The Missionary and the Pygmies

and other stories

by

Charlotte Roberts

Copyright © 2014 by Charlotte Roberts

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this collection are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Published in 2014 by

Charlotte Roberts

Harriet Colsden

"We'll be back on Sunday evening," said Mrs Colsden to her daughter Harriet. "Remember the brown bin goes out tomorrow evening. Don't forget, dear, or the smell will be terrible. And make sure the builders clear up any mess after they've removed the scaffolding. And any emergency, you know who to call."

"Yes, Mummy," said Harriet wearily, looking at the newspaper through her thick glasses.

"Leave the girl alone," said Harriet's father. "She's a grown woman for Christsake."

"Listen to the man," exclaimed his wife. "Talking like that. A vicar, would you believe?"

After what seemed like an interminable delay of fussing and endless instructions from her mother, Harriet's parents finally left for their long weekend in Margate, and the vicarage was hers for three days.

She spent the evening in front of the TV and when she woke late the next morning, she found the builders' van parked outside and saw two men taking down the scaffolding. She watched them for a while from the pantry window. One of them was a large, middle-aged man, but the other was young, around twenty she guessed, with blond hair and a muscular body.

Harriet herself was a confirmed spinster and, at thirty-two, still a virgin. She had a rather bookish face, her somewhat long nose giving her a bird-like appearance. This, together with her prim manner and thick glasses and her hair in a permanent bun, prevented men from seeing her as a sexual creature. As a consequence, she learned to see herself in the same way. She had long since accepted her fate, and had developed other interests. She was leader of the local brownies group, she did volunteer work for the local hospice and worked part-time in a charity shop. She kept herself busy and never felt sorry for herself for a moment.

She stood there at the pantry window watching the men, particularly 'blondy' as she had decided to call him, for about twenty minutes, and then they seemed to disappear. Probably gone for a tea-break, lazy buggers, she thought.

She went out the back of the vicarage and cycled over to Exwick to help with the brownies. It was awards day, and Harriet handed out the little medals to the girls. She then went to see old Mrs Poplar who was getting on rather and needed someone to look in every now and then. After that she did some shopping and returned to the vicarage. It was after teatime and the builders' van, as well as the scaffolding had disappeared.

She took her bike round the back and was surprised to see the back door wide open. Strange, she thought. I distinctly remember shutting it.

She took her shopping bags into the kitchen and placed them on the kitchen table, and as she did so, she heard a creak above her. She listened. More creaking. Someone was up there, walking around.

She quietly went up the stairs, not feeling the slightest fear (she was that kind of girl) and entered her parents bedroom. Blondy was there, looking into a cupboard.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she said in her forthright manner.

Blondy nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun round and started stammering an incoherent explanation.

"You were going to burgle the place, weren't you? You bloody burglar. I'll call the cops, that's what I'll do."

Blondy gave up with his attempted excuse.

"I'm sorry," he pleaded. "Please don't tell anyone. Please don't call the cops. I'll lose me job. Please don't tell on me. I didn't mean it."

"You didn't mean it?" snorted Harriet. "You accidentally tripped in through the back door and accidentally tripped up the stairs, did you? And you accidentally opened that cupboard door too, I suppose."

"I thought the place was empty. I was just having a mosey, that's all."

Harriet's expression remained stern and immovable.

"Honestly, I'll do anything just please don't tell on me. I've been in trouble before, see. If you tell on me, that'll be it for me. I'll be finished." He looked at her with an anguished expression. "Please, miss. I'll do anything."

"You'll do anything?" said Harriet. "What, like some building work?"

"Yeah, sure. Anything."

"Well, too bad, 'cos I don't want any building work," said Harriet, mercilessly.

"Something else, then. Anything."

The boy was in earnest, and Harriet suddenly had a naughty thought. She made a big show of deliberating, and then said, "Well, maybe I won't call the cops after all. But you'll have to do exactly as I say."

The lad seemed relieved. "Definitely. Anything you say."

"You understand that when I say 'anything', I mean you will be my slave and obey me unquestioningly."

Blondy seemed slightly taken aback.

"Don't worry. I won't ask you to cut your wrists or anything like that. Now, do you agree?"

Now it was Blondy's turn to consider. "So I have to be your slave? How long for?"

"One hour," said Harriet, looking at the clock on the bedside table. "At twenty past six, you'll be free to go."

Blondy looked at the clock too, then back at Harriet. He seemed to survey her for a few moments, then agreed. "All right."

"Follow me," said Harriet.

He followed her down the stairs and out the back door into the garden. It was a balmy summer evening, the sun still shining warmly in a blue sky and swallows darting through the air above them.

She stood in the centre of the lawn and turned to face him. "Take off your T-shirt," she said.

"What?" he asked, taken completely by surprise.

"You heard," she said. "Hurry up."

He looked about as if to appeal for help, but there was nobody around. The vicarage was two miles from the nearest village, and the garden was completely enclosed by laurels.

He took off his T-shirt and stood there, waiting to find out what was next.

Harriet looked at the lad's torso. He was built like a male model. She felt a thrill of power and anticipation run through her.

"Take of your trousers," she said.

He saw there was no escape, and he did what he was told, throwing the clothes onto the grass.

"What's this about?" he asked.

"Never you mind. You're my slave, remember? Now," she said, pointing to his underwear and shoes. "The rest."

"You're kidding," he said. But evidently she was not. He pulled down his underwear and stood, naked on the lawn.

She fixed her gaze on his cock. She'd never seen one in the flesh before. She didn't have much to judge by, but to her it looked like a fine specimen.

"Lie down and close your eyes. Go on. On your back."

Blondy lay down on the warm grass and closed his eyes.

"Don't move," she said.

She tip-toed over to him, trying not make a sound. She kneeled down beside him and peered closely at his cock. It lay flopped to one side, shaved clean, limp and warming in the sunshine. She checked the boy's face and his eyes were closed tightly. Then she leaned forward and breathed on his cock.

He felt her warm breath, then he felt fingers curl around his shaft and lift it up. Then he felt it enclosed by her wet mouth, the tongue licking the soft flesh, kneading it, wetting it, heating it up. He shot a quick glance but she was looking at him and caught him,

"Clothe you eyeth," she hissed, her mouth full of his cock.

She continued her attentions, and he started to respond. After a while she could no longer keep the whole length in her mouth as it expanded and hardened. She was amazed at how it grew, and the feeling of having this thing to play with, to do with as she wished, thrilled her. She started to feel a warm glow between her legs, and realised that she was growing wet.

She sucked the cock some more and kneaded the lad's balls with her free hand. Then she stroked his stomach and chest, and he started to respond more strongly, letting out some encouraging gasps.

She dropped his cock for a moment and began to loosen her blouse. He opened his eyes again to see what she was up to, but she shouted at him again to close them, and he did so.

She stood up and stepped out of her skirt and underwear and felt the thrill of being naked outdoors for the first time in her life.

She then placed her feet astride the boy and lowered herself, squatting above his cock, taking hold of it and then guiding it inside her. She gave a cry as it plunged into her soaking hole.

The lad opened his eyes and saw her slim body perched on top of him, her hips gyrating.

"Don't look," she said.

"Why d'you want me to keep me eyes closed?" he asked.

"I don't want to be looked at," she said.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because I'm not pretty," she said. "So close your eyes, slave."

But instead of closing his eyes, he sat up and reached out towards her and removed her glasses and threw them to one side. Then he reached round the back of her head and pulled the elastic scrunchy from her hair, letting it fall free.

"You look all right to me," he said. He then looked down at her large breasts. "Better than all right, actually," he added, placing a hand on a breast and fondling it. Then he took a nipple in his mouth and flicked it with his tongue. She let out a moan and continued moving her hips, grinding her pussy against his cock furiously.

After some time, as their pleasure increased, he leaned forward and kissed her passionately on the mouth.

"It's my first time," she confessed with a gasp.

"No way," he said, genuinely shocked. He gave a toothy grin, then said, "It doesn't feel like it. I mean, you know. It went in easy, like."

She paused her gyrations. "First time for a cock," she said. "I've had other things in there."

"Like what?" he grinned.

She considered for a moment. "Carrots ... cucumbers ... bananas ... bottles. A clarinet once."

They grinned at each other, then he raised himself up, overbalancing her and pushing her backwards. She lay on her back on the grass and spread her legs wide. He pushed his cock, which had slipped out, back into her flooded pussy, causing her to moan in ecstasy. The knowledge that it was her first time increased his excitement, and he kissed her again on the mouth, then found her left ear and plunged his tongue inside. Her hands clenched around his back and pulled him closer.

After a couple of minutes, she felt the pleasure from her tingling clitoris rise to an unbearable intensity, and suddenly it overtook her in an explosion of sexual release, her pussy quivering and oozing with climactic liquid which the movements of his cock brought to the surface.

Soon after he withdrew and she took his cock in her hand and helped him to shoot his sperm across her body. One squirt landed on her face, some onto her full breasts, the rest dripping down onto her smooth stomach. He gave a final shudder and groan, then fell on top of her, spent.

After a few moments she said, "You're free to go now," and gestured towards her raised wrist, on which her watch showed it was twenty past six.

He glanced at the watch and then muttered, "I'm in no hurry."

They looked at each other and smiled.

</div></body> </html>" />

On the Phone

Charles and Margaret Golwich were a perfectly normal married couple. You probably know couples like them. Why, you might even know them, or if you don't, you might one day meet them, and if you do, you'd never suspect the truth.

So how did this normality express itself, you ask?

Well, they met at university. They married after dating each other for five years. They lived a perfectly ordinary life for the next seventeen years. Their sex life, which had started off, as with so many young couples, with them practically believing they invented sex, soon simmered down to a once-a-week routine of missionary-position, ten-minute grinding at the weekend, and then tailed off into nothingness. Margaret compensated by delving into the pages of trashy romantic fiction, Charles compensated by making his work life and salary scale the measure by which he judged his success as a member of the male species.

From what I've said so far, it must be clear that somewhere along the line something changed. What was the catalyst for this momentous event, I hear you ask?

Margaret bought a smartphone.

And on this smartphone was a certain application which enabled her to make video calls, primarily to their son, Stephen, who had recently flown the nest to go to university, and to her elderly mother Dorothy, who had recently bought her first computer and was taking a course at the local library on how to use it.

One day Charles was at home, fiddling around with a broken vacuum cleaner, when Margaret's mother called.

"Are you at your computer, mother?" asked Margaret. Upon receiving a response in the affirmative, she suggested that they switch to a video call, and Margaret proceeded to lounge on the sofa, talking to her mother via her smartphone app. You know how women talk when they get going. Let me rephrase that, because some men can gab away for hours on end and put women to shame in the gabbing department.

Margaret and her mother were gabbing away when and Charles suddenly had an epiphany. He had no idea where it came from. Presumably it was a result of so many years of repressed, unsated sexual energy. Wherever it derived from, he strode purposely over to the sofa where his wife was lounging and looked down at her.

Margaret was holding the phone up in front of her with her head resting on the back of the sofa. On the screen (though Charles couldn't see) was her mother's face, and of course on her mother's computer monitor up in Hull, her mother could see Dorothy's head and shoulders as they reclined back.

Margaret was wearing a pair of dark blue trousers and Peter knelt down on the floor in front of her and started to undo her zip.

Margaret, in mid-flow, managed to continue with her sentence while flashing a quick look of surprise at her husband.

Charles, having loosened the waist, then forcefully pulled the trousers from Margaret's legs. Her panties came off alongside them.

"Have you heard from Stephen recently?" came her mother's voice from the phone.

"Yes, he, um, called last night actually," replied Margaret, keeping up the conversation.

"Didn't he have some exams recently?" asked her mother. "How did he do?"

Charles pulled up his wife's legs with a firm grasp and placed one on each of his shoulders. He looked down at his wife's exposed pussy and, knowing what he was about to do, he started to feel a stirring in his own trousers.

"Very well, Mother," said Margaret, as Charles pushed his face into his wife's crotch and started licking and poking with his tongue. He hadn't done this for years, but for some reason the knowledge that Margaret only had to turn the phone around and her mother would see everything had suddenly made this scenario irresistable to hom.

Margaret gave a little gasp as his tongue slipped into her pink slit, but her mother was in mid-flow and didn't seem to notice.

Judging from Margaret's reaction, Charles reckoned that she found the illicit nature of what he was doing as much a turn on as he did. As her mother droned on and on, Margaret punctuated the conversation with groans and moans which her mother interpreted as acknowledgements of what she was saying.

"And so I told them I wouldn't stand for it."

"Mmmm."

"They said it was the rules and I said I didn't care if it was the law of the land, you can't treat a customer like that."

"Mmmm."

"I asked to see the manager and they said she wasn't there that day."

"Aaah."

By this time Margaret's pussy was soaking: a mixture of Charles' saliva and her own juices, and Charles himself had a raging erection. He withdrew his face from his wife's crotch and then yanked her legs forward so that her ass slid to the edge of the couch. He then proceeded to free himself from his own trousers.

"Are you all right dear?" said her mother. "It's quite dizzying the way the picture swings like that."

"Yes, Mother. Just getting comfortable."

Charles took his cock in one hand and started rubbing the head against his wife's wet clitoris. She let out a trembling gasp. It was very strange. Here they were, a middle-aged couple for whom sex had long since become a rather dull routine, and now their bodies had suddenly become super-charged with sexual frisson.

"Are you sure you're all right dear?" asked her mother.

"Yes, Mother."

"You sound upset."

"It's just something on the - ahhh! - TV. A nature programme."

"What channel is it?" asked her mother. "I'll take a look."

"Oh ... No, it's a DVD actually. Carry on Mother. I'm listening."

Her mother went back to her interminable story and Charles pushed the head of his cock down. The soft flesh of his wife's pussy parted and his shaft slid deep into her tunnel. He held it there as his wife gave another little moan, then pulled back and started rhythmically thrusting, savouring the delicious sensations and thrilled by the dischordancy of what he was doing against the sound of the two women's inane conversation.

"How's Charles?" came her mother's voice. "Is he there?"

"Yes, he's right here."

"Put him on," said her mother. "I want to ask him about these investment thingies Sophie was telling me about."

"OK," said his wife, and with a smile she swung the phone around and handed it to Charles.

After getting over his initial shock, he greeted her mother, who proceeded to babble on while he continued pummeling Margaret's pussy.

"Can't you hold it steady?" said Dorothy. "You're making me feel dizzy."

"Sorry," said Charles. He tried to hold the phone more steadily while he continued with his pelvic thrusting. While his mother-in-law continued her long speech, his wife showed signs of approaching orgasm. She started using her fingers on her pussy to help herself along, rubbing and patting her swollen clitoris as he continued to fuck her. Soon she climaxed and, though she managed to restrain her moans, she did so with a violence he hadn't witnessed in years. Her whole frame shuddered on the couch and he felt his own orgasm approach in response.

"Hang on," he said, unable to control himself any longer. "Sorry to interrupt. Margaret wants a word." He quickly swung the phone round and handed it back to Margaret, who quickly composed her features and ad libbed some excuse for wanting to talk to her.

His cock was now rigid and throbbing inside Margaret's oozing pussy, and a rising tide of ecstasy exploded inside him and hot cum spurted forth, filling her tunnel with a warm feeling and bringing a final satisfied groan from her lips.

Well, that's pretty much the end of this story. Margaret and Charles' married life became a lot more interesting after that, and now you know why so I won't say any more about it.

Perhaps you'll see them around one day. Perhaps you'll even get to know them. One day you might even find yourself having a video chat with them, and it might seem like a perfectly normal, innocent chat ...

Ya Wen Hsu

Ya Wen Hsu had always dreamed of going to America, and when she won a scholarship and was accepted onto the course of a leading US university, she was delighted.

Being the only child of a traditional Chinese family from a rural village, she worried that she might have trouble making friends and fitting in, but she was determined to try her best and not be like so many other Chinese students who only hung out with those from their own culture. Her dream was to stay in America, to find work there after her studies were complete, and she wanted American friends from the start to help her build contacts and make that transition.

She knew that Americans were much more liberal and pleasure-oriented than Chinese people, so she decided to try to adjust her character in order to appear more modern and Westernized than she might otherwise appear.

So when she arrived on campus, she saw how the American girls dressed, with their skimpy tops and provocative (by her standards) clothing, and she tried to do the same. She had a great figure, much more busty than the Chinese norm, and she soon attracted the attentions of the local male students. She was invited to go for beers and she accepted every offer and made a point of conquering her natural shyness. In fact she perhaps over-compensated and soon she gained a reputation as a bit of a wild child.

One evening at a local bar, two male friends told her they were heading for a house party later and would she like to tag along? Ya Wen of course said she would, and that's how she soon found herself in a house full of strangers, with guys whooping and girls drinking and loud music and dancing and all the things she had never in her life experienced before.

She went along with it all and soon started to feel a little tipsy. She was talking to strangers as if she had known them for years, cracking jokes that perhaps were not that funny but to her increasingly inebriated mind seemed hilarious. Perhaps some unkind souls at the party might have said she was beginning to make a fool of herself, but that's what people do at parties, and she was in good company.

While she was chatting to a group of guys in the living room, she was suddenly stunned to realise that one of the other girls was kneeling in front of a guy reclining on the couch and sucking his penis.

The girl then removed her clothes and lowered herself onto her partner's cock, to the cheers of the nearby partygoers who were gathering to watch.

Another naked girl appeared seemingly from nowhere and was soon on the couch too, being fucked by one guy while sucking the dick of another.

Ya Wen could hardly believe her eyes. But her next reaction, after the initial shock, was a determination not to be left behind. If this was going to be a mass orgy, she wasn't going to be the odd one out.

She danced around the sofa and ripped off her top and bra, to the amazement of her friends and the cheers of everyone else. She grabbed the nearest guy and led him over to a vacant spot on the sofa. Undoing his pants, she took out his limp penis and started working away at it furiously with hand and mouth, soon being rewarded with the sight of a huge erection. She then stepped out of her jeans and panties and pushed the guy back onto the increasingly crowded sofa and straddled him, lowering herself onto his stiff cock, and proceeded to fuck him wildly.

By this time the room was full and the audience were cheering the performers enthusiastically.

The thought crossed Ya Wen's mind: what would her parents, who were traditional Chinese peasant farmers, think if they saw her now? What would her grandparents think? They would surely disown her – after they had first died of shock, that is. She could hardly believe it herself. But this was America and she was determined she was going to be an American.

The guy beneath Ya Wen gave signs that he was close to climaxing, and Ya Wen felt her own pleasure increasing as she moved up and down on his throbbing meat. The fact that she was completely naked and exposed under the eyes of others made everything seem that much more intense. Clothed partygoers were standing behind the sofa right in front of her, and one girl reached forward and playfully squeezed Ya Wen's breast.

The guy beneath her said "I'm coming," and Ya Wen rose off him and used her hand to bring him to orgasm, dumping his load on his own stomach. She beckoned the girl who had felt her breasts to come around the couch and join her, but the girl declined. Ya Wen began to wonder why she was the only one who had joined the first two girls in taking part in the fun.

"Come on," she said to the girl. "What are you waiting for?"

At this point some unkind person leaned forward and explained to the Chinese girl that the first two women were prostitutes, paid to perform by the hosts to give the party a wild atmosphere. Some of the guys, being guys, had happily joined the fun, but the only woman to have joined the whores in fucking complete strangers was Ya Wen, and she didn't have the excuse of being paid for her services.

As she received this news, she felt a penis probe her from behind and then push into her tight moist pussy: another guest availing himself of her 'services'. The two prostitutes had by this time disappeared to God knows where, and now she was the only naked female in a room full of clothed Americans, and the only Asian person at the party at all for that matter, being stared at by a group of westerners as she was being fucked by some guy whose face she hadn't even seen. While she tried to get her head around this new take on the situation, another cock appeared and was proffered in the direction of her face.

She felt an utter fool. She felt she had somehow shamed her country - here she was, the only Chinese girl at the party, and the only girl who had freely whored herself. Not only that, but she had done it while a group of clothed onlookers watched her fuck, exposed in all her nakedness.

The feelings of shame, of self-consciousness, of being the centre of attention for all the wrong reasons - what effect did such feelings have on Ya Wen?

It drove her absolutely wild with excitement.

She took the proffered cock and wrapped her lips around it while the guy at the back (whoever he was) continued slapping his balls into her, pounding her doggy-style. Another cock appeared to her left, and she grabbed it with her free hand, then took turns licking and sucking one cock at a time. It felt like many pairs of hands were rubbing and massaging her large, full breasts which hung down and rocked to and fro in rhythm to the pounding she was receiving. She felt the cock withdraw and then a mess of hot liquid was deposited on her lower back and ass.

Another pair of hands gripped her hips and maneuvered her onto her back, and she spread her legs wide as yet another guy pushed his meat into her. Meanwhile one of the cocks she had been sucking now erupted in front of her accompanied by the groans and gasps of its owner. Most of his semen landed on the fabric of the couch, but a few globules splattered into her hair and onto her right ear. More wild cheering erupted as the second guy jerked himself off onto her breasts which swung up and down as she lay on her back receiving the thrusts of the guy now fucking her.

So far she had made three guys come, but she herself remained unsatisfied. She decided to help herself out, and she reached down with her hand and started fingering her pussy and clit while rubbing her breasts with her other hand. After a few minutes she brought herself to a peak of pleasure and felt her body tightening as the feelings took hold. The guy fucking her withdrew and came onto her stomach. Some of his sperm dripped down onto her vagina, and she used the goo as additional lubricant. The sensation took her over the edge and she erupted in an explosion of ecstasy, her pussy trembling and quivering as she climaxed. The party seemed to grow dim and disappear, the people vanished as she lost herself in the sensations. Finally the waves passed over her and her head fell back onto the cushions and she gasped for breath. It was only then, when her screaming stopped, that she realised she had been screaming at all. The faces staring at her moved back into focus.

The assembled crowd were whooping and cheering their approval.

Well, thought Ya Wen, so much for blending in.

Two for One

Lt Cmdr Anne Rushton looked across the mess table at Captain Rosanne Laird and gave her a stern look.

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting, Captain Laird?" she asked.

Laird looked at her superior and stuttered, "I, um, no. I mean to say..."

"May I remind you of US Army regulations prohibiting fraternization on or off duty while aboard ship?" said Rushton.

"Yes I'm aware–" began Laird.

"It's common knowledge that you are a lesbian," continued Rushton. "You have not attempted to conceal that information, and you have a perfect right to tell or not tell whoever you like. I on the other hand do not publicly announce my sexual inclinations because I do not believe it is the business of anyone on this ship. I'm aware that there are rumours, and I do not lower myself to comment on them ..."

Jeez, thought Laird. She's really laying it on thick.

"So in answer to your question, no, I would not like to accompany you to the store room." Then Lt Cmdr Rushton flashed Laird a barely perceptible smile. "However, next shore leave, when we're off duty, I might consent to go for a beer with you."

And with that, she picked up her empty food tray and left the mess hall.

Next shore leave was when the ship docked in the home port of San Diego, and true to her word, as they disembarked from the USS Benfield, Rushton shouted down the gang plank to Laird who was setting foot on dry land for the first time in many weeks, "Well? How about that drink, Captain Laird?"

The two officers, still in uniform, shared a taxi and Rushton gave the driver directions to a bar downtown.

They spent an hour there and had a couple of beers. Laird wondered what would happen next. She had been blown over by Rushton's beauty the first time she had been assigned to her command two months previously. Rushton had a delicacy about her face that contrasted with the masculinity of her position and the uniform she wore, which only served to increase her attraction in Laird's eyes.

There had been no way to know or not whether she was a lesbian or bisexual, but Laird heard rumours over the following months, and by degree managed to introduce a few leading, inviting suggestions into their conversation, fishing to see what came back, which had culminated in that conversation across the mess table.

After they finished the second round of beers, Rushton suddenly picked up her kit bag and told Laird, "Come with me."

Rushton led her outside and they crossed the street and then dived down a side street. Rushton went up to a door and used a key to open it.

"Is this your place?" asked Laird.

"Sure is," said Rushton.

"I didn't even know you lived in San Diego," continued Laird.

Rushton smiled at her. "Would you like to stay the night?"

The two women spent the evening chatting. Rushton had the knack of somehow managing to completely switch off her officer persona at will, and Laird found her to be a warm, funny host.

Later, Rushton suggested Laird take a shower, and while she was doing so she heard the front door close and she assumed that Rushton had gone out, maybe for another bottle of wine or something from the convenience store.

But when she came out of the shower wrapped in a towel, she saw a suitcase in the hallway which hadn't been there before.

"Hi sweetie," came a voice, and Laird span round to find a young guy of about twenty-five smiling at her. He handed her a glass of wine and introduced himself. "I'm Paul. Annie told me all about you."

"Oh," said Laird. She had been in the lesbian and gay scene long enough to guess with near certainty that this guy was gay.

"I'm Annie's boyfriend," he added.

OK. Now she was confused.

They ended up the three of them sitting on the couch watching a really bad movie and cracking jokes and finding pleasure in how terrible it was. Rushton sat in the middle, with Laird and Paul either side. Then it came to a certain point in the evening, and Paul leaned over and kissed Rushton.

"It's weird, Paul," said Laird. "If I didn't know better, I would have guessed you were gay. Please don't be offended."

"I am gay, sweetie," said Paul.

"Oh," said Laird. "OK. You know what? I'm a little confused right now. Can you guys tell me what's going on and exactly how you see this evening panning out?"

Rushton turned to Laird, took her face in her hands and kissed her passionately.

It was a little weird with the woman's gay boyfriend sitting a few feet away, but it was also very nice. Laird enthusiastically returned the woman's attentions, and soon Rushton's hands reached down and started undoing Laird's blouse.

While she was doing this, Paul reached over and started kissing Rushton on the neck. Then his hands stroked her legs, moving up to her crotch before starting to loosen her pants.

Rushton was now leaning sideways licking Laird's right nipple, and out of the corner of her eye Laird saw Paul gave a tug on Rushton's pants and a hard, pink cock sprang loose.

"Fuck me!" gasped Laird, not able to stop herself.

"I intend to," replied Rushton with a smile.

Paul's mouth was instantly fastened around his girlfriend's cock and he licked and sucked while Rushton turned her attention to freeing Laird from her own pants.

Paul had slipped off the couch and was now kneeling in front of Rushton, his head bent down with his mouth slobbering over her cock. Rushton pulled Laird over and, taking hold of the woman's hips, got her into position above her. Laird was now straddling Rushton, facing her, a foot placed on the sofa either side of Rushton's hips. Paul relinquished Rushton's cock and Laird slowly lowered herself onto the rigid, moistened shaft.

This woman, thought Laird, with her perfect, delicate, feminine face and smooth white breasts, had a man's hefty penis where her vagina should be. The sight of this disconcerting body and that cock disappearing up into her wet pussy was driving Laird wild. Rushton stretched forward her neck to take one of Laird's nipples in her lips, sucking and flicking and licking, then moving across to the other breast, while Laird rode her cock. She glanced back to see that Paul had stripped and was applying K-Y jelly to his erect cock. Now he moved towards the two of them. Rushton opened her legs wide, and Paul advanced towards her ass and pushed his glistening cock against her anus and then forward, pushing deep into her rectum.

Laird wondered how it felt, to be this woman with a cock, fucking another woman while a guy fucked you in the ass. Judging by her moaning and the expression on Rushton's face, it felt pretty good.

The three of them were like a well-oiled machine, working together as a unit. Moving up, down, back and forth, a triple-sectioned fucking machine.

"Rosanne," said Paul. "Do you like it up the ass?"

"I'm a lesbian," said Laird.

"I know that," said Paul. "But do you like it up the ass?"

"I thought you were gay?" said Laird.

"Well, I have my moments," said Paul. "Anyway, these labels are so tiresome. So, are you going to tell me? Do you like it up the ass?"

I just told you I'm a lesbian, thought Laird. Then she thought, Fuck it.

She reached back and pushed Paul's hips away from Rushton's ass, and then pulled them back again. She felt Paul's cock press up against her asshole, push into the flesh and then suddenly overcome some resistance and pop in, filling her asshole with his swollen meat. She could feel the way Paul's cock behind and Rushton's cock in front moved against each other through her flesh. The sensation was unbelievable. A cock in her ass, a cock in her pussy, one belonging to a man, the other to a woman.

"Oh yes. Oh fuck. Oh fuck that feels good," gasped Laird.

"Sure you're not bi?" smiled Rushton.

Laird no longer cared what she was. All she knew was pleasure. She had left the normal, neatly classifiable world far behind and was now submerged in a world of pure, animal pleasure.

Paul started alternating his thrusting so that one forward movement would fuck Laird's asshole, then withdraw completely, then the next would fuck Rushton's. Double fucked, Laird started to feel the approach of orgasm. Then it came, sweeping through her, waves of ecstasy making her cry out. It was the strongest, longest orgasm of her life, and when it finally reached its peak and crashed over her, she slipped off Rushton's cock and fell to one side, limp and panting for breath.

Paul carried on fucking Rushton. Now Rushton's cock was free, Paul took it in one hand and caressed and stroked it as he thrusted his own cock into the shemale's asshole.

As Laird lay on the couch to one side, the quivering spasms of her over-excited pussy slowly dissipating, she looked blankly at the scene in front of her. Rushton, her commanding officer, leaning back on the couch, her legs spread wide and high, being fucked in the ass while the guy fucking her toyed with her swollen cock. It was a surreal and wonderful sight. Laird had thought of herself as a lesbian for so long, but as she watched, as the stirrings of excitement started to return, she suddenly didn't know what to think. That was a penis there, sprouting from the body of that woman. How could that be? And what did it mean if she wanted to touch it? To take it in her mouth?

Fuck it, she thought again, and she raised herself, leaned forward and, with Paul's fingers still wrapped round the base of the shaft, she took the length into her mouth. She could taste her own vaginal juices still on the meaty tool, and she marveled at the way the cock filled up the space inside her mouth. She raised her mouth a little, giving her tongue room to lick and flick the head, then plunged her mouth down again. Within a few inches of her eyes, she saw Paul's cock appearing and disappearing into Rushton's asshole. She reached out and cupped the woman's balls, gently squeezing and massaging them as her head moved up and down on the woman's cock.

Suddenly without warning there was an explosion of cum inside her mouth and Rushton gave a grunt of release. Laird kept stroking Rushton's balls and running her lips up and down the throbbing shaft as the shemale pumped sperm into her mouth. The hot, salty cum overflowed at the corners of her lips and rolled down the shaft in white globules.

Rushton gasped as she climaxed, and suddenly Paul gave a groan too and pulled out his cock from her asshole. It had already spurted once inside her ass and Paul stroked the head to make it spurt again onto the side of Laird's face as Laird finished sucking the final spurts of cum from Rushton's cock.

Finally, when all the liquid that was going to emerge had done so, they gasped for breath for some moments then looked at each other, the three of them. Laird smiled broadly, shook her head and said simply, "Fuck!"

The Missionary and the Pygmies

Sylvia Barton-Rogers scrambled up onto the rocky outcrop and surveyed her surroundings. In every direction the jungle stretched off to the horizon.

To the west she made out a range of mountains, but had no idea what mountains they were. The plane had been traveling that way towards the city of Patana before it had developed engine trouble and crashed into the canopy. Her husband had helped her strap on a parachute, but by the time she jumped, the plane was too close to the ground for any of the other passengers to make it out alive. She had had the devil of a trouble herself when her chute had snagged on a branch, and it had taken her two hours to make it safely down to the ground. Now here she was twenty-four hours later, no food, no water, and utterly exhausted. She doubted if she would last much longer.

She patted her pocket. One thing she did have was her bible. She was in God's hands and she would submit to His will. If she could not do that much, what right did she have to come to this country to try to lead these poor primitive savages to Jesus in the first place?

Then she noticed it: a thin plume of smoke writhing up from the trees to the east, barely visible but perhaps her only chance of survival. She estimated it to be about five miles distant. An easy walk back in the Kent countryside of her homeland, but here, hacking through the trees with an almost blunt machete, she wasn't sure if she could make it. But she would try. What else could she do?

Seventeen hours later this twenty-eight-year-old English missionary woman, covered from head to toe in mosquito bites, stumbled into the village of Tai Tai Po and collapsed on the ground, gasping for water. The assembled villagers rushed forward in amazement, and seeing at once her sorry state, immediately set about helping her.

Two days later, emerging from a semi-comatose state, Mrs Barton-Rogers opened her eyes and was immediately handed a cup of water to drink. She looked about herself and saw that she was in a straw hut with three native women who were sitting half naked and looking at her curiously. The cloth covering the door was briefly moved aside and a shaft of sunlight seemed to slice into her swollen eyeballs. She closed her eyes and heard talking, then she drifted back into unconsciousness.

Over the next few weeks, Mrs Barton-Rogers recovered her health and ventured out to get to know her surroundings and the people who had saved her life. They were pygmies, none of them over five feet tall. Dark-skinned and easy-going in nature, their lives were good. Much time was spent lolling around the village, with occasional hunting parties sallying forth in search of monkey meat, but the forest here was so fruitful that most of their hours could be spent in leisure and sport without ever being in danger of going hungry.

The language of these people, while not that of the people to the north where she had spent the past year, had many features and words in common, and it didn't take her long to pick it up. Mostly it was about learning the different accent they used here.

Her physical health improved with great strides, but her spiritual health took a great battering the first time she witnessed one of their regular orgy-feasts. These took place every few days. The first ones she only heard, as she was at that time too weak to leave the hut. There was much singing and dancing through the night, and strange noises as of wild animals, and she could only guess what the source was.

Later, when she was well enough to witness the first such gathering, she realised how far out her guess had been.

It started off as a normal feast. She was treated with great kindness and as an honored guest. Later when the eating and drinking had seemed to reach a state of completion, the dancing started, and Mrs Barton-Rogers was invited to join in. She gracefully declined, but watched in horror as men and women started gyrating in the most provocative manner. At first they wore the scanty clothes which was their normal attire, but soon all their garments were cast aside and the men started showing signs of sexual arousal as they thrust their pelvises at the women, who ground their buttocks into the men's crotches. Mrs Barton-Rogers watched in horror as she realised that one couple had actually begun copulating in the midst of the now frenzied crowd. She thought that perhaps they would be seen and chastised by the others, but on the contrary, soon most of the dancers were physically joined in the same way, each man gyrating his erect penis into the vagina of his partner who pressed her buttocks back in rhythmic time to the beating drums.

She looked around her and saw that even the more elderly natives who did not take part in the dance were nevertheless in various states of copulation sitting or lying around the dancing area. The chief, who sat on her side, smiled at her as two native women attended to his manhood with busy tongues.

Mrs Barton-Rogers rose and walked off into the forest, disgusted with what she had seen.

Over the coming weeks she tried to teach these people about God, to hammer into them a sense of sin and guilt, but to no avail. They simply laughed at her notions and finally, much to her chagrin, she found that in their opinion it was she who was the depraved one. Why did she avert her gaze when the people took pleasure with each other? Did she have some evil spirit infecting her eyes to make them behave in such an unhealthy manner?

Finally the witchdoctor was called upon to examine the strange white woman, and he prescribed a special herb, which was duly obtained with no little trouble from a tree five hours' walk from the village.

When, at the next orgy-feast Mrs Barton-Rogers refused to drink the prepared medicine, the people made her feel so guilty that three men had risked their lives on a perilous journey to obtain the ingredients of the brew, that she decided to humour them and drink the stuff. It did not taste unpleasant.

As the feast progressed, she noticed a tingling sensation between her legs. She thought the brew might have poisoned her, and she stood up to test her strength. She felt quite well, but the tingling sensation intensified. The natives started their dance, and this time Mrs Barton-Rogers walked out among them, marveling at the beauty of their movement and, when they disrobed, of their naked bodies. The men might be rather short in height judged against English men, but they were perfectly formed and the brown colour of their skin, which her culture had led her to think of as evidence of inferiority, now seemed gloriously rich and smooth. The women too had wonderfully firm breasts with long dark nipples, and firm, round buttocks.

Instead of being disgusted, she now was enchanted and delighted. She wondered how she had failed to notice all this beauty before.

A native man approached her and pulled open her blouse, exposing her naked torso.

Whereas before she would have been absolutely aghast as exposing herself in this manner, it now seemed thoroughly delightful, the most natural thing in the world, and she rubbed her breasts with her hands, feeling the smoothness of the skin and the softness of the flesh with her fingers.

The tingling sensation was now increasing. She had never in her life so much as laid a finger on her own vagina. She now let her skirt and underwear drop to the dust and placed a hand firmly on her wet slit. The tingling sensation increased a hundredfold, an electric shock of pleasure. One part of herself could hardly believe what she was doing; the other half felt it was the most natural thing in the world.

She wandered around the dance area as if in a dream, rubbing herself openly in front of these savages. When the couples started their gyrating and grinding of crotches, she marveled at the men's penises as they grew erect. She could not stop herself from reaching out and stroking them as she walked by, but merely touching seemed inadequate. She knelt down between a mounted couple. They were standing-dancing-fucking as was their habit at these orgy-feasts. She pushed her hand between them and grasped the man's penis and pulled it out from the woman. She looked lovingly at the caramel coloured shaft, lubricated with the woman's juices, and she could do nothing else than lean forward and wrap her lips around the stiff member and feel the organ fill the cavity of her mouth. She then took it out and guided it back into the female native's expectant cunt. At the end of each thrust, she guided it back into her mouth so that the man was in effect alternately fucking his native partner and Mrs Barton-Rogers' mouth.

All the while she did these things, a part of her consciousness remained alert to the fact that she was Mrs Barton-Rogers of Birstall Hall, Sevenoaks, Kent, an English lady of good family, and the acts she was now engaged in were, by the standards of her own culture and family, beyond the pale.

But it had no effect.

She felt a hand reach round from behind and knead a white English breast. Another hand came from the other side and took hold of the other breast, rubbing the pink, hard nipple. She looked down and noticed both hands were right hands, one masculine and one feminine looking. She looked around and saw they belonged to two natives, another copulating couple. They smiled at her as they fucked. The man in front of her, whose penis she had been sucking, now pulled her up and pushed her hand away from her vagina, replacing it with his own. His fingers reached up into her moist hole, advancing to their full length. The feeling, heightened by the medicinal brew she had taken, was incredible.

Mrs Barton-Rogers had never had an orgasm in her life, though she had somehow heard and learned the meaning of the word during her sheltered upbringing. Sex with her husband had been a duty rather than a pleasure, at least for her. Now as the man in front, still fucking his smiling partner, caressed her clitoris and the couple behind massaged her breasts, she felt something rising up inside her, a tsunami of pleasure that advanced with unstoppable force and finally flooded her entire being. Her knees buckled and she sank to the ground. Her pussy quivered and leaked onto the dusty earth.

When it subsided and she had regained her senses, she knew only one thing: she wanted more.

By this time she was the centre of attention. A circle of natives, all copulating, stood around her. The women faced towards her and between their legs she saw the cocks of the men behind plunging deep inside them. All the faces were smiling down at her. It seemed to her at that moment that she had been transported to paradise.

She reached out to the nearest couple and pulled them down to the ground. The man rolled onto his back with his tool sticking upright, and Mrs Barton-Rogers pushed the native woman to one side and squatted astride the man. The civilized British voice, the voice of empire and cream teas and cricket, screamed at her to think what she was doing, but it had no effect. She lowered herself onto the savage's cock and pushed herself down firmly so that it plunged deeply up into her moist love tunnel.

Meanwhile the woman she had pushed aside sat astride the man's mouth, and as Mrs Barton-Rogers rode the man's cock, she had the pleasure of delighting at the sight of his tongue delving into and licking the woman's vagina. As Mrs Barton-Rogers ground her clitoris against the man's crotch, the woman having her pussy licked smiled broadly at her. Mrs Barton-Rogers leaned forward and fastened her lips on the woman's left beast, taking the huge, hard nipple in her mouth and flicking it with her tongue. Her mouth salivated profusely and saliva dripped from the corners of her lips and ran down the woman's torso.

Another wave of pleasure rose up, and she felt that she would soon reach orgasm again. At that moment, she felt something, someone's finger apparently, push against her anus. It was obviously wet because after an initial slight resistance, it slipped smoothly inside her. Her civilized self objected at this disgusting invasion of her most intimate parts, but was drowned out by the sheer animal pleasure she felt and she abandoned herself to these base sensations. She pushed herself down onto the rigid penis, back against the finger, down and back, down and back, and a second orgasm exploded upon her. She gasped and screamed with ecstasy and the natives murmured their approval as she moved her vagina off the man's cock and a spray of clear, hot liquid erupted from her quivering, pulsating cunt, drenching the man's chest.

The finger, whoever it belonged to, was withdrawn from her anus and she lay back in the dirt, but before she had time to recover herself, the Chief himself appeared before her with his penis standing to attention in front of him. He knelt down and pushed the shaft into her still quivering pussy, and at first she wasn't sure if the feeling was pleasure or pain. It was too soon after her orgasm, her clitoris was still too sensitive and raw. At first she lay there nearly insensible to everything, but then she started to feel the return of pleasure in her over-worked vagina. As she raised her head to take in the delicious sight of her pussy being skewered by the chief's large cock, she saw a spray of semen land on her breasts and stomach. She looked up to see another smiling native standing over her, his throbbing cock grasped firmly in his hand, the last dribbles of sperm dropping from his clenched fingers onto the ground.

The natives gave a cheer, and one by one the men broke off from their copulating to guide sprays of hot spunk onto Mrs Barton-Rogers. It was quite disgusting to be covered like this, thought Mrs Barton-Rogers. It was also delicious.

As if in a dream the chief's cock brought her to one final orgasm which shook her almost senseless, and then he withdrew his penis and ejaculated copiously, spraying his own spunk to mix with the puddles of white goo that had formed on her stomach, breasts and throat.

The crowd of onlookers, men and women, smiled approvingly down at her, and she smiled weakly back at them.

The next morning however, she was stricken with guilt when she remembered the events of the previous night. When she saw the witchdoctor, she berated the man for having drugged her into a state where she had not been responsible for her actions.

The witchdoctor smiled kindly at her, and explained that the three men who had gone to collect the special herb from the distant tree had in fact spent the day fishing at a nearby stream. The brew that she had drunk had been nothing more than tea.

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed these stories.

Charlotte Roberts is an English teacher and writer from Bristol in the UK.

Readers' reviews are the lifeblood of a self-published writer. If you would consider reviewing this book, you would become a member of a very elite club and I would be very grateful and would love to read your review!

RATE THIS BOOK

If you'd like to be the first to know when I release similar titles, or you just want to say 'Hi', email me at

charlotteroberts7491@yahoo.co.uk

Alternatively, you can subscribe to a mailing list at the link below. (I will only use your email address to notify you when I release future titles.)

https://tinyletter.com/charlotteroberts

Other books by Charlotte Roberts:

Horny in the Storeroom

Buy on Amazon

Kathy Does a Caveman

Buy on Amazon

(Non-erotica)

Attack of the Nymphomaniac Zombies

Buy on Amazon