Travels of the Mind Pt. 07

Another good spin from him and then the dexter player repeated the error of sending the pawn too far, so her green garter went over the edge. An error or intentional? The two dexter players looked keenly at the dice as they rattled across the tabletop, no doubt hoping for a double, at least a double five and at best a double six. Twenty or twenty-four thrusts would surely finish him!

It was not bingo, there was no call of 'two for his bollocks', it was a double but a double three. Six thrusts only.

Strange to be almost a passive spectator to the game. Not playing as such but in play. Her bottom spinning across the table and her 'pocket' being filled at some of the turns. Sometimes just with a penis -- a cue -- other times with semen as well. The polished tabletop now showing sprays, fans and rivulets of cum where the semen had spun from her. No doubt one of the household servants would later wipe it all away, restoring the polish to the 'Italian Billiards' table. A task for an elderly retainer in black, well used to the task, or for a new maid, her eyes wide at the thought of what she was mopping up.

Disaster for the dexter team, the pawn spun too far, perhaps a misjudgement of the friction. The player expecting a 'sticky wicket' from the semen but instead the pawn sliding too easily across the table. Whatever the error she was off and down on the cushions,

Helped up by the young man with the fine curve and 'coal scuttle', it so looming over her, pointing right at her face, as he offered his hand to help her up. All wet from her. She would like to have sucked. Instead, he helped her back onto the table, penis touching her thigh. A grin on his face as well there might be, another fifty points to his score marked up by Harris on the board.

Perhaps not such good play from him on the return, perhaps he had got 'cocky' in more than one sense. He spun the pawn too far. A garter over the edge. A throw of the dice by the receiving dexter player and -- a double six. A look of dismay on the two dexter players' faces, but then a clear look of lust on the face of the dexter player about to use his 'cue'. Perhaps he had an especial thing about cum leaking vaginas, a young man with a thing for 'sloppy seconds' or 'cream pies', or maybe her just liked to fuck! And that was what he commenced to do, and at the required rhythm, no pausing -- indeed 'without hesitation, repetition or deviation' -- well, a lot of repetition actually!

Harris did the counting, but he did not reach twenty-four. Not even twenty. A no doubt annoying, frustrating and infuriating, yet delightful release at nineteen. Eyes closed and with a blissful smile on his face, so different from the almost angry look of his teammate.

And so that left just the two players around the table. Their penises so on display with the silver chains holding back their shirt leaves; the swung aside leaves sort of acting as the curtains either side of a stage, emphasising the players. Undoubtedly, the two male organs were taking centre stage. How many times would each perform until they 'over-acted'?

Harris sent her down the table, putting the pawn into play once more. Again, a perfect play, a knee well over the edge, but not thigh or more. A spin followed from the remaining dexter player as the game recommenced. A good play and fifteen to his team, but a return ten from the sinister team, just a shapely ankle over. A steady play with tens and fifteens totting up but the sinister team well holding the lead. A fair way to go still for the three hundred. Two more copulatory engagements adding a dozen or so to each team's score. Cues very much in use in the pawn's pocket.

She looked across at the four players out of the game, still dressed (or undressed) for the game. Their soft penises hanging. They had all been inside her. They had all ejaculated within her. She liked to think she was loyal to Benjamin. Perhaps might have said she had only had sex with him... and Harris. But that was becoming so untrue. Six more upon the very table she was sitting upon. How many more would she take? How many places would Harris take her to? How many more men would fuck her?

Another spin and her green garter just over the edge and a double three from the dexter player, a twelve-stroke throw. Achieved and the score duly added to the board. He stepped back, drawing his 'cue' from the pawn's 'pocket', a grin from him but was that actually a look of confidence as he spun her again? She thought his penis had almost gone over the edge and come inside her. A good spin, Knee over, and a fifteen. Clear the sinister player thought the same as she, his spin deft and a garter went over requiring the dexter player to roll the dice again. She could see concern on his face. The expression turning to dismay as a double five rolled to a stop.

Almost certain, obvious to all that the game was effectively over and the sinister team had won. It was almost a matter of completing the formalities. The dexter team could have conceded but there was always the chance the dexter player might make the full twenty thrusts. A good addition to the score.

But he did not. He did make eleven before a groan and a gasp from him and the regular thrusting became suddenly more urgent. But Harris had stopped counting. Eleven it was and though neither team had reached the three hundred there was no one left playing dexter. One cue only left in play. Handshakes all around -- by the men anyway.

The sonorous sound of a gong announcing dinner. Time to redress and put away cues and pockets and all make their way to dine. Trousers hurriedly pulled on and genitalia tucked away by the young men, as she redressed behind the screen. She thought it a bit disappointing for the last sinister player not to have his release. She would have been quite happy to let him or take him in her mouth and make him cum that way. But dinner called and he was stuffing his erection into his trousers as fast as the others were stowing their floppy penises away.

Harris waited and escorted her.

"You did not want to? Usually..."

Harris' thin smile, his eyes liquid and bright looking at her. "All in good time, the evening is by no means over."

It was not. A many coursed dinner by candlelight, delightful and with the conversation sparkling and fun. The time came for the ladies to withdraw leaving the men to their cigars, port, brandy and scotch. As she made her way to join the ladies for tea, she wondered what Harris had meant by the evening by no means being over. Was he going to draw her away to a quiet room, a bedroom perhaps. It was, though, more than that. So much more. The host drew her aside, not permitting her to leave for tea. Was she being treated as an honorary man? Certainly, as the tablecloth was drawn, she was seated with a port glass in front of her. But it was not as a man her presence was required.

The port decanter passed around the table, going port, heading in the sinister direction. She poured and passed it on. She sipped. Sweet and rich, a vintage she would not sample again -- if she was really back so far in time.

Fat cigars were lit, and the fragrant blue smoke curled towards the ceiling. She did not smoke, felt, even if she did, that a large cigar was just not ladylike. Perhaps a thin cheroot or cigarette, but she took neither. Not her thing and never had been.

Her host, by her side, lifted his cigar from his mouth and smiled at her under his quite magnificent handlebar moustache. "You don't smoke?"

"No, thank you."

"May I offer a dragée or comfit, or perhaps you would prefer something more substantial?"

It was quite remarkable, but so had so much of her experiences with Harris. It was like the billiard room all over again. Her host, not a young man at all, was unbuttoning his trousers with the obvious intention of extracting his penis -- and, indeed, out it came. Swollen and stiff, foreskin smooth over the head, the whole rather cigar shaped.

"The preparation and smoking of a fine cigar," he remarked, "is very much like the preparation and fellating of a fine penis."

She expressed surprise.

"Let me demonstrate." Her host picked up another cigar. There was certainly a connection in shape, and her host's organ was considerably darker, quite brown in comparison with his pale, albeit mottled, hands, again like the cigar, but no paper band around it. She blinked, oh, but there was! A brightly coloured paper band encircling the shaft, what did it say? To her it was upside down, but she spelt it out -- 'PENES GRANDE'.

"The first step is to cut the cap with a cigar cutter to allow you to draw through the cigar and puff through it. Like so." A deft movement with a small device and the cigar was prepared. "With a penis you should draw back the skin a little." He put down the cutter and took her hand and placed it around his upright organ. "Just pull down a little, not too much. Yes, that's it. You expose the opening from whence you will later draw the..." a chuckle, "well it is not smoke, you will draw it out -- just like on my cigar." To demonstrate he drew upon the large cigar in his mouth, a gentle draw. It was not a cigarette.

"The cigar should first be charred at the end, to ensure, when lit, it burns evenly. With a penis a little delicate touching will prepare it for lighting -- for it to grow warm and excited." It was already stiff in her hand and certainly warm. Her fingers played over the smooth skin. She was not a novice, certainly not a virgin, unused to penises. Had she not been stroking Benjamin's the night before -- and indeed sucking? And had she not already been in the billiard room?

The man grinned, "but mine is already well charred and ready for lighting. With a Havana you light it with a flame -- a match not a candle. The wax will taint the flavour. Once glowing, you gently blow upon it to make ensure it is burning evenly. Best to rotate in your fingers whilst drawing the flame onto the cigar. Much the same with the penis. Do please, do blow!"

She bent her head and blew towards the smoothness of the half-exposed head, across the little opening, rotating the cock in her hand so her breath also caught the delicate membrane of his half-revealed fraenum. A sigh from the man as he savoured both the cigar's smoke and the so delicate sensations upon his penis.

"Yes, a gentle rotation between your thumb and forefinger until it is evenly lit. It can take a minute or two to complete." She kept exhaling, a steady waft of breath over her host's glans, daring, without instruction, to pull the foreskin a little further down exposing more.

"And then, you draw the smoke into your mouth, letting it play across your palate. So relaxing and so something to savour. The cigar should be smoked slowly; sipped rather than gulped or it may overheat. So much the same with a penis. Draw it in my dear, mmmm yes, take it in slowly -- it is not to be gulped! Let your lips and tongue play gently. Do not suck hard, enjoy the feeling of it in your mouth. Gently and slowly, you would not want it to overheat and fill your mouth with..." A chuckle, "... all that smoke! You want a little at a time, a gentle seeping for you to savour the flavour -- just like a cigar."

It was obvious what was going on between them. Conversation had rather stalled around them, and the other gentlemen were listening, if not standing up to see the fellation. The fat 'cigar' now well between her lips. Behind her she felt her bottom being lifted from her chair, the chair being drawn back, and her hips raised upwards, so she was standing but bent over the host's lap, his cock in her mouth. She was not surprised to feel her dress being lifted up and over her hips.

"You should permit the ash to build, rather than tapping it all the time. It slows the rate of burn and allows a better, cooler smoke. Should it go out, you will need to relight. When finished just rest the cigar in the ashtray and let it gradually go out. Do not stub it, that is just not done."

She took the penis from her mouth, the foreskin now fully retracted, the head all shiny and full. It was well lit! "Not much chance of yours going out, sir!"

"No.... I think not!"

She tapped it on the side of the table, drawing a smile from beneath the handlebar moustache. "That's the ticket!" From the little slit at the penis' end a slight welling up of creamy fluid. They both saw it, and probably too, those crowding around.

"Smoking nicely," she said.

There were chuckles. It would not be long before the 'cigar' was finished. She certainly would not stub it out but lay it gently down, perhaps with a little wisp of 'smoke' still curling from it. She looked around behind her. Her dress was up over her exposed and knickerless bottom. The whole table or rather what remained of it after the ladies had withdrawn were now crowding around. Many had exposed their penises -- cigars sticking from their mouths, smoking well, the ends ruddy and bright, and penises no less sticking out. Immediately behind her a fine older gentleman in military dress, a cavalry uniform, high collared and scarlet, plentiful braid and much medalled, clearly a very senior officer, his 'sabre' very much at the ready. It had, no doubt, seen much service.

He led the charge, his aim unerring, straight into her up to the hilt. It was so how it could never be with just Jonathan, not a penis in mouth and sex together. An older penis in her than on the billiard table, expertly handled, her position so right for that particular pulling action upon her clit, she so liked, from his plunging penis. She drew upon the penis in her mouth and, all at once it was really producing its smoke, it pouring out into her mouth for her to, indeed, savour. She let her mouth fill. So much!

Politely, many of the other gentlemen offered their 'fine Havanas' for her to slip between her lips and draw upon. Fat cigars, none of them slim cheroots and, certainly, none had 'gone out.' There was no need to relight a single 'cigar'; they were all clearly very alight -- their ends ruddy and bright. Other gentlemen seemed content to puff away at their real Havanas whilst sticking their penises in between her cheeks and into her slippery sex, following on from the military gentleman's initial foray. Some even engaging with port glass in hand. She particularly remembered a monocled gentleman, his white teeth set in a fine grin with cigar clamped between them, raising his half full glass in the gesture of a toast to her, as his penis plunged and then spurted into her.

The men drifted away to rejoin the ladies, leaving just a rather dramatically red-haired Scotsman in full Highland dress and, of course, Harris. She had come twice during the... was it an orgy? Could it be an orgy with just one woman? If not then... perhaps the phrase might be... during the after dinner relaxation. She did not now really want any more sex. Had had quite enough -- for a month or more! Rising to her feet, she rather hoped the Highlander would not want to... but, of course, she was quite mistaken. He raised his kilt. The Scotsman was an impressive gentleman, in many ways. What he presented to her rather dwarfed Jonathan. It was a quite massive penis, supported by heavy hanging balls all springing from a great mass of wiry copper curls.

"Oh, I couldn't, I really couldn't!" As if she was being offered a second helping of pudding -- or was it a third?

But the Scotsman was encouraging her backwards, to lie back upon the polished table, face upwards, as he lifted her legs up and spread them. The sight to have greeted him must have been such a mess, like porridge in an oval bowl! Despite penis after penis having entered and emptied, it was still not easy for the man to become lodged. But he persevered, the goal worthy of effort and he was rewarded by seeing his great knob disappear. So filling -- and then he took a very long time in coming. The man had staying power! So much more pleasurable -- for the man, maybe rather less so for the woman who has had quite enough 'pudding.'

Understandable, then, why he had waited until last, so as not to be hurried by the others. Harris seemed unconcerned, walking around the room admiring the paintings and only occasionally looking to observe the copulation. The minutes ticked on.

It could not be, not a further orgasm for her. She had never come so much. But it was. Perhaps that was the signal, perhaps the encouragement or the spark but, as she came, so did the Highlander. Hot spurting she could definitely feel inside. Surely if any of the men had done the deed effectively that must be it -- wee bairns resulting. She could not imagine it would be just the one!

The Scottish gentlemen was very considerate, helping her down from the table, thanking her and saying, 'they must again, another time.' She was left alone with Harris. The man immaculate in dinner suit, black tie still neatly tied in a bow. He had not made any attempt, any advance upon her.

"I haven't," she said, "you haven't." It was true. For all the sex she had had, all the staunch penises that had pushed into her in the billiards room or dining room, none had been Harris'.

"You wish?"

She did not know what to think. Certainly, satiated with sex, more than satiated, undoubtedly full, but she wanted to be pregnant, and Harris was familiar, even a friend and he had not...

"Would you like?" she asked.

"I always like."

"Mouth or vagina?" She rather hoped the latter. It was a feeling she had about fertilisation.

From his pocket two billiard balls, both white, one with a red spot. The player's cue balls for Carom or English Billiards. Each then hidden in Harris' hands, knuckles upturned. "White for your so pretty mouth, the red spot for intercourse. You choose."

She could have sworn the pure white ball was in his right hand but when she chose the left hand the ball did not have a red spot. Slowly she got to her knees,

It was her who extracted, she who prepared as she had been instructed and fellated there with her knees upon the thick carpet. Fellated until her mouth was again filled -- well filled. The two of them alone in the dining room.

"I so want to go to bed now and sleep."

"Alas, it is not a house party. There is no bed for you. Carriages at midnight."

Cinderella like indeed! Would Harris change, would everything change on the stroke of midnight?

At that very moment the clock began to strike, and it was to be twelve strokes. They made their way to the hall, she thanking her host, trousers now all neat and his organ unexposed, to be handed into her cab by Harris.

So tired, her head nodding as the car sped down the drive.

She blinked and opened her eyes. The windscreen wipers, methodical and hypnotic, were making their 'whirr whirr' sound, outside the rain pouring down as the taxi turned into her streetlight lit road and stopped at her house. Was she tired, was she feeling very 'fucked'! Bed so called.

Jonathan at the door letting her in. Saying she was 'late', had she been held up? Giving her a kiss that meant more than just a greeting. Not more sex -- but she could hardly say she was 'shagged out' after a mere taxi ride. Should she say she had a headache? But, but she might get pregnant.

In the bedroom she settled herself at the dressing table, putting down her handbag. From it rolled a single billiard ball. Round, smooth and all white.