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Dressed in only his white silk shirt, the Right Honourable Tristram Framlingham-Smythe (newly elevated to be the Duke of Great Tupping and Viscount D'Enculade) reclined on his back on his huge four poster bed, one hand behind his head supporting his neck, the other slowly stroking his erect phallus.
With a slightly bemused smile he removed his hand from Mr. Priapus and gently passed his fingers under his nose. Even though he had bathed upon returning from his sexual escapade in cook's room, the lingering feminine odour from her fanny was still faintly evident, and this essence was contributing mightily to the steely erection he was idly manipulating.
Were it not for the wonderful smell of her on his fingers he could possibly be excused for believing he had been dreaming, as the motherly cook had first sucked his manhood until he had exploded in her mouth and overflowed onto her glorious mammaries, and then lost his virginity as she wantonly guided him into her hot, wet, clingy experienced cunny.
His turgid cock seemed as rigid as a steel bar. As he idly stroked himself his mind drifted back to the unforgettable initiation he had undergone with the buxom and matronly cook, and her parting words that his education was only beginning.
What to do? His dilemma was quite simple: should he spend into a handkerchief for some instant relief, or save it in the hope he could sally forth once more today into Mrs. Lambert, the cook?
In his reminiscent state he didn't hear his bed chamber door open...
...and was rudely brought back to reality by a loud gasp...
Still clutching his rampant phallus, he hastily turned towards the noise, and was greeted by the sight of the housekeeper, Mrs. Edwards, standing there clutching clean linen, wide-eyed, mouth agape, staring at his purple-headed heavily veined truncheon.
A widow of some ten years, Mrs. Edwards was of the same middle aged vintage as the cook, and was another retainer who had been in the family's employ for as long as the young Lord could remember. Also like the cook the housekeeper had an exceedingly ample, well-fed figure.
In the midst of hastily searching for something to cover himself up with he glanced at the interloper, and was surprised to find that her eyes were still fixed on his weapon, her cheeks blushed ruddy and her bountiful bosom was heaving in a quite delightful and becoming manner. More importantly, she had not been overcome by an attack of the vapours and fainted, nor had she made any move to turn and flee.
Armed with his new-found sexual confidence the young Duke quickly surmised that the widow Edwards was fascinated by his manhood, and may not be averse to resolving his dilemma – if he approached her in the correct manner.
So, abandoning his attempt to cover himself up, he slowly advanced towards the housekeeper, his prick rampant and jutting out from beneath his shirt.
"Mrs. Edwards, I am sincerely apologetic for any distress I may have caused you by my unseemly behaviour," he quietly murmured, with an apologetic smile.
"I... I... I...I'm sorry sir..."
