Tom Jones Part Three

It’s an epic blockbuster, or should that be bonkbuster!

Tom and Sophia reach London in this one, and Tom finds a protector in a noble lady. Sophia finds shelter, and somehow—but you’ll have to read it to find out!

Now the little trembling hare—which the dread of all her numerous enemies, and chiefly of that cunning, cruel, carnivorous animal, man, had confined all the day to her lurking-place—sports wantonly o’er the lawns. Now on some hollow tree the owl, shrill chorister of the night, hoots forth notes which might charm the ears of some modern connoisseurs in music. Now in the imagination of the half-drunk clown as he staggers through the churchyard, or rather charnelyard, to his home, fear paints the bloody hobgoblin. Now thieves and ruffians are awake, and honest watchmen fast asleep. In plain English it was now midnight, and the company at the inn, as well those who have been already mentioned in this history as some others who arrived in the evening, were all in bed. Only Susan Chambermaid was now stirring, she being obliged to wash the kitchen before she retired to the arms of the fond expecting ostler.

Our hero, on turning over in bed, made the delightful discovery that he was not alone, something he had quite forgotten in his slumbers. He continued his roll until he had the best mattress imaginable under him, in other words, the soft body of a woman.

Moreover, it was the body of a willing woman, Mrs Waters. When she opened her thighs, he felt the heat and the wetness of her, something he did not hesitate to take advantage of.

He slid down her body and paused at her generous breasts, always twin founts of delight for Jones, and took his time suckling them, pleasuring them both until she sighed and moaned under him.

Then, instead of resuming the position in which he could give them both fulfilment, he took the part of the most generous gentleman and inserted his shoulders between her thighs, the better to widen her legs and give her the most comfortable of footstools on his back.

As he elevated her to his satisfaction, she twisted, having awoken from the sweetest dreams imaginable, and discovered that which she dreamed of was real. But she wanted none of it, she wanted a part of the performance.

So the sheets on the bed turned under her as she moved, and urged Tom to, “Lift up, sir, that I might taste you. I thirst for what you may give me.”

Her breathless tone persuaded her young lover to obey her request. Accordingly, he, being the younger and more agile of the two, turned, presenting her with the best cock she had seen for a long time. She lost no time in taking hold and closing her mouth over the object for which she thirsted.

After letting out a great groan, Tom set to and lapped the lady with a will, taking her nectar like some exotic bird at the flower. Or a good English bee, which sucks from flowers until content. For although Tom loved Sophia truly, he thought her lost to him, so he took his pleasure where he might. As long as the lady was willing, and this lady for sure and certain was.

Eventually, when he was done teasing and tasting, he took her tiny bud of flesh into his mouth and set to suckling harder, making much use of his agile tongue to entice.

So well did he succeed that she cried out and shuddered as he brought her to that sweet conclusion so long looked for. She gave up tormenting his cock with her mouth, and her temporary state of incoherent bliss gave him the opportunity he needed to reverse his position. He was now in a situation to pleasure her, cock to cunny, and he did so, not losing any time and using the lubrication he had already imparted to her to drive into the depths of her body.

Again he thrust, riding her hard. Her response was to lift her legs and curl them around his waist with remarkable dexterity for an older woman. However, it could be said that an older woman in possession of her faculties and her bodily strength would learn the ways of her form, and could use it to better ability than her coltish younger sister.

Howsomever, she pleased Tom mightily with her work, and he set to, rocking the bed they lay on with his efforts, which was something to behold as the bed was old and well made.

In very short order he had her crying out again, until her nails made lines down his back and he sweated prodigiously, but did not stop his efforts until he too had arrived at his looked-for conclusion.

They failed to put the bedding to rights, merely pulled the covers roughly over their bodies and curled up like kittens in straw.

In this posture were affairs at the inn when a gentleman arrived there post. He immediately alighted from his horse and coming up to Susan, enquired of her in a very abrupt and confused manner, being almost out of breath with eagerness, whether there was any lady in the house? The hour of night and the behaviour of the man, who stared very wildly all the time, a little surprised Susan so that she hesitated before she made any answer, upon which the gentleman with redoubled eagerness begged her to give him a true information, saying he had lost his wife and was come in pursuit of her.

“Upon my soul,” cries he, “I have been near catching her already in two or three places, if I had not found her gone just as I came up with her. If she be in the house, do carry me up in the dark and show her to me, and if she be gone away before me, do tell me which way I shall go after her to meet her, and upon my soul, I will make you the richest poor woman in the nation.” He then pulled out a handful of guineas, a sight which would have bribed persons of much greater consequence than this poor wench to much worse purposes.

Tom Jones is here!