Author's note: This short historical stroker is fiction based on various actual entities and events. All sexual players are 18+. Tags: bisexual, poetess, expatriates, cheating, spying, disasters. Non-Anglish speech may be roughly translated Views expressed may not be the author's. Details may be incorrect. Enjoy!
Travel far. Meet foreign people. Fuck them.
"William, you have gone too far," the stern old man growled.
"Sir," Billy Hodges said, standing stiffly before his grandfather's ostentatious desk. The message had been direct — see the director NOW! So here he was.
"You can screw all the servants and working girls you want, and their sisters, mothers, daughters, and neighbors, whomever are available. But impregnating girls in our circle only embarrasses our family and our firm. Bad for business. Can't have that."
Their social circle comprised the elites of San Francisco wealth and power in this year of our lord 1902. The Hodges mingled and finagled with the political and financial barons — whose daughters mostly were silly spoiled things, easy pickings for Billy and his confederate Rose.
"You cannot stay here and shame us further. You can, and will, put your fancy engineering degree to use at a safe distance. I am sending you to Europe for some specific projects. Don't worry, you can mostly live in your usual style. You'll take that Steinmetz tramp with you, no doubt. Her parents will be glad to be rid of her."
The patriarch and ruler of the Forbes-Hodges mining and shipping empire's western US enterprises did not much care for his neighbor's self-possessed daughter. At least Rose Steinmetz family's mercantile realm did not compete with Hodges industrial interests.
"Sir," Billy said, "I graduate in two weeks."
"And you will board the Eastern Express train two days later, and arrive in New York in time to catch the White Star liner to Birmingham and then shuttle on to Marseilles. Jenkins has your itinerary, letters of credit, and paperwork."
The old man waved dismissively. Billy turned to leave the sumptuous office.
"One more thing," the elder said as Billy reached for the silver doorknob. "Leave your automobile and mechanic here. One of your tasks will be to evaluate European motor vehicles for utility and durability at our mines and docks. Jenkins' notes will detail your other tasks. Discretion is paramount. Keep your damn mouth shut, boy."
"Sir," Billy replied. He had learned to speak concisely to his grandfather. The fewer words, the better. Less pain that way.
Billy escaped to Jenkins' outer office. The slimy functionary, obsequious to his boss but arrogant to underlings, gave Billy a bound folder and an ominous glare.
"Do NOT let anyone see the instructions in the sealed envelope, and don't screw this up," he hissed. "You are on probation, Master William Hodges. You will NOT like the consequences."
Billy was tempted to light a Havana cigar and blow smoke in the vile toad's pasty face but decided he was not worth the effort. A lazy nod, and he was gone.
Billy's mechanic had the luxurious, nearly silent White Steamer landau ready when the hopeful heir reached the portside office block's courtyard. Billy took the wheel and, with smooth expertise, began the afternoon drive down bumpy El Camino Real, the old royal road, from San Francisco to his cottage near the Stanford University campus.
"Grandfather is sending me away, Mario," Billy told his rough companion, "alone, and I don't know for how long — but cousin David will gladly take on this automobile and you. Be ready to go in a couple of weeks. You've done me well."
"Oh, signore William, I shall miss you, and all your lady friends, si," the swarthy Tuscan mechanic grinned. "The signore David, he is so, how can I say it, so self-contained. Puritano, si!, with no sense of joy." His grin faded. "I must find entertainment elsewhere." He brightened again. "But this automobile always brings the ladies. I will be fine, capiche?"
Billy stopped in front of his tall, bright, off-campus Queen Anne cottage. Mario steamed the White into the carriage house in back of the Hodges property to tend to its never-ending needs. Luxury requires upkeep.
Billy's luscious ginger housemaid Lucinda opened the door as he topped the few slate steps. He strode into the ornate entryway and handed her his cap.
"Master Billy, welcome back," she smiled, and giggled when he pinched her tight apron-draped butt. "Mistress Rose is upstairs with Mistress Eleanor already, they just arrived, and I suspect they are being naughty."
More giggling as she took his duster coat, rich vest, string tie, sleek braces, and jade cufflinks, and put everything aside. She took the rest of his clothes as he undressed. She cleaned his genitals with a warm washcloth. Naked, he goosed her again, waggled his weenie at her, and climbed the comfortable stairs.
On the wide bed in the master suite, Rose and Eleanor were indeed being naughty, locked in a naked full-body embrace with groins grinding together and mouths hungrily devouring. Billy smiled at the erotic vision; his cock grew, his breath deepened, and his feet trod the elegant Persian carpet.
His longtime best friend the raven-haired poetess had their gold-maned conquest well prepared.
Rose heard his approaching steps over Eleanor's throaty groans and untangled just enough to see him and speak.
"Billy-boy, you're here just in time! Let's lick this girl!"
Her mouth glided down the naked girl's chin and throat to a bouncing breast. Her tongue took a rosy nipple surrounded by a silver-dollar-sized aristocratic aureola. Billy slid along Eleanor's bounteous body to sweetly suckle with his friend. Their fingers tangled in a wet, fragrant blonde bush and smoothly penetrated in tandem. Eleanor writhed under their lascivious grasps.
The friends kissed their way together along her breasts and belly and flanks, and joined their mouths at her luscious pussy, pressing her juicy labial folds aside, prodding her pink softness.
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh..." Eleanor growled. Yes, she was a dirty girl.
Rose muffled Eleanor by settling her dark poetic pussy on the pale heiress's tender face and eager high-class tongue. Both sighed with satisfaction.
Billy took his position, spreading Eleanor's creamy thighs, aiming his engorged cock, fucking into her wet depths, and leaning forward to suck Rose's thick, tasty breasts. They rode Eleanor for their pleasure. They had perfected this maneuver with many willing nubile victims.
Rich girls in private academies taught each other sex — a long-standing tradition. Billy and Rose provided graduate training.
An eternal triangle formed — Eleanor eagerly on her back, Billy rampant between her aristocratic thighs, Rose perched on her lively tongue, all moving with carnal rhythm — wet, willing, and straining.
Eleanor moaned into Rose's voracious vulva as Billy's impressive manhood pistoned into that blonde snatch with relentless animal grace, gleaming with desperate juices. He hummed into Rose's nipples and sometimes her mouth. She hummed back, louder when Eleanor especially pleased her clitoris, which was fairly often. Girlfriends had trained her well.
"Bite me, Billy-boy," Rose begged. "Bite me harder!"
He gnawed on her nipples, one then the other, and back, just the way she liked. When she was calm, especially after an opium pipe, her breasts were so sensitive that simple suckling often brought her to orgasm — a handsome consequence of kicking Buddha's gong. But when she was wild, she needed the pain, and Billy knew when to stop. Well, maybe he went a little further. She loved that, too.
Billy bit down. Eleanor slurped nicely. Rose convulsed.
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh..." Rose wailed. Yes, she was a dirty girl too, but you knew that already.
The dark-haired vixen exploded beautifully, squirting joy into Eleanor's mouth. Billy kept tit-biting, grunted merrily, and filled the blonde's willing womb with long, fat ropes of living sperm; her ecstatic vaginal spasms squeezed out every last drop.
Maybe he had impregnated another of his family's social circle. He would be out of the country before anyone noticed.
Billy and Rose's tongues danced dangerously as their toy wriggled beneath them. Billy pulled out and back slightly. Rose fell on Eleanor's body, gave her dripping pussy a deep lick, then took Billy's soggy cock in her mouth like a very dirty girl. She sucked him back to stiffness — yes, he was young enough to revive quickly — before leaning down for a mouthful of cum and more clit-licking. Eleanor's tongue continued swirling on Rose's love button.
Billy happily watched the curvy coeds pleasure each other. He moved around the bed and knelt over Eleanor's head. Her mouth opened for his revived circumcised cock, wetted him, briefly sampled his size and texture, then returned to serious cunnilingus.
Billy slid his cock into Rose's familiar pussy. Slowly at first, then a bit faster, his balls slapping rhythmically on Eleanor's forehead. He was in no hurry — Rose liked long, slow fucks.
Rose raised her mouth from Eleanor's vulva, harshly groaned, "Oh yeah, Billy-boy, just like that," and dove back to cunt-licking.
Billy felt his testicles tighten after many long minutes but no, he was not through yet. He moved back around the bed and fucked again into the pale heiress on top, his friend's dark eyes staring up at him from below, then closing, concentrating. Rose's studious tongue laved cock and clit, whatever was available at any phase of the energetic sex cycle.
Both girls were obviously, repeatedly, continuously, vocally, wetly orgasming. Billy smiled, grunted, and deposited another load of impregnation in Eleanor's fertile womb. He hoped her baby would look like him. Twins would be fine, too.
Rose's wide mouth caught the mingled juices dripping from the joined genitals above her flushed face, and tongued at Eleanor's ticklish twat to provoke the last orgasmic twitches from their willing victim.
Billy's spent cock slipped from its fleshy sheath and was captured by Rose, who knew to stroke her tongue's tip under his dickhead to draw out his final spasms. He liked that.
He grunted again, "Hot damn, Rosy! You're so great!"
Billy was tired enough to lay beside the still-entangled coeds and gasp. Both girls groaned as Eleanor fell off and lay between the two friends. They rolled into her to suck her nipples until she whimpered and pulled their mouths up to hers.
The campus chapel's carillon rang the hour, the rich bell-tower tones rolling over the Stanford community. Eleanor twitched.
"Oh fuck, I've got to get back to my cottage now, or the servants will betray me. Mmmm, but this is SO much fun!"
Final embraces and kisses, and she stumbled unsteadily to her feet. Billy reached for the bell cord and signaled Lucinda to clean and dress the girl, to make her presentable. He and Rose watched, of course. Fingering each other, of course.
The housemaid escorted Eleanor downstairs and out to her bicycle. Ele was a modern girl, bicycling for independence, and to keep her figure trim and her legs taut.
Rose's legs were also taut from bicycling and other activities. After orally ensuring that Billy's cock was firm again, she rolled on her back, pulled him between her eager thighs, guided him inside her soggy snatch, and spider-wrapped her taut legs around him, pulling him deeper, ever deeper. She enjoyed him even without a girl riding her face. His kisses and cock were not bad.
The chapel carillon rang the next hour. Rose groaned, and not from yet another orgasm.
"It's that time, Billy-boy. Homeward bound for me." She rang the bell-cord for Lucinda herself. "Uncle talked to me today. I suppose your grandfather did the same. Are you ready for a long European tour?" She chatted while Lucinda cleaned and dressed her.
"We'll have a fine time around Provence, Rosy! Those French girls should be easy pickings. We'll probably grab English, Italian, and Spanish girls too. Just what you like!"
"You may have trouble getting them to bathe enough for your tastes, especially the filthy English girls," Lucinda intruded in their conversation, "if you don't mind my saying so. I've heard some brag about washing as little as possible."
Not that we Micks are much better, she thought to herself.
"Those wouldn't be academy girls," Rose said as Lucinda laced her up. "They don't like licking dirty cunnies. Believe me, I know. If they were in girls' schools, they'd clean up."
Rose sat on the bed to don her walking shoes — her family cottage was nearby — then stood and pulled Lucinda to her for a searing kiss and some slight groping.
"Hey, don't fuck the help," Billy warned. Lucinda sighed.
"I won't fuck MY help," Rose taunted, squeezing the housemaid's soft breast, "but YOURS are fair game for me. Too bad I can't take her along." She swatted the Celtic girl's tight arse. Lucinda giggled and escorted her downstairs.
I'll pack after graduation, Billy thought. Lucinda returned to dress and groom him for supper. Rosy and I can fuck a few more girls here before we go, he mused. She'll bring-em on.
If asked when drunk enough, Billy might admit that he and Rose had been best friends since forever. They grew up on neighboring rich estates, played childhood games, spent their time conspiring when not sequestered in gender-segregated academies, and inevitably taught each other about sex.
Billy liked girls. Rose decided that, except for Billy, she did not like boys, but girls were great! And, scheming rich brats that they were, they worked up a scheme of mutual pleasure.
The strategy was simple.
Rose enticed a likely target i.e. a spoiled brat, usually from a girl's academy or another coed but sometimes a bored youngish wife, not too matronly, for silly innocent girlish games i.e. seduction, often after bathing luxuriantly and tending each other's hair, then shy kisses, and soon on to cunt-licking.
Rose occasionally recruited two girls at once. The process usually moved faster with a lively group.
Billy would arrive when Rose signaled their prey was loosened-up sufficiently. A merry time would be had by all, with Billy's willy probing into all female lips, top and bottom. They often demanded repeated applications of his perky penis. He obliged until exhausted, then rose for more, satisfaction guaranteed.
He avoided anus-fucking — too messy for his taste. And Rose rarely needed to stroke his prostate to provoke a fat ejaculation. But if she wished to poke into a friend's or her own rosebud when he was not around, fine. She knew what she wanted.
Time swept by; they enjoyed i.e. fucked more high-class girls; and their departure neared. Graduation Day at Stanford gave Billy and Rose their degrees, his in Mechanical Engineering, hers in American Literature. Many on campus were gladdened, saddened, and/or relieved to see them go.
Take their sheepskins and run! It was mandatory.
Rose was already a published poetess of some prominence i.e. notoriety. She poured her libido and craftiness into taunting stanzas that could not quite be censored. Preachers mostly ignored her as a minor pest, incoherent to their stultified minds. Canny Anglophone college girls worldwide grasped her subtexts and fingered themselves and their close friends to juicy satisfaction. Rose's steamy reputation was assured.
Mario loaded the pair's luggage into the clean and nearly silent White Steamer landau and drove onto the Bay ferry, larger than Noah's Ark, aimed for Oakland's transcontinental railway terminal. Their luggage was minimal; Mario obtained haulage of their one dresser trunk each. Any other goods, they could buy in Europe at fair prices.
No well-wishers saw them off; they had bid farewell to friends and families earlier. Many somber relatives and associates were happy to see them depart.
Propriety placed them on the luxury rail coach in separate compartments; persuasion i.e. bribery placed them in neighboring suites with a connecting door. They could continue to share entertainment on this transcontinental journey.
The five-day ride, with their through-coach shuttled between connecting rail lines, afforded them numerous opportunities with bored, prosperous women, one or two at a time. Susan, rather quickly, en route to Nevada, but she was worked up. Linda, a bit slower, to Utah. Then to Salt Lake with two juicy, rum-sipping Jack Mormon gals returning to their husband and sister-wives. Over the Rocky Mountains with whats-her-name, and across the high plains with now-lonely entitled wenches, and through mid-western farmlands with their horny sisters. Delays in Omaha and Chicago, and on to New York exchanging body fluids with eager Gotham heiresses.
Billy idly wondered how many upper-class pregnancies would be quietly hushed. Not his problem. At least they were not poxy whores, merely simple rich sluts.
Alone for a change, following a gushy session with a banker's anxious trophy wife, and now dressed so as not to disturb staff who served them dinner, they considered the near future.
"What's in your packet of secret instructions, Billy-boy?"
They kept no secrets from each other, even when clothed.
Billy sipped his port, tore open the sealed envelope, and scanned the cover sheet. He grinned and passed it to her. She quickly studied it and smirked in return.
"You think maybe my uncle and your grandfather got together to set us up? Like they arranged for our teamwork?"
"Sure looks like that, Rosie. They're clever old bastards and they know us too well. I'm ostensibly only surveying makers of motor vehicles and heavy equipment for suitable purchases to support Forbes-Hodges expanded European and MidEastern mining and shipping activities. So it says."
"Mighty fancy words they wrote there, Billy-boy. But I like the next part."
"Yes indeed, girl. I'm to spy on what our fucking English competitors have been up to, where they're concentrating, where they're weak or sloppy. For that, I — with your active help, of course — must subvert, divert, invert, and nicely extract information from worn-out Imperial expatriates."
"I like what's implied," Rose said. "We'll seduce the womenfolk, get them to talk, and sneak documents to us. It'll be easy! I know those kinds of bitches. They only keep secrets from parents and husbands, not girlfriends."
"That's the plan. I'll just be yet another Yankee bad boy, a remittance man sent away by my family like so many other rotten colonials. You're a wench at a safe distance, barely noticeable.
"I'll befriend some knowledgeable rascals in the expat colony, those hazy Mediterranean exiles from England's crappy weather. We'll share fancy cigars, rare spiritous liquors, and bullshit stories. I'll ask innocent and stupid questions about their experiences in exotic places. They'll be insufferable braggarts.
"Meanwhile you'll get close to their bored, spoiled ladies, their under-appreciated wives and daughters, stuck in a warm but foreign land with only a small, constrained social circle that speaks right. Use that snobby accent you learned from Madam Whitsum in your academy. You'll be a breath of fresh air and fresh pussy. They'll be so anxious for you to corrupt them, especially those who know your writings.
"I'll necessarily make obvious visits to regional manufacturers. That's my disguise, as a naive young engineer lost in the real world of machinery and money. They'll humor me as long as they sniff dollars. I might even be of use to my firm."