by Alexis Shore
“Lady Katherine roughing it you mean?” Tom smirked, “That DH Lawrence shit can fuck off.”
The sudden coarseness of his language belied his worsening mood. It also made her cross her legs beneath the table and clench her thighs. It wasn’t as delicious as a fingertip, but it would have to do for now. Nonetheless, the familiar build up of pressure made her realise she’d not come for days.
She remembered that stinging spank up at the house once more; she was utterly unable to shake its memory.
It took her a moment to realise they were waiting upon her for a response. Bugger, she had no idea of the question.
“Sorry,” she decided to brazen it out, “You got me thinking about cock.”
“Any ideas?” Tom prompted.
“For goodness sake,” she sighed, “If it matters so much, why don’t we put the camera on a tripod and I’ll give you both a handjob.”
It was meant as a joke, but the air stiffened slightly as the two boys looked at one another. They both seemed torn; how could they resist a meaningless bit of fun, and how could they reconcile that with absolutely no desire to see one another orgasm.
She shook her head; boys with their fear of homosexuality. What did they think, that upon seeing one another aroused they’d be unable to keep their hands away? The popcorn psychoanalysis was boring her again.
“Joke,” she admitted.
“We’re not posh,” Neil said softly.
“But it’s not a bad idea,” Tom said, and then off Neil’s look hurriedly added, “Two cocks I mean.”
*
Well, they certainly were two cocks, Lady Katherine thought as she sat back in her seat. A Baronet of no import, though he didn’t think so, and an Earl, the son of a Marquess.
She’d invited them to stay the evening, and they’d happily accepted. It wasn’t clear if they knew of her site, but they made no mention of Tom and his camera hovering in the corner.
The damn fools were wearing tails; as if this were the Bullingdon Club.
Katherine had picked out something a little different to wear this evening. Inspired by her Victorian trawl of erotica, she’d gone a little Gothic, with a black ribbed hourglass corset that fastened at the front with velvet buttons, and a red velour micro skirt that didn’t even cover her buttocks.
She’d crimped a subtle wave into her hair, and finished the ensemble with a black metal chain that dangled a Celtic cross pendant on her chest.
The two buffoons had been intolerable over dinner, dressing up their latent homophobia in an ironic tone of voice. But Katherine had sat eating with a smile, due in no small part to the tiny love egg pushed into her vagina. She’d not used it for a long old while, but knew she would be requiring of its delights tonight. Their charms certainly wouldn’t have been enough to get her going.
And now they were sprawled across the leather couch in the drawing room, twittering away like idiots as if Katherine wasn’t even there. The Baronet, David, had a look that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, while George was actually fairly dishy. If they had never opened their mouths, the little egg would have proved redundant.
Katherine’s face gave an imperceptible twitch of delight as the time-activated vibrations buzzed inside her. The sensation was entirely too brief, and was enough to make her yearn for some more prolonged stimulation.
She slowly crossed her legs, feeling the egg moving as she did so, and gave them a lingering view of her sex. They didn’t notice, and instead chuckled into her expensive Brandy like it was fizzy pop.
With a look to Tom, she gave a little shrug, and he raised his eyebrows in agreement. It was like being twelve again. They might just as well have a clubhouse with a crudely scrawled sign announcing “no girls allowed”. Well, enough was enough, the egg was doing its work, and Lady Katherine was getting horny.
She stood up and crossed to the sofa, landing with a dainty flop between them. Her tiny skirt bounced and hitched up to reveal her bush. She made no haste in covering up, making sure they followed her hand as she patted it back in place.
Finally, they went silent.
Bliss.
Their eyes stayed fixed on her, as she began to stroke her lower lip, knowing the coy girlish look would appeal to their loins. Opposite, Tom slipped into the chair Katherine had vacated, so she let her thighs drift apart so he could get one his favourite upskirt shots. She watched as he focussed in on her cooch.
It took a little effort to drag her attention back to the boys, but she mustered it somehow.
Who first?
Gideon. George was such a preposterous affectation of a name. She shifted to face him and stared into his eyes, watching him swallow, more in fear than arousal, as she began to work his trouser open. Her prize was little more than a handful of nearly hard flesh, though the girth of it pleased her. She wrapped her fingers round it and began to pump it slowly, watching his eyes roll back and the lids flutter pathetically.
With a lick to moisten her lips, she leaned down and pushed her mouth down the length. Just then the egg buzzed its magic, and she gave a little moan through her mouthful.
Don’t you dare, she thought, as she felt him tensing up, already close to the brink. She squeezed her finger and thumb into a vice-like grip around the base of his shaft, and waited for him to calm down a little. When he relaxed, she swirled her tongue around the tip before pumping her mouth over him once again.
Behind her, David had noticed her skirt riding up at last, and she felt his hand caressing at her buttock. She needed more than a teasing now, and reached back to grab his wrist, guiding him between her legs. His fingers fumbled at her inexpertly, and began to stroke circles over what he must have supposed was her clitoris.
With a frustrated sigh, she sat up and shifted to the other side. Maybe Gideon could service her better. When she unwrapped David’s trousers she found a fully erect staff that was thinner but longer. Wasting no time, she went down on it, pleased that he didn’t feel the need to explode straight away.
Gideon’s hand patted her butt in the same coy manner as David’s. So once again she dragged it to her sex and directed his fingers to her button. But his ministrations were so gentle and shy she soon yanked it away, resigned to servicing herself.
This time there was a much longer eruption from the egg just as she fingered at her swollen clit. God it felt good.
But Gideon was growing restless at being ignored, so she felt compelled to sit up between them and grip one in each hand. Neither had the manners to reach to her and continue where she had left off; and to be honest, she didn’t feel they could do anything down there anyway.
Her thighs were open wide though, and as she pumped each handful slowly, she looked through her waved hair at Tom behind his camera. A yearning to beckon him over and have him push his tongue onto her clit began to take hold, and she rolled her hips to feel the egg move.
He was concentrating on his job, and showed no sign of reading her mind.
Lady Katherine was not going to beg.
Best to end this sooner rather than later, so she could retire to her bed and summon Sally.
Like a scolding mother dragging her children by the ears, she pulled them to their feet, guiding them up by the cocks. They framed her on either side as she slipped forward on the couch and opened her legs even wider. Her hands began to pump them harder.
With a wicked smile, she decided to test a theory, and bought her hands together, pressing their swollen tips into one another and massaging them roughly. Both men moaned a little at the touch of the other.
“Come on boys,” she simpered, “Give the Lady Katherine what she wants.”
And her hands began to manipulate them harder and faster. It didn’t take them long to oblige, and with glorious synchronicity they tensed in her grip and began to twitch seed all over her waiting face.
The heat from the sticky spunk fell lovely as it landed on her skin, and she milked as much from them as she could.
She let the camera linger on
the mess she’d made for a few moments, before getting to her feet and wandering from the room, heading for the shower then a date with Sally, glad if she never saw them again.
Chapter Eleven
Lady Katherine certainly never expected that.
If she thought David and Gideon were frightful people, they seemed almost tolerable compared to Charlotte Leves-Holmes MP, her local constituency politician.
She’d invited herself to the house by way of a pompous letter scrawled on House of Commons notepaper. A matter of urgency apparently. So Lady Katherine had made her wait in the sitting room for nearly an hour, and she’d instructed Paul not to attend her.
While she waited downstairs, Katherine thought it pertinent to get dressed. She briefly flirted with the idea of meeting her in the nude, but instead pulled on a pink plaid mini dress and tied her hair up loosely. She lingered at her jewellery chest, but eventually chose a delicate necklace with a cut diamond the size of a peach stone.
These Tory politicans expected their aristocracy to be opulent, and who was she to disappoint? But there were few things worse than a visit from the constituency MP.
She met Tom at the foot of the stairs, and finally deigned to move through to the sitting room. His camera was rolling as Charlotte stood to greet her, but Katherine simply gave a frigid smile and took a seat, waiting as Charlotte followed suit.
“I was rather hoping we could keep this meeting a private matter,” Charlotte said finally, indicating the camera.
Tom, who had perched himself on a table behind them, reluctantly lifted the camera from his shoulder and placed it down, pushing a switch. The red light faded.
“And in case you just turned the light off,” Charlotte smiled pompously, “Perhaps you’d like to eject the tape too.”
He shrugged and removed the tape from the carcass of the now sleeping machine.
“I’ve had media training,” she said by way of explanation.
“Fascinating,” Katherine always thought sarcasm sat so well with her accent.
Just then, Paul arrived with a tray, which he placed on the coffee table between Lady Katherine and the politican.
She smiled as she noted a cup already poured for her, and watched with amusement as he made a show of pushing down the plunger and decanting a second cup, before passing it to Charlotte.
Paul had done what he always did when they had an unwelcome visit from their local Tory Member of Parliament – filled a cafetiere with instant coffee. It was a rare insight into his personality.
Charlotte took a sip and made an approving face. “Est-ce que ceci est français?” she asked in a pretentious manner that prickled Katherine’s skin.
“Oui,” Paul replied, in a flawless French accent, “il vient d'une petite maison de café à Paris qu'appartient à un homme qui s'appelle Maxwell.”
Katherine nearly burst out laughing, and had to bite her tongue when Charlotte nodded her understanding.
But the mirth soon faded, because Katherine knew what was coming. It was hideous enough that she had to play host to her in Daddy’s absence, but the fact she was here specifically to speak to Katherine made it even more heinous.
She already knew enough about Charlotte Leves-Holmes to fill in all the blanks. Second generation money, shipped off to a cheap public school – all hockey sticks and netball - where she over-compensated by bullying the quiet girl. Well, Katherine had been a quiet girl.
Went up to a lesser Oxford college, where she scraped a third in sociology. Then Daddy explained to her that he’d earned his money, so she would have to as well. Her only option was a career in politics, and here she was, barely thirty in a safe Tory stronghold.
And her politics were so abhorrent. It didn’t occur to her that Katherine, whom she admired with reverence, took more money from the state than the people at whom she looked down her nose. The great unwashed were too stark a reminder of her heritage; such a parvenu.
Katherine decided to test her manners. She listened politely as she inelegantly segued into the matter. Her private life was her private life of course, but it should be private. Blah blah, this that and the other. It appeared David and Gideon was the straw that broke the camel’s back.
“And well frankly,” Charlotte concluded, “It’s not really becoming of someone of your status.”
Katherine brushed a speck of dust from her knee. “What tosh. I happen to know for a fact that one of my more regal cousins has a penchant for buggering his male staff; whether they like it or not. Three of my ancestors are celebrated murderers. So I hardly think Miss Leves-Homes, that pushing a dildo into my cunt ranks alongside any of that.”
She’d been watching Charlotte’s face closely, and predictably she had twitched not at the coarse language but at the deliberate mis-pronunciation of her name.
“It’s Leves-Hume.”
“Really? I didn’t realise you were one of the Berwickshire Humes.”
“I’m not,” she admitted softly.
“Well, that explains the errant spelling, if not the bizarre pronunciation.”
Charlotte prickled slightly, shifting in her deliberately cheap skirt suit. The modern Tories couldn’t be seen in tailored clothing now could they? The silk scarf draped around her neck betrayed her though. It probably cost half her MPs wage.
“Ma’am,” she began.
“It’s Ma’am, as in pram, not Ma’am as in arm,” Lady Katherine corrected, watching her cheeks flush. Her vowels were a sure sign that her plummy accent was an affectation.
“Ma’am,” she pronounced it correctly, ever deferential, though Katherine would have respected her more had she not, “I can’t tell you what to do obviously.”
“Well, if you’ve seen my site, you’ll know I rather enjoy being chastised.”
Charlotte sniffed slightly, and shifted in her seat.
“Have you?” Katherine asked, “Seen my site?”
“I’ve heard about it,” she was obviously lying, “But the point is, you hold an important role in this community …”
Katherine let her twitter on for a moment, let her enjoy the sound of her own voice, then decided she was bored. She wanted to be elsewhere now, and decided to hurry things along.
She crossed her legs, letting her dress ride up her thigh, and began to stroke her finger in circles against the newly exposed flesh. The drone of hot air continued, and so she slowly uncrossed her legs again, and left her thighs apart, affording Charlotte the view that Tom’s camera adored.
Her manners were impeccable. She barely blinked.
Lady Katherine cupped her thigh and stroked her hand slowly under the hemline, letting her knees spread a little wider. When she looked up, she saw Charlotte’s eyes dart away from the view.
But the Member of Paliament wasn’t to be thrown from her verbiage.
Pity.
Leaving her hand at the top of her thigh, Katherine pushed her index finger onto her hood, and ever so delicately began to caress her middle finger against her button. No need to wind herself up too much.
But when she looked up, she noticed Charlotte had stopped talking, and saw the tip of the politician’s tongue darting out to moisten her lips.
Interesting.
Was it possible she was here under false pretences?
Katherine looked to Tom who was watching intently too. She gave him a wink, and he took the hint. As she turned back, she saw him begin to massage at his crotch through his trousers.