Chesterbury Tales Pt. 20


It is Winter 1966. When five couples find themselves stranded at a remote high class inn by extreme weather conditions, they amuse each other by relating stories of an erotic nature, as well as taking part in all kinds of private and group sexual activities.

The Host began with a tale about a birthday orgy involving a current top film star. The Theatre Company Manager’s tale was of her oral exploits with a famous actor and the Marketing Director’s tale of how the ‘Wife of Bath’, with her daughter, had seduced a whole management team. The Politician’s tale was about the husband’s violent revenge, and the Model’s tale about a country girl finding heaven between her legs – with the aid of her pastor. For the morning story of the fourth day, The Stockbroker’s Tale showed how two resourceful women turned the tables on their partners who were trying to deceive them, whilst the Aristocrat’s tale was about a sexual orgy, incest and murder in the stately home. The TV Presenter’s related her experience of group sex with an African Chief and his bodyguards, whilst Jake, the actor, had a delightful story about an African tribe whose Princess found her Prince and enjoyed the sexual rites of marriage with the whole village. On the morning of the sixth day, the Author told her tale of two French pen pals vying to fuck their English correspondent – one of them got the mother instead. After lunch, they had enjoyed a Grecian romp amongst the soft fruit, chocolate sauce and cream.

Chapter 20. The Director’s Tale. The Wedding Nuptials

After dinner the guests made their way into the lounge. Everyone was in a jolly mood. Emma sat with Bill in one of the copious settees whilst Mary and Anne, both wearing only leather thongs for a halter bra, a heavily studded leather belt round the waist, and calf length black leather boots, served coffee and liqueurs.

The contrast between the two ladies caused much good humoured comment. Mary with her shaven groin, inner thighs and vulva except for a circular patch of close cropped curly hair on her swollen mound contrasted with Anne’s genitals, which were covered with a prominent expanse of lush, black curly hair reaching a peak at her navel, spreading from hip bone to hip bone, down the inner sides of her thighs, entirely covering her vulva – so that her clitoral hood peeped out of the thicket rather like a small penis – continuing into the cleft of her bottom.

Emma had rarely seen such a thatch on a man, let alone a woman. The two women allowed themselves to be teased good-humouredly, their nipples to be kissed and nibbled by the men and the cheeks of their bottoms stroked, as they served the drinks.

Julie called the guests to attention. ‘Tonight’s story is from George. It’s about a succession of mistaken bedrooms, I believe.’

George was a Director of a large international food company, whose wife, the insatiable bubbly Susan, was a best-selling author. At thirty-seven, he was a highly sexed man and boasted to be able to ejaculate at least three times a day and, being a handsome man, was attractive to women. His secretary and another of the office girls were attracted to him and he frequently took both of them together in his office during the lunch hour and Susan at night. Even then, he sometimes had to masturbate to keep his sexual demands satisfied. In his younger days would masturbate frequently. He was in very much love with his penis.

George settled down with a happy chuckle. ‘For this story, I want to take you back to the days, not all that long ago, when hotels were staffed by page boys who carried messages, boots who collected shoes from outside the bedroom doors in the early hours of the morning to have them polished, maids who brought tea and biscuits to your room if requested, and your morning cup of tea to the bedside.

‘They even filled the bath with hot water if you asked them to. In those days you couldn’t take a companion other than your spouse to your bedroom and hall porters were expert in spotting non-guests crossing the foyer – they claimed that it was an inevitable look of guilt in the eyes which gave them away. The central figure in my story is called Barry.’

This was his story.

Barry was feeling a bit depressed. He’d been told by his manager that he was to help with staffing an exhibition stand for his company which he had joined only a few weeks earlier straight out of a secretarial college. He was only twenty.

This duty involved driving up North on Saturday morning to meet up with two older colleagues in the exhibition hall after lunch. He hadn’t met either of them before, but understood they would be travelling separately, one with his secretary.

Barry was made welcome, and they spent the rest of the day, up to dinner, checking the exhibits, preparing the hospitality cupboard – having freely sampled the bottle of brandy – and making sure that the coffee machine was in working order. In short, doing the thousand and one jobs that need to be done before an exhibition hall Kayseri Escort opens its doors.

Mary helped the day to pass with her cheerful banter. She was in her late twenties and still a spinster, though she was attractive enough. Barry was mildly curious to know why she was still single. He didn’t know her well, since she was from the Yorkshire regional offices.

Kevin was one of the sales managers and Mary’s boss. For a Yorkshireman, he was fairly quiet but, as Barry would later find, had a genuine sense of humour. He was a slender six feet tall with auburn wavy hair and a neat moustache. Barry guessed him to be in his mid thirties.

Jack was the eldest and a Mancunian. Running to fat with an unhealthy complexion, hair turning grey at the temples, he had a dry sense of humour. His conversation was liberally peppered with swear words. He couldn’t construct a sentence without them. As the day wore on Barry found that Jack did as little manual work as he could, using his authority to persuade Barry to do most of it.

‘I’ve bloody done enough of these bloody exhibitions in my time. I’ve bloody sweated enough! It’s the youngster’s bloody turn now,’ was typical of his view.

Mary and the two colleagues kept Barry amused – and each other for that matter – with a flow of lively banter which helped the day to pass without boredom.

After finishing the work, they went across to their hotel, which was just on the edge of the town, to freshen up and change before dinner. When they got there, they found a wedding party in full swing in the ballroom, with a dance band and couples gliding round the floor. There was a lot of laughter, with tables groaning with cold meats and other delicacies. The four workers agreed to meet up in the bar in half-an-hour’s time after freshening up.

It was an olde worlde tavern, full of character and charm, not unlike this one, but short of the full range of modern amenities. Well, it was still the early fifties, after all! There was a wide, central staircase with heavily carved rails, leading to a rectangular gallery, around which were a number of bedrooms. At each corner of the gallery were toilets and bathrooms.

Barry’s was a comfortable room, decorated with mock-tudor panels (or perhaps it was real Tudor for all Barry knew about these things), a double-bed covered with a fluffy eiderdown, a central four-branched chandelier, and a vanity unit in the corner by the window. The thick piled carpet and bedside table lamps added a touch of luxury. Never having stayed in a proper hotel before, Barry had nothing to compare the facilities with. As far as he was concerned, it was a very comfortable room. And so it was.

He put his suitcase on the stand behind the door, closed the heavy, lined curtains and, since he was to stay their for four nights, unpacked his clothes into the wardrobe and drawers. After a quick shave and wash, he changed into casual slacks and blazer. Then down to the bar.

The wedding party was getting a bit rowdy, with a group of young men in shirt sleeves, loose ties and florid faces, making a lot of noise. Barry noticed the bride, still in her bridal veil and gown, sat at the far end of the room with a small group of older people. Barry noticed some pretty girls among the guests making him wish that he could be a part of the gaiety.

He passed through into the bar. Only Kevin and Mary were there, sat on stools, half way through a drink, talking seriously, heads close together. It was an intimate scene. Barry noticed Kevin’s hand patting Mary’s thigh as though to underline what he was saying to her. When Barry approached, Kevin quickly took his hand away and grinned.

‘What’ll you have, Barry? Beer? Or a sherry, perhaps?’

Barry chose a pint of John Smith’s bitter. A waiter was busy behind the bar, filling large glass jugs with foaming ale to be taken to the wedding guests. Mary handed Barry the dinner menu for him to consider whilst his pint of beer was being pulled. Jack finally arrived in the bar, adding to the order for beer, claiming that his wife had kept him on the bloody phone complaining about the neighbour’s bloody dog chasing their cat.

It was an excellent meal, with much lively talk over it, two bottles of wine to help it along, followed by brandies and cigars for the men and a glass of port for Mary. All on expenses of course! During the meal, Jack mentioned that he had stayed in this hotel once or twice a few years ago, when it was frequented during the week by a number of sales executives.

They had confided to Jack that if you would like a visitor to relieve your loneliness during the night, you should leave the door of the bedroom slightly ajar, and a five pound note on the bedside table. Now five pounds was quite a lot in those days. Ten times at least today’s value.

This produced much laughter and disbelief from the others, but Jack insisted that it was true.

‘It was bloody extra income for the maids on night bloody duty. Kayseri Escort Bayan Many took advantage of it! They’re not all bloody pretty or even fucking young. It’s usually the older bloody ones who take advantage of the extra income. Nor are they all fucking chambermaids,’ he went on.

Susan explained that she would cut out Jack’s frequent swearing, leaving it to the imagination of the guests!

He went on to tell them that some of the visitors were local wives who came to the cocktail bar early, looking for the extra buck. The floor maids could make an extra fifteen pounds in one night, or even more if there’s a lot of salesmen staying. That can add up to quite a lot in a week.

‘And, after all,’ Jack added, ‘with a few drinks inside you, what chap worries about appearances in the dark.’

Mary chipped in. ‘And what hungry maid worries what the chap looks like when there’s a crisp fiver on the bedside table for the taking?’

‘And some of these salesmen live away from home for night after night, so it’s not surprising they get lonely for a warm lady to cuddle up to.’

Mary teased Jack with having sampled the delights of the hotel himself, and that was how he knew all the details.

‘Oh no! I don’t go for that sort of thing these days. But there was a time, you know, when you could get the porter of the most respectable hotel to arrange for a lady to join you in your bedroom. Of course, you’d have to be a regular, known to the porter, and agree to the going rate. The porter got his cut from the ladies.

‘Strictly against the rules of the house, of course, but there you are. Fornicating was a crime, you know, until relatively recently. True!’ He nodded to underline the truth of what he was saying.

Mary laughed at the serious look on Jack’s face.

‘Well, it’s still not exactly tolerated today, is it? In spite of the new permissive society. I mean, my cousin was cited as correspondent in a divorce case not long ago, and her father threw her out of the house. Although she protested her innocence, he said she’d brought shame and humiliation on the family. It turned out that she was quite innocent, but that didn’t matter! She’d been cited, and that was enough! The mud would stick.’

Mary gave a sudden yawn. ‘Oh, do pardon me!’ she apologised. ‘It’s been a hard day. I think I’ll have an early night. Another busy day tomorrow!’

She left the three men to get themselves more drinks in the bar. Over a night cap, Jack reminded the other two that the general hotel lights would be switched out at midnight, apart from an emergency light in the lobby. Energy saving was all the rage. So his advice to them was to use the bathrooms in good time if they wanted to avoid falling down the staircase! Then he too decided to retire early for the night, with Kevin following shortly afterwards.

It was still only around eleven o’clock, so Barry got himself a final drink, sitting quietly in the corner of the bar where he could see across the hall, through the double doors to the ballroom, the remnants of the wedding party winding up. The band was still playing, with several couples slouching round the dance floor pretending to dance.

A knot of women was standing in the far corner talking animatedly. One was the bride and two of the others were obviously bridesmaids. They were casting dark looks at four men in striped trousers and shirt-sleeves, swaying with an excess of alcohol, arguing drunkenly, though it was clear that they didn’t know what it was they were arguing about. One of them finally failed in his effort to remain upright and crumpled to the floor. The others bent over him trying to bring him round, but he was flat out.

The bride broke away from her companions, sweeping across the room to the foyer, followed by the two bridesmaids. She spoke to the hall porter, who called for the duty porter and handed him a key. He went up the stairs followed by the bride with one of her bridesmaids.

The other bridesmaid paused to speak angrily to the four inebriated men before following up the staircase in the wake of her friends. Two of the four managed, with some difficulty, to lift the unconscious one to his feet. With one arm over each of the two men’s shoulders, he was lugged through the hall and, with his feet dragging behind, bumping on each step, hauled up the staircase.

The fourth man came into the bar, looking rather bedraggled, to order a brandy. He noticed Barry.

‘Pissed out of his mind he is!’ he said, shaking his head sadly. ‘What a wedding night he’s going to have!’

‘Is that the groom?’ Barry was surprised.

‘Aye!’ he said as he paid the barman for the brandy. ‘I’ll just have this nightcap then I’ll have to be off. The wife’ll no doubt kill me when she gets me home! At least, the bride’s in for a quiet night’s sleep!’

And with that, he staggered his way across the lobby back into the ballroom.

Barry finished his drink, asking the porter for a pot of Escort Kayseri tea to be sent up to his room, before going up to his room. There was a scattering of colourful confetti on the stair-carpet. He heard raised voices from the room next to his but couldn’t make out what was being said.

Leaving the door off the latch for the maid with the tea, he got himself into his pyjamas. There came a knock at the door. Barry slipped on his dressing gown, as he called for her to come in. The floor maid turned out to be a young, fresh-faced woman carrying the tray of tea and biscuits.

Thanking her, he pressed a shilling into the palm of her hand as a tip. Barry smiled at her pleasantly. She returned him an open, warm smile of thanks, pocketing the coin without looking at it. As she left the room the maid paused in the doorway to wish Barry goodnight, with a wistful smile, before closing the door behind her.

Barry stood looking after her thoughtfully. She was a very pleasant young lady. A bit in the plump side and very cuddly. Barry sat on the bed sipping a cup of tea whilst speculating about Jack’s story about leaving the door ajar to tempt a visitor. That maid had certainly given him a friendly smile. He wondered!

He took his toilet bag with him to the bathroom and tried to imagine her climbing into bed with him. Back in his room, he switched on the radio above the bed head, keeping the volume low, listening to the end of Saturday Night Theatre whilst he finished his tea. His thoughts were never far away from the maid’s winning smile. In his imagination he watched her undress, revealing her naked white breasts with their deep pink – almost brown – nipples thrusting out. He was aware of his penis stirring at the prospect of a bit of action.

‘Huh! Fat chance!’ he thought. ‘Still, I wonder? Well, there’s nothing to be lost, and you never know.’

So before getting into his bed, he placed a crisp, white five pound note on the bedside table and took the door off the latch so that it was barely ajar. Only if it was pushed could someone be sure if was not closed properly.

He switched off the bedside light. In spite of his curiosity about the maid, plus a healthy erection, physical weariness overcame him so that he was soon fast asleep, cradling his hopeful cock in his hand.

Now, in the room next to Barry’s, the drunken groom snored away, sleeping off the excesses of the wedding party, whilst his dismayed wife lay at his side in a state of resentment and bewilderment.

During the reception and evening supper dance, she had watched helplessly as the groom got more and more incapable. No amount of warning had prevented him from getting paralytic drunk with his rugby pals. It was just as much their fault, she knew, but at least, on his wedding day he might, for once, have restrained himself from drinking too much.

Her parents, thank goodness, had left before he had started rolling about. Belinda had finally had enough when he collapsed in a drunken stupor running from the ballroom to the bridal chamber in tears of anger, with her two sympathetic bridesmaids pursuing her. The groom’s mates had managed to drag him up to the bedroom and undress him.

It was so humiliating for her, to sit by the dressing table watching her husband being stripped naked. The bridesmaids looked away, but Belinda stared sadly at his lolling, indolent penis with its sagging balls as the two mates pulled on his pyjamas before rolling him between the sheets, covering him up. They looked at her with shamefaced eyes before leaving her. Some wedding night!

Belinda had kept his sexual advances at bay for the past eighteen months so that their wedding night would be one to remember. It hadn’t been easy but she had managed by mutual masturbation to hang on to him.

Technically she was no longer a virgin since a problem had required her to have the hymen removed clinically, but she remained unpenetrated by any male. All the anticipation and expectation for the final fulfilment of her wedding day to the man she loved, dashed by his selfish over-indulgence.

Tears of self pity filled up her eyes as she slowly unfastened the wedding dress and hung it in the wardrobe. She pulled her under-slip over her head, unclasped the brassiere and draped them over the back of the chair. She removed her silk French knickers in a delicate shade of rose pink. The sexy garters were intended to excite her husband in readiness for their nuptial love making. She peeled off her silk stockings.

Standing in front of the mirror the bride massaged her full breasts which had been so squashed and marked by the pinching brassiere and fluffed up her pubic hair, before taking out of the drawer her wedding-night nightdress. It was of fine silk with a delicate embroidery, allowing the nipples to show through provocatively.

‘All a waste of time and money,’ she thought in a fit of self-pity, as her inert husband lay quietly snoring. She slid into bed and cried herself to sleep.

But Belinda woke up with a pressing bladder. In her disappointment, she had overlooked going to the bathroom before getting into bed. The champagne and white wine she had drunk had worked through her system. She lay in bed for a few moments, trying to work out where the bathrooms were.

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