Soaed to the Sin

Soaked to the Skin - Part 8

Hannah thought Lady Lyanthe's vague invitation to dinner was the sort of suggestion someone might make with no real intention to carry it out, or perhaps a real intention but it never actually happening because time moves on or people forget, or the opportunity does not arise. Hannah was therefore surprised to receive a formal invitation.

"What is that, Hannah?" Her mother had asked. Certainly, the envelope, cream and heavy in weight of paper looked rather special. The card within was as fine, and all written in the third person with an RSVP. Miss Hannah Hutchings is cordially invited and all that. An invitation to dinner -- and a formal one at that. At the bottom of the card the two words, 'black tie.'

"At the hall? You'll need an evening dress, Hannah."

Indeed, she would. For the men dinner jackets in Barathea and all the black accoutrements apart from the whiteness of the shirt and handkerchief, the object a seamless transition from garment to garment. For the women, possibly black as well but colour all the better, the men almost fading into the background in their monochrome before the women's splendour -- the code very much on 'long.' The dresses long not short, the necklines not plunging. It was exciting going to the shops to choose -- shoes as well, of course.

'Carriages at midnight." Hannah's father very kindly offered to drive her to the hall promising to collect her at midnight, 'if she hadn't turned into a pumpkin,' as he said. It was not, as everyone knows, Cinderella who turned into anything of the sort. But, of course, Hannah needed to be partnered for the evening. The invitation did not mention that she should bring one, and there was some relief on her part when Lady Lyanthe assured Hannah that an old friend would collect her. The man was not young, and Hannah's parents had no worries in handing her over to his care. His conversation in the car excellent. They sat together in the back as a chauffeur drove. Sir Hugh might have put his hand upon her knee. Mr Rodney Ballantyne did nothing of the sort.

The hall was lit and there was champagne and canapés. Not an enormous gathering but, including Sir Hugh and Lady Lyanthe, eight couples. The change from the usual peace and quiet at the hall striking. Sixteen people certainly made a party. Lady Lyanthe was most attentive to Hannah.

Hannah found she was by far the youngest lady present, indeed by far the youngest person. Canapés led to dinner, served for the party. The conversation animated and sparkling. Sir Hugh telling the odd anecdote but not the sort he tended to tell Hannah. Mr Rodney Ballantyne seated next to her ensured she was not left out of conversation. He was a most perfect gentleman.

Finally, cheese was served, and the waiting staff withdrew closing the door softly behind them. The happy evening continued, serene and elegant, as cheese was chosen and nibbled. Biscuits lifted from silver boxes that had been carefully placed. Wonderful shell creations that opened to reveal the biscuits. Sir Hugh then said a few things about how lovely it was to see everyone. There were nods and affirmations and replies about how good the dinner had been. The usual sort of stuff. Sir Hugh looked at Hannah and asked if she was finding the party to her liking given how ancient everyone else was. Not perhaps the sort of gathering young people enjoyed. Hannah blushed and assured the fifteen others how delightful it all was. And, indeed, it was a super evening. So good to see the old-fashioned formality of alternating man, woman, man; the smartness of the men in their black and white (though Rodney had sported both a red cummerbund and red bow tie. It was, to Hannah, slightly incongruous), the women in their so pretty dresses and jewellery (a delightful contrast to the men). Sir Hugh nodded at Hannah's compliment and then went on in his speech, looking particularly at her, "We were discussing, the other day, the variation in the human penis."

It was so unexpected. The talk had been of politics, the arts, country pursuits and suddenly Sir Hugh had come out with this and there was no question who the 'we' was, no possibility Sir Hugh meant one of the gentlemen or one of the ladies; he was most certainly looking at Hannah; it was quite clear to everyone in the room that Sir Hugh and Hannah had been discussing variation in penes. The dinner suited gentlemen looked at Hannah. The ladies looked as well.

She mumbled an affirmative.

"Would you like to make a comparison this evening, my dear?"

Hannah did not know what to say; she looked down the table at all the assembled gentlemen; all looking at her in their uniform black dinner suits; respectable gentlemen in black bow ties. Was Sir Hugh suggesting, suggesting she inspect their equipment - all of them?

"Really Hugh! If you are going to do that over port, we ladies, apart from young Hannah, will retire." Lady Lyanthe rose and the other ladies with her. "Hannah, my dear, you are in for a bit of a surprise."

There was quiet as the ladies retired. A rustle of skirts as Lady Lyanthe led them out. The door closed behind them. The ladies, and most certainly the serving staff, now gone leaving eight besuited gentlemen -- and Hannah.

Hannah was sure she heard one of the other ladies say quietly, just as she went out of the door with Lady Lyanthe, "... and such a lot of semen." Hannah swallowed and looked a little shyly down the table at all the men still sitting there, all the men in their black and white clothes and only she in colour; they so fully dressed yet she in such a light, insubstantial, outfit. Just a thin long dress. Just her, the only woman now present and by far the youngest of them all -- the men there and the women now in the other room. They were looking at her. What was going to surprise her? She had already seen Sir Hugh's fine penis, indeed had enjoyed it in several ways. Hannah swallowed as she looked back at the men. Was she about to see no less than seven other penes? It might well be she was about to swallow more than her dinner and the wine - more than a glass of port.

Next to her Mr Rodney Ballantyne whispered, "You don't have to, Hannah. Not if you don't want to. We'll understand. Sir Hugh said..."

Almost without moving her lips Hannah replied, so softly no one else could hear," No, I'm fine, Rodney. Fine with... I can do it. I'd like to...see." She reached and squeezed his hand. It was large and felt strong. The strength of men. Her eyes went around the table looking at the dinner suited gentlemen. She would soon be able to gauge one of their strengths -- penile firmness and tumescence. With his hand Mr Rodney Ballantyne moved hers, placing it upon his trousers, exactly where they buttoned up. Beneath her fingers the soft, heavy weight, worsted barathea cloth, but beneath that he had something substantial within his trousers.

Her fingers brushed, touching both barathea and the silk of his cummerbund, and then squeezed. Hannah could feel the firmness of his organ. It was not insubstantial. Soon she would be seeing it, would very possibly be sucking upon it. Maybe her dinner companion, her so charming escort, would be copulating with her. Such a pleasant end to a delightful evening. Just what so many couples, no doubt, wished to do to finish an evening out or, indeed, what so many gentlemen would like to do at the end of a formal dinner. Perhaps one where the host has so kindly provided his entirely male guests with charming and young companions for the evening. How very pleasing for them with brandy and port consumed to escort the ladies in their beautiful long dresses up the stairs to their bedrooms and see those so colourful dresses shimmer down young bodies to the floor.

"Could you help us, Hannah, give us a little necessary encouragement? A little push, perhaps, towards ensuring we display jsut as well as we can for your delectation and delight -- to say nothing of your education."

Sir Hugh had such a way with words. Not, as she could very much feel beneath her hand, that Sir Rodney Ballantyne had any such need. Hannah wondered if the others really needed the encouragement Sir Hugh suggested.

Hannah pushed back her chair. She stood, in her powder blue dress, long and falling below her knees, plentiful with material, the skirt splaying outwards from her hips; half sleeved and with a vee neck but not one that emphasised or revealed the swell of her breasts. Pretty cream-coloured shoes with rather high heels to her feet. A matching choker to her neck. Her mother had said it nicely emphasised what a pretty and long neck she had. She had inherited that from her mother -- the neck not the choker.

What was she to do to encourage? Seated, Hannah could not really think there was much she could do -- other than to Mr Rodney Ballantyne and perhaps Alasdair Macauley to her left. She was sure Sir Hugh could make every man jack rise under the table with one of his anecdotes. A sexual story to titillate and arouse. But what could she tell? Maybe the story, the real or perhaps embellished, story of a young girl's first fumbling sexual experiences - hers, could not fail to arouse a group of middle aged and older men. What could be better after a good dinner and drink, for such a group to hear sexual revelations from the lips of a young girl? Lips the men would very much be watching, hanging on every word. The girl standing in a thin dress, her breasts pushing out, the curving shape of her body suggestive of delight, as they listened and with the more than pleasing expectation, they would soon be pushing their engorged knobs through those very lips that were telling them about masturbation and the first grasp of a cock.

But the ladies would not want to be kept too long and Hannah had had no time to gather thoughts, put her own early experiences into a cohesive form and present a pleasing and increasingly arousing tale rather than random recollections. Instead, Hannah did what women down the millennia have done: she used her body. Hannah stepped back to be in full view of all the men and reached to undo her dress. Her fingers moved slowly. Ever so slowly. Hannah had no experience of strip tease. Well, apart from that time on her own in her bedroom, standing before the mirror. She had been worked up then. Perhaps that would have been a good recollection to weave into her story.

No experience, really, and no music. Indeed, all went very quiet as she reached behind her. All eyes were upon her left shoulder as she bared it. Very little skin really, not even her upper arm. Had she been wearing a different dress that might well have been bared anyway. Had she been wearing a strapless dress then shoulders, arms and indeed part of her back and the very top of her breasts would have been unclad. But sexual arousal is so much about titillation rather than outright nudity. The unexpected glimpse of thigh, the almost seen nipple as the woman bends forward, the waggle of a well clothed buttock -- partial nudity arguably much more erotic than the full thing.

By the rapt attention Hannah was sure even with just that glimpse of shoulder she had the men in the palm of her hand. She smiled -- much to the pleasure of the men, though they did not know the reason -- her thought that she would soon, indeed, have every one of them very much in the palm of her hand. Eight penises and sixteen testes indeed. Weighty matters!

One shoulder, then two shoulders and a hint of brassiere. A shake of shoulders to make the dress slip a little further. Hannah knew just what she was doing. Could feel where the dress was at. Knew exactly at what point it would simply fall. Another wriggle and almost all of her new white lacy brassiere was in view. It was not 'see through' as such, but equally it was not one that completely obscured the darker pigmentation of areolae and nipples - it was not a bikini top! It excited Hannah to be revealing her nipples to the men -- she would, of course, soon be revealing rather more and they would be revealing to her. It was good she was becoming rather aroused. It pleased Hannah. It was important her sex became well lubricated. Penises were going to be inserted.

The dress shimmered as it slipped down her body and fell to pool around her upon the floor. Hannah stepped from it knowing from a few open mouths she had made just the right impression. Sir Hugh nodded -- as if indicating his approval of his protégé.

Hannah stood there in her high heels, an addition to her height emphasising her long legs. Male eyes roamed freely over her body, taking in that not too obscuring white brassiere, the matching knickers around her pleasingly full hips; child-bearing hips perhaps, certainly implying a young woman capable of taking a large penis. The knickers were not tight fitting -- not thong, briefs, or bikini -- but more French knickers, thin flimsy shorts with the legs un-elasticated; almost floating on her body yet revealing her cleft and very much the shape of her buttocks. Underwear so pleasing to the male eye, so very much underwear to cause a manly reaction, yet all the more so because Hannah's long legs were not bare. Not the less than flattering sight of skin-coloured tights rising way above thighs to fit snuggly around her stomach -- nothing like that. Upon each of her legs, reaching up to a little below mid-thigh, were white stockings. Not of almost transparent nylon held up by suspenders and belt, but a thicker cotton silk mix in white and self-supporting, held up by elastic.

Such a pleasure for the men to see; from high shoes up shapely calves and knees to bare flesh before flimsy knickers, then Hannah's flat tummy with the lovely dimple of her tummy button; the rising and falling of her rib cage with the brassiere clad delight of her full breasts; up past those now less interesting shoulders to the titillation of that choker in powder blue; and then to the prettiness of her young face and so carefully arranged hair.

Hannah slowly revolved, her footsteps precise, allowing the men to see her bottom. It was sort of as if she were modelling a new range of underwear -- sort of, but only sort of!

"Gentlemen, I think we can now rise... have risen!"

At the table came a pushing back of chairs and the men arose as one. Monochrome apart from their faces, which looked somewhat flushed -- and Mr Rodney's red bow tie and cummerbund, of course. Hannah could see swellings, could see the thick barathea pushed outwards, could almost discern some semblance of shape. But the material and candlelight not making it easy. The material so very black as if it were just absorbing all the light. Indeed, that was the intention of the weaver with that particular fabric. How very different if the men had been wearing fawn-coloured buckskin breaches, worn very tight against the skin. How then would the shape of the men's penises be revealed!

"I think," added Sir Hugh, "we might make ourselves a little comfortable after dinner. Shall we reveal?"

There were nods. Hannah was in no doubt what was about to be revealed. She was of course right. Sir Hugh's hand went to his fly, buttons undone and then out surged his erection. A dramatic appearance. Hannah gasped. The men clearly liked that, not the exposure of Sir Hugh's member, but her reaction. It was just what men like. So very pleasing for a woman to express surprise and delight; better still if she is slightly shocked by the sudden appearance of something so impressive and hard. Indeed, the perfect wedding night scenario of the blushing bride more than blushing when the groom's manliness is revealed. Not frightened as such, a little shocked yet delighted and, of course, anxious to kneel and do obeisance to her new husband -- by sucking his cock.

Mr Rodney Ballantyne who had been attending her so well all evening perhaps thought because of that he should reveal his manliness to her next. The perfect gentleman all evening but now his hand went to his fly. What would his be like. Hannah watched with rapt attention, her teeth biting a little of her lower lip. She did hope he had a nice one. She liked him.

It was a very respectable penis, a very normal penis so far as Hannah could judge from her limited experience. Not as large as Sir Hugh's but very much upright as it poked from his trousers, its head a pale pink with a very dark band at its base -- the corona. Hannah smiled and nodded her head. She was tempted to kneel and suck, but it might be polite to wait until she had seen the other gentlemen's penises.

Two of the men there were of exceptional size. Men of great strength not simply 'well fleshed' or, one might, say, obese. Far from it. They were simply, very big men. Most likely had played a lot of rugger when younger, or, perhaps, in Alasdair Iain Macauley's case, tossing the caber. Sir Ramsey Martineau size almost took one's breath away -- his size and his imposing presence. His head was enormous, the largest Hannah thought she had seen on a man. His face reminded her of a bull and his beard amazed her in its size; the former florid, the latter so black as almost to have a suspicion of blue, spade-shaped and rippling down over his chest. It was a perfect match to the black barathea of his suiting. His hair was plastered down in front in a long, curving wisp over his massive forehead. The eyes, looking at Hannah, were blue grey under great black tufts, very clear, very critical, and very masterful. A huge spread of shoulders and a chest like a barrel to say nothing of the two tree-trunk like legs and the two enormous hands covered with long black hair. His voice was a bellowing, roaring, rumbling voice again reminiscent of the bull.

Alasdair Macauley had much of the same build, but his head flamed red and his beard was a great deal less imposing, curling tightly around his face. His eyes green and his nose pronounced giving Hannah the rather naughty thought that if his penis matched that -- as allegedly penises did -- she was in for quite a sight. It was a disappointment to her that he was not wearing the formal dress of the Scotsman. Like so many ladies she had a 'thing' about men in kilts with their sporrans and sgian dubh. His hands surprised her by being small and delicate -- and very mobile (she could well imagine them roaming across her body).

It was Alasdair Macauley of the two big men who revealed first. Seeming almost anxious to do so. Not though the impressive poke through the fly that Sir Hugh and Rodney Ballantyne had favoured. The red headed man favoured the removal of shoes, socks and trousers. Hannah's eyes were glued to his thighs as he turned from placing his trousers upon a table. She was expecting quite a surprise -- and she most certainly got that.

It was tiny, really small and yet he was such a big man. Tiny but perfectly formed in miniature. A lovely little thing. So sweet. Proudly erect, looking as if it had a bone in it, albeit a small bone, it was just not what she had expected. Rising, almost vertical, from its nest of tight and very neat red hair it could not have been more than three inches in erect length with little dangling balls hanging below. Within his red beard Alasdair Macauley broke into a broad grin at her apparent consternation. She was indeed, 'lost for words.'

"It... it's very nice. Very... upright."

A deep rumbling laugh from Sir Ramsey Martineau and a massive slap on Alasdair Macauley's back. There was hardly a tremor from the little erection as the mighty slap was simply absorbed by the man's frame. "I think she likes your cock, Alasdair, I'm sure she'll want to pet it! I wonder what she'll think of mine."

The man turned and like Alasdair Macauley removed shoes, socks and trousers. His bottom, despite the hanging shirt tail revealed its dramatic hairiness, but it was not as dramatic as what was presented to Hannah when Sir Ramsey turned back to face her.