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The Serious Wife

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Surrey, 1908.

My wife was reading the Lady Cyclists’ Association News in the drawing room.

“You know that new housemaid called Lucy?” asked my wife.

I nodded vaguely.

“She is a lively creature isn’t she?”

“I do not know, Eleanor. I have not given it much thought,” I said. “She strikes me as a rather simple clumsy girl.”

“Come with me then and I will show you. It is almost midday.”

My wife left the drawing room and I reluctantly followed her. She led me up the stairs, through her bright dressing room, and into the small dark box room adjoining it. It was a feminine place I had rarely entered, full of loathsome old dresses and shoes; corsets and stockings; make up and perfume, and other nonsense. My wife looked out the small window, which was casting a dull grey light. I asked her what she was looking at, and she beckoned me over. It was just the small passage to the north side of the house; a dismal little alley, almost totally in shade, even at noon. “Watch,” said my wife.

The diffuse light from the window shone on her face. I had married Eleanor eleven years ago, when she was twenty-one, and she was still an attractive woman. She looked out of the window with a fixed gaze not saying a word. The clock struck twelve, and we waited, peering out of the tiny window. Standing in the gloomy room, our cheeks almost touching, I felt a small tremor of anticipation.

A tall young man in his early twenties, who I recognised as one of the delivery boys from town, sauntered into the alley, kicking the dust. I watched for a few more seconds, and my excitement waning, I turned to leave. But my wife seemed strangely transfixed. She held my arm, and put her finger to her mouth to indicate we should be silent. Then she did the oddest thing. With our faces inches apart and finger against her lips, she indecently ran her tongue over it. Her wet tongue against her finger and the pursing of her lips were quite vulgar but strangely excited me.

A few seconds later, the young maid Lucy arrived, looking behind her as she ducked in the alley. She was a small slim girl, about nineteen or twenty, with a sweet innocent face and dark brown hair tied up beneath her cap. She ran up and embraced the boy. She kissed him passionately, her arms about her neck. So this is what my wife wanted me to see. Lucy was taking a great risk while we were home, and now that we had seen her with a boy she would have to be dismissed immediately.

My wife was wide eyed, watching them, her breathing heavy. I was surprised at my wife’s foolishness.

“Come now, Eleanor, you will need to speak to Mrs Baker,” I said, for I left such matters to my wife. I turned to leave and took her arm to guide her away. She shook me off. “Watch,” said my wife.

I turned back and was horrified by what I saw. My wife and I watched as Lucy looked around again and then sank to her knees, unfastened the boy’s trousers and yanked them down a few inches. His cock lurched out, poking out beneath his shirt. It hung down grotesquely, big and thick, in front of Lucy’s dainty face.

Despite my shock, I found myself captivated. Lucy took his pliable cock in her hand as if feeling the weight of it. She smiled up at him. His cock started to lengthen and stiffen in her hand. I envied him his youthful vigour and his slim, muscular, body. She licked his balls and the base of his shaft. Lucy rather theatrically ran her tongue slowly up the length of his cock, reminding me of my wife’s obscene gesture. The boy closed his eyes as Lucy engulfed his cock in her mouth, while stroking him with her hand.

The boy held his hands around Lucy’s head, and thrust into her mouth. She resisted at first and tried to hold back, but he held her firmly and with each thrust he was deeper inside her throat. I was enjoying the scene with a bittersweet desire knowing that Lucy would shortly be shamed and expelled from the house for her disgusting behaviour.

As I watched the boy face fucking Lucy, I idly ran my hand up under my wife’s skirt and gently stroked the back of her thighs through her petticoat. My wife was rapt on the scene below.

Lucy pushed herself away, almost falling upon her arse, and unsteadily arose. She looked at the boy’s hard cock, now damp from her saliva, with a smile of satisfaction. She then stood to one side of him, inadvertently giving us a good view, and licked his ear and neck. Lucy ran one hand through his unkempt hair while expertly rubbing his cock with the other, whispering in his ear. The boy meanwhile was clumsily trying to unbutton the top of her coarse heavy tunic beneath her apron, and eventually managed to release a couple of buttons and slip his hand in to feel her breast.

I scooped up my wife’s petticoat, and ran my hands up her legs and over her bottom, feeling the smoothness of her stockings, the silk underwear against her skin, and the firm ridge of her corset. My wife gave an audible smile and pushed out her bottom. “Shhh,” she whispered.

Lucy said something into the ankara escort boy’s ear, and shuffled off her knickers from under her dress. She leant back slightly upon a small ledge, and pulled her skirt up around her thighs, revealing the tops of her thick woollen stockings. The young boy, grinning like a satyr, held his cock and rubbed it while Lucy slowly parted her legs in an erotic display for him, and unintentionally for us also. She pulled her dress higher to display her delicate dark-haired cunt to him, and in response he tightened the grip on his swollen cock and pulled on it faster. She dipped her hand between her legs, running her fingers over her tiny slit while she watched the boy. Lucy licked her lips, as if in appreciation of the taste of his cock. She silently mouthed, “Fuck me”, and if I were the lad I would not have been able to contain myself and would have come, splattering my semen over her dress. But he continued, and in reply to her entreaty he took hold of her legs, and surprisingly gently lifted them up while Lucy adjusted her position and moved her hips forward.

And then the eager lad was sticking his cock vigorously into her. Lucy’s legs were wrapped tightly around the boy’s body, her stockings rolling down her legs, her face wide eyed and gasping each time he thrust deeper into her. I was by now a little aroused by the sight of our scandalous young maid being fucked beneath our window: her slim legs, her ripe mouth, her tousled hair. And my wife I imagined was similarly affected by the young buck’s buttocks as he pounded her.

I continued caressing my wife’s bottom, my own cock hardening now; wishing our own love making could be that passionate, as perhaps it was when we were first married. I continued to caress my wife through her underwear, gently stroking her, feeling the smooth mound of her cunt beneath the silk. My wife sighed, whether with pleasure or regret I could not tell.

Lucy’s hands were around his firm buttocks, digging in with her fingernails. She was biting her lip trying to stay silent, but we could now hear her staccato gasps as he ploughed into her, her passion growing with each thrust. Then suddenly, the lad withdrew; his cock engorged and covered in her cunt juices. He let out a hoarse grunt, his cock twitching; thick dollops of spunk shooting out on to Lucy’s thigh.

Lucy quickly wiped herself off while he pulled up his trousers. She slapped him on the shoulder beckoning him to leave, and then pushed him away down the alley. He left, and she remained, adjusting her hair and clothing until it was safe to go.

And then, shockingly, Lucy looked directly at us. Perhaps she had seen a shadow moving. I instinctively darted back, but my wife remained where she was, continuing to look down at Lucy. “God, I want a fuck,” my wife whispered barely audibly. When I looked back, Lucy was gone. My hand still under my wife’s dress, I pressed my hand firmly against her cunt. My fingers pressed into her slit, and I felt her wet through the silk of her knickers. But she stood up, brushed my hand away and straightened her dress. Then, as if breaking from a dream, she laughed and patted me on the chest. “Young love,” she said, as if she wanted to say more.

I made to embrace my wife, wanting to push her down and fuck her right there on the floor amongst her dresses and perfume, but she pushed me away and walked briskly out of the room. She had recently started attending lectures of the Women’s Social and Political Union, which had been turning her into a stern and staid woman. I thought of grabbing her and taking her by force. But she was already out of the bedroom door and onto the landing. I wished I had acted more quickly.

And then it struck me. My wife knew the exact hour of their liaison, and had no intention of reporting her to the housekeeper. I wondered if there was some complicity between them. The boy seemed an uncomplicated fellow, so I did not suspect him; it was Lucy who had orchestrated their love making, and aroused my fascination. And surely she could not have failed to see my wife and me, our faces pressed against the window watching them. If she had known we were there, then her behaviour matched that of the shameless feathered whores I had seen at smokers at the club, undressing and lewdly cavorting with each other. And my wife was no better than the lecherous men patting their arses as they paraded past.

“Henderson,” I heard my wife speak on the stairs, “Can you have Lucy see us in the drawing room after dinner. Thank you.”

Perhaps my wife means to dismiss her after all, I thought.

My wife busied herself the rest of the day, changing for tea, while I waited until we retired to bed that night when I would fuck her. She would dismiss the maid, who would run away with tears in her eyes, and then I would fuck my wife. I would drag her to our bedroom, push my wife onto the bed face down and fuck her. Yes, I thought, I will throw down my serious wife, and she will protest, kicking and crying, and I will ankara escort bayan pull up her dress and skewer her like a dirty whore.

My wife, as I later found out, was constructing a more elaborate scene of her own.


Lucy was duly summoned into the drawing room for an interview with my wife and me.

“My wife is conducting a study of the sexual life of the lower orders,” I explained. My wife glared at me. Lucy looked nervous.

My wife proceeded to question poor Lucy about her conduct. She attested she was a virgin, and did not have a young man, both of which we knew to be false. My wife did not say that we had seen her in the alley.

“Lucy, you are clearly an innocent soul, and I do not want to trouble you any longer. But may I ask one more assistance from you?” asked my wife.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Lucy, relieved that the interview was almost over.

“I should be most obliged if you could perform on my husband an act of sexual congress with your mouth,” said my wife.

I was shocked. And Lucy seemed equally astounded.

“My husband is a man,” continued my wife, “And being a man he has certain urges which he cannot control. While we have been talking, he has been sitting behind you becoming quite agitated. All day he has been agitated in fact. I should be obliged if you can relieve him of this agitation, or else I shall have no peace from his attentions.”


“Please do not be difficult. I have seen you often in just such a position with the delivery boy from Ryle’s. My husband and I saw you today. So do not play the innocent. You know you will be dismissed for your conduct if you do not redeem yourself.”

“Yes, ma’am, I shall do as you ask,” replied Lucy, surprisingly willingly.

“Thank you. Please remove your outer garments so they are not dirtied when my husband ejaculates,” said my wife.

Lucy turned her back to my wife in a show of modesty, but it was but a show because now she was facing toward me, smiling mischievously. She has an eye for the master of the house, I thought.

Lucy removed her apron and slowly unbuttoned her stiff black maid’s uniform, revealing her long white cotton knickers reaching to her knees and matching camisole with blue embroidered flowers. It suited her well. The embroidery reminded me of cornflowers and country fairs, and seemed to reflect the farm where I imagined she had lived as a child.

She folded her uniform and apron sloppily over a chair. She now stood before us in her camisole, knickers and stockings. I felt as if I was the audience of a play being put on for my benefit. She was not wearing further undergarments and her dark nipples were clearly visible through the cotton top. I looked nervously at my wife and she returned a satisfied look, as if Lucy were a gift she was presenting to me. Lucy’s eyes sparkled. She seemed to enjoy displaying herself.

I lit a cigar and eyed Lucy’s body up and down, admiring her slim, almost boyish figure. She moved her weight from foot to foot. I was expecting her to stop there in her state of undress, but to my surprise she continued, delicately unbuttoning a few buttons of her camisole, revealing the soft skin between her small firm breasts.

“You liked watchin’ me and the lad, sir?” said Lucy.

“Lucy, you are a whore and a hussy, and typical of your class,” interrupted my wife. “I expect you to do my bidding and service my husband, not engage him in conversation. The role of women in national politics will never be fully recognised while girls of your generation shamelessly encourage the lust of men. You know that my husband will now want to fuck you in the roughest fashion for your wanton display before him.”

Lucy held my stare, and continued unbuttoning her camisole. She then turned to face my wife. The view of her fine neck and shoulder blades aroused in me a crude desire. Her tight young bottom under her long knickers excited me further.

“If you are unable to satisfy his natural desire, ma’am, I will submit to him,” Lucy said.

“Enough young lady. You will submit to me. For your impudence, you shall receive punishment.”

My wife sharply opened the desk drawer and took out what looked like a widow’s comforter and a small bottle, banging them on the desk. These were personal items that I knew did not belong there, and which she normally kept in her dressing room.

“Lucy, this object d’art is a fertility symbol from China, carved from the finest ivory. And this oil I’m rubbing it with is an aphrodisiac from Morocco,” said my wife. It was a dildo and a bottle of olive oil. “What am I going to do with this exquisite work of craftsmanship? You don’t know? Well think about it, and answer me, you little tart.”

“You will fuck me with it, ma’am?”

I was very aroused by my wife’s suggestion, and Lucy’s bold answer. I felt my cock growing hard in my trousers as I listened to them converse.

“That’s right. I’m going to insert it into your cunt, and fuck escort ankara you with it,” said my wife. “You seem nervous.”

“Eleanor, don’t you think it’s a little large,” I said.

“Don’t be silly,” said my wife. “Lucy, bend over the desk please.”

Lucy did as she was told and leaned against the desk. My wife pulled down her knickers, revealing her tight buttocks and shapely thighs. My wife stood back and poured some of the oil over Lucy’s bottom. Lucy fidgeted as the cold oil slowly slid down between her cheeks, over her anus and down her thighs. She must have wanted to clean it off, like the cold sticky semen on her thighs earlier in the day. I could barely contain my desire to approach and rub the oil in, and stick my finger into her tight arsehole. My wife then smeared the oil over Lucy’s cunt, rubbing it in roughly, like a nurse might wash a patient. Lucy winced.

“Maybe you are right, husband. Her cunt is very tight.”

I watched as my wife slowly pushed the ivory object inside poor Lucy, as if conducting a scientific experiment. She worked it in half its full length while Lucy grabbed the side of the desk. I felt beads of sweat form on my forehead. I could not hide the swelling in my trousers. I adjusted myself, running my hand over my cock as I did so, which only inflamed rather than satisfied my desire.

“You like me fucking you, don’t you, slut? You like to be watched as you get fucked, don’t you, you little trollop?” said my wife.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lucy squeaked.

“You see, she looks all innocent with her big brown eyes, but she’s just a common whore,” my wife said, turning to me. “I can see that this is exciting you, husband. Watching your wife stick this big Oriental phallus up the maid’s tight wet cunt,” she said as she gave a firm thrust, driving the object home.

“Oh, fuck,” said Lucy.

“Lucy, you will now do as you are told and service my husband,” said my wife.

My wife roughly took hold of Lucy and pulled her up so that she was standing, and then pushed her towards me. Lucy had a defiant look in her eye. She appeared transformed from the simple country girl that she was, and looked like rebellious slave girl, with her slim hips and small pert breasts. Her cunt was covered with oil, and her dark pubic hair glistened in the dimly lit drawing room. My wife was a cruel and severe mistress.

“I should like to see Lucy do the same to you, Eleanor,” I said. My wife looked shocked. Lucy smiled in triumph.

“You want me to be fucked by a housemaid, by this cheap slattern?”

I looked at my wife, who was looking at me indignantly. Having changed from this morning, my wife was wearing an elegant green blue tea gown, fitting tightly at the waist, with lace frills. The dress emphasised her breasts and her hips. I thought of the days when we were first married and she would straddle me half undressed, her large breasts being barely contained within her corset as she fucked me, screaming obscenities, telling me to fuck her like a whore.

“Yes, I would like to watch you get fucked like a dirty whore,” I said. My wife considered my proposition for a moment longer.

“Very well, as you wish, husband,” she said.

My wife leant stiffly against the desk, her corset and the density of her dress and petticoats holding her rigid, looking at the maid, daring her to approach. Lucy hung back and looked at me uncertainly.

“Lift up her dress, please,” I said to Lucy.

Lucy slowly walked to my wife and lifted up her dress and petticoats, holding them up heaped in her arms, not sure what to do with them.

“Lucy, will you help me out of my dress,” said my wife.

Lucy assisted my wife with unbuttoning the dress, and very carefully placed it over a chair. Lucy untied her petticoats, letting them fall, and my wife stepped out of them. I was almost breathless with excitement as my wife undressed in front of me. Her corset was covered with a small camisole, and underneath both was her silk chemise which went down to her knees covering her knickers. Her corset was of the straight-front kind below the bust, clinching her waist and running down over her hips, while her breasts filled out the chemise above her corset.

My wife resumed her position leaning against the desk. Her breasts stood high and firm, her nipples pressing against the tight silk of the chemise above her corset. I was excited by the sight of the tight lacing of her corset.

“Please lift up my slip and remove my undergarments,” said my wife. Lucy raised her slip and cautiously pulled down her silk knickers, and I shuddered as my wife’s garters and stockings were revealed. She had firm legs and buttocks from her regular cycle rides in the countryside.

My wife pulled up her slip around her waist. Holding herself up with one hand, my wife placed the other hand over her cunt. I shuddered as she parted her lips, and worked a couple of fingers into herself. Her slim white fingers contrasted with the rich deep pink of her cunt. My heart raced as her breathing became faster as she gently massaged her clit, and her cunt lips blossomed open. She closed her eyes and seemed to be in a world of her own, displaying herself to us. Lucy stood as if hypnotised by the sight of my wife’s fingers slipping through her wet cunt.

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