Gabriel
It was a big house in Mayfair. As we entered, a pretty but very young girl wearing the shortest possible French maid costume greeted us and took Harry's umbrella. As she bent over to deposit it in the umbrella stand, she revealed a pair of extremely sheer, pink panties which exposed not only the lovely deep furrow between her buttocks, but also somewhat more than just a hint of her silky pubic hair.
"Very interesting, Harry… your house, that is," I said.
He caught me staring. "Oh, you like Betsy?" he asked. Then, smiling broadly at me, he answered his own question. "I'm sure you do. She is a pretty little thing, isn't she?"
"She is, yes."
"Betsy, come here," he said.
She turned, a serious, questioning look on her face. "Yes, Sir Harry?"
"This is Gabriel Du Champe. Miss Du Champe is very pleased with you."
"Thank you, Mam," she said, executing a charming curtsy. "You're most kind Mam."
"Tell Miss Du Champe how old you are, Betsy."
"I'm just thirteen, Mam."
"And…?" he asked.
"I'm a virgin."
"Would you like Miss Du Champe to see your body?"
"I'd be most pleased, Sir Harry."
"Then hop to it, young lady… quickly, quickly."
I watched in sheer amazement as the child, with not a hint of self-conscious embarrassment, removed her costume. Under it, she wore nothing but the semi-transparent panties, which now, as she faced us, revealed what had only been hinted at before: a sparse blond bush barely concealing the sweet pencil line of her quim. I stared with just a touch of envy at her barely matured body, the small but perfectly formed breasts, the hint of baby fat at her waist and hips. But most of all, her skin. It had the soft, smooth flawless texture of a baby's ass. I longed to touch it.
Harry must have been reading my mind. He asked her, "Would you like Miss Du Champe to touch you, Betsy?"
"Oh, yes, I'd be most pleased if she did."
"Well, possibly if you asked her…"
She turned to me, that same serious expression on her face and asked, "I'd be most pleased if you'd touch my body, Miss Du Champe."
Fascinated, I reached out tentatively and cupped her breast gently in my hand. Her response was immediate. With a quick intake of breath, she clamped her eyes shut. I felt barely perceptible tremors of passion through the smooth, slightly damp, milk-white skin of her breast. I was amazed! It was as if I'd pulled some sort of erotic trigger simply by touching her lightly on the breast!
"Miss Du Champe seems surprised at your reaction, Betsy," said Harry. "Would you care to demonstrate to her how quickly you can have an orgasm?"
"Ohhhh yes sir!" She trembled as my fingers strayed to the underside of her small pouting breast, caressing the utter silkiness of her skin. I was in a state of total fascination with Betsy. It was as if she were a sex toy, an erotic plaything for oversexed adults such as myself to fondle and pet.
Harry laid a hand on my arm. "Gabriel, tweak her nipple," he said, "but just once, mind you."
Betsy's nipple was erect, a fat, pink protuberance surrounded by a sweet, somewhat darker, puckered oval. I flicked my index finger, striking it near the top. The effect was almost shattering! Betsy went into orgasm immediately! Her body was taken over by a series of spasms that seemed to start at her shoulders and descend to her knees. Every inch of her was quivering. She stood, hands clasped to her sides, eyes closed tightly, her lower lip caught between strong white teeth; a twitching, pulsing, throbbing mass of orgasmic flesh! But not a sound passed her lips! I was thunderstruck! I placed my hand flat on her undulating belly, feeling the vibrations… slowly I descended till I touched the outer fringes of her pubic hair. Then, glancing at Harry for his unspoken approval, I dipped a finger into her honeyed little pussy. I ran the full length of the slit, luxuriating in the feel of her smooth labia, until I felt under my exploring digit, the hooded presence of a magnificent clitoris. It was large, quite large. It took me a moment to realize its immensity; my estimate is over an inch!
"My God!" I said, aloud. "The biggest clitoris in the entire universe!" I was suddenly aware of her hands fluttering delicately against mine, her body throbbing like a jungle drum…
"We exercise it," said Harry.
"What?" I asked. "Exercise…?"
"Betsy's clit, my dear. It receives daily stretching exercises."
"My God!"
"We hope to achieve two inches by the time she's sixteen."
I removed my questing hand and watched her as she descended the plateau. "She's wonderful," I said, and then turning to Betsy, "Betsy, you're wonderful!"
"Ohhh, thank you, Mam." She was breathing heavily in the afterglow of her magnificent cum.
"Do you ever smile?" I asked.
"Yes, I smile M'am… often." Her serious countenance belied the statement.
"Betsy," asked Harry, "What do you like doing more than anything else?"
"Oh, that's easy, Sir Harry." Her face blossomed into smile, displaying two rows of even, pure white teeth. "I like sitting on your face!" And with that, she broke into a totally charming fit of laughter. In a moment I joined her, overwhelmed by the incongruous innocence of her joy.
"I knew that would bring on a smile," chuckled Harry. Unable to control my emotions, I swept the child into my arms and pressed her to me. I was dying with affection for her, a reaction half maternal and half sexual. Her arms went around my neck, pulling my head down with those little fluttering hands. The kiss was sweet, soft. She ran her delicate tongue around my lips and then, withdrawing it, sucked mine into her mouth. I pressed her tighter, lowering my hands to her buttocks as the vibrations began once more. Again she was cuming, this time in my arms! I helped her, fucking her mouth gently with my tongue, dipping my finger into the crevice between her plump buttocks. She shuddered, her ass quivered under my touch.
"Cum, Betsy," I muttered into her open mouth. "Cum, you darling child!"
"Ohhhhh yesssss, Misss Du Champe! I'm cuming now, Mam!"
The orgasm took two minutes to run its course. I held her till the twitching quieted. Harry seemed pleased. "It makes me happy that the two of you have taken so well towards each other," he said.
Eyeing the now familiar bulge in his pants, I said, "It's quite obvious you're happy, Harry." I squeezed Betsy's hand in mine, she responded by squeezing back. "I'm very curious, Harry."
"About what, my dear?"
"You mentioned earlier that Betsy receives daily exercises to increase the size of her clitoris,"
"Ah, I see, you're interested in such treatment for yourself?"
"Wellll… "
"If I recall, from out little tete-a-tete in the cab a few minutes ago, you have a perfectly whizzo clit."
"I know, but… "
"However, if you want to submit to our treatment, it would take years. Of course we'd be delighted to have you."
"Really? What's involved?" I asked.
"Well, you know, one can't use massage, physical massage that is. It would have a tendency to create insensitivity after a while, and I'm certain you've noticed that Betsy's clitoris, like the rest of her, is anything but insensitive. So physical or manual stretching is out. We use a device I invented. I call it a Magnaclitometer. It uses suction. Along with that there is a daily clitoral application of wheat germ oil… vitamin E, you know. In fact, we use the oil on Betsy's nipples and anus also. Betsy's been at it for two years now. Are you still interested?"
"Hmmm… yes. Maybe something could be worked out," I answered, half joking.
"You'd be a delighted patient, wouldn't she, Betsy?"
"Oh, yes Sir, she would."
"But getting back to wheat germ oil," he continued. "It's the sex vitamin, as you probably know. It has another function as a cosmetic aid. We find it keeps the skin smooth and pliable when used in large amounts. It's even been found useful by the medical profession in eliminating scar tissue. As you can see, the sexual function of the stuff parlays very nicely with the cosmetic function. For example," he said, turning to Betsy, "Bend over,.my dear and show Miss Du Champe your bung hole."
Betsy obliged, bending over and spreading her cheeks. Her little anus was a pink unpuckered rosebud; the skin around it glowed with a pearly osphorescence. I've rarely seen anything more beautiful! Once again there was the feeling of silk-like flesh, completely free of blemish. I glanced over at Harry and was surprised to see his large rampant cock extending straight out through his unzipped pants. Without a word, he stepped behind Betsy, lined his tool up and with one motion of his hips had it buried to the base in her darling little asshole! It seemed to slide in with almost no resistance, much like a cock slides into a well lubricated cunt. I knew, however, that there was no lubrication involved in this case, at least none that I could see on Harry's cock as he pulled it half way out.
"Watch closely," he said. I locked my gaze on the stretched opening. It seemed to have a life of it's own! Betsy's anal ring was expanding and contracting around the fat prick inserted deep within it! The contractions were anything but subtle. I was reminded of the mouth of a pet goldfish I used to own.
Betsy, of course, was having her third orgasm during all this. This one seemed to be the most intense of the three. As I watched, Harry reinserted his hard cock all the way. He spoke over the moans and groans of Betsy's passion, "If I stayed like this for another few minutes I'd cum. There's no doubt about it, believe me. Betsy has the most educated, the strongest sphincter muscles in the world. She has complete control over them." His eyes closed momentarily and there was the hiss of a rapid intake of breath. "Ahhhhh, that's so marvelous!" he groaned. "As you can see, neither of us are moving… correct Gabriel?"
"Correct," I said, feeling the gush of hot pussy juice beginning to trickle down my leg. It was all getting to me.
"Neither of us are moving," continued Harry. "But I'm on the receiving end of a superb fucking at this very moment! Her sphincter muscles are literally jerking me off! What you're seeing from the outside is only the tip of the iceberg, my dear." He withdrew slowly, as the girl went through another series of tantalizing convulsions. "Shove your fingers in, two of them," he ordered. "You'll see what I'm speaking about."
I complied, inserting two fingers into her ass. The internal flesh spread smoothly to allow me entrance. Then I felt it! It was like a hand had grabbed both my fingers in its grasp and was squeezing… letting go… squeezing… letting go; like a human pump, expanding and contracting. The movement was in two directions, at right angles to and along the axis of my buried digits, combining the actions of a rotary and a piston pump. Strong! No wonder Harry would have cum if he hadn't pulled out when he did!
"Amazing!" I exclaimed, withdrawing my fingers.
"And now I'll give you the rest of the house tour, if you'd like," Harry said.
"That would be lovely." I answered. "But I doubt if any of it could live up to what I've already seen." I watched Betsy get back into her brief costume and then helped zipper her up in back.
"Sir Harry," she said, "Lady Sarah is in her room and asked me to tell you to join her there, when you come in."
"Is Sheldon home?" he asked.
"Yes, he's in the garden."
"Thank you, Betsy, and would you be so kind as to serve tea in her Ladyship's room."
"Yes, Sir Harry," And then with that serious look on her face, to me, "And thank you, Du Champe." She curtsied prettily.
The house was somber, a throwback to the latter part of the nineteenth century. I don't mean to indicate that it was filled with acquired antiques, and recreated or purposely decorated to reflect that period. Harry Flemming's house was an original. The hundred-year-old furnishings it contained, it had contained for a hundred years. The real antiques, the suites of armor, the ancestral portraits, the Persian carpets and so on, had also been installed a century ago, when Harry's grandfather had first occupied it. There was a generous use of oak paneling, large fireplaces (now, according to London legal edict, used only for electric fires, those ugly imitation flame devices so favoured by Englishmen… God only knows why), and heavy, badly proportioned Victorian furniture. Everything was overstuffed and overdone. There didn't seem to be room for a single added gewgaw or gimcrack. And yet, with all its overbearing heavy-handedness the house had something lacking in most modern abodes these days. It had a total ambiance. It had character. It was England at the height of its glory! And there, in the large dining room, presiding over the long, highly polished table, was the symbol of it all; a giant painting of Queen Victoria in all her severe splendor. Suddenly, I began to understand Sir Harry Flemming's house. Suddenly, I liked it very much.
The library was by far the most inviting room on the ground floor. The centerpieces were three magnificent world globes mounted on heavy, ornate wooden bases. The nearest was the world as it appeared in 1865. Large portions consisted of blank spaces. The entire area of Sub-Saharan Africa was marked UNKNOWN. Here was a map of the world manufactured before the days of Burton and Speke and Stanley. The second globe showed the world as it looked shortly after the turn of the century. A world that reflected the will of the last autocrats; the Kaiser, the Czar, the Hapsburgs, the Ottoman Turks. A goodly portion of it was colored pink, the tone used to designate the British Empire. It seemed as if a third of the world was pink. The third globe was current. Pink no longer designated the British Empire. There was no British Empire. The huge blank or pink areas of Africa as depicted on the earlier globes were now rainbow hued, a dozen colors delineating the confines of new nations.
Harry waited patiently as I spun the globes. He was obviously pleased at my interest. "I'm a map freak," I said. "A strange interest for a female I guess, but with all have our hang-ups."
"So far, I've found every one of your so-called hang-ups totally fascinating.
"Wait till you see the rest of them, Harry. We've only just skimmed the surface."
"I'm looking forward to the pleasure." He perched on the edge of the table while I browsed amongst his books. Everything was there, from James Bond, to Chaucer. There was a fortune in first editions, but it all seemed functional. Unlike a lot of private libraries, this one seemed to be read.
Then, grasping the edge of one of the cases, he swung it around to reveal a small hidden room. Glass-enclosed bookcases lined three walls. "This," he said, "Is my pride and joy. It is the largest collection of first edition and privately printed Victorian pornography in existence. The wall on the left, for example, contains the original manuscript of the Erotic Adventures of The Third Duke of Bathsire, an ancestor of mine. You are of course, free to browse any time you wish."
At the foot of the long curving staircase he pointed out the portrait of his great-great-grand-father, the First Duke of Bathshire. As we climbed the stairs there were other portraits extending up the hereditary line. Harry had little anecdotes about them all. When we neared the top, he stopped before a painting which bore a staking resemblance to himself.
"And this," said Harry Flemming, "This is my Grandfather, Sir Norbert. A more delightfully evil man never existed. He was a complete rogue! Actually, I'd give anything to be able to emulate him, but… well, the times are wrong for kind of thing. I was born a century late."
He looked at me and sighed. "Sir Norbert Flemming, Third Duke of Bathsire, fathered at the very least 30 illegitimate children. Of course, he supported most of them to some extent. There are still a few who receive regular remittances from the estate… it was in Sir Norbert's will that illegitimate unmarried females be supported for life. There's a little old lady in Boston and two others, I believe, living in the London East End, who continue to receive the original ten pounds sterling every month. Not much these days, I'm afraid.
"But he was a rogue! Cheated at cards, or at least he was accused of doing so. He ravished any woman who moved across his line of vision. He had a passion for very young girls and it was the scandal of London one year when it was found that he was having three of them kept for his own personal pleasure, by a madam in Limehouse. He bought eleven and twelve year olds as virgins and kept them for a year or two after they were deflowered. Got him cashiered from his regiment… and it was the right regiment, too. It had taken him to Balaklava into the Valley of Death. Later he struck Lord Raglan at a garden party and challenged him to a duel, but his friends insisted he was drunk and the incident was hushed up. Great grandfather had a penchant for small boys also. There was that incident in Alexandria… but I'm boring you with all this and Lady Flemming is waiting. The tea is probably cold by now. Shall we?"