Anonymous - Caroline

“Save me, oh Caroline, oh save me, please!” Miss Withers squealed. I brought one knee to bear upon her back and smacked her harder on her wobbling cheeks. Her shrill cries filled the drawing room. I did not care. I meant to have the woman, luscious as she was and yet untried still, SMACK! SMACK! and SMACK! again, and then by innate cunning I let her go and stepped from her, my penis thrusting up beneath my shirt.

“We must let her be; she will not learn,” I said with due solemnity. Miss Withers drawers were on the floor. I kicked them carefully aside so that they fell beyond her sight in rising, as she did, her face tear-streaked, her hair awry, for half the pins had fallen out from it-a face that was a battlefield of love, as then I thought of it, and where my colours soon would fly.

“The poor, dear thing,” was said by Caroline. She sat beside the sobbing, rising woman then and placed an arm about her shoulders as if comforting.

“I want to go home!” Miss Withers sobbed.

“Of course, of course,” said Caroline, but no one moved. Her moistened nipples gleamed, her thighs were bared. Her eyes were closed; she sobbed a little more and let her head fall on to my love's shoulder. “Poor, spanked, naughty girl,” soothed Caroline and lifted up Miss Withers' face. Unconscionably their lips merged into one another's and thus stayed. I fell beside her on the other side and swept my hand up in between her thighs-felt no resistance, tickled up her motte.

“What are you doing?”-then a moan from her. Her head sank back. More luscious kisses were exchanged.

“Pleasuring you, my pet-what else?” purred Caroline.

“Shouldn't-you shouldn't-naughty things-no don't!” her cunny nipped my finger as I slipped it in-felt delicious oiliness, the warmth, the welcoming of silken walls.

I spread her legs the more-knew not a kick from her.

“Put up her legs-she'll do it with you now,” from Caroline.

I did not hasten at the task. We were as people moving in a dream. Heavy her legs felt as I lifted them until she lay supine and Caroline bent to her mouth again.

“Prepare her properly-pull up her dress the more,” I said. A masterful approach was plainly needed.

“It is time for bed, my love,” said Caroline more plainly and motioned with her head for me to go. There came a moan from Miss Withers, but she did not stir. My cock was rampant. I could near have spilled upon her thighs.

“Of course,” I said and betook myself upstairs back to the study where I quick undressed and waited in concealment, belly all a-swim with lust, my cock distended, rampant up my belly thrust.

There came then shufflings from below and murmurs, protestations, whispers from my wife. Laggard the footsteps came, but still they came. I heard a smack or two and knew that Caroline was chiding her for sloth. “Don't want to”-“Yes, you do,” was heard. Plainly Miss Withers had reverted in her years. She put up her behaviour as a young girl might. They passed the study, and I peeped, and saw her glorious bottom bared and cupped upon my wife's warm palm.

I must truncate my tale. I bear too much on detail here perhaps and stir impatience. Naked I found them both, enclasped between the sheets. Miss Withers gave a cry and hid her face. I slid within the bed and sandwiched her between our vibrant forms, my prick hard-pressed against her bottoms bliss. Caroline's arms were clasped about her waist. I pushed the sheet down to reveal their forms, the vaselike curving of their hips, the jellied jiggling of their wondrous tits whose nipple kissed together as they hugged.

“How lovely she is! May we not keep you?” teased Caroline to her and rolled her on her back.

“Please, no, do not!” Miss Withers quavered, but her eyes were dull and hid the fires within.

“Open her legs the more and get between,” husked Caroline.

Miss Withers, gasped, she bucked, she would have closed her thighs. Her swollen gourds were underneath my chest. Her nipples burned to me, her belly wriggled, slithered all in vain. My knob probed her cuntlips and slid in.

“We shall have to birch her in the morning, dearest; what a naughty girl!”

I could not answer. God, how tight she was! I slid my palms beneath her bottom's lustrous orb and cupped the cheeks. Her fists beat on my back, her mouth avoided mine-she gasped and moaned. I gripped her wrists, thrust them above her head. A rippling of my loins-my cock was sheathed, our bellies close together and her tits a-rolling under me. She bucked still, moaned her moans; I held her thus, reached for my love's warm bottom, fondled it. Our voluptuous victim sobbed and bit the pillow twixt her teeth, my kisses raining on her velvet cheek.

“Oh no, no, no!” her cries went on.

“Come darling, give it to him-work your cunt upon his prick,” soothed Caroline and nipped Miss Withers' ear, then rolled her tongue within and licked her neck, her own warm bottom jiggling to my thumb.

The tears rolled slowly from Miss Withers' eyes and yet I felt the eager clenching of her cunny on my cock as in and out it surged. Her bottom rolled a little to my palms. I found her rosebud, worked my finger in, making her breath hiss out, her back to arch.

“Kiss me! Sperm her while you kiss me-oh, don't wait!” gasped Caroline.

I then was at my peak already, grazed my pubic hairs upon Miss Withers, and with a momentous moan lauded her cunny with my spermy flood, pulsed on, pulsed on, and spat my liquid treasures deep within, my tongue and Caroline's together as I did in rapturous abandon at our toil. Sinking, I held Miss Withers, would not let her stir until the last thick, pearly drops had entered in. She quivered, flushed and bit the pillow more. Her belly shimmered once and then she came, spurt upon spurt upon my well-sheathed tool. I felt her wetness and the sparkling there around my encased knob. My finger worked up deep within her bottomhole and then slipped out.

“A good girl-was she not?” purred Caroline. I had for once no words to say-rolled off Miss Withers and lay quiet, though felt a joy to have her fleshy hip to mine and placed my hand upon her thigh and soothed her quim, so juicy to my fingers then.

“Want to go home,” Miss Whithers whimpered, turned to Caroline again and let her bottom bulb against my leg.

“No,” Caroline said softly, held her tight.

Such women are not infrequent. Despite their cries, their kicks, they are eventually docile. There is a certain pleasure in docility, but it lasts not. Some girls, when taken up, act thus. Even the severest training will not somehow bring them on to clasp one's neck and heave their bottoms to one's will, to answer tongue with tongue. They know not how to kiss, or are not minded to. Their mouths are rubbery and soft, but have no fine responsiveness. Their eyes are dull, their fingers loosely clasp one's arms. The are obedient and yet not amourous.

Yet curiously they drive one on to try to overcome their laxity. I have heard this so from others, too, recalled their tales as I lay there, fingering Miss Withers' bottom lazily. “They are bovine; they take the cock and suck it dry, then lie there quiet, bemused, in some far cloud of their own making,” so one said, and added pensively, “They seem scarce to know what passed or what one has done with them. Their bellies ripple while they're being fucked, and yet they seldom come. One birches them the more and puts it in again. It does no good. Their arses are invariably ripe, and that's the waste of it. Some have the body of a goddess, yet are cold as marble. There's no teaching of them-not at all, dear boy.”

The fellow was right. Miss Withers was one such. To fail to yield such treasures lustfully I count as a dire sin. The deuce of it-their very laxity spurs on the cock to prove its point, yet all in vain. The champions colours are ignored by them. “I shall liven her up,” it is said of such by bold, brave souls, and yet they never do, they never do. Cocks limp, they sigh and take to port again, or douse a whisky and may even try the citadel once more to stir the flames where no fires burn. One tries again, again-and that's the oddity of it.