The Loves and Labours of Doris Sloane, Chapter 2

  • Posted on June 14, 2024 at 7:39 pm

by JetBoy & BlueJean


The next day saw me return to my usual self. Indeed, I felt rejuvenated and refreshed in a way I’d not experienced for a long time. I wondered if masturbating so freely had left me feeling like that, or if such a thing were even possible. If self-love was that effective a health tonic, surely everyone would be doing it, I reasoned. In my naïveté, I assumed it was mostly men who did that kind of thing, and if women were pleasuring themselves too, it must only be on the rare occasion. An indulgent sip from an exceedingly fine wine, if you will.

But there was something more important to think about – my strange encounter with Mrs. Shaw the day before. Sometimes the mind plays tricks on us, doesn’t it? We give more credence to an event than it warrants.

Do you mind me touching you like this? she had said, her hand resting on my exposed belly. What had that meant, exactly? Was it simply playful banter? Are you ticklish, Doris? Am I embarrassing you, Doris? 

And the way she’d looked into my eyes… Had I also misinterpreted that?

Good, Mrs. Shaw had half-whispered when I indicated that, no, I did not mind. Why was it good? And hadn’t she told me that I was lovely while her fingers briefly stroked the swell of my breasts? Or had I imagined those things?

Thinking can be both wistful and wishful sometimes, can’t it? And the mind can be a maze.


Monday morning was its usual chaotic routine of mobilisation. I roused the girls from their beds, Sophia bouncing to life like a jack-in-the-box, eager to experience the day, and Melinda shuffling around like a dormouse that’s just emerged from a long hibernation. Becky was capable of seeing to herself, and was usually up and about before me.

“So tired…” Melinda groaned with sleepy eyes, wrapping both arms around my waist and burying her head in my chest. Her hair was a mess of alarming peaks and stray wisps, lending her an adorably comic look.

“No time for cuddles, sleepyhead,” I told her. “Once you’ve dressed, washed, and brushed your teeth, I’m sure you’ll feel wide awake.”

“I’m not feeling well,” she declared with a sleepy grin. “I think I shall take the day off and go back to bed.”

“School is the best medicine for lazyitis,” I said, gently pushing her away. “Your uniform is freshly ironed and folded on your dresser. Once you’re dressed I’ll brush your hair for you.”

“We could say I was kidnapped by gypsies…”

“Uniform. Wash. Teeth. Thank you very much, Melinda,” I insisted, marching away to see how Sophia was doing.

A short while later the four of us were in Sophia’s bedroom, me brushing Melinda’s unruly hair, or at least attempting to, while Becky saw to Sophia in the same way. When I was still new to my job, I had thanked Becky for helping, only to be informed that she and her mother had been brushing the younger girls’ hair long before I arrived on the scene. Several weeks later, she seemed to be a little warmer towards me, and our morning grooming had become a comfortable and familiar ritual.

Becky sat on Sophia’s bed, tying her sister’s hair back into a ponytail while I continued to fight with Melinda’s wayward locks. A wisp of hair kept popping back up each time I attempted to batten it down. Brush. Flatten. Pop! Brush. Flatten. Pop! I glanced over at Becky in exasperation. A smile formed in one corner of her mouth.

Brush. Flatten. Pop! 

We both burst out laughing.

“Your hair’s got a mind of its own!” Sophia told her little sister.

“It’s not my fault! Stop laughing!” Melinda trilled in mock outrage, but soon enough she was giggling away with the rest of us.

Becky and I shared a brief glance. There’s nothing like laughter to break down barriers, and it seemed as if she and I might have found some common ground at last.

Mrs. Shaw was already in the dining room when I ushered the girls to the table for their breakfast. I half expected there to be an awkwardness between the two of us, and found it difficult to meet her gaze, but nothing in her demeanour seemed to indicate any change. She was perfectly polite as always, with that same sense of detachment a servant comes to expect from her mistress.

I remember feeling a touch of sorrow at that. Somehow, I had fooled myself into believing things might be different between us now, that the brief moment of intimacy we had shared might have advanced our relationship to a new level. Perhaps the way she’d looked after me when I was ill had kindled some need for a maternal figure – I had distant memories of my mother caring for me that way – or was it simply her friendship that I craved?

I berated myself for such foolishness. It was unfair of me to place that expectation on the woman who was my employer – childish, even.

Of course, I had got it all spectacularly wrong. As I would discover later that week.


It was late one evening, after the girls had gone to bed and I lay in mine reading a book, that I received an unexpected visit from Mrs. Shaw. The night was warm and clammy, and I had drawn the bedspread down to keep cool. My mistress was wearing a silvery satin nightgown, the thin fabric highlighting every curve of her body like a second skin. Her nipples were clearly outlined through the gauzy material, and I knew for certain she was naked beneath.

Mrs. Shaw closed the door behind her quietly and sauntered over to me without a word. Her eyes were deep pools of blue, heavy with what I thought might be inebriation, though when she leaned towards me I could smell no trace of strong drink.

She reached out to me, her fingertips caressing my cheek, and without thinking much about it, I placed my own hand atop hers.

“You’re a very pretty girl,” she murmured. “Did anyone ever tell you that, Doris?”

I shook my head, afraid that if I spoke it might emerge as a childish squeak.

“Well, it’s true.”

Her fingers brushed through my hair, now let loose to flow freely across my shoulders. Her other hand pushed the bedspread away from my legs, then found its way onto my bare knee.

Her words from a few nights earlier echoed through my head. Do you mind me touching you this way?

I felt her fingers trail up my inner thigh; slowly, tentatively, her eyes boring into mine, gauging my reaction, defying me to tell her no. But I said not a word, simply allowing her to continue.

She reached my mound, and when she discovered that I was also naked beneath my nightgown, a faint smile teased the corners of her mouth. I gasped and bit at my lip, a wave of pleasure rippling through me at the sudden contact. But my head swam with confusion, the suddenness of this new encounter leaving me no time to consider what was happening or where it was destined to lead.

As she slipped her fingers into the groove of my sex, my body yearned to reciprocate, to move in rhythm with her caresses. But my inhibition forced me to remain stock-still, the etiquette of passion as unfamiliar to me as Calculus or Latin.

“Mmmm… you’re all sticky,” Mrs. Shaw purred.

Her fingers pressed into me, ploughing through the moist warmth. I opened my mouth and gave a short moan, my doubts and fears melting away before the growing welter of animal lust that threatened to consume me. I wanted more, and this time couldn’t resist thrusting my hips forward, greedy for her touch.

“Am I making you feel good, pretty girl?” my mistress breathed, her lips brushing my ear. “Am I going to make you come?”

I felt my face burn at her candid words, but it was the burning between my legs that demanded attention. The climax washed over me with a relentless intensity, white hot waves of sharp brilliance that made me cry out.

It all happened so quickly. I hadn’t realised Mrs. Shaw was stroking my hair again, not until I caught my own scent on her fingers. She smiled down at me, and I noticed her satin gown had come loose at the top, leaving me a teasing glimpse of her breasts.

“Come with me,” she said, pulling me from the bed and to my feet. My legs were weak, but she was there to steady me.

“Where are we going?” I asked her.

“To my bed, of course,” she replied, with a look that told me everything I needed to know.

Back at the orphanage there were girls who wanted the love of other girls, rather than boys. Not such a surprising revelation, you might think, in an environment where males were almost entirely absent. But to my knowledge, such liaisons were rare indeed, and the punishment was horrible for any who were caught together that way. It had only happened twice in my years there.

And now Mrs. Shaw was offering this kind of love to me.

My first impression was one of incomprehension – that this beautiful and sophisticated woman harboured such tendencies seemed strange, given that she had been married to a man and was the mother of three children. Stranger still was the notion that she might feel this way about me, a mere servant girl. But the way she had caressed me was very real, and it made my heart race with trepidation and excitement. If there had ever been any doubt as to what that night was truly about, it evaporated there and then.

We tiptoed past the girls’ rooms and entered Mrs. Shaw’s chamber. She closed and locked the door behind her, and then we were standing facing one another. My mistress slipped the gown from her body and it seemed to melt into a pool of silver around her feet. I turned my gaze from her nudity, every fibre of my being telling me this wasn’t something I was permitted to see.

“Look at me,” she said, and I slowly raised my eyes. “You’ve never seen another grown woman naked, have you?”

I shook my head.

“Then look at me now, Doris. Take a good long look, and do it without shame. I want you to see. Do you understand?”

I did. I understood very well.

She was utterly beautiful. Her skin was a pale alabaster, a small dark birthmark upon one shoulder and another below her navel. Her breasts were petite but full, the nipples dark at their peaks. When my eyes travelled further down, I could only marvel at her child-bearing hips and the thatch of hair they framed so exquisitely.

She allowed me to admire her form a while longer, then urged me to reveal my own secrets. “Take your nightgown off. Let me see you.”

I hesitated briefly, then pulled the gown off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I stepped out of it and stood before her, hands protecting my modesty.

She came towards me and drew my folded arms away from my bosom. “There’s no need to be shy.”

I could see the hunger in her eyes as she took in the sight of me, and for the first time in my life I knew what it was to be an object of desire. She pushed me back towards the bed and I fell into its soft embrace.

“Let’s share one another, Doris,” Mrs. Shaw said, then lay down beside me, cupping my face in her hands. I closed my eyes as I felt her mouth brushing lightly against my own. The kiss was angel-soft, her lips barely there. I, of course, had never been kissed as a lover and found myself enthralled by her gentleness.

Then she grew more insistent, her lips parting, engaging with mine. I matched her movements as best as I was able, my mouth clumsy and hesitant. She nibbled briefly at my lower lip, and when she pressed her mouth to mine again, this time with an increased urgency, I felt her tongue tease at me. I gasped in surprise, and that only encouraged my mistress, allowing her to explore my mouth freely.

A raw heat pulsed through me like a fever, and I desperately wanted to respond in some way, but was too timid and unsure of myself to do much more than lie there and let my mistress have her way with me. Whatever I did, it was sure to be wrong.

But then her lips gently broke away, and I opened my eyes to see her peering down at me. “Was it not enjoyable?” she murmured, stroking my cheek.

I could feel the heat of her naked body, and wondered if I would even be able to speak. Somehow I summoned up the presence to whisper, “It was, Miss. It really was.”

“Then kiss me back, won’t you?” she replied with a gentle laugh. Before I had time to think, her mouth descended upon mine once more.

I was still shy, not sure I was equal to such reckless passion. But she encouraged me, humming approval as my tongue met hers, then drawing me into her mouth. Within moments I was kissing my mistress with a boldness I’d not known I possessed.

As our tongues danced, Mrs. Shaw climbed onto me, sliding a thigh between my legs. I spread myself open, welcoming her. Our breasts touched, nipples brushing together. My arms twined round her back, holding her naked body to my own.

And all the while we kissed and kissed, as if we were feeding on one another. I suppose that we were, in a sense.

Her lips suddenly departed, and a whimper escaped my throat, trailing off into a moan as I felt Mrs. Shaw’s warm mouth graze my neck. I’d never considered there might be other parts of the body made for kisses, besides the face and the hands. Clearly, I had much to learn when it came to the art of making love.

But then her lips journeyed even lower, trailing down my throat and further still to nestle between my breasts. I fixed my gaze on the ceiling, gasping for breath as the sweet face of my mistress pressed ardently against the swell of my bosom.

And when the warmth of her mouth enveloped the tip of my breast, a cry burst from my throat.

It was almost too much to bear. Mrs. Shaw’s tongue swirled about my throbbing nipple as she suckled from me. She shifted to the other breast, drawing it between her lips, and a second wave of ecstasy washed over me. My legs were trembling, and I could do nothing to stop them.

Her teeth raked lightly across my nipple, the small twinge of pain it brought instantly countered by the new surge of pleasure that thrummed through me.

Lifting her face from my titties, Mrs. Shaw moved in to kiss me once more, the full weight of her body now resting upon mine. I responded to my mistress and her attentions as eagerly as I was able, my tongue entwining with hers.

After a long moment she broke away to look down at me, a wry smile on her lips. “My goodness, Doris… I believe you have an instinct for this kind of thing.” I felt her warm hand cup my cheek. “A bit too shy, perhaps… but with time, you could become an incredible lover.”

A mere hour ago, I never would have entertained such a notion. Now, Mrs. Shaw’s words seemed to script out my destiny; fulfil every desire and longing I’d ever harboured. An incredible lover. The very idea thrilled me, made me hunger for everything my lady was willing to share.

She placed one more light kiss upon my lips, but darted away with a teasing smile before I could return it. I gawped as she raised herself into a sitting position to straddle my belly. My eyes were shy, peering into hers for a heartbeat, then flickering downward to study her exquisite form. She allowed me that willingly, hands resting on her hips so I could freely take in the sight of her.

The sudden desire to touch her body, to explore her with my fingers, was urgent and instinctive, but bashfulness stayed my hand, and I could only gaze at her longingly.

She knew my mind, though, and when my mistress reached out to take my trembling hand, pressing it between her own, her eyes never left mine. Then she placed it on her breast.

I cupped the creamy globe in my palm, the softness of it enthralling me, then allowed my hand to trace its curve. When the tips of my fingers lightly brushed the nipple, I was surprised and delighted to feel it stiffen. Mrs. Shaw gently moved my free hand to the other breast, and I found myself exploring both of them.

All I could think of was how much I wanted to kiss those lovely breasts – to suckle my lady’s nipples, just as she had mine. The impulse spoke both of the maternal and the sexual, and the mere thought of indulging in such a forbidden act made me shiver. I was beginning to realise just how powerful a concoction lust and shame could be.

Shyly, I met Mrs. Shaw’s eyes once more. “Please, Miss,” I whispered, licking my lips, “May I… may I kiss them?”

At that, she gave me the warmest of smiles, clearly pleased with my newfound boldness. “You may, Doris. In fact, I insist on it.”

Still straddling me, she brought her titties to my face. I could feel the raw heat of her sex pressing against my belly, but I had little time to think about that when Mrs. Shaw was offering a breast to my parted lips.

Without hesitation, my tongue emerged to lick at the proffered nipple. My mistress responded with a contented sigh. I licked again, and a shiver rippled through her. “Sweet girl,” she moaned. “That feels divine…”

Encouraged by her words, I drew the tip of her breast into my mouth, sucking gently. Mrs. Shaw gripped the headboard tightly, her breasts swaying before me. As I nursed from her, I let my tongue circle the nipple once, twice, thrice, four times. Then, as she had, I moved to the other breast, affording it the same attention. I could feel her heartbeat, racing as frantically as my own, and it thrilled me beyond measure to know that a mere girl like me could bring excitement to such a woman.

Suddenly she drew away, taking her breasts from me, but before I had a chance to feel disappointment, her mouth crushed into mine. My mistress was kissing me with a fierceness that sent hot flushes through my body. She unfastened her hair, and let it spill about our faces. I could smell her now – the sweet musk of clean sweat and arousal.

There was a hunger in her kiss that went far beyond my own adolescent imaginings of love. In the dog-eared romance novels some of the orphanage girls swapped illicitly between one another like contraband, the passions shared by the men and women who populated their pages seemed so… polite, almost formal. Those stories conveyed nothing of the raw urgency that radiated from Mrs. Shaw as her mouth feasted upon mine, nor the fiery heat of her cunny pressing into my flesh.

This was not the timid fumblings of young love, but the unbridled, animal lust of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and would take it as her due. And I offered my soul up to that lust, opened myself to whatever delights my mistress would have me explore with her. Whatever she wants of me, I thought, my tongue mingling with hers, I will gladly give. 

Mrs. Shaw pulled away breathless, her eyes hungry with desire. “Are you ready to know more, girl?” she purred.

My reply was quick and resolute. “Yes. I am.”

She crawled over me on hands and knees, up towards the headboard, leaving me momentarily confused as to her intentions.

And then she was straddling my face. Her sex was poised just inches above me, every contour, every fold revealed in breathtaking detail. I couldn’t turn my eyes away, and why on earth would I even want to?

Mrs. Shaw touched the soft curls at the junction of her thighs, drawing them away from the smooth folds of her fleshy labia. Her fragrance enveloped me; thick and strong, yet undeniably feminine. She opened her womanhood to let me see the bright pink interior, and how it gleamed with moisture.

“Do you see here?” she asked, a finger sliding along a slender column of flesh, a hood from which a tender pink sliver protruded. “This is called the clitoris. It’s the centre of a woman’s pleasure.” Her fingers parted her labia to leave the sensitive node starkly exposed. “Will you kiss it, Doris?”

I gawped up at my mistress as her words rang through my head, shocked, no – scandalised by what she was asking of me.

To kiss a woman between her legs? Touch my lips to her most secret of places?

My belly quivered with apprehension – but I would not act like a timid child. My lady would have her desire.

Her hand cradled the back of my head and drew me towards her, but it was me who turned my chin upwards, me that firmly pressed my lips to the warm, moist flesh there, imprinting my kiss upon her clitty and making her gasp. I blushed hotly as I paused to sample the musky flavour lingering on my lips. It was an acquired taste, for sure, but one I thought I would quickly come to enjoy very much.

“Again,” Mrs. Shaw demanded breathlessly.

This time I didn’t need her to raise my head. My mouth found her again and I lingered there, exploring the other parts of her cunny with my lips and tongue until she pulled away. I looked up beyond her downy sex, past her belly and the soft curves of her breasts. She was smiling down at me.

“That was exquisite,” she told me, then flashed her eyes. “And now I’ll show you an even nicer way of doing it.”

With that, she twisted her body round, revealing an exquisitely apple-shaped bottom. She leaned forward over me, her hands guiding my thighs apart. Now I was as close and exposed to my mistress as she was to me. Her bottom was partially opened, leaving me a tantalising glimpse of her dusky rosebud. Even that forbidden place held its own undeniable allure.

Mrs. Shaw’s fingers framed my sex, her face dipping down to lay tender kisses on my lower belly. A whimper escaped me, but this was only the beginning of the pleasures to follow. Her soft lips trailed down to my pubis, nuzzling the sparse patch of hair that sprouted there.

I kissed the warm column of one thigh, then the other, my hands rising along her lovely legs to explore the smoothness of her skin before caressing the warm globes of her arse.

I felt her fingers brush my inner thighs, then her mouth was burrowing between them, a soft cry escaping my throat as her kisses adorned my cunny.

While her lips pressed ardently into my core, I grew bolder in my own actions – stroking Mrs. Shaw’s vulva; marvelling at the wetness I found there. I prised her apart as she’d done to me, trying my best to imitate the movements of her mouth and fingers, touching; teasing; tasting.

I could hear my lady’s breath quicken, and feel the small tremors that thrummed through her body. For a few brief moments it wasn’t clear to me what was happening, until I realised with astonishment that she was responding to my clumsy efforts. My head dropped away to gaze hungrily on her glistening sex, but when I brought my mouth to her again, eager to finish what I’d started, she suddenly shifted her weight and turned to face me.

My mistress kissed me, her tongue darting into my mouth. I realised I was tasting myself on her lips, just as she was surely tasting herself on mine. The wine of communion. The thought was a lust-driven blasphemy – and I embraced it wholly.

My body rose to meet hers and she pressed into me, skin upon skin. I could feel her teeth graze my neck, then a sharp nip upon the shoulder. Partake of my flesh. Sweet blasphemy! We writhed against one another, the sheets beneath us warm and damp. I was mad with lust – sick with it.

“Easy, easy!” she urged me breathlessly. “There’s no need to rush.”

I stilled myself as best I could, shaking like a leaf while she pushed my legs apart with her knee, then settled herself between them. When she moved, sliding her body upwards, her pubis tight against my own sex, I couldn’t help but cry out. She ground against me, rocking herself back and forth, causing the most incredible sensations to surge through my being.

I reached round her to cup her bottom, gripping each cheek in my hands so I could press her more firmly down onto my aching cunny. Fresh tendrils of pleasure bloomed, and I gasped with delight, spreading my legs further apart to give her full access to me.

It was exquisite; divine – the gradual, laboured, maddening climb to that pinnacle of pleasure, when every atom screams for release the moment before it arrives. Then that instant of indescribable bliss, when it engulfs you, pierces your sex and drives deep into your soul. Our cries filled the room in a desperate harmony as we came together, until finally my mistress slumped against me exhausted.

I lay in limbo for a timeless moment, feeling a contentment such as I had never known.

The sudden absence of Mrs. Shaw’s weight roused me from my stupor, and I opened my eyes to find her rising from the bed, her lovely arse swaying as she sauntered across the room. She planted herself in the upholstered chair by the dressing table, watching me intently as she slid her buttocks to the edge, then spread her long, slender legs apart.

“Come over here and taste me again, Doris,” she cooed. Leaning back in the chair, she brought both hands up to her breasts and set about kneading them.

As if in a trance, I arose, padding towards her on trembling legs, then kneeling between her pale thighs. My breath quickened as I lowered my face to her thick pubes, the lips of her sex parted just enough to reveal the rosy interior.

“Lick me,” she breathed. “Make me come.”

I searched out her wet centre with my tongue and tasted the sweet honey I found there, supping from her opening flower. As I grew bolder, I went at her more aggressively, enveloping her cunny with my mouth. She cried out, and that only encouraged me further. Moistening a finger, I used it to brush the inflamed nub that she’d had me kiss earlier.

I felt an unexpected surge of pride when Mrs. Shaw climaxed, bucking wildly in her seat, holding my face to her sex until the pounding waves of ecstasy seemed to subside. I drank deep of her essence, savouring the taste until she could take no more.

As I sat back on my haunches, Mrs. Shaw rose to her feet. “Very nice,” she murmured, patting my shoulder. “You should go back to your room now. It wouldn’t do for the girls to find us together like this.”

With that, she bent to gather up her silvery gown. I felt a fresh surge of desire when the rosy cleft of her vulva revealed itself. Already I craved more of her kisses, her soft hands upon my skin, the heat of her womanhood against mine.

Still, it seemed that I’d been dismissed, so picking up my nightgown from the floor, I left Mrs. Shaw’s room and scurried naked down the hallway to the stark silence of my own quarters, where I slipped into my nightie and crawled into bed.

Lying there, the scent of arousal lingering like an echo, a hundred questions whirled wildly through my mind like leaves caught up in the autumn wind. I found myself wishing Mrs. Shaw had offered me at least some token of her affection. Instead, she’d sent me away without so much as a parting kiss. Inexperienced as I was in matters of sex, I had no idea of what to expect from my mistress after our intimacies, and decided it might be best to simply carry on as if everything was normal.

Inside, though, I was a tangle of confused emotions. It had been a strange and extraordinary day, one that had taken me from girlhood to a new maturity in the space of a few hours. I had so much to think about… but a deep drowsiness took hold of me, and I quickly fell into the blissful oblivion of sleep.

On to Chapter Three!


16 Comments on The Loves and Labours of Doris Sloane, Chapter 2

  1. Mystery Mouse says:

    My goodness… What an utterly tantalising read!

    The tone of this remains suited to the time period, as far as my eyes can tell anyway, and the delightful sex scene is in keeping with the style. Which is very impressive!

    I do find myself wishing for a bit more time spent on the developing relationship with the children. I don’t mean from a sexual perspective – it was just lovely to read about the struggles with the rebellious hair, for example. I could happily read this story even WITHOUT anything naughty happening.

    A truly fabulous second chapter and my heartfelt thanks to both of you for writing it.

    • JetBoy says:

      You will see much more of the daughters in the subsequent chapters. The first third of the story is focused on the burgeoning relationship between Doris and Mrs. Shaw. Becky, Sophia and Melinda will have their time in the spotlight, never fear.

  2. Capt. Red says:

    One of the hottest stories I have found in a LONG time. Thank you and I look forward to reading the future installments.

  3. Kim & Sue says:

    Very titillating chapter indeed! We’re not really familiar with how the British would talk or sound in the mid nineteen thirties. We can only go by All Creatures Great and Small for any idea. Would anyone say ‘masturbation’ or know what it was? We don’t care, we were too busy getting off on Mrs Shaw and Doris getting naked and getting it on.

    Love the developing relationship with Doris and the children as well, getting to know the girls more and their warm fun. Definitely will be back for the next chapter.

    • BlueJean says:

      I’m sure they would’ve called masturbation something different back then, if they dared utter the unmentionable at all – Tickling the Fancy, or Beating Around the Bush or some such – but don’t forget, Doris is narrating decades later, so I think it’s permissible. Anyway, it pales in comparison to Mrs. Shaw’s potty mouth in later chapters. Goodness, she a wicked lady…

  4. Quinlan says:

    I always enjoy well-written historical erotica and, so far, this qualifies.

  5. Erocritique says:

    This is developing into a classic, timeless piece of erotica. Any century would be proud to have it. Everything is working for me. It will be interesting to see how the girls are worked into the sex play. Definitely a worthy follow-on to the stellar opening chapter. I can’t wait for more. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

  6. BlueJean says:

    Thank you for this latest round of comments, good fisherfolk. Did Doris and Mrs. Shaw’s sexual encounter happen too abruptly, I wonder? Perhaps, but it’s a short novel that moves along at a brisk pace, and there are several other plot points to explore in the coming chapters. Stories within stories within stories…

  7. bird0772 says:

    OMG I think I broke myself……that was HOT!! Can’t wait till ch 3

  8. Keiko says:

    OH. MY. GOD. Yes, please so much more of this!!!

  9. JetBoy says:

    Tons upon tons of thanks for the love, good people. Your kind words complete us.

  10. Darkwolves says:

    Whatever it is you’re doing to write this, keep it up. This is amazing!

    It manages to match the tone of the era so well, being a slow burn whilst still being enthralling.

    As a long time George Formby fan, I could not help but smile at the mention thinking ‘Let’s see where this is going’. (For those unaware, George Formby was famous for songs such as ‘Little Stick of Blackpool Rock’ and ‘With my Little Ukulele in my Hand’. I think you get the idea).

  11. tony t says:

    this is the first time i wished a story moved a bit more slowly and had one or two more short scenes of seduction before the their first encounter

    perhaps mrs shaw suggests a racier novel to read after the dickens or has doris brush her hair one night while she sits at her dressing table in that tantalizingly sheer nightgown

    • BlueJean says:

      I like the hair brushing idea. Who knows, maybe we’ll do a director’s cut ( author’s cut?). Thanks for the feedback.

  12. TC says:

    Can’t wait until the next chapter!!! Loved the way she took her virginty. I’m so horny now.

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