Horseplay 2

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We called the cat Stinker. That was the one with nine tails of course and entirely suitable the name was too. The other one we called Rosamund because Victoria had been at school with a Rosamund who was, she said, the cattiest girl she’d ever known. They arrived the same day by one of those miracles that Victoria seemed able to manage effortlessly. I suspected it was something to do with her privileged background. Silver spoon and all that. Springtime in our part of England is lovely. Okay, it can be chilly but it is also pretty; daffodils and primroses and crocuses. Victoria had decided we’d go to see her Aunt in Cornwall for a week’s holiday. Her Aunt was called Priscilla and wasn’t a real aunt, more a friend of her late mother. She sorted a friend to look after the animals while we were away. We took the Landrover which is a punishing way to travel any distance but does have the merit of getting you there, especially if ‘there’ is deep in the country. ‘You’ll like her and she will love you. Never married of course, just like you and me really, well, more like me.’ I looked at her enquiringly. She knew what the question was. ‘Possibly. I haven’t decided yet.’ ‘Can I ask a question?’ ‘Always, silly.’ ‘Why do you want to share me?’ She didn’t answer for a while. Eventually she said, ‘Let’s stop for lunch.’ The pub was small, typical oak beamed and flag-floored. The smell of food was inviting. Before we’d left home she’d overseen the packing which, of course, I had to do. She’d selected day clothes, night clothes (which she loved) and underwear. Clothes for walking and clothes for eating out (no pun intended). She was wearing a pair of dark brown jeans, a white shirt and a deep brown leather jacket. I was in a skirt, dark blue, with a white blouse and a pale cream jacket. We sat at a table and placed our order, fish for her, veal for me. Two small glasses of a crisp white wine accompanied our meals. ‘I’m not certain that I do want to share you. It’s one of those things that might appeal to me or might not. If I wanted to make a gift of you to Prissy or Debra, then I would. There’d be conditions of course.’ I waited. ‘Debra can be very cruel.’ ‘So can you.’ ‘True, sweetie, but then kaçak iddaa you’re mine to be cruel to. Debs sometimes doesn’t know when to stop and I’m not having you damaged.’ You can imagine that that made me feel warm inside. ‘Unless, of course, I do the damaging.’ That was less warming. ‘You’d never damage me.’ She took my hand. ‘Nor will anyone else. I’ve told you I love you.’ She then told me a lot more about Priscilla or ‘Prissy’ as she called her. ‘She and my dear departed mother were at school together. Same school that I went to.’ This was one of England’s finest, far grander than mine. ‘According to Prissy, Mother was a complete tart at school. Got shagged by at least two head girls, one laboratory assistant and two games mistresses. One of the head girls was Prissy. Mother was delighted when I told her I was les. She said, “of course you are, darling. Men are simply for breeding.” As you know, breeding never appealed to me, unless it involved horses. I like my tits to point skyward and my belly to stay flat. And so, of course, you have no need to worry about becoming a brood mare either. Can’t imagine anything worse than screaming kids. ‘Anyway, Prissy was a bit like me, last of the line. Absolutely stinking rich. She has a girl who lives with her, well, a woman. They both look young for being 65. They share this fuck off great house in the middle of nowhere. Her bird is called Jemima so naturally is known as Puddleduck but I call her Jem. Prissy is absolutely the boss. She, like you, loathes horses but she keeps chickens and ducks and has a few pigs and lambs she brings on for slaughter.’ ‘With her bare hands?’ She smiled. ‘Probably. Anyway, come on, we’d better get back on the road. Get your knickers off when we get in the car. I might want a grope.’ She did, it turned out. ‘So,’ said Prissy. ‘This is your squeeze?’ We’d turned off a minor road onto a track that seemed to go on forever until we went round a bend and there was the house. It was vast and gothic. Two very young-looking 65 year olds met us as we unloaded the car. I extended my hand, ‘I’m Susan.’ She ignored my hand and took me into a hug. ‘This is Puddle,’ she said introducing her partner, ‘Give her a hug kaçak bahis too.’ I did. Vicky and I carried our bags in and dumped them in the hall. It was a vast space and a log fire burned in a huge grate. It was almost 8 by this time and we were led into a snug sitting room where huge gins and tonic were poured without a choice being offered. ‘Prissy is an absolute lush,’ said Vicky. That was rich, coming from her. Jem served a lovely meal. She was like a maid and waitress and Prissy sat commandingly at the head of the table and did nothing to help. She confided when Jem was not in the room that the only time they argued was when she, Prissy, invaded the kitchen. ‘I know someone else like that.’ That made Victoria grin. ‘Can I lend a hand with the clearing up?’ ‘Certainly not, it’s all the tart is good for, let her get on with it.’ Her warm smile denied the apparent slight and it was clear she loved Jemima. Our bedroom was cosy but not small. Heavy curtains covered large windows. The bed was big. The en suite was large and had a walk in shower. “Get up when you feel like it,’ Prissy told us, ‘Or not at all if the mood takes you. I’ll get Puddle to bring you some breakfast if you like?’ ‘I’ll send my tart down if we do.’ They both grinned and so, of course, did I. Vicky showered first while I unpacked. She emerged from the bathroom in dark blue silk pyjamas and told me to ‘wear the black.’ This being a black, long nightdress she’d bought for me. I showered and slipped it on loving the silk’s caress and joined her in bed. ‘Vicky’s got her poky in.’ Her poky was a strapless dildo and that would only lead to one thing. We lay together, on our sides, facing each other, heads close on the pillows. She stroked my face. ‘Did you like Prissy?’ ‘How could I not?’ ‘No, you’re right. They’re both lovely.’ She kissed my mouth then. I stroked her breasts and she stroked mine, liberating them my nightdress and rolling my nipples between her fingers while her tongue slithered into my mouth. Her hand went down between us, gathering up my nightie and finding my already wet puss waiting for her. ‘Tart,’ she smiled. ‘You get wet at the sight of a finger never mind the touch.’ ‘I get wet looking at you.’ illegal bahis ‘I know.’ She kissed me harder and then rolled me onto my back. She brushed my hair away from my face and pushed my knees apart with hers. ‘Poky wants some of that wet.’ She had that hungry look. Mind you, she often did. Her appetite was prodigious. I do not complain. I lifted my knees and she entered me. Her face was right above mine, her cornflower eyes sparkling. She entered me like it was our first time, gently, hesitantly and wonderfully. I groaned as the purple dildo slid into me and lifted my hips to her. As our tongues developed a little dance, so her hips lifted up and pressed down. ‘I am going to shag you senseless this week.’ Vicky always talked a lot during sex. ‘I’m going to fuck you every day. I think I might use your puss in the mornings and your arse at night.’ A brief pause to draw breath. ‘Or then, I might use both each time. Oh, and of course there is always the afternoon nap. Oh, fuck, that’s good. Wrap your legs round me, darling, I want Poky right up you.’ And so it went on until I was arching under her and she was open-mouthed and groaning as her orgasm welled up. Mine was first. It was long and noisy and I wrapped my arms around her and held her to me, her mouth whispering obscenities in my ear: obscenities that were words of love. She rolled off me after she came. I could tell it had been a good one. She pulled the dildo out of her and laid it on the bedside table. ‘Get down there and inspect the damage.’ She pushed the top of my head and I went down under the duvet and pulled her pyjama trousers down and licked her, cleaned her, loved her. ‘Don’t forget the back door, sweetie, it gets bloody everywhere.’ In the morning, I woke up to find Vicky between my legs. In that hinterland between sleep and wakefulness I was not sure if I was dreaming until I felt a wet finger push into my bum. That does tend to wake one up. We showered together. That always takes longer than it should of course. Breakfast was a big, country affair. Jem made her own sausages and the bacon was from their own pigs, as the eggs were from their chickens. It was all beautiful. She’d baked the bread too. The tea and coffee were pretty much the only things they’d bought. I ate far more than usual. ‘If you get fat,’ said Vicky, ‘I’ll lock you in the barn with Pansy until you’re emaciated!’ ‘Quite right,’ said Prissy.

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