Chapter 7
The night was dark. Rain was falling. Along the murky river frogs croaked dismally. Fish leapt. Close beside the water, beyond dense reeds, lights glimmered behind the drawn curtains of a gamekeeper's lodge.
The front entrance, screened by elderberry bushes, was illuminated by a storm lantern suspended from a chain.
Suddenly, the heavy, studded door was dragged open so violently it banged against the inner wall. A completely naked woman darted through the opening and ran, laughing, shouting taunts, toward the river. She plunged into tall, crackling reeds, tripped and sprawled headlong, slithered in mud and shallow water, lay gasping and giggling until footsteps sounded close by, squelching in the ooze. She scrambled up then, and fled swiftly.
But the dark figure of her pursuer loomed—a tall, muscular man, young and darkly handsome, the rugged lines of his face emphasized by a thin mustache. He, too, was stark naked, and endowed with a dangling, semi-erect penis the size of a mule's incredible branch rather than a man's tool, a monstrous, wrinkled roll thicker than the woman's forearm at its base, and almost as long.
She crouched, pretending to hide, but the man had seen her. He pounced, fell with her under him, pounding her into the mud, slithering, crushing reed stems, laughing and panting, the woman remonstrating, voicing mock protest.
They finished up in a shallow, rainwater-filled trench, wrestled from it onto higher ground where the reeds yielded to coarse grass. And there, roughly, callously, the man took her, his great branch massively swollen now, rigid, grinding into the woman's capacious vent with ponderous deliberation indicating a wealth of experience.
Gasping, Lady Gloria Mayne clung to her straining lover. She was several years older than Paul West, a natural blonde—although it was impossible to distinguish the color of her hair through its daubing of mud. Paul had worked as a gamekeeper on her husband's estate for almost a year, during which time Lady Gloria had remained unaware of his existence until quite recently. Lord Mayne was elderly, impotent. He lived in a world of his own.
Lady Mayne had an obsession with sex. She could not help it—she merely responded to the insatiable demands of her amorous nature. Paul West was merely the latest in a long sequence of youthful, virile lovers.
West was not yet thirty, a former guardsman. He neither drank hard liquor nor smoked, but had a reputation for promiscuity and enjoyed a certain notoriety. Women adored him. Men envied him. His only qualifications in addition to his knowledge of wildlife and firearms were the size of his penis and his sexual capacity. But he was a generous, easy-going man, and popular.
Lady Mayne was a vain, voluptuous beauty who expected a lot from life and went out of her way to get it. She had a private income, expensive clothes, jewels, two cars, everything any woman could possibly want or need—except what she most desired. In Paul West she had, for the time being, found her ideal.
Lady Gloria quickly became bored, but she was convinced she really loved Paul. He was everything she desired in a man. Their clandestine affair was a glorious adventure.
They lay panting, outlined in a faint glimmer of moonlight piercing the dispersing clouds, the fleshy blonde moving in unison with the man, clutching him with fierce possessiveness, moaning and pleading.
"Oh, Paul! Darling! Fuck me, my sweet! My precious! Ooooh! Dear lover—hurt me! I want to suffer. Oh, God! I love it! I LOVE it! Darling! Aaaaah! Oh, Paul! That's wonderful! I can't stand it! I'm coming already! I'M COMING! DARLING! Hold me tight!"
They thrashed in carnal ecstasy, wallowing in primeval passion, oblivious of the pelting rain, coaxing and murmuring, crying out, grunting, and finally flopped limply, the center of a deep depression rapidly filling with rainwater.
They lay quiet for a long time. The downpour diminished, trailed off, ceased altogether. The moonlight gleam spread, became a silvery sheen across the lapping water.
"Let's get back," West said. "This wet ground will give you a chill."
"Won't you catch cold, darling?"
"I never catch colds. But I'd rather be comfortable in bed. Let's go."
"Randy bastard. Haven't you had enough?" "Have you?"
"No, of course not. I can never get enough of you, darling, of this gorgeous thing. You never cease to amaze me."
She played with his relaxing organ. He laughed, knocked her hand away.
"Come on," he insisted. "Or you'll have me all worked up again and we'll be stuck here all night. Won't his Lordship wonder where you are?"
"No. He thinks I'm visiting friends. Besides, he's got his own interests. He seldom bothers me."
She squeezed his penis, relinquished it reluctantly, waited until he was on his feet and then extended both hands toward him. He pulled her up, swung her off the soggy ground into the cradle of his muscular arms, and carried her effortlessly through the bushes and along the path that led up to the small cottage.
He put her down just inside the entry, thrust the door shut with his foot.
"If anybody saw us they'd think we were crazy," he declared.
"Well, aren't we? Who is there to see us?"
"Poachers. The woods are infested with the bastards. And courting couples. If Lord Mayne ever finds out about us and I lose this job 111 crucify you."
"He won't."
She came close, smiling up into his face, put her arms round his waist.
"Why don't we just go away together?" she asked. "I've got enough for us both to live on, and ..."
"We've been all over that before. I'm no whore. Soon 111 have enough saved to buy into that timber business in Milford Haven. Then maybe well go away."
"Only maybe?"
"What do you want—a written guarantee?"
Lady Gloria sighed. She pulled at him, reached down and captured his tremendous, fleshy roll.
"Right now all I want is more of this," she said. Her mood changed, brightened. She kissed him, moved quickly toward the bedroom. West overtook her in the doorway, grabbed her round the waist. The impetus of his rush carried them into the room and they sprawled together on the wide, luxurious bed—not at all the kind of bed one would expect to find in a gamekeeper's lodge. Lady Gloria's money had paid for the bed. She liked comfort with her pleasure.
The springs creaked. West lay on his back, following an accepted routine, procedure. Lady Gloria cuddled up beside him, and for a while he contented himself with kissing and fondling her small but exquisitely formed breasts, stroking her bottom, and feeling between her thighs. Eventually she altered her position, kneeling astride his stomach with her buttocks flattened against his chest, then lifting her haunches and presenting a bold view of her large, elongated vagina to his admiring gaze.
West craned his neck, kissed the wet fissure, plunged his face into it. His fingers tightened convulsively on her hips, moved quickly to her buttocks, were deeply embedded in her flesh. When she took the glans of his penis into her mouth—no small accomplishment despite the size of her cavity—he groaned.
They sucked each other's genitals, working themselves up into a frenzy of sexual tumult, licking, kissing, probing, sniffing, squirming. West knew exactly what delighted Lady Gloria Mayne most. He tongued her clitoris, sucked it, closed his mouth over the loose folds of her quim. She responded by alternately sucking and whacking the great boom rearing past the pointed cones of her jutting breasts.
Presently, trembling with eagerness, she slid down the bed until her head rested between West's feet and he was looking into the depression of her succulent behind and pulsating vagina. She raised herself slightly then to allow him freedom of movement to curve his penis and push it into the inviting furrow, then relaxed and encouraged him to screw right in, stretching her legs out either side of his head, her bottom jogging up and down, assisting his entry.
It was an awkward position, impossible for most men, but the gamekeeper was more than adequately endowed to achieve it successfully. With both hands spread across the rising and falling ovals, feeling the tense rippling of firm muscles under the satiny skin, he abused her exposed anus, eventually worked his thumb into it and left the digit deeply embedded, the index finger lying along the tight crack of her ass, his palm cupping the agile buttock, and watched his thick penis gliding smoothly in and out, occasionally applying pressure to the bulging curve of his bent prick to maintain penetration.
Lady Gloria's response was almost immediate orgasm. A second emission followed, but still she shagged, pushing back firmly, straining against her lover's regulated thrusts. Flushed and triumphant, she twisted partly round.
"I've come twice!" she exclaimed. "Let it go, darling. Don't hold back now."
West, on the brink of ejaculation, withdrew to the extreme fringe of the splayed, rounded opening. Then, keeping the lips widely separated with his thumbs, he gazed at his knob pulsing in the outer folds of the glistening slit, and fucked slowly, with restricted, short strokes, deriving maximum enjoyment, and eventually deposited a pool of sperm just within the dark red, clamlike cleft.