Anonymous - First training

Before I could reply, and indeed wondered how she was able to read my thoughts, she had gone to move among the guests, I taking upon myself the role of a watcher. Occasionally I would circulate also to offer pleasantries and see to it that glasses were filled, for in this manner I could better judge the tonality of voices, the shades of expression in their eyes, the way they moved their bodies and their hands, and other things that told me much. In so doing I fastened upon Maude, the Vicar’s sister. She was at my guessing of about thirty years, possessing a superb bosom and a small waist, a pleasantly rounded face with full, slumbrous lips and a voice that spoke of timidity.

How strange that I should feel above them all, and yet I did, yet I was as the donkey between two bales of hay and could not choose until my stepmother-sensing my indecision-murmured to me that Maude would be the easier.

“Why do you think so?” I asked.

“She is a spinster. Think what she must privately suffer in the caves of torment, thinking of cocks and balls and believing herself to be cast aside by life. I know her type. She will have beautiful plump thighs and a very well-furred nest that oftimes seeps desire within her drawers. See to it that they come off, Clara.”

“How?” I began, but she was off again, and wisely so for I would never have moved on my own without this urging and prodding of hers. Thus it came about that I inveigled my way into the good graces of Maude and was soon enough to be found visiting the Vicarage. There I learned the true relationship of the trio, for Maude and her younger brother, Vivian, had been adopted in infancy by the Vicar’s parents. The Vicar, being named Edwin, received me with a kindness which attached itself visually, as I noticed, as much to the lower half of my being as to my upper. Even so I passed a first frustrating afternoon for Vivian, being somewhat shy, though in his twenty-fifth year, seemed to me a perfect subject as I thereafter told my stepmother.

“Bide your time. Cultivate them. Things do not happen in a flash unless one has them well immured in one’s own household,” she told me. “Have patience. Maude is ripe to be mounted and will become, I do not doubt, a secret worshipper at the altar of Priapus. Get well into her good graces, that is the first thing. Affect piety, if you must. Become affectionate and you will learn how to turn her.”

The challenge thus being presented to me, I spurned it not, and indeed intended to win my spurs, for if I retreated from the challenge of this trio then I would be hard put to test myself again. To get into another friendly female’s bedroom is never difficult and this I first obtained by saying that I much desired to help her brush her hair. The afternoon was sultry and much suited to my intent. Being flattered that I had become so loving of her and evidently an admirer, this Maude let me do. When I unpinned her hair I found it lustrous and full and, she being seated before her mirror, I lifted it and ran my fingers through it with a sigh while meeting the reflection of her eyes.

“Why do you sigh, Clara?” she asked innocently-if, that is, any woman can put a question innocently.

“I want to cuddle you,” said I and in so saying let my hands fall beneath her arms so that my fingers came just under the heavy bulging of her tits. Colouring not a little, she could not bring herself to ask what I was at, save to ask awkwardly and with a little laugh, “Do you? How loving you are! Why do you?”

“Because you feel nice,” I responded and with much boldness passed my palms full up under her heavy gourds and felt their fleshiness and weight, at which she blushed.

“Clara, you should not,” she said thickly, but a measure of excitement already pulsed in me.

“Are you not told that you feel nice?” I whispered and moved my lips about her neck which I had bared by raising up her hair.

“There is no one to tell me,” she uttered and then herself gave a deep sigh as I more openly fondled her breasts and felt her nipples stir.

“They are too discreet and shy, are they not?”

“Oh? Who?” was her response, but her face was suffused. She began to breathe heavily as my fingertips kneaded her proud gourds with more and more insistence. I soothed her forehead then as one might a child’s and felt it damp with excitement. An intense thrill ran through me, for I knew I had stirred her and that she was loathe to rise. Her stool being of the swivel type, I turned her about so that she came to half face me. Without hesitation I swooped my lips full upon hers and, swiftly gathering up her skirt, felt first her rounded knees and then her thighs, the skin of which was lustrous, silky, smooth.

“I know not who admires you most, Maude-Edwin or Vivian-for their eyes become haunted at the sight of your swaying hips, the bulging of your breasts, your…”

“St… st… stop it!” she moaned and made to twist her mouth away, but having tasted her saliva and passed a little of my own into her mouth, we were closer than she knew. “How can you speak this way, Clara, it is sinful. Oh! what are you at? Oh goodness, no!”

I had dropped to my knees and, her skirt being already raised, plunged my face between her thighs while all too late she endeavoured to clamp them together.

“Stop! I will not permit it!” she moaned, yet even so I managed to lever her thighs apart and, scenting the muskiness and feminine odours that lay between, moved my mouth up to her crotch where, beneath her drawers, I felt the mounding of her bush. I pressed to it and sought the lips between, pressing the cotton there to feel her moisture. “HAAAAR! Clara! You cannot!” she choked. “Oh! I have never done this before! Please stop!”

One knows it when a woman means such or does not. The slight perspiration twixt her fleshy thighs excited me. A screech from her and I had found the bow-ties of her drawers.

“Oh-ho, Clara, no!”

“How I love you,” I murmured from my furry haven there. Already my tongue had moistened the strip of cloth sufficiently to let me feel her lovelips in their splendour. Her hands beat feebly at my shoulders and yet I felt her weaken. Groping blindly up her hips, I loosed her nether garment so that it sagged about her seat.

I remember ever to this day her strange soft cries of hope and yet despair. Smaller than she, yet I managed to draw her up, wherewith her drawers fell to her ankles, cramped her steps, and with a low cry she fell upon the bed. Then like a small tigress I was upon her. Her gurgled sobs, her moans, went all for naught. Little as she would seeming have me do, I bared her to her waist and found her nest with urgent lips and tongue until she wilted, quivered and lay still.

“Maude dear, you have come,” I said proudly while she stared at me with hazy and apparently unseeing eyes. Her bush was sprinkled with her own dew and my saliva, the clump of dark hairs glistening and the rolled lips of her slit most moving to see.

“Wh… wh… what have you d… d… done to me?” she cried and buried her face in her hands.

“Something pleasant, something sweet,” I laughed and forced her mouth to mine and kissed her deep. “Did you not like it? Oh, do not pretend you did not, for we all do.”

Her long tongue engaged mine at that. For some reason my words appeared to stir her, perhaps because she had desired for so long for someone to say those very words to her, though I believe she would have denied it.

“But how young you are!” she murmured, startled at her own boldness, yet continuing to allow me to peck upon her lustrous lips. I knew her then for mine and stroked her bush with seeking fingers that found her oiled innerness and perked her lovespot up until it quivered like a little penis. “I have never been sinful,” she exclaimed softly in wonderment.