Lady Agatha Winthrop’s family estate was located in the Midlands in a location that was neither stylishly modern nor historically significant. She was the last in line of the Loyalist Winthrop’s, not to be confused with the Rebel Winthrop’s, who were an entirely different breed of British royalty in all respects.
When her elder brother Ronald was shot down and killed during hostilities in one of the recent American sponsored global responses to bad behavior, her parents never got over it and expired from sheer lack of interest in earthly matters. They were never taken with their daughter Agatha whose bovine looks convinced them she had been switched at the hospital. Poor Agatha was orphaned at twenty and sole heir to the Winthrop fortune which was considerable in a time of economic uncertainty. The grandfather Sir Harry Winthrop had always been a firm believer in “G” and “D” as mainstays for all investments. His holdings in Gold and Diamond investments insured the trust would remain steadfastly secure even in periods of financial constriction.
Agatha was now a budding spinster at the young age of thirty two.
She was not a virgin nor was she unfamiliar with the perversions of the flesh that one encounters in University or at a French beach resort. Despite her innocent appearance, Lady Agatha was well-versed in oral and anal pursuits and found various interested males who were not put off by her thick but nubile and agile body willing to perform any act no matter how kinky and depraved.
The royal lady was careful to keep her activities well outside her circle of friends and acquaintances in order to keep her own back yard neat and trimmed. The only person aware of her proclivities was the Church of England man of the cloth who listened intently to her descriptions of her repeated falls from grace. He often requested exact details so he could give her the best advice he could under the circumstances. Sometimes, he would have to write down her experiences so he could consult his computer for an explanation of the activities. Then, he would respectfully propose to his matronly wife of some twenty years that they engage in the act just to determine the extent of the sin. He considered it practical experience and his wife was more than willing to participate since it was the will of God that she assist in the redemption of some poor parishioner’s soul.
In recent months, Agatha had been in a bit of a funk. She had even resorted to the use of her old standby Mr. Stuffings who normally resided in the bottom drawer of her dresser. The battery operated tubular device had served her well both in University and on the many holiday trips she had made with her parents in the next room. It would have been most unseemly to have invited a male acquaintance into her quarters with them in such close proximity.
Now that she was alone, she merely solved her pussy-stuffing challenges with handy strange males up for a go and desperate for female company near closing time. She preferred those with visible wedding rings or with several rounds “under the belt” sporting the most liberated of libidos. Sometimes she got a total dud in the copulation department but she made do with attention to detail and a vigorous suck to arouse their flagging interest. Once in a rare while, she ran across a personage of great thickness of member and quantity of seed-laden liquids that managed to stretch her to her limit and fill her right up to the brim with creamy residue.
The right honorable Cecil Poundbottom was one of those rare discoveries.
Agatha had scooped up the inebriated not still young Cecil at a soon to be empty wedding party tent on the estate of her former female companion Miss Rose Teagarden now known as the Duchess of Lancaster. Not the original Lancaster of course but a pale imitation in the hinterlands. In fact, the claim to the title was dubious, at best.
She was sitting at a table alone after the other couples had all departed to their happy homes. She was not feeling particularly depressed, just a little down after not being asked to dance by the clueless males in attendance. The presence of Master Poundbottom came to her attention when he emitted a rather loud snore with his head resting uncomfortably on the stained tablecloth. The very first thing she noticed besides the obvious trim appearance of his nicely designed bum was his shoes which were in the latest fashion and spotlessly clean. It was such a departure from most of the males of her acquaintance that she felt drawn to inspect the fellow closer.
Lady Agatha checked Master Poundbottom from head to toe. Since he was in a semi-conscious state, she did not hesitate to verify the size of his manly pouch to determine if he were worth her effort. She gingerly hefted the package and found it to be more than adequate for her feminine needs. The young man’s face was quite soft in repose and she was certain he had used a bit of lip color to make his already pleasing countenance more attractive to the eye. Not that it really mattered because she had made excellent use of gender confused males on more than one occasion. In fact, she found they overcompensated for their lack of interest with spirited perverted conversation and skilled copulation techniques. She peeked inside the man’s trousers to check his underwear and found them to be the cleanest and highest quality of cloth she had ever encountered. This was Agatha final test of a male’s worthiness for pussy-filling duties.
In the privacy of her bedroom suite, Agatha slowly stripped the young man and saw that the beautiful clothes hid a body of manly proportion. He was muscular and toned to perfection. She sniffed his crotch and his armpits. His scent was intoxicating and she wanted to fall on him in a frenzy of passion. However, she restrained from doing so and merely watched him in his naked glory. She even resisted the temptation to take his equipment in hand for her solitary enjoyment.
When Cecil awoke and saw his nubile companion and his naked condition, he assumed that he had lost control of his desires and had taken advantage of the strange female in his bed.
“So sorry, madam, I seem to have misplaced my trousers.”
Agatha laughed at his embarrassment. She could see the man was about her own age and was devoid of those male characteristics which assert immediate dominance over the female gender. Since most of her sexual interaction was with that sort of macho male personality, she found it to be strangely reassuring. She could tell that Cecil, for instance, would be highly unlikely to put her over his knee and spank her or make sport with her bottom. In her infinite wisdom, she was also able to judge that the right honorable Cecil Poundbottom was attracted to the female cunt by the way he allowed his eyes to remain on that part of her anatomy from the moment he first opened his eyes.
Armed with that knowledge, Agatha proceeded to further explore her new toy’s proclivities by crawling across his naked body to recover his trousers from the floor on the other side of the bed. She made certain her nicely rounded buttocks were quite close to his eyes and that he had a “bird’s eye” view of her delightful snatch from the rear along with her probably slightly gaped pucker hole.
Before she had departed to the wedding party, Agatha had made extensive use of Mister Stuffing in her nether regions stretching her tight hole widely in every direction. She liked to do that just in case some randy sort decided to bend her over in a dark corner and take advantage of her willing posterior. Unfortunately, it seldom happened but she enjoyed just thinking about the possibility.
She squirmed a bit on top of Cecil’s thick and now aroused cock well satisfied that he had begun to play a little tune inside her heated crack. He might now be rough with her bottom but he was interested enough to play little games in her garden of delight.
“My name is Cecil Poundbottom, madam. I must apologize for I do not know to whom I have the honor of addressing.”
Agatha started to roll her hips because Cecil’s fingers were starting to make her juices overflow from her heated pussy slit. She humped up to let him know she was totally prepared to give him access to either hole if he so desired.
“I am Lady Agatha Winthrop and this is my house. You were in sore distress last night at the wedding party and we repaired to my estate since I live quite close to the bride’s residence. You implored me to succor your loneliness and promised to treat me to some mutual physical merging but fell into a stupor before consummation.”
During this discourse, Agatha managed to get her arm crooked around Cecil’s rampant cock and when she looked down; she saw it was fair pulsating with desire to be inserted into her fleshpot of sticky juices.
Agatha did what any self-respecting single female would do. She threw her hands palm up and spread her legs in supine submission allowing young Cecil to make the first move.
Quickly, the fastidious young man covered her ample body with his demanding muscular frame and he introduced her to his huge cock and fearsome ball sacs that hung down like pendulums in search of the midnight hour. Within a matter of moments, the two were cleaved together like biblical forebears procreating with a degree of frantic give and take that ultimately forced poor Agatha to spiral into a seldom achieved orgasm that racked her body with convulsive shudders of pleasure.
When Cecil withdrew his huge tool, he asked the suddenly cock-deprived Lady Agatha,
“I do hope I did not inconvenience you, my dear?”
Out of breath, Agatha managed to stammer her appreciation for his efforts and implored him to take time for a second helping just in case he might have missed a corner he wanted to explore with his friendly weapon. After a brief respite, that is exactly what Cecil did with a great deal of gusto and noisy insertion.
Agatha fixed Cecil tea in the drawing room and regaled him with tasty fairy cakes from the corner bakery. She was impressed once again with his fine attire and was informed he used a private tailor in London to create his ensemble for special occasions and formal gatherings. She also noticed his nails were impeccable and his coif was remarkable for someone of the male persuasion. The more Cecil talked; she was impressed with his depth of conversational skills and decided on the spot that he would make an ideal husband.
He tended to pose far too often, and he seemed to have a feminine trait of commenting on things around him with an air of superiority and sublime contempt for any person, thing or event that did not meet with his full approval.
Agatha attributed this trait to Cecil’s “Bitch” persona that labeled him as a person lacking in male desire to dominate by sheer physical will. It was one of the things that she loved about him and found strangely exciting bringing her to the very edge of orgasm in his presence. She was quite surprised that other females found him to be weak or lacking in male attraction. Other males tended to treat him off-handedly dismissing him as a “dandy” with little or no liking of pursuing the feminine gender to “dip” into their pretty honey-traps.
Their wedding was the first Sunday of May.
When Cecil mounted her from behind on her wedding bed, Agatha knew she had made the right choice because he insisted on doing it with his silk French knickers spread open but still tickling her sensitive bottom with the quality sense-awakening fabric. She had married a Fop but he was no flop in the bedroom when she needed attentions of a serious nature.
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