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(It was 1892 and I, David Shaw, then aged 19 joined ‘Maynard and Son, Purveyors to Gentlewomen and the Aristocracy’ on Upper Richmond Road, Putney. The job involved providing ‘underskirt services’ to single women. This was my second day with the firm)


I rested my bike against the railings outside Maynard’s and went in. Another young fellow of similar age, size and proportions to myself was sitting reading a newspaper.

“I say it’s Shaw, the new chap isn’t it?” he said looking up.

I concurred that it was the case and that I was indeed he.

“Lady Onslow eh? First time too; lucky chap,” he continued. “No one lasts long with her and her bloody ‘Chang’, if you’ll excuse my language,” he concluded.

I explained that I was not used to providing these..err…somewhat..err…unusual underskirt services and merely did what came naturally.

“Well Mr. Maynard is delighted with your performance and I think he’s got something special lined up for you,” he added.

Simon Coleman, the young chap with the newspaper, had been with Maynard’s for two years and provided services for the ‘lower’ end of the market.

He told me that most women just wanted a regular visit, perhaps once or twice a week and that others paid him extra to stay the night.

“There’s no sexual intercourse allowed, just licking and sucking,” he added as if to justify some form of morality in his behaviour.

“They don’t like you to appear equal and you are the lowest of the low in their eyes. Some even allow their servants to use you afterwards,” he ventured and I told him that I had already experienced this.

“Mainly the women like you kneeling between their legs; one or two prefer facesitting; a few prefer it standing up and some like to kneel over you with their arses in your face,” he continued clearly aware that I was now feeling very hot and bothered.

“They all keep their clothes on and don’t like to watch what you are doing as it embarrasses them. So I spend more time studying their underclothes than indulging in polite conversation.”

I could certainly understand that there must be a lot of women out there who were eager to make use of Simon and myself and I asked him how many ‘messengers’ did Maynard’s employ.

“To date David, if I may call you by your first name, he employs fifteen,” said Simon and I looked visibly shocked and surprised


15 Latimer Crescent, Chelsea


I arrived at 15 Latimer Crescent at 10.30 am precisely.

I was the very picture of respectability as I carried by bike down to the ‘area’ and rang the servant’s bell. A maidservant, Belinda, answered the door and after checking my business card invited me in.

“You are to go up to the nursery and their ‘nanny’ will get you ready,” she said looking me up and down. I was already beginning to feel an erection stirring in my underpants as I noticed a hint of petticoat lace peep from below her uniform.

I followed her up to the top floor where an elderly looking woman ushered me into a large bedroom.

“I’m the twins’ nurse, Nanny Oldfield to be exact,” she told me in hushed tones.

“They are both in their late twenties although you wouldn’t believe it by the way they are dressed,” she went on. “Sad case, both are dyslexic and refuse ever to leave the house; we fear that there is some insanity there since their family passed away in the Kimbul monsoon floods of 1882.”

She had a wild look in her eyes as if overcome by a deep sadness.

“We do our best of course but all they wish to do is play silly nursery games and play with their dolls and puppets,” she continued.

I heard a bloodcurdling screech then a thud from a room along the corridor. Then the sound of feet being stamped.

“I won’t, do you hear, I won’t,” said a woman’s voice which was followed by crying.

“We’ll get you ready young man,” said Nanny Oldfield clearly used to preparing guests for the two insane women.

“We’ll put you in pink I think,” she said eyeing me over. Take off your clothes and put these on please,” said the old lady offering me some satin and silk garments.

I did as I was told and when I had finished I looked in the mirror and there staring back was an overgrown boy wearing a sailor suit complete with Jack Tar collar, cap, silk socks and slippers.

“You’ll do I suppose…they are expecting their weekly surprise,” said the age-worn woman leading me to the door labeled ‘nursery’. “Agatha, Nora, I have a new ‘boy-doll’ for you to play with.

My face went white as a sheet at the thought of being ‘played with’ by a pair of mad twins. It was like some scene from a Gothick novel and I had visions of ranting demented imbeciles locked away in towers.

The door opened and I surveyed the scene. There at the far end of the room were the two women. They did look at least 25 years old except their clothes appeared to be scaled up versions of girls’ dresses with knee-length pantaloons.

I immediately saw them as two ‘Alices’ from ‘Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland’ and the way they stood with bahis siteleri their knee length dresses clearly full of petticoats set me at ease.

Nanny Oldfield slammed the door and locked it. Again I felt as if there was something rather sinister and frightening about them until I heard them speak, then I felt worse.

It was a macabre sing-song way of talking as if they were grown women pretending to be little girls.

“Are you really a little boy-dolly?” asked the one with darker hair and wearing large bright blue ribbons to match her blue dress.

“Of course it is Nora, it’s wearing trousers so it must be a boy,” said Agatha who was dressed in similar attire except in yellow.

I noticed that she had been crying.

So far things were going smoothly and I did not wish to ‘upset their applecart’ but I was very worried by being addressed as ‘it’.

I told them that I was a ‘boy-dolly’ and that they could play with me if they wanted to. I watched their breasts move about inside their starched dresses and secretly wished to lick them mercilessly and make them ‘come’ purely by nipple stimulation alone.

“We have to give the new boy-dolly a big kiss,” announced Nora and sidled up to me and pushed out her mouth in an exaggerated pout. She was actually slightly taller than me by three inches or so and I began to feel vulnerable again. I kissed her back and she giggled.

Next it was Agatha’s turn and she licked her lips and stood knees bent and her hands behind her back. She was an inch taller than her sister.

“Aggie’s turn now,” she said and stamped her feet.

I kissed Agatha on the lips, then Nora, then Agatha again, then the other and so on for a good few minutes until they suggested ‘sloppy kisses’.

“Ooh yes let’s play ‘sloppy kisses’,” said Agatha clearly visibly animated by the thought of different types of kissing.

“On the bed with you Mr. Little Boy-Dolly,” said Nora who appeared to be rubbing herself between her legs.

I failed to mention in my description of the nursery that it did indeed have a sort of day-bed, double in size if you understand, on a brass frame and covered with a shiny pink satin bedspread.

The room itself had a very feminine character with paintings of cats and bows tied to the backs of chairs and soft rugs and other frilly ornamentation. To me this was a room where any male would feel entirely out of place.

I lay on my back and stared up into their faces.

Both had their hair in tight ringlets which fell forwards as they leant over me from each side. The ringlets in turn were tied with big loose bows and hung over their neck and shoulders. Their knees touched my chest and I noticed white lacy petticoat hems spilling out from under their flared dresses.

“Me first with ‘sloppy kisses’.” Said Agatha and she leant over me with her mouth open and her tongue out.

She had closed her eyes and had a more ‘normal’ look about her. For a pair of clearly disturbed young ladies they appeared less threatening with their eyes firmly shut.

I touched her tongue with mine and in an instant she was sprawled all over me, legs apart, lying on my chest with her tongue rammed down my throat.

I felt my penis become rock hard beneath my satin trousers.

I forgot to mention that Nanny Oldfield forbade me to wear my underpants as she considered that they could be a possible source of germs, and would threaten the girls’ health.

I realized now that ‘sloppy kisses’ meant ‘French kissing’ and felt that this was perfectly acceptable and indeed was immensely enjoyable. I kissed her fervently and she groaned with delight as our tongues mingled together inside each others mouths.

“Me next Aggie,” said Nora, “You’ve had your turn now it’s my turn.” said the petulant young woman in the blue ‘Alice in Wonderland’ dress.

Before I knew it, Nora had wrenched my mouth from her sisters and stuck her tongue half way down my throat, or so it seemed. I took the opportunity to squeeze her buttocks through her dress as she squirmed all over me.

I was not used to women fighting over me so reached down and rubbed my erection with my free hand while they both wrestled to lie on top of me.

“You’re horrid,” yelled Nora as her sister pushed her off me, making the bed bounce wildly.

Her French kisses were becoming coarser and indeed ‘sloppy’.

Agatha appeared to take a delight in salivating into my mouth which was becoming very full to the point of overflowing.

With one movement Nora sprawled over me with her legs apart and her sister was jettisoned off the bed and onto the floor. The whole episode began to degenerate into a farce and I was not really prepared for what was to happen next. Things were not so agreeable.

Nora had a wild look in her eyes as she slowly, but surely, dribbled more saliva across my face and into my mouth. I really couldn’t fathom out their motivation for such extremes of behaviour unless it was to demonstrate that they were full of vaginal lubrication and the one wished to outdo the other. I had no choice but to swallow canlı bahis siteleri her ‘dribble’ which seemed to be very copious and stomach churning.

Agatha had regained her position on the bed and watched her sister carefully transferring saliva from her mouth into mine.

I gathered that Nora was in fact the more dominant of the two and thus came across as more bossy. This clearly had explained Agatha’s earlier tears.

I continued swallowing and wondered what on earth would happen next. I felt completely out of my depth in this insane nursery and wished that I was under Lady Onslow’s silk dress and petticoats.

“Time to play with the little boy-dolly,” announced Nora.

“Oh let’s, It’s my turn to undress it,” said Agatha grabbing my arm and pulling my sailor suit jacket over my head.

I sat up as the other twenty-five year old lifted the garment to my armpits and eased it off.

“It’s got hairs on his front, isn’t that silly,” said Agatha touching my chest and fiddling with a nipple.

“Off with it’s trousers,” said Nora as I lay back on the bed and helped them remove them in one swift movement.

My erection by this time was rock hard and sprang upwards, pointing ramrod stiff towards my navel.

“Ugh it’s got a ‘thing’,” said Agatha looking aghast and shaking her ringlets and yellow ribbons at me and at my penis.

“Well they all have ‘things’,” said Nora, “That’s what boy-dollies keep inside their trousers.” I stared up into their faces. Their horror gave way to curiosity and cautiously they began touching it.

I was puzzled to watch them examining me quite so closely and understood, from their remarks, that they had seen a ‘thing’ before but possibly they suffered from some sort of mental disorder which had impaired their short term memory.

I swallowed the remnants of Nora’s spit and lay naked between them as they sat and ran their fingers up and down my body.

Sun streamed into the attic room and outside pigeons were cavorting on a rooftop. The sun warmed my skin.

“It’s got nice skin,” said Agatha who was clearly more talkative and demonstrative than Nora.

“Can the dolly move its hands?” said Nora looking impassively at me.

She had a vacant expression which I found slightly menacing.

For some reason I hoped that there were no sharp implements in the room such as a knife or a pair of scissors. I had a fleeting image of my escaping from the room, via the window, minus a penis and a couple of testicles.

“Yes this dolly can move its hands,” I said trying to remain calm in the company of these two insane women.

“Well put them under my dress then,” she said, nudging Agatha to one side and straddling my waist.

I felt the warmth and weight of her bloomer-clad thighs on my naked flesh and the cool, crisp starched layers of several white cotton petticoats move over my stomach and rub against my penis. She still had a neutral look in her eyes as if she were miles away.

I slipped my hands down to her knees and along the outside of her black cotton stockings. I glanced down at her petticoats as they spilled from under her pale blue dress. They were trimmed with layer over layer of scalloped broderie and eyelet lace. They were incredibly frilly and feminine.

At the sight of her undergarments my penis stiffened even more and I ignored the fact that they were both mentally deranged and became determined to pleasure them both, as well as myself.

“The dolly must touch me between my legs, like a good boy-dolly,” whispered Nora, now clearly worked up and aroused.

I slid my fingers over the tops of her thighs and under the ribbons of her white cotton bloomers where they ended in several flared flounces edged with lace just above her knees.

Her ribbons were loose which allowed me to slide my hands under, and up, her legs. She lifted her skirt and undid the ribbons so that her legs were completely accessible to my wandering hands.

She edged up my chest and opened her legs further. All her petticoats were on full view and there were at least five, each outer one being more ornate than the other.

I slid my fingers deep inside her loose pantaloons and caressed her naked buttocks, kneading them and fondling them. Her dress hem was now spread over my upper torso and shoulders and stopped just short of my chin. I felt stimulated by the cool tactile quality of her undergarments which swished and rustled around me.

Her clothes smelled of floral laundry water. Her face looked flushed and she half closed her eyes. Her tongue lolled out and made little circles in the air in front of her as if she were licking something.

Without warning she knelt forward and pushed her lips savagely onto mine. She now behaved like a fully grown normal sexual woman and moaned and groaned into my mouth.

Her breath was almost red hot and her ringlets and ribbons covered my face and neck.

I kissed her savagely at the same time tugging at my erection and wrapping it in petticoat hems. The stiff laciness against my exposed glans felt almost painful canlı bahis but I was determined to take advantage of the situation.

“Fingers up my fanny,” she told me and with my left hand I obeyed.

We continued French kissing in an almost bestial manner, only just stopping short of biting each other.

Between her legs she was sopping wet. I found it relatively easy to slide one, then two, fingers inside her and stimulate her as requested. Meanwhile I was wanking furiously into her petticoats and it took very little time before I exploded.

Thick spurts of semen squirted into her frilly clothing and I lay back panting as she kissed me more fervently and told me to keep fingering her.

Almost immediately she knelt back on her heels and pushed herself further up my chest until her splayed pantaloons were over my face. I stared at her wildly and watched as wave after wave gripped her and jerked her body around like a dog shaking a rabbit.

“Oh my goodness, what a good dolly,” she hissed as she approached her orgasm.

Her ringlets stuck to her brow with little beads of perspiration as her shaking approached earthquake proportions.

Her underclothing was in complete disarray and I noticed a damp patch spread across her bloomers crotch. She sat astride my upper chest for many minutes while her sister, Agatha, seemed to cluck and coo in an excited and nervous manner.

“Me next with the dolly,” she implored, and Nora swung her legs off me and her sister took over. Agatha seemed more reticent and would not look me in the face. She sat on my chest with her stockinged feet on each side of my face. I felt the smoothness of her cotton stockings brush my cheeks.

I licked her feet as she offered them to me one at a time.

I was forced to stare up her dress and at the many layers of white cotton petticoats. I must have counted five layers under her yellow dress, all of which were trimmed with elaborate broderie Anglais, Calais lace and eyelet lace.

Needless to say I felt my erection grow as I closely studied this incredibly lewd sight. Agatha slid her buttocks further up my naked body until my nose came into contact with the gusset of her wide legged pantaloons. She undid a drawstring on the waist band and her white lacy drawers came apart to reveal an open crotch lacy front.

She knew that I would have clear access to her genitalia so she slid further over me.

The smell from her warm moist vagina overwhelmed me and I pulled her on top of me and wiggled my way between her labia.

For some obtuse reason she spread her petticoats over me one layer at a time and topped them off with the full flared skirts of her knee length ‘Alice’ dress.

“There you are dolly, all nice and cosy,” she exclaimed as she completely hid my face and upper body from view.

I felt comparatively relaxed and confident under her dress and petticoats and continued tonguing her the best I could. She fidgeted, then a hand appeared under her lacy underskirts and began rubbing her clitoris. I took this as a hint and flicked at her now prominent nub under it’s hood.

“That’s nice and cosy dolly,” she gurgled, then her hand disappeared as she smoothed her skirts down again over me.

She slid further up so that I was well and truly trapped under her petticoats and open thighs. I found her odours intoxicating and slurped my way up and down her gaping cleft.

“Wee, what a good little boy-dolly,” she giggled in her mock ‘little-girl’ voice.

I decided that I would once again pump out more of my ‘penis juice’ into Agatha’s clothing.

Unfortunately her frills and lacy hems did not extend as far as my knob end so I began wanking furiously anyway.

This must have attracted Nora’s attention as I felt long thin fingers join mine and replicate my movements.

I felt Nora sit on the bed near my legs and begin scratching my inner thighs with slow leisurely movements.

I let go of my heavy shaft and she picked it up and began milking it violently.

“Moo cow, moo cow give me some milk,” she sang as if it were a nursery rhyme “I need some milk. I need some milk,” she continued in a slightly unhinged way.

Quite frankly she could be singing the National Anthem as far as I was concerned and enjoyed the sensations rippling around my groin and up and down my long thick erection.

“Jolly bull, jolly bull give me some cream,” the words varied but her milking movements remained rock steady.

Meanwhile Agatha was quickly approaching her orgasm.

All over me, and around me were swishing petticoats, open crotch bloomers, stockings garters and her large drooling vagina clearly engorged and just about to squeeze my tongue if she were anything like Lady Onslow.

My face was sticky with her spendings.

I felt as if I had been bombarded my too many sensations.

Here was I, a naked lad aged 19 lying on a smooth cool satin bedspread in an attic nursery. My head lay between the legs of a twenty five year old mad woman who was sitting on my face wearing a knee length ‘Alice in Wonderland ‘ dress and five petticoats. I was completely buried under her clothing and had my tongue up her fanny. Near my feet sat her equally mad sister who was similarly attired and was milking me wildly while singing nursery rhymes.

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