Mary McAllister, my hostess, decided I could do with cleaning up as I was stinking of vaginal fluid from orally pleasuring the previous four ladies. My face and hair were so sticky. "It's no good Davy we'll have to give you a wee shower."
I followed her upstairs staring at her curvaceous bottom delightfully encased by her green and blue pleated tartan skirt, to her bathroom. I got into the bath and she showered me with a hand-nozzle making sure I was thoroughly clean and did not wank.
"We've still got to keep you perky for the other ladies, haven't we?" she smiled wickedly. She helped me dry off and sprayed me with '4711 Cologne' rubbing it over my face and testicles. On our way downstairs we met Betty and Maggie in their duffel coats who were leaving having cleaned themselves up somewhere else in the big house.
Back in the east wing drawing room the fire had been stoked by Molly, Mrs. McAllister's young home-help. I was led in again naked. My penis was quite small and the ladies eyes followed it around the room as I regained my position lying face upwards on the floor with my head towards the fire. "Molly you can leave us now dear." Molly, openmouthed in wonderment, backed out smiling incredulously at the scene she had left.
Yvonne and two others, introduced as Martha and Linda, sat on the sofas to each side of me smirking contentedly at the new clean eighteen year old waiting on the blanket. Martha, a large woman in her fifties, walked over me edging towards the fire and stood astride my head. Staring up her pleats I noticed her smooth white lace-trimmed nylon petticoat contrasted with the rougher plaid texture of her skirt. Above me I saw black thin-denier stockings held up by crisp white lacy suspenders and between them the flouncy lacy hem of her French-knickers covering a large tuft of black hair.
Molly reappeared with some tea. Yvonne and Linda, seated on the sofa, edged forward to receive their cups and saucers, knees modestly together but feet apart. Yvonne's white nylon net petticoats cascaded downwards behind her legs making her stockings appear blacker than ever. Linda was wearing a plaid pleated skirt and again I could see a very ornate white petticoat on display under her seat. All around me were legs, shoes, stockings, suspenders and petticoats. Above me was a superb upskirt view. As an eighteen year old I was in a fevered state of sexual tension.
Martha, above me, was handed a tea by Molly, who squatted down, knees splayed, displaying her underwear, and asked if I'd like some tea too. I said I was not really ready for one but ideally needed her to wank me off. Red faced, she span round, stood up and walked out. A conversation was in full flow above me. Mary was talking loudly sitting on a chair arm and the other three were laughing and giggling.
What was it about these late middle-aged Scottish women? Why were they always drinking tea and talking about marmalade and the weather in the afternoon? Why were they so tall and their bottoms so big? Why did they mainly wear expensive plaid pleated skirts over delicate lacy lingerie? and why was Martha ignoring me when I was raring to go?
Martha's skirt hem was only six inches above me. The pleats expanded and contracted as she shifted her weight from side to side or laughed. I was in a state of complete sexually frustration as I studied every detail of her hem and underskirt. I had nothing else to do as wanking had, unfortunately, been banned.
I noticed where her tartan skirt panels were sewn together underneath there were uneven stitches with little threads hanging down. Her petticoat seemed a little too wide for her skirt and became more gathered at one side until she moved her heavy buttocks. The white lace was very fine, mainly encrusted roses, supporting a flounced border with a thin lace hem. Over this was a second tiered flounce finished with an ornate tear-drop lace edging. The lace made a froufrou sound as they rubbed against Martha's scratchy stockings.
"OK Martha it's getting late and we've still got Linda to go." Laughed Mary. "Are you ready Davy?" whispered Martha as she looked down at me over her shoulder, her dyed ash-blonde curly hair lit from the firelight.
She descended onto my face while spreading her huge legs wide apart. Facing my feet, she shunted her vast lace-clad derriere onto my face. I parted the legs of her French knickers with my fingers as she flipped her petticoat and skirt over my face and arranged it evenly so that I was enclosed in her private warm dark underworld. Her buttocks slid backwards until my nose was trapped by the heavy flesh surrounding her anus. My tongue found her vagina and I set to work. We gradually built up a rhythm as her pelvic area slipped across my chin and lips. The aroma from between he legs was very strong, almost unbelievably so. Needless to say my penis was rock hard and the scratchy hem of her wool plaid skirt kept touching its head and making it twitch. We continued like this for many minutes until I felt her buttocks clench and tighten and wave after wave of shuddering orgasm gripped her lower body as I kept licking and probing with my tongue.
"Stop, stop," she gasped as she pulled herself off me, her skirt and underwear entangled, and collapsed. "I'm far too, far too sensitive down there now you naughty young rascal." Her flowing vaginal juices left a trail across my mouth, cheeks and neck. Black pubic hair was everywhere. My penis was sticky with precum. Mary threw me another flannel and Martha stepped off me, her shoe scuffed my face. She disappeared upstairs to calm down, urinate and clean up
"Well Linda dear, you are the last. Are you up to it?"
