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From: Incest Man <incestman@graffiti.net>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.hetero,alt.sex.stories.d
Subject: "Grown-up Girls" Chapter 4
Date: Mon, 06 Feb 2006 13:10:02 -0800
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===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/gug.html
GROWN-UP GIRLS
Chapter 4:- Climbing The Walls
Meanwhile, inside the house, people were climbing the walls.
To be precise, two people were climbing the walls. One was the maid,
Clarrie. The buxom teenager was deeply frustrated. The batteries on
her new vibrator had died. Already! Mr Pym had only given her the
thing just before he went away. Two days ago. Surely, batteries ought
to last longer than that. Mind you, Clarrie had given the toy some
pretty intensive use since Sir Roger had gone away, but even so, they
shouldn't have gone flat in *two days*!
She sobbed in frustration and lay back on her bed, her legs spread and
her black skirt up round her waist. Why did the Master have to leave
her like this? There ought to be a law against it. Cruelty to serving
wenches. Frantically, she brought herself to a fairly unsatisfactory
climax, then lay panting. Tomorrow, she would take the vibrator down
to the newsagents in the village and have Mr Patel fit some new
batteries. She'd ask for the ones that always lasted longer on the TV
commercials.
Meanwhile, there was a whole evening and a whole night to get through.
Clarrie had forgotten what it felt like to be without a man for as
long as two days. Sir Roger had kept her well serviced ever since he
had first employed her. In fact, even at the interview, he had given
her such a seeing-to that her knees hadn't stopped trembling for the
rest of the day. Since then, whenever she felt like it, which was most
of the time, Sir Roger had been only too ready to oblige.
She smiled at the recollection of how she had applied for the vacancy
in the first place. There hadn't even *been* a vacancy, come to think
of it! She had mentioned to her friend, Barry Overdown, that she was
leaving school, and was looking for a job. Barry was the captain of
the village cricket club, and knew just about everyone. "Give Sir
Roger a try, up at the house. Place that size, he'll always need a bit
of help. 'Sides, they reckon he likes his girls on the large side, if
you know what I mean!"
Clarrie knew what Barry meant. Since she had awarded her virginity to
the cricket club when she was fourteen, she had made the acquaintance
of quite a lot of men who liked their girls on the large side. She had
done her very best to please them. People still talked about Clarrie's
inaugural night behind the cricket pavilion, when she had taken on all
comers, single-handed. Somebody had even kept the score with the big
white numbers hanging on the scoreboard. By the time her father came
looking for her at midnight, young Clarrie had exhausted nine fit men
and three enthusiastic teenage boys. The rest of the playing members
had been dragged away home by their wives.
So, on Barry's suggestion, she had put her best clothes on, squeezed
herself into a bra that was six months past its best, unfastened the
top three buttons of her blouse and knocked on the door of the big
house. Maisie had opened the door to her, and gaped in horror at the
sight of the village bicycle standing on the front step with her tits
practically bursting out of her bodice. Maisie had her finger raised
ready to indicate the way home to the girl, when Sir Roger came out of
one of the downstairs rooms and caught a glimpse of a pair of enormous
young titties.
"Who's this, Maisie?" he had asked, raising an eyebrow as he came to
the doorway and took in the full picture of Clarrie.
"Her name's Clarrie, Sir Roger, from the village ..." She had been
about to detail Clarrie's recent spectacular history, that this was
the girl who had single-handedly cut a swathe through the pride of
Herefordshire's young manhood, when Sir Roger boomed, "Show the girl
in, Maisie, into my study, please!"
>From then on, the sex lives of the young men of the village and its
environs could return to something like normal. Clarrie was heartily
serviced right there on the top of Sir Roger's leather-topped desk,
and she started her duties at the house the next morning. Her mother
proudly told everyone who would listen that her big daughter was now
'in service' up at Sir Roger's. And 'service' summed up Clarrie's
duties more adequately than her mother ever imagined.
But now, for the first time, Clarrie was without her master for more
than a few hours. She ran her still slippery fingers up and down the
slit of her richly-furred pussy, giving an involuntary twitch as they
reached the top. She shuddered, and slipped her fingers inside again.
Ten minutes later, she was as horny as ever. A whole month of this? It
was only two days and she was climbing the walls in frustration!
Then, from a couple of rooms away along the landing, she heard the
most enormous crash. She sat bolt upright on the bed, then thought she
had better investigate.
**********
Clarrie had been climbing the walls in frustration. So was young
Davie, but he was climbing them literally. Until he fell off the chest
of drawers.
Davie was Maisie's only child. He was grounded for a week. He hadn't
*meant* to let down the tyres on the policeman's bicycle. It was Ben
Shakespeare's fault. Everything was always Ben's fault. Ben had bet
him he couldn't nick half a dozen apples, one for each of the gang,
from the display at the front of the greengrocers's shop on the main
street.
There had been no problem until Ben had hissed, 'look out, it's old
Growler', and given Davie a shove that sent apples, grapefruit,
cabbages and this season's almost-ripe nectarines rolling all over the
footpath and into the gutter. The boys had scattered, but Davie had
been last to get away and had to take shelter behind a dustbin down a
side alley. Sergeant Growler had dismounted from his bike with
ponderous grace, and proceeded into the shop to question why the
shopkeeper's display was rolling down the village street, causing h'an
obstruction to the 'ighway.
Davie peered out from his hiding place, and saw Ben's face looking
round a corner on the far side of the road. He was pointing at
something, and signalling frantically. After a couple of minutes of
miming, he gathered that Ben was suggesting that it might be a good
idea if Davie let old Growler's tyres down. The next thing he knew,
there was a heavy hand on his collar.
"In the old days, so they tell me, I could've clipped him round the
h'ear and 'ear no more about it", Sergeant Growler had told Maisie, at
the police station. "But that would be assault, nowadays. So have I
got to charge him, and fill in sixteen pages of paperwork, or are you
going to take the bugger home and ground him for a week?"
"Leave him to me, Dan", Maisie said, "I'll sort him out!"
She would, thought Dan Growler. He quite fancied Maisie, tasty bit of
widow, she was. And young Davie was all right, just needed
straightening out. Needed a Dad, poor little sod. He'd let him go, as
soon as he had pumped up both tyres, using a hand-pump.
This was the third day of Davie's imprisonment. "You'll stay in your
room until I say you can come out", his mother told him. "You can't
leave the house and gardens anyway for a week, but today you're
staying in your bedroom. The lady's daughter and her family are
arriving, and I'll be too busy to have you around creating mischief."
Davie had been lying on his bed. The devil, as ever, found work for
idle hands. He heard footsteps coming up the back stairs, and
Clarrie's bedroom door closed. He had become aware recently of
Clarrie, who he now realised was easily the most beautiful woman in
the whole wide world. She was decidedly plump and extremely pretty,
and had such huge boobies, he reflected, as he lay there, feeling a
warm, comforting throbbing building up inside his boxer shorts.
A faint buzzing noise carried to his ears as he fondled himself. What
was she doing. Shaving? Did women shave? Clarrie never seemed to have
any traces of a beard or moustache. The buzzing stopped. In fact, it
sort of died away. "Ooooh, Clarrie", he said to himself, trying out
the sound of the word. He liked it and tried again, and found his
erection becoming more throbby. He took himself in hand.
What was that? Girls' voices? Coming from outside. It must be the
lady's grandchildren. Sounded like a bunch of kids running around.
That's all he wanted, a house full of bloody *girls*! And him
grounded, so he couldn't even get away from them. Oh, shit. The
disappointing thought had caused his erection to get floppy. That's
what girls did for you.
Davie rolled off the bed and stood up. The kids were in the pool now,
he could hear them squealing and splashing around down there. He went
to the window. The servants' quarters were on the top floor, and the
rooms on this side of the house had dormer windows let into the slope
of the roof. By looking out of his window, he had a partial view of
the pool, cut off by the edge of the roof. Idly, he looked across that
way. What was THAT!!!
He had caught a brief glimpse of a woman, or a girl, with no top on.
Usually, women wore swimsuits or bikinis to go swimming. This, Davie
accepted, was only right and proper. He had tried, several times, to
imagine Clarrie without a bikini top, but failed. Therefore, he
concluded, women *ought* to wear something to cover up their boobies.
It seemed logical to him.
Now, down there, a woman was frolicking around in and out of the pool.
And, if his eyes weren't playing tricks, she wasn't wearing a bra. He
strained to see more, but couldn't. The chest of drawers beneath the
window was in the way. He clambered on top of it, and found he could
just see a bit more of the pool. There was the woman again, if he
squashed his face against the glass, he could just see her back, and
she wasn't wearing a top. Definitely!
His hand strayed to his shorts again, where there were welcome signs
of life. Oooh, that feels nice, he thought, taking a warm handful of
himself. There she is again, turning round. That's not a woman, that's
only a girl! But shit, she's big! Then she moved out of sight again.
Davie tugged at the window. It was an old-fashioned sash window that
slid upwards to open. But it had been painted over years ago, and
didn't open any more. Not easily, anyway. Frustration lent Davie extra
strength. The window moved a fraction, he heaved again, and the woman
or girl appeared once more. No, it wasn't the same one, this was a
smaller girl.
Oh, shit, no, not a little girl; he thought, then realised that *this*
little girl wasn't all that little. Her tits were even bigger than the
other one! One more heave, and the window would be open, and he would
get his head outside. That was when he fell off the chest of drawers
in a flurry of odds and ends, books, video cassettes, souvenirs and
the alarm clock. He hit the floor, still accelerating.
"Ouch! Me fuckin' ankle!"
He lay there, winded and damaged, checking himself for broken bits.
His erection was still working, he was relieved to discover.
"Davie, you all right?"
A voice from outside his bedroom door. Clarrie?
"Yes, thanks. I think so, anyway. I fell over."
Clarrie tried the handle and the door opened. Davie was lying in a
heap by the window. She looked around the room, the same shape as
hers, but a boy's room, full of boy things. And, if she wasn't
mistaken, full of boy! She hesitated, then went closer, bending over
him.
He was a big boy for fourteen, she thought, her eyes taking in the
well-defined shoulders revealed by his cutaway undervest, and a
distinctly promising bulge in his shorts.
"You sure you're okay, Davie?" she said softly, in the voice that had
seduced an entire cricket club in a single night. It was overkill as
far as Davie was concerned. His erection sprang to full attention, and
found its way out into the open air through the front of his shorts.
"My ankle hurts", he said, "can you help me get up?"
He hasn't even noticed his willie's sticking out, thought Clarrie. And
by the look of him, he doesn't need any help to get up. "Here, hold my
arm. Steady!" He was so strong! He'd nearly pulled her down on top of
him.
Davie couldn't believe what was happening. Clarrie was so close, he
could touch her. In fact, she'd told him to hold her arm. He did, and
she nearly overbalanced. Must be difficult balancing with those bloody
great things on your chest, he thought, realising that they were even
bigger at close quarters. Very close! His head would get lost between
those things. He could smell her, and it was nice. No, not nice, that
wasn't the word. The English teacher was right; 'nice' wasn't the word
to use here. He wished he could think of some more words to describe
the smell of Clarrie. Whatever, the smell was doing things to his ...
ooops! How did that get out there?
Clarrie could even smell her own arousal. She had come straight to
Davie's room without putting her panties on; and now that she was
squatting down, with her short skirt riding up, her moist pussy-odour
was distinctly noticeable. It even excited her, especially the
realisation that Davie could smell it, too, and it was affecting him.
"C'mon, let's get you on the bed, then I'll have a good look at your
ankle", she murmured. And an even better look at a few other things,
she thought. "I've done first aid", she said. It's a pity he doesn't
need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
This time, they made it. Davie stood up, his weight on Clarrie's arm,
and he half-hopped to his bed, then sat on the edge of it. Clarrie sat
beside him.
"There, that's better, isn't it?" she purred.
It certainly was.
She ran a hand around his back and felt the firm muscles ripple
beneath her fingers as they flirted with the broad elastic top of his
shorts. She brought her hand back the other way, slipping it into the
top of the cleavage between the taut cheeks of his boyish bottom. He
clutched at his cock, which tried to escape.
"Leave that alone", she said, sternly. "Anyone would think you'd never
sat next to a girl before. Or a woman!" Suddenly, she whipped her hand
up behind his back, tugging his undervest with it, and carried on
strongly to pull it up and over his head. Davie was too shocked to
resist. "Got to check for any broken bones", Clarrie whispered,
placing her mouth very close to his ear as soon as his head emerged
from the vest. Very close indeed. He could feel her hot breath in his
earhole.
"Now. Let me look at you, Dav-eee. Lie back!"
Feeling powerless, Davie slowly lowered his back on to the cool
bedclothes. His feet came off the floor and his knees automatically
drew themselves up to protect his genitalia. Clarrie laughed musically
and gently pushed them down again. Now he was bent backwards across
the bed, helpless as a sheep on its back. He felt Clarrie's soft touch
on his thighs, rubbing gently up and down the insides of his legs.
Then her hands were gone, and when they came back, they were round his
waist, ever so gently easing down his shorts. He resisted for half a
second, then raised his hips just enough to let the shorts slide down.
There was a brief delay as they snagged on some obstruction, then they
came free.
"Good boy! That's the way. You're getting the idea! Bloody Hell!"
The last bit was Clarrie's reaction to Davie's now completely-unveiled
cock, waving in the air above his belly. Impatiently, she ripped the
shorts down to his ankles then abandoned them, leaving him to kick
them off altogether. The boy was hung!
Although Clarrie knew perfectly well that it didn't matter how big it
was - after all, the cricket club had provided her with the full range
from five inches up to nearly nine - it was pleasant to find a nice
big one to play with while Sir Roger was away. And if she wasn't
mistaken, this one was even bigger than Sir Roger's!
She was kneeling beside Davie on the bed, now, and all she had to do
was lower her head and open her mouth. He slipped inside her, and as
she adjusted the angle of her head, they both felt him make contact
with the back of her throat. She slurped on him, her saliva cool yet
hot, her head bobbing gently up and down, her long hair brushing his
thighs and stomach.
Davie lay there, unable to move in case she bit it off and swallowed
it. Clarrie was still fully dressed, which he found enormously
exciting. Raising his head, he could see the girl's monster boobies in
the big black bra he had seen in the airing cupboard, the whole lot
hanging heavily downward inside her maid's white blouse. Closer to
him, her flared skirt was riding up over her thighs and hips.
Surprisingly, and excitingly, she wasn't wearing any knickers. He
thought all girls wore knickers. Maybe Clarrie had forgotten to put
hers on.
He reached out a hand and placed it on the cool, soft flesh of her
upper leg. Delight! It felt like an oven-ready turkey. She wriggled
closer to him, still sucking deeply on his cock, then stepped over his
body with one leg without so much as missing a beat. This girl was
fit, he thought. Now, he didn't need to raise his head to improve the
view. Just lying back, he had a grandstand seat of the finest sight in
the world.
Inches above his face, Clarrie's hairy bottom rose and fell. Every
time it came closest to his face, he received another whiff of that
incredibly sexy smell. But this was a girl's *bottom*! Surely, he
shouldn't be feeling like this. He thought about it for a while, and
realised he certainly did. Quickly, he reached up with both hands and
gripped Clarrie's broad, plump hips, heaving her down until her
steaming loins slopped all over his mouth and nose. Faintly, he heard
the girl give out a long, low moan.
Still not fully believing what he was doing, he put his tongue out and
found something unbelievably tasty to eat. Clarrie wriggled her wide
rump from side to side as she settled further down on Davie's face.
Was she trying to suffocate him? In a flash of panic, he realised, if
the girl wanted to, she could bite his willie off and suffocate him to
death all in one go. She was heavy enough, he'd never get away.
So, realising there was nothing he could do about it, he lay there as
this wonderful big girl fucked him with her mouth. It was coming, the
feeling. Oh, shit. He was going to do it. It would go in Clarrie's
mouth. He tried to shout a warning, but with his face where it was, no
sound came out, only a wet, bubbly vibration which seemed to send
Clarrie into a frenzy. Clarrie needed no warning, anyway! She knew
what was coming, all right.
Although, when it came, the quantity surprised her somewhat. She
swallowed most of it, but lots more dribbled out between her lips.
Meanwhile, down in the engine-room, Davie received a faceful of
something scalding hot and wet. He hoped it wasn't what he thought it
was. It wasn't.
Clarrie had turned herself round, her breasts now squashed massively
against Davie's chest as their mouths met. Davie's first real woman
kiss tasted totally unlike anything he had been led to expect. His own
salty semen, still drooling out of Clarrie's mouth, mingled with the
girl's own fishy juices as she probed his mouth with her hot little
tongue.
She raised her body up, her long hair still brushing his nipples.
"Oh, fucking hell, Davie, I've got to make the tea. Salmon sandwiches,
Maisie says!" She rolled off him and stood by the bed, smoothing her
skirt down over her thighs and fluffing her hair into some sort of
shape. "How do I look?" she asked, the way women always do. Davie
reached out for her, but she laughed happily and dodged backwards
toward the door.
"You watch that ankle, right? I'll come back afterwards and make sure
you're comfortable! I promise! See ya later!"
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