From the Guide To Pointe Botham 2015 : Pointe Botham’s history stems right back to the original puritan landings. Peter Botham left the earliest settlement on the Cromwell River at Redemption and moved down to the point where he established a subsidiary settlement. Initially supported by the parent settlement, it rapidly grew to be independent and successful.
Peter was not happy, he was sorting the library books. A seventeen year old’s simple prank, that’s all it had been, just a prank. He got caught, his friends didn’t and he didn’t squeal. Because he wouldn’t identify the others, the usual punishment would have been a rap on the knuckles, he was given two weeks community service helping in the library. The librarian, Miss Tony, was okay; the assistant, a real looker, blonde, big tits, great legs, and a right bitch. Marianne Longtemps kept telling him how he was doing it wrong, ‘it’ could be anything from making the tea to arranging the books. She had a degree in History and an unexamined qualification in being a complete cow.
Books, books, books, books; all bloody books. All boring bloody books. “Boring bloody books” he said out loud.
“Boring? Mr Hapgood? Boring? Have you ever looked at a book? Have you read Hardy describing the internal desires and distresses of Jude as he struggles to better himself? Have you not tried to read Phillip Roth? Or, oh I don’t know, wait a minute...” Miss Tony went off and came back with a ‘Lifeblood’ from the ‘adult’ section. “read the third chapter, forget the books for a minute”
He sat down, nearly told Marianne to ‘fuck off’ but modified it to explain he had been told to read this book. She looked at it, rolled her eyes and went off. He read, his eyes opened, this was a sex scene! Bloody hell, it was of such graphic intensity that he couldn’t avoid getting hot. And Miss Tony told him to read this! The sex was hot, steamy, detailed, dirty, but not gynaecological. In short it was very good, very well written as well as being erotic (though he would have used a more basic word). Then the chapter started to change, it got violent; he was taken by surprise, what was going one, why was she... ? The story grew darker. By the end of the chapter he was horrified, dreading what the next sentence would bring, unable to stop himself because of a desperate need to discover what would happen.
“Why did you make me read this?” he demanded
“What did you make of it?”
“It started well and then...”
“And then you were dragged down an unexpected road. That’s what books can do, take you to unexpected places”
He wasn’t necessary convinced, though he did make a note of the author, to look up other works by him, or her; it was a name that could be either.
Then it was back to the books. It carried on raining. It had rained all day yesterday and then was still raining this morning. The river was rising.
The Cromwell River was originally called the Henrietta Maria but when the king was executed the Puritans changed the name to Cromwell. In an unusual expression of independence they refused to change back when King Charles II came to the throne. They expressed their admiration for ‘an godly and devoute leader of the saints of heven’
At 3 pm Miss Tony looked out and saw the river at the top of the bank; she rang the council; there was no answer. She rang the police; there was no answer. She rang the Fire and Rescue; there was an answerphone explain that the call was important to then but all their lines were busy. “I have to go and get help. If the river floods we will need to get the books to a safe place. I’ll go to the police.” She rushed out and into her Skoda, clattering off to find help for a load of books when people’s houses were at risk. She was dedicated and perhaps just a little unwordly. Fifteen minutes of arguing with officials was enough, the river lapped over the bank and then Groynes Dip filled with water.
Groynes Dip, or Groins Dip as it was called until the 1890s, when the council opted for a less salacious name, was believed to be named after the first boat builder. By 1600 two small ship building businesses were trading in the inlet known. Archeological investigations suggest the small brook was steadily expanded and excavated as the ships became larger. In 1901 the small inlet could no longer cope and the ship builders moved elsewhere. The brook was culverted and the ground built up over time, but a visible dip remains.
Now the road from the town was impassable, the alternative entailed a 4 mile circular route. By the time she was approaching the river from below the library, the river was too high and the library was surrounded by 3 or 4 feet of water rising to the mound on which the library was built. The mound was known as Bottom’s Fort until 1950 when the library was built.
Bottom’s Fort was where Peter Botham (pronounced Bottom in Yorkshire) established his first dwelling. It was never a fort as he remained on good terms with the indigenous residents – the Native Americans – for 50 years.
The two looked out at the water and jointly realised they had to do something. Together they started moving books upstairs. At first it was random, but they realised they could not move all the books in time, they had to be selective. Miss Tony rang at that opportune moment “No one will help. They say they are stretched moving the old folks from Bide a Wee Rest Home and the sick from the Hospital. God! Do they really think some old git is more important than knowledge? No, no, I’m sorry, that sounds awful. I can’t get back. Look, there are keys in my drawer. There is a room at the back. Those books MUST be moved upstairs. Please, try. Thank you, thank you. But ... stay safe. Oh, the chocolate machine in the foyer. Horrible thing, chocolate on the books, stupid. Anyway, take what you want. I’ll make it okay. You may be stuck for a while”
Marianne did a good job of reassuring her and then relayed the information to Peter as if it was her idea. They opened the back room and there was a trove of early documents relating to the establishment of the town. Water appeared at the front door. They had to move fast and efficiently, carrying armfuls of documents and early books up the flight of steps to the small office that perched on top of the single storey building. It had been added as an afterthought and made an ugly building even uglier. No expense had been spared on the building, no wait, all expense had been spared on the building of the library. But it did mean that Miss Tony’s office was likely to remain above the water; it had never in 100 years reached that height. They piled the books up and put the documents in the bin, in the cupboard; anywhere they would be safe. The waters moved in through the door.
“We’re going to be here for a while, Miss Tony said we could get chocolate out of the machine, but, I don’t have much change. I – what’s that smile for?”
He went down the stairs, picking up the fire extinguisher at the bottom and walked knee-deep through the water to the machine. SMASH! The front of the machine shattered “What would you like? Or shall I get a selection?”
He took armfuls of chips, chocolate, and coke. They found a kettle and filled that. Coffee from the cupboard, creamer, biscuits. “My diet is ruined” moaned Marianne “and what the heck are ‘CrinkoNuts’?”
“I think the name speaks for itself – crinkly nut niblets in a chocolate flavour coating with raspberry moose filling – possibly the most disgusting confectionary known to man”
“Well, why bring them up then?”
“If we end up eating them then we know how desperate things have become.”
The telephone rang again. Miss Tony was asking if they were safe, then if the books were safe. At least the books came second to their safety this time. Reassured, she started to explain that there would be little chance of a rescue that day, they should ring home. She was very apologetic. Peter saw it as, at last, a bit of excitement. Marianne was more concerned, but there was little to do. They were trapped; water now extended in all directions at least half a mile. The shops were flooded, the information centre was letting a slow stream of leaflets extolling ‘the untold beauties of this less-well-known settler’s cove’ float out of an open window and down the river. The water was moving fast, a large log floated by, followed by a dead sheep. If any reminder was needed, that was it. This was a dangerous situation, they must sit tight and wait.
Peter telephoned and his mother immediately went into over-drive distraught mode “But what if the waters rise, you must be hungry, I’ll bring some sandwiches”
“Mum, if you can bring us sandwiches, then we could escape. Don’t even think about it”
“Who are you with? Is she nice? Don’t forget to be polite”
“What? Mum! It isn’t a date! We’re fine, I’ll probably see you tomorrow”
Marianne had an easier phone call as her flat mates were half-stoned. Her home was in Lower Manxtown; she rang and simply said she was fine. That was easier than telling the truth; with luck they would never know.
Then they settled down to a three course meal of onion rings as a starter, barbecue beef flavour chipsticks as main course and Reese peanut butter cups as dessert. “The wine is a cheeky little affair with flavours of cola, probably grown on the southern slopes I think. I’m getting cherries, I’m getting sugar, I’m getting an effervescence” Peter reviewed the Cherry Coke, Marianne actually smiled.
“You’re quite funny, aren’t you even a little worried?”
“What can we do? No point in worrying” He picked up one of the books ‘The History of Pointy Bottom, a true history of the real town’ the cover said. Published in 1870, it offered a less sanitised explanation of the history of the town. Peter Botham had not so much left Redemption as been thrown out after being caught in bed with mistress Purity Merrywather and Honesty Damfather. They were invited to take husbands allocated to them or leave with him. They left (because the husbands were 45 and 48 respectively and they were 17 and 18 and Peter Botham was 20). Coming upon the promontory that bears his bastardised name, they also found a young Indian [as the book described her] squaw in labour. She had been in labour for 24 hours and the Indians had left her assuming she would die, life was more brutal then. Peter and Purity helped. Purity had seen the midwife in Redemption push a baby back in, unhook the cord and allow the baby out again. She did this and the baby was born, but the mother was too tired and small; even in this honest history, there were things that one didn’t describe in 1870. Small meant her vagina couldn’t cope. Peter assisted by cutting her and pulling out the baby. Both survived and the tribe allowed them to stay on the hillock (Bottom’s Fort); seems that they were regarded as medicine men (people?) after that.
Being a Yorkshireman, his original name Botham was pronounced Bottom and in time the promontory of Botham’s Point became Bottom’s Point which by the 1700s was called Pointy Bottom. It was obvious that the late 19thC council changed it to stop ribald comments.
Two months later two women arrived. Charity Lomacks and Goody Merrywather (any relation, Pete wondered, of Purity?) These two were similarly found in bed, but sans male, in the act of lewd pleasuring of one-another. Such a situation was not ordained by God, but Redemption was (for the time) liberal and simply expelled these too. A later punishment would apparently have been ‘pressing to death’.
In time therefore Pointy Bottom acquired a range of reject puritans. Peter Botham had a two common-law wives (he never legally married either), Charity and Goody lived as a married couple. There was a strong hint in the book that Christopher Saviour was of the opposite preference (male only), the book never spelled it out. He took up with an Indian and they lived comfortably together. The Indian had equal rights in the little community. This really was an unusual settlement.
They learnt to brew, to distill and then to supply to Redemption on agreeable terms. As so often, a religion that banned members from producing forbidden goods was prepared to turn a blind eye to others supplying them.
Peter read out sections, he was fascinated; Marianne explained how many official histories hid much of the truth behind sanitised stories. They found at last they had something to talk about.
The next book in this list of rescued works turned out to be an early copy of a book by a contemporary of the Marquis de Sade. The descriptions in this were as frank as the book that Miss Tony had given him; but there was no let up here.
‘Then did I pinion the young virgin with me manly sword and she bled right well. She cried at the loss of her piety, but blossomed when I gave her more fruit to her womb. She was pleasure to my cock and fingered my arse. I was right grateful and she was right rewarded. Her mother camest in and was shocked in such a manner that I deemed her artificial and false; determined to make profit from her young daughter’s spoiling. I took her and bound her with her daughters hose and then took her from behind. Her cunny and her arse were sore at my finish and her tears were now for herself, not her daughter. Her daughter was right happy to see her cruel mother used so and encouraged me; which I deemed un-daughterly, therefore I did lay her on her mother’s bare behind and did thrash her hard, which made me hard too so she took me in her mouth again all unwilling’
It just went on with this, some of it made even Peter blush. Marianne doubted all of it was true, or even possible; but didn’t stop reading when Peter passed it over.
The time came when they needed a pee of course. Peter looked down the stairs “The toilets are out, it’s about 5 feet deep below. We could pee out of the window”
“I am NOT peeing out of the window with half the world’s media filming.”
It was dark now, the water reflected the lights from the shore and swirled around the building. They pulled down the blinds so they didn’t have to look at it.
They opted to go to the stairs and down to the water level. Of course Peter had little problem, he did wonder what he’d do if he needed a shit. Marianne went after him, he stood at the top just inside the office. He heard the splashing flow of water, then silence and then suddenly “Ahh” and a big splash. He rushed down the stairs and paddled down a couple of wet steps. Reaching out, he pulled the soaking woman in and then helped her out of the freezing, brown, muddy water. She was shivering a little already as they went up the stairs.
“Look, you’ll need to get out of these wet things. Here.” He took off his shirt and gave it to her; but her hands were shaking now and she could not undo her own blouse. He reached across and unbuttoned her, then pulled it from her shivering shoulders “I wish we’d thought to bring our coats up, still, no use worrying now.” Then he wondered, should he remove her bra? She settled the question for him by reaching round behind her and releasing the catch. He barely noticed her breasts, hard to believe, but it was true; he wrapped his shirt round her and helped her put her arms in. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing.
But what of her skirt? She was already struggling out of it. “I’m k-k-k-eeppin-ng m-m-m-my p-p-p-pants on”. To be honest, on or off, her skirt made little difference to her warmth, it was too short to be significant. Peter had noticed this when she mounted the steps to put books on the upper shelves, and Marianne had noticed that Peter had noticed. She wasn’t thinking about this now. Her skirt fell to the floor and her pants, though proper full size ones, were wet and partially see-through. She didn’t really care that much. He boiled the kettle and made her a hot cup-a-soup, they’d found the sachets in a draw.
He couldn’t think of anything else to do to get her warm. He’d read that polar explorers or mountain climbers sometimes did this if a colleague got hypothermia, he’d actually read that in a book that was floating around downstairs now, they had sleeping bags in the arctic of course, but the principle was the same. Skin contact. He explained the idea and she looked at him, he couldn’t tell if she believed him or not, but she didn’t say no (perhaps she was too cold to speak). He took off his jeans and wrapped himself round her on the floor.
Together they lay like this for a while, it was not working terribly well he felt, she was still shivering. He got an erection now, of course he did. Then he apologised, which kind of made it more obvious; upto then she had been able to pretend she couldn’t feel the hard proddy thing at her stomach. Still she was cold and he was definitely trying to warm her. “R-r-rub mmmm-m-my l-legs.” She wanted to add that she couldn’t feel them but she was too cold. So he started on her legs and rubbed her calves first, then her thighs. Still he was intent on warming her up. He rubbed her arms for a while, then her legs again.
There must have been a point where she was warming up and the rubbing was no longer to bring back her circulation but was instead increasing her circulation beyond normal. Neither was fully aware they had reached it. He continued to oscillate between legs and arms, his hands rubbing her upper thighs causing her to become steadily aroused. Then rubbing her upper arms and finding her breasts naturally getting in the way as he leant over her. He would brush them with each stroke on her arms. And he became aware of the excitement that gave him, and thinking she had not noticed he allowed himself to brush them more. He sub-consciously intended to do this for a while and then go and jack-off somewhere, only there was no-where to go, only this office.
He returned to her legs and suggested she roll over so he could bring comfort to her cold back (and bottom). He massaged her back and again his hands naturally curled round the sides, finding the raised fatty roundness as the breast began to grow out of her body. She had never had such a diffident lover, though he wasn’t meant to be of course, it was the longest foreplay she had experienced, though it hadn’t started as foreplay and even now he wasn’t aware of the inevitability of what he had started. If he had been aware he would have pushed along in the crass way all her other lovers (who had intended to be so) had. Pete was just intent upon warming her up he thought, and maybe on copping a feel at the same time. He felt a little ashamed of taking advantage, but she was so good looking and he couldn’t help his rising hormone levels.
His hands moved to her bottom and caressed rather than massaged; at last a moan of pleasure escaped her mouth. She clamped her mouth shut, thinking she would let him know when and then he would stop. Actually he was smiling to himself and allowing his fingers to see how far round they could go between her legs. The answer it seemed was now as far as they liked. After fifteen minutes he asked her to turn over again and she returned to her back, smiling. She was warm now.
“Sorry?” he asked
“Well? Are you going to finish what you started?”
“I don’t really know how, you mean rub you?”
God, she thought, he’s an innocent. Innocent but patient and apparently willing. She brought his hand back between her legs and started to show him what to do.
Was this really happening? He wondered, 24 hours earlier Marianne had been a bitch with great legs and he’d been trying to look up her skirt when she was on the steps. Now she was on the floor with her (his) shirt open, showing her very impressive tits (he noticed now) and wearing just a pair of wet panties below. His hand was being guided to rub her harder now and she was making gentle ‘mmmm’ noises. He wondered how she’d pulled her panties up when she fell in. “Concentrate! Oh, yes, that’s better” He had let his mind wander, now he focused on her wet groin.
“Can I pull these off? They keep wrinkling because they’re wet”
She was breathing heavily and rational thought had gone out of her head. As soon as he asked she just reached down and pulled her panties off. She wasn’t thinking about what they would say to each other next time they met, only about the need to climax, soon.
He drew a breath and revelled in the sight of his first female vulva. And not some teenage quick view down a panty waistband pulled open to show a patch of hair. This was a proper women, legs open now and writhing slightly in the pleasure he was delivering. His cock was getting uncomfortable. “Please concentrate, I can’t stand this” she moaned. And then it hit her like a wave. He carried on rubbing, not knowing what else to do, she screeched with a banshee wail. Apparently that was her reaching an orgasm mach 10. She told him later she’d never achieved that with any other boy, only with Steve. He looked confused “Steve is my,” she coloured a little, she suddenly recollected she was talking to a 17 year old boy who she worked with, not a long-time lover (though actually she wouldn’t have told a lover about Steve) “my vibrator.” But that was later. At the moment this boy had his hand on her slit and was stroking it really quite lovingly. “Oh, God, that’s so nice” He wasn’t trying to give her pleasure, he was just enjoying the sensation of a woman’s slit being so visible, so tangible. Not some porn picture but a real, flesh, actually very fleshy, wrinkled lips around ... around what? He wanted to open it to see. What was the acceptable way of asking to see inside a woman’s outer lips? He allowed his hand to re-orientate itself so his finger ran down the opening. She shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“No, do that again, push your finger in a little more each time”
Oh man, this was fantastic. His finger made progress and now started to come out damp; finally he took a chance and pushed in further. “OhhhH! Ahh, no don’t stop, put another finger in. Not there! That’s my clitoris, it’s too sensitive.” Now she was gently stroking herself too. He opened her lips and looked at the tiny mound that he had heard about. On a whim he bent over and kissed it. She exploded, held his head to it so his lips and tongue continued to cover it and she orgasmed for a second time.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Okay” she replied, wondering what detailed sex question he would ask
“How come your panties were up when I pulled you in from the water?”
She laughed. “Really? I’m lying here like this and you want to know that?”
“Sorry, I can’t make sense of it”
“Okay, I’d finished ... well you know. And I stood to pull up my panties, one foot caught in the leg and so I fell in. You came running and there was no way I was going to let you see my front bottom.” She smiled “Look how that turned out. Anyway, so I pulled them up double quick”
“Okay, that makes sense. Now” he grinned “Can I rub you again?”
“Again? I’m not a machine, nice as it is, I need to recover a little. Most of my dates just want to do the minimum to enable them to get their rocks off; how come you just want to rub me?”
“I didn’t exactly say that” he smiled at her “but I really liked touching you and feeling you responding like you did. Any girls I’ve been with would react by slapping my face if I touch her down there; and even a feel up top needs a lot of work. Does that sound selfish?”
“A bit, but girls like to get some pleasure too, and of course girls can lose a lot more” he looked a question at her “I mean reputation or if it goes too far, then pregnancy. Hell if she’s your age she might even still be virgin, she doesn’t want to just give out to any old guy who has taken her to a dance”
“Yeah, I know. I wasn’t complaining about them, it’s part of the chase anyway. I was saying how much fun it was not to have to argue and plead.”
“Oh, so I suppose you think I’m easy?” she was starting to bridle.
“No, no. I actually think you would have been way, way beyond any chance for me with you. We’re just in a rather unusual situation. In case you’re wondering, I won’t tell anyone. Though it will be hard to keep it quiet, I will of course”
She had never thought that far ahead. She imagined him telling people what they’d done so far ... and what she imagined she’d have to do for him. She wondered how easy it would be to order him around after this.
“Why did you want to be a librarian? Or a library assistant”
“Yes, Miss Tony is very strict on that point, the only time I’ve seen her get excited was when I suggested I was a librarian”
“She got pretty excited about me not reading books. She was pretty cool in the book she gave me”
“Yes, I rolled my eyes didn’t I? Hey! What are you doing?” His fingers were starting to stroke her thighs again, he couldn’t wait to hear her scream in ecstasy again. “Oh, go on then. But yes I’m sorry. I was feeling superior; but I have to admit I read that in my first week.”
“Did it make you hot?”
“Umm, well, ahh, yes, yes it did. Promise never to tell?” He nodded eagerly, a finger was now inserting itself into her “God, you are keen, take it easy, we’ve plenty of time. Taste it, lick your fingers. I’ve always wanted to see a boy do that. Well yes it did, I read that part in my lunch hour and had to go into the woman’s toilets”
“It made you want to pee?”
“No you fool I had to, you know...”
“You jacked off in the toilet? Do girls do that? I thought only boys had to”
“Don’t be silly, girls are just less ‘in your face’ about sex. Girls are as sexy as boys”
“From where I’m sitting this girl is way more sexy”
She smiled, and, since he was now frigging her with two fingers and she was starting to overheat, moved a hand down and guided him. She started to moan with a low groan, this was so naughty in so many ways. It was lovely. She was at work, she was his boss, he was much younger and she was more naked than she had ever been with a boy. Hard to believe but sex had always been in the dark and a matter of feeling around; here was a boy delighting in what she had always thought of as unsightly folds of skin (she’d even considered labia reduction), but he loved it. Ten minutes later she was relaxing again after a very satisfactory third orgasm. He leant forward and kissed her eyelids, then her lips, then her neck. Again she shivered with pleasure and wondered if she could go again, she knew where he was heading. But no, she was tired out, and her cumt (a word she had invented herself for that place where she came), it was her private word for it, her cumt was a little sore at the moment from all the attention. She wasn’t easy, she often let men down with a kiss and a cuddle and ‘good night then’, so her cunt was unused to being seen to so many times. He spent some time on her comely breasts, he actually used that word ‘comely’. Must have picked it up from reading ‘that novel’ she thought. He nibbled her nipples and she giggled; she was beginning to wonder if she could manage a little climax. After several minutes in which her breasts received caresses and love bites, which she would have to hide for a day or two, he carried on south. Her stomach loved being kissed, then he licked it! That was a surprise, and really pleasant when you are already hot she found. A hand had made its way underneath her and a finger was stroking her crinkly ring of muscle round her anus. She liked that too. His mouth, meanwhile had reached her cumt and was eagerly licking what had leaked out, then his other hand opened her so he could get further in. She was lost at that moment, sore or not, she was boiling up for another orgasm. His lips this time found her clitoris and, small though it was, he found ways of kissing it which made her wonder why no other boy had achieved the same. Then his tongue swept across it and she found herself laughing uncontrollably. She’d never had an orgasm like that before. She was so sensitive it was almost painful to bear it, but that was the same as tickling which can become unbearable too. Perhaps that was why she was laughing. She relapsed to a pleasant smile and he looked up, through the valley of her breasts at her face. He would have liked to carry on licking her for ever, listening to her range of orgasmic sounds, but he knew he should stop for a while. And his tongue was tired.
It took 5 minutes for her to recover enough to say “Take off your trousers” He grinned, he wasn’t sure what she would give him, but anything was going to be good. He’d had an erection for ages, now at last it would release.
His pants showed the clear sign of leakage from his erection, a circle of damp material where the head was. He pulled them off quickly, embarrassed. Why was it a turn on to see a girls pants and fanaticise about them being damp but not for a boy? He stopped wondering as she lay him on his back and lay full length on him. His cock was hard against her and he would have happily come like that, spraying her stomach with his semen. She began the same progress as he’d made on her, even nibbling his nipples and laughingly giving him lovebites “On your tits too” she said. He thought the same ‘have to keep covered up for a day or two to avoid any explanations’. She reached his penis and licked the leaking drops from the top. He thought he’d explode. “Don’t you dare come yet. You spray my face and we are done!” He wouldn’t do it deliberately but his level of control was not great.
She took him into her mouth and, with the first lick of her tongue, his shaft started pumping. He couldn’t stop. He was sure he was filling her mouth with cum and she would choke. He wasn’t and she didn’t. She was surprised at how prolific he was though. She’d last sucked someone off at that awful Christmas party where she’d got drunk and done it for some guy who was a total shit (he told everybody as soon as they came out of the bedroom; she got her revenge, he gave her a lift home and she’d vomited all over his nice walnut dashboard); he hadn’t produced anywhere near as much.
She swallowed. She actually liked the taste of spunk. It seemed it was something you either liked or hated. She liked it. Peter looked down in amazement, his first blowjob (SIndy from school) had been a nightmare of pleading (his) and tears (hers); his second girlfriend had been willing to do it on his birthday but had insisted on spitting it all out and having a glass of red wine ready to take away the taste. That she had these plans sorted, he realised, meant that she was experienced. They split up not long after. And that was it. Two other girlfriends, but Carol wouldn’t, ever, not in a million years (‘okay, okay, you’ve made your point’) and Shana was a very good girl for whom a tonguey kiss was a special occasion. He didn’t even ask.
Now he was happily spraying into a perfect female face and she was smiling and swallowing it all like it was vanilla cream. A dribble of his semen began to trickle down her cheek, she wiped it off with a finger and offered it to him. He’d never tried his own spunk, in fact he thought it quite disgusting, but realised it would be rude (and exceedingly shortsighted) to refuse, it was salty and unpleasant to his taste, but she Marianne seemed delighted with his flavour and volume. “Shall I tell you another secret, God! Do I dare?”
“I won’t tell anyone. We sound like two children in kindergarten”
“Well, once I got a boyfriend to jack off into a sherry trifle I was making for the two of us. Then my mum and dad called round. I could hardly not give them some too since we were eating it”
“So your mum and dad ate your boyfriends cum? Oh that is gross!” he was laughing as he said it. “You know, boys think girls are prissy and neat and tidy and polite and all; and the more I know of them, the more I realise they aren’t”
“Oh, some are, but then not all boys are he-men jocks are they? Most girls behave that way because boys expect it. Be honest, if I’d came in each morning f-ing and belching and giving out a fart and saying ‘that was a smelly one’; you’d not be impressed. You want us to be alabaster statues of purity, until you want us to be whores”
“True, all true. I’m happy with the, umm the, ... no I can’t call you that. You are much more special than that”
“Don’t go all mushy, and anyway, if I was a whore – whore, whore, whore. It’s just a word. If I was one, you’d not be able to afford me”
“Also true, you’d only be affordable by rich, overweight, sweaty businessmen with bad breath and wads of cash”
“Thanks for that picture. Good job I didn’t need to go on the game to get through college. I worked in the library at Uni. That’s why I got the job here, only to tide me over, but I do like working here. Even if some layabouts look up my skirt when I’m putting books on the shelves”
“Sorry. You could see it as a compliment. You have fantastic legs”
“Well, having someone leering at your arse isn’t a compliment, unless you happen to have stripped off like this for him; and it wasn’t my legs you were looking at”
“Sorry again, blame my hormones. Talking of which...” he looked down at his growing erection.
“You want another go already? Look, is this right, you are quite young and, well I don’t want some angry mother saying I’ve corrupted her son”
He looked down at her naked body and kissed her right nipple “I think that ship has sailed. If I’m not corrupted now then I’d have to be a saint. The best you can do now is teach me how to make any girl’s life a pleasure with me”
“So I’m just a one night stand?”
“I’m 17, you’re 25?” She nodded, it was a good guess “I think it’s more likely that I’m a one night stand for you. I’d happily fuck with you for ever, you are beautiful” he looked her up and down and then kissed her on the lips, while allowing his hand to rest on her slit again and start gently stroking it. Too late she realised she was already committed to coming again, she just liked his approach, open, forthright and caring. What’s not to like? “and sexy, and you don’t eat gum while I’m trying to kiss you”
“Really? Do girls do that?”
“Some, those that don’t smell of ciggy smoke”
“Oh, you poor thing. I’d better let you frig me to make yourself feel better”
And so he did.
The telephone rang a little later, the wires were thankfully above water level and so Miss Tony was able to check up on them. “Hello? How are you, the river is still rising I’m afraid but the emergency services have you on their list to rescue”
Marianne smiled and replied “We’re fine Miss Tony, we saved all the documents and books you mentioned, and a few others. We have a wondrous variety of chocolate based snacks courtesy of Peter’s imaginative approach to the vending machine” she smiled at Peter and then giggled as he licked her pussy “And weeeee, sorry, we are perfectly safe. So please tell the emergency services to put us at the bottom of their bottom, I mean of their list” she was finding hard to concentrate with his tongue merrily lapping at her female juices. The voice at the end said some more and Marianne continued “Well, we took the precaution of filling the kettle before the water burst in and we filled some other bottles too, so as long as the electricity holds out we can even make hot drinks. We found some cup-a-soups in your drawer, I hope that’s okay? Good, and the coffee and creamer of course. So, honestly we’re fine. What? Oh well yes, we’ve found enough to keep us amused. Peter was most interested in the history of the town published in 1870, I suspect we may have to explain if he starts calling it Pointy Bottom though. Yes, I know, hilarious! No, no need to worry at all. Oh, yes, do you have the numbers, thank you; yes, just in case the phones do get cut. We shall wait it out with stoic pride isn’t that what the poet said? No, I’m not sure which one either, perhaps I’ve made it up. Bye then” she hung up “Peter! How can I have a sensible conversation when a sex mad teenager is giving me a blow job?”
Peter couldn’t answer, his tongue was now flicking her clitoris and she was floating away on the flood of pleasure he was providing. After, as she lay entwined with her ‘toy boy’ (as she couldn’t help thinking of him as that even though the other way round he’d been seen as a lucky bastard), she wondered how this would work out. It couldn’t continue after this night could it? And what if he blurted out to his parents that he had been shagging the assistant librarian whilst they were stuck in the library? What would Miss Tony think? Oh dear, too many questions, not enough answers, and she didn’t really want to think about them; what she really wanted was to get this 17 year old to do what she was sure he wanted to do – fuck her sore little cunt into oblivion. She was somewhat shocked at the way her mind was now coming up with words she had shyed away from even reading in books. But then again, she thought, she hadn’t been aware until now just how much sweaty, messy fun two people could have when they were stuck together. The phone rang again, it was her mother.
“Hi mum, no, no we’re fine. Umm? Oh, me and Peter who was here on ahhh, work experience. What? What do you mean ‘why would a boy want to have work experience in a library?’ Just because you don’t ... oh, nevermind. Anyway, we’re both safe and sound and in no danger. You saw it on the news? Oooo so we’ve made national news? Oh, just state news, okay. Still, that’s something. No, no, I told Miss Tony – Miss Tony, the Librarian! Yes, I told her we were fine and to tell the rescue people to get others safe first. What? Well she’d gone to get help, that’s why she wasn’t here! What are we doing? Well, we’re fucking like rabbits as there’s no TV. What? Sorry? The line is poor, you thought I said we were what?! Well, that’s true there is no TV, but have you ever heard me use a word like that? I’m surprised at you saying it. What did I say? I’m not sure, we’re just reading some of the books we saved. Yes, I’ll ring when I’m back at the flat. Bye, oh Mum, thanks for ringing, I like that you were concerned”