13. A New Girl demands to be serviced

"Shameful as it be, the mere idea of taking your organ into my mouth is making me melt. So take you I must, for I am only half-melted and I must melt completely ere you can properly fuck me. And as I can not but crave to give a man satisfaction, let me take you now into my mouth...."

Crenshaw wetted his lips three times round with his pink little tongue and obediently opened his mouth to receive Thomas's enormous organ, whose whole length was now slid into his throat. Crenshaw took it straight down his oesophagus, just as those sword-swallowers do in the circus, his delicate neck distending visibly as the monstrous organ advanced relentlessly downwards.

"How does it feel, Crenshaw?" Thomas demanded. "Tell me, how does it feel for the Lord of Brackenheath Manor to take a man's privy member into his throat?"

"Mmmphhh! Mmmmphh! Mmmmmm!" responded the voice, unable to articulate as Thomas advanced, then retracted his gargantuan tool, presently assuming a lazy rhythm, withdrawing far enough each time — but never quite exiting — to allow Crenshaw to catch his breath, through his nose, between thrusts.

After several minutes, Thomas, just shy of achieving his man's exstacy, fully withdrew with a soft little pop; Crenshaw sucked in a deep breath, then licked his lips lasciviously, greedily eyeing Thomas's member, which was now of an angry purple hue and knotted with veins, as dangerous a piece of man-flesh as has ever been seen, Amy!

"Fuck me now, Tupworthy! Fuck me!" shrilled the voice, with sudden urgency. "If you do not fuck me with that wond'rous tool of yours, I shall die from the yearning for it! I must have it inside me! You have robbed me of mine with your warrior's tears; I can only possess one again by being fucked by a man, to ensheathe him within my womanly warmth. So fuck me, Tupworthy! Let me take you into myself! You shall find me wet enough now." Crenshaw's soft, hairless body was covered with irregular splotches of pink; he wriggled his ample derrière higher up into the air, and broadened his subservient stance by spreading his knees even further apart on the wash-tub, until he was gaping shamelessly, his now-crimson penetralia glowing like a small furnace, sending wisps of vapourous steam up into the cool air of the sheep-barn.

"Fuck you?" echoed Thomas, "You command me to fuck you? Come, come, Crenshaw, you shall have to ask bit more civilly than that if it's a good fucking you want. You are no longer my master, and hardly in a position to command. Look at you, splayed before me like a strumpet, a common strumpet shamelessly shewing her wares, plying her trade for a shilling a trick. Would'st like your shilling now, Crenshaw, or after?"

"Tupworthy, you knave! How dare you call me a shilling-a-trick strumpet! Gentlemen always deal in guineas. I would never dream of lifting my skirts for a shilling, not for any man!....Yet I must have your bulk inside me, I must! You are hot, stiff and ready to ride me and I am flowing like a brook at spring flood!" shrilled the voice in a spasm of impotent rage and confusion, "I would'st not have you abandon me thus, so wet and so unfulfilled! Fuck me, Tupworthy! Leave off the chattering and ream me with your damnable tool!

From "The Berkshire Correspondence"