Joy V. Sheridan writes

Charity Amour

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE, part 1

The winds blew up even harder during the course of the night and continued to blow with maddening fury throughout the course of the following day. This made all passage or movement impossible. The winds blew so hard they seemed to shake the very foundation of the stone-built edifice which Lord Clover and his party were housed in. The good Lord and his new Lady availed themselves, through this enforced idle captivity, of becoming even more thrustingly and deeply acquainted. They had no need of bed-warmers nor stirring beverages as their passions boiled over with the juicy rich froth of late summer fruits. To say that they enjoyed a veritable epicurean feast would have been to have put it mildly. So loud on occasion were their ecstatic moanings that it all but made John Fibbins blush. He was, for once on his lifetime, glad that his virginal sister could not hear what kept him awake at night. So enraptured and so seductive did those sounds appear to be to his embarrassed - yet, over keen - ear, that he relieved his own physical emotions by the only way he knew. His mind drifted back to the comely wench he had left behind in London Town and his mind likewise drifted over the indulgences which they had permitted one another. 

As the ‘oohings’ and the ‘aahings’ persisted, their vocal emittings strong enough even to drown out the sound of the blowing winds, Fibbins' own fingers felt about the throb of his manhood and with slow, luxuriant coaxings he man-handled his tool until it was stiff and hard enough to hold off the sheet and coverlets. He played with himself this way for many minutes, almost hours, always backing away when his seed seemed all but to burst forth from his penis. Had he been keener with his senses he would have heard the rappings on his door and would thus have quietened his fleshly realisations of frustration. So intent was he, however, on his own handiwork, that he did not notice the door handle turn gently around nor see his sister’s white clothed form until she stood by his bedside. He was surprised to notice, in that aroused state of his, that the upper laces of her night shift were undone and that there was a salacious gleam in her eye. 

Motioning him further over into the bed, and with he protesting vehemently at first, his sister joined him between the coverlets. She did not tarry in what she was about and before he knew where he was, her thick lips were upon his cock and sucking hard. 

Try as he might to subdue his feelings and substitute abhorrence in their place, his flesh spoke otherwise. His sister moved her not-so-chaste lips to his and with tender mouthings blew into his ears and into his nostrils, tracing the contours of his face with her tongue in a secondary measure. 

He could bear it no longer and with a manic thrust he had his sister under him, his manhood even then seeking entrance to her already parting thighs and purse. She was wet and slippery and he had no trouble thrusting forth. Such were the imitations of cries of pleasure which she made that it did not cross his mind at the time that perhaps her state of proclaimed virginity was more of the cerebral than the physical kind. 

On and on they rode together, their senses drunk with the forbidden abandonments of their conjoint and illicitly-aroused senses. Had they but looked up, they should have seen the curiously excited eyes of Lord Seyton Clover watching them, his own penis thrusting aside the vent in his over-garment. 

With a hoarse gasp, he was joining the twosome in the large bed and Molly, surprised, smiled an ambiguous but happy welcome.

“Get Me Lady will you John? I shall get this other lady, if I may!”

Panting and overheated His Lordship moved his lips to the vacant lot which lay between Molly’s thighs, his lips soon tucking into his newly found appetite-raiser. Charity, sleepy and exhausted, drew into the room, brought there by a nervous Fibbins. 

She placed one hand in shocked amazement across her candle-white face. Lord Seyton Clover said nothing, merely moved up and urged her into bed, moving harder into Molly as he did so. 

Charity, her eyes glittering with mesmerised abandonment, did as her husband bid. He directed her to place her huge breasts in Molly’s partially-opened mouth. Molly smiled again, feline and promising. Fibbins, upon seeing the wide expanse of Charity’s exposed bosom, felt his own excitement increase.

Lord Clover withdrew his dripping tool and staring ‘command’ at Charity, suggested with his thumb that the two girls perform together. With a returning chaplet of smiles passing between Molly and Charity, they set to work, pleasuring themselves whilst the two men rubbed hard against them. Had His Lordship, or John Fibbins, come to that, realised that a similar performance had taken place between the women before (when both gentlemen were out of the house), they would probably have been mightily surprised.

With famished greed Molly’s tongue, lips and teeth, probed her mistress, the saliva mixing with love juices. Charity likewise was lubricating and licking, moaning lowly as the older girl's tongue and teeth peeked her to wide crescendos. But His Lordship was not too happy about things proceeding as they were and indicated, turning the full force of his magnetic black orbs upon John Fibbins, that he take Charity to arms, whilst he himself renewed his virile onslaughts with Molly Fibbins. 

With one eye on the heaving flanks and the thrusting genitals, His Lordship banged away harder at the mute girl. She had reached out and caught Charity's bosom again between her fingers and was licking this gigantic arousal of cherry-blossom flesh. 

Exuding exclamations Fibbins tooled himself into Charity’s most intimate part and he worked for merely a few seconds at his pleasure until a semen shower spat into the air. Charity lay panting, for she had not yet climaxed and, choosing to rectify the situation, His Lordship dipped out his own prick from Molly’s squirming quim and thrust it aslant into his new wife’s. She came - an almighty orgasm - within a few moments: a fact which gratified His Lordship. He turned once more to face Molly, who was by this time pushing her thin buttocks off the sheets, like a queen cat in heat and in need of a tom. His Lordship provided what she asked for and the pair bucked up and down like rutting rabbits, for some minutes. John Fibbins wiped a smeary palm across his perspiring brow.

Fibbins hauled suddenly at Charity’s breasts, caressing them and chancing a look into his mistress’s face. Her eyes were glazed with lustful expectation and she had eyes only for her husband. Rubbing the flat of his hand against Molly’s juicy fanny, he passed the same hand to Charity’s nostrils. He commanded, without using words, Fibbins’s hands away from Charity’s body and made much of the performance proclaiming his vigour was not spent.  

In the candle-light his prick looked longer and thicker than any normal man’s. It was purplish pink with pumping blood about the shining dome. As it turned into a blood dripping knife, Charity screamed hard and loud.