The Young Wife (19 page)

My fingers tickled upwards to the plump seam of her cunt, and rubbed around the outer lips until they parted easily. Her inner lips poked out, like the cautious fronds of an anemone, and I stroked the slippery creature until it swam with juices. Taking care not to obscure the view between her legs, I angled my wrist so that the tips of two fingers could slide into her. She groaned, as well she might, for her snatch was as tight as a bottle-top. The muscular walls clenched around my knuckles as I worked the digits smoothly into her. She shifted, and they moved more easily, so I cocked my thumb against her clit and fed them further in.

For some time I worked on opening her, degree by degree, until I could fit another finger alongside the other two. I straightened up, to see the point of insertion better, and used my free hand to coax her thighs up and apart. Her buttocks spread, and my fingers swept up into her until the wet swirls of crisp hair were rubbing against the back of my hand. She shifted, slit-eyed on the bed, and her tits quivered as she writhed her upper torso around.

‘I want your whole hand up me,' she hissed in abandonment, and I worked my hand harder against the clasping, sucking flesh of her cunt. I doubted whether she meant it, but I decided to try her out. I slipped my hand from her, and her cunt sucked closed, but I gave her no time to cool, as I grabbed her trousers and heaved them roughly down over her shiny boots. The heels caught the cream material of her jodhpurs in such a way as to make me abandon the idea of stripping them completely off, so I released them and tucked my forearm behind both her bent knees. Then I hauled her legs upwards so that they rolled up towards her head, and then I swapped hands to force them further up. I couldn't see her face very well, as the trousers obscured it, but her cunt and arse were fully on display as her heels floated awkwardly over her head.

‘Unh! What are you doing?' she grunted as I pushed down on the firm backs of her thighs to make her cunt bulge out.

She had difficulty drawing enough breath to protest much more, as I rubbed her exposed seam with the flat of my hand. Her juices coated my palm, and I rolled my hand around to wet its back. Her cunt-lips were frothed with moisture, and her arsehole gleamed, like a crinkled cone of plastic. She had to crook her knees and let her thighs fall wide, to breathe, and the action made her cunt-lips part to show the pinking of their inner edges. I fed the tips of my slick fingers into the foaming slot of tumescent flesh, and delighted in the groan that she expelled as four fingers sank up to the second knuckle, then forced their way into her tight cunt. Each time she started to wriggle, I withdrew my hand a little, but on each inward thrust I pushed the hand into her a little more. Soon she was grunting loudly with each push of my hand, and all illusions of sophistication were discarded as I worked it up into her slippery cunt. I loved the way her arsehole bulged each time I really pushed, and the way she howled with pleasure when I added the tip of my thumb. I could not take my other arm away from its support of her thighs, though I longed to finger her arse as well, because she had completely lost all control of herself.

I think she had realised what I was going to do to her, and the thought had stunned her so much that she could not resist. Either way, even I was surprised to look down at her again, and see my hand completely immersed in her glossy cunt. I felt the walls of her vagina contracting feverishly against the intrusion, and watched the mouthing of her muscular arsehole with heavy delight.

How she squirmed at the last, the spoiled little bitch, with my fist moving smoothly in her cunt, and her anus tightening and relaxing in her convulsion. Her howls and grunts reached a crescendo, until her limpness and unresponsiveness told me that she had passed the point of climax. I drew my wet hand gently from her little slit, and was amazed to see how open it looked.

I smiled to see how it curled closed while I watched. I let her loose and heavy thighs fall, but it took me a moment to realise that she had fainted. Her head hung back on her long brown neck, and her eyes had rolled back to little crescents of pearly white. I pushed her thighs, so that they lolled lazily apart, and stood to one side, so that the camera in the cupboard would record the sight. I hoped it had caught the image of my hand moving in her seam, but had to wait until she had recovered to find out.

She came around, rather sheepishly for someone who had been acting so superior earlier, and I had some anxious moments of reassurance to convince her that she had been the one who had been in control. Still, all in a good cause was what I told myself, as I allowed her to paw my buttocks and thighs while we kissed. I rather liked it, really, but I was finding it hard to be deceitful to someone who had let me be so intimate. It was a relief when she left, promising to visit me again. I knew she would give no hint of what had happened to her aunt, purely out of snobbery: which was a pity, as I thought that I could have become very fond of her, if things had been different.

Jessica thought it was wonderful, though, when I played her the tape later, though David found it all a bit too much, as he hadn't had a fuck for days – and he didn't hang around too long, which left me and Jessie with the great pleasure of showing it to Leo in the morning.

I thought he would burst, as his face got terribly red, but it was hard to tell whether that was from arousal or shock. I didn't suck him off again, though the perverse part of me wanted to, as Jessica protested that he wasn't to be relieved like that any more.

She said it might get him overexcited.

Eight

An extraordinary thing happened after Anne's adventure with Antonia. First of all, we gained another ally of sorts. Antonia started making a bee-line for Anne at every available opportunity, which left me at a bit of a loose end, but it was worth it for the information we received from Antonia. Apart from learning that neither of the ‘witches' liked Leo very much, which was a bit of a surprise to me, we also learned the identity of the woman who had been following me on their behalf. It was Anne's old teacher, Elizabeth Rackham, of all people.

The news struck Anne like a bombshell, though she hid it very well. She was very quiet for several days, and then she confided in me. It seems that she had persuaded Antonia to invite Elizabeth along to the guesthouse while Anne was there. Far from greeting her old pupil with interest, it appears that she didn't remember Anne at all, which was quite a blow to Anne's esteem. It was easy, apparently, for the two of them to get Elizabeth to stay for a while, for it turns out that she had been Leo's lover for some time. Perhaps even when he was ‘courting' me.

Anne had some plan for Elizabeth, but she wouldn't go into detail with me at that time, though she did say that she intended to have her, just as Leo had. It's amazing how connected things are, when you really get down to it.

For myself, I was having enough trouble coping with my own idiosyncrasies, without worrying too much over Anne's. I had thought that acting out some of the scenarios we had would tone down my dreams, but they had not. In fact, if anything they had got even worse. Now, instead of the dream in the classroom, I spent the hours I slept caught up in a bizarre wedding ceremony, though I doubt if there are many weddings as odd as this.

The dreams started with me walking up a cold, flag-stoned aisle, in a church as dark and gothic as Dracula's castle in one of the black-and-white films. I was aware of being cold, and I sensed that the back of my purple silk gown was floating open. I was wearing nothing else. No shoes, no underwear, nothing at all, and I felt the silk shifting clammily along my skin as I moved. It was as if I were under a compulsion, and I could not stop myself from walking towards a cowled figure, who waited in silence at the twisted altar that lay ahead of me. I was sure there were others in the rows of seats to the sides of me, but I could not turn my head to look, and I knew that they were watching the swaying of my breasts, loose under the oily silk, and the shuddering flexing of my buttocks through the opening in the gown. I wanted to stop, to cover myself, to flee, but I could not, and the faint strains of a droning hymn accompanied me, as I neared the figure at the head of the church. I could not hear what he was saying, yet I knew what to do, and when he handed me a cup full of sweet wine, I drank it without hesitation. He beckoned to my right, and another silk-clad figure floated towards me.

It was Leo, but, in the dream, I was not surprised, and I took his hand as I had in the waking world. He grinned, and we exchanged soundless vows. The words were thick and ugly in my dreaming mind, and I could not understand their meaning.

Leo led me forwards, on to the ledge before the altar, and I kneeled on the cold stone before the cowled minister. He fumbled at the fastening of his robe, and I felt fear racing through my chest. His robes were pulled aside, and his thick red penis was suddenly exposed. It beat upwards, blindly, huge and knotted with veins. I opened my mouth, and he inserted it past my teeth and into the back of my throat. I panicked for a second, thinking I was going to choke, but it slid easily into me, down into me. I felt someone, perhaps Leo, pull the sides of my gown apart at the back, and then I was lifted up, so that my body was flat, at waist height, with the cock still moving in my open mouth. I moved slowly forwards, and the minister dissolved into the altar, until my stomach pressed down on to the freezing stone. It squirmed to the heat of my skin, through the silk of my robe, like worms rolling away from the daylight. I was horrified but accepting, and the cock moved back and forth, back and forth.

I sensed the thoughts of Leo, speaking soundlessly to the others, who had waited in the shadows, inviting them to come forwards, and I knew that he was going to let them have me. All of them were going to have his beautiful young wife.

My thighs were seized and hoisted apart, so that the furry slit between them was exposed. I was dry with fear, and so I was anointed with some unknown substance. It itched a little, and tingled in my cleft, but I felt the moistness beginning to roll from me. My lips swelled and tightened, pouting purselike below the tautness of my cheeks. My breasts mashed ungently against the squirming altar-top, as my legs were spread, ever wider, to let someone step between them. I felt the hot, blunt head of something nosing around between the puffed-up lips. I found my voice and wailed as the thing slid into me, but no one listened, and they all came forwards, one by one, to have their try at my open slit. It went on, unending, until I awoke exhausted and sweating in my room. I could not stand it.

In the end, I put off going to bed, so hateful was the dream, and I took to wandering the halls of my big house in search of diversion. I tried the library, but books at midnight have no allure, and one can only drink so many cups of tea before one's stomach revolts. At last, I could stand it no more, and I took myself off out for a midnight stroll to clear my head. I knew what the problem was, because I had thought on it through the long night-time hours. I needed to get rid of the accursed virginity, which would have been easy for any other girl, but my peculiar circumstances meant I had to be careful what male company I kept. I was going to have a terrible job being alone with a man for the time necessary to do what had to be done.

The night was warm, and so I slipped a light overcoat over my chemise, though common sense made me choose high black boots because of the damp grass at the sides of the roads in those parts. The moon was high and round in the grey-blue of the night sky and, in the edges of its corona, stars faded up to bright pins of light. The gravelled path was silver like the sea on moonlit nights by the coast, and I crunched as quietly as I could away from the house, and the lights that shone from its windows. The air crept in under the edges of my coat, and drifted deliciously up my thighs. I felt my cheeks wobbling loosely without any knickers, and my sex responded with immediate heat. I was totally aware of the muscles in my legs working beneath the bare, smooth skin of my thighs and calves, and my nipples rubbed, stiff and uncomfortable, against the rough weave of my overcoat. I felt terribly randy.

I had walked for just under a quarter of a mile, towards an old, abandoned barn, and the tumbledown farmhouse that it used to service, when my mood turned daring, and I decided to take off the coat, and let the bare flesh of my arms and legs go loose against the wind. The feeling of freedom was making me delirious, and I was close to swooning with the sensations that the breeze was producing on my bare skin. I gave no thought to who might be watching, for it was after one o'clock in the morning, and I didn't really care if I was seen anyway. I felt more naked than if I had been wearing nothing, for the hem of my chemise flapped upwards at every snapping change in the wind's direction, exposing the narrow strip of hair at my groin, and letting the cool air slip in intoxicating swirls up the bare insides of my thighs, into the tight crack between my loose and heavy buttocks. I knew I must look outrageous and otherworldly, in the light of the moon, as my chemise was a mere wisp of satin that had more lace than solid material, and it was virtually transparent in any light. Combined with my height, unbound hair, and polished, knee-length boots, I looked more like a model in a glossy magazine than a creature of flesh and blood. It was totally impractical clothing, yet that was what made it so marvellous.

I almost lost that sense of the incredible when I rounded the bend near the old farmhouse and saw a figure leaning against the fence. For a moment, I considered turning back, and then the unreality gripped me again and I strode forwards with the coat flapping over my arm, and the high heels of my boots clocking loudly against the damp, uneven tarmac of the road. I was nearly twenty yards away from the figure before it turned towards me, and I saw the round, white, surprised face of a slim, middle-aged man turn towards me. His mouth, a black hole of astonishment in the strange light, flapped open and closed like a fish at the glass of a tank, and he made some grunt of acknowledgement. I slowed as I neared him, and said, ‘Good evening,' in as calm a voice as I could manage.