Little Standing Chronicles Pt 3

Literotic asexstories – Little Standing Chronicles Pt 3 by derectus,derectus
Meeting The Lady

The second morning that I awoke in my new home in the village of Little Standing was just as fine and bright as the first. This time, however, I decided to shower and dress myself fully before heading downstairs. I hadn’t the day before, and it had led to an erotic encounter with the woman who was my cleaner. Once that had reached its climactic end Mrs. Carter, for that was her name, had set about her duties without further ado. She wished to keep a firm division between employer and employee: and I agreed with her whole-heartedly, if somewhat belatedly. Actually, I reached that conclusion round about the time that I was rinsing off her tacky love juices [along with the residue of the fuck I’d had the night before,] in the shower.

Today I was making some breakfast in the kitchen, the site of our coupling, when she arrived for work. She bustled in with a smile but made no allusion to yesterday’s events at all. She had done a very good job of cleaning the slick sweat from the worktops and the pool of our cum that had blobbed onto the floor from her gaping pussy.

“I’ve just seen the postie and there’s a few bits for you. Probably bills, but I’d open that one first if I was you,” she suggested passing me a hand written envelope made of a thick, heavy paper. “It looks like Lady Penelope, up at the Big House,” she stated. I slit the envelope with my breakfast knife and extracted an ornate card. The card was an invitation and it asked if I were available for lunch that day and if so, I should call the given number to confirm that 12:30 was acceptable. It also suggested Country Casual for dress. It was quite a presumptuous little card!

“Hmm, you’ve been summoned, you have,” said Mrs. Carter as she blatantly read my mail over my shoulder. “Best to just go along with it.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Oh yes, you doan wanna be on the wrong side of ‘er Ladyship. I’d call now to be sure of a better welcome, if I was you.”

I took the advice, called and spoke to a quietly voiced male, who had just a little of the local burr, and was asked if I had any dietary restrictions. Having said I hadn’t I duly received confirmation that 12:30 was still the expected time. I ambled through the morning and got myself ready for the appointment. Mrs. Carter took the trouble of pointing out the destination to me from my front receiving room, to the left of the main entrance. I could see the upper stories of a gothic looking pile, glowering down over the valley in front of it, all chimneys and terracotta slates poking above the treetops. I was assured it was no more than a fifteen-minute walk, “Even for a Townie…”, was the sub text, I felt.

I donned some sensible brown brogues, light fawn trousers, a shirt with pale blue check lines on it and a tie that complemented it. Very country. My jacket was a light materialled blazer-but darker in color. I sprayed minimal haze of something a bit citrus-y on myself and I felt that I was ready to go. I planned to go all the way downhill to the village Green and then left before climbing up the hill. However, the good Mrs. Carter told me to keep a look-out to my left on my descent and I’d see a narrow path between two cottages named after flowers. This would cut across the side of the valley.

I followed the good lady’s directions and darted between Rose and Hyacinth Cottages to walk along a lane barely the width of a large car and so avoided the lowest point of the village, sloping across behind some twee cottages and in front of some more utilitarian barns and sheds. I smelt some wholesome meals being prepared and also some distinctly “country air” whiffs of bovine origin. I suddenly popped out onto the wider road and saw a pair of tall gates up to my left that broke the continuity of a high wall made of the familiar red brick. I passed through the opening and crunched up a pale gravel driveway for few minutes, passing ornate topiary, to an open space constructed like a mini-roundabout. Thus, I arrived at the door of Lady Standing’s country estate.

I tugged on a wrought-iron bell-pull and the doors soon swung apart, revealing a man dressed in sharply creased black trousers and a black waistcoat over a gleaming white shirt adorned with a narrow black tie: and his shoes were also black and gleaming. He looked to be in his forties and wore his hair shaved to a brutal number one cut, through which his highly tanned skin seemed to, you’ve guessed it, gleam. His vividly green eyes, however, sparkled. I gave my name and he offered a faint smile whilst accepting I was expected. I recognized his voice from our earlier phone chat. At his bidding I followed behind him for a short way to a room off the large hallway and to the right of a dramatic flight of carpeted stairs. There was a lot of heavy, dark wood and a deep green plain carpet with a subdued gold colored, entwined pattern running along the border.

The first room was quite small but was occupied by a woman of such beauty that my progress across it towards her seemed to me to take an age. It felt as if my knees were on backwards and my arms had two elbows apiece such was my discombobulation. I’d imagined Lady Standing to be a ham-fisted, tweed-rumped old boiler whose mustache-growing abilities would put me to shame; but a golden-haired, Scandinavian style goddess sat demurely before me. She very much put me in mind of Diana Spencer, Lady Di to most, but she seemed a tad shorter and a little more rounded in the face. She sat at a small round table which supported an artfully arranged floral display. She smiled and held out her hand to me which I shook lightly, not wishing to damage this beauty. It also meant I had to lean forward a little almost as if I were bowing to her. She gestured to a second chair and I joined her at the table.

“May I offer you a drink?” she asked. “I’m having a sherry. It’s very light.”

I said I would join her and she arched her eyebrows to the butler saying, “If you please, Marston.” He served us from another heavy wooden piece of furniture adorned with a fine array of bottles sparkling in the sunlight that flooded the room.

Her eyes were a piercing blue, her teeth startlingly white and her lips full. Her skin was pale compared with the rest of the village population that I’d seen so far but still carried a little hint of the sun in her cheeks. Her blonde hair was swept back from her face and forehead, held by a green band, and fell in long, loose waves to rest on her shoulder. She wore a blue, white and green leaf- patterned frock that had a square cut across her rounded bosom, hinting at the beginning of a cleavage. It was sinched in at her waist with a thin green leather belt the gold buckle of which matched the fine golden chain around her throat. Her legs were encased in a pale tan nylon and crossed over themselves to one side of her chair leg. They ended at a pair of shoes that were mere nothings of a pale green leather that exactly matched the green in her attire and had a fine strap around her ankle.

As we sipped the delicate wine, she pointed out various features of the landscape. She started with the most distant features and worked back up the Valley towards ourselves. The church was closest by, to the right of her gates as we looked out, so we talked a little of its role in the village. I explained Mrs. Carter’s help in getting me there in good time and how I’d walked beside the old grey stones of the graveyard wall.

“Ah, yes, the Carters. They’ve been here almost as long as my family. As have Marston’s ancestors. Plenty of those names in that cemetery. The publican, a Mr. Jolly I believe, is considered a newcomer as it was only his grandfather who settled here.”

“Where does that leave me?” I queried.

“Oh Lord, you’re a complete Townie!” she guffawed. “It will take at least four generations before you could even be considered as a local. Don’t fret, however,” she cautioned, “they don’t hold it against you. They’ll be amicable enough but much will occur here that you will never hear of. They, meanwhile, will know your every move. For example, if you just stretch your neck to see around that larch there…no the larch, not the oak…to the left, that’s it,” she chuckled at my arboreal ignorance, then continued, “you will see an old wooden gate that gives access to one of your fields. You made a new friend there I believe.” *

I choked a little on my sherry and covered this with a cough that made my eyes water. “Well, I… ah…I…that is to say I…um” I blathered.

“Oh dear, I’ve embarrassed you. Not my intention at all. It’s best you realize that it’s well known in the village already. But no-one will judge. It was expected, really. Actually, ou did yourself something of a favour by not seeming prudish or stuck-up, do you see?”

“Really? I mean we just met. The girl and I, I mean. And no-one is bothered? No hulking boyfriend or irate father is about to come hammering at my door?”

“Well, you’ve met young Tanya’s mother and did she raise any complaints?”

“Her Mother? But I haven’t met anyone but Mrs. Car…oh. You mean…?”

“Yes indeed. It was Tanya Carter who welcomed you so fulsomely to our community.”

“Jesus Christ,” I exclaimed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend”

“No offence taken. The church on my doorstep is just a relic of bygone days. Come with me into the dining room and I’ll tell you more.”

We rose from the miniature table and Marston opened a door set behind Lady Penelope. I followed her in and could not help but notice the supple movement of a firm pair of buttocks beneath her light dress. Despite her light frame the pressure of her body had forced the fine material into the crevice of her arse just enough to give an easily imagined picture. Her neck and shoulders, too, were delicate where they peeped from between her golden bouncing curls. Just as I realized I was ogling her I twigged that Marston had spotted this licentious behaviour. His face remained stony and impassive but I thought I saw a gleam in his eye. Damn me, that man had a lot of gleaming going on!

The table was a long affair but two places had been set at the end closest to a large bay window that looked out over a sloping lawn. Lady Penelope sat at the head and I was settled to her right.

“I thought this would be more intimate,” she said as we shuffled bottoms on to well-padded, high-backed chairs. “It’ll save bellowing at one another from either end of this table. We could, of course, have used a different room but Marston likes to keep up some of the old traditions.” If Marston heard himself being talked of – and he was just a matter of feet away – he gave no sign whatsoever as he ladled a clear consommé into the bowls already set before us.

I should say at this point that I am well versed in the etiquette of such lunches. I was expensively schooled and have so connections from the “higher-ups” section of society as well as the field of arts and so on that my invention introduced me to. I was not phased and did not stick the soup spoon up my nose. Marston poured us both a good full glass of a pale-yellow wine and also took the trouble to fill a clear tumbler with a sparkling water that hissed over ice and a lemon slice. The soup was a little salty for me and I soon finished the water. Marston immediately refilled my tumbler.

Several courses followed and I noted that, although they were not unpleasant, they were well salted. The cook was obviously a little heavy handed in this area. Never mind, the wine and the conversation flowed quite well, despite my little shock earlier. Lady Penelope told me her family history and how they had managed to outlast and wriggle through the various reigns of some of England’s barmiest Kings and Queens. Often, it seemed, playing it smartly enough to gain a little bit of favour in almost each epoch despite a few close squeaks with, firstly, the Catholic monarchs and then the Roundheads.

As I gulped down more water we dissected a few reasons for this success. Chief among them was the isolated nature of Little Standing itself. A few hundred years ago it had been a fraction of the size it was now, and so tucked away in its steep and wooded Valley that armies could march past its access points without a blink. The Villagers took the simple expedient of posting a few lookouts and dousing smoke causing fires and kilns etc. when necessary. They knew very well that they were considered an oddity but were not in the least put out by this; rather, they relished it. As we progressed through the history I thought again and again of how beautiful this woman was. And it wasn’t just her looks, you cynics. She was knowledgeable and quick and very good at setting me at my ease.

The meal drew to a convivial end and the final plate was cleared leaving only a fulsome cheese board. A slight hiatus occurred as Marston finished with his duties at the old serving bench before he turned, still silent, back to us. I saw a brief look pass between Lady Penelope and him. Her head dropped and her cheek became a little flushed as I realized that I too was feeling the effects of some serious wine consumption. She cleared her throat, pointedly, and then spoke.

“Actually, I have you here today for a particular reason,” she began. “You see, with my Title comes some powers that are only enforceable locally, but powers all the same. I’m going to ask you, in a moment, to accompany me to the Judging Room.” At this she nodded to her butler who promptly turned on his heel and exited the room. “The Judging Room,” she continued, “has been in use for absolute centuries. It was even permissible, in the distant past of course, for the then Lords Standing to pass a death sentence. This only happened a very few times but all those sentences were upheld when a couple of the, er, victims, as it were, appealed to a higher Court, down in Exeter.

“You’ve received an informal welcome from your Miss Carter but this is of a more formal, and actually necessary, nature. It’s quite a short little ceremony so I do hope that you’ll play along?”

“Oh, certainly,” I agreed. “If it’s a necessity then it must be so. As long as my head stays on my shoulders then I’m happy to tag along,” I chirped. The wine really had gone to my head.

Rising from the table she beckoned me to follow her. Once again, my eyes were drawn to her deliciously rounded bottom as each cheek took its turn to shudder slightly under the fine material in time to her steps. I re-crossed the hallway in her wake passing the foot of the staircase before turning right, along a passage to the left of them. Heavy doors came off this corridor but it was the end we headed for. Another set of doors, but doubled up, like those at the main entrance to the house. They were ornately carved and had a regal looking plaque above the arch that topped them. As we approached, they opened of their own accord it seemed.

We entered a room that resembled a cross between a one-room schoolhouse and a tiny parish church. The door was about a third of the way along the side wall. Most of the top third of this room, to our left, was raised up by about a foot or so. There was a rail along the front of the low stage which had a narrow gap in it that could be closed by a “flip-over” hinged bar to make a complete barrier. There was a gap of three yards between this stage and the first of four or five rows of plain benches ranged to our right. On the stage sat what looked basically like a large wooden throne behind a small desk. On the walls behind were two flagpoles, crossed, with the flags furled. Again, on the wall and the back of the throne, there was the same crest as above the outer door. The floor sloped away from us to another heavy, single door on the far side of the room. Two high arched windows of plain, frosted glass on that far wall let light in. Apart from a small drain on the floor by the doorway the majority of the room was otherwise featureless.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a movement and saw Marston coming out from behind the left-hand door. Clearly, he’d opened it from within. He was now completely covered, from the neck down, in a cloak of deep purple material that had ornate golden stitching over its lapels. I goggled at this garment and I heard Lady Penelope chuckle once more.

“Yes, quite the fashion statement, isn’t it?” she asked as I tore my eyes from it and turned to her. She had seated herself behind the desk. Suddenly, she was all business.

“Will the applicant please address the Manor,” she barked, before leaning forward a little and almost whispering, “That’s you, dear.”

I took two paces to her so I was before the barrier. Marston also stepped forward and dropped a plump cushion onto the slate floor. He then placed a firm hand on my shoulder and exerted pressure on it. I took the hint and kneeled down. I was now at eye level with the underside of the table and could not but notice Lady Standing’s dress had ridden up and her legs were slightly parted. With a jolt I saw that her nylons were actually stockings rather than tights. I could see the slight bulge of flesh above the darker coloured band of material. The Lady, however, was demurely sat so that nothing else of her underwear was showing. I found myself swallowing hard and lightly licking my lips until she cleared her throat.

I met her gaze and noticed the little twinkle in them. My God, she had known exactly what she was doing. She then began a speech that named me and her as parties to an agreement. In short, she was giving me permission to own the land on which my house stood as it was part of her demesne. I had to agree not to cause undue disturbance and make a token payment each year to her Estate. I blinked when she said this but she placated me by saying it was a mere peppercorn rent and a bottle of wine would do very well.

“Do you agree to these terms?” she asked, and I affirmed that I did. “Jolly good,” she breathed. “Now, in the olden days the Lord of the Manor had the complete rule of the population under him. He even had rights to wives on their wedding night and so on. Also, in their totally sexist world view, they deemed it proper for the wife of any applicant, such as yourself, to be fair game for their bed, too. They didn’t think of a woman holding the title, of course. You are a single man I believe?” I nodded once more. “Even jollier,” she said. Then, rising from the throne, she turned and reached behind it. AS she turned back and I saw that she was holding a long sword. Alarm must have passed across my face as I felt Marston’s grip tighten.

“Don’t panic, it’s not the beheading you mentioned,” she quipped. “Just stay as you are.” She advanced to the rail and rested her lower stomach against it. This, combined with the fact she set her feet at shoulder width, made her frock cleave to her subtly rounded mound mere inches from my face. “I, Lady Penelope Clarissa Standing of Standing Manor, do hear by grant the free use of may land to this worthy applicant,” she proclaimed and then touched the sword to my right shoulder.

“Now, if you will do me the honour of staying as you are, we’ll proceed with the more informal part of our ritual.”

So saying, she lay the sword across the desk then turned and flipped the barrier back up and over like an old barman in a Western movie, stepped through the gap and let the barrier down again. There was a narrow part of the stage in front of the barrier and she now stood there, her bottom resting against the polished wood. She looked down imperiously at me.

“It has not escaped my notice that you have been ogling me almost non-stop since your arrival,” she suddenly proclaimed. “Have you not had your fill of the local women? Not many men get to enjoy a mother and her daughter within a few hours of one another. Are you insatiable?” she demanded.

Once more I began to stammer and flush a little and shuffle on my knees until Marston’s weight stopped me.

“Never mind,” she said, suddenly changing to a softer tone, “I think we can put you to good use. This part of the ceremony does, in fact, call for a small measure of insatiability.”

With this she began to slide her dress upwards from her knees. I held my breath as first her stocking tops came into view and then the golden flesh of her thighs was exposed. Marston moved directly behind me now and held both shoulders. With a quick movement Lady Penelope flicked the hem of her frock over my head so that I was encased under it. A pair of French knickers made from shiny champagne coloured silk were framed by her legs below and a small strip of skin above the elastic to where the slim belt held her dress to her body. I could just see the indent of the bottom of her navel peeping under this belt as it clasped her firm stomach. Marston pushed my head forward and her Ladyship’s legs parted further. My cheek rested against her left thigh and I inhaled the humid, musky odour of an excited woman as it seeped from the loose leg of her exotic underwear.

As I nuzzled forward my nose slid into that enticing garment’s secret and I used it to gently push the crotch to one side. I felt a fine soft down of hair stroke my face as I arched my tongue out and immediately connected with warm, plump flesh. Lady Standing moaned a little but the sound was muffled by her clothing that tented around my head and my ear pressing into her thigh. Her physical movement was clear, however, because she urged her groin towards me whilst opening her legs further.

This action brought the tip of my tongue right onto the upper side of her willing shaft, it’s flesh tacky and warm. I flicked at it momentarily as I worked my way down it to the grand prize. My eyes were only slits as all my other senses worked overtime. Smell, touch and taste all fought for domination as I sought the little flap of looser skin that I knew would expose her most sensitive part. I could feel a hard ridge under her heated flesh and I slavered lightly over it as I sought lower but I did not feel it where I thought it would be. Withdrawing my head a fraction I focused my eyes to her slit. There I saw a wonder.

Her clitoris was like a miniature cock in its length and tumescence. No wonder she favoured a loose pair of undies as anything tight would have rubbed her nubbin raw within hours. It was me who now moaned aloud. I slid a hand up the outside of her thigh to pull to the slippery material fully away from her sex then clasping her firm buttocks I dragged her love spike into my mouth. I felt her knees buckle a little but she stood firm as I pushed her hood back over the bulge of her clit and vacuumed it into my hot, wet mouth. I lapped at it for a couple of minutes and felt her respond to my rhythm.

I kept time of my gentle sucking with a kneading of her bottom, but then I felt the urge to go lower, to taste her fully. I slid my mouth from her rampant organ and flicked my way down, my chin slowly rising as I adjusted my angle. I was surprised to feel that her inner streaks of skin were of a more regulation size but pleased to feel just how wet they were. The oily slick of her had spread itself across her opening and I tasted the faint cedar like taste of her. My insolent tongue probed upwards into her darkest recess and I felt a bubble of her juice pop on it. I curled it into a meaty tube and invaded her vagina fully. How I loved to feel those tiny ridges of her cunt flex under my assault. I swirled and lapped as she forced her legs wider, now holding my head against her.

Her large clit was rubbing against the side of my nose as she face-fucked me, grinding down, one leg now thrown over one of my shoulders as the barrier behind rocked gently. I released her right buttock, slid my hand back around her thigh and pushed a digit upwards to join my tongue in her sopping hole. Then I moved my head back a little and mouthed her entire vulva, drawing her plump, shaven outer lips onto my tongue. As I did this, I popped a second finger into her depths. I heard a distinct ‘squelch’ as I speared her hole and felt her lubrication coat my hand. I began to finger her pussy deeply then, hooking back the pads of my fingers, found the ribbed bulge of her G-spot which I lightly trapped and squeezed between them.

I restarted my action on her clit now that her hole was filled. I clamped the organ’s base with my lips, pushing the hood back to expose the olive sized bulge within. Swallowing a mouth full of her juice I began to suck and expel this bulb faster and faster to match my insolent reaming of her cunt. Within just a few minutes she grunted in a most unladylike manner and I felt her double over me as waves of pleasure wracked her climaxing body. She was grabbing hold of my ears to hold me in place but I really didn’t want to move as I felt her inner walls contracting time and again over my saturated fingers.

We slowed, we sighed, we gently moaned our way back to a form of reality. Then she finally let all the tension drop from her thighs and she rested fully against the wooden bar. Reluctantly I sat back on my haunches but I held her dress up so that I may view her from a little distance. She had a light brown, almost blonde, muff that had been trimmed neatly to sit on her mound alone. Her labia were entirely shaven and again I marveled at the large protrusion of her shaft and clit. The whole area glistened with our joint secretions.

Naturally, once I had begun my oral examination of Lady Penelope, I had forgotten about Marston. He’d released me once she had taken hold of my head but now he stepped forward to my left. He put an arm around me and tucked his hand under my right pit. In one move he had me upright on both feet and I realized the strength of the man. I was now eye to eye with Lady Standing, as she stood on the stage, and saw her nod with a raised eyebrow to her servant. Powerful hands circled around to my front from behind and loosed my tie deftly and whicked it away from my collar. Then those hands felt for the buttons on my shirt at the throat and began to work their way down as Lady Standing joined in and worked her way upwards, also loosening them.

The back of her hand brushed against my groin and slid across the bulge that my erection was causing. Looking down I noticed that I’d leaked pre-cum right through my shorts and trousers and it was this patch that she smoothed. As Marston finished the last of the shirt buttons Lady Penelope addressed my belt buckle, trouser button and zipper in that order. I felt Marston peel the shirt from my back leaving my torso bare. He then put his arm behind me again as his mistress finally stepped down from her plinth to slide my remaining clothes down. Her nimble fingers unlaced my brogues and pulled both them and my socks off, each foot in turn, in one movement. With Marston supporting me it was easy to step out of this bundle of cloth puddled at my feet. The butler picked them up and moved them away.

Obviously, having released me from my footwear my hostess was now the one kneeling before her “applicant”. I stared wide eyed down at her as my penis reared angrily between us. Oh boy, I thought, here it comes. That pretty little mouth is going to suck on my thick cock.

With a wry smile her right hand gently took hold of the base of my shaft as she stared into my eyes. Her touch was warm and firm. She then gripped a bit harder and pulled my prick to her but held her other hand against my thigh to prevent my whole body moving. This squeeze on my member brought a fat glob of clear pre-cum bubbling from the eye of my dick. It hung there for a second and then formed a long string that dropped slowly, extending and thinning as it fell to land on her thigh. Finally, the string of juice broke and the blob slid languidly across her leg. I felt my organ twitching in her grip. She released her hold and then teasingly ran her fingertips across the tops of my thighs, my lower belly and through the my own neatly trimmed bush before scraping across my wrinkled and tightening sac.

All this attention caused my prick to buck and rear as it jutted straight out from my groin. Another sac of secretion oozed from my slit and followed the same path as before. It never reached the same landing spot, however, as Lady Penelope cupped her hand into the string of fluid, allowing it to pool there. Then, whilst meeting my fiery gaze, she extended her tongue and, cat-like, lapped at the clear goo. This only caused another massive spasm to jolt my cock and create a third string of juice which didn’t even reach her hand as she poked her tongue out and let the fluid puddle on it. With a sly smirk she closed her mouth and swallowed this emission.

At long last she knelt more upright and ducked forward to engulf my engorged glans with her mouth. Oh, the heat of her and the faintest tantalizing discomfort as my ridge scraped across her hard palette. She wickedly dragged her lower teeth down the underside of my shaft before circling my helmet with her coated tongue. I eased my hips back and forth a little and she immediately matched my timing to hers. I could have stayed like this for an eternity but she had other plans for me. Plans that had been long ago hatched and that I’d wandered into unawares.

She pulled me from her mouth and slowly rode her clenched fist back and forth on my shaft, this time encompassing my glans and spreading our combined slick over my length. She then nodded to Marston who was off to my left. With a deft flick he released two drawstrings from the top of his cape and the garment slid down his body. He was stark naked underneath it! Instantly I could tell how he had moved me about so easily. His body was firm and taught, a deep nutty brown with no white areas at all. It wasn’t grotesquely exaggerated muscle but a cleanly defined and proud classical body. From his groin sprang a menacing looking erection. A vague sense of relief passed through the back of my mind as I saw he was no larger in that area than myself. I also noticed how his prick was rearing up to almost touch his navel whereas mine always jutted forwards. Odd what one notices. Marston was completely devoid of any hair on his groin or legs, just a small patch on his manly chest. With a movement that resembled gallantry he spread his cloak upon the floor behind me.

“Please lay back on it,” said Lady Standing hoarsely. I did as I was bid, my own cock now leaking against my belly as I doubled up to lower myself. I lay back but propped myself up on my elbows as my hostess stood beside me. Again, a subtle nod to Marston and he stepped behind her and lower the zipper there. He delicately eased the frock from her shoulders and hung it carefully over the wooden rail. Then, with only the slightest of hesitations, he hooked his thumbs into the elastic of the silky French knickers and eased them down her thighs. She stepped from them and they joined her frock.

I was gazing up at her delightful semi-shaved groin again and its amazing clitoris but let my eyes drift higher. Her brassiere matched the material of her panties and its thinness showed the twin spikes of her nipples protruding lustily forward. She ran the backs of her hands slowly up her waist and sides before cupping her breasts. She squeezed gently there on the fleshy nubbins and was rewarded with an even more prominent display. She stood to my right and then put her left foot by my left thigh. Gradually she lowered herself towards my stiff-as-a-board penis, which still oozed onto my stomach.

She took a moment to completely balance herself in this squatting posture before she spoke,

“Did you enjoy your meal today?” she queried, which was not what I expected to hear. “Was it not a little salty? I noticed you drank a lot of water.” I nodded dumbly. “I know I did and I can really feel the effects of that now. What about you?”

As soon as she spoke, I realized that the ache in my balls and groin was not just sexual tension but a deep longing to empty my bladder. No wonder I was so stiff. It was the classic early-morning piss-proud stiffy that 90% of the male population wakes up with, only it was exacerbated by the view I had of this stunningly beautiful woman as she squatted her sex just inches from my erection. Her right hand slid across her lightly rippled belly and found her snatch. She languorously stroked a finger along her clitoral shaft then another finger joined it to split her vulva apart.

I gazed eagle eyed at her wetly swollen parts. The plump outer lips squashing sideways leaving the delicate inner lips stretched wide and her chunky, pallid clitoris exposed. I saw the bump of her piss-hole winking pinkly above the slightly ragged opening of her vagina and groaned as the latter let a trail of milky lube trickle out towards her arse. My hard-on practically creaked as it expanded further and matched her spending with its own trail of thick liquid.

“You remember what Miss Carter was doing when you “discovered” her in your field, don’t you?” *

“Vividly,” I croaked, my throat thick with lust.

“Well, that going to be like comparing a water spout to the Thames. Are you game?”

“Oh God, yes. Yes, I am.”

“Jolly good,” came the familiar reply. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. I saw her stomach flex a little and the fine muscles of her inner thigh tauten. A couple more breaths and then suddenly a small jet of urine leaped from her opening only to stop almost at once. Then, with another clench and release of her inner muscles, a huge gush of scalding piss burst from her and flooded across my prick and belly. I yelled out in surprise and delight as I was engulfed in this scorching waterfall. My cock juddered and slapped up and down into the pools and puddles on my flesh causing droplets to fly from us in all directions.

At this point Marston knelt beside us to my right and reached down and grabbed my shaft. He pointed it directly at her gaping maw of a cunt and I desperately tried to relax the muscles enough for release. It is not easy to piss through a hard-on but this is mainly because one is usually trying to aim at the toilet bowl. Here, despite the sudden involvement of a strong man’s hand on my penis, I felt truly liberated as I knew I could let rip in any area I wanted. That first bolt of searing urine was right on the cusp of pain as it darted forth from my piss-hole. The stream was what is known as a viper’s tongue as it went in two directions at once. The first came out almost at right angles and fountained upwards before pattering down onto me and the cloak I lay on as well as Marston’s hand and forearm. The proper full stream did its job and arced its way to the spurting vulva hanging over it. My golden stream lashed against her inner labia and folded them back in, which in turn sent her jet off in crazy directions over my thighs and balls.

Marston directed me like a fireman’s hose against his Mistresses body. I covered her from throat to knee with my heated current. We almost harmonized as we both moaned and sighed with the relief of our emptying bladders. The twin streams played against one another and coated each of our lower bodies thoroughly before they finally began to dwindle. As Lady Penelope had begun before me, she started to lessen her rivulet of water earlier. As she reduced to pulses of piss she sank forward and lowered her open pussy against the shaft of my cock, just above my balls. Marston let my dick slap back to my gut and she slid her flooded pussy along its length, her heat radiating strongly from within. She bucked her hips back and forth and I watched as my undershaft ground against her gigantic clitoris. I’d softened marginally as I had peed but these actions brought me back to full erection once more.

Marston had almost been on all fours but straightened his back to a ram-rod stiffness. His dark prick reared just inches from Lady Standing’s face. He sported a fine thick foreskin and this had peeled back somewhat to reveal a globule of pre-cum to match mine. The Lady grasped feverishly at this tool and gave it a squeeze until it too oozed its juice over her fingers. She lowered her head and took him briefly into her mouth, her cheeks caving inwards as she sucked heartedly on him. But he wasn’t to get the full treatment.

She released him and he shuffled a back a little before grabbing at himself. Lady Penelope then used her slime covered hand to reach down, slip her fingers between my shaft and stomach and lift my helmet into her pussy in one movement. I groaned as her steaming tube surrounded my very being. She lowered herself right down until our pubis’s squirmed together. She was entirely as full of cock as I could make her and I marveled at her stamina in keeping up the squatting position. Slowly she began to bounce. At first, our pubes barely separated as she just moved millimeters at a time but soon her need grew and the strokes got longer as she pulled herself up and slid back down me.

Marston was keeping up a mid-paced wank beside us and had his eyes glued to our groins. He made little squelching noises both from his hands on his penis and his knees on the cape as he set his own rhythm going. I could feel another pressure building in me to replace that of the urge to urinate. My orgasm was approaching fast as I constantly alternated my lusty gaze him wanking furiously and back to her and our joined genitals. None of us was speaking in words but our grunts synchronized blissfully as Lady Standing bucked and reared on my engorged staff.

It was trusty the Marston that finally sent us all over the edge. Just as his mistress raised her hand to her left breast and exposed her crinkled, proud, browned nipple, whilst squeezing it so hard it almost turned white, his strumming at his own solid meat doubled in intensity and a great gout of semen flew from his now fully exposed mushroom head. It exited his cock like a garden sprinkler, sending gobbits of cum in all directions. Some landed on my chest and some on his, but the majority sprayed his employer liberally across her face and tits. The second shot was a long-drawn-out bolt of pristine sperm that was hitting Penelope’s cleavage at one end whilst still leaving his cock at the other as he had jutted his hips forward into his fist. The third bolt hit her stomach and began to roll across her flat flesh down towards her pubes. This was what did it for her and she wailed aloud, grinding downwards onto me, her face scrunched up and beads of sweat popping out from her forehead, all the while bouncing up and down on me so hard my balls began to ache. I reached up and mashed her cum smeared breasts together and this was my final undoing.

My signals must have been clear as I began to thrust upwards into the sodden mess that was her cunt, my head squelching on the soaked cape under me as my back arched. With a profound sadness I felt her jump off me, her pussy slurping as she did so but a firm hand grasped me immediately and began wanking at my shaft. I knew that firm grip. Opening my eyes and regarding my groin my suspicion was confirmed: it was Marston who had taken me in hand. But you know what? I really didn’t care.

As I watched, he continued his thrusting on my shaft and Lady Penelope then grabbed the tip of me as it poked out of Marston’s fist. In unison they stroked at me faster and faster until the first of my bolts of cum got shot. It felt like I was ejaculating a stubby pencil from my prick, so solid seeming was the spending. It reared up high as a single mass and flopped back down into the golden hair of the Lady of the manor. As my second shot bullied its way through my shaft her hot mouth clamped over my prick and I felt the burst coat her tongue and pallet. I could feel the heat of it as she swiped it around my spikily ridged glans. The third bolt I shot was right down the back of her throat as she angled her head over my crotch. I felt her reflex-gag a little but the fourth burst was already coming up my tube. She just managed to slip my penis from her mouth before it squirted that lot onto her upper lip.

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There were just a few more spasms left in me now and they bubbled out over my twin manipulator’s hands, causing white sticky strands to dribble over me. With a groan, I collapsed backwards on to the rapidly chilling sodden cape.

Marston released me but her Ladyship continued a gentle massage that took me down through the stages of erection in a paroxysm if spasms and judders bordering on the unbearable, such was the sensitivity of my prick. Finally, she stopped and lay my wilted penis across my pubes.

It was Marston who spoke first. He said, “If I may be so bold your Ladyship, I think that this young gentleman will fit in very well with our ways in Little Standing.”

Lady Standing smiled at the both of us and quietly said, “Jolly good.”

XXXX

*See Part One of The Little Standing Chronicles.

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