LADY ANN'S FOLLY: Chapter Four - Part Ten

Ann stripped of off the last of her underwear and suddenly felt very exposed.

Riding the Mavis impulse was one thing but now, standing naked in the hayloft with the breeze from the cracks in the doorframe tickling her bare legs and back, that dizzy imperative fell back and she felt only like a fool.

She was meant to be Lady Ann Neville, and here she was, stripped to her “birthday suit” just to surprise her lower class man. Even though she was alone, her face coloured brightly. She was ashamed of herself. What did she really expect to be doing when Burt returned?

Standing here in the middle of the floor?

Lying on the pallet with her legs spread?

She frowned down at it. It looked ruffled and uncomfortable. The excitement of this entire escapade was rapidly ebbing and becoming what it was: the pathetic attempt of a cultured lady to do something she knew was wrong. She was acting like a slut – wanting to actually be one for the night. She was well and truly ashamed of herself.

She went to put her clothes back on but stopped.

She’d told herself she was really Mavis for now.

“I am Mavis at th’ moment.

It was like she had a free ticket to a dark ride at a fair. While she was on the ride she was Mavis and it was only Mavis’s rules that applied to her. When she got off and returned to her proper shape then she would be constrained by that different set of rules.

“What does it chuffin matter?” she snarled and got down onto the pallet, pulling the covers over her. She lay on her back, looking up at the dirty wooden ceiling, angry at herself for all her conflicting impulses.

Burt was coming back soon. That was all that mattered.

She sighed, letting the tension release, imagining what they might do together, the way he would take her in his arms and kiss her manfully.

Feeling a stirring between her legs she gently touched her breast and smiled, relaxing into it.

He wanted her in her birthday suit. She’d got undressed but she was covered over. It was a shame to disappoint him.

Ann flicked the covers back, exposing her from the waist up, then giggling, threw them clear entirely.

Now Burt would get a treat when he walked in, seeing her lying there naked.

Imagining that and picturing the growing rod of flesh in his britches made Ann exhale a little moan, turning her on all the more.

What would the real Mavis do? She wondered.

Well for now I am the real Mavis, she thought, and I want him to come in here and know that I’m his little slut.

She giggled and moved one hand down to her crotch, rubbing her inner thigh, raising both knees to point up.

That was what she wanted: to be here like this, pleasuring herself when he came back in, to be acting exactly the same way the real Mavis would.

“I am the real Mavis,” she said, and each time she repeated it, the buzzing intensified in her skull and the more like Mavis she actually became, making all the same mistakes as the original Ann had in her place.

She knew that this was happening; could feel the changes in her psyche, but it didn’t stop her; it made her go ahead with even more abandon. She could worry about the consequences in the morning. For now, she wanted nothing more than to be Burt’s Mavis; his wanton slag; desiring nothing but sexual gratification of the most base and primal kind.

Burt’s whistling came from the path and Mavis became all the more frantic and relaxed, stroking her inner thigh and the moist crevice at its foot, kneading her pendulous breast with her other hand; moaning in debauched pleasure.

His footsteps sounded on the stairs and she wallowed in her own promiscuity. She wanted him now. She wanted him more than ever.

And then he was there, in the doorway, looking down at her and Mavis looked up at him, grinning in the knowledge of how wanton she looked – how exactly like the original Mavis she was right now.

I am Mavis¸ she said to herself. I am Mavis Gibbs.

“By eck darlin,” said Burt. “Y’er pretty as a picture or I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

Mavis grinned and crooked her finger, beckoning him closer.

Burt glanced down at the food in his arms and set it on the table, then he rushed out of his clothes, chucking them every which way in his eagerness. All the while, Mavis watched him with the smug eyes of a predator. He was everything she wanted – everything she needed – and he was about to be hers.

He scrambled clumsily onto her, his muscular arms planting either side of her head as his mouth nuzzled down to her neck and then her chest. Then he planted a long and urgent kiss on her lips.

His big hanging cock was swinging left to right. Mavis took it in her little hands, mesmerised by its size and potency, and as she did, Burt tensed, moaning.

He’s my man though Mavis. I’m his woman. And I want him so badly.

Burt kissed her chest, working down to her side and the flank of her belly, sending a shivering groan through her entire form of pure titillation.

“Oh Burt,” she moaned. “Yes. Oh fuck me Burt. Fuck me now. Please!”

He grinned up at her but instead of following her instructions he continued toying with her, working on her thighs and going down further to her knees; her calves; her ankles. He lifted her foot as though he were drinking from a glass and kissed her there between the first and second toe, making her giggle and sigh. He tickled the base of her foot with his tongue, bringing pleasure of an unexpected kind to her and closing her eyes with the intensity of it.

Then suddenly he was on top of her, as if he had pounced like a jungle cat and he was kissing her neck and her cheeks, pushing his rough tongue between her lips. Pressing his moustache to her face.

Mavis stretched her back in pure pleasure, clawing him and scratching him with her fingernails. Then she reached down toward his pelvis, grasping for his pulsing masculinity; yearning for it to fill her insides.

“Do it to me Burt,” she murmured, and her voice was pure Yorkshire now, identical to Mavis’s. “Please!”

I’m Mavis, she said to herself again. I’m Mavis, and this is my man!

Burt grinned, kissing her hard again, then he let himself by guided into the white hot crevice between her legs and as she felt the girth of it stretch her, her entire body went limp with absolute total gratification.

This was everything she wanted and she wanted it to go on forever.

Burt was pumping into her and she continued to fondle him but she was away from her body, riding some intense and profound wind of pleasure that tossed her psyche in every direction.

I’m Mavis, she said to herself. Oh yes. I’m Burt’s Mavis. That’s the only person I want to be.

And when they climaxed at last, there was only the overwhelming force of that pinpoint desire: to be Burt’s woman forever and ever and ever.