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“A fucking lady? No way; how, why?” I babbled, shocked.“Lady, darling; the word is always capitalised,” Cyn, my girlfriend of four months, clarified, “I’m Lady Cynthia Fortescue-Smythe, second daughter of Edward, the Earl of Battersea.”“And you are me telling this, why?” I asked, as we lay, post-orgasmic, in her Knightsbridge apartment wrapped in sheets which were, apparently, cut from Egyptian cotton of astronomical thread count.“Royal Ascot silly; we are going tomorrow, and absolutely everyone who is anyone will be there, including pa, ma, and my sister Clarissa.”“Yes, I know, so? I am sure everyone will love the outfits we bought yesterday,” I said, as my hand cupped her breast, signalling my desire for a second round of lovemaking.“Pricilla,” she exclaimed, brushing my hand away, her voice suddenly an octave higher, “It isn’t just about our outfits; we have to keep up appearances darling. So, no faux pas in front of the nobility of old England, not to mention those parvenu Windsors.”“I’m not too worried to be honest. I’m Australian and can get away with it.”“That’s what they want you to think, darling, but I’m so not having you laughed at.”Any chance of debating that was derailed by Cyn launching into an extensive list of do’s and don’ts, with the latter outnumbering the former.“And,” Cyn added, having, I hoped, reached the end of her sermon on etiquette, “Please don’t refer to your pa as a fishmonger.”“Why ever not? Dad likes calling himself that.”“Pricilla! Your pa is owner and managing director of one of Australia’s biggest food companies. It is true he specialises in seafood, but for goodness sake, calling him a fishmonger conjures up images of some oik selling sea shells by the sea shore.”“Who cares? Dad would think that funny,” I replied with a disinterested shrug off my shoulders, more absorbed by my finger tracing slow circles on her nipple, which hardened delightfully.She whimpered with my familiar touch, but was clear, “Pa cares, Pricilla,” her tone now that of a primary school teacher explaining the obvious to a rather dim student, “No one is going to be frightfully fussed that you don’t have a title, we know our Australian cousins don’t go in for that sort of thing, but I can’t bear you sounding as though you come from trade.”As Lady Cynthia pronounced that last word, it sounded like a cherry stone was expelled from her perfectly-formed lips.“Yes, your ladyship,” I said, sliding off the bed and executing an exaggerated curtsey.The Brits usually did irony and Cyn could see the funny side of things, but not this time, this class stuff didn’t seem subject to the normal rules. She smiled indulgently, relieved I had accepted the wisdom of her remarks. Which wasn’t quite right, I was actually contemplating the option almanbahis şikayet of calling dad a costermonger at Ascot the next day.Thinking she had succeeded in instructing her Antipodean girlfriend in the etiquette of Cyn, she spread her legs, her pussy dewy with arousal and whispered, “Cummies time, darling.”We both giggled knowingly. From the moment we met we had felt an attraction. And after our first night together we had fallen into a sexual rhythm that was completely satisfying.I crawled cat like up the bed, whispering, “Who has a wet pussy then?”“Darling don’t be vulgar.”“Vulgar? If I really wanted to be vulgar, I would have said cunt.”An odd shiver of disgust rippled through Cyn’s body. Odd? Well, in the sense that while she was as shocked as a Lady should be, she blushed seemingly a little excited by the unladylike word.”Call it the Nymph’s bower my darling, or, if you must, pussy or gina, but never that word.”There was that look again. I held her gaze.”What word was that your ladyship?””You can’t expect me to use that awful vulgar word, no Lady would!””Well, Cyn, if you want me to lick your Nymph’s bower, you’re going to have to say it.”Her blush deepened, and I swore her breathing became shallower.”Oh, golly Pricilla, not fair!””My lady protests too much methinks,” I joked, moving away from her.”Oh Pricilla, please ….””Please do what, your ladyship?””Gosh, Pricilla, please, please eat my, my, oh golly, my cunt.”I needed no second invitation, applying my skilled tongue to her dripping Nymph’s bower. I’d not known her that wet that quickly, and I licked faster. I edged her, waiting for her moans to grow louder.Then, on a whim, I stopped and changed tack, “Cyn, my cunt needs your aristocratic tongue on it.”Horny beyond measure, I grabbed her hair and pushed her face into my pussy, so turned on that I forgot everything except my need. She made noises which sounded as though she was enjoying it too. I could not stop. I felt myself build, and, thrusting my wetness in her face, I came, squirting on her.And, to my amazement, Cyn came too, my wetness muffling her moans.As the aftershocks faded, I pulled her up to me. Her face was wet and red; she was breathless.”Fuck Cyn, did you actually cum too? Were you rubbing yourself you bad girl?”I was teasing, but she answered straight, “No, Pricilla, I was so edging that you cumming pushed me over.””You are amazing darling,” I said, hugging her to me. And we slept, snuggled up, so looking forward to Ascot the next day.When she’d informed me that we were going to Royal Ascot, I’d been delighted. I loved horses, had ridden a little, and as a teenager had desperately wanted one. But daddy’s indulgences didn’t extend to fillies and on that subject, he had totally resisted his almanbahis canlı casino daughter’s wiles.But the idea of a day with horses, fashion and Royals, filled me with excitement. I had done Royal Randwick of course, but this was a class above Sydney, for one thing there were actually Royals.Cyn had bought me a floral print bodycon dress with a pencil skirt; in emphasised my assets, tits, arse and long legs, without in any way being slutty. Lady Cynthia was delighted with how I looked. Along with my fascinator, it was, she said, “perfect.”She was wearing a blue textured, satin-effect wrap front ruffle dress. I resisted the urge to unwrap her, when she emerged from our bedroom but she smiled; she knew what I wanted to do.If I’d any doubts that we looked hot, the reaction from the guys as we walked from the taxi along the concourse at Waterloo Station would have stilled them. Lady Cynthia accused me of deliberately wiggling my derriere, which may have been true, but those five-inch white heels had that effect.We boarded a train full of race-goers. The guys were all in morning suits, but we girls, well, we were hotness personified. I could see why Cynthia had taken such care. We shaped up more that competitively. Her smaller boobs were hidden by the ruffles, while my rack stood out in the bodyform dress.Her ladyship’s special tickets got us entrance to the Royal Enclosure, and no sooner had we collected our complimentary Dom Perignon than Cynthia squealed. That obviously meant ma and pa.The Earl was politeness itself, as was the Countess. Cynthia introduced me as her girlfriend, and neither of them batted an eyelid. I got some sense of the reason for the family dynamic when Cyn’s sister, Clarissa, arrived. The Earl looked at her in the way only Earls without sons could look at their eldest daughter; expectantly.It was clear where they thought the future lay when they welcomed her fiancé, the original chinless wonder. I gave Cyn my raised eyebrow, “where did she find that?” look.Cyn simply responded, “He is the second son of the Duke of Bridgewater, darling, and will inherit land in Scotland, she has done frightfully well you know.””What about diversity and all that, look at Megan?”Lady Cyn gave me an odd look, before whispering, “Darling that is royalty, and so we don’t say out loud what we obviously think. Look uncle has arrived, he has a filly, one of many knowing his history,” her snort suddenly seemed toffee-nosed to this girl’s Antipodean ear.”Uncle Freddie! Darling, how ARE you?”Silver Fox or what, I thought. Uncle Freddie would have won a Hugh Grant lookalike competition. Tall, slim, immaculately dressed in a morning suit with a white waistcoat, he was the very image of the Upper-Class gent at the races. almanbahis casino His smile at me told me what I could already sense, he was a ladies’ man.”Why Cyn, darling, who is this ravishing creature?”With that, he took my hand and kissed it, holding it just a second too long. I have seen hungry dingos look less ravenous.”This is my Australian friend Pricilla, Uncle Freddie. Pricilla, it is Uncle Freddie’s horse we’ve come to watch.””One of your special friends Cyn, or does she bat for both sides?”As Cyn blushed, I couldn’t resist taking over. “Well Freddie, you’re one to bowl a maiden over, that’s for sure. And as it happens, I bat for both sides.”At that he brightened up and kissed my hand again.”Even more delighted to meet you, and if I may make so bold, you look a real corker in that dress.””Why sir,” I teased, “that’s so kind, I’m just a simple Aussie girl, always happy to be shown the ropes.”Oh, I’d hit the jackpot! The leer, and there was no other word for it, was palpable.”I’d be delighted on another occasion,” he murmured suddenly backtracking out of the conversation.The reason for that was a vision in a gold, off-the-shoulder lace-embroidered mini-dress. Her tits preceded her arrival, and as she embraced Lady Cynthia, the latter vanished between them.As Cyn emerged, embarrassed, Uncle Freddie did the honours.”Pricilla, meet Ruby. Ruby, Pricilla is Cyn’s friend.””Hiya babe, wow that’s some outfit!”And so saying, she patted my arse.Not to be outdone, I embraced her and squeezed her arse.We looked at each other; there was a recognition of something in common. We were women who were not in thrall to the English inability to be open about fun and flirting.I could see Cyn was on the verge of pouting as Ruby and I traded jokes and even the odd bit of flirting. I was observing Cyn’s reaction with interest. I had thought her jealous, but the more Ruby and I giggled, the more malleable Cyn became, even going to the tent for petits fours when Ruby asked her to do so. I, however, could have done without the “Pricilla, queen of the dessert,” comment from Freddie.Ruby winked and said, “She makes a good maid!”I was puzzled by Ruby. She was not Freddie’s partner, that was clear, but it was equally obvious there was more than a friendship. When his horse, “Brexit Girl,” finished second, Ruby hugged him, and then, hugged me and squeezed my ass.Ruby then whispered, “Look at your girlfriend.”Cyn was standing there, biting her thumb.”You and I have put her in a world of her own,” Ruby added, “Let me try this.”She hugged me tight, and looked at Lady Cynthia.”My new friend and I need more champers, be a good little thing and get us two glasses. Now, rather than later,” she added sharply as Cyn blushed and hesitated.To my surprise, Cyn did as she was told.”What the fuck?” I asked Ruby.She laughed.”Like Uncle like niece. I think you girls should visit my place, here’s my card.” Her business card was white with an embossed image of a riding crop. It read, ‘Ruby’s dungeon: discretion assured.’