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You want a story? I’ll give you a bloody story, but I warn you now, if you’re looking for a quick fix and cheap thrill, get yourself a fucking video. Make sure it’s one of those Yank formulaic videos, you know the kind I mean; boy meets girl, girl goes down on boy, boy goes down on girl, they fuck, maybe a bit of anal if you’re lucky, and he shoots his muck all over her chest/face/arse. Minimal speech, maximum use of ridiculously unconvincing groaning and moaning, but what the hell? You don’t want to risk actually using your imagination now, do you?

For those of you still with me, I’ll start my story. My name is Tom Johnson, and I’m an Englishman. Now I’m not talking your posh public schoolboy wanker who doesn’t know the first thing about the realities of life and spends his time wishing we still had the Empire so he could fuck off and exploit a few backward nations. Nor do I mean one of these long-haired hippy fuckers who thinks we should all live together in love, and who look at a bloke like me; proud, hard-working who enjoys his beer, mates, birds and football and calls me a fascist just because he doesn’t belong to anything and can’t understand people who do. No, I’m a normal, working-class London lad. I was born and brought up in Wandsworth, South London and I work less than a mile from where I live now, and from where I was born. Why am I telling you all this? Because it’s my fucking story, and I’ll tell it how I like. If you don’t like that, you can piss off. I’m not just a waffling cunt though, it does have a purpose, because what I’m going to tell you about won’t have the same impact if you don’t know what makes me tick.

Now my job is a decent one, but I have to work like a Trojan. I left school with fuck-all in the way of qualifications. Too busy playing football, getting into rucks with other schools, chasing birds and going in the pubs which would serve you under age so long as you paid up, shut up and knew to scarper if the old Bill came by. However, I got myself an apprenticeship with a mate of my uncle’s, just before the whole apprenticeship idea went down the pan. He runs an engineering workshop, and I work there with him and two other blokes, making specialist parts for lathes, drills and the like.

Not your DIY tosser’s Black&Decker you understand, this is serious kit. To keep costs down and to make sure we survive, we take it in turns to drive the delivery van. I don’t mind it as it gets me out of the workshop and you get to meet new folk. I’ve scored more than once with some tart working in the reception at one of my drop-offs. Give them a good line, make them laugh and they’re round your flat exercising their cheek muscles before you can say “blowjob”!

On the day in question I was going through the list of deliveries, making sure I’d run a route which would minimise time, and avoid the congested areas around rush-hour. Most of our drops are at other engineering companies, or car workshops and the like, so I’m a bit surprised to see an address near Edenbridge. That’s serious money country – all manor houses, private golf courses and the like. I checked with the boss and he told me it’s some eccentric rich bastard who builds his own engines from scratch. The boss hasn’t a clue what he does with them, but he wanted a lathe bit made to exact specs, and wanted it delivered before he got back from Hong Kong, or Bangkok or some such place. Probably needs some time to relax after getting full-body massages off 14 year old Thai birds. I’m sneering at my mental image of this old wheezy posh cunt trying to get a hard on with some exotic bird, but truth be known I’m a bit jealous of someone who doesn’t have to rely on picking up pissed slags in the curry house ‘cos the good-looking tart in the nightclub reckons she’s onto a better offer from some squaddie, just because the wanker’s wearing a blazer.

The boss tells me this bloke’s wife will sign for the part, and I’m not looking forward to having to deal with some snotty cow who’ll no doubt be desperately denying she’s hit 50 by smearing herself in a couple of hundred quid’s worth of creams and lotions every day. Probably had so much plastic surgery you could build a spare human from what they’ve chucked away. And who’ll treat me like some kind of peasant just because I don’t pronounce all my aitches and I’ve got short hair and a Chelsea tattoo. Fuck ’em. I know deep down though that whilst I may not exactly tug my forelock, I’ll be respectful; I’ve got a good job and one call from a rich slag to my boss and 10 years good work or not, I’ll be out on my ear. It’s dog eat dog, and the rich bastards have cornered all the Pedigree Chum.

When I get to the house I’m knackered. It’s half three, and every fucking road I’ve driven down has had some blind cunt along it 15 minutes before, deciding now’s exactly the time to have the mother of all pile-ups. It’s a fucking conspiracy; “Johnson’s on the van today, so let’s all go out and drive like Belgians”. I’m hacked off, and don’t want to be out at Edenbridge at this time of day. The boss has called me asking what the fuck I’m playing at, and when I told him I hadn’t even done Edenbridge he just laughed and told me to keep the van tonight and bring it in tomorrow. They’re obviously knocking off early and no doubt will be off down the pub for a few wets, whilst Tom does the good work, and what’s worse it’s fucking hot. Even just in shorts and a t-shirt I’m sweating like a bastard here.

Wankers! Mind you, I’d be the same if it was one of the others out here. But I’m not best pleased, especially when I find the house: it’s got a drive the size of a fucking runway – and I’m not kidding. Sweep off the fine grade gravel, tarmac it, draw some white lines down the middle and you’d have Jumbo Jets mistaking it for Gatwick. The house at the end is surprisingly small, and I only say that because I was expecting Buckingham Palace. It looks to be about 7 or 8 bedroom sized, nicely done I have to say. Immaculate lawns and I’m feeling well out of place here. I’m not sure if I should use the front door, or if there’s some tradesman’s entrance at the back for pondlife such as me. Fuck it; my principles assert themselves and I pull up at the front door intending to ring the bell and take the piss out of the butler. A place like this, and they’ve got to have some stuck up cunt in a bow tie to serve them their brandy.

The door opens before I’ve got two steps away from the van, and it’s no butler, it’s quite obviously the wife. I’m struggling not to look like some cunt-struck schoolboy because there’s no doubt about it, she’s a looker. Probably 35, maybe even 40, and very good looking with it. To a 26 year old London lad with red blood in his veins and spunk in his bollocks she’s well in the bracket, but I don’t want to give the bitch the satisfaction. “Got a delivery for you” I say, not too surly, but hardly polite “Is it the bit for my husband’s lathe? Your manager called earlier, and he’s already apologised for your lateness”

Cheeky fucking cow! For one, he’s not a manager; he’s the boss, gaffer, the man, the geezer, but he’s not some fucking suited financial whiz-kid manager! He must have put his phone-voice on for her. And I wasn’t given a time for this drop anyway, so who the fuck is late? But like a good peasant I grit my teeth and politely ask where she’d like it dropped, hoping she’ll say up her arse, though with her accent she’d probably refer to it as her posterior. I struggle not to grin. “His workshop is around the back. Drive around the far end of the house and I’ll meet you round there” The door closes on me and I try and compose myself as I climb back into the van. She’s got very carefully done dark blonde hair, curling in good natural waves down to her shoulders, a really smooth face, perfect teeth and what looks like a fit body. She’s wearing one of those summer frocks that rich women and grandmothers wear, but it’s got quite a low, square cut neck line and it was enough for me to have copped a look at a massive chest. She must have scaffolding supporting those things, never mind a bra. I’m at risk of getting a hard-on, and that would never do; can’t let the slag know she’s got to me.

I drive the van around the house. Bloody hell! It’s as deep as it is wide, and all done in large sandstone blocks. Very nice. Very expensive. Rich bastards! There’s a large gravel area at the back, a garage which looks big enough for at least 3 motors, a Mercedes SKL sat outside it. The woman’s walking across from some huge great French windows, wide open to let the spring air in and get rid of the mustiness of generations of inbred toffs. The workshop is a brick building about the size of a modest bungalow. She unlocks a door as I pull up and switch the engine off. I haul the lathe bit and fitment out of the back, and lug it across to the shed. Walking inside I can hardly see after the bright sunshine outside. Stupid cow should put the fucking light on! My anger and resentment grow again.

Almost as I think it the light comes on and reveals a series of worktops and machinery, and about 3 engines in various states of completion. She smiles at me sweetly enough, and I swear she caught me staring at her magnificent cleavage as she turned. “I’ll leave you to get on with it. I presume you know what to do. Come up to the house when you’re done. No need to knock, just come in through the door on the far left as you look from here” Obviously this is the only entrance blokes like me are worthy of using. I grunt a reply and crack on with fitting his new toy.

Fifteen minutes work and Sir Cuthbert Rich-Twat’s newest gadget is mounted and ready to carve some metal. I’ve mellowed a bit having got my teeth into doing some proper work. Have to admit to myself that apart from the crack about being late the lady’s not exactly been rude. Just need to get a signature and be on my way. Should be back by five if the traffic’s not too bad. Five thirty maybe. Grab a Chinese on the way back, nip into the off-license whilst they’re carving up the cats and dogs out back, grab a six pack. Wednesday evening and there’s a match on Sky; a chinky, a few lagers and a football game, then up the pub for a couple of pints. Sweet. It’s not Chelsea tonight, but Leeds, doing the business for England against some Italian wankers.

I grab the paperwork from the cab and stroll across the gravel towards the house, boots crunching loudly, almost cheerful now. The door opens and I’m stood in a kitchen which is by far the largest I’ve ever seen. There’re three tables in there, only one with chairs around it so the other two must be for food preparation when they have their thirty-guest dinner parties. There’s no sign of the lady, so I wander toward the door at the far end. It opens into a corridor with a thick carpet, some fucked up design on it. Probably Persian, or something. I don’t fucking know. It looks expensive to me, but who am I to tell?

There are doors leading off all the way up to the front door, and I haven’t got a clue where she is. I think about shouting but can’t make up my mind what to say. I don’t know her name as the invoice only has the address on it. I can’t exactly bellow “Lady!” around the place, and I can’t bring myself to stand there calling “Hello?”. I’d feel a right wanker. Looking up the corridor again I notice the next door up is ajar. I’ll have a look in there and if she isn’t in the room I’ll go back and just wait in the kitchen, or parlour or whatever these people call it.

I look inside the room and she’s there alright, sat facing away from me on a sofa. I can see the back of her head, and she’s doing something ‘cos her head’s bobbing up and down. Not much, but there’s definitely movement. What the fuck is she doing? Curiosity leads me into the room. The door opens wide with only a whisper across the carpet, the thick pile soaking up any sound my boots make. From closer I can see right down her top, and her breasts are heaving. They’re so tight against the dress I can’t see any detail, but it’s a good view. Just a glimpse of a white bra. As I get closer I see her legs, wide apart as she’s slumped on the sofa, the dress pulled up and both hands up inside it. I can’t fucking believe it – this posh slag is strumming the cat’s whiskers – she’s masturbating and my cock reacts immediately.

I’m dumb-fucked. What the hell do I do now? I consider the respectful cough, but she’d go fucking mad. She’d probably have me sent to the Tower of London, let alone fired. I back out very slowly, entranced by what I’ve just seen, but convinced I’ve got to get out of there. Back in the corridor I hate to admit it, but I panic and almost leg it into the kitchen. Fuck! I’ve left the door wide open, but I’m buggered if I’m going back near that room. That’s jail bait in there. All she’d have to do is call the Bill and they’d have me down a cell in two shakes, giving me a good kicking for daring to approach the ruling classes – fucking coppers doing their loyal servant bit and keeping the working man down for their masters. Cunts. But I don’t fancy it. I sit down on one of the chairs, my back to the corridor in some kind of denial of what I’d seen, and wonder how long she’s going to be. If I wasn’t so rattled it’d be funny, and I raise a smile thinking about telling my mates later. “Did everything look good?” She’s used some kind of stealth mode and crept right into the kitchen without me realising. And what’s she referring to? I’m like a rabbit caught in the beam of headlights, just waiting for some farmer boy to unleash a barrel full of lead pellets into me. I’ve turned in the chair to look at her, but I can’t fucking speak. “Oh dear, cat got your tongue? Shame, you looked such a confident young man. Still, looks deceive” all this with such a superior smile I could have smacked the bitch.

“My husband’s lathe. Is it all sorted, looking good?” she repeated the final words as if talking to a five year old. “Er..yes. Fine. Um, just need your signature madam” there, she’d won. I’d stammered, stumbled and then crowned my humiliation by using the respectful term I’d sworn I wouldn’t. “Oh dear. You ARE a disappointment” but she takes the form and leans over the table to sign it with the pen I offered her. What the hell was she talking about? Disappointment? How? I can’t bring myself to think that this rich upper-class woman had been hoping I’d try it on.

The penny drops as she reads through the invoice, probably checking we’re not ripping off her husband. She’s rubbing my nose in her inaccessibility – she knows fucking well that I can’t touch her and she’s flaunting that fact. Well, come the fucking revolution I’m going to be straight down here with a Chelsea firm and the lads can go through her til she fucking bleeds. If she likes to pretend she likes it rough, we’ll see how she feels when reality bites her in the arse. Literally. Mind you, I’m now getting a dream view down her top – and I get a good view of her bra, stretched to hold her breasts.

They’re awesome, white and soft looking, very inviting. My mind sees them in the flesh, released from the bra and somehow defying gravity. Must be a pump-up job, along with the thigh-sculpture, the face-lift and the rest of it. Can’t see any scars, but a bird like this can afford the top surgeons, not some Asian blagger down Hampstead giving it large with his degree from Popadom Uni. I’m groping them in my fantasy and I’m too late to react as she looks up, and definitely catches me looking this time. “What’s your name?” Shit! Here we go, although her tone was friendly enough “Tom”

Fucked if I’m giving her more than that “Well Tom, you seem to find my breasts fascinating. And you are a very attractive young man, at least for a thug, but then I like thugs” my head’s spinning, my mouth’s gone dry and this tart is playing with me. She’s got to be, waiting until I touch her and get my DNA on her dress then scream rape and see Tom banged to rights. She’s going on: “But you seem a bit shy, and if I’m going to fuck a stranger I like it rough. I just don’t think you’re up to it. Sorry, but there it is, or rather there it was – gone!” and she giggles. Sounds like chimes in a breeze and I’m starting to realise how much I’d love to give her the good news – really fuck her hard, make the bitch scream in pleasure, then tell her she’s shit and she can keep her money, her house and the fucking Merc and walk out. But it’s not happening, I’m starting to reply, but what’s coming out is bollocks…

“I just didn’t want to push it, you know, I think you look great but… I never thought you’d fancy a bloke like me” what the FUCK am I waffling about, I’m like a fucking school kid when he suddenly realises he may be on for his first shag, “Sorry Tom. Chance has gone” and that musical laughter rains down on me again, mocking “unless…” She pauses and looks at me as if I’m some exhibit in a modern art gallery, trying to work out what the fuck I’m meant to be, whether she likes what she sees or not. Her left hand reaches up and across and slides the dress strap off her right shoulder, taking the bra strap with it. Her hand goes down inside the front and I’m really struggling not to let my jaw drop open as she scoops her right breast out. Unlike my fantasy this breast droops a bit, but no more than you’d expect for such a mass of flesh.

Her nipple is standing out proud, flushed red, and suddenly my confidence starts to return; she’s as turned on as I am. “You could have had this to play with all evening, if you’d impressed me” she’s still taunting and the thought crosses my mind that she either loves living dangerously or she’s fucking stupid – some blokes I know would have knocked her out by now and fucked her senseless, before robbing the house and legging it. “Still Tom, you can touch it if you want” and she’s still not showing any emotion, just lightly speaking as if she’s offering me a cuppa. My hands aren’t exactly clean after setting up her Lord and Master’s lathe and a day spent driving and delivering, but she seems to like her lovers a bit grotty, so I reach a hand out and cup her breast. Just out of curiosity I take the weight and am amazed her breast doesn’t droop further – it’s bloody heavy. I move my hand around so the nipple is against my palm and it’s one of the firmest I’ve ever felt. My fingers gently squeeze the breast and I slide the fingers together until they meet at the nipple, lightly pulling on it before I remove my hand and take a step toward her.

She giggles, gives a girlish shriek and runs out into the corridor. Part of me says just walk away, but I remember the line about hell having no fury like a scorned woman, and besides, I’m thinking through my dick now. Following her I somehow know she’ll be in the first room again. Sure enough she’s stood just inside the room, staring at me with a fixed smile and an intense look in her eyes. “You said ‘unless..’.” I begin quietly “unless what?” more challenge in my voice now, as she relinquishes control to me. Not sure how I know that’s what she’s doing, but I’m sure. She backs away from me, still with this weird intense smile on her face, no fear at all. She backs up to the end of the sofa and stops, the backs of her knees against the sofa arm. I’ve advanced toward her, and almost know what I’m meant to do.

The breast is still hanging out and it gives her a vulnerable, disheveled look. “Unless you can shock me!” she gushes – excitement in her voice mixed with what sounds like triumph. Shit! She’s still playing with me, and she’s got me reacting exactly how she wanted. I’m humiliated but this time it comes out as anger. I reach up to push her but she leans away, overbalances and turning as she falls ends up bent over the sofa arm, her head on the sofa, her full buttocks staring me in the face. My mind is whirling as I reach for the dress hem and flick it up over her back, almost in the same movement hooking her white panties and pulling them down to her knees. One hand on each buttock cheek, pulling apart and without really thinking I’m staring at an opened anus. Her ringpiece looks inviting, although if I stopped to consider it I’d wonder why I’m thinking that. But I don’t hesitate and bend my head toward it, mouth gone from dry to soaked, saliva running over my tongue. I touch the tip of my tongue against her ring and feel her flinch.

She’s not moving, except a slight raising of her hips, trying to get more contact. I’ve got saliva running down my tongue onto her arsehole and I start to run my tongue around the rim. All I can smell is a lightly perfumed soap, and it makes me hungry for more of her. Pulling her cheeks further apart, bringing a gasp from her, I push my tongue into her hole, the tip struggling to get past constricting muscles. As she realises what I’m doing I feel her suddenly relax and I’m in, tongue darting in and out, swirling in circles around the inside of the rim of her anus, my cock filling with more blood than it can handle, wanting an extra inch or two of skin to ease the pressure. Moving my left hand across I use the thumb and fingers spread wide to keep her entrance open, releasing my right hand which I slide between her legs, seeking her cunt.

She’s absolutely soaking and my conquest is complete, although a quiet, barely heard voice in my head warns that she’s still the one who’s winning. I don’t give a shit – this is the horniest experience I’ve had in a long time. I can feel stabs of pain in the muscle at the base of my tongue as I strain to get it deeper into her arsehole, but I don’t care. I’ve got three fingers sliding in and out of her cunt, my thumb gently circling the sensitive bit of skin between cunt and arse, and my little finger sliding across her cunt lips and her clit. She’s going into one now, moaning and making little whining noises. Sounds like she’s saying something but I’m fucked if I can make it out, nor do I care. She starts to buck her hips backwards against me and my eyes smart as my nose gets a whack. I’ve got my face pushed hard up against her, between her cheeks, and I push forward to stop her fucking writhing. She gives another shriek, a high-pitched whimper and she suddenly goes limp. Considering the effort I’ve put in, it was a less than expressive orgasm; I guess that’s what happened, but I’m not finished.

I stand up behind her, right hand, dripping with her juices in the small of her back, her dress so far up it’s almost over her head now, left hand undoing my belt, quickly yet carefully unzipping my shorts and pulling them down, hooking my thumb in the waistband of the boxer shorts and sending them down too, my prick standing out proud. No thought of protection although there’s a condom nestled in my wallet – can’t spare the time to start digging around in my shorts which are crumpled around my ankles. Still pinning her down with my right hand, although she’s still limp and slumped forward over the sofa, my other hand guides my cock toward her cunt. No problems slipping in here, it’s still slick with her juice, and I force myself in, feeling the velvet grip of a nice and firm pussy.

“No! What are you DOING? Get off me, you bastard!” she suddenly screams, trying to push herself up against my hand. Oh fuck! I realise I’m raping her – but the thought arises that she’s still playing games, and I hang onto it desperately. I’m not being belittled again by this rich cow, thinking she can play with a bloke like me. I push her back down, hard, and thrust harder and harder into her. She’s swearing at me, spitting and going berserk, but I become more convinced she’s playing as she’s not trying to get up anymore and starts to thrust against me. Suddenly she laughs, not the musical tinkle of before, but a manic gust of laughter: “Oh you are a good boy! Oh, oh, yes! Good little boy, knows just what mummy wants” This is getting weird, and I feel powerless again as I realise I can’t get to this bitch.

I’ve been doing exactly what she wanted, all along. My lust keeps me going, but my mind is fucked. I’m pounding in and out of her cunt now, my cock straining to get deeper, wound the bitch, pierce her guts, hips slamming against her buttocks, her head being thrown about by the impact, and still she laughs and cries out encouragement “harder Tommy, harder, give mummy what she wants” – I’m no longer holding her down, and in desperation I suck on two fingers of my right hand, tasting her drying cunt juices, and force them roughly into her arse, bringing even more squeals of delight from her. There’s a word for mad bitches like this, but I can’t remember it… mind detached as it searches through my memory for the word I want, irritated that I’ve gone blank.

As my body does it’s duty my consciousness is drifting, what the hell is that word? Insatiable! The word springs forward and lets me return to the scene of the crime. Who the fucking criminal is though, I’m not sure. I’m getting desperate, and know as soon as I’ve shot my load I’m going to be done for – my cock will shrink and my confidence will go with it – I’ll want to escape this mad woman but know she’s not going to let me. I can feel the spunk starting to gather in my balls, and pull out of her quickly, removing my fingers from her arse, standing back, chest heaving as I pant, realising I’m drenched in sweat.

“No – please! Don’t stop Tom, fuck me, oh God please fuck me” she’s really pleading and my doubts vanish, blown away by her distress; for the first time I’ve got to her and almost want to walk away laughing, but I’m too horny and she’s too enticing. I walk around to the front of the sofa, reaching down and helping her stand up. I pull her closer to me and look her in the eyes; she’s looking at me in such desperation I almost feel sorry for her, but steel myself and reaching up I pull the other shoulder strap down, surprised it’s survived intact. I force the dress further down her body, not sure it’s meant to go that way and hear a ripping noise but don’t give a toss. I’ve taken too much from her and her bra follows, not bothering to reach around to undo it.

Her breasts are pendulous and as she steps out of her dress and panties which had been around her ankles I reach out and grab them, roughly pulling on her nipples before bending down and sucking at one, then the other. She gasps as I hold one between my teeth and flick my tongue across it, then stand tall again. I place my hands on her shoulders and push her down, forcing her to sit on the edge of the sofa, her face level with my groin, obvious what she’s meant to do. “Go on, suck it you fucking bitch” for the first time I express my growing confidence and aggression, and she bends forward and sucks the head of my cock into her mouth. Shit! She’s good at this- understanding the value of not just sitting there with it in her mouth like too many tarts do, as if the act of putting my prick in their mouth is somehow enough – this slag knows how to use her tongue on the bell end, holding with her lips, sucking and moving her mouth up and down the shaft whilst her tongue dances around the tip and under the head.

I screw my eyes shut as she grabs my lower shaft with her hand and starts to wank me into her mouth, the tongue still darting around and far too quickly for me to react I’m over the edge – not coming yet but on the slippery slope and unable to stop myself careering onwards, then the pressure and I know I’m making noise now – the illusion of self-control shattering into pieces, smashed by her expertise and she’s got the upper hand now. I know she’s going to swallow my semen and that it won’t bother her at all; no points scored there for the lads.

Only counts if she doesn’t like it, and here it comes, still not released and I think my eyes will pop out of their sockets if I don’t screw them tighter shut, her hand pumping, her mouth sucking the seed out of me, the tongue lapping, like a beckoning hand, and then that moment of frozen time – and the spunk comes rushing out, bursting into her mouth, the heat and the volume sure to take her by surprise, but I can’t open my eyes, the intensity making my knees tremble, giving away the fact that I’ve lost control again, still pumping seed into her, knowing she’s gulping it down, taking her medicine and fucking enjoying it. The feeling starts to subside and I still keep my eyes shut – not daring to open them and see her triumphant stare. I know she’s fucking looking up at me, and gathering all my nerve I open my eyes and don’t know why I bothered – she’s looking at me exactly as I knew she was.

My cock is still deep in her mouth, and her throat is flexing as she swallows. Feeling her tongue still stroking the underside of my helmet, the lips finally sliding up the shaft to suck the last drop of man-juice from me before releasing my cock which flops against my thigh, spent and useless. She slowly leans back, keeping her eyes on mine. I wait for the mocking voice, knowing she knows who the winner is.

Remembering that I managed to stop myself fucking her to a second orgasm, but aware that it’s an empty victory as she doesn’t seem in the least bit bothered. I can smell the sweat on my body; not the stale smell of some grotty wanker who doesn’t wash, but the healthy odour of effort, and I know she’s smelling it too, her nose slightly raised, a look of hunger entering her eyes. I’m still stood in front of her, my shorts and boxers around my booted feet, and suddenly feel like a schoolboy stood in front of the teacher. I feel fucking foolish and wonder what’s going to happen next, then realise with a shock that I never even considered making a decision myself. I’m waiting for her to tell me what to do, and I know she’s seen me recognise this fact. My defeat is complete as she reaches forward and lifts my cock, resting it on her open palm, never dropping her gaze from my eyes, before letting it drop again, as if confirming it’s death. “Oh dear. It was doing so well. Is that all you can manage? Or could we coax a little more life out of it?” the words sting, but the tone is gentle and reassuring. I’m out of my depth, this woman so far removed from the usual slags I end up with that I’ve got no experience to draw on. I feel humbled and even the anger at her treatment of me has gone – there’s no conscious decision to surrender, just this dumb acceptance that she’s dominating me.

No fight left in me, and I don’t even care. She stands up again, and smiles at me: “Come on silly, get rid of your clothes” and I meekly obey the master-race, pulling my t-shirt over my head. As I drop it by my side she’s stood and moved close to me, her hands reaching out to rest at my hips, as if we’re going to have a slow dance and she’s a man with her girl, her nipples just touching my chest as she stands close, looking into my eyes again, as I realise with some surprise that she’s barely an inch shorter than me at 5’10”. “And the boots” and I’m confused again as I obviously can’t reach my boots with her stood so close. I step out of my shorts and boxers, but can’t reach my boots without kneeing her in the gut, and such thoughts have long since gone. My thoughts have even taken on a different tone, less cocky, less like me, or the bloke I like to think I am. She still looks at me with a quizzical smile, inviting me to work out how to make good her demand that I become as naked as she is, realising that she somehow got rid of her shoes, can’t even remember what they looked like.

With no choice, I take a deferential step back and drop to one knee, grateful to be able to break our eye contact and concentrate on unlacing my boots, tall black ones, military pattern, good working boots, in past days they’ve been good fighting boots too, thoughts drift through my mind as I work the boot off and pull the sock after it. Changing knees to do the left one now, nearly done, tugging the laces loose and wrenching it off, again the sock follows and suddenly she grips my head, my hair too short for her to grasp but knowing she would have done had it been longer. Her fingers dig into the sides of my head, hurting but I’m not bothered, just surprised at her strength.

She tilts my head up and thrusts her groin into my face, rubbing herself against my mouth and chin and knowing what’s required I thrust my tongue up and along her cunt lips, lapping at her as she opens up and starts to flow again. The scent is heavy and strong, and I close my eyes as I place my hands on the outside of her thighs, tilting my head further to allow access, bending my back and stretching my neck to get up between her legs and gain access to her cunt. I’m pushing my tongue into her, the pain in the muscles at the base intense now, knowing I’m going to have an aching mouth tomorrow, not caring, slurping at her, liquid dribbling into my mouth, swallowing it, shocked at how much juice she’s making. Her hands are gripping harder, really hurting now, but all I can do is lap at her, probe her with my tongue, then flick across her lips and her clit.

Sucking her clit between my lips, gripping it and flicking my tongue across it, making her gasp – a fucking reaction at last! Suddenly the hands gripping my head push me back and I lose my balance, falling on my arse on the carpet and looking up at her in surprise, knowing I look hurt, anticipating her laughter but she just stares at me with that art gallery look. I can feel her juices around my mouth and on my chin. I stand slowly and she comes forward again, reaching up to hold my face and licking around my chin and mouth. I try to capture her mouth in a kiss, but she evades me and I submit as her tongue runs across my lips, cheeks and chin. It rasps across my chin, too many hours since I shaved to be smooth, and then she wraps her arms around my shoulders and pulls me into an embrace.

Awkwardly I put my arms around her, feeling her cheek against mine, her breath soft across my left ear. Aware my cock is starting to react again, and knowing she can feel it as she pushes against me. One hand drops and starts to manipulate my cock, a strange but exciting rhythm of squeezes and pulls, her fingers moving independently, my cock growing quickly, filling and straining. She whispers so quietly I hardly hear: “Come with me. I’ve been bad to you and you deserve your reward” She breaks the contact, releasing my cock which stands out from my body, grabs my hand and leads me out into the corridor. I’m docile still, allowing myself to be led, thoughts aware of what’s happening without being able to do anything – no longer even finding any humour in the situation. I feel detached, as if this is happening to some other sad sap, and I’m simply watching. Observing one of Theo’s under-the-counter video, the Greek fucker grinning at me, telling me that this will make my toes curl.

My prick is bouncing around, not fully hard as she leads me down the corridor, my bare feet feeling the luxury of the carpet. Nearly at the front door and she turns to climb the stairs to our right. She stops a few steps up and I nearly walk into her, almost in a daze. Releasing my hand she grabs hold of my prick again and turns to keep walking. I have to stay very close as she climbs the remaining steps as she tugs me along. I feel the first hint of defiance growing in me again. This is fucking stupid, does she want to pull it off or something? We reach the top of the stairs and still not looking round she marches along and throws open a door. It’s a bedroom, but larger than I’ve ever seen before. I’m almost surprised to see that the bed, whilst huge, is not a four-poster job. She pushes me toward it and I sit down, bouncing on the mattress. Fucking silk sheets, and no sign of a quilt, or whatever posh people use to keep warm.

She’s opened the bottom drawer of a chest about five feet tall, bending over and showing me her gash, still open and pink, glistening, but I just sit still, placid, although I can feel the blood rushing down to fill my prick again, completing it’s hardening. Without thinking I reach down and begin to slowly wank myself. She’s rummaging around and I hear a grunt of triumph as she obviously finds what she’s been looking for. She stands and turns to me, one hand holding a jar of something white, and the other holding a fucking dildo with some black straps hanging from it. Oh no; no fucking way – she’s not doing that to me. I’m no fucking arse-bandit, remembering a story about some Marines who fucked a gay bastard nearly to death, justifying it by saying you’re only queer if you take it. Giving it no different to doing a woman in the arse. Fuck that! She starts laughing, the first really genuine belly laugh I’ve heard from her.

“Don’t worry lover, this isn’t for you” and throwing her head back she howls at the ceiling. I find myself grinning, not sure if relief or the humour of the situation is what’s causing me to smile. She must have read my face like a fucking speech bubble. “I want you to put this on, and then you can Dee Pee me” DP? Double penetration; she knows the abbreviations the porn industry uses, and I wonder about her again. I stand up and she kneels down in front of me, leaning forward to kiss the tip of my rigid cock, then lifting my feet one by one so I’m stood within the harness, pulling it up my legs, over my stiff cock and positioning it above, joining my own now standing proudly at a 45 degree upward angle. The flat base is against my gut, and I’m chuffed I work out enough to have a firm, flat stomach.

She scoops my balls to the left and tightens the strap which runs between my legs, then tightens the ones around my waist. Looking down I feel a pang as I realise the dildo is longer than my own prick, a decent though not massive length itself. I reckon I’m packing seven inches, but am proudest of the thickness and it’s rare though not unknown that I find a cunt feeling slack and loose. The dildo is about the same thickness and I’m wondering which prick is for which hole. She’s rubbing the white cream over the dildo, and I guess she’s going onto her knees again, knowing her pussy needs no lubrication. She’s business-like and says nothing as she scoops more of the cream and reaching around I know she’s smearing her anus with it, possibly pushing a finger inside her ring. I move closer, my two pricks straining in front of me, and she reaches up with her spare hand to hold the back of my neck and for the first time we kiss, her tongue lashing against my own, invading my mouth, running over my teeth and filling my mouth before retreating to be pursued by my own. She moves her head away a fraction and sucks on my tongue as if it’s a cock, her lubricated hand moving around and grasping my flesh cock she starts to slide her oily hand up and down.

Turning away she leaps onto the bed giggling like a schoolgirl and leaving me standing like a fucking statue. She’s on her hands and knees, and looking over her shoulder at me she lifts her arse in the air and gives me a wiggle. There’s a playful look on her face which gradually changes as her eyes drop to my double cock, the hunger I saw earlier returning. She licks her lips and I move forward, feeling heavy and awkward as I climb onto the bed, shuffling forward on my knees to come up behind her, her neck twisted as she stares at the two cocks.

Her arse is too high in the air, and I press down on the top of her buttocks but she resists, now looking away and making some fucking growling sound. I smack her hard on a buttock. I don’t know why I did that, but it makes no difference to her, no intake of breath, no shriek, just this weird growling sound, hardly pausing to breath. I know instinctively that she’s gagging for the cocks to enter her, but I can’t reach unless I stand and lower them to her, and I’m fucked if I’m working that hard for her when she could just lower her buttocks. I reach down and push one knee outward, trying to spread her legs to get the target area lower, but she still resists. My patience thins out and reaching forward I wrap my right hand into her hair, soft and heavy, and yank her head backwards. This time she makes a sound in response, but it’s more of a sigh than anything else. I pull back harder, and as her head comes back her buttocks lower.

She slides her knees outward and I wonder if this was exactly what she was waiting for before offering me access – I keep my hand wrapped in her hair and use my left to guide the dildo toward her anus. It feels slippery and warm, a soft rubber covering the rigid shaft below. The tip of my own cock is against her cunt lips and I can feel the wet heat down there. As I push it forward, the base of the dildo pushes against my stomach as her arse resists it. I thrust harshly forward, and both the cocks bury themselves inside her. Her cunt feels even tighter than before, and I watch in fascination as the dildo slides in and out. As I pull back the flat base comes away from my gut until the straps pull it out, then I force it back in. She’s panting now, loud and harsh, her head pulled back by my grip on her hair. I’m getting into my rhythm, less violent than the first time I fucked her, knowing I can take my time, last longer the second time.

Pounding, pounding, the dildo like a torpedo, in and out of her arse, hypnotising me as I gaze down at it, feeling but not seeing my cock doing the same in her cunt. I can feel warm liquid trickling down the inside of my leg, and know she’s flowing with juices again – she starts to breathe with short gasps, then almost shrieks, fast and rhythmic. I loosen my grip on her hair and she whines at me, so I take up the flowing hair again, pulling her head back and her noises return to the soft shrieks, ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah, getting to her this time, knowing she’s on the edge, wanting to take control back… pulling out, releasing her hair, grabbing her hips and throwing her onto her right side.

The surprise is obvious as she stares back at me, her mouth hanging open. I roll her further onto her back, her knees still drawn up as if she thinks she’s still kneeling. I move quickly onto her, her pulled up knees just below my shoulders, her lower legs forced tight against her by my torso. She’s staring up into my face in confusion as I reach down and awkwardly position my cock against her arse. It slides in easily but I have to pull out slightly as the dildo has slid across her pussy without going in – I push it downwards and push forward again and feel the delicious tightness of her anal passage on my cock.

A flash of a thought – this is how you catch HIV, anal fucking without protection, but there are some things a bloke’s got to do. A soldier risks a bullet, a fireman being burned to death, and for me, this is a risk worth taking. I glare into her wide open eyes, knowing my face is contorted with anger and lust, and I begin to pound. She reaches around her buttock and although I can’t see anymore I know she’s rubbing her clit. Her other hand goes round the other way and her fingers form a ring through which my cock is slamming in and out of her arse. I feel the building pressure again, knowing that despite myself I’m not far away, but unable to slow or stop this time. I pound harder into her and with a thrill of success see her eyes close, screwing up and I watch as she bites her lower lip, a scream stifled in her throat but I hear it coming, building, then her mouth opens wide and I see her immaculate white teeth as she screams up at me.

No words come, just animal sound, can’t tell if it’s pain or pleasure, just knowing she’s suffering the intensity of an orgasm, and I’m beyond caring as my bollocks tighten, the feeling builds too quickly and I’m desperate to keep my eyes open as I increase the speed, my cock almost leaving her arse before slamming back into her. Sweat is falling freely from my body, shaking from my face onto her and the sheets and then I can see no more as my eyes squeeze shut, my body wracking in the intensity of coming. Burst after burst pulses out of my cock into her arse, and I start to slump onto her, then realise I’m crushing her legs against her body. I reach down to the bed, taking my weight off her, and after a minute I slowly withdraw.

Eyes still closed I fall to the bed beside her, exhausted and drained, and am surprised to feel her move close. Her mouth closes over mine in a soft kiss – I return it as tenderly and she moves her body against mine. Her mouth breaks away and she lowers her head to rest on my chest, gently pushing me over onto my back. I place my arm around her shoulders and my other hand strokes her hair. I wonder about her, and how she learned that she likes sex like that, and with some shock realise I don’t even know her name. I begin trying to decide on a name which suits her, but can feel my awareness slipping as sleep washes over me, and once again I placidly surrender, hearing her breathing become light and regular, and feel some satisfaction that she has yielded first.

To Be Continued…

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