Devon Cream

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Devon Cream Page 2

by Aishling Morgan


  Octavia came at the thought, whimpering out her pleasure in a long, blissful orgasm as her vagina clamped again and again on her fingers. Her breasts were pushed out, her nipples jutting up from them, pink and achingly tender. The mushroom was pulled from her grip, lodging well up her as her hole contracted and sucked it in. She gave a last, choking sob and then it was over and she was relaxing back against the tree with a satisfied sigh.

  After a giggling search of her vagina to retrieve the mushroom, a quick trip to the brook allowed her to wash herself with cool water. Clean and refreshed, she returned her breasts to her bodice and replaced her neckerchief. After gathering up the mushrooms, she took a careful hold on the hem of her dress to stop them from spilling out and set off for the farm.

  She had masturbated without the slightest feeling of guilt, nor any idea of how rude her contemporaries would have thought her. Instead she had enjoyed the simple physical pleasures of being bare and of touching herself, with only a mild awareness that it was something that she should not do in front of other people. Her mother had provided her an education better than that of many country girls, but had made no mention whatever of sex. Since then, Lias had simply allowed her to follow her natural instincts, answering her questions but never troubling to discuss the complex restrictions and taboos that surrounded the subject. Still less had he troubled to explain the prevailing attitude to nudity and, as she walked briskly back to the house, it was with her skirts held high to contain the mushrooms and incidentally to provide an impressive display of her bare legs.

  Exactly as she anticipated, Lias met her with a vain attempt at a frown and smacked her bottom as she went through the door. He asked her what she was carrying and then, as she dropped her dress to spill her cargo of mushrooms on to the kitchen table, his weather-beaten face broke into a broad grin. A stew of mutton and vegetables was already simmering over the fire, and to this the mushrooms were added.

  Over supper they talked lightly and in the casual fashion of two people fully used to each other’s company. The visit of Mr Arrish formed the main topic of conversation, any caller at the remote farm being sufficiently unusual to merit discussion. Throughout the meal Lias poured cider with a free hand, refilling his own quart mug twice before Octavia had finished her own. When the stew was finished, Octavia took an apple as Lias stretched and belched in satisfaction. For a while, they sat in a silence broken only by the sound of Octavia munching on her apple, then Lias rose from the table.

  Lias settled himself back into the angle of the chimney corner. He drew on his pipe and placed it on the mantel, then put his hands to his trouser fly. Without hurry, he pulled the buttons open, delved within and pulled out a thick, leathery penis and a large, heavily wrinkled scrotum. Once more taking up his pipe, and lifting his quart pot with his other hand, he slid his body forwards and spread his knees, leaving his genitals bulging from his fly. Octavia paid little attention to this, but finished her apple before getting up.

  ‘Titties out, my dear, if you wouldn’t mind,’ he remarked.

  She smiled and removed her neckerchief, then began to undo her bodice, working at the laces with far less hurry than when she had needed to free her breasts for her own pleasure. Lias watched as she pulled the two full globes of flesh from the restraining cloth and pushed her top down around her middle. Topless, she placed her hands on her head and stretched, pushing her breasts out to show them off in the way she knew he most enjoyed. He smacked his lips in response, admiring her breasts with a relish similar to that which he had shown towards the mushrooms.

  ‘Quite beautiful, my dear,’ he said after watching her pose for a while. ‘Now, Willy’s ready, if you’d be so kind.’

  With the air of one going about a familiar task, Octavia crossed to where Lias sat and knelt down between his open legs. Her tongue flicked out, moistening her lips in readiness as she came forwards. His cock moved sluggishly, as if in anticipation of her tongue, but it was to his balls that she applied her attention. She kissed each, then took hold of his penis and lifted it, allowing her to get at the full bulk of his scrotum. Opening her mouth, she took in both balls and began to roll them over her tongue as she tugged at the shaft of his cock.

  Lias gave a low, satisfied moan, then took a swallow of cider. Octavia continued to suck on his balls as his cock stiffened in her hand. The salty, male taste of his scrotum was strong in her mouth despite the sweet juice of the apple, and his pubic hair was tickling her nose. Nevertheless, she persevered, working the big testicles around in her mouth as his cock swelled. He continued to smoke and sip his cider, moving only to slide a little further forwards and press his crotch more firmly into her face. At this, she moved her hand up and began to roll his foreskin back and forth, alternately exposing and concealing the meaty red glans within.

  His erection began to grow more quickly, the head poking free. She began a frantic jerking, moving her forearm up and down to pull at the old man’s cock with all her young strength. With an unsteady hand, he put his mug down on the bench, then took a firm grip on her hair. She began to masturbate him even more furiously and to suck his balls deep into her mouth. His response was to pat her cheek: a gentle, admonitory cuff.

  ‘Come my dear,’ he urged. ‘After all, you wouldn’t want it in your pretty hair, now, would you?’

  Resigning herself to the coming mouthful of sperm, Octavia let his balls slip from her mouth and allowed him to guide her towards his cock. She pursed her lips, forming a tight moue to which he pressed his glans. He pulled her head down and it went in, pushing her lips open as if penetrating a much tighter, more reluctant hole. Keeping her lips tight, she let him do it, feeling the thick cock shaft slide deep into her mouth and bump up against her tonsils. She gagged slightly and he let her pull back; then she began to suck as her hand found his balls.

  He took it slowly, moving her head up and down on his penis by the hair as she stroked his scrotum. She could feel the warmth and moisture between her thighs and knew that she was going to have to touch herself afterwards, or even while she did it, if he persisted in taking his time. Then his cock stiffened abruptly and he gave a low grunt, allowing her only the briefest instant to ready herself before her throat was flooded with thick, salty male come. She swallowed and took him deep, allowing the second spurt to erupt in her throat. The grip in her hair tightened as he came, then changed as her head was jerked suddenly back. His cock was pulled from her mouth and she found herself looking up into his bright, pleased eyes. He was smiling, watching in delight as last drops of his sperm oozed from his cock. It went into her open mouth and over her nose and lips, leaving the clear signs that he had come in her mouth. Then he released her hair and she was pulling back, even as his hand went to retrieve his mug of cider.

  ‘I did say not over my face, Uncle Lias,’ Octavia chided without heat. ‘I don’t really mind swallowing, you know that, but it does feel so dreadfully slimy.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ he answered, ‘but you know I only do it because you’re so pretty.’

  Octavia returned a wan smile and accepted his neckerchief as it was offered.

  At the window, Polly Endicott watched Octavia wipe Lias’s sperm away with a mixture of outrage, shock and an alarming excitement. Following the summons from Mrs Arrish, she had been hard put to reach Erme Head before sundown. With her full breasts and hips, hurrying was not something at which she was very good, and the evening was also warm, leaving her somewhat out of breath. She had paused to take a swallow at the farm pump, intending to refresh herself before what she knew might be a difficult task.

  Having lost her job at Kerslake dairy, she had been delighted at Mrs Arrish’s suggestion of taking the post of housekeeper at Erme Head Farm. The information that she would have to impose this on old Lias Slater and Octavia Challacombe had been less welcome. Yet Mrs Arrish was not to be argued with, especially when backed by Mrs Apcott and Mrs Athwell. To have argued might well have resulted in a painful and shameful few minutes being
spanked bare-bottomed across one or another of the women’s knees, following which she would have had to give in anyway. So she had gone, and walked the long, rough track with her head full of ways to inform the occupants of Erme Head Farm that she was the new housekeeper.

  That she was, as Mrs Arrish had put it – ‘expected to spank some sense into that Octavia’ – was even more satisfying than being given the job. Polly enjoyed spanking girls as much as she disliked being spanked herself. Like the three matrons, she would have been openly scandalised if it had been suggested that there was anything sexual about such punishments. In secret, she was embarrassingly aware that after giving a spanking she would be hot and wet between her legs. Worse was the knowledge that being spanked herself provoked the same response.

  That punishment would do Octavia good, she had no doubt whatever. The girl was spoiled and stand-offish, also rumoured to be immoral – all vices which called for the frequent application of a hand or hairbrush to the offender’s bottom. Yet what she saw at the window was so far beyond what she had expected that it left her wide-eyed and gaping. She had arrived at the exact moment that Lias had been draining his sperm into Octavia’s open mouth, an act of the most extravagant obscenity. Worse still was the fact that the girl showed neither reluctance nor remorse, but treated her degradation as if it were quite normal.

  Stepping hastily back from the window, Polly struggled to collect her wits. Evidently the three matrons were right; it was time somebody took Octavia and Lias in hand. Lias, she was sure, would not dare such behaviour with her around, while Octavia – well, she knew exactly what to do with girls like Octavia . . .

  Burning with righteous indignation, she strode to the farmhouse door and hammered the knocker down. Lias himself answered the door and, as Polly pushed inside, she glimpsed Octavia making a hurried adjustment to her dress.

  ‘Why, if it isn’t little Polly Endicott,’ Lias said, ‘and all in a tizzy. What’s the matter, girl?’

  ‘It’s . . . it’s not decent, that’s what’s the matter,’ Polly stammered, her anger vanishing in a flood of blushes as she tried in vain to express her outrage.

  ‘Not decent? What’s not decent?’ Lias enquired even as his eyes betrayed his amusement at her condition.

  ‘I . . . Well, you shouldn’t,’ Polly continued. ‘It’s not right, not when you’re not wed. I’m not even sure it’s right when you are wed!’

  ‘And what might that be, my dear?’ Lias insisted.

  ‘You know full well what I mean, Lias Slater,’ Polly retorted, her anger returning at the subtle mockery of his voice.

  ‘I dare say I do, at that,’ Lias replied, his tone suddenly hardening. ‘And if folks go peeping in at other folks’ windows, then they shouldn’t expect to like what they see.’

  ‘That doesn’t excuse what you were doing,’ Polly snapped back.

  ‘I’ll do as I please,’ Lias answered.

  ‘Who is it?’ Octavia’s voice sounded from the kitchen before Polly could find a response.

  ‘It’s Polly Endicott, from the village,’ Lias answered. ‘Up here minding other folks’ business.’

  ‘I am not,’ Polly retorted automatically.

  ‘Aren’t you?’ Lias said. ‘Well, what were you doing peeping in at the window, then?’

  ‘I came up to say I’m to be your new housekeeper,’ Polly answered defensively.

  ‘Housekeeper?’ Lias answered. ‘What’s this? We never advertised for no housekeeper.’

  ‘Well, it’s time you did, then,’ Polly answered. ‘It’s not decent, it’s not!’

  ‘Decent it may be and decent it may not,’ Lias answered, ‘but it’s none of your business, Polly Endicott.’

  Lias’s face was set in a stubborn frown, which was exactly the response Polly had expected. She had intended to appeal to his sense of propriety, yet it now seemed that he was without one. Only the threat of social disapproval remained.

  ‘Mrs Arrish says –’ Polly began with a phrase that normally put a worried frown on the most obstinate of people.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Arrish, is it?’ Lias answered. ‘I might have known she’d have a finger in this pie. Well, you can tell your Mrs Arrish that we’re very happy as we are.’

  ‘Now see here, Lias Slater,’ Polly continued determinedly. ‘You know very well what it’d mean if news of your behaviour were to get around. Where’d you sell your hams, then? What if Mrs Apcott wouldn’t serve you at the store?’

  ‘Threats now, is it?’ Lias answered hotly.

  ‘Not a threat, just a plain fact,’ Polly answered. ‘Now, Mrs Arrish has asked me to look after the welfare of the farm, and that I mean to do.’

  ‘Oh, I see how it is,’ Lias laughed, his anger vanishing abruptly. ‘Anne Arrish is up to her old tricks again. Don’t tell me, she made you the offer and said she’d ask your mother if she could smack your behind if you didn’t take it up; for insolence and laziness, I dare say. Then, when you come back and say we wouldn’t have you, she’ll smack it anyway, because you haven’t done as you should. You want to watch Anne Arrish, you do, my dear. There’s nothing she likes more than to smack a fine young behind: a girl’s especially. Like as not, she’s cooked up the whole scheme to find an excuse to get you over her knee. Then, when’s she’s finished, she’ll like as not nip upstairs to have a little feel where it’ll do her the most good.’

  Polly found herself colouring furiously. Not only was the suggestion outrageous but it would have been uncomfortably true if applied to herself. Thus it seemed horribly likely to be the truth. Yet that was hardly something she could admit.

  ‘Lias Slater!’ she exclaimed with a desperate vehemence. ‘That’s not true! How could you make such a suggestion! Why, you filthy old beast!’

  Lias laughed and showed his yellowing teeth. Polly struggled for words to effectively deny what he had said, but stopped as Octavia came out from the kitchen. In her hand was a candle, which made Polly realise how dark it was getting. Somewhere out on the moor, a fox called, and she turned a nervous glance to the sky beyond the door.

  ‘What’s the matter, Uncle Lias?’ Octavia asked.

  ‘Oh, nothing to speak of, my dear,’ he answered. ‘Young Polly here was wondering if there was a place for her here, as housekeeper. I told her we do very well on our own, thank you.’

  ‘Housekeeper?’ Octavia queried.

  ‘A misunderstanding, as I say,’ Lias went on.

  ‘Then I had best be on my way,’ Polly said resignedly.

  ‘Down along to Ermecombe?’ Lias asked. ‘It’d be as black as a parson’s hat before you got to the bridge. Moon’s new, you know; there won’t be enough light to piss by.’

  ‘Then I had best hurry,’ Polly answered, ignoring his crude remark.

  ‘Say what you like of me,’ Lias said, ‘but I’m not one to let a maid walk abroad on the moor by night. You’d best stay over. Besides, you’ll want to be fresh for that spanking when old Anne Arrish gets hold of you.’

  He laughed again as she blushed. She glanced at him uncertainly, catching a rude twinkle in his eye. It was impossible not to think of the thick cock she had glimpsed earlier and to wonder as to his intentions.

  ‘Don’t worry, girl,’ he laughed at her evident distrust. ‘You’ve nothing to fear from me. I’ll be sixty, soon enough, and I’ve yet to take anything from a woman that she didn’t want to give. You can double up with the maiden here.’

  Polly hesitated. The interior of the farmhouse was warm and glowed with a welcoming yellow-orange light. Outside was dark and cool, with close to three miles of rough track leading back to Ermecombe, where her greeting might well involve having her bottom laid bare and spanked by an angry Mrs Arrish.

  ‘Come on in, then,’ Lias urged, now friendly. ‘There’s no sense in standing in the door half the night.’

  Feeling somewhat sheepish, Polly followed Lias and Octavia into the kitchen and removed her bonnet. The farmhouse was small, a simple space of two rooms divided by a tiny
hall, from which steep stairs led up to two closed doors of dark wood.

  ‘There’s stew in the pot, if you’ve not eaten,’ Lias declared, ‘and plenty of cider in the jug.’

  ‘I would enjoy a bite,’ Polly admitted, more to provide herself with something to do than from any desire to eat.

  Lias motioned her to a chair as Octavia cut bread and served stew. As she ate, Polly found herself wondering about Octavia and Lias. Since Polly had arrived, Octavia had barely spoken, making her wonder if the girl was a half-wit. Having allowed herself to be cajoled into sucking Lias’s penis argued for the same conclusion, yet Octavia’s brisk manner denied it, as did the sensitive, intelligent face. There was also no hint of unease between Octavia and Lias, nor servility or fear. Indeed, had it not been for what she had seen through the window, Polly would have had no hint that the relationship contained anything improper.

  Once she had eaten, the fire was doused and she was shown up to Octavia’s bedroom, a low garret built directly under the eaves with a single gable window. The furnishings were considerably richer than Polly had expected, if old. There was a great deal of heavy linen, and dark wood and plush, all of it well made and originally expensive.

  ‘I don’t suppose it’s a bit of what you’re used to,’ Octavia remarked shyly. ‘I suppose you have all sorts of fancy things.’

  ‘No, no,’ Polly answered. ‘It’s very comfortable.’

  Octavia responded with a faint smile and began to unbutton her dress. Polly hesitated, unconcerned by the presence of Octavia but worried that Lias might come in to catch them naked or half-dressed. Octavia showed no such scruples, but let her dress slip down to stand naked in the dim light, breasts, belly and sex not covered by so much as a stitch.

 

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