A first acquaintance turns to intimacy surprisingly abruptly
Many years ago in the English Countryside
The Honourable Charles Crighton, eldest son of the Jacob, Baron Easterleigh was feeling very proud of himself. He had for the past hour conversed politely and pleasantly with Miss Jayne Fanshawe – Smythe whilst walking around the gardens of the ancestral home and had on no occasion so much as touched any part of her, except when he dutifully kissed her hand on meeting.
It was another of Mother’s ruses to get him wed. It had become her obsession to have him tied down in the tedium of holy matrimony and end his joyous freedom as a young man about town.
He found Jayne pleasant company, he tried to ignore her deep blue eyes and pleasantly rounded breasts, her beautifully coiffured hair, her dainty feet and long slender fingers, her swan neck, her perfect shell like ears as he struggled to avoid disgracing himself by becoming aroused and presenting an unsightly bulge in his tight breeches.
They wandered here and there about the gardens of the Esterleigh residence, through the little copse across the lawns.
They turned at the far end, they must have been around three times at least as they tried to while away the time.
“Are you acquainted with Whitehall?” Charles asked.
“No, I am afraid I have never been there, I imagine it is quite stiffy, er I mean stuffy.” Jayne admitted.
“Very dull, very beautiful, but dull,” like you he thought.
“Oh what a lovely little potting shed,” Jayne exclaimed as the broken down derelict wreck of a tumbledown shed hove into view for the third time.
“I suppose it has a rustic charm,” he admitted.
“Is that where your Mama fucks the gardeners?” she asked.
“I beg your pardon?” Charles spluttered
“I believe you heard precisely what I said,” Jayne replied, “It is well known that you far more resemble Mr Brown who once was head gardener than you do your father.”
“I say, that is a bit off,” he retorted, “Casting aspersions.”
“Oh come on, you’re nothing like your father,” she challenged, “He is kind and studious and you.”
“I what?” he bridled.
“Chase anything in a skirt,” she laughed, “Except possibly a Scotchman in a kilt.”
“I say, I have conducted myself with the utmost decorum,” he replied.
“Utmost decorum, Mother says there is hardly a whore in Notting Hill you haven’t upended,” she challenged.
“Please change the subject, this is not a suitable topic for polite conversation,” Charles advised.
“You don’t have notions of dragging me into the shed, baring my parts, tearing my clothes asunder and mounting me then?” she queried.
“Absolutely not,” he replied,
“Then why is a junior oak tree rising in your breeches even as we speak?” she observed, “A stout oak of vigorous growth.”
“I can only apologise, but it is your turn of conversation,” he countered, “Please let us speak of something else.”.
“My boobies,” she laughed, “Have they roused you, do you think my little buds are all stood up pressing my bodice.”
“Miss Fanshawe!” Charles protested.
She leaned forward so he could see down between her breasts, “Can you see or should I bare my bosoms for your inspection.”
“Dear god you are worse than a base whore,” Charles chided.
“It is the dream of every girl to lie abed every day while a panoply of men pleasure her,” she sighed, “So much nicer than fornicating with peasants in a wood shed.”
Poor Charles, his composure was gone completely, his manhood out of control as it painfully stretched his breeches into a veritable pyramid of evident lust.
“Miss Fanshawe, please!” Charles protested.
“Mother warned me,” Jayne explained, “Be on your guard, he is a whore chaser of the most rampant sort, she said.”
“Have I shown the slightest indication of any intention of molesting you?” Charles queried.
She brushed her hand against the tip of the pyramid in his breeches, “I should say that is a very positive warning that my virtue is in danger,” she laughed, “So ease your discomfort before you do yourself an injury,” she laughed and there under the trees beside the potting shed she undid Charles’ belt and dragged his breeches down.”
“No!” he pleaded but she had two hands on his treasures and he was helpless.
She planted a tiny kiss on the eye of his member and expertly caressed his shaft with one hand and cupped his balls with the second. Charles nearly fell over as the thrill of her touch overwhelmed his senses.
Suddenly around the corner Mrs Fanshawe – Smythe and Charles’ mother Baroness Easterleigh appeared deep in conversation.
“My god,” Charles gasped.
“Oh my lord!” Mrs Fanshawe – Smythe gasped.
“Oh my god, Charles desist you will go blind!” the Baroness gasped, both at the audacity and at the size of Charles’ manhood.
“Leave him alone at once,” Mrs Fanshawe ordered.
“No, he will go blind, on your back girl, spread your legs show some compassion!” Baroness ordered.
“Yes on your back Jayne,” Mrs Fanshawe agreed, “He must not spill seed or he may burst a blood vessel and go blind.”
“I shall not,” Jayne countered, “I shall not have me dress ruined,”
“But you must dear lest he suffers permanent incapacity,” the Baroness insisted.
“Oh very well,” Jayne replied, “In that case I shall bend over and he may take me from behind.”
Mrs Fanshawe briefly too hold of Charles’ member as Jayne turned around. Jayne grasped a tree trunk to brace herself as the Baroness raised Jayne’s skirts to reveal her nicely rounded rump. A delicately applied finger showed Jayne was well roused herself and with little option Charles allowed himself to be led to Jayne by his member like a horse led to stud.
“Bend your knees Charles,” Mrs Fanshawe ordered as her first attempt to guide Charles’ member almost penetrated the wrong orifice, but the second was ideally aligned and the two bodies became one.
“What a lovely couple,” the Baroness opined as she and Mrs Fanshawe watched. “Makes on feel.”
“Sqiffy darling,” Mrs Fanshawe added and she drew closer to kiss the Baroness on the cheek.
The Baroness responded and their lips entwined.
“Look at those two it’s disgusting,” said Charles breathlessly as he plowed Jayne’s pink furrow.
“Yes, but you did not even offer me the courtesy of a kiss,” Jayne protested, “Just a ‘Bend over’ and next thing a huge shaft of oak is splitting me in half.”
“Does it pain you dearest?” Charles queried.
“Yes so hurry up and sooth me with your love juice,” Jayne insisted.
The penny slowly dropped, the intercourse had been so smooth, like mounting a whore, good god she hadn’t been a virgin. He had been set up. By mother and her lover. Damn.
He decided to take revenge, no more trying to please Miss Fanshawe he should ride for his own pleasure and his alone. He redoubled his efforts.
“Now that is more like it,” Jayne urged, “Fuck me Fuck me Fuckkk mmeee.” she urged as her first orgasm of the day shook her body. Suddenly the world was at peace, she just craved the cream on the cake, his cream, his lovely juicy love cream.
She gripped his shaft with her firm young quim muscles, milking his member like a milkmaid at a cow’s teat and soon and gloriously his consciousness overflowed and his member exploded casting out cream like the fountain at Hampton Court.
He stood, naked from the waist down trying to make sense of what just happened.
The two ladies clapped their performance as did several gardeners who had gathered to watch.
“I suppose the protocol is I ask you to marry me?” Charles asked as his senses returned.
“Yes, and yes,” Jayne agrees, “If you can fuck like than I’d be a fool to say no.”
“Oh,” Charles agreed.
“I have been working as a courtesan in Brighton all summer,” Jayne advised, “So I am a bit of an expert on cocks and your’s is definitely in the top ten, Mother thinks I had an ill advised affair and lost my honour, but in truth I did rather well and bought a row of houses with the proceeds, you won’t tell mother will you.”
“Will you be faithful to me when we are wed?” Charles asked.
“Good god no,” Jayne replied, “Will you be faithful to me?”
“No,” Charles agreed, “We seem very well matched.”
“That’s why mother brought me,” Jayne admitted, “Where are they?”
The head gardeners’ gruff voice replied, “In the little shed fisting each other,” he said, “I shouldn’t mind but they knocked me stack of spare pots over and I can’t get to put me rake away.”
Charles looked at Jayne, and Jayne at Charles and belatedly they enjoyed their first kiss.