Cornucopia Eroticana

Chapter One-2

These sessions followed a familiar pattern, including compulsory self-exposure, where, after receiving them, she’d reveal her breasts; sit on a settee; splay her legs; draw-up her dress over her waist to display her shaved-p***y; she’d pull-apart her lips and announce; “C’mon, boys, who’ll be first to take his pleasure?” A prelude to rabid-s*x and a flogging that ended with Tanya in recovery; feeling raw, sore and sticky.

Even so, there were stark similarities when she went on to describe the approved procedure she had to follow when receiving her Master for their solo-sojourns; she was to stand, eyes-down, her breasts uncovered, and greet him with, “Welcome, Master”. Usually, he’d grunt and mumble, “Get on with it!” whence she’d kneel, fish-out his c**k and blow him to kingdom-come. Sometimes, he’d adjust her head so he could deep-throat her, a move she found suffocating; interestingly, he’d always ejaculate: so private-value did exist, then he’d go to the bathroom while she prepared drinks; Scotch for him, white wine for her, and then she’d wait, and wait and…

Beyond the Group-s*x, her Master allowed his designated ‘solo-guests’ to visit, unannounced. It came to the point where Tanya never knew who to expect when she heard the door being opened and it followed that she was rarely lonely or, to put it another way, unused; but she was never happy.

Anyway, this was enough for the time being; we’d refreshed ourselves over the tray John had set-up; so, I suggested we changed into our walking-gear and took a stroll up to the high-point on the Property.

She’d chosen well and, as expected, looked-the-biz: tweed breeches, cotton shirt, woollen pullover and socks, a sturdy pair of boots under a cloth cap and a wax-jacket: she walked well; steady of foot, an appropriate gate, well-chosen steps, an easy pace well-within her lung capacity as we set off up the track to ‘Peak’, the mound that gave a panorama over much of the land.

This is a 23 000-acre Sporting Estate; we’re in the Business of Game: shooting Birds and stalking Deer: there’s a bit of Fishing, nothing special, mostly Coarse, a few trout, that isn’t commercial; it’s more for relaxing, a bit of peace and quiet after the bangs of the day. We draw wealthy Businesspersons from all over the world, hence the Helipad; they’re known as the ‘Guns’ and a three-night, four-day, hosting brings about £35 000 per gun, per day, including the residential terms but excluding the armaments and the shot.

From Peak we could see Moors, Heather, Rocky-outcrops, Fells, Woodland and a couple of streams meandering down to a confluence just before Big-House where the flow deepened and slowed. The air was fresh and clean and the blue, cloudless-sky held a reddening-golden sun that beamed its cool rays to cast the shadow of a man and a woman engaged in the act of kissing.

“You’re ok, now?”

“Yes; I’m getting there.” Then a little squeeze from her fingers.

John had let-out a couple of the dogs and on they came, up the hill; one of them, the b***h, trailing about a yard behind the Dog, scouting ahead, nose-to-ground, tails wagging and little squeals of joy when they found their quarry; a scratch behind their ears, a pat on the back, eye-contact and a snuffle with their noses and they were reflecting all the love we’d invested in them. Tanya took to them well and, not surprisingly, they took well to her.

I could imagine Tanya’s thinking; ‘little beings’; the children she’d missed and the happy family she’d longed for but, as of now, that was ‘water-under-the-bridge’: the game of life is played from where the ball is; not from where we’d want it to be.

“When we get back, will you make love with me?”

“Can you handle it?”

“Ohhhh; you really are a beast! Hahahaha!!!”

Then she moved-in and hugged me, held me and cuddled me; she reached-up, we rubbed-noses then she offered me her mouth. Her breath was sweet and her eyes showed a steady gaze; her breasts were pressing gently into my side and her crotch was in contact with my hip: Tanya was a full-on-woman and the answer to her question was already a given as my arm went around her waist and, as our lips touched, the pressure increased until, as the Army would put it, ‘we-swapped-spit’.

Nobody raced down the hill, except Bruno and Baja, and they weren’t racing each other, but the sun was going down quickly, and the smoke from the chimneys was rising; John would have had the Housekeeper light the fires and arrange a late lunch; Broth, cheese, ham, pickles and home-made bread with a couple of bottles of English Beer; what we call Real Ale. I’d no idea whether Tanya had savoured any of this stuff but she was about to have the ‘experience-of-a-lifetime’.

Sure enough, it was all there in the Study, on a small table, pulled-central to the fire, between two Wing Chairs, complete with pewter tankards, and he’d arranged a pot of coffee, in-behind, with cake and biscuits.

Sometimes there’s more communication in silence than with words and we’d reached that stage in surprisingly quick-time: we’d had our lunch and were sipping coffee when Tanya broke the silence; “You probably think I really am a w***e; all I’ve spoken about is s*x and how I’ve opened my body to revolting men. Do you?”

“No… no, I don’t. I might question your judgement and your taste but I know what love can do to a man and can imagine what it’ll do to a woman: it’s not always logical, but I feel for you and see it scarring you for the rest of your life. To coin a phrase; and I’m serious here, ‘Can you handle it?’”

“I don’t know.”

“We do need to know, right?”

“Sure.”

“Well, you know, you’ve eaten all the f*****g biscuits and there’s not an ounce of fat on you!”

“Hahahaha; ohhhh: you’re just awful; absolutely terrible!”, at this she burst into an odd combination of uncontrollable laughter and tears; but they were tears of joy coupled with heaving sobs punctuated by giggles, chuckles and strenuous endeavours to control her emotions; so much so I worried she might choke and there’d be some explaining to do!

Nonetheless, I’d never made love with my boots on; I’d almost died that way, but had never ‘lived that way’ until Tanya came onto me that afternoon. She stopped, erm, can’t really describe, in a word, what she had been doing, but you get the idea, and, after placing her arms on the sides of her chair, she slid-onto her knees and duck-walked-over to rest between my legs.

At first, her eyes focused on mine: then she leaned forward, laid her arms along my thighs, turned her head, placed her ear on my lap and stroked my growing erection with her cheek; I saw, again, the tears form and, this time, roll over the bridge of her nose to drip onto my breeches; just letting the scene sit: watching; waiting; at-the-ready.

Soon, two things crossed my mind: first, she’d gone to sleep; and, second, I’d died and gone to heaven but, mercifully, both were wrong: then, Tanya stirred, rolled her head so her lips were on my crotch, which she mouthed over my tweeds. Things inside were getting tight but it was vital to hold-station, and then, this amazing woman, found my extra-large zipper, with a leather toggle attached to make it easier to undo in the cold, bit into it and slid it open.

At this point, she looked very pleased with herself, reminding me of a trainee-gun-dog returning with its first ‘Kill’; both she, and I, were proud of her initiative, with me saying, ‘Good-girl’, intended, and received, without any patronisation: she responded by nuzzling the contents and stimulating more expansion.

Whereupon my own endeavours kicked-in; desirous of leaving her arms along my thighs, I undid my belt, made a small adjustment to my underpants, from where my trouser-snake sprang to freedom seeking a pipe in which to hide; it was soon lured into a dark-cave-like orifice: Tanya had won.

The rest is less-than academic: but, suffice it to say, the experience was warm, wet, soft, sensuous and there was evidence of a strong vacuum being pulled around my d**k as it slipped further into her throat until my groin meshed with her lips. My job was to experience; Tanya had made that clear by implication; ‘her role was to give: mine to receive’; what remained unstated was her hope that I’d deliver: this happened when, as Samuel Pepys might have put it, ‘an enormous ejaculation spiked my soul, rocked my body, exploded my brain and emptied my scrotum when an eruption of significant proportions squirted down her throat’, but she’d kept some in her mouth, from where, to the delight of her and me, she rose to meet my lips, pass it over and share it.

The kiss that followed ran a close second to this act because it was long and firm and passionate; it was tender and it was done in the name of love.

“I asked you to make love with me.”

“It’s happening.”

At that, Scene 1 came to an end; so, I banked the fire and started to undress her; eyes-on-eyes, she stood passively while each garment was stripped away; on each removal I kissed her; first, her eyes, her lips, neck, then, when she cupped her breasts, nibbled her n*****s as she caught them between forefinger-and-thumb, rolling them around, causing them to fill, swell, colour-up and extend. Her p***y was bare; well-shaved, stubble-free, the labia were fleshy; firm but swollen and secreting juice; my tongue lapped it away. Tanya was standing with her legs slightly ajar; her breathing was steady and there were faint marks, front and back, showing where she’d been flogged.

This beauty was open and she waited; patiently, provocatively and purposefully for me to disrobe and join her; soon, we shared our nakedness and moved to a circular Chinese Rug in front of the fire. Tanya needed no instruction; our eyes stayed locked as we knelt, kissed and then, as she lay back, her thighs parted and I moved between them, cradling her body, raising her flanks to ease my tongue inside; laving the smooth, depilated flaps; covering her mound with my mouth, pulling a negative pressure; sucking, licking and nibbling her c******s to a partial-climax; then, the entry: mounting her; slowly penetrating her, then; “I can feel you in my cervix!”; pressuring her pubic-bone, rocking, gently, in-and-out, as we worked to a crescendo; her legs rising to encircle my body, drawing me into her womb; my c**k straining inside; then, gradually, filling her with my fluid; rewarding her heart with passion in place of abuse.

It was an easy ride; smooth, well-lubricated; long, slow movements, a close fit, a glove-holding-a-pipe, it was progressive but unrushed as our bodies meshed, our mouths met, our legs inter-twined, our genitalia engaged and our hearts beat together. Soon, perhaps too soon, Scene 2 ended: the orgasms crashed-in and we held one-another like survivors of a shipwreck clinging to drift-wood; writhing, pressing, gripping, spilling fluids like barmen-on-a-busy-night; staying in contact, physically, emotionally and with a growing spiritual bond that took us to Scene 3 where Tanya slipped me out, rolled over, knelt-up and presented her backside; thighs wide-splayed, cheeks pulled-apart, back concave-down, t**s protruding, head back, hair flung over her shoulders and, then, with that evocative call, this time in the proper context: “I’m ready, Sir.”

My fluid was leaking from her p***y; oozing down the insides of her thighs but she let it run; happy to know it was my gift to her, that there was plenty more from where it came and wishing it had fertilized her womb to produce the child she longed-for: yet, instead of plunging in, as expected, I replaced her thumbs on each side of her flanks with my own and pressed my tongue into her crinkly-pore.