Bridgeford Tales Pt. 02

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Bridgeford Tales, Part 2

By Alex Barton

[Author’s note: this story includes explicit descriptions of incest, lesbian and anal sex. It also includes reference to unsafe sex practices such as ass-to-mouth, rimming and felching. If you find this offensive please do not read it. All characters are aged 18 or over.]


There are villages within fifty miles of London where pretty cottages with roses in the front garden, backing on to orchards and paddocks that slope down to lazily meandering rivers, have been a feature of the English countryside for hundreds of years.

Now, though, where once generations of families were born, married and lived in these villages all their lives, the cottages are being bought by wealthy people who want to own a second home in the country, or for wives whose husbands stay in the city from Monday to Friday and only return home at the weekend.

Naturally the ‘incomers’ think they have an enlightened attitude toward sexual promiscuity unknown to the insular rural communities on which they have grafted themselves. In fact village folk have been fucking their sons and daughters and each other’s husbands and wives for as long as they have lived in pretty cottages with roses in the front garden…

Pepper Owns Up

“Pepper? Have you ever wondered why there seem to be a lot of cars driving through the village as soon as it starts to get dark? Where are they all going…?”

Cinnamon Frampton, the newly married wife of Bridgeford’s veterinarian Nigel Frampton, poured herself another cup of coffee and then sat back down at the kitchen table where her sister, Pepper Winston, was cutting herself a second slice of the very rich chocolate fudge cake Cinnamon had brought back from London after attending a meeting with her boss to discuss her career.

“Hey, go easy!” Cinnamon said, slightly shocked at the way her sister had wolfed down her first slice and was now tearing into a second. “You’re going to have go jogging for a week just to burn off a single piece of that.”

It was eleven in the morning and Pepper was still in her pajamas. Her jacket was open and her bare breasts jiggled and bounced as she helped herself to cake, barely chewing before cutting off another piece with her fork.

“Sis…? Are your boobs getting bigger…?” Cinnamon asked, a little more shocked.

For many years she had been envious of her sister’s 34DD breasts which spread across the width of Pepper’s chest, her pink areolae at least three inches across, the tips standing out like little pencil erasers. Either Pepper had been playing with them a lot which Cinnamon knew she liked to do when she masturbated, sucking and biting her own nipples to heighten her arousal, or the craving for cake and Pepper’s massive boobs had another, simpler explanation…

“Pepper,” Cinnamon said quietly. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Cinnamon’s slight shock at Pepper’s greed became full-blown concern as tears began to roll down her sister’s face, wracking sobs shaking Pepper’s body as she started crying, chewing, swallowing the cake filling her mouth and struggling to breathe all at the same time.

Ian Really Did Intend to be Faithful…

Ian Winston opened the door of his office. His secretary/receptionist Carol Upshaw was sitting at her desk, finishing a call.

“Certainly, Mr. Griffiths. Ian will see you on Friday at 2pm. As you’re a new client I’ll be sure to buy chocolate biscuits to go with the coffee.” Carol laughed and put the phone down.

“Trevor Griffiths?”

“Yes,” said Carol, obviously pleased with herself. “His business has a three million a year turnover. He said he’s been looking for a new accountant for six months.”

“Good girl,” Ian said, smiling at her. “How did you find out about him?”

“Jamie has been doing some design work for him. Trevor said he would have to pay him off the books because his accounts were in a mess.” Jamie was Carol’s husband who worked as a freelance web and print designer.

“Excellent. And did he connect what he’d told Jamie with your prospection call?”

“Oh yes,” Carol said. “Right away. But I turned on the charm and said we would be happy to help him sort out his accounts and suggest ways he could reclaim tax from the Revenue. That pleased him so much he wouldn’t have cared if his business affairs had been front page news in the ‘Gazette’.”

“Well, thank Jamie for me for giving you the heads-up. Clever man, your husband.”

“And what thanks do I get?” Carol said, grinning at him.

“Come into my office.”

Carol stood up and followed her boss who walked round behind his desk. She looked down and saw a tiny silver chain, about eighteen inches long, with two tiny crocodile clips at either end. She put her notepad down on Ian’s desk and began to unbutton her blouse until she reached the waistband of her miniskirt. Her eyes met Ian’s as she pulled the front of her blouse open to reveal sikiş hikayeleri her full heavy breasts, tanned golden brown from going topless during a recent holiday in the Canary Islands.

She reached down and picked up the chain, aware Ian was watching her every move. Holding it in one hand, she pinched her left nipple between her thumb and middle finger, making it stand up hard with her arousal. Carol opened the clip and winced when the teeth closed on the pink tip, biting in. Then she did the same to the other one.

Her breasts, linked now, rose and fell rapidly as she reached down and took hold of the hem of her skirt, pulling it up until the material was bunched round her waist. She was not wearing panties and her mons was shaved perfectly smooth, a little trickle of her cream running down the inside of her thigh.

Carol sat in the visitor’s chair and opened her legs.

“I’m ready, Sir,” she murmured, keeping her eyes down as she reached under herself to pull the cheeks of her ass open, displaying her erect clit standing proud of its hood, the moist pink inner surfaces of her pussy and the tiny bud of her asshole, dark pink between her tanned buttocks. Ian could see her anus glistened with lube which meant her husband had fucked her ass already that morning or she had prepared herself before leaving for work. Either way he was pleased.

“Good girl,” Ian said again, and walked round his desk, opened his flies to bare his prick, positioned it against Carol’s anal sphincter and fucked her furiously in the ass for the next ten minutes until he was ready to come when he dragged his cock from the tight clasp of her rectum and presented it to her mouth, slippery with lube and his cum. Trembling with ecstasy, Carol climaxed as she opened her lips to take Ian’s cock into her mouth, swallowing rapidly as he poured his spunk, thick and creamy, down her throat.

She knew if she had pleased him she might be allowed to take the clips off her aching breasts…

Pepper’s Unpleasant Dilemma

Cinnamon was sitting on the sofa, her arms round her sister, comforting her. Pepper was still crying but the flood was slowing which pleased Cinnamon because her thin cotton top was sopping with tears.

“Aren’t we supposed to be celebrating this joyous occasion?” Cinnamon asked, her hand stroking her sister’s silky blonde hair.

“I can’t!” Pepper moaned and Cinnamon wished she had stayed quiet. She gently eased Pepper back so she could see her face. Pepper’s eyes were red and she badly needed to blow her nose; Cinnamon handed her a tissue and Pepper gave a loud honk.

“And whyever not?” Cinnamon was getting mildly annoyed with her sister who hadn’t told her she was pregnant and now seemed to be doing the exact reverse of jumping up and down with excitement at the prospect of becoming a mother.

“Because I don’t know if the baby is Ian’s or Andy Brock’s!” Pepper wailed, fresh tears appearing in her eyes.

Very close to giving her sister a good slap, Cinnamon snorted dismissively.

“What does it matter? If you tell Ian he’s the father he has two ways to react. He can either invite Nigel and me round and break open a bottle of champagne to celebrate or he can insist you undergo a DNA test which could mean you miscarry so you should insist he holds off until the baby is born.”

Pepper sat dabbing her eyes with the scrunched-up tissue so Cinnamon handed her a fresh one.

“I mean I never thought I’d get pregnant when Andy and I had sex because all he ever wanted to do was sodomize me,” Pepper wailed. “But now and then he wanted to fuck my bottom without bothering with lube and I wouldn’t let him go in dry so he’d fuck my cunt instead.”

“Okay, but you were on the pill?” Cinnamon asked.

“Well…” Pepper said hesitantly.

“What does ‘well’ mean?” Cinnamon said, struggling to keep the edge from her voice because she knew Pepper’s tears were still near the surface.

“It was so exciting being fucked by Andy during the day and by Ian at night and I was just a bit overwhelmed…” Pepper said, letting her voice trail off. “I mean I’d take two pills the next day and there’s always a residual effect, right?”

“Yes, of course. Unless you forgot for more than a day,” Cinnamon said, her eyes meeting those of her sister.

“Well…” Pepper said in a little voice and Cinnamon wanted to slap her really, really hard.

It wasn’t bad enough Pepper cheated on the husband who loved her, there was a possibility she was now pregnant by the man Ian had beaten in a bare-knuckle boxing match he fought because he was so determined to win Pepper back. Whatever happened, Andy Brock must not find out: it would break Ian’s heart. And that was if Ian was prepared to accept paternity when Pepper told him. What a mess, Cinnamon thought, what a godawful mess…

A Surprise Revelation!

Kissing her sister goodbye after receiving a promise Pepper would let her know how things went when she told Ian she was pregnant, Cinnamon walked down the pathway of Pepper’s front garden and decided she would go home to seek Nigel’s opinion. Her mind was whirling with what she had been told, together with the discussion she had with her boss in London the day before.

Cinnamon worked for a leading fashion PR firm based in London. She enjoyed her job and was good at it but she also loved being newly married. She planned to turn Nigel’s rather spartan house which doubled as a surgery into a warm, welcoming home where she could help him in whatever way he needed during the day and then prepare dinner for them both at night, relaxing with him on the sofa to watch a movie before bed followed by a vigorous bout of fucking, sucking and anal sex.

Her boss, reluctant to lose her services, agreed to a trial period of allowing her to work from home while Cinnamon agreed to attend in person any major fashion event she organized. She discussed this with Nigel who thankfully agreed immediately, recognizing he had the best of both worlds.

Still preoccupied, Cinnamon let herself in by the back door. She and Nigel used the front door for his clients because it led directly to the room set aside for his practice. As she did so she heard a sound she recognized but dismissed as simply not possible.

But then the sound, of a woman in the throes of sexual ecstasy, was answered by the deep groan of a man equally transported by pleasure and this time there was no mistaking the sound because she heard it every day when her husband made love to her.

Enraged, grief-stricken that Nigel could be unfaithful so soon after their marriage, Cinnamon walked with determination over to the surgery door and opened it. As she suspected, Nigel was standing with his trousers round his ankles and to her Cinnamon’s horror and surprise, it was Mrs. Maloney, the Irish spinster lady who was their next-door neighbor, who was lying back on her husband’s examination table, her skirt bunched up at her waist, her bottom on the edge of the desk, her thighs straight up and her calves resting on Nigel’s shoulders.

Mrs. Maloney’s blouse was completely unbuttoned and her bra was unfastened in the back and pushed up in front, revealing her big heavy breasts and their erect nipples. Nigel had one hand on each of her thighs, holding them close against his body. Mrs. Maloney’s breasts jiggled and bounced in response to the deep, hard thrusts Nigel was making in her extremely wet cunt, obscenely loud slurping noises audible with his every thrust.

“Nigel, how could you!” Cinnamon cried, her hands to her mouth in shock and distress.

Nigel turned his face toward her and grinned which was not the reaction Cinnamon expected and made her suddenly so furious she barely heard what he said.

“It isn’t what it looks like, darling,” Nigel gasped as he arched his back, his hips spasming as he emptied his balls into Mrs. Maloney’s cunt, setting off the Irishwoman’s orgasm which made her cry out as she shuddered in ecstasy.

“I don’t think you’ve met my mother…?”

‘Oh God…Oh FUCK, Your Grace!!’

Jenny Grey, the Reverend Christopher Grey’s petite buxom wife, was the one woman everyone in the village felt sorry for. All and sundry knew the vicar’s idea of offering spiritual succor to his parishioners was perfunctory at best where men were concerned but passionately fervent where any woman even passably attractive was involved. Chris, like Andy Brock, was a devoted adulterer who avoided, unless absolutely begged otherwise, the dangers of unwanted pregnancy by engaging in enthusiastic and energetic anal sex with his conquests.

The curious thing was that the villager’s sympathy for Jenny, even extending to it being a major topic of conversation in the Bridgeford Arms every week, was based on a complete misunderstanding.

Everyone assumed Jenny did not know of her husband’s philandering. But she did. Quite simply, she was unconcerned because it gave her the literary inspiration she might otherwise have lacked. She was a prolific author of ‘bodice-rippers’, historical novels set in the English Regency period where women wore dresses with necklines so low the tops of their areolae were visible and men wore britches so tight if they were aroused every woman in close proximity could see their magnificent weapons.

Through her writing, Jenny understood Chris better than anyone in the village gave her credit for. She recognized that he, like the titled rakes in her books, could not help himself when it came to seducing the fairer sex. But what she was able to do, which her husband dared not in reality, was have him administer a damn good rogering to the many virginal young ladies he came into contact with at masquerade balls, in boxes at the opera, and weekend shooting parties.

There he could ravish them thoroughly. He could debauch them by forcing them to become habituated to the depravities of hearty slaps to their plump bared bottoms; make them swoon by entering every hole in their bodies, often more than once in a single sensuous scene, and even have them engage in vigorous intercourse with members of their own families, male and female.

In addition, her hero, modeled on her husband in every particular, could be challenged to duels by outraged fathers, brothers and fiancées, having so charmed the targets of his lust they willingly slipped away from the ballroom to the adjacent garden, there to be pressed back against a tree with their large breasts bared while the Duke of Wentworth (for Chris was always such in Jenny’s books) labored with his hands and mouth under their skirts. Invariably he would then turn them round to brace themselves with their legs open and their bottoms bared, apply the contents of the phial of oil he always carried in a pocket of his coat to their bumholes, and introduce them to the delights of being fucked in their pretty bottoms by his prodigious weapon until they quite fainted away with delirious passion.

To Jenny’s surprise, but undoubtedly because of a combination of meticulous research and the inclusion of sex scenes of a very graphic nature, generally not found in much less successful efforts by other lady erotic romance authors, her books sold in their thousands.

Indeed it always gave her immense satisfaction when she informed Chris she would have to go and visit an elderly aunt in London, Birmingham or Edinburgh (Chris once expressed surprise that Jenny seemed to have rather a lot of such relatives living in many of the UK’s major cities) where she was met by a publicist, escorted to the bookshop where she was scheduled to appear and dutifully autograph a great many copies of her books sold to adoring, usually female but sometimes male, fans.

If the male or female publicist was also a fan then, as a reward for efficiency and devotion, they would be invited to join Jenny for dinner, afterward experiencing whichever of the sexual pleasures they found most arousing in her books with the author herself.

As she labored at her laptop in the study she shared with Chris, their two desks facing each other, one piled high with books of sermons which acted as inspiration for the Reverend’s Sunday services, the other with drawers filled to capacity with silicone cocks, anal toys and tubes of lubricant, Jenny loved to look out of her window at the passing neighbors who often waved in commiseration. As she did so she smiled secretly herself because she was, at that moment, sitting on an enormous buttplug and the slightest touch of her fingers on her clit, which she allowed herself only when she met her quota of words written in a given hour, would make her moan with delight at the most glorious sensations imaginable.

Pepper Comes Clean

“Would you like a drink before dinner, darling?” Pepper asked Ian as he closed the front door behind him and put his briefcase on the hall table.

“That would be nice,” he said, following her through to the kitchen where she reached into the fridge for his favorite beer and took care pouring it into a long glass to maintain the creamy head. Ian had told her it was like drinking liquid velvet, but only if the cream at the top was carefully maintained when it formed.

“I made your favorite, steak casserole with tiny onions and mashed potatoes,” Pepper said.

“God, this beer’s delicious,” Ian said drinking half the glass in one go it tasted so good. “And dinner sounds delicious,” he said, putting the glass down and going across to slide his arms round his wife’s waist to pull her against his body so her huge breasts mounded against his chest, the deep divide between her breasts becoming even deeper and more inviting. “And you look utterly delicious,” he added, his voice hoarse with lust even though he had not long fucked Carol’s plump, receptive ass. Of course, being a more-or-less faithful husband, he had made sure to wash his face and freshen his aftershave before leaving for home.

“Thank you, darling,” Pepper said, and she slipped out of his arms to pick up two plates and put them in the oven to warm.

“Had a good day?” Ian asked, walking over to the sink to wash his hands.

“Oh yes,” Pepper said, sounding distracted. “I asked Cinnamon over so she and I could talk.”

“What about?” Ian asked, sitting at the table and waiting expectantly for the meal.

“About you, sweetheart,” Pepper said.

Ian suddenly felt his appetite disappear. Had she found out about him and Carol? Oh god, what could he tell her? He had insisted point blank, after he won the bare-knuckle fist fight against Andy Brock, that Pepper be faithful to him and he believed she had been.

But Carol’s long legs, her voluptuous breasts, the way she loved him spanking her bare ass when she was lying across his lap, encouraged him to insert ever larger buttplugs into her asshole in preparation for his sodomizing her lying face down on his desk, the way she let him put clips on her nipples which made her cunt so juicy his mouth filled over and over again with her delicious cream which he slurped down greedily, was utterly irresistible.

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