Mary Pilson knew that her ‘uncle’ Walter was grooming her. ‘Uncle’ was a silly term that Mary’s mother used to describe the men who moved into their home to take advantage.

Mary had no time for her uncles; she saw them for what they were, parasites and users. Mary’s mother could hardly make ends meet working as an usherette at the local cinema. Her good looks, curvy body and long legs ensured that she was well tipped by the male customers but she also attracted the sharks.

Mary mostly ignored the string of uncles who came and went; she lived in her own fantasy world where she was the star in a movie that she had made up in her imagination. Mary was well developed and very mature for her age; she was also very intelligent and excelled at school. But Mary had no intention of finishing her O-levels; what would be the point?

Her mother was unable to fund her tertiary education, and in 1950s Britain women were expected to stay at home and be housewives. But Mary had other plans.

Walter had started buying Mary little favours as soon as she reached the age of consent. He bought her crisps, pop, chocolate, copies of Girl Magazine and other treats. Whilst other girls her age made do with long socks or heavy tights, Mary was wearing fifteen denier fine stockings bought for her by Walter.

“Here. I know that young ladies like you want to grow up as soon as you can. Don’t tell your mother,” Walter had given her a cosmetics case.

When he started to buy her underwear, nylon and satin knicker and bra sets, she knew what he was after. She had seen him with her mother; he was quite blatant and thought nothing of squeezing her mother’s breasts or pinching her bum in front of Mary. Then he started doing the same to Mary.

“Look at my two girls; I can’t decide which one has the better arse,” he would say pinching them both.

“Don’t be naughty Walter,” was all her dippy mother would say in response to him pawing at her daughter.

It was a Saturday night and they were all at home, congregated in the little sitting room of the two-up two-down council flat. The fire was roaring and they’d had fish and chips for dinner with beer for the grown-ups and dandelion and burdock for Mary. The only light came from the black and white TV that they rented, which was showing a British suspense movie. Mary had dozed off in the big lounge chair, full of dinner and pop, the warmth of the fire causing her to become drowsy.

“Stop it Walter; Mary is right there!” her mother giggled.

Her mother and Walter lay snuggled on the couch, initially under a blanket but it had been discarded because of the warmth of the fire.

Thinking that Mary was asleep and emboldened by the beers that he had consumed Walter was up for some slap and tickle as he called it. He was lying with his back against the back of the couch with Mary’s mother lying in front of him, spooning. They were both fully clothed but had kicked off their shoes. Walter’s erection had been poking Mary’s mother in the bum all night and she had been playfully batting it away.

“She’s asleep you dozy bint; besides the girl’s gotta learn all about it one day, she’s old enough to shag now,” Walter whispered into Mary’s mother’s ear.

She winced. The thought that her daughter was of the age of consent was disturbing; not because she was concerned about Mary’s chastity; Mary reaching censual age meant that her mother was getting old.

The drone of their whispering and the squeaking of the couch awakened Mary; she pretended that she was still asleep but watched her mother and her ‘uncle’ through heavily lidded eyes.

Walter was nuzzling her mother’s neck and his hand was under her skirt, which he’d rucked up her thighs. Her stocking tops were visible and Walter seemed to like stroking them and then sliding his hand further up under her mother’s skirt, exploring her buttocks and the treasures she kept in the confines of her loose nylon panties.

“Oh my!” her mother wriggled on the lounge and bit her lip.

Walter must have found what he was looking for Mary thought.

She watched her mother push back against Walter’s hand as her breathing became heavier.

“Jesus I can’t…that’s better,” Walter sighed and her mother lifted her rump off the couch so that Walter could get his hand where he wanted it.

She opened her legs for him.

She looked over at her sleeping daughter.

“Be quick and be quiet,” she whispered.

“You’re the one who needs to be quiet; you scream like a banshee when you’re coming,” Walter chuckled.

Her mother blushed.

Walter fumbled with his flies and her mother wriggled out of her knickers, bunching them around one ankle.

“Here,” Walter bent her arm behind her back and put his phallus in her hand.

“It’s bloody huge!” her mother gasped as she began to stroke Walter’s rampant member.

Walter had his hand between her mother’s legs and whatever he was doing she liked it. She mewed and bit her lip to stifle her moans and the stench of sex filled the air. Tonight was supposed to be bath night but they’d delayed it until Sunday so they could watch the telly. The pungent reek of a week’s worth of her mother’s vaginal secretions, only dabbed at after she pissed, permeated the room. Mary’s mother’s genital hygiene was over-reliant on perfume and roll on deodorant.

Walter however obviously found the scent arousing; he fumbled behind her buttocks easing himself inside her labia in order to penetrate her. She lifted a leg to assist him.

“Oh!” her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a moan as Walter slid all the way inside her.

Walter lowered her leg and began to thrust slowly in and out of Mary’s mother. He smoothed down her skirt so that to the uninitiated it would just look like they spooning on the couch.

He didn’t take long. He thrust a few times, pummelling against her soft creamy buttocks, working his penis all the way inside her then nearly pulling all the way out, then plunging his cock deep inside her again. He stifled his orgasmic cries by crushing his mouth on her neck and her mother bit down hard on her fingers as she shuddered and suppressed her shrieks of pleasure.

They both grunted as they rutted, she saw her mother push back with her buttocks; writhing and wriggling as Walter held her by the hips and rode her to coital completion.

Mary still pretended to be sleeping. The musky smell of semen joined with the piquancy of her mother’s sex and assaulted her nose.

There were rustling and mutterings as her mother pulled on her knickers and they adjusted their clothing to make themselves decent.

Mary stirred and feigned waking up. She reached down to the carpeted floor and found her pop bottle. The sweet liquid was sickly warm but she forced herself to drink it.

“You ok love?” her mother called across the room.

“I’m fine mom. I think I might go to bed,” she smiled wanly at her mother, who remained wrapped in the arms of her lecherous lover.

“Be a poppet and bring us both a bottle of ale off the sideboard before you go up please Mary,” Walter raised his head over her mother’s supine body.

Mary popped the caps off the beers and bought them over, handing them to Walter over the back of the couch. He grinned up at her and winked salaciously; Mary shuddered but kept a false smile on her face.

“Time to move on,” she said to herself as she climbed the staircase to her pokey attic bedroom.

In fact the time to leave came the very next day.

With her mother required to work the matinee session at the cinema and Walter at the afternoon session down at the pub, Mary decided to get dressed up and go for a walk.

Mary was very much a loner and enjoyed her own company. Most of the girls at school were better off financially and looked down at her but were jealous of her academic achievements and good looks. She was also allowed to dress more grown up, wearing makeup and stockings to school; her breasts were well developed and the boys made advances but were quickly turned away.

Mary had very few nice clothes but she made the most of what she had.

A Bri-Nylon panty-girdle with suspenders attached; matching brassiere and flesh-toned fully-fashioned stockings completed her foundation garments over which she wore a navy-blue fitted skirt with a tight waist, the hem resting just above her knees. She wore a tight red satin blouse and fitted jacket to match the skirt and her only pair of black patent leather high-heel pumps.

Her makeup was perfect, dark eyes and bright-red lipstick, her dark ginger mane complemented her peaches and cream complexion. She had a pair of navy-blue gloves to match her suit; she wore plain silver-plated jewellery, which was all she could afford.

In her mind she was Audrey Hepburn heading out for a stroll through Paris as opposed to the young lady she really was, about to walk through the dingy streets of Birmingham. She lived on Upper Thomas Street in Aston and she intended to walk through Aston Park and admire the gardens and lawns, an oasis in a city of soot-stained red brick, and maybe explore Aston Hall if it was open to the public.

This was one of Mary’s few escapes from the drudgery of her home life.

She’d nearly made out it out the door when Walter staggered in reeking of beer and tobacco.

“Well don’t you look pretty my girl,” he leered at her.

“I’m going out for the afternoon. Mom’s got the matinee but she’ll bring dinner home,” Mary tried to pass Walter at the doorway.

“Well that just means we have all afternoon to get know each other better with your mother out the way,” he grinned and blocked her way.

“What on earth do you mean Walter!” Mary spat at him.

Walter grabbed Mary by the shoulder and hip and flung her across the room. She careered into the couch, dropping her handbag. Walter pounced; pinning her beneath him.

“Don’t treat me like shit on your shoe you fucking stuck-up slag! You take all the presents I give you! I bet those nylons you’re wearing are one of my gifts. What about yer knickers; did I buy you them?” Walter tried to get his hand under Mary’s skirt.

Marry used all her strength and pushed Walter off her as he tried to kiss her and force his hand between her legs.

“Get off me you fucking pervert!” she squealed at him; her strength superior to his only because he was drunk.

“I’ll tell mom about this!” she panted, catching her breath.

She had gotten off the couch and was adjusting her clothing; seething with anger. Walter was on his hands and knees near the fireplace, winded and heaving in lungsfull of air.

“Tell her you dozy prat. I’ll tell her that you offered yourself to me for a few quid to go out on the town. She’s already jealous of you; she’ll believe me over you,” he sneered.

“I’d rather be mounted by a pig than by you!” Mary snorted.

Walter shot out a hand and gripped Mary by the ankle. He yanked her feet out from under her and she tumbled to the floor.

“Well you might get to make that comparison girly cause I think I’m gonna fuck you right now,” Walter grasped her other ankle and wrenched her towards him.

Mary’s skirt rode up as he dragged her across the carpet and Walter leered at her. He got to his knees and fell on her, prising her legs apart with his knees. Mary struggled underneath him but he used his weight to pin her down, his foul breath assaulted her senses.

“Ok girly; time to pop your cherry,” he pulled at his belt buckle with one hand and yanked at Mary’s knickers with the other.

Mary’s hands scrambled across the floor, looking for something to grip onto so she could pull herself free. She found the tiled hearth and then the fireplace tool caddy. She knocked it over and her fingers wrapped around the handle of the poker.

Walter had freed his erection from his trousers and was now using both of his hands to pull down her knickers.

Mary swiped the poker sideways with all her might and caught Walter on the temple. He lurched sideways and let go of her underwear and bought his hands to her throat to choke her. Mary swung again and this time the spur of the poker lodged in Walter’s skull.

He looked down at her; surprised and stupefied. He put his hand to his head and was bewildered to see it covered in blood.

“What have you done you cunt?” he slurred and fell off her.

He lay comatose on the carpet, blood pooling around his head.

Mary did not hesitate. It took her less than five minutes to pack everything she owned into a single suitcase.

She didn’t even look at Walter’s body as she left the house.

One year later…

Charlotte Beason felt a little sick having scoffed the chocolate. She was a quite surprised that she could see out of the windows of the limousine that had appeared dark and impenetrable from the outside.

They were heading north-east through Essex past Brentwood, and Charlotte, finally warm and comfortable, fell asleep.

The man gently shook her awake as they entered Chelmsford. It took Charlotte a while to come fully to her senses and then she remembered where she was and how she had got here. She was acutely aware of her body odour, which she had tried to disguise with perfume until it had ran out two days ago.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“There,” the man pointed to an imposing structure that could have been a small castle through the trees.

Behind the building loomed a huge metal tower; the structure towering above the treeline in the dwindling light. Charlotte knew from her World War Two studies that it was an old Second World War radar tower; the only one still remaining and it helped Charlotte find her bearings and figure out where she was.

The car pulled onto a long driveway girded by tall pines followed later by the crunch of gravel as the car entered a courtyard out the front of what appeared to be a manor house.

“Welcome to Chelmsford Hall; I’m Lord Edward Tilsbury, and the distinguished gentleman driving us is ex-Sargent William Pitt,” Edward said, patting Charlotte chastely on the knee.

The car pulled up beside the steps leading to a grandiose set of wood and glass double doors. William leapt from the driver’s seat and opened the door for Edward and then made his way to the boot to heft out Charlotte’s suitcase.

Edward opened the door for Charlotte and she stood bewildered and shivering looking up at the three-story sandstone mansion.

“This is Mary Pilson; one of my personal staff. She will look after you from now on,” Edward smiled down at Charlotte and indicted Mary who was standing on the bottom step with a beatific smile on her face.

Mary rushed forward and took Charlotte’s hands in hers.

“Welcome to Chelmsford Hall; or just call it ‘The Hall’ as we all do,” she beamed.

Charlotte was still very befuddled and she shook her head to clear it.

“Who are ‘we all’? Why am I here? Who are you?” she said perplexed at the situation.

“All very good questions Charlotte and they will be answered soon enough but let’s get you bathed and settled for the night,” Marry led Charlotte up the stone steps and through the doors.

Charlotte became self-conscious of her appearance again. Her last wash had been from a coldwater tap in the ladies loo at a park near the railway underpass where she had been living for the past week and she was wearing the same clothes that she left home in.

The foyer of Chelmsford Hall was impressive and commanding. Suits of armour in the corners, medieval weaponry and portraiture hung on the walls, stuffed animals in cases, it was very museum-like. Opulent marble staircases ran up either side of the walls and Mary led Charlotte up the one to the left.

The place was deathly quiet; the only light came from wall sconces set in the smooth sandstone walls.

“Everyone’s asleep except for the night watchman,” Mary explained.

Charlotte was too tired and disconcerted to ask who ‘everyone’ was and why a night watchman was needed.

Mary led Charlotte to a large bathroom. It was similar to the shared facilities that Charles had used at Harrow. A row of toilet stalls along one wall, a set of benches to sit on whilst getting changed, laundry hampers in each corner, stacks of clean towels and hooks and lockers, on and in which, to hang clothes.

Behind a wall supporting half a dozen sinks with mirrors above them was as many baths; old deep porcelain bathtubs with chrome pluming and faucets. A gauzy lace and nylon curtain separated each bath.

Charlotte baulked; suddenly wide-awake.

“I’m not… I’m not… I’m not really a girl,” she apologised and began to weep.

Mary pulled her close and put Charlotte’s head on her shoulder and stroked her hair.

“Yes you are. You’re just special that’s all,” she patted Charlotte’s back.

“It’s my job to help you become the best girl you can be,” she whispered into Charlotte’s ear.

“Come. Let’s have you out of these,” Mary disengaged from Charlotte.

She led Charlotte to the bench and had her sit. She helped take off Charlotte’s high-heels, now scuffed and scarred; Mary made no comment about the paper shoved into the toes so they would fit, nor the reek of foot odour. She unclipped Charlotte’s stockings and rolled the tattered hose down her legs and cast them aside.

Mary stood behind Charlotte and helped her take off her jacket, then her skirt and finally her blouse.

Charlotte stood shivering in her filthy knickers and bra.

Mary put a heavy cotton bathrobe around her.

“There is toothpaste and a toothbrush over at the sink; brush your teeth and I’ll check on your bath,” Mary said.

Mary checked that the water in the deep bath was not too hot and not too cold by dipping her elbow into the steaming water. She went back to the basins and found Charlotte nearly asleep on her feet. She led Charlotte to the bath.

“I’ll turn my back while you disrobe and take off your underwear; I understand your reticence about being seen naked,” she said turning her back on Charlotte and holding out her hand for the robe.

She took the robe around the divide and hung it from a hook and returned to collect Charlotte’s knickers and bra from the tiled floor and dropped them in a basket beside the rest of the clothes that Charlotte had been wearing. On the lid of the basket was one word written in red ink ‘Burn’.

Charlotte lowered herself into the hot water slowly and luxuriated in the feel of the soapy water on her skin. A raft of bubbly foam drifted on top of the steaming bath water.

Mary came back and kneeled on the smooth wooden-planked duckboard beside the bath.

“Feel better?” Mary smiled and Charlotte smiled back.

“Yes! Oh god yes!”

“Can I do your back?” before Charlotte could reply Mary picked up a large soft sponge and doused it in soapy water and ran it across Charlotte’s shoulders.

Charlotte sighed and Mary smiled.

Mary sponged Charlotte’s chest and her arms. She worked the sponge into Charlotte's fingers and noted the chipped nailpolish and torn fingernails caked with grime.

“Just relax honey and I’ll fix your nails for you,” Mary said and Charlotte was too tired to respond.

Mary had a little manicure set on the table beside her and she clipped, shaped, and sanded each of Charlotte’s nails, moving around the other side of the tub to do her other hand.

“We’ll fix your nailpolish tomorrow,” Mary sighed.

“Can you sit up for me while I wash your hair?” Mary prepared shampoo and conditioner.

Charlotte luxuriated in the touch and caress of Mary’s fingers on her scalp; it reminded her of her mother washing her blonde locks and she felt tears run down her face.

“Now look what you’ve done; your mascara is running,” Mary tittered.

They both laughed at the joke; Charlotte's makeup was already a ruin.

Mary used the sponge and a washcloth to carefully clean Charlotte’s face.

She moved the little stool down to the bottom of the bath and washed Charlotte’s feet and manicured her toenails. She gently lifted Charlotte’s leg free of the now scummy water and used the sponge. She started at her ankle and worked up her calf and finally onto her firm thigh. When she got to the top of Charlotte’s thigh, Charlotte startled and roused from her reverie and her hand shot out and gripped Mary by the wrist.

“No,” she whispered.

Mary smiled inwardly. She moved around the other side of the tub and did Charlotte’s other foot and leg. Then she moved back to the top of tub.

Mary leaned into Charlotte and put her arm gently around her shoulder as she began to slowly sponge her neck again.

“It was hard living on the street?” Mary slid the sponge down to Charlotte’s chest.

“After father threw me out I wandered the streets until I found the tunnel; the railway underpass. It was dark so I could hide and it was cold; but not as cold as being on the open streets,” Charlotte murmured.

“Your father, your mother, they didn’t come looking for you?” she moved the sponge in circles, her fingertips occasionally grazing Charlotte’s nipples.

“Sometimes a car would come into the tunnel that I though was ours; I mean my father’s, but it never was. He disowned me and mother had no choice but to stand by him,” Charlotte leaned her head on Mary’s upper arm.

“But you mother knew about you? About Charlotte?” the sponge slid under the suds, circling Charlotte’s belly.

Mary used the fingers of the hand that she had around Charlotte’s shoulder to lightly stroke her nipples. Charlotte mewed.

“She helped me play dressup,” Charlotte sighed.

“And then she abandoned you,” Mary murmured.

Charlotte had no answer.

“This is important. Were you ever…did you ever…did any men take advantage of you?” Mary droned in Charlotte’s ear.

“The tunnel was used by prostitutes; brasses my dad calls them. Cars would crawl the curb and the drivers would call the brasses over. Sometimes men would walk down the curb and engage with the brasses; they would, you know, do it against the wall,” Charlotte drawled sleepily.

Mary tweaked Charlotte’s nipple; it hardened to her touch and Charlotte inhaled deeply.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she sighed.

“Some of the brasses didn’t like me being there. I moved into a nook where there was a service entry for the railway maintenance crews; it was just a recess in the brickwork but was out of the wind. That’s where I slept.”

“Sometimes men would approach me but one of the brasses would shoo them away. She gave me a snack sometimes and the fag-end of her cigarette to smoke to tame my hunger. She told me I should move on before something bad happened to me,” Charlotte drawled.

Charlotte relished having someone touch and caress her after being thrown out of her home and sleeping rough for days on end.

Mary slid the sponge further down Charlotte’s lithe frame and began to circle just above her pubis.

“It’s important that you answer yes or no. Were you sodomised? Lord Tilsbury will only take in virgins,” Mary whispered in Charlottes ear and then nibbled the lobe gently.

“I’m a virgin if you mean I have never been sodomised,” Charlotte sighed.

“Good. This is not against the rules however,” Mary gently wiped the sponge across Charlotte's genitalia.

Charlotte tensed as Mary’s fingers found her near fully erect. Mary’s soapy fingers slid along Charlotte’s burgeoning appendage, her other hand cupped her scrotum and gently squeezed. She nibbled Charlotte’s earlobe and then slid her tongue into her ear.

“Oh… I’ve never had anyone else touch me there before,” Charlotte purred.

“A true virgin then,” Mary moved her mouth to Charlotte’s.

They kissed and Mary gripped Charlotte’s fully tumescent penis with her foamy fingers and squeezed. She slid her fingers up and down the shaft only twice before she felt Charlotte’s whole body shudder and her penis pulsate.

Mary slid her tongue into Charlotte’s sweet mouth as she milked her of her seed; the hot ejaculate erupted from her quivering penis. Globules of the warm sticky discharge splattered on Mary’s forearm as other gobbets rained down through the soapsuds and splashed the bath water.

“Oh… my,” Charlotte sighed into Mary’s mouth.

“There, there, sweetheart. A little release before we put you to bed,” Mary disengaged and kissed Charlotte gently on the cheek.

“Stand up now and I’ll rinse you off,” Mary wiped the scummy soapsuds and the string of semen clinging to her arms on a towel and arose.

She filled a large jug with fresh warm water and encouraged Charlotte to stand. Charlotte was embarrassed by her slowly contracting member but Mary ignored it as she poured the water over Charlotte, washing away the soapy residue from her body.

She bought in thick, warm, white towels and helped Charlotte dry her hair and then her body; helping her step out of the tub and dry her feet. Mary wrapped Charlotte in the bathrobe and led her through a maze of dark corridors to a bedroom.

“Here let me help you,” Mary whispered.

Laid out on the bed were a pair of silk stockings with two elasticised lace garters to support them, a pair of satin directoire knickers and a nylon full slip.

Mary helped Charlotte into her nightclothes explaining that this was the mandated bedroom habit for residents boarding at Chelmsford Hall.

She sat Charlotte in front of a vanity table and helped her put on a little makeup and brushed her hair so that Charlotte could feel comfortably feminine.

“You get to sleep here tonight and to sleep-in tomorrow. We will induct you tomorrow and from then until you graduate as an Acolyte and join the Circle you will live in a dormitory,” Mary helped Charlotte into the big bed covered with a satin and lace comforter.

“Induct? Graduate? Circle?” Charlotte asked, barely awake.

Mary tucked Charlotte in and kissed her on the forehead.

“Sleep my precious; all will be revealed tomorrow,” Mary whispered and turned out the light.

Mary padded down the dark corridor carrying a lamp to find her way to Lord Edward’s bedroom. There was a sliver of light coming from under the door. She knocked softly and entered.

It was still early morning and Edward lay in his huge bed propped up on satin pillow-slipped pillows; the sheets and the coverlet were also satin and many a time Mary had had to leap out of that very bed to retrieve the pillows when they slipped off.

“How is she?” Edward was looking at a ladies fashion magazine.

“She’s clean and she’s fast asleep,” Mary extinguished her lamp and put it beside the one burning on the bedside table.

“You know what I mean; don’t be obtuse,” he growled.

“She’s a virgin; unsullied. Never had any form of sexual congress with anyone else,” Mary ran her fingertips across the bedspread.

“Until tonight?” Edward grunted.

“Until tonight,” Mary smiled cheekily.

“Do you think that was wise?” Edward looked up from his magazine.

“It was just hand relief but it’s a effective start to the bonding process,” Mary slid her fingertips further up the counterpane.

“Mm,” Edward grunted again.

Mary smiled seductively.

“It’s made me quite excited,” her hand continued its journey.

Edward’s eyes went back to his magazine. Mary looked disappointed.

“Don’t you want me?” she purred, sliding her fingers along his arm.

“It’s too late. I need to sleep. So do you,” he replied.

“Use the stocking,” he commanded.

“You can pleasure yourself while you do it if you like,” he said indifferently, not looking up from the pictures of lingerie-clad women.

Mary knew what he wanted.

She opened a drawer on the bedside table and took out a package of silk stockings. She extracted one and rolled it up with both hands.

‘Such a waste and so expensive’ she thought to herself as she pulled down the covers and rolled the stocking over Edward’s thickening cock. She perched on the side of the bed and gathered the skirts of her heavy green velvet gown, pulling them high up on her legs.

She smoothed the stocking over Edward’s erection, and around his scrotum. Edward’s purple glans bulged the shape of the diaphanous stocking; the blue veins could be seen pulsing, pumping blood to bring the organ to full tumescence. The dark silk became wet where it sheathed his glans and then a transparent globule of pre-seminal seeped through the fabric.

Edward grunted. This would be quick.

Mary put her hand inside her knickers. Her fingers opened her folds, already wet. She ran her fingers featherlightly up and down Edward’s trembling cock shrouded in the silk stocking. She used a similar technique on her own sex.

She became wetter and Edward’s cock leaked more pre-ejaculate; it darkened the silk that was wrapped tightly around his member. Mary slipped a finger inside her vagina and worked it slowly in and out, using the pad of her thumb on her clitoris.

“Oh!” she bit her lip.

Edward gasped; her arousal stimulated him

“Now!” he commanded.

Mary gripped his stocking-sheathed phallus tightly and worked her fingers up and down. At the same time she pushed more fingers inside herself and pressed her thumb on her clitoris.

“Good!” was all Edward said as a sphere of white semen bubbled out of the stocking.

“Yesss!” Mary orgasmed.

She shuddered as she peaked.

The globule of semen dribbled down the shank of Edward’s penis soaking into the stocking as gobbets of hot white spend exuded from his glans. Mary worked the issue into the stocking as she drained her master.

Her wrist ached as she worked her fingers in her sex, prolonging her climax until it slowly began to dissipate.

When Edward finished ejaculating she mopped up his issue with the stocking and wiped him dry. She withdrew her hand from inside her knickers and straightened her skirts.

“Good night,” Edward said, reaching for the lamp.

Edward extinguished the lamp and rolled onto his side away from her.

Mary quickly illuminated her own lamp and padded to door.

“Good night master,” she whispered and closed the door quietly behind her.

She dropped the semen doused stocking in her pocket.

To be continued