Path: not-for-mail
From: Incest Man <familyincestfamilyincest@yahoo.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.hetero,alt.sex.stories.d
Subject: story: "GROWN-UP GIRLS" Chapter 4: Climbing The Walls
Date: Mon, 08 Jan 2007 13:06:35 -0800
Organization: http://groups.google.com
Lines: 441
Message-ID: <1168290395.103042.6700@q40g2000cwq.googlegroups.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: 86.57.167.105
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="koi8-r"
X-Trace: posting.google.com 1168290400 25918 127.0.0.1 (8 Jan 2007 21:06:40 GMT)
X-Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 8 Jan 2007 21:06:40 +0000 (UTC)
User-Agent: G2/1.0
X-HTTP-UserAgent: Mozilla/4.0 (compatible; MSIE 6.0; Windows NT 5.1; SV1; iOpus-I-M),gzip(gfe),gzip(gfe)
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: q40g2000cwq.googlegroups.com; posting-host=86.57.167.105; posting-account=iMbkYAwAAABEzvBc57qWV1UoWr6vHxuA
===================
http://www.incesttabooo.com/gug04.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!"
Wanna more hot porn stories? >
http://www.incesttabooo.com/gug04.html