A Glass of Chablis Ch. 03


The weather was not so good on the return journey. As the train rattled its way away from the Central London terminus, through the dark brick lined cutting, the rain was already running down the windows of Ivy’s carriage. Further out without the protection of the brick walls it beat against the panes, a staccato sound upon the roof in the silence of the carriage stuffed full of commuters and their ‘Evening Standards.’ The smell of wet wool and wet people came to Ivy.

At her station she stepped out into the wind and rain, it whipped her coat around her legs and even, impudently, blew up within her skirt. Hatless her hair was soon ragged with the wind and soaked by the rain. She felt cold rainwater dripping down inside her collar, down into her blouse. Other commuters hurried past. One foolish man even tried to open an umbrella but that was blown inside out immediately. He gave that plan up. The man who had bumped into her the day before went past at the run. Ivy did not really think she could run very well in those heels – both rather dangerous and with the risk of snapping them. They were her only pair of ‘work shoes.’

The way back to George Crombie’s house was sort of familiar from her two journeys from and one journey back but in the rain and wind, the confusion of lights in the dark she managed to go one street too many at a junction and had to retrace her steps and go down Hazel Road not Lime Avenue before making the final turn. And she had been so careful the day before not to get lost. Those few extra steps got her wetter still and it was a bedraggled and very wet Ivy Reid who rang the old man’s doorbell.

“Oh,” said the old man as he looked at Ivy, “oh dear, come inside quickly. We’d better get those wet things off and you into a bath.” He reached out and pulled her in.

The wind and rain were immediately shut off but that did not make Ivy any less wet. Plink, plink, plink – she was dripping on the tiled floor of the hallway. The old man’s hands were already at the buttons of her coat.

“Let’s get this off.”

Ivy had been warm enough on the train. The walk, the hurried walk, from the station had not been that long and she was not really cold: certainly not chilled to the bone but she was wet through and a bath would be nice. She let the old man unbutton her coat.

“Are you going to take all my clothes off?”

“If you’re going to have a bath.”

“You want to undress me? I might not want that. Maybe I’d like a cup of tea first.”

“Perhaps you should do as you are told. I wouldn’t want you catching a chill. All that sneezing. You can have your tea in your bath.”

He was being firm. Was it play acting, was it influenced by the reading of ‘Beatrice’ the night before? A book about punishment and obedience in a strange fetishistic way. He hung the wet coat on a coat hanger. She kicked off her shoes.

“Upstairs with you.” An encouraging pat to her bottom. George was being firm.

In the bathroom he bent to put the plug in the bath and turned on the taps.

“Hands up, Ivy, I need to get that jumper off.”

“Hands up for marmalade? You’re not imagining me as a little girl, I hope. We’re not playing great uncle and great niece, are we? I’m rather past puberty.”

“No, we’re getting you in the bath. A big girl in the bath.”

“Am I.”

George smiled, “we’ll take a look, shall we?”

He pulled the jumper up over her head. It was more than damp around the neck, the rain had certainly got in under her coat. Next came her blouse, undone button by button. Ivy stood there as the water poured into the bath, the hot tap steaming, letting the old man undress her. Her brassiere would be next – probably – or maybe her skirt.

It was the white brassiere. George Crombie seemed to have no difficulty with the clasp. He had probably undone many before. Perhaps she would ask him.

“Yes, quite a big girl, Ivy.”

George was looking at her chest, the white brassiere held in his hand. Even that was a little wet, the rain had soaked through the jumper and blouse to that. He looped it over the towel rail.

“Your nipples must be cold. Look how hard they are.” He was certainly looking. Being a man, he could not resist touching them with the excuse he was pointing out how cold she was as he gently tweaked her standing nipples. It gave Ivy a little thrill. She liked men touching her nipples.

Ivy reached out and put her hand upon his trousers – at the front. “Are you cold, George, your penis seems all hard as well!”

“I don’t think so.”

“Shall I warm it later, poor cold thing?” They were heading towards sexual intercourse, Ivy knew that. A hot bath, a cup of tea and a fuck. A pleasant homecoming!

Her black tights were next. Thick winter tights, so wet from the rain and the splashing puddles as she had walked through the streets. Down they came. She stepped out of them leaving her almost naked in the bathroom, standing there in just skirt and atakent escort knickers with the old man. He tested the water.

“Are you coming in with me?”

“I think you need to lie down and get warm in the water. You don’t want another body getting in the way.”

“Something poking at me?”

“You have got the idea I think.” The skirt removed and then down came the panties. She was amused to see George folding them rather than just tossing them aside. He helped her into the bath. Gentlemanly but pointless. He might need help: young Ivy most certainly did not. But what gentlemen would not like to assist a young naked lady into her bath, help her as she lowered her bottom towards the water, watched delightfully smooth thighs open and splay as hips were settled on the bottom of the bath.

“Lie right down.” He was looking at her. Of course he was looking at her. He could see her whole body in the water, the hot water lapping across her thighs and up the sides of her breasts. A good sight for a man.

Ivy closed her eyes luxuriating in her bath. The warm water all around her. She had been wet with the rain but that had been a cold sogginess to her clothing, the water nipping at her exposed flesh. This was quite different.

“Read to me,” she said, “something sexual – of course – something about bathing. Have you anything?”

Seated beside her, George looked thoughtful for a moment. He got up and disappeared for a time before returning. Ivy looked up.

“This is an old book, but well regarded still. Its prose somewhat old fashioned but, if you will bear with that, it may do. Certainly old, right back to 1748, ‘Fanny Hill – Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure’ by John Cleland.”

“I’ve heard of it but, of course, not read.”

“Let me see, ah, yes, now this is a piece where someone Fanny has been with has recently taken on a servant. This servant has, John Cleland writes, ‘just come out the country, a very handsome young lad, scarce turned of nineteen, fresh as a rose, well shaped and clear limbed: in short, a very good excuse for any woman’s liking.’ Yes?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Fanny takes a shine to him but discovers something about him which rather pleases her.”

Ivy giggled, “Oh yes? I wonder what that might be.”

‘My lips, which I threw in his way, so that he could not escape kissing them, fixed, fired, and emboldened him: and now, glancing my eyes towards that part of his dress which covered the essential object of enjoyment, I plainly discovered the swell and commotion there; and as I was now too far advanced to stop in so fair a way, and was indeed no longer able to contain myself, or wait the slower progress of his maiden bash-fulness (for such it seemed, and really was), I stole my hands upon his thighs, down one of which I could both see and feel a stiff hard body, confined by his breeches, that my fingers could discover no end to. Curious then, and eager to unfold so alarming a mystery, playing, as it were, with his buttons, which were bursting ripe from the active force within, those of his waistband and fore-flap flew open at a touch, when out IT started; and now, disengaged from the shirt, I saw, with wonder and surprise, what? not the play thing of a boy, not the weapon of a man, but a Maypole, of so enormous a standard, that had proportions been observed, it must have belonged to a young giant.

Yet I could not, without pleasure, behold, and even venture to feel, such a length, such a breadth of animated ivory! perfectly well turned and fashioned, the proud stiffness of which distended its skin, whose smooth polish and velvet softness might vie with that of the most delicate of our sex, and whose exquisite whiteness was not a little set off by a sprout of black curling hair round the root: through the jetty springs of which the fair skin shewed as in a fine evening you may have remarked the clear light through the branchwork of distant trees over-topping the summit of a hill: then the broad of blueish-casted incarnate of the head, and blue serpentines of its veins, altogether composed the most striking assemblage of figure and colours in nature. In short, it stood an object of terror and delight.

But what was yet more surprising, the owner of this natural curiosity, through the want of occasions in the strictness of his home breeding, and the little time he had been in town not having afforded him one; was hitherto an absolute stranger, in practice at least, to the use of all that manhood he was so nobly stocked with; and it now fell to my lot to stand his first trial of it, if I could resolve to run the risks of its disproportion to that tender part of me, which such an oversized machine was very fit to lay in ruins.’

“And so, Ivy, they, err. Engage; and later Fanny says that:”

‘In the close of the evening, I took care to have prepared for me a warm bath of aromatik and sweet herbs; in which having fully laved and solaced myself, I ataköy escort came out voluptuously refreshed in body and spirit.”

“I was wondering,” said Ivy from her bath, “when the bath would come in.”

George spread his hands, “But that is about it for the bath, alas. An opportunity missed perhaps. Then the next morning they young man, Will, revisits with a message and catches Fanny not in her bath but still in bed. In he hops, of course:”

‘When we had sufficiently graduated our advances towards the main point, by toying, kissing, clipping, feeling my breasts, now round and plump, feeling that part of me I might call a furnace mouth, from the prodigious intense heat his fiery touches had rekindled there, my young sportsman, emboldened by the very freedom he could wish, wontonly takes my hand, and carries it to that enormous machine of his, that stood with a stiffness! a hardness! an upward bend of erection! and which, together with it bottom dependence, the inestimable bulse of ladies jewels, formed a grand showout of goods indeed! Then its dimensions, mocking either grasp or span, almost renewed my terrors.’

Ivy giggled again, “The inestimable bulse of ladies jewels. Oh, George, what overblown words. I like it. ‘Ladies jewels indeed, forming ‘a grand showout of goods!’ This is fun. Come on, get in with me. Let me hold your ‘ladies jewels.”

George was anything but, the stripling like Will, as he well knew, nor ‘raw novice just fledged’ as Cleland had described. He could not quite leap into the bath as Will might have done. His entry into the water was more circumspect as he settled himself down, delighting in how he positioned himself with his legs either side of one of Ivy’s, one of his feet almost in her sex and one of her feet almost, indeed within moments actually, touching his erection.

“I could not conceive how, or by what means I could take, or put such a bulk out of sight. I stroked it gently, on which the mutinous rogue seemed to swell, and gather a new degree of fierceness and insolence; so that finding it grew not to be trifled with any longer, I prepared for rubbers in good earnest.

Slipping then a pillow under me, that I might give him the fairest play, I guided officiously with my hand this furious battering ram, whose ruby head, presenting nearest the resemblance of a heart, I applied to its proper mark, which lay as finely elevated as we could wish; my hips being borne up, and my thighs at their utmost extension, the gleamy warmth that shot from it, made him feel that he was at the mouth of the indraught, and driving fore right, the powerfully divided lips of that pleasure-thirsty channel received him. He hesitated a little; then, settled well in the passage, he makes his way up the straights of it, with a difficulty nothing more than pleasing, widening as he went so as to distend and smooth each soft furrow: our pleasure increasing deliciously, in proportion to our points of mutual touch increased in that so vital part of me which I had now taken him, all indriven, and completely sheathed; and which, crammed as it was, stretched splitting ripe, gave it so gratefully straight an accommodation! so strict a fold! a suction so fierce! that gave and took unutterable delight.

We had now reached the closest point of union; but when he beckened to come on the fiercer, as if I had been actuated by a fear of losing him, in the height of my fury, I twist my legs round his naked loins, the flesh of which, so firm, so springy to the touch, quivered again under the pressure; and now I had him every way encircled and begirt; and having drawn him home to me, I kept him fast there, as if I had sought to unite bodies with him at that point. This bred a pause of action, a pleasure stop, whilst that delicate glutton, my nether mouth, as full as it could hold, kept palating, with exquisite relish, the morsel that so deliciously ingorged it.’

“Delicate glutton – my nether mouth? Is it like that?” Ivy looked down her body and certainly George was looking now at her parted legs. “I like sex but…” she paused, “I suppose in a way… certainly I feel as if I could do with your lovely prick inside me.” Her toes fondled George’s upstanding penis. A delight to him and very possibly to her. “There are times when I do need a cock inside me, George. Do you think we can do it in the bath? Read some more:”

‘I not only then tightened the pleasure-girth round my restless inmate, by a secret spring of friction and compression that obeys the will in those parts, but stole my hand softly to that store bag of nature’s prime sweets, which is so pleasingly attached to its conduit pipe, from which we receive them; there feeling, and most gently indeed, squeezing those tender globular reservoirs, the magic touch took instant effect, quickened, and brought on upon the spur the symptoms of that sweet agony, the melting moment of dissolution, when pleasure dies by pleasure, and the mysterious engine of it overcomes atalar escort the titillation it has raised in those parts, by plying them with the stream of a warm liquid, that in itself the highest of all titillations, and which they thirstily express and draw in like the hot natured leach, which, to cool itself, tenaciously extracts all the moisture within its sphere of execution. Chiming then to me, with exquisite consent, as I melted away, his oily balsamic injection, mixing deliciously with the sluices in flow from me, sheathed and blunted all the stings of pleasure, whilst a voluptuous languor possest, and still maintained us motionless, and fast locked in one another’s arms.’

Ivy laughed, “too overblown really but the words so inventive. ‘His oily balsamic injection’ indeed! ‘Tender globular reservoirs!’ Balls, I say!” Her toes moved tickling George Crombie’s ‘tender globular reservoirs’ whilst above his ‘conduit pipe’ reared. “Shall I wash you or are you going to wash me first?”

George picked up the soap and lent towards her. Soon his soapy hands were travelling all over her delightfully young flesh. Ivy got up, turned around and let him soap her back. His hands after a time coming right around her to wash her chest, particularly her breasts – of course. Rather wrinkled, liver spotted but still strong male hands manipulated slippery handfuls of flesh. Behind her George’s penis rose in the water, inches from her bottom. Ivy got up on her knees pushing her bottom back towards George, revealing herself to him. His hands began soaping her buttocks before his fingers slipped into her crack; soapy fingers moving to run over, no around, her bottom hole, circling the corrugations of the rubbery skin. A finger poked and went in. Ivy let out a hiss. It was surprisingly erotic. For a time she did not move just letting the soapy finger push slowly in and out of her rectum.

Was there room. Could she do it in the bath. Ivy felt a desperate need to have George’s cock inside her. She moved backwards towards him, lifting herself up with her hands on the sides of the bath. “Put it in me,” she said and felt the hard thing there at her vaginal entrance. With a sigh she settled, feeling it pushing up, opening her easily, the knob making its way up into her body, until she was resting upon George’s thighs feeling nicely full.

Taking the soap from him she washed herself, washed her ‘private parts’ for the first time with a cock embedded, feeling it so very there with both fingers and vagina. A rise and a fall. A fucking movement. Ivy began fucking George, luxuriating in both bath and cock. His hands now on her breasts, moving and playing with her nipples as she liked. Her fucking an unhurried movement but even so the water moved rhythmically up and down the bath.

Good, but Ivy was worried her weight might be a little too much for George or else it all too cramped for him. She raised herself from him and then washed him, knowing how much he would enjoy that. Prolonging his pleasure and hers. There would be more fucking outside the bath. It was not him helping her from the bath but Ivy helping him. It would not do to slip. Good to dry on two big towels in the warm bathroom. One naked and very pink young girl with tufting ginger hair to her mons veneris, one rather old man with very much jutting gnarled cock, getting a little in the way of the drying. Ivy reached out and held it, before dropping to her knees and closely examining it.

“It’s not smooth like a young man’s is it, much more craggy. Not so much the young sapling as the rugged branch of a mature tree…”

“Old tree, Ivy, ancient woodland I think!”

“But strong having been battered by the winds, upright and able to withstand buffering and what is thrown against it. Not going to bend easily is it?” Her hand moved upon it, but it resisted. “The sap of the maple is sweet, I wonder…” Her mouth enfolded the shiny knob and Ivy sucked but only a little bit. She wanted to fuck some more. “I’ll suck more before bed, but let’s fuck. Make me come. It won’t be difficult!”

Ivy put out her hands and braced herself on the bath’s side, allowing George to enter from the rear. An easy pose, he could do the sliding and play with her nipples again and he did just that! Moreover, Ivy knew he could make sure he did not come too quickly, could fuck and then stop if he felt the ‘sap’ rising. All she had to do was close her eyes, brace herself and enjoy being fucked – and enjoy it she did. Of course, she would prefer a younger man – but no longer ‘that’ young man. There would be another. But for the time being and, she had to admit, there was more sensation from George’s gnarled old thing, this would more than ‘do.’ She could feel those ridges as he slid inside her.

Ivy ground her teeth together as she felt herself building and then there it was, an explosion of feeling emanating out from her centre, a gasping and a few rude words mostly beginning with ‘F.’ But George did not stop, his penis continued to slide for a little longer; sliding when really she wanted him to stop because the sensitivity was too great – and then she felt it. Her face broke into a broad grin. Yes indeed, she thought! George’s ‘oily balsamic injection, mixing deliciously with the sluices in flow from me!’

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