The Whist Drive
Mrs Diana Fortescue-Slagg was very pleased. She was chairing the Annual General Meeting of the Middle England Whist Club, and there had been a highly satisfactory agenda item. It was the Treasurer’s Report.
The Treasurer, Marjorie Snatch, wasn’t a very exciting speaker. (She was a Chartered Accountant, you see.) And the Whist Club was skint.
But Marjorie was a great planner and forecaster. Which is a kind of ‘creative accounting’ term for fantasist. And Marjorie’s report hadn’t focussed much on the Club’s lack of money. After all, there are only a small number of ways in which you can say “we’re broke”. Instead, Marjorie had projected what the Club might do next year to celebrate its 10th birthday – if only it could get hold of some bloody cash.
Marjorie’s proposals had fired the imagination of the whole meeting. The meeting numbered the total membership of the Whist Club – four ladies. Diana, Marjorie and their two dear friends, Veronica Panting and Dolly Harder.
Before we go on to talk about Marjorie’s fantasies, let’s take stock of these mature and lovely women.
DIANA FORTESCUE-SLAGG, our heroine, an elegant and well-preserved redhead. She dresses in well-tailored clothes, and through these you can see the outlines of a still-scrumptious body.
When first clapping eyes on Diana, you’d say “Mmmm! Classy middle-aged crumpet!!” But then, when you get closer, your passion cools a bit. Maybe something to do with her haughty expression and posh, bullying voice.
The Fortescues are an old Surrey family, and have enjoyed centuries of feudal authority. But they fell on hard times in the 1990’s, and so Diana became a Slagg.
Sorry, I’ll rephrase that! Diana married Bill Slagg, a well-off (but dead common) hotelier. So Diana moved to Bill’s home town, Stuffett. Stuffett is not a classy place. It’s Northern and coarse. But Diana has found a few soulmates there, including ….
MARJORIE SNATCH. Marjorie is an Oxford graduate (double First in Pure Maths) and a chartered accountant with a genius IQ. Unfortunately she’s a bit of a dope.
Imagine Professor Branestawm inside the body of a full-figured blonde of about 42, and that’s Marjorie. Oh, and Marjorie’s too vain to wear glasses. Remember that fact.
VERONICA PANTING. Veronica is a long, lean, limber, blonde posho, who looks sensational when riding to hounds. Watch her bouncing on her horse, and see how her jodhpurs ripple!
Veronica’s best admired from a distance, though! She’s tough and snooty. And her ice-cube grey eyes could fillet a shark at 15 paces.
DOLLY HARDER. Dolly is about as close as you can get to blue blood in the town of Stuffett. Harder Hall used to be the palace of the West Riding. Now it’s mortgaged to the hilt, and Dolly’s only remaining asset is her knock-out figure.
Ah, there’s many a middle-aged man in Stuffett who’d love a romp with Dolly Harder. But Dolly’s cold and snobby and cruel to the lower orders.
So this was the ‘Middle England’ Whist Club. A little oasis of refinement in a dreadful, rough Northern town. Very elegant and superior, of course. But not exactly dripping with popular appeal.
So what was Marjorie’s bright idea? And why did it turn the ladies on so strongly?
Marjorie had handed round some glossy leaflets advertising next year’s World Whist Conference. “We simply MUST be there, girls!” she shrieked. Diana, Veronica and Dolly picked up the leaflets without much enthusiasm – after all, they weren’t really that keen on whist. But then they saw the venue – Coksf’yoo!
The tiny Indian Ocean island of Coksf’yoo had recently come into worldwide fame. Coksf’yoo was one of the Spice Islands, in the Zanzibar archipelago, off the east coast of Africa.
Coksf’yoo was a superb unspoiled tourist spot, with its marvellous climate, unique flora and fauna, etc. But its really unique selling point was not Nature. It was Man. Or rather, men.
By some demographic oddity, the population of Coksf’yoo was swamped by adult men under 40. Coksf’yoo men were excellent physical specimens, friendly and outgoing. And (how can we put this) very conscious of the island’s dependence on the tourist dollar.
As a result, Coksf’yoo became the No 1 global choice for hen parties, Womens Institute ‘fact-finding’ missions, and tired businesswomen on a winter break.
Diana, Marjorie, Veronica and Dolly had recently rented out a top-shelf DVD about the island. The DVD followed some lucky middle-aged women from Essex on a week’s holiday in Coksf’yoo. (Awful chavs, no class at all, but loaded.) The Whist Club ladies had watched enviously, as the Essex girls encountered a stream of nude, charming, well-hung young Africans.
The DVD ended, with the chavs staggering bandy-legged off the plane at Stanstead Airport. And as the end-credits rolled, our Whist Club heroines each made a solemn vow. “I’m going to get me some of that African cock!”
Now the opportunity has fallen into their laps! A week’s ‘networking’ in the sunshine with these beautiful young guys. But nothing sordid – all in the good name of Whist.
This will be especially helpful to Diana. Bill might jib at bankrolling her for a week’s bonking in a hen party resort. But Whist will give a touch of class to the whole thing. Bloody hell, they were always playing whist in ‘Pride and Prejudice’.
So what about the tasteless topic of cost, Marjorie? Marjorie has done her homework all right. By her calculations, the fares and hotel bills will be £5,000 each.
“A lot of money,” Marjorie says. “But running costs are quite low once you get out there. If you give one of these gorgeous young guys a digital camera, he’ll be your personal nude wine waiter. Throw in a camera case, and he’ll probably stir your drinks with his erection.”
The four ladies think about that for a while, wriggling slightly in their chairs. But then back to reality. “£20,000! How could we possibly raise that?”
As ever, it was Diana who supplied the leadership. Looking thoughtfully at her slightly time-worn (but still very lovely) friends, she said:
Sex always sells, doesn’t it, girls? No, nothing crude. You know, something light-hearted and naughty like ‘Calendar Girls’? Why not have some sort of saucy sponsorship thing?”
“Yes, Diana, but calendars are no good” Veronica pointed out. “’Calendar Girls’ is old hat now. Too soft-core. That ‘naughty but nice’ market is all played out. Our calendars would have to be gang bangs in dungeons now.”
“That’s true” they all acknowledged. “The sex is getting sexier these days.”
“We need to do something that looks sexy, but isn’t”, Diana pondered. “How about a prize which NOBODY CAN WIN?”
That principle certainly appeals to the four grasping women! And so the great Naked Whist Drive lottery was born.
The principle was quite simple.....
Every working mens’ club in the North of England and Scotland was invited to buy a £10 ticket. That got your club entered in a prize draw.
If your club won the draw, you entered a whist drive with the Middle England Whist Club. The game was Strip Whist! If you won that, you got to watch a game of Naked Croquet, played by Diana, Marjorie, Veronica and Dolly!!
The four ladies posed for some good publicity shots, which made them look friendly, gorgeous and on the level. (Well, one out of three ain’t bad.) This fired the imagination of every red-blooded male in the North, and entrance fees flooded in.
At the next meeting of the Whist Club, Marjorie was gloating over the figures. “We’ve raised over £14,000, girls!” she said. And I’ve drafted the tightest contract you ever saw, so nobody’s going to be able to take this money away from us.”
“Well done, Marj!” said Diana. “We can pinch the balance of the £20,000 from Bill”. (They’d been swindling Bill Slagg for years.) “Now the next step is to make sure that we don’t lose the whist drive.”
Diana had been giving this problem a lot of thought. Like most card games, whist involves some skill and some luck. Diana and her pals were OK, but not champs. They could beat novices quite easily – maybe four wins in every five games. So the key thing was to play opponents who they knew to be pretty crap.
How to do this? Quite easy really – just rig the draw! “Let’s have a look at the entries, girls – any local people?” Of course there were local people – every bloke in Stuffett had put in for it.
“Now” said Diana, scanning the names. “Which pair do we KNOW can’t play whist for toffee?” Well of course there was one name there which Diana felt certain of. Her ever-loving husband, Bill. “Girls” she said “we have a winner!”
The Whist Drive
So Bill Slagg and his partner Joe Worsley arrived at Harder Hall for the great whist drive.
Joe Worsley was a jolly, but hopelessly lower-class, middle-aged guy. He owned a big haulage company, and was pretty well off. Joe liked football and women, but not to anyone’s knowledge, whist.
Diana was a bit puzzled by the blokes’ attitude. They really didn’t seem that keyed up. And she hadn’t seen any signs at home of Bill practising whist. Anyway, let’s get it over with, earn the money and then book the flight.
Diana and Veronica were the Club’s two champion players. They sat down with Bill and Joe.
“Right, gentlemen”, said Diana. “Can I just remind you of the rules? The game to continue until both players in a team are naked. Shoes, socks and tights to count as one ‘footwear’ garment. If you two are the losers, you put on your clothes, go home and that’s the end of it. If Veronica and I are the losers, you get to referee a 30-minute nude game of croquet involving all four members of the Whist Club”.
“OK” said Bill and Joe.
“No hidden cameras, gentlemen. No selling off the story to lads’ mags. No marked cards. Everything as per the contract?”
“Word of honour!” said Bill and Joe.
So they played the first hand. Bill and Joe had a couple of lucky breaks, but the ladies’ greater skill gave them a narrow victory.
“Right, Bill”, said Diana, with a bit of a yawn. “Take something off.”
Bill undid his left cuff, rolled up the sleeve and removed a copper bracelet.
“You can’t do that, Bill” said Diana. “It’s got to be clothes. Jewellery doesn’t count.”
“That’s right”, said Bill. “Lasses’ jewellery don’t count. Male jewellery counts as a legitimate extra on top of the five garments. Look in the contract, love!”
“MARJORIE! Where’s that contract! (You know that ‘really tight’ one, you silly cow!)”
Well guess what? In very small print, the contract did say that male jewellery was OK. Marjorie hadn’t been wearing glasses when she signed the thing. And Bill knew that Marj wouldn’t be wearing glasses. And so Bill had got a bit ‘creative’ with some of the fine detail.
So they played another round, which Diana and Veronica won easily. This time, Joe had to take something off. And blow me down, he had a copper bracelet too!
“How many bracelets have you two got on?” demanded Diana. By way of an answer, Bill and Joe rolled up their sleeves. Their arms were clattering and clinking! They must have had 20 bracelets on each arm.
“Joe and I are just mad about these copper bracelets”, said Bill. “They combat stress, you know. I tell you what, love, they really seem to work! I don’t feel at all stressed! In fact, I’m quite content.”
Well, it was Diana and Veronica who started to feel stressed. Because though they won 9 games out of every 10, the 10th game always did them. Bill and Joe lost plenty of bracelets. But Diana and Veronica were losing skirts and bras and knickers. Until the final game was lost. And our heroines were left wearing nothing but a scowl.
Diana and Veronica blushed from head to toe (and all points in between). And how their tits juddered, as they angrily threw down their cards, and stomped off to ‘change’ for croquet.
And so the game of croquet began. Bill and Joe went out on to the croquet lawn at Harder Hall and waited for the players.
If they had any hopes of watching a joyous naked frolic, those hopes were soon dashed. The Whist Club ladies disrobed in the drawing room and came very slowly out on to the lawn. Hands shielding private parts; shoulders hunched; cross little faces.
The blokes discovered that croquet is a pretty slow game. Especially when you have only one player at a time in any sort of action, while the other three crouch down in a sulky little ball.
Frankly, it was a let-down. The only gleam of fun was caused by Marjorie, who was obviously in the dog house. Diana ‘accidentally’ tripped Marjorie up at one point, and she went arse-over-tit into Joe’s arms. Joe thoroughly enjoyed that, because Marjorie was definitely his idea of a fine, generously built woman.
But otherwise, it was no fun at all. After ten minutes, Bill called a halt.
“OK, ladies”, he said, “that’s enough croquet.”
The naked women scurried off, but discovered to their horror that the French windows were locked. With their clothes inside.
Bill and Joe followed on. “Well I’ve still got 20 minutes” said Bill, “so I’ll supervise you in your post-match shower. Go on, into them bike sheds.”
And our heroines had to follow Bill towards the grotty old brick shelter by the disused pig sty.
“What do you mean, ‘shower’, Bill?” snapped Diana. “We’re not dirty.”
“Mebbe not yet” said Bill, a bit grimly. “But see how you look after you’ve crawled through that there pigsty! Go on, get down on your hands and knees.”
The fuming nude ladies had no option. Down they got, white bottoms wobbling and goose-pimpled breasts a-dangle. Fortunately the pigs had long since gone, but there was still plenty of pig shit left behind.
“Couldn’t you have got this filthy place cleaned up, Dolly?” snarled Veronica.
Marjorie, Diana, Veronica and Dolly crawled in single file through the pig sty. The dainty nose of each lady against the bare backside and pussy of the one in front.
Marjorie proved a bit of a blockage, what with her wide hips and generous butt. Marjorie was a bit slow, a bit clumsy, and kept stopping to ponder on where she had gone wrong.
In the end, Diana unceremoniously yanked Marjorie’s legs out from under her, just as Marj was negotiating a big puddle. Splosh! Marjorie belly-flopped nude into the puddle. There was a bubbling noise, as her cunt and arse crack filled with muddy water.
After that, the ladies made better progress. They tottered to their feet and stumbled into the bike shed.
[By this point Diana, Marjorie, Veronica and Dolly were no longer bothering to cover up. So, dear reader, please imagine the rest of this scene against a back drop of fully-exposed, juicy, mature knockers, bottoms and fannies.]
Bill picked up a hose and said “Right, ladies, shower time!”
Diana was now absolutely beside herself. “Bill, you’ve gone too far!”
“No”, said Bill. “I’ve not gone half far enough yet. It’s YOU who’ve gone too far, you bloody crooks! You’ve been stealing from me for years, haven’t you? Those fake invoices, quoting Veronica and Dolly’s bank accounts. Your ‘cash drawings’ from my till, Diana. And everything covered up by your precious Chartered Accountant.”
“I’ve had a full audit done by Joe’s accountant, and this dossier here will be a bloody godsend for the police. Ted and Eric would love to see you down the cop shop, wouldn’t they, Diana?”
(Diana had rather a love-hate relationship with Sgt Ted Grabbitt and Inspector Eric Mugg. She didn’t consider that their cops took a firm enough line with the lower orders, and had pointed this out in many letters to the Chief Constable.)
“So, ladies, think of this as a taster for the prison showers. No bloody jacuzzi at Armley Jail, you know! Just a communal cold shower, plus de-lousing. And maybe the screws taking pictures of you, ‘for security’.” And with that, Bill hoses the women down.
As the jet of icy cold water hit the naked lovelies, they reacted in the appropriate way. Diana, Marjorie, Veronica and Dolly stumbled, swore, squealed and clattered into each other. Their nipples stood out; their breasts heaved; and their dripping cunts puckered and dilated.
Just as Bill and Joe had planned. But, a bit like the croquet match, it wasn’t really as much fun as they’d hoped. Because the ladies looked so haggard and miserable. In fact, Diana crawled towards Bill, her face the colour of clay, and started pleading with him.
Bill hadn’t bargained for this at all! It did remind him that he still loved Diana. Also that he would like to screw her several times a night, even though she was very annoying.
Bill turned off the hose and threw Diana the key to the French windows. “Right!” he said gruffly. “Get dried. Get dressed. And we’ll talk it over in the drawing room.”
Five minutes later, the Whist Club reassembled. Bill took the floor.
“I’ll make this brief, ladies” he said. “You’ve been tekking the piss for years. You owe me. But you also owe this town. You’re not better than the folks here. In fact, you’re a damn sight worse in some ways. Well I won’t go to the police. But on one condition.”
“Anything, Mr Slagg” whimpered Dolly.
“Well” said Bill, “this is what I want you to do......”
The Open Evening
A week later, Jim Buggit and Bert Stench are walking down the drive at Harder Hall. Jim and Bert used to be in Dolly Harder’s primary school class and used to carry her books to school. Dolly was a nice little girl then.
In adult life, Bert did the occasional building job at the Hall, and Jim helped out with the gardening. They carried a torch for Dolly, but she never seemed to know who they were.
So imagine their surprise when they both received an invite to an event at the Hall!
The Middle England Whist Club
An Open Evening
Free drinks and party fun!
First act comes on at 8pm – don’t be late!
Following their timid knock, the door is opened by Dolly herself. She is about 60% inside and about 40% outside of a shimmering black strapless ball gown. Instead of the usual frozen sneer, Dolly’s lovely features are fixed in a kind of welcoming smile. (Though it does also have a touch of the snarl about it.)
“Welcome, welcome!” she coos, between gritted teeth. “Err…Jim, isn’t it? And … Carter, I mean ‘Bert’. How kind of you to come, gentlemen! Let me help you with your coats. A drink? Diana, dear, could you serve our friends?”
And what’s this? Diana Fortescue-Slagg, wearing a cheeky little French maid’s outfit!! Bearing a drinks tray! Also with that fixed toothy grin and strangulated voice – honeyed, but a little bit curdled at the edges.
“Gentlemen! What would you like? Is there anything else I can do for you? ANYTHING AT ALL??!”
And my God, there’s Veronica Panting! Looking kinky and delicious in a VERY tight riding outfit, complete with helmet and crop. Veronica rises to her feet, slaps one of her magnificent thighs, and calls out “Jim, darling! Bert! Over here!”
Again, there’s a contrast between Veronica’s body and costume, which look great fun, and her slightly strained smile and voice, but who cares? Veronica looks good enough to eat, and this is the friendliest she’s been in years.
As Jim and Bert totter across the carpet to Veronica, they pass Bill Slagg. What’s Bill doing here? He can’t stand Dolly and Veronica at any price.
Bill winks, says “Alreet lads?” and then catches Veronica’s eye. Bill nods in the direction of Jim and Bert, and puckers his lips slightly. Almost as if Bill has given her some direction, Veronica meets Jim and Bert, and what’s happening now? She kisses them on the cheek, arm round the shoulders and snuggles up to them on the sofa. Then Veronica starts chattering brightly (if a bit hysterically) about rugby league.
There were more knocks on the door, and other blokes came in looking bewildered but happy. In the end there were about a dozen there.
All the men were in their forties and fifties, and all had…err…strong views on the Whist Club ladies. They’d lusted after them for decades; Marjorie had cocked up all their tax returns; Veronica and Dolly had cold-shouldered them for years; and Diana had firmly apprised them of their inadequacies as tradesmen, as neighbours and as human beings.
It was incredible! Dolly, Veronica and Diana are greeting them lovingly; laughing at their jokes; pouring them booze.
The three women have a slightly strained look, but so what? They’re wearing such sexy little outfits that there is always something wobbling or dimpling to look at below the neck.
And in any case, it’s bloody funny listening to Diana Fortescue-Slagg trying to discuss Leeds United.
And what of Diana herself? Hell, sheer hell, darling. It’s bad enough having to peck the cheeks of these awful lower-class men, and flash her teeth at them. But as Diana fights a losing battle with the hem of her dress, she knows that worse, far worse, is to come.
In fact, Diana knows the ghastly truth in its entirety. With the exception of one small point. Who are those two strange African men? Quite large, fit and good looking – not that Diana wants to think about that kind of thing. Not tonight of all nights.
As the evening wears on, it becomes more and more obvious that Bill Slagg is pulling the strings. So when Jim has a question, it seems natural to ask Bill.
“Hey, Bill, great party, mate! But where’s Marjorie?”
“Oh, Marjorie’s around somewhere”, says Bill. Then, looking at his watch, he says: “Actually, it’s time Marjorie joined us, Diana.”
Diana purses her lips. “Yes, Bill, I’ll get her.”
Diana starts to leave the room. But before she goes, Bill gives her a meaningful look. Whereupon, Diana gives the men around her a quick kiss; says “Don’t go away!”; hitches up her little skirt gaily, so you can see her frilly drawers; and skips out of the room waggling her butt. Diana, that’s really nice!
Anyway, there seems to be a bit of a barney outside, but eventually the door opens and Marjorie enters. Well, she comes in with a bit of a clatter and a stumble, as if she’s been shoved. She and Diana seem to have been having words.
Still, here she is. The men are a bit disappointed to see Marjorie’s outfit, after the way-out party wear of Veronica, Diana and Dolly. Marjorie’s just wearing her plain old office suit, and she’s even got a copy of Tolley’s ‘Tax Advice’ under her arm. The only slightly unusual thing is that Diana’s carrying a big jug of whipped cream.
Marjorie plods over, a bit red-faced, to stand in front of a table by the French windows. Diana puts the jug on the table.
Diana looks at Bill. Bill nods. And Diana claps her hands for attention.
“Good evening, gentlemen!” she says, in that weird kind of congealed cocktail party cheeriness. “Thank you so much for coming tonight, to this special Whist Club Open Evening. We think you’ll find us very open indeed, hahaha.”
What is the woman on about? they wonder. But nobody really minds, because Bill nods at Diana, and Diana hitches up her dress and gives a bewitching little curtsey all around the room. This shows her knickers off quite delightfully, fore and aft, to everyone present. “Fair play to Diana!” the men decide. “She’s doing her best to be a good hostess!”
Diana continues. “”I hope you’re sitting comfortably, gentlemen. The fun’s only just beginning. Now, later tonight we’ll have some lovely party games. But first of all it’s Talent Show time!”
“Our friend Marjorie is the first one in the limelight, because (snarl) if it wasn’t for Marjorie we wouldn’t be in this mess. I mean, we wouldn’t be here tonight. So let’s give Marjorie a big hand as she does her little turn. Don’t be shy, Marjorie (you stupid cow), this is a very friendly audience, ha ha. So take it away, dear, with: ‘The Stripping Auditor’!”
Bill flicks a switch. The lights dim around the room, except for where Marjorie stands. She looks very unhappy indeed. The world holds its breath. As the raunchy opening bars of ‘The Stripper’ ring out, Diana gives Marjorie a shove, and the extraordinary show begins.
Now Marjorie isn’t a graceful dancer, and she’s not at all willing. But she slaps down Tolley’s ‘Tax Advice’ on the table firmly enough. And then she pulls the biros from her breast pocket, and flings them aside one by one, to each grinding beat.
As Marjorie shrugs off her jacket, the audience are gratified to see a very generous profile of bust. And then Marjories undoes a few buttons on her blouse, leans forward, and my! - that’s a very nice audit cleavage!
Off comes the blouse, and everyone’s watching the auditor at work. Marjorie then wriggles out of her skirt. Bless her, she’s only been at it a minute, and she’s down to her underwear! Far more productive than usual.
The enraptured audience take stock of audit progress. On the credit side, a tall well-built blonde with creamy skin and everything just the right side of fleshy. On the debit side, Marjorie looks nervous (maybe the show’s over?). And it’s such a shame about the baggy, slightly lumpy knickers and bra.
Joe Worsley bellows out: “Come on, girl, let’s see your fixed assets!”, and at last the mood gets a bit less ‘respectful’.
Diana collects herself, lifts her skirts again and skips over to Marjorie. Diana hisses something into Marjorie’s ear, and positively RIPS off Marjorie’s bra and HAULS down Marjorie’s knickers.
With a ‘gracious hostess’ type smile, Diana waves Marjorie’s underwear to the crowd. But nobody’s looking at Diana now. All eyes are on the auditor, who’s wearing just a tiny red spangled thong, and red tasselled pasties on each magnificent white breast.
Marjorie starts wobbling her amazing tits, but just can’t co-ordinate them. One goes right; the other goes left. They swing back and crash together in the middle – it’s a huge, fleshy, knocker-pendulum pile-up.
But then everything clicks! Marjorie’s bazoomers swing back and forth in sweet unison. The tassels go round and round. Marjorie gets rhythm!
First the right side of Marjorie’s body shimmers up and down, from buttock to hip to breast. Then the left side ripples in response. Marjorie’s having a ball now; the crowd roars. And Marjorie TEARS off her tassels and thong.
Marjorie’s now beside herself, and she moves over to Joe Worsley. She bears down on Joe like a voluptuous white avalanche. Joe’s delighted fat face is suddenly stuffed into a big pair of charleys!
Marjorie then gives Joe a very loving kiss. She bends over Joe, so that her large round breasts (each topped with a roguish pink nipple) are dangling accidentally on purpose at hand level. Joe needs no further invitation, and the two get locked together in a sticky and obscene embrace.
Just as everyone else is starting to feel left out, Marjorie hauls herself up and undulates back to the table. It really is a pleasure to see Marjorie put one foot in front of the other and see the ‘domino effect’ – buttocks slapping together; hips shimmying and knockers a wobble-o.
Anyway, Marjorie finally reaches the table, and clambers on to a chair in front of it, with her back to the audience. Just imagine a large white cello case and you get an idea of Marjorie’s curvy rear-view beauty. But did a cello case ever look so randy and ripe?
Pleasingly, there’s none of this lady-like ‘legs together’ nonsense about Marjorie! Her round white backside is split like a peach, with some nice hairy fruit clearly in view. In fact, Marjorie reaches down between her legs to scratch some kind of itch. And after a bit of self-tweaking, we can all see two moist inviting cunt lips.
That done, Marjorie reaches over for the jug of whipped cream. This causes her back to arch; her bottom to part even wider; and her cunt to open more excitingly still.
Then Marjorie’s up on her feet and bending over the delighted blokes again. She kneads her breasts provocatively before their very eyes, and each nipple has a splodge of whipped cream on it. “Lick me, Joe!” pouts Marjorie. “Lick me, Bert!” And so on and so forth.
That done, Marjorie’s now squatting on the carpet. For all the world she could be doing a naked limbo under an invisible bar. Except that she’s smearing a load more whipped cream on her vagina. The men just lap it up (in every sense).
And by way of a finale, Marjorie clambers on the table and parks her lovely round arse on Tolley’s Tax Advice. She sits there, rather immodestly, with her legs up on top of the table, knees by her ears and cunt splayed. Marjorie is just one great sticky delicious mess of curvy loveliness. And there she sits, positively strumming away on her labia.
Nobody expected Marjorie to be so good. Diana, Veronica and Dolly feel an odd kind of damp-knickered, horrified excitement. And as for the men, their feelings are beyond words.
Diana takes the floor again. In her eagerness to please, her dress is virtually stuffed into her knickers. But she’s clearly shaken.
“That was lovely, Marjorie, dear!” she says. “What a nice ice-breaker, folks! Now we have another little turn to enjoy. She’s always a good ride, so may I introduce – VERONICA PANTING!”
For the last half hour, Veronica has been getting really quite friendly with Eric Mugg and Ted Grabbitt. Eric and Ted like the gee-gees; they know a lot of good jokes about lady jockeys; they like spunky blondes; and they really like Veronica. Veronica’s ice-cube eyes look almost soft and twinkly, as she says Ta-ta to Ted and Eric.
“Evening all!” Veronica says. “For my little turn I need two volunteers.” Every red-blooded man there leaps to his feet, but Ted and Eric have got the jump on them all.
Veronica, Eric and Ted get into a huddle, and then they march outside. Veronica’s two lovely assistants each have a great sweaty hand on one of her buttocks.
They quickly return. Veronica skips in first, blowing kisses and slapping her thighs. Ted and Eric follow, carrying a rocking horse.
Veronica directs the positioning of the horse, which has rather a built-up saddle. She thanks Ted and Eric politely in turn. You really can’t fault Veronica’s manners, as she sticks her tongue into each guy’s mouth, rubs her breasts against his chest and playfully unzips his flies. You don’t pick that up at ladies’ finishing school.
“Don’t go away, lads!” are Veronica’s final (unnecessary) instructions to Ted and Eric.
Then Veronica poses by the horse, with her back to the audience, sticking out her bum and smiling fruitily over her shoulder.
“Now, everyone!” says Diana, pretending to read from a little card. “This is the Honourable Veronica Panting doing a little sketch, called ‘Riding to hounds with the local cunt. Sorry, hunt’.”
Veronica mounts the horse and starts rocking it furiously. She really throws herself into it – head flung back, lips pouting, panting hard and occasionally moaning.
Veronica ditches her pink riding jacket and can now be observed in black riding boots, white skintight jodhpurs, white snug-fit T shirt, and black hat. The men are neutral about the hat and boots (Veronica can do what she likes with them). But they focus rather obsessively on the jodhpurs and T shirt. The big issue is: has Veronica got any underwear on?
Veronica carries on rocking to and fro, getting more and more orgasmic. Finally she settles the underwear question once and for all, by ripping off T shirt and jodhpurs. Nothing on underneath!
And now Veronica is revealed as a very fit lady indeed. Honey-coloured all-over tan; smooth long legs and torso; delicately swelling tits and bottom of firm jelly; filmy glow of perspiration covering all. Just a lovely, slender, lightly muscled, gently curving, naked woman.
Veronica moves to a side-saddle position. She hauls up her feet and shakes her vagina at Ted and Eric. “Sorry, lads” she says. “I’m not a natural blonde.”
Ted and Eric take the news pretty well. But one by one, they bury their faces between Veronica’s legs, just to check.
Then the fun really begins! For Veronica removes the horse’s saddle, to reveal a dildo fixed to the horse’s back, underneath the saddle. Diana (flashing her knickers as usual) brings over some lubricant. Ted and Eric gallantly apply it to Veronica’s cunt.
Veronica then lowers herself on to the dildo, and thus begins the ride of her life. Ted and Eric slowly rotate the horse, so that everyone can see the action from every angle. Veronica bounces up and down, shouting in her posh voice: “come on, that’s fucking marvellous, up my cunt, harder, harder, fuck fuck FUCK, oh, oh, AHH, YAROOOOO!”
And so Veronica finishes – sweaty, nipples erect, eyes glazed, bottom a- tremble, cunt lips swollen, clit throbbing, suddenly sagging.
As the applause dies down, Diana and Dolly look at each other. Marjorie and Veronica have really put them on their mettle! Diana and Dolly are both sopping wet in their panties, but also a bit awestruck by the size of their challenge.
Anyway, Diana teeters forward. She flashes her knickers in the usual way, but now everyone can see the outline of her vulva clearly marked by the clinging wet panty material.
“Thank you, Veronica, that was charming.”
The only person in the room who hadn’t been paying much attention to the show up till a few minutes ago is Dolly Harder. She’s just been having the nicest time. Really!
At the start of the evening Dolly had ended up in a corner with Bert and Jim, which didn’t look like a good lottery ticket at first. They’re both pretty homely-looking guys. And their thick Yorksheer accents didn’t make them sound top of the food chain.
But then Dolly wasn’t exactly top of the food chain herself. Not any more. She’s broke. She's getting old and fat. And she knew that she could go to prison for that stupid Bill Slagg fraud. And so here she was, having to degrade herself. What a bloody awful mess. What a bloody awful life. And so poor Dolly started to cry.
Bert and Jim were dismayed! This was the longest chat they’d had with Dolly since they were all ten years old. What a terrible mess they were making of this great opportunity.
Jim whispered to Bert: “It’s probably nowt! Let’s get her outside, mate, away from this bloody crowd. I’ll get her to show me the garden. Then you take over from me in about 20 minutes.”
So within a minute or two Dolly was outside with one of her faithful swains. The moon was shining brightly and.........
[Well I’ll gloss over this next bit, dear reader, as it’s too bloody romantic! After all, we’re in the middle of a story about real men having wild sex with hot chicks, and I don’t want to disgust you with talk of Lurve.
Suffice to say that in the next half hour Dolly gets two separate proposals of marriage. (Her official response: flattered but non-committal.) And maybe she does a bit of off-hand nuzzling and guzzling, in order to keep both offers in play.]
So Dolly comes back from this lovely moonlit stroll, and what does she find? Diana Fortescue-Slagg using filthy language and flashing her knickers. Veronica Panting having acrobatic sex with a rocking horse. Marjorie Snatch squeezing whipped cream into her cunt as if it was Polyfilla.
Oh God, that reminds Dolly of the disgusting things she’s got to do! And, horror of horrors, she’s got to do them soon! She’s got to go on after Veronica Panting, who’s so beautiful and tall and slim, plus about ten years younger than her.
And everyone will say: “Ugh! Who’s that top-heavy little fat dwarf? She can’t do the flying trapeze naked. She can’t lash up a fresh fruit salad in her crotch. Get her off!”
Jim and Bert are not stupid, and they can sense some of this conflict going on inside Dolly’s head.
Jim can’t bloody believe it. With her super-posh voice and huge bust, Dolly Harder has always been his belle ideal. He’d always vowed that he’d pay his life savings for the chance of a dirty weekend with Dolly Harder. And Jim doesn’t know exactly what Bill Slagg’s cooking up for Dolly. But it looks like it could give Jim the best chance he’ll ever have to get sweaty with Dolly.
Bert’s a bit more romantic than Jim. He realises there’s a bit more going on here than first-time stripper-fright. As a builder, he can see just how run-down Harder Hall has become. “Maybe she’s stripping to save the ancient family home!” he tells himself. “Brave lass!!”
Anyway, they agree: “Poor little poppet. Build up her confidence.”
“Dolly, are you really going to tek off your clothes?” Bert whispers. Dolly nods bravely. “Because you’ve got no option, eh, lass?” Wow!
“Listen, pet, most of the blokes here have a lifetime ambition to see you nekkid. So I know you’re worried that these chaps will get out of hand. But don’t worry. Jim and I will protect you. Over our dead bodies, eh, Jim?”
“Aye, Bert. Lissen, mate, you fight them off, and I’ll carry the gorgeous naked lass away to a ‘place of safety’, hur hur hur.” Dolly guffaws. And so our love birds pass the time, until......
Diana claps her hands again. “Yes, Veronica, that was lovely nursery fun for us all!”
“And now, gentlemen, a change of pace. We’ve all been so sorry to see the decline in respect for the monarchy, haven’t we?” (Speak for yourself, Diana.)
“The Queen’s Christmas Day Message last year had the lowest ever viewing figures. Tragic!” (She really means it.)
“So we’re trying to relaunch the Queen’s Message tonight. You know, give it a bit more glamour. And so, here it is, put over by Stuffett’s own ‘royal personage’, MISS DOLLY HARDER!”
The lights go up at the far end of the room, where a strange figure is discovered at the writing desk. It’s wearing a shapeless grey wig and Dame Edna glasses. It has a mangy looking toy dog on its lap.
And then it starts to speak:-
“Good evening!” it says.
And everybody there thinks: “My God! Dolly’s voice really is just like the Queen’s. Only a little bit posher!”
Dolly’s nervous as hell, but Bert and Jim give her the thumbs up. They’ve plonked themselves in the front row. If only Bert and Jim were wearing blue gingham skirts and pom-poms, they’d look every inch the Dolly Harder Cheerleaders.
Dolly ploughs on: “Prince Philip and I are delighted to be here in Yorkshire.” That at least gets a hearty laugh.
Dolly then takes off her wig, glasses and woolly shawl. She now looks like a woman again, which gets an approving murmur. Dolly drop-kicks the dog into the audience, which gets another laugh, and she starts to feel a bit better.
“May I thank you for your loyal support”, Dolly says, cupping her huge bosom. “Very loyal support!” she says to Bert and Jim, with a sexy smile and a meaningful nod. Bert and Jim need no telling. They leap to their feet, and pose to the audience with a hand under each of Dolly’s bosoms.
“My belief in liberty, democracy and free love....” continues the monarch, tossing her head back and grinding her hips.
“Among my cherished mammaries, I mean memories....” she reflects, slipping out of her ballgown. The Queen of England is now revealed in a red basque. The basque barely contains two great creamy fun-packed knockers.
“As the Commonwealth emerges from its colonial past, we now face two huge challenges”, Dolly observes, rubbing and kneading the ‘two huge challenges’. “Which we must address. If the British people are willing...?”
“We are!” roar Jim and Bert.
So off comes the basque. Setting free two quite monumental breasts. Which swing and sway regally.
Dolly now lashes the crowd into a royalist frenzy. Making a series of off-colour comments about being open to this and thrusting forward with that, the Queen gets up and goes on a walkabout. Her sovereign knockers get many loyal kisses and rubs.
Finally Dolly tears off her knickers; straightens her tiara; squats down open-legged on her throne; and calls out “God bless!” Bizarre!
As the crowd roars, Jim and Bert pick Dolly up. She has an arm over each bloke’s shoulders. Dolly sits in their arms as they support one curvy little leg each. Very nice for Dolly, except that her two gallant bearers aren’t that well co-ordinated. Jim and Bert keep going in different directions. So Dolly’s cunt gets opened very wide indeed.
Never mind, Dolly won’t fall, because Jim and Bert also have a hand under her bonny white bottom. Dolly’s bum is so smooth and silky that it’s inevitable the lads’ grip will occasionally slip. Which means that big tickling fingers sometimes slip inside her fanny. These things will happen!
Anyway, after about the third attempt, Bert hits Dolly’s G spot. Jackpot! This gets Dolly bucking and moaning and laughing and screaming. Jim and Bert keep this going as long as they can, but Dolly seems to be on the verge of a cardiac arrest. So they place her tenderly on the table with Marjorie and Veronica.
So three-quarters of the Middle England Whist Club are now fully undressed. Or, to put it another way, we now have before our very eyes three gorgeous middle-aged tarts, stark cunting nude. And diddling away.
What a beautiful, fleshy selection of luscious, round bottoms and breasts! What roguish, pouting lips (both mouths and vaginas!) And what delicious, slurpy, pink nipples and clits!
And best of all is the expression on each lovely face, which can only be described as ‘inviting’. Marjorie, Veronica and Dolly are making it very clear, as they survey the room, that they’re simply panting for a fuck.
So where does that leave the remaining member of the Whist Club, that pillar of our community, Mrs Diana Fortescue-Slagg?
Now Diana’s showing her very nice legs all the way from ankle up to hipbone. But even so, Diana’s still looking a bit prim. (Certainly by comparison with her naked and openly wanking chums.)
But Diana immediately does something about all that! She claps her hands, advances into the centre of the room and says: “Thank you Dolly, that was lovely! My, everybody, these parties are fun, but they’re jolly hard work, you know. Ha ha, I’m quite shagged out! You just wouldn’t believe how hot and sticky I’ve become.”
And Diana wipes her brow. That doesn’t seem to work, though, so Diana bends down, gracefully slips off her panties and uses them to dab her brow. Everybody immediately pays attention! Diana says “oh, these panties are sopping wet too!” and tosses them aside.
From that point on, Diana’s every move is checked out by every male eye. It’s quite remarkable how much bending and stretching Diana needs to do as she bustles around the room, serving drinks and brightly chattering. And of course there are always times when a girl just has to hitch up her skirt, and give her cunt a really good scratch.
Now the men all think it’s rather interesting to see Diana Fortescue-Slagg dressed up as a maid. Because Diana’s well known in Stuffett as a pretty harsh employer, who treats her servants like dogs.
As if reading their minds, Diana says: “You wouldn’t believe how tough Bill can be, everyone. He works me like a dog! Woof woof!” And with that, Diana clips on a kinky-looking spiked dog collar. (With a long lead, which she tosses to Bill.)
Diana then says “And Bill’s so tight! He never pays for a change of clothes.” This one gets a good laugh, as Diana’s spending on clothes is an economic miracle, and is the main reason why Harvey Nicholls decided to open a store in Leeds.
“If anything was to happen to this shabby old dress”, Diana says, “I don’t know what I should do.”
And at that very moment, Diana quite accidentally pours some red wine down her front; she squeals; sits down in some of Marjorie’s whipped cream; and then scrubs so hard at her dress that she tears the flimsy material with her nails.
Well of course Diana’s dress is ruined, so off it has to come. And there she is without a stitch on!
And we can all see how well Diana has looked after her body, what with dieting and gym and …errr….working like a dog. She’s got a firm flat belly; nice tight butt; and big tits with very little sag. Diana’s long elegant thighs broaden excitingly as they rise from the kneecaps, until they get to the main event – sat midway between Diana’s shapely hips is a little red muff, with a juicy cunt peeping through.
“Never mind, Diana, there, there, good dog”, says Bill, and he jerks her lead.
Diana gets down on all fours and starts crawling round the floor with her bare bottom sticking out. (And her delicious cunt sticking out of that). Every time she gets to one of the guys, she kneels at his feet and attempts to unzip his flies with her mouth, saying: “Doggie needs a boner, woof woof!”.
Some of the blokes see Diana coming and helpfully unzip their trousers for her. This causes quite a lot of doggy licking of whatever Diana can find inside their trousers.
Diana then rounds the performance off by saying: “Bitch in heat!” She lies on the carpet with her knees drawn up under her ears. She waggles her hind quarters around, making her cunt lips open and close, and makes urgent panting noises.
What a good doggy!
Everyone’s having such a good time that nobody really notices Bill changing the tape. He’s got an hour’s footage already.
Our four cunty heroines will never be allowed to forget the Whist Club Open Evening. Not that any of them seem to care right now! The mood they’re in, they look like they’d happily frolic naked in the mud with the entire Bradford Bulls rugby team at half time in the Challenge Cup Final. Now there’s a thought….
“Anyway, we’ve now shown you our talents” says Diana. “So let the fun begin! We’ve all got some nice ideas. Marjorie?”
“Well”, says Marjorie, “I could do with a fuck.” (Good old Marj!) “But I’m a terrible sticky mess, so I’m going for a shower first. Who wants to soap my tits? Joe?” (You bet.) “And then I’m going to lie on Dolly’s big bed and take on all comers.”
And off Marjorie goes, taking the stairs in a most excitingly naked, splay-legged style. Joe follows behind, practically sniffing her beautiful white backside and cunt.
Well that was real classy, wasn’t it!
“Veronica?” invites Diana.
Veronica has by now tottered off her rocking horse. She’s still naked of course, and has spent the last half hour snogging Ted and Eric on the sofa.
On hearing her name called, Veronica rolls on to the floor. She crawls over to Diana, waggling her cunt in the air. Then Veronica clambers on to Marjorie’s table and sits there with her legs spread wide.
“Well…” says Veronica, kneading her breasts, and thrusting them at Ted.
“Well…” says Veronica, licking her lips, and winking at Eric.
“Well….” she pants, frigging her clit. “Ohhh, that’s better…”
“Come on, Veronica, dear!” says Diana, although nobody seems to mind Veronica’s dithering.
“Well”, says Veronica. “Marjorie’s got it right for once. We could all do with a fuck.”
“But I’m not an easy lay like Marjorie, you know! Before you fuck, you have to go on a date. That’s what the Headmistress always used to say to us at Cheltenham Ladies College.”
“So I’d like to start dating again. There’s some nice men in this town. But I need to improve my dating technique first. My fellatio needs practice.” (You what, Veronica?) “Fellatio is educated language for cock sucking.” (Well why didn’t you say so!)
“So I’m going to go in the conservatory, and I’m going to hang this sign on the door.” And with a big grin, Bill hands Veronica an ‘Engaged/Vacant’ sign.
On the ‘Vacant’ side the sign reads:-
“COCK NEED SUCKING? COME IN, COME IN, AND LET ME PRACTICE ON YOU! (PLEASE INDICATE BEFOREHAND IF YOU WANT ME TO SWALLOW, SPIT OR TAKE IT ON MY FACE) ”
And on the ‘Engaged’ side, it reads:-
“SORRY, I’M BUSY SUCKING COCK. COME BACK LATER”
And off Veronica runs, with her tight little bottom juddering, pursued by Eric, Ted and half the party.
“Just you and me left, Dolly!” says Diana. “Plus a few of these scrumptious men. What can we do to entertain them?”
Dolly gets up off Bert’s lap, and touches her toes in front of Bert’s face. Her breasts billow against her knees, and the underside of her hairy twat brushes against Bert’s nose.
“Oh Bert”, Dolly giggles, “I’m stuck! Please don’t take advantage of me!”
Jim ‘rescues’ Dolly by picking her up in a fireman’s lift. Dolly’s backside hangs over his shoulder, affording an excellent view of quivering upper class fanny. Jim sets Dolly gently on the sofa, where she immediately assumes a star fish position.
“Well, Diana,” Dolly says. “I wouldn’t be so crude as to say I need a fuck. Dear me no! Although I would be quite partial to wrapping my cunt lips round a big sweaty cock. I will just say this….”
“I’m going to run out the french windows, with my big fat tits bouncing, my bum jiggling, and frigging my clit as I go. And I’m going to go round and round the croquet course. And the first guy that catches me can do whatever he likes to me.”
“That’s great!” says Bill. “On yer marks, Dolly, lass.”
And Dolly bends down, with her beautiful bottom spread wide and her anus getting plenty of air.
And Dolly runs out of the french windows so slowly that Bert catches her before she’s even got off the terrace.
Which only leaves Diana.
Diana says: “Hey everyone, I want a fuck too, you know! But I’m a respectable married woman, so I can’t play the field like Marj and Dolly and Veronica. When I want a good stiff fucking, I go to Bill.”
Which she now does, on all fours, with her hind legs prettily splayed. (We’ve seen Diana’s cunt tonight from every possible angle!) Then Diana kneels up at Bill’s feet; spills out her tits on his lap; holds up her front paws beseechingly; lets her tongue hang out; and barks: “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
“Nice doggy” says Bill, feeling Diana’s breasts. “I’ll slip you a big bone later. Now play at being Dolly’s maid again.”
“OK, Bill, but I’ll be back!” says Diana. “And I’ll be keeping you up all night!” She jumps to her feet, knockers and buttocks bouncing merrily.
Diana turns to Bill’s next door neighbour, Harry Chuff. Diana stands before Harry thoughtfully; hands on hips and legs astride. She sticks her tits in Harry’s face; rummages around on his lap, compliments Harry enthusiastically on what she finds there; and then puts her tongue into Harry’s mouth. Diana doesn’t believe in playing hard to get when she sees an attractive guy.
Having got Harry’s attention, Diana then gets down to brass tacks. She kicks her long right leg up high and hooks it over the back of Harry’s chair. As Diana’s long left leg is planted on the carpet in front of Harry, he now gets an incredible view of quivering randy mature female flesh. In particular, Harry’s nose is now one inch away from the Fortescue-Slagg cunt. “Look, Harry, it’s all real, isn’t it. Have a lick!”
Harry can hardly resist such a charming invitation. His moustache and Diana’s pubes come together, and loud licking and spluttering noises ensue.
Harry is obviously pretty good in this kind of situation, because he quickly finds Diana’s hot button. Diana’s lovely perma-tanned back begins to arch; she grinds her breasts together; and she shouts “Albert, that’s fucking marvellous!” (On the other side of the room, Albert Jugg spits out his beer in shock.)
Harry doesn’t seem put off by Diana’s gaffe. Or maybe he can’t hear too well, as his ears are being clamped by Diana’s superb thighs. Harry keeps on doing what he’s doing, and Diana is happy for him to continue.
The loving couple slide on to a more comfy position on the floor. Now Diana really loses her inhibitions! Her crotch bucks violently but Harry’s face stays in the saddle. Diana bellows and drools and pulls her hair. She convulses with spasm after spasm. And then she totally loses her grip....
Diana lies on the carpet for a while. Her breasts heave up and down as she takes huge juddering breaths. Her nipples stand up like little strawberries.
Diana’s legs are wide open, with her knees slightly up. Not the most elegant position, maybe, but it does allow some cool air to play over her throbbing cunt. Naked, oozing and knackered, Diana looks like the ‘after’ picture in a Viagra advert.
As Diana props herself up on her elbows and slowly opens her eyes, she sees six fascinated faces in the ‘V’ between her legs.
Ever the gracious hostess, Diana quickly recovers her poise. “Thank you …errr….Harry, that was delightful! I was really impressed! Perhaps we could meet up again some time?..... Now, everybody, where were we?”
Where indeed? Well, while Diana has been taking time out to get her cunt licked, the other Whist Club ladies have been busy.
Marjorie has had her shower, and is now holding court in the master bedroom. A rhythmic thumping through the ceiling, plus the occasional squeal, give you an idea of Marjorie’s pulling power.
Marjorie has turned out to be the surprise hit of the party. It seems a long time ago now, but it was Marjorie’s extraordinary tit-wobbling antics that first broke the ice.
And every guy here has been shafted at some point by Marjorie’s disastrous financial advice. So why not return the favour and shaft Marjorie back? As a result, there is a long queue of gentlemen callers for Marjorie. With some people like Joe Worsley hoping for a second helping.
In fact, all’s fair in love and war. So Joe has ‘taken steps’ to ensure he sees plenty more of Marjorie and her special brand of naked slapstick. He’s carefully locked her clothes in the boot of his car and has commandeered the jug of whipped cream.
In the conservatory, the Cocksucker is definitely ‘IN’. Veronica is slurping and gobbling her way through the male guest list.
Veronica’s still experimenting with the best ‘dating technique’ but she’s already found the most satisfactory position. Which is:-
The gentleman sitting comfortably in an armchair, beer and woodbines to hand;
The lady naked on all fours between the gentleman’s knees;
The lady’s thighs well apart; bottom waggling; and cunt steaming gently, from the occasional tweak of the lady’s spare hand;
A series of mirrors positioned behind the fair lady, so that the gentleman can get a good rear view.
This position seems to be giving full satisfaction to every bloke at the party. It’s also helpful to Veronica, in that she gets a good throughput of callers that way. Have you ever been treated to a really juicy bottom-and-cunt splay, at the same time as you get a blow-job? (I haven’t, but I’ve been told.) Apparently it does limit your staying power.
In the case of Fred Hasty, Veronica got herself in position; did a preliminary cunt stretch in the mirror for Fred’s benefit; opened her mouth to brightly enquire: “shall I swallow, spit or take it in my face, Fred?” – and got a great wad of spunk in her chops.
Choke! Cough! Gasp! “Err…I guess that means all of the above, Fred?”
Anyway, truth to tell, Veronica was getting a bit bored with all this. She was getting lockjaw! Ted and Eric, who’d been Veronica’s first clients are hanging on faithfully. They’d been very impressed by Veronica’s off-the-cuff comment about Cheltenham Ladies College. “First you date, then you fuck, eh?” We want one of them Ladies Colleges round here.
Ted and Eric have both had a very nice ‘date’. They still have the lipstick on their cocks to prove it. Now they (and Veronica) are eagerly waiting for the fucking to begin. Only three more cocks to suck!
Meanwhile Dolly is having a lovely romantic time under the stars. First Jim had shafted her very thoroughly in the long grass by the rhododendrons. He really got her legs wrapped round his back!
Then Dolly staggered over to the rose bushes and Bert did her there. That was a bit of a non-event because Bert, bless him, was so excited that he came immediately.
So while waiting for the gentlemen to recover, Dolly is frigging herself under the stars. Very nice, and oh look, there’s Jim’s ‘Big Dipper’.
Back to Diana now, and only just in time! “Look what the maid’s found here, everyone!”
And Diana runs over to pulls out a drawer of assorted vibrators and dildos!
“Isn’t Dolly a greedy girl! What a lot of nice toys, but they’ve got a bit rusty. Now the maid will have to polish all these old toys, with her own cunt juice. Ha ha, it’s a hard life, isn’t it! Who wants to watch me?”
End of the party
Diana finds herself at last with the Africans, who had been intriguing her all evening. Now she could have wished for a better way to first meet them. Because Diana Fortescue-Slagg is splayed, cunt-dripping nude, in the drawing room. With her elegant legs hooked over each arm of her chair, and a red dildo probing her clit. Which does tend to put you at a social disadvantage.
But Diana’s not feeling very shy, so she beckons the Africans over. They sit down in front of her, a bit pop-eyed. Diana meets them halfway, by thrusting up her crotch.
“You gentlemen are not locals, are you?” Diana enquires.
“No, madam, we are visitors to England. We come from a small island in the Indian Ocean – Coksf’yoo..”
“Cocksf’yoo!!” Diana practically orgasms.
“Yes, we have come to England on a fact-finding mission from our island’s government. Wealthy English women are an important tourist demographic for us.”
This is the most interesting news Diana has heard all evening. In her excitement, she gives the dildo a big thrust; shudders with a great wave of pleasure; and collapses back into her chair.
The Africans courteously wait while Diana tugs the dildo out, with a squelching pop. Prone in the chair, Diana squirms her fanny about; kicks her legs in the air; and finally regains her balance; tits bouncing.
Having regained her composure, Diana gives the Africans a dazzling smile; opens her legs as wide as they can possibly go; and thrusts her wet cunt under their noses.
“Ah yes, and what are your impressions of English women?” she simpers.
“Errr...we have never seen anyone to match them, madam” the African replies. “In fact, we are thinking of making you and your friends a special offer.”
“Oh, how charming!” says Diana, practically standing on her head and doing the splits, as she tries to envelope their faces in her pouting fanny.
“Yes, madam, we are having a little party tomorrow night. How would you ladies like to ‘perform’ there? I can make it worth your while! My government has authorised me to offer you each ..... a digital camera!”