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It was still sore with the spanking the day before and his hands were like ice on a wound. I did not say anything as I knew that the clothes I was wearing were telling more about me than I could spell out.Expert hands now moved my skirt up such that now my pussy could be seen. My skirt was now around my waist with my shirt sticking to my body with sweat. The hands were massaging my buttocks while now my big plump, fleshy pussy lips were swollen with excitement. The large rough hands massaging my butt were creating an electric current and were very soothing . It was very exciting although I was afraid being engulfed in a sea of ugly big men. The worst part was I was not able o decide whether to scream or to provide free access to my booty. That decision was made easier when suddenly the man in front o me placed his two hands on my boobs and began to squeeze them mercilessly. I let out a muffled moan of agony and pleasure involuntarily. That was the signal they needed. The lungi clad. At supper, Mike was talking about me hitting a couple of homers that bounced off cars in the parking lot. He was telling everyone that the coach wouldn't let me run the bases but made me hit another ball up the middle then made me bunt one before he would let me take a base. He said, "I think he's the only one on team that went three for three or in Dean's case he was five for five."Jill and Mary were happy with their practice and said they were happy to be in the line up for their series also against State. After supper, we meandered back toward the barracks where Jill said, "You know guys, Mary and I are bleeding like stuck hogs. You're gonna have to help yourselves or perhaps Shelly could do some double duty on you."Shelly whispered something in Jill's ear and Jill squealed, "Yeah, that would work. Let's do it early before the showers get busy. If we have enough people they can block the doorway."Back at the dorm, Jill had us undress in her room and wrap towels around us. We headed.
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Kathleen was seated at the foot of the table. There were two men seated on the same side as Charles. One was Montgomery. He was father’s valet and had been with him since the Boer War. The other was new, like the girls. His name was McTavish, a Scot, about Charles’ brother’s age. Charles had seen him upstairs. Charles shook hands in greeting each one, new and old. There was something about him that the staff always liked. There was no airs about him. He made them feel comfortable in his presence. As Charles reached for McTavish’s hand, the Scot seemed hesitant. It was then Charles realized that he missing two fingers on it. ‘I see,’ Charles said withdrawing his hand. ‘Sorry.’ ‘No need, sir. It’s me Blighty wound. Got it at Loos. King’s Royal Rifles, sir’ ‘That’s was my brother’s battalion. He was killed there, you know,’ Charles said softly. ‘Knew of the major, sir. He was a good man.’ ‘They all were, McTavish. Please, sit.’ The conservation turned light and soon everyone was.

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