Mornington-By-Mere
is a small country village lying in the Finchbottom Vale nestled between the
Ancient Dancingdean Forest and the rolling Pepperstock Hills.
It is a quaint
picturesque village, a proper chocolate box picturesque idyll, with a Manor
House, 12th Century Church, a Coaching Inn, Windmills, an Old Forge, a
Schoolhouse, a River and a Mere.
But this
Christmas tale is set in the Manor House over Christmas 1962, when the house
was full of the St George clan and their peripheral family and the Molesworth’s
fell into the latter group.
Twenty-six-year-old Tristan Molesworth was the family throwback being 6ft 4 with flaming red hair, this was to be
his last Christmas at the manor and indeed his last in the UK as he was emigrating
to New Zealand in the following spring to run the farm he had inherited from
his great uncle.
On his
eleventh day at the house, New Year’s Eve, he was
up early and was the first to arrive for breakfast, because he knew it was his
best chance of getting to speak to cute housemaid Amy Galasso, with whom,
following a chance encounter in the library, they had been having a satisfying
and sustained affair.
Amy initiated a lusty embrace which led to her being skewered in the library culminating in Amy
screaming out in orgasm.
She was on
her period, so he hadn’t been inside her for five days, well not her pussy
anyway, but she was sharing his bed every night, so he’d been in her mouth.
He wasn’t
very worldly wise and his experience with women before that Christmas was
limited and his knowledge of women’s menstrual cycles was non-existent, but he
was confident that she would be ready to resume normal congress very soon.
He had just
lifted the dome off the silver platter and was helping himself to sausages when
Amy walked in.
“Good
morning, sir” she said trying and failing to hide her delight
“Good
morning, Amy” he replied, “and how are you today?”
“Oh, I’m
well sir,” she replied “Very, very well, in fact”
Further
elaboration was not possible because other members of the family arrived, but
the message was received, Amy was ready for action.
Unfortunately,
it was New Year’s Eve, so she was too busy for them to act on their wants and
needs, and that night he was going the RAF party at Mornington field.
After the
busyness of the day most of the servants were off duty so after supper Amy went
up to her room for a cheeky finger and a relativity early night.
She had
just removed her vest and was standing by her bed wearing only her cotton
drawers and stockings when her door suddenly opened.
Amy gasped
and held her vest up to cover her breasts, and then saw it was Tristan
Molesworth stepping inside the room and closing the door.
“What are
you doing here?” she asked and let her vest fall to the floor.
Tristan left
the party early and walked back to the Manor and as he walked, he decided what
he was going to do when he got back.
Ever since
that first time in the library and including that first time, Amy had initiated
their sexually intimacy so now he decided he needed to act.
Tristan
stood in the doorway and looked at the cute Housemaid standing by the bed in
her underwear hiding her titties behind her vest.
After he
entered the room and closed the door she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“Aren’t you
pleased to see me?” he asked as he stared at her titties “I’m very pleased to
see you”
Amy blushed
and rushed into is arms
“Of course,
I’m pleased” she said “But I thought you were at the party”
“I was” he
replied “But I got a headache”
“I can get
you something for it” she offered with concern
“Thank you,
but I don’t have a headache” he explained, and she gave him a puzzled look
“It was my
excuse for leaving the party early” he explained “it was my way to get to
you”
Amy looked
up at him and smiled, then she kissed him and the moment their lips touched
she locked onto his mouth like a limpet, it was a warm liquid kiss with hot
tongues of passion, full of lust and love.
Tristan’s hands caressed up and down her naked back and repeatedly
ending up on her tight little buttocks until he pushed her backwards against
the wall.
Her tongue was like a striking serpent in and out of his mouth, lips
still locked limpet like on his, nostrils snorting in air he slid his hand slowly up to cup her
breast, and she drew in a sharp sighing breath through her nose as he fondled
her breast.
Amy wrapped
her arms around him and stopped kissing him to bury her face in his neck, so he
stopped playing with her hardening nipple and moved his playful hand down
across her belly and into her drawers.
The moment
his fingers reached the abundant thatch of her minge she adjusted her
stance in anticipation of his progress.
However, his fingers dallied on her prominent mound and then slipped
into the abyss of her hot, creamy cunny and she let out a little “Hmmm” of pleasure
at his touch.
Her face was buried deep in the crook of his neck to stifle any further
exclamation, of which there were many, as he stroked her gorgeous wet pussy
until she came; her thigh’s closing on his hand at the point of climax trapping
his fingers between her lips.
After a moment or two she released his digits from her creamy cunny,
pushed him away and gave him a wicked grin, then she moved past him and
wriggled out of her drawers before climbing on to her bed.
Amy lay down and after her
thighs sprang open her fingers slipped between her lips, and she worked on
herself as she watched him undress.
Amy eagerly received his engorged cock when he mounted her in 1962 and
sighed with contentment when her withdrew the following year.
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