The Less Admirable Crichton

Tomorrow we should start looking at preserving your dresses by making some grass skirts.”

“Yes Mr Crichton.” said Mary. “I wonder when it will be my turn?”

“Soon, soon.”

He lead Elspeth, the only non-virgin amongst the new residents, into her hut. “Oh, may I visit the, umm, the facilities first?” He nodded, much as he wanted to say no, he thought that that kind of perversion could wait. He didn’t think they would be rescued too soon, there was time.

Elspeth asked what she should do, raise her skirts perhaps. “Oh no, we will remove them completely. You have seen how Eliza spends her days [topless], I rather think that is something you all need to get used to. It is, after all, how South Sea Islanders dress.”

“But ... you mean all day? Perhaps not when the men come to visit?”

“Hmm, perhaps not. But it is delightful to see her like that and ... oh yes, you are very much bigger built aren’t you?” Her breasts were exposed to his delighted gaze. They were much larger than Eliza’s. He restrained himself from grabbing them, indicated that she should continue undressing and removed his own clothes.

“Even Loamy, I mean my husband, has not seen me like this.” She dropped her last covering and revealed her naked body, suffused in pink from the embarrassment of being seen as nature, but not society, intended. He took in the view, deliberately starting at her face rather than her most prominent features. He could see why Lord Loam had been attracted to her. She had a young face, younger than her age. Her lips were pink, she was used to reddening them, but such fripperies were not available now. Her eyes were quite direct, as was her character, he’d realised from her demand to her husband to be released from her vows. Her cheeks returned to a more normal colour, but that still made them the colours of peaches. Below, her neck was elegant, not too long but elegantly growing from her shoulders like a flower stem (‘Hmm,” he thought,’ a bit too poetry-like I think. And not good poetry at that’). Then the glories of her torso, her breasts. They were easily twice the size of Eliza’s. Being young, they were still self-supporting but they naturally dropped a little under the weight they had. Again, he barely resisted grabbing them. These wouldn’t disappear when she lay on her back. His eyes travelled south. Once more she went pink as he clearly studied her groin. She was well covered in hair; it wasn’t a triangle, nor a well trimmed hedge. It was a mass of hair that extended down from near her belly-button to where her slit disappeared round between her legs.

“Does he like it like that? It’s very ... like a jungle.”

“As I say, he’s never seen it. If it is the right day, he comes to my bedroom and climbs into my bed, I lift my nightdress and he lifts his and ... well, you know.”

“But how does he find the entrance?”

“That is rather private information you know.”

“Still, I would like to know.” Crichton said.

“Well, sometimes he can’t. He takes several tries. It can be uncomfortable.”

“I’m sure. You never help by guiding him in?”

“You mean hold his ... his member? Oh no, never. Don’t you like my jungle?”

“I love it. But you will be guiding me in. And more. Have you never taken his member into your mouth?” She looked shocked. She had never considered that as a possibility. “Eliza does it, perhaps I’ll get her to teach you all.”

“But Eliza is lower class. I mean, it isn’t something upper class people do ... is it?”

“Try it. Yes, kneel down and open your mouth.”