

I plonked myself onto the hay and instantly regretted it. Hay can be quite sharp, people, and my butt got well peppered with pointed stems. I leapt up, then pulled my shirt over my head, laying it beside Tanya’s jacket to avoid the harsh hay from piercing me. As I sat down again and I felt the tickle of the strands of hay against my butt cheeks but no needle-like stabbing.

My penis had sagged a little but now that I was facing the two swollen dicks before me it stirred itself to full hardness in admiration. It jutted its warm shaft into the cool air in the barn. My right thigh pressed against Tanya’s left; her skin hot except where the bundled skirt formed a barrier. I put my arm around her shoulder, pulling her face to mine. Our lips met softly and at once I felt her tongue probing at me. I responded, holding the back of her head lightly now, and my left hand rose to take her breast in my hand. It was soft, pliable and natural – no silicon bag filled this tit.

Her nipple regained his former puckered majesty as I first smoothed the back of my hand over it and then rolled it between finger and thumb, gently squeezing on the little mass of nerves. She sighed and kissed around my ears and neck as I lowered my head to take one, then the other of her twin peaks into my mouth, suckling their ridged flesh. To my left I heard the nasal breathing of the men get louder, mingling with low back-of-throat moans once more.

Tanya was not idle. Her right hand dropped to her groin and she threw her right leg sideways to expose her sex more fully. Her left hand, to my delight, sought out my rigid member and ringed it between thumb and fist. She pulsed at it and I felt the first blob of my pre-cum seep from me. Eagerly she spread this over my circumcised helmet and slowly began to wank me. In my nipple-licking position I had a lovely view of her fingers, below her denim cummerbund, as they spread her own slime over her increasingly engorged spike. I heard the little slups and snicks of her juice being moved across her hot flesh.

I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye and I pulled my head from Tanya’s chest. The white bloke, Dean, was now kneeling before Gavin and had taken his engorged organ into his mouth. He held it in both of his hands so that his own prick waved free from his crotch. He was completely shaved, balls and all, as smooth as a marble which made his meat appear bigger and angrier as it flushed. Gavin had retained a dense, curly mop of black hair above his shaft but was otherwise smooth too. His eyes were closed and he stood with a hand on each hip in an almost imperious and dismissive attitude as if this fellating was his due.

Gavin’s skin wasn’t a deep black, if we have to categorize, but a coffee-coloured treat. He had a few blemishes and pimples on his shoulders and upper back but other wise both he, and his fellator, had a healthy glow to them. Gavin wore his hair closely cropped with a few angular lines shaved into his temples. Dean had his dark hair fashionably cut too, with a harsh fringe or what the Americans call ‘bangs’. I was languidly pawing Tanya’s breasts but was quite focused on the lads. It excited me to see this action and the stiffness of my prick must have given this fact away.

“You love seeing that as much as I do, don’t you?” breathed Tanya into my ear. I turned to her and equally as lustily agreed, once more seeking her mouth and tongue with mine. We broke apart after a minute and she said, “It makes me so wet I could die. Feel me, feel my cunt,” she demanded. With this she released my cock and grasped my hand from her breast and pushed it downwards.