It is Winter 1966. When five couples find themselves stranded at a remote high class inn by extreme weather conditions, they amuse each other by relating stories of an erotic nature, as well as taking part in all kinds of private and group sexual activities.
The Host began with a tale about a birthday orgy involving a current top film star. The Theatre Company Manager's tale was of her oral exploits with a famous actor and the Marketing Director's tale of how the 'Wife of Bath', with her daughter, had seduced a whole management team. The Politician's tale was about the husband's revenge, and the Model's tale about a country girl finding heaven between her legs - with the aid of her vicar. For the morning story of the fourth day, The Stockbroker's Tale showed how two resourceful women turned the tables on their partners who were trying to deceive them, whilst the Aristocrat's tale was about a sexual orgy, incest and murder in the stately home. The TV Presenter's was of group sex with an African Chief and his bodyguards.
Chapter Sixteen: Delia's wartime sex fantasy
as the six couples were relaxing over cocktails, the hostess, Julie, turned the conversation to conditions at home during the war years, particularly in finding food. She explained something about the rations in wartime England, though most of the guests remembered something of them, particularly the lack of sweets and fruit..
'Each person was allowed one egg per week, if you recall, with two ounces of butter and four of margarine. Members of my family used to bargain with each other, swapping their rations - perhaps their butter ration in exchange for the jam ration.'
The guests exchanged memories of those frugal days. For lunch, Anne had even arranged a second world-war menu. A starter of prune juice, followed be piece of toast scraped with margarine, with a poached egg on it. A cup of tea accompanied the meal, which ended with a piece of carrot cake.
Afterwards, the guests had been asked to wear a topcoat, or raincoat - nothing else - and assemble in the lounge. Julie explained the purpose.
'During the war, most husbands, boyfriends and young men had been called up to serve their country, leaving wives and girlfriends sitting at home, alone and frustrated. Masturbation is okay, but there are times when a girl wants a thick cock inside her. There was no street lighting. Everywhere was pitch black, unless there happened to be a moon. So when the frustrations became too intense, some of them would roam the streets in search of cock.'
Anne chimed in. 'There was always the cinema, of course, where they could hope to meet up with some soldier on leave, or students whose call up to the forces had been deferred until they were twenty-one. There were also reserved occupations, like coal miners, and others whose work was essential for the war effort.'
'They had the pick of the women left at home, lucky people!'
'The back row of the cinema was usually full of couples kissing eagerly, and feeling up each other. In many cases it was their first exciting time of having their vulvas felt by a man! But the usherettes were told to keep an eye open for the more active couples, by shining their torches on them.'
'Spoil sports!' Laurie laughed, remembering the many times he had felt the breasts and vulvas of his girlfriends on the back row, and soaked their handkerchiefs with a copious helping of his daily sperm allowance to the accompaniment of muffled groans.
'A handful of hot sperm was often the outcome, even so, and a stifled orgasm. If you happened to see a fluttering handkerchief on the back row, you knew why it was wanted.'
Julie went on. 'The local park was often used as the best place for illicit meetings. People would go there with the sole object of getting some sexual excitement - even getting laid in the dark, if you weren't too fussy about the owner of the cock - or pussy, for that matter. Besides, if you were desperate, it didn't cost anything. So, if you ventured into the park after dark, that was what others assumed you wanted. And you usually got it.
'The form of dress was a raincoat, or light coat, depending on the weather, and little else. Perhaps a blouse for the women, or a pair of trousers for the men. So, now you know why you're dressed in this fashion. I want all of you to got into the lounge except Delia. She is to be the frustrated woman wanting sex. Any sex will do! With anyone!
Delia was the very beautiful popular TV presenter. She could appear rather arrogant and stuck-up, but that was only to hide her inner shyness. In the studios she was often called 'the duchess'. Her large breasts and narrow waist had all the men ogling. Julie had a whim to violate that lovely figure - treat it with utter contempt. She hoped the others would have similar lack of respect.
The memory of her encounters in the dark had Julie already feeling randy again. That unmistakable dragging ache deep in her secret female passage begged for attention. Now turned thirty, Julie had grown into womanhood during the years following the war, with men coming home from active service, some to find their wives with babies they knew nothing about.
It seemed that with each succeeding year, Julie hungered for sex more than ever, worshipping the proud, erect staff of warm male flesh and, beneath it, that lovely pair of plums she loved to fondle. Lovely hot prick and squidgy balls! Hmmmm! The bigger the better!
Julie had a powerful appetite for sex. And she enjoyed the feeling of power it gave her over others. She had grown up to adore her cunt! It gave her unlimited joy and pleasure. The cluster of damp flaps of flesh, crushed together between her thighs, pushing aside the heavy, outer lips guarding the entrance to the dark inner folds of her cunt. Some people tried to avoid using the 'C' word, thinking it vulgar, but she liked it. Cunt! It was old fashioned and basic, falling easily from the lips.
Cunt, cock and fuck expressed Julie's taste for the baser instincts. Why bother with the many euphemisms for the basics of nature? She thought to herself that there was no other fulfilment - either mental or physical - to compare with fucking. Which was why she and Robert had developed their business of supplying the rich and famous with an undercover hide-away to indulge in their sexual hang-ups on occasional weekends, away from the glare of publicity.
It was during Robert's theatrical directing days that Julie had first met him. They formed an immediate rapport at a sexy after-show party. Robert had sought and found her heavy breasts, with their hard, elongated nipples. Irresistible! They had found a spare bedroom where they indulged in much oral foreplay before fucking hard. After that, they fucked at every opportunity, eventually getting together permanently.
Leaving the uncertainty of the theatre of the sixties, Robert found an isolated roadhouse. They developed the inn into a popular, comfortable hotel which became fashionable for the upper class and wealthy middle class. It could not be regarded as a high class brothel, since they catered for couples who wished to share their fondness for open sex with others of similar interests. Anne and Mary, however, two well endowed women who worked in the hotel, were often useful in making up the numbers where necessary, or indulge in threesomes with the clients if asked. The host and hostess were also at hand for wife swapping or foursomes. Julie found having sex with wealthy - even titled - women and additional turn-on.
