1. Tricked by the Lady Georgiana


    Date: 8/16/2015, Categories: Fiction, Consensual Sex, First Time, Male/Teen Female, Reluctance, Romance, Young, Author: abroadsword, Rating: 87, Source: sexstories.com

    delighted to have met you sir,” I agreed. “Yes, well, Hardy, a word of caution,” he advised, “You are a personable chap, smart articulate. The Mop Fair. Young impressionable maids. Alcohol. A smart fellow. A dalliance and a maid ruined.” “Oh, absolutely, I shall absolutely be the model of propriety,” I assured him. “We both know you will not,” he said, “I always give the maid a golden guinea, then, if required, she has the means to, well you know, lose the issue?” “Absolutely,” I agreed. “Bit long in the tooth these days,” he said, “Always went in my youth, plucked a good few cherries if you get my meaning, but be kind Mr Hardy. Treat the maids well.” “Indeed, I thank you!” I agreed, It made eloquent sense. Pluck a chaste maid pay her handsomely leave her feeling fulfilled and with the means to avoid issue and no one is hurt. I went to my lodging, I ate a hearty meal, I dressed in some fancy boots and a new waistcoat, filled my pockets with coin, secreted a couple of golden sovereigns about my person and ventured forth in search of pleasure. The town square was filled with a seething mass of humanity. Every sort of stall was there. Archery hit bullseye and win a goldfish in a glass bowl. Sickly sweets. Even a Carousel, and a hall of mirrors, and every other stall. Dogs, Cats, Canaries, Parrots as well as piglets to fatten. and strange lizards and the like. Clothing. Drinks. Potent brews distilled on the moor. Pond water in french Cognac bottles, the full gamut of drink. And ...
    food. Venison. Pork. A hog was roasting and Potatoes, every kind of vittle known to Devenish man and some besides. The Bands played, not bands like one would see in London but a seething mass of every instrument known to man screeching and bellowing at an intolerable volume drowning completely the Hurdy Gurdy and the fiddlers and singers at every turn. Magicians and fools too roamed hither and thither seeking pennies from the throng. And Maids. Every shape and size. Painted whores. Old wives. Young maids. Very young maids who should have been home abed, and men. Shepherds in their smocks, the well set up strutting like lords, Lords incognito. Parsons in Shepherds smocks all the world using some subterfuge or other to facilitate conjunction. I wandered among them. I took a small glass of pear cider or some such which near blew my head off and smiled at every passing comely maid. “Why Mister Hardy," A maid addressed me, “You said as you was not to come?" “Yes, indeed," I agreed, “Change of plan, ah, I am afraid you have the advantage over me?" “Bessie sir. I served you this morn, Breakfast like," she explained. I looked at her and vaguely recognised the thin features of her face. Her smock was clean but shapeless giving little hint of the delights below and she wore a simple white hat and old worn shoes. “Of course Bessie!” I agreed, “How delightful! are you here with your beau?” I asked. “I ant got no bow sir,” she said. I struggled to understand her, but gleaned that she had ...
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