Lady Agatha Marries a Fop

by

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Drunk/Drugged, Heterosexual, Historical, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Size, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Agatha was the last of the Winthrop line and is destined for spinsterhood unless she locates a suitable male partner to share life with on all levels including the most important time spent in the bedroom. Finally, she believes she had found the perfect soul-mate.



Lady Agatha Winthrop's family estate was located in the Midlands in a location that was neither stylishly modern nor historically significant. She was the last in line of the Loyalist Winthrop's, not to be confused with the Rebel Winthrop's, who were an entirely different breed of British royalty in all respects.

When her elder brother Ronald was shot down and killed during hostilities in one of the recent American sponsored global responses to bad behavior, her parents never got over it and expired from sheer lack of interest in earthly matters. They were never taken with their daughter Agatha whose bovine looks convinced them she had been switched at the hospital. Poor Agatha was orphaned at 20 and sole heir to the Winthrop fortune which was considerable in a time of economic uncertainty. The grandfather Sir Harry Winthrop had always been a firm believer in "G" and "D" as mainstays for all investments. His holdings in Gold and Diamond investments insured the trust would remain steadfastly secure even in periods of financial constriction.

Agatha was now a budding spinster at the young age of 32.

She was not a virgin nor was she unfamiliar with the perversions of the flesh that one encounters in University or at a French beach resort. Despite her innocent appearance, Lady Agatha was well-versed in oral and anal pursuits and found various interested males who were not put off by her thick but nubile and agile body willing to perform any act no matter how kinky and depraved.

The royal lady was careful to keep her activities well outside her circle of friends and acquaintances in order to keep her own back yard neat and trimmed. The only person aware of her proclivities was the Church of England man of the cloth who listened intently to her descriptions of her repeated falls from grace. He often requested exact details so he could give her the best advice he could under the circumstances. Sometimes, he would have to write down her experiences so he could consult his computer for an explanation of the activities. Then, he would respectfully propose to his matronly wife of some 20 years that they engage in the act just to determine the extent of the sin. He considered it practical experience and his wife was more than willing to participate since it was the will of God that she assist in the redemption of some poor parishioner's soul.

In recent months, Agatha had been in a bit of a funk. She had even resorted to the use of her old standby Mr. Stuffings who normally resided in the bottom drawer of her dresser. The battery operated tubular device had served her well both in University and on the many holiday trips she had made with her parents in the next room. It would have been most unseemly to have invited a male acquaintance into her quarters with them in such close proximity.

Now that she was alone, she merely solved her pussy-stuffing challenges with handy strange males up for a go and desperate for female company near closing time. She preferred those with visible wedding rings or with several rounds "under the belt" sporting the most liberated of libidos. Sometimes she got a total dud in the copulation department but she made do with attention to detail and a vigorous suck to arouse their flagging interest. Once in a rare while, she ran across a personage of great thickness of member and quantity of seed-laden liquids that managed to stretch her to her limit and fill her right up to the brim with creamy residue.

The right honorable Cecil Poundbottom was one of those rare discoveries.

Agatha had scooped up the inebriated not still young Cecil at a soon to be empty wedding party tent on the estate of her former female companion Miss Rose Teagarden now known as the Duchess of Lancaster. Not the original Lancaster of course but a pale imitation in the hinterlands. In fact, the claim to the title was dubious, at best.

She was sitting at a table alone after the other couples had all departed to their happy homes. She was not feeling particularly depressed, just a little down after not being asked to dance by the clueless males in attendance. The presence of Master Poundbottom came to her attention when he emitted a rather loud snore with his head resting uncomfortably on the stained tablecloth. The very first thing she noticed besides the obvious trim appearance of his nicely designed bum was his shoes which were in the latest fashion and spotlessly clean. It was such a departure from most of the males of her acquaintance that she felt drawn to inspect the fellow closer.

Lady Agatha checked Master Poundbottom from head to toe. Since he was in a semi-conscious state, she did not hesitate to verify the size of his manly pouch to determine if he were worth her effort. She gingerly hefted the package and found it to be more than adequate for her feminine needs. The young man's face was quite soft in repose and she was certain he had used a bit of lip color to make his already pleasing countenance more attractive to the eye. Not that it really mattered because she had made excellent use of gender confused males on more than one occasion. In fact, she found they overcompensated for their lack of interest with spirited perverted conversation and skilled copulation techniques. She peeked inside the man's trousers to check his underwear and found them to be the cleanest and highest quality of cloth she had ever encountered. This was Agatha final test of a male's worthiness for pussy-filling duties.

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