I'll admit that I struggled just a little bit as he paraded me past the urinals, which were in use by a few patrons. I tried to turn my burning face from them, as if by not seeing them I could ensure that they wouldn't see me. I had to skip to keep up as he bounded down the aisle of stalls, several of which looked occupied. With his right hand he gripped me tight, and with his left he loosened his red silk tie -- the investment banker tie, I always called it, because it made him look trustworthy, staid. When we got to the last stall he mockingly, gallantly, waved me in ahead of him, and then he shut the door and locked it, pressing me up against the scarred gray metal. I was panting but he was calm, his face registering only a slight amusement.
"Now, hold out your hands like a good girl," he murmured, and when I did he quickly bound my wrists up in the red silk, cinching it tight and then securing me to the coat hook on the back of the door, my arms raised.
"I think that may be the first appropriate thing you've done all night, pet," he said conversationally, and I tried to flash him a look, warning him that people might hear. He chuckled, leaned in closer. I could feel the heat coming off him, but he didn't touch me, except to pull a lock of my hair from behind one ear and place his mouth against it. I could feel the palms of my hands and soles of my feet prickle with roller-coaster fear.
"Oh, so NOW you're worried about what they might think? Don't you think they already know exactly what you want? Exactly what you need? You're such a naughty girl, I bet they could smell your excitement all the way through the bar." At this he suddenly plunged two fingers deep into me, then out. He held them up before my face.
"Look at me. Just look at how sloppy you are, you bad girl. Now, what on earth were you thinking? Do you imagine for one second that I am unaware of you, unmoved by you?" He ran his wet fingers over my lips and I tried to pull them into my mouth, to touch him with my tongue, but he was having none of it. He started quickly unbuttoning my dress, pushing the material back with every button so that soon it hung limply from my shoulders and I was otherwise naked. "Did it even once occur to you that perhaps I had something in mind for you, something worth waiting for?" He shook his head, clucked his tongue with disappointment. "No, you just keep bringing it."
He tipped my head up with two fingers so I was forced to look into his eyes. "And when you misbehave like that, rest assured, you're going to get just what you came looking for. This IS just what you wanted, isn't it?" I wanted to turn my head, to drop my gaze, but he wouldn't allow it.
"No?" I whispered tentatively, my mouth dry.
"No?" He raised an eyebrow, licked his lips. "Well, I suspect I know you a little better than you do yourself. I'll just give you a minute to think about it."
When he knelt down and began, it seemed almost absentmindedly, stroking my inner thighs, I whimpered. I tried to catch it in my throat but it was too late. He rose and leaned into me again, one hand still teasing along my skin, now exploring the crease between my thigh and my tender, bare pussy, one hand caressing my face. I trembled.
"You know, it just occurred to me that you might not be completely clear on the plan," he murmured, oh-so-calmly. "So let's go over it, shall we? Now, first, you are going to come for me. And then, I am going to fuck you. Right here. And THEN, we are going to go and finish our drinks. It doesn't matter how quiet you are, because people are still going to know. And it doesn't matter how loud you are, because I am not going to stop.
"Do you know what I would do if I heard someone violating a sweet little thing like you in here? I think I would stand up on the toilet and look over the stall so I could see. Mmm -- yes - I would stand there and watch the entire thing. Do you think they'll do that here? You can look up and see their faces, if you like. Or maybe they'll just hunch down in the stalls and stroke their cocks. Think about that -- there are probably a couple of them already, just trembling with eagerness to hear you moan again. And of course, I intend to make you scream.
"Mmm -- I wish the whole bar could see you like this. Maybe I should describe the way you look out loud for them. Except that, of course, right now I have something just slightly more interesting to do with my mouth."
I had never felt more naked or more vulnerable. I was so aware of every footstep, every cough, every creak of the door. I knew that he was relentless, so there was no use appealing to him for mercy. A mercy, I suddenly realized, that I was unsure I even wanted. For as I forced my mind to focus on him, on his mouth, on his hands, I realized how strongly my body was reacting, even without my cooperation. I had never been so sensitive, so wet. He reached behind and stroked my ass and I gasped.
I tried to push myself forward so that his tongue could more easily probe me. With one hand he spread me open, taking my clit completely into his mouth to lick and suck, while he slowly inserted three fingers, then four, as deep as they would go. I had barely closed my eyes, trying to focus, when he pulled away, tsking.
He didn't even bother standing up to whisper to me. He spoke for everyone to hear.
"Eyes open, sweet girl. Don't wish yourself somewhere else. I want you right here."
And with that I pushed aside the last shred of resistance, and turned my own will to the task of giving him exactly what he wanted from me. My body was trembling so uncontrollably, I sagged awkwardly against the metal divider. And as he reached up to tease my nipple with one hand, I groaned deeply, desperate to close my eyes, and then came with almost no warning, squeezing his fingers tightly within me as I spasmed.
I was still fluttering inside as he spun me around, pushed aside my dress and entered me; the bonds around my wrists tightening so that I was forced to stand on tiptoe. He pushed so that I was pressed up tightly against the door. It felt so cold on my bare flesh in those first moments, as I arched back against him, trying to show him how much I wanted him. He pulled my head back and took my ear into his mouth, gently nibbling, while at the same time nudging at my legs so I would spread them a bit wider.
But I was so incredibly excited, so ridiculously wet, that, engorged as he was, I couldn't feel him the way I usually could. I tried squeezing around him more tightly, but he must have realized this at the same moment. He pulled out and then, almost before I could feel the loss, he filled my ass. With all that wetness, he slid in quickly, as though I had already been well-greased. Which I suppose I had.
I cried out unselfconsciously with pleasure and pushed against him, getting him in even deeper. I couldn't have held my tongue even if I had cared to at that point
"Oh, yes," I moaned. "Oh, so good." I hoped the room was full, that they all could hear, could know what he was doing to me. Getting them off that way would just be one more gift I could give him.
And when he teasingly whispered to me, "Care to rethink that answer now? Isn't this what you really wanted all along?" I cried, "Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!"
The End.
Wallflower Boogie
I have never been attracted to the most gorgeous woman in the room. They always get enough attention anyway, and are often very aware that everyone fancies them. Maybe it is the philanthropist in me, but I am far more interested in the woman in the corner who is clean and presentable but clearly not expecting to be seduced.
And it was in this frame of mind that I attended a drinks do for work. I'm an architect and my firm (not actually mine – the one I work for) was celebrating a new project. It was one of those occasions where you don't know anyone and have to try to make a friend so you can give each other moral support.
This woman was standing near the buffet, reading the PR handout over and over again. She was about 50, I suppose – the same as me – and soberly dressed in a roll-neck sweater and skirt, both black. She had reddish hair, quite short and parted on the side. You would probably assess her as the family type, Auntie someone, who didn't go out much and last had sex 20 years ago.
There was something about the whole thing that turned me on.
I went over and introduced myself.
'I'm no good
at these things,' she confessed, meaning parties.
'Nor am I,' I said. 'I'll look after you if you'll look after me.' She looked at me curiously. 'Keep each other company,' I explained.
'Yes,' she said. 'Good idea.'
And so we spent an hour or so talking about this and that. Her name was Sheila, she was a PA to some chief executive, had been married unhappily for two years and divorced for 15 now. She lived 10 minutes' drive away in a semi-detached house on a small close. She had no children and she liked line dancing and crocheting.
Although she said she didn't really drink, Sheila kept accepting the top-ups of champagne that were offered every now and then. Between us we ate all the chilli vol-au-vents and dry roasted peanuts.
It was now about 8 o'clock and the party was beginning to thin out.
'I think we could make a break for it,' I said conspiratorially,' and we plotted our escape. Both still hungry, we would go to the Italian restaurant down the street.
We split up and said goodbye to whoever needed it, then met up again at the outside door. It was a warm summer's evening and a very pleasant stroll down the road.
In the restaurant we opted for glasses of wine rather than a bottle, but still ended up drinking three each.
'How about a coffee?' I said eventually.
'How about a coffee at my place?' she said playfully.
Twenty minutes later we were entering her house after a cab ride in which we had sat nice and close together in the back seat, but without making it obvious to the driver or indeed each other.
Sheila's house was neat and tidy, with some rather cheesy holiday souvenirs from Spain and Florida around the place. She made the coffee as I sat in the lounge as instructed. I chose the settee and hoped she might join me there.
She didn't. When she came in with the cups she sat in her armchair, then got up to put some music on. I joined her at the CD player and stood closer to her than necessary while we negotiated what to put on. We opted for neutral territory: some old lounge jazz by Nancy Wilson, which enabled me to take her by the hands and do a bit of smooching. She danced close to me and snuggled against my chest. I kissed her gently on the neck and she mumbled something I didn't quite catch, then led me by the hand to the settee.
'You're a bad influence,' she said happily. 'Plying a girl with drinks and doing sensual dances with her.'
I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She moved back, but only slightly, and said 'Well...', with half a smile. I kissed her again and she kissed back. I put my arms around her and she put a hand on my knee, then withdrew herself abruptly.
'Sorry,' she said, 'it's been a long time. I'm not very good at all this.'
'You kiss very nicely,' I said.
'Ohh,' she said with a dismissive hand gesture, then left the room, saying 'Back in a minute. Bathroom's through there if you need it.' She walked briskly upstairs and closed a door behind her. I used the toilet and gave my equipment a quick wash, just in case.
Sheila didn't come back for a full 10 minutes, and when she did she had a Scrabble box in her hands. Perhaps she had been consulting her Old Maid's Guide to Dampening the Atmosphere, but if she had, it didn't work. First of all she had a brilliant seven-letter word: orifice, which her competitive instinct wouldn't let her ignore. I followed that with six letters: orgasm.
'Sorry...' I said as I laid it out, 'but this is all I can offer.'
'Isn't it a funny word,' she said, sitting back. 'With sm at the end. What else ends like that?
'Spasm,' I said. 'And isms. Eroticism. Jism'
'What's jism?' she asked brightly. I thought carefully before answering.
'American slang for... semen.' I explained. 'They abbreviate it to jizz.'
She looked quite taken aback.
'Oh,' she said. 'I suppose I must be very out of touch. Don't they say spunk anymore?'
This time it was I who was taken aback.
'Sorry,' she said. I wondered what she had done upstairs. Had a large vodka? Some sort of prescription drug? Phoned her best friend for advice? I decided to ignore it, to spare her any embarrassment.
'How about another kissm?' I asked, putting an arm around her neck.
'Yessm please,' she replied, and this time she entered into the arrangement enthusiastically, her tongue playing with mine, deep in my mouth.
'Let's go upstairs,' I ventured.
'What for?' she asked with fake innocence.
'I want to lie down,' I said simply.
'Oh, okay,' she replied and led the way to the upstairs landing. Her bedroom door was open, but she promptly opened a smaller room and said 'You can sleep in there. Spare toothbrush in the cabinet in there,' indicating the bathroom. 'Good night,' she said and entered her room, closing the door behind her.
I brushed my teeth and had a bit of a nose through her bathroom paraphernalia. Mouthwash, eye drops, hair brush, but nothing of a sexual or even intimate nature. No condoms, no tampons, no pills. I concluded that she had had the menopause and never expected to have sex again.
I went into my little room, undressed and got into bed. I lay there for maybe 15 minutes, considering having a wank, when I heard her door open and then a knock on mine.
'Hello,' I called.
'Does that mean come in?' she asked.
'Come in,' I said, almost irritably.
She came in and the light from the hall showed that she was wearing a very plain knee-length dress, a cross between a proper dress and frumpy nightie. She sat on the bed and said 'I thought you deserved a goodnight kiss.'
I gently pulled her down on top of me and we kissed long and slowly. My hands roamed her dress, looking for a way in, but there was none, just the top and the bottom. She was wearing pants.
'Why don't you get in?' I said.
'Okay,' she said, 'but we're just kissing.'
'Fine with me,' I said, but when she lay beside me I slid my knee between her legs. I tugged at her dress and said 'What's this?'
'It's a house dress,' she explained. 'For wearing around the house.' Her hand touched my lower back.
'You're not wearing anything,' she gasped.
'I'm in bed,' I said as my hands wandered beneath the cotton and caressed her body. She didn't even flinch when I came to her breasts and began to knead her left nipple.
'Take the dress off,' I implored.
'Okay, but that's it,' she said, sitting up in the dark and removing it, then sliding back down and resuming the kissing. This time my hand came to rest on her buttocks, stroking gently. My erect penis nudged her thighs and I could tell it had precum on the end.
'Do you want me to touch you?' she said in a matter-of-fact way.
'Yes,' I said softly, taking her left hand and placing it on my cock. She felt the slippery wetness on the end and rubbed it on my leg, then lay on her back, legs still together.
I kissed her breasts and licked the crease just beneath them, then moved to her stomach. As I headed for her pubic hair, she grabbed me by the shoulders and said 'Come up here.'
I moved back up and kissed her lips, my right hand tickling her groin.
'Let's take your knickers off,' I said eagerly.
'No,' she said firmly. 'You can do lots of things as it is.'
I sucked her nipples, which she enjoyed immensely, then headed south again and kissed her between her legs, which were now slightly apart.
'Uh uh,' she scolded and wriggled away. 'They're staying on.'
'Okay,' I said. 'Just let me lie between your legs.'
'You don't go in,' she warned.
'Okay,' I replied in a resigned voice. I moved on top of her and lay between her warm thighs with the head of my penis pressed against her crotch. I reached down, took hold of my own end and rubbed it firmly against her clitoris. She made involuntary noises of pleasure, then uttered 'Oh, it's torture... sweet torture.'
'I want to get inside you,' I pleaded.
'No,' she said.
'Let me lick you, then,' I continued.
'Not there,' she said.
I slid my hand round to her buttocks and said 'There?'
I couldn't see, because it was dark, but I'm pretty certain she made a disapproving face at that suggestion.
'Okay, I said finally. But I want to give you some jism.'
Her hand was wrapped around my erection, so I slid it back and off, then took myself in hand and masturbated. I could sense her excitement as a naked man respected her wish not to be penetrated, but continued with his lustful animal ways.
I came into her open hand and she left it there, not moving a muscle.
Eventually she said 'I need something to wipe it,' and thought for a moment. 'Take my knickers off,' she said finally. I moved down to comply and after I slid them off I kissed her vaginal lips briefly. She didn't complain or even move.
As I gave her the cotton jizz-wipe she thanked me and said 'That was lovely. It has been a long time, you know.'
'I want to shag you,' I said, deliberately using the coarse word because I thought she might enjoy it at that point.
'Maybe,' she said. 'Not tonight,' and she slid out of bed and went into her own room.
The End.
Museum
The room is stark white, sterile. A few pedestals stand across the parquet hardwood floor, most have something on them. Hot bright lights spotlight each.
A man wearing a light blue frock with an embroidered oval letting everyone know he is 'Andre' carries me towards a large white marble hand resting on one of the pedestals. I have no arms, no legs, and no memory of why. I have no clothes on. The marble hand is icy cold against my hips.
He brushes my pixy cut black hair until it is perfect then adjusts my breast, just the left one since the right is missing.
I ask what happened and where I am. I hear no words leaving my moving mouth.
"You always talked too much. Just smile." His voice is stern.
Across from me is a pedestal with two full legs on it. One stands barefoot, the other has the thigh lying flat and the knee draped over the edge with a red stiletto high heal shoe on the foot. A hand with only the wrist rests atop the thigh with fingernails painted a matching red. The ring finger is mostly missing and a wedding ring lies below on the pedestal.
The Dirtiest Daddy's Taboo Page 25