Message-ID: <34659asstr$1010826604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: graciefemme@netscape.net
Subject: {ASSM} New Story: Taking Possession (FF, BBW, rom, butch/femme, medieval property law)
Date: Sat, 12 Jan 2002 04:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


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<1st attachment, "takposs.txt" begin>

Taking Possession

    A sense of unreality had been hanging over Birdy ever since
the phone call from the solicitor yesterday afternoon.  She had
inherited over two million pounds, from a great-uncle whom she
didn't even know she had.  On her way now to the solicitor's
office in north London, she was still expecting that this would
all turn out to be some sort of hoax, and was surprised to arrive
at her destination and indeed find a law office, with the
solicitor's name on the door, Mr Barnham.

    Ushered into his office by a secretary, she was greeted by a
plump, balding man.

    "Well, Miss Southerland, may I congratulate you on your
inheritance."

    "So this is real then."

    "Oh yes, quite real.  I have your great-uncle's will right
here. You're a very wealthy young woman now."

    "But I've never even heard of this relative, George Pike.  My
parents are both dead, but I checked with a cousin and she didn't
know of him either, let alone that he was wealthy."

    "Did you know your father was adopted?"

    "Is that true?  I never knew.  He died when I was only two."

    "Your grandmother - that is, your father's biological mother
- had a child quite young, and gave him up for adoption.  She
died in a car crash not long afterward.  I can tell you, we had
quite a time tracking you down.  
    Still stunned, Birdy listened as the lawyer rattled off the
various bank accounts, securities, and other assets which passed
to her, observing that she could live handsomely on the interest
and dividends alone.    This is like something out of a Dickens
novel, she thought. I ought to be a sweet, innocent,
long-suffering factory girl.  How incongruous, she thought, that
a twenty-four year old lesbian graphic designer should be cast in
the role of a Dickensian heroine.

    "You also inherit your great-uncle's residence, near Oxford,
a manor house called Larchwood.  But I'm afraid Larchwood comes
with some unusual conditions.  You can't sell it, which is a pity
because the house and land are worth over a million alone.  The
building dates back to the fourteenth century, I believe.  And
there's a housekeeper there, a Miss Wells, and the will provides
that her position is to continue for life. 

    "You mean she comes with the estate?"

    "In effect yes.  I suppose it is rather like a mediaeval
serf, isn't it," he chuckled. 

    The secretary brought in tea, and then Birdy was signing
various documents for the next hour. 

    "And when can I see this place, Larchwood?" she asked at
last.

    "I could take you down there tomorrow afternoon, if you like.
 I'll just ring Miss Wells and let her know we're coming."

*       *       *

    That evening, meeting her friends Abbie, Sarah and Tina for a
celebratory drink, Birdy began thinking through what this would
mean for her life.  For starters, she could quit her boring
graphic design job to pursue her painting full-time. 

    "And what about this house in Oxfordshire?" Tina asked.  "A
country house for weekend getaways.  Sounds pretty nice."

    "Maybe I'll just live there."

    "A butch like you?  Out in the country?  Away from the London
dyke scene?"   Abbie shook her head.

    A song that Abbie liked began playing, and she led Birdy out
on the dance floor.  Abbie danced close to her, flashing an
inviting smile.  Abbie had a slender, petite frame, like Birdy,
but she had large breasts, and Birdy enjoyed watching them bounce
as Abbie danced.

    "You know ... suddenly having lots of money is making me
rather randy."

    "You look irresistibly cute when you're randy."

    An hour later, they were in Birdie's bed, Birdy pounding into
Abbie's cunt with her strap-on while she sucked on Abbie's big
breasts.  Abbie came, loud and long.  But five minutes afterward,
she was pulling on her clothes, getting ready to leave.

    "Please don't go, Abbie."  

     "Sorry, love.  Unlike some of us, I've got to go to work
tomorrow morning."

    She gave Abbie money for cabfare.  Abbie gave her a peck on
the cheek, then headed out the door.

    Birdy climbed back in bed, disappointed.  She hadn't come. 
Abbie didn't seem to notice.  It was always like that with Abbie.
 Birdy sighed.  She opened her thighs and began lightly rubbing
her clit, feeling her cunt grow moist again, feeling the clit
swell.  Birdy missed Carla. Carla whom she had lived with for two
years, who had left her for another woman.  Though Carla was one
of the most self-centred people Birdy knew, Carla had nonetheless
always been very good in bed.  Birdy came at last, remembering
the hot look in Carla's eyes as Birdy had finger-fucked Carla's
arse.  Carla would want to come back to her now, she expected,
once she heard about Birdy's fortune.  That was the kind of woman
Carla was.  Give it a few days for the word to get round, and
she'd be getting a reconciliatory phone call from Carla.  Hell,
Birdy thought, maybe I should get away from London for a while. 

    *       *       *

    The next morning, Birdy quit her job, collecting her things
from the office, and then went out shopping for art supplies. 
She went home and packed two suitcases of clothes, books, laptop,
and art supplies, and called Mr Barnham to tell him she was ready
to be picked up. 

    "So, you're planning to stop awhile at Larchwood?" he asked,
as he put her suitcases in the boot of the car. 

    "I think I may."

     "Good for you.  Taking seisin."

    "Pardon?"

    "Seisin.  It's an old legal term for possession of real
estate.  At early Common Law, to take possession of land, there
was a sort ceremony - the owner had to physically enter on the
land and receive a growing twig or a clod of earth from the
previous possessor.  It was called enfeoffment by livery of
seisin, and it gave the owner certain feudal rights and
obligatons.  We'll have to find you a nice twig when we arrive."

    As the miles between London and Oxford slipped by, and the
English countryside unfolded before her, Birdy's sense of
excitement began to grow. It was a fine spring day, and she rode
with her window down, letting the wind whip through her short
black hair.  At last they turned off the main road into a
charming little village called Dunstan Howe, and thence a short
distance down a narrow country lane, before turning into a long
gravel drive through a wood that led up to the manor house. 
Birdy had been worried the house would be huge, but it was really
not much larger than a good-sized modern house, built of grey
ashlar stone, with a  stout tower in the right front corner, a
steeply sloping slate roof, and a great oak front door.  She fell
in love with it at once.  A short, plump woman with silver hair
came out to meet them. 

    "Welcome, welcome to Larchwood.  This must be Lucy Pike's
granddaughter Bernadette, the new lady of the manor.  I'm
Gwendolyn Wells, the housekeeper."  She shook Birdy's hand
warmly, and her round face was open and friendly.  She led them
inside, to an oak-panelled drawing room.  "I'll just serve tea,
and then I'll show you round."  

    In a few moments, Miss Wells returned with tea, sandwiches
and cakes.  She looked like a typical English village lady,
heavyset, in her fifties, in a prim grey skirt and light-blue
sweater, her hair in a neat bun.  But something about her manner
had Birdy's gaydar pinging. 

"Miss Wells, what can you tell me about my great-uncle?"

"Well, he was an architect.  A bit of a recluse.  He was very
fond of his younger sister, Antonia, and he was kind to me.  He
moved back here to help me take care of her before she died. 
That was four years ago."

 "You mean he didn't live here all along?" 
"Oh no, he lived in London most of his life.  This house went to
Antonia, your great-aunt, when her parents died.  She was the
youngest of the family, but your grandmother, Lucy, had already
passed away, and George didn't want the old house then.  May I
show you a picture?"

Miss Wells removed a gold locket from her prominent bosom. 
Opening it, she showed a small picture of a middle-aged woman, an
older version of Birdy.   
    "Your great-aunt Antonia.  The resemblance is striking, isn't
it?  My heart skipped a few beats when I first saw your face, I
can tell you."

"I'm sorry, I'm still in a state of shock myself.  Finding out
about these relatives, and suddenly becoming wealthy - I feel
like I don't know who I am anymore."

The housekeeper smiled understandingly.  "Poor dear.  I'll do
what I can to help you sort it out.  You just let old Gwen take
care of you.  You are who you are my dear - all that's changed is
you've acquired a few family ghosts, and Larchwood.  And me."

    *       *       *

Mr Barnham rose.  "Well ladies, before I leave you to family
history, there are just a couple of legal matters to wrap up, and
then I must to be getting back to London."    The remaining
deeds, releases and receipts were signed, and Birdy went out into
the garden to receive the ceremonial twig.  After the solicitor
left, Miss Wells led Birdie on a tour.  The house had a drawing
room, library, dining room, and a huge kitchen, plus five
bedrooms.    Richard II, Edward IV, and James I had all, on
various occasions, slept in these rooms.  The housekeeper
explained the original layout of the house, and how the interior
had been gradually modernised over the centuries.

"I've prepared this bedroom for you, Miss Southerby, if it suits
you.  It was -" she paused.  "It used to be Antonia's room."

"Please call me Birdy.  That's what my friends call me."

"Very well, and you must call me Gwen."

Gwen began unpacking Birdy's suitcases.  "Birdy, may I say that
it makes me very happy to have one of Antonia's family as lady of
the manor again."

"Thank you, Gwen.  I can tell that you loved her very much."

Gwen was silent.   "She was a celebrated poet, you know.  She
died of Alzheimer's.  It was terrible, watching her mind
disintegrate.  And then her body.  Her beautiful body."  Gwen was
blinking back tears.  "I ought to tell you ... I wasn't just a
housekeeper to her."  Gwen looked up at Birdy hesitantly.  "I was
- that is, we were a couple.  We were together for twenty-four
years."

"Gwen, did you know I'm gay too?"

Gwen smiled through her tears.  "I wasn't sure.  But I thought
you looked open-minded enough for me to come out to you."

"Thank you."  She squeezed Gwen's hand.  "Is there anything to
drink in this house?  You and I have some ice-breaking to do."

For the next few hours, Birdy and Gwen sat in the kitchen,
getting tipsy on sherry and talking about growing up as lesbians
in rural Oxfordshire in the 1960s, and in suburban London in the
1980s.  Gwen came from a family that had been servants to the
Pike family since before the War of the Roses.  She had spent
three years at university, but entered service at Larchwood as a
summer job to help out her mother, she and Antonia Pike fell in
love, and she had remained at Larchwood ever since.  Birdy told
Gwen of her passion for painting and drawing, which she planned
to pursue at Larchwood.  As night began to fall, Gwen heated up a
quiche she had prepared.  After dinner, Birdy became very sleepy,
from all the sherry and the good meal, no doubt, as well as the
excitement of the day.  Gwen sent her off to bed with a maternal
hug and a kiss on the cheek.  Birdy pulled off her clothes and
climbed into the great, soft bed, drifting off to sleep in a
happy daze, remembering the softness of Gwen's ample body as they
had hugged goodnight.

    *       *       *

That girl doesn't know what she does to me, Gwen thought.  The
housekeeper had just brought the morning tea up to Birdy's
bedroom.  She almost dropped the tray when Birdy sat up in bed,
yawning, carelessly displaying her bare breasts.  Birdy was so
lovely, so fresh, her body so perfect, her small, perky breasts
so tantalising, Gwen had to fight hard not to stare.  Her pulse
was racing as she set down the tea tray and hurried out of the
room.  

Now Gwen, she told herself sternly, get a hold of yourself. 
She's twenty years younger than you.  Don't do something stupid
and spoil your relationship with her.  But ... ah, such
loveliness.  Not just in the way she looks, but in everything she
does.  In her black t-shirt and jeans, she looks more elegant
than any other woman in a  500 evening gown.  And in no clothes
at all ...  Oh Gwen, stop it!

    *       *       *

    Later that morning, Birdy and Gwen went on a long hike
through the woods and meadows about the manor.  Despite weighing
eighteen stone, Gwen was an energetic walker, and Birdy sometimes
had to struggle to keep up with her.  Gwen showed Birdy her
favourite spots, and Birdy stopped every so often to do a
charcoal sketch of the landscape.  They brought a picnic lunch
with them, drank a bottle of wine, and fell asleep together in a
meadow in the warm spring sunshine.   In the evening Gwen
practised some viola pieces, while Birdy read through a volume of
her great-aunt Antonia's poetry.  It was mostly about nature and
the seasons, and village life, suffused with a pagan reverence,
but balanced with a wry humour reminiscent of Stevie Smith.  

When Birdy remarked that there was nothing overtly lesbian in the
poems, Gwen, blushing, chuckled, "Ah, but you should see the ones
she *didn't* publish.  She wrote me a good bit of erotic verse. 
It wasn't always as profound as her nature poems, but it got us
hot."

    "Oh, please let me see some."

    Gwen hesitated.  "Well, maybe a couple of the tamer ones."  
She went up to her room and returned with a few sheets of paper.
Birdy began reading.  The first, a sonnet called "Earthquake,"
was a not-so-veiled description of Gwen's vast body heaving and
shuddering in orgasm.  The second was a villanelle, "To Gwen, the
End of my Desire," playfully and unabashedly celebrating Gwen's
immense, pillowy posterior.    

Birdy looked up.  "These are the *tame* ones?"

    By the time Birdy went to bed, she was hot.  The poems,
combined with Birdy's growing affection for the older woman,
fired her fantasies. She imagined Gwen removing her apron, slowly
unbuttoning her blouse, and lifting out an enormous breast for
Birdy to suck.  She quickly rubbed herself to orgasm, thinking of
Gwen's heavy bosom.

    *       *       *

    The next morning Birdy worked on a still life composed of the
remains of their breakfast, practising her ink and watercolour
technique, as Gwen cleaned the bathrooms and did laundry.   Birdy
offered to help with the housework, but Gwen insisted that it was
her job, and sent Birdy back to her painting.  

    "That's fantastic!"  Gwen was looking over Birdy's shoulder
at the watercolour.

    "It's just a practice exercise."

    "May I keep it?  I'd love to have it in my room."

    "Of course.  I'm flattered."

    After lunch, they walked to the village to do errands, and so
that Gwen could introduce Birdy to the various personalities of
the village, who were all eager to see the new lady of Larchwood,
the long-lost heiress.    To Gwen's surprise, Birdy played her
part with aplomb, displaying just the right mixture of cordiality
and aristocratic reserve, thoroughly charming everyone she met. 
There were many invitations to tea.  Gwen glowed with pride,
standing beside her lady.  The postmistress, one Hilda Green,
irked her though: she tried to flirt with Birdy, and Gwen found
herself suddenly jealous.  

    Ironically, Birdy thought the postmistress was displaying a
disturbing familiarity towards her Gwen, and wondered jealously
if there was anything between them.  Get a hold of yourself, she
thought as they walked home together.  You've got no claim on
Gwen.  And after a brilliant lover like that Antonia, she's not
going to be interested in an inexperienced, clumsy kid like you.

    But Birdy could not get a hold of herself.  All the way home,
trailing behind Gwen, she couldn't help admiring the older
woman's colossal bottom, straining against her skirt as she
walked.  God, how I'd love to bury my face in that big, soft bum
of hers, Birdy thought. 

    *       *       *

    Several weeks went by.  Birdy became increasingly confident
in her use of drawing and painting technique, the skills from art
school quickly coming back to her.  She settled into a routine:
drawing and painting in the morning; a hike or some errand with
Gwen in the afternoon; reading a book and listening to Gwen
practise viola in the evening.  She felt utterly comfortable with
Gwen, chatting with her easily, as if she were an old friend, or
the mother she wished she'd had.  She treasured the time she
spent with Gwen.  Yet, paradoxically, the pangs of suppressed
lust Birdy felt for Gwen became increasingly unbearable.  She
felt like an overwound spring.  

    *       *       *

    "Gwen, would you be willing to sit for me sometime?"  They
were finishing their dinner.  Gwen helped herself to a third
piece of the apricot pie she had made. 

    "What do you mean, dear?  I'm sitting right now."

    "No, I mean sit for a portrait.  I'd like to work on my life
drawing." 

    "Me?  You're sure you want me as your model?"

"Why shouldn't I want you?  I'll pay you extra - top London
modelling rates."

    "Lord, girl, you don't have to pay me," Gwen snorted.  "Of
course you can draw me, if you like.  Let me just quickly do the
washing up, and I'll be at your disposal.

    Ten minutes later, they went up to the northeast bedroom,
which Birdy had taken for her studio. 

    "I'll just do an ink sketch of the face tonight.  You can
keep your clothes on for this one."

 Gwen chuckled, assuming Birdy was joking.  Birdy took out her
draughting pen and began outlining the contours of Gwen's face
and shoulders.  How do I capture the laughter in her eyes, she
wondered.  Ah, yes, this gets it - the eyebrows arch like so. 
The apple cheeks.  The roll of flesh beneath her chin.  The smile
lines about her mouth.  Not bad for a first try.   An economical
use of line. 

"May I see it?" Gwen asked, when Birdy finished.

"Sure."

Gwen studied the drawing for a long moment.  "It's lovely. 
You've prettied me up a fair bit."

"No I didn't.  You *are* pretty, Gwen.  You're beautiful.  We'll
try some nudes tomorrow."

    "Nudes?"

    "We can have a fire in the grate so you won't get cold." 

    "You're serious.  You really want to see this flabby old body
nude."

    "Gwen, you've a magnificent body."  The expression on Birdy's
face was passionately earnest.  "Antonia loved your body.  I saw
that in her poems.  She adored your body, Gwen.  Why can't you
let me admire it too?" 

    Gwen looked down at the floor, blushing.   "I was younger
then.  And Antonia was very peculiar that way: she liked mefat."

    Birdy walked over to the sofa where Gwen was sitting, her
heart pounding.  "Perhaps it runs in my family then, because you
turn me on completely.  If I thought there was half a chance that
you could love a kid like me ..."  Birdy took Gwen's trembling
hand in her own.

    Gwen looked up at Birdy, an expression of wonder in her eyes.
 "Love you, Birdy?  Of course I love you."  An inviting smile
played around Gwen's lips.  "What would you do, if you thought I
loved you?"

    Birdy took Gwen in her arms, their mouths melting together.
Touching Gwen, kissing her, was like a drug to Birdy.  Gwen's
mouth was so alive, so yielding.   Her body was so warm, soft,
squeezable, abundant. 

    "Birdy, make me yours," Gwen whispered fiercely.

    "I want to see your breasts."

    Gwen smiled coyly as she began undoing the buttons on her
blouse.

    "Oh yes," Birdy gasped as Gwen lifted out a heavy, pale
breast, laced with faint blue veins, crowned with a large, pale
pink areola and a stiff nipple.  Her dream come true.  Joyfully,
Birdy cupped it in her hands, feeling the weight, the softness,
the warmth of it; then she took it in her mouth, sucking
hungrily.  Gwen groaned at the pleasure.  After a while, she
lifted out the other breast, giving it Birdy's eager mouth.  And
just as Gwen thought there couldn't be any pleasure sweeter than
this, she felt Birdy's hand reach up beneath her skirt, slipping
between her quivering thighs, hooking the crotch of her soaked
knickers to the side, the fingers deftly plunging deep into her
dripping cunt. She started to come before Birdy's fingers were
even inside her.  And she kept coming, rocking her big hips
urgently against Birdy's hand.  The heady fragrance of Gwen's
arousal filled the room, intoxicating Birdy.  Birdy sank to her
knees, burying her face between Gwen's thick, flabby thighs,
finding her wetness, nuzzling into it, lapping up Gwen's honey,
as Gwen came again.

    Birdy licked her fingers.  "Let's go to bed.  I want to see
you naked," Birdy urged.

    And so Gwen followed Birdy down the hallway to the bedroom
where she and Antonia had made love so many times.   Birdy helped
Gwen out of her blouse and bra, then unzipped her skirt.  Gwen,
turning to face Birdy, pulled the pin out of her bun, shaking her
silver hair out, letting it fall beautifully over her shoulders.
Then she pulled her wet knickers down and let them drop to her
ankles.  The sight took Birdy's breath away.  Never had she seen
such an abundance of feminine flesh - her beautiful, heavy
udders, her soft, sagging belly, her thick, beefy thighs and
massive hips, her fleshy cunt.  It was undeniably the body of an
older woman - there were wrinkles, rolls of flab, saddlebags, and
dark friction patches on her inner thighs - but Birdy fell in
love with it all on the spot. 

The look of hot desire on Birdy's face made Gwen's knees go weak.
  She sat on the bed to keep from collapsing.    

    "Could I see you now, love?"

    Birdy quickly pulled off her t-shirt and stepped out of her
jeans.  Then off came the bra and knickers.   Now it was Birdy's
turn to read intense desire in her lover's eyes.   Gwen was
delighted by the large, shaggy thicket of black hair covering
Birdy's mound - it made Birdy's cunt seem disproportionately
large on her petite frame, in stark contrast with her fresh,
milky-white skin.   It looked like a wild animal.

    "You're so lovely, Birdy.  So very lovely."

    "Don't go away, I want to show you something." Birdy hunted
through her toiletry bag, pulling out her lavender dildo and
harness, strapping it on to her groin.   "Do you want this?" 

    "Oh God, yes," Gwen whimpered, rolling over onto her belly,
drawing her knees apart, presenting her vast, creamy-white arse
and open, glistening cunt to Birdy.   "Take me like this, love,
please."

Birdy's mouth went dry.  It absolutely was the hottest thing
Birdy had ever seen. Climbing into bed behind Gwen, she squeezed
some KY jelly onto the dildo, and slowly eased it into Gwen's
vagina from behind.  Gwen's cunt smelled heavenly.

Gwen groaned as Birdy began slowly moving in and out.  "Fuck me,
Birdy.  Tell me I'm yours."  She rocked her huge arse back to
meet Birdy's thrusts.

"You're mine, Gwen.  I love you."  Birdy kneaded and fondled
Gwen's enormous, flabby buttocks as she pounded into her. 

"I belong to you ..."

"Yes, God, Gwen, every (thrust) inch of you (thrust) belongs to
me (thrust).  I'm never (thrust) going to (thrust) let you go."

"Oh God ... yes ... harder.  Birdy ... I (ungh) love (ungh) you
(unghhhhh)."  Gwen came again, with a long wail that could
probably be heard in Dunstan Howe three miles away.  And Birdy,
her passion mounting to fever pitch as the other end of the dildo
rhythmically thumped against her own groin, suddenly felt an
orgasm rip through her body like a series of lightning bolts. 
Breathless, she collapsed onto the bed.  Gwen rolled over and
took her in her arms. 

"Oh, lover, that was incredible.  I saw stars.  Did you come
too?"

Birdy nodded weakly.

"Good."

Gwen held Birdy tenderly, stroking her face and shoulders, then
cupping Birdy's adorable breasts in her hands.  As Gwen took a
nipple in her mouth and began gently sucking, Birdy sighed with
pleasure.  Good, Gwen thought, she's ready for more.  She sat up
and unfastened Birdy's strap-on harness.   Climbing down between
Birdy's lovely thighs, she eagerly buried her face in the thick,
wild muff, parting the hair with her tongue.  Finding Birdy's
sweet, stiff little pearl, she kissed and sucked it, adoring it,
rubbing her whole face against Birdy's wet cunt till Birdy came
again.  

Gwen climbed back up beside Birdy.  Birdy grinned at her, sitting
up on one elbow.  "Gwen, I'm so happy this has happened between
us."

Gwen kissed her.  Birdy tasted her own juices on Gwen's face.

"I'm yours now, Birdy.  Completely yours."

"Hmm, what do you suppose should I do with you?"

"Anything you want, love.  I'd do anything for you."

"A generous offer.  Who would have thought that the prim and
proper Miss Gwendolyn Wells, housekeeper to Larchwood, was such a
hot little submissive?"

"Not so little."

Birdy chuckled.  "Right then, a hot big submissive.  How do you
like to be topped?"

"No heavy pain or cruelty, though a few love pats on my bottom
can turn me on."  Gwen thought for a minute.  "I love feeling
like your property, your possession.  Not very politically
correct, but there it is.  I'd like you to make love to me
without asking permission, knowing that I'm available to you
whenever you want me, and that I love whatever you do to me, or
tell me to do for you.   That's how I express my love."  She
paused.  "Not that I want to be sexually passive.  I love to make
you come; I love playing with your body.  And I like having sex
often.  I've gone without for six years, since Antonia became
ill, and I need to make up for lost time."  Gwen glanced up at
Birdy, a look of trepidation in her eyes.  "Does that turn you
off? I'm not pushing you into a role you feel uncomfortable
with?"

"Darling, it turns me on like a faucet!   I'm not very
experienced as a top, but I'm willing to learn.  Right then, I
suppose I should start giving you commands.  Order number 1:
every evening when we go to bed, and every morning when we wake
up, you're to tell me that you love me and that you belong to
me."

"Ooh, dear, can I do that now?"

"It's evening, isn't it?"

"I love you and I belong to you.  Oh Birdy, this is making me
hot."    
    "Order number 2: beginning tonight, you're to sleep in my
bed.  Unless this room reminds you too much of Antonia."

    "It does remind me of her, but they're sweet memories.  They
won't keep me from giving myself to you.  It would make her happy
knowing that I've found you.  And I'd love to sleep beside you."

    "Order number 3: you're always to sleep naked.  I can't stand
nightgowns and knickers that get in the way.  I'll keep you warm
enough at night."

    Gwen nodded. 

    "Order number 4," Birdy's pulse was racing - was she pushing
this too far?  "Roll over on your belly again."

    Gwen promptly obeyed.  "I think I'm going to enjoy this, "
she sighed into the pillow.

    "Have you ever been taken in the arse before?" 

Gwen nodded, half frightened, half excited. 

"Good."  Birdy crawled behind Gwen, pausing to admire once again
the magnificent bum that Gwen proffered.  Acres of lard.  

"First let's warm you up a bit."  

She slapped Gwen's buttock hard with her open palm.  Gwen yelped
with surprise.  Her buttock was still quivering from the blow,
the pink handprint standing out against the creamy-while flesh. 
"Go on," Gwen urged.  "I won't break."  Birdy could never enjoy
hurting Gwen - not *really* hurting her - but the sight of Gwen's
voluminous, rippling bum turned her on fiercely.  Birdy smacked
the other buttock.  She alternated several times, smacking the
immense jiggling globes till they were blushing pink.  Gwen's bum
was warm and tingling, wetness was trickling down her thighs.

Crouching behind Gwen, Birdy began planting the softest of kisses
on the tenderised flesh.  Gwen cooed at the sudden switch from
pain to pleasure.  Then, with increasing ardour, Birdy began
showering Gwen's bum with kisses, covering every inch of that
vast real estate, licking, stroking, kneading, biting,
worshipping Gwen's bum.  Gwen wriggled and whimpered with growing
excitement.

Oh God, Birdy thought, here I go: I've dreamed of this for weeks.
 Parting Gwen's buttocks with her fingers, she plunged her face
down into the dark furrow, licking over Gwen's sexy anus, kissing
it, sucking at it, nibbling at it, rubbing her nose against it,
feeling her head buried in the softness of Gwen's pillowy cheeks.
 Gwen gasped with shocked pleasure.  Wedging her tongue tightly
against the ring of muscle, Birdy massaged Gwen's cheeks with her
fingers, encouraging her to relax, till at last Gwen's anus
opened and the tongue surged inside. 

"Oh God, Birdy, yes!" she squealed, feeling the hot tongue
wriggling at the entrance to her bowels.  Birdy fucked Gwen's
dark hole with her tongue for several minutes, savouring the
shocking intimacy of it.  At last, she withdrew her tongue,
planted a few lingering kisses on Gwen's anus, and reemerged into
the light of the room.

"Oh lover, I almost came, just from feeling your tongue in there.
 You make me so hot."
    "Stay right there," Birdy commanded.  "I'm not finished with
you yet."     
    
    Birdy put the strap-on back on.  She smeared more KY jelly on
it.  Then, spreading Gwen's cheeks again with one hand, she
squeezed a blob of jelly right onto Gwen's anus.

    "Ooh," she shuddered, "it's cold."

    "Not for long."  Birdy rubbed it round the opening with her
finger, then sliding her finger inside, spread the lubricant
round inside Gwen's anus.  Gwen gasped, instinctively trying to
clamp down on the finger, as it slid in her tight, rubbery,
well-greased anus.   Birdy moved the finger about inside her,
rubbing down behind Gwen's uterus, massaging it.  Gwen whimpered
and shuddered with pleasure.

    "I love you, Gwen."         

    "Oh yesss, darling."

    Birdy at last withdrew her finger, and positioned the head of
the lavender dildo at Gwen's anus.   Birdy had never done this
before.  She paused to gauge how hard to push, to get the dildo
inside without hurting Gwen, when Gwen unexpectedly wriggled her
arse back against it, taking the head inside her.  With one
smooth thrust, Birdy sank into Gwen's arse, all the way to the
hilt. 

    "Ohhh, yes!" Gwen sighed.  Birdy held still for a minute,
letting Gwen get used to the feel of the dildo inside her.  Then,
as Gwen began rocking her giant arse beneath her, Birdy pulled
halfway out, then sank in again.  Out.  Then in again.  Picking
up the tempo as Gwen's cries became more urgent, soon she was
pistoning easily in Gwen's quivering arse.  She leaned forward to
kiss Gwen's neck  and shoulders, massaging the rolls of fat on
Gwen's back, reaching round underneath Gwen to cup and squeeze
her heavy breasts.  Then she reached down to rub Gwen's wet clit,
thrumming it with her fingers, while the dildo continued moving
in Gwen's other hole.  That put Gwen over the edge: she came,
trembling and keening, her body breaking into a sweat, clamping
down hard on the dildo with her anal muscles, her legs shaking. 
Birdy, who had been holding back from coming for quite a while,
finally let herself fall into a breathtaking orgasm as well,
clinging to Gwen's heaving body, like a boat on a storm-tossed
ocean.    

    They lay like that for several minutes, savouring the
afterglow.  At last, Birdy slowly withdrew the dildo.  The head
emerged from Gwen's anus with an irreverent plop. 

    "Now my arse is yours too."

    "Livery of seisin," Birdy chuckled. 

    "What?"

"That's what Mr. Barnham would call it.  I've taken possession."


Epilogue

    Two years later, on a trip up to London, Gwen shopped while
Birdy had a meeting with Gloria Alexander-Reading, owner and
curator of one of the most prestigious art galleries in the city.
  A pretty receptionist showed Birdy into the curator's palatial
office, decorated with a fortune in objets d'art. Two years ago,
Birdy would have been overawed by this opulence.   An elegant,
middle-aged women in tweeds emerged from her plush chair to take
Birdy's hand.

    "Bernadette my dear, so good of you to come up and meet me."
She gave Birdy a once-over.  "My, I didn't expect you to be so
young.  And lovely, if I may say so.  Now, Max Posner tells me
that he's seensome of your work, and that I'd be impressed - and
I know Max doesn't make such statements lightly.  Very well,
let's take a look at your portfolio."

    Birdy started with her landscapes, some oils and some ink
drawings. 

    "Very nice colour in this one... refreshing.  I can see your
training as a graphic artist coming through.  Graphic artists
have to know the clich s, and so they can avoid them; other
artists your age would have made something much more pretentious
and clich  out of this.  And ... I say, these drawings are quite
sophisticated!

    They passed on to the still lifes.  Here, the curator's
comments were more muted.  Then Birdy brought out the nudes. 
They were simple line drawings, using a bare minimum of line to
represent the contours of a fleshy nude. Alexander-Reading said
nothing for a long time. 

    "My dear.  This is genius.  The erotic power in this ... I'm
speechless.  Where have you been hiding all this time?  Not since
Picasso ..."  She looked at Birdy with a new expression on her
face.  

    "Bernadette darling, if you want to be at the centre of the
art world, I can put you there."  She moved closer to Birdy.  "We
could do quite a bit for one another.  My dear, I think this is
the beginning of a ... I hope a very rewarding relationship. 
Could we perhaps discuss your future, with the gallery and me,
over drinks at my place tonight?  We could relax a bit in my
private pool, get to know one another better."

There was no doubt in Birdy's mind what the curator had in mind.
"Ms. Alexander-Reading ..."

    "Gloria, for goodness sake, call me Gloria."

    "Gloria, I'm flattered by the offer, but tonight's my
partner's birthday, and I plan to take her out to dinner."

"But later this evening?"

Birdy was slightly annoyed at the woman's failure to take a hint.
 "I'm afraid not.  As a matter of fact, after dinner we're going
back to our hotel room and I'm going to fuck her silly till the
wee hours of the morning."

    "Ah.  Well."  If it is possible to look simultaneously
shocked and chastened, the curator did so.  "Clearly, your
affections are elsewhere engaged, then."  She paused and smiled
sheepishly.  "You're lovely and brilliant enough that it was
worth trying for you.  I hope no offence was taken.  But I'd be
pleased to handle anything you produce.  Especially those nudes.
A show built round those will be a sensation."

    "There's more where they came from," Birdy smiled. 
   
    Gwen was waiting for Birdy in the car when she emerged from
the gallery.  Birdy climbed in the car and kissed her.

    "How did the meeting go?"

"She wants my stuff."

"That's fantastic!  Darling, congratulations!"

"In more ways than one."

"Oh."

"Don't worry, all she's getting is the art.  Look, my meeting is
done, my career as an artist is finally getting off the ground,
it's your birthday, we're in London, I love you - let's
celebrate."

"Where are you taking me tonight?"

    "There's a little bistro near the British Museum where we can
get an excellent bouillabaisse."  

    "I didn't know you like bouillabaisse."

    "Oh, I just want to feed you lots of fish and seafood." Birdy
arched an eyebrow.  "It stimulates the sex drive, they say.
You're going to need stamina tonight, old girl."

    "My Lady, I may be fifty-four today, but with all due
respect, have I ever given you cause to complain about my
stamina?"

    "Never, Gwen my love.  Never."

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