Anonymous: The Oyster, Volume IV

Her hand left her pussey and she began frantically to smooth down her dress. As she stood in the scullery doorway, obviously torn between her instinct to run back out of sight, and concern in case any of us had been hurt in the fall, Becky burst out into peals of laughter.

Still lying on the floor, she reached out a hand. Emily hurriedly ran forward in order to help her mistress to her feet. Instead, Becky pulled her down on top of her and hugged her. For a moment Emily struggled to escape but then as Becky seized her and pushed up her dress, she allowed her legs to be parted so that Becky could bury her mouth in her golden pussey. So near had she been to her own coming before the fall that she at once surrendered, stopped struggling and lay back. Becky's tongue was now lapping at the little maid's clit while I fucked Rosie, doggy style, as she in turn cradled her head on the recumbent body of Hannah. All around me, bodies were heaving and wrestling. Tom, his tremendous spending now more or less complete, was looking about him in bewilderment at this sudden eruption of fucking and frigging. He made some feeble effort to disengage himself from Mary but she held him tight inside her, obviously determined to squeeze the last drop of pleasure from him. Rosie's tight but slippery cunt was fairly clamped around my prick and I in my turn knew that I was about to come. All the efforts and fatigue of the day were forgotten as I pumped jet upon jet into her welcoming quim. Rosie was writhing with pleasure and I sensed our juices mingling deliciously in her young but eager cunt. Emily too had opened up completely to the probing of Becky's experienced tongue and was twisting like an eel, this way and that, as she gave way to her own, surprisingly vocal coming. Only Hannah had had no real part to play other than as Rosie's cushion in our multiple coupling, but so carried away was I by the delightful feel of Rosie, still clinging to my emptied but yet swollen member, that I must admit that I did not spare her too much thought at the time. Of course, as my old headmaster used to say, all good things must come to an end and soon we had all subsided, exhausted, on the kitchen floor among the debris of plates and cooking utensils.

Mary's cries had died away to a satisfied sighing. Tom, a nice young man who, as Becky had earlier pointed out, knew his place, was clearly ill at ease at having fallen among the gentry or, more accurately at the gentry having fallen in on him. Mrs. P-who was, among other things, an avid if not uncritical reader of Mr. Engels and Mr. Marx, had long ago decided, according to Hannah, that any proletarian uprising that involved Tom would be restricted to his enormous prick and that his state at least was not one that was ever likely to wither away. Emily was lying on the floor, her skirt bunched up around her waist while her hand gently stroked Becky's which in turn was resting lightly on Emily's lightly furred pussey. Rosie was sitting cross-legged in front of me, running her finger nails teasingly along the upper side of my now relaxed prick while our combined juices had made a small damp patch on the floor under her carelessly displayed brown-haired bush. Footsteps were heard on the stairs. Before I or anyone else had a chance to do anything, Mrs. P- and Colonel Moore were in the doorway. 'What was that terrible crash?' she asked.

'I hope nothing expensive has been broken.' Tom was the first to react. Red with embarrassment, he struggled to his feet. I watched the unusual spectacle of a man tugging at his forelock with one hand while trying to stuff his great dangling prick back into his trousers with the other. 'Beg pardon, Ma'am,' he said. 'Me and Mary got a bit carried away. I hope no damage has been done.' More and more flustered, he realised that he needed both hands to hide away the object of his confusion. Brought up to know that it was bad manners to turn his back on a lady, this left him fumbling with himself in full view of Mrs. P-. He stepped back a pace, put his foot into a large silver soup tureen and fell over with a clatter into the assorted kitchen ware that had descended from the shelves when he and Mary had descended from the table. 'You're all fingers, thumbs, feet and Thing,' said Mrs. P -. 'Mary, you'd better help him up before he breaks something.' Mary, still very much dishevelled by her activities, struggled to her feet. For an instant, she looked anxious.

Then relief flooded over her face as she saw the expression on Mrs.

P-'s face. 'A disgraceful exhibition,' Mrs. P- chuckled, a broad smile suddenly appearing. 'You've left your young man quite unable to stand. Pick him up, dust him down, straighten his clothing and make sure he puts that Thing away. You can't have him going out into the street like that.' Emily meanwhile had staggered to her feet with a cry of distress and fled into the scullery. She had blushed bright pink and looked close to tears. 'Emily,' said Mrs. P-, 'There's no harm done and no need to hide yourself away. But there is a lot of tidying to be done. Cook will not be happy if she walks into the kitchen while it is still in this state. Becky! Hannah! Don't leave it all to the servants. Give them a hand. Andrew! Give Tom a hand also.

The table needs to be lifted back into place and all those things need to be put up on their shelves again. Also there is a large sticky patch on the floor where you and Rosie have been. In fact, now I look at it, there are a number of sticky patches on the floor. I think it needs a good scrub down. As do you, Rosie. There's none of you half-way presentable in even the most casual drawing room.' There was a great bustle as pussies, titties and pricks were hidden away, buttons done up, dresses adjusted and the work of restoring the kitchen to some semblance of order was started. At this point, however, Colonel Moore took a hand in matters. He had been standing, leaning on his stick, watching with considerable appreciation the scene that had met their eyes on coming down into the kitchen.

'May I suggest that we could all do with a restorative drink before the hard work gets under way,' he said. 'With your permission, Ma'am, I can remember where the pantry is. I know that there are a couple of bottles of claret and some madeira already decanted.'

'I seem to recall that I left most of you at the dinner table intent on port and conversation some time ago,' said Mrs. P-. 'But I suppose that as you appear to have decided to move below stairs en masse, you had better do your drinking down here as well.'

'Andrew,' she went on, 'You might like to help the Colonel. There are glasses in the pantry also.' 'I'll pour. You carry,' said the Colonel, seizing hold of a bottle and slopping the wine into the largest glasses he could find. 'One for Hannah. One for Becky. A large measure for our Hostess. Better give the maids something as well,' he said to me with a glint in his eye. 'And that young man. I should think he needs a bit of a pick-me-up after all he's been through.'

I caught Mrs. P-'s eye. Her lips twitched and she nodded her assent. I took the drinks round on a large salver that I had retrieved from the floor. The two maids took theirs with decorous little curtseys. Tom the Tool still looked rather shame-faced. 'Drink up, man,' said the Colonel firmly. 'Restores the vigour.' He was now leaning back on the self-same table that had so recently supported Tom and Mary in their conversation-stopping activities. 'Ever tried it underwater?' he asked. 'Underwater?' queried Becky. 'One would have to be pretty quick about it if one wished to avoid death by drowning.' 'Well, not totally submerged,' he admitted, 'but in the water at least.' 'I have fucked in the bath,' volunteered Hannah. 'Great fun but very splashy. In fact most of the water ended up on the floor. Also I slipped on the soap when trying to get out of the bath afterwards.' 'Really, Hannah!' said her mother. 'You two girls get worse and worse.' I recalled that on my first night in the house, I had discovered Becky in the bath being attended to in a most intimate way by Emily, but since I had been unobserved by them, I decided to say nothing on the subject. 'I was thinking more of the sea,' the Colonel continued. 'At Brighton to be precise. It was some years ago now but I was enjoying a week's holiday with a close friend. I must not name names,' he said, 'particularly since she subsequently married a curate attached to a living in Dorking. We had not intended any such adventure but the tide swept us together and my friend lost her footing. She clutched at me for support and as luck would have it, the first thing she grabbed was my member which was handily sticking out beneath my bathing costume. Striped, it was. The bathing costume that is, not my member.' I settled back, pouring myself a second glass. I had of course experienced the Colonel's tale-telling abilities while on the train with him on our Bristol expedition. I knew that he had a large fund of stories which, even if one suspected a certain amount of dramatic licence, were always worth listening to. Rosie and the family had also been exposed to his reminiscences in the past but all this was quite new to the two maids and to Tom the Tool. The latter in particular was all ears, listening to his every word and quite forgetting his unease at finding himself in such company. 'I could hardly disengage myself,' the Colonel went on, now well embarked on his story, 'And leave her at the mercy of the current. A certain look came into her eye and she led me into deeper waters, under the pier. We floated for a time while I began to investigate her rather luscious body through the stuff of her costume.