On this particular day, Mrs Farrington stood there, giving me the day’s orders. ‘Clean the mirrors with vinegar, dear, nothing less will do. We want them to sparkle, don’t we?’
I nodded in agreement as she continued, hiding my irritation with her fussy, elaborate instructions, and resisting the urge to tell her that I’d do a hell of a lot better job if she just left me to it. But I held my tongue, and eventually she finished and made off for her ladies luncheon. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had the house to myself now, just the way I wanted it.
A morning of dusting, vacuuming and laundry had me sweating and tired. I was looking forward to my ‘treat’ at the end of the day more than usual. I knew exactly where I was going to have it – in the master bedroom. I hadn’t dared before, but I was annoyed after Mrs Farrington’s pernickety orders that morning, and my treats had been a little stale of late. The whole procedure needed livening up.
Late afternoon, when most of the chores had been completed, but early enough so that there was no chance of discovery, I slipped into the master bedroom. My nipples stiffened just walking through the door, as I contemplated what I was about to do.
I sat on the bed, and started out as I always did – smoothing the sheets with the flat of my hand, breathing in deeply, running my hands over the restricting uniform that held my curves. The bed was opposite a huge mirror that stretched the whole expanse of one wall. I could feel myself getting damp already as I thought about how much more fun the treat would be if I could watch myself administering it.
My nipples chafed against the rigid uniform as I leaned down to pulled my tights off and step out of my panties. It was just as well, discarding them; my growing excitement had spread in a dark stain through the lace, and had settled in shining traces on my hefty thighs. I heaved myself back onto the bed and spread my legs slowly in front of the mirror, the moist pink purse of my sex revealed in all its glory. The long slit of my labia was wet and curved in a smile as it waited expectantly to be loved by my hand.
I may not be a looker, as such, but I do pride myself on having a very pretty pussy. I splayed it with my fingers now, holding each slick lip apart so that the gleaming swell of my clitoris was reflected in the mirror. I looked at it for a few moments, smiling with satisfaction at the image of myself, legs akimbo, cunt splayed over the lacy eiderdowns that Mrs Farrington favoured. I imagined the juice from my cunt dripping onto the lace, leaving tell-tale little stains, and how Mrs Farrington might set me to work the next day scrubbing the smears of my own arousal from her linen. The thought made my clit pulse and, all of a sudden, I couldn’t help but touch the little bud with my fingertips.
It swelled at my touch, immediately. I lay back, arching my back and tilting my hips to heighten the sensation, and my eye was caught by the feather duster I’d discarded earlier, sitting beside me. In a moment of inspiration, I grabbed it. I ran the smooth feathers through my fingers for a few moments, the nerves in my fingertips thrilling at the lightness of the touch. Then, I moved the duster lower, sweeping the feathers over my stomach towards the hot, wet, expectant cavern of my pussy.
My clit convulsed as the feathers brushed it – the whisper-soft touch tantalized me so much that my cunt threatened to give itself up to orgasm then and there – but I was determined to hold it off until the last possible moment.
I started to fuck myself with the end of the duster. It wasn’t thick enough, not really, but my hungry pussy welcomed the insertion of something hard and unyielding, the slippery walls clenching around it with each sharp thrust. Just as I was reaching down to rub the white-hot nub of my clit in time to the self-made thrusting motions, a small half-cough from the doorway stopped me dead in my tracks. My heart leaped into my throat as I froze in panic.
Mr Farrington. He had entered the room behind me, but I could see him in the mirror. He was clutching a briefcase, and had stopped midway through the action of unknotting his tie. He, too, had frozen in shock.
What a strange tableau we made. The businessman, about to change out of his suit after coming home early from work. The slutty cleaner, eyes glazed with excitement, busy hands now stilled between her legs. A duster rammed deep into her cunt and her excitement leaking out of her into sticky pools on the bedspread.
Jesus.
A slow, searing burn of humiliation spread slowly over my neck and face. Tears of embarrassment sprang to my eyes. I would be sacked, I would lose my job and reputation.
And yet, my treacherous pussy twitched. The shock of discovery was horrifying, but somehow my humiliation didn’t stretch to my nether regions and they spasmed excitedly under the gaze of Mr Farrington.
I pulled the duster from between my legs with an agonizing slurp, and opened my mouth to begin grovelling and apologising.
‘Don’t stop,’ he said, in a strangled voice.
The filthy old man. I should have known that he would love this. My panic and mortification began to recede as my nether regions convulsed once again.
He came into the room and shut the door behind him, but didn’t come any closer to me. He dropped his briefcase on the floor. His eyes were bulging, a vein popped in his forehead, and his flabby cheeks were slowly turning purple. The jowls beneath his chin started to quiver slightly. I lowered my eyes to his crotch, and saw that, beneath the expensive material of the suit, his cock was straining, sticking out like a flagpole.
Unbidden, an image of his naked cock popped into my head. Short, squat, and tree-trunk thick it would be, with sparse grey hairs sprouting about the base and the foreskin thick and fleshy. I thought about being fucked by Mr Farrington’s meaty weapon, the dull pink shaft threaded with broken veins sliding in and out of me while I bounced in his lap, my pendulous breasts swinging in his face and my beefy thighs gripping him tight. I thought about Mrs Farrington watching, her coral-lipsticked mouth open in an O as she watched our diabolical screwing.
Suddenly his instruction, ‘don’t stop,’ became impossible not to follow.
I turned my gaze back to the flushed, aroused version of myself in the mirror. Aware of Mr Farrington’s reflected eyes on me, tentatively I touched my finger to my clit again. The second it made contact my clit throbbed and my nipples stiffened against the starched uniform. God, that felt good. Wanting to explore the sensation further, I used my left hand to work my nipple through the thick material, the muffled intake of breath from the corner behind me spurring me on.
With one hand, I squeezed the hardened peak of my nipple, manipulating it as much as the uniform would allow. With the other, I massaged my clit, my engorged pussy walls clamouring to be penetrated as swells of excitement pulsated through my sopping cunt. I felt as though my nipples and clit were connected by ropes of fire – the sensation of my merciless fingers on both was sending feverish flashes through my nervous system.
I slid my eyes sideways to watch Mr Farrington watching me. His pupils were dilated, his face puce, and he was wheezing like an asthmatic running up a hill. The shock of finding me in flagrante had faded for us both now, and his eyes were fixated on my dripping, distended hole, watching my slippery fingers flicking away at the bleeding cherry of my clit.
To my delight, he began to unbutton his fly, his fingers trembling and fumbling so much that each button came undone slowly. As he started to ease his cock out I masturbated myself more quickly, anticipation of seeing it flooding through me. He drew it from the folds of his trousers at last and I sighed. It looked much as I had expected – a little longer, the blood beating through it angrily, the swollen flushed head crowned with a sticky gleam of moisture.
A smell of sex began to permeate the room as our exposed organs, separated by several feet of distance, pulsed their heady scent into the air. It mingled with the pot-pourri Mrs F. favoured, and I smiled at the thought of her breathing in the fuck-smell hanging in the air as she laid her head down to sleep that evening.
I spread my pussy as wide as it would go, the milk flowing from it smearing my thighs and making it d
ifficult to keep my fingers in place. The tremors in my groin were coming thick and fast now, and as Mr Farrington started to roughly wank his cock in time with my own motions I determined to put on the best display he’d ever seen while getting myself off all over Mrs F.’s bed.
Our eyes still locked on each other through the mirror, I gave myself up to the sensation my hands were causing, and rubbed at my clit so hard that the first waves of orgasm began to pulse through me. Mr Farrington gave a strangled moan. The image of being fucked by a rich man came back to me and I closed my eyes, imagining myself impaled on his cock.
Writhing with pleasure, but needing something to heighten it even further, I grasped the feather duster once again and wet it using my cunt before reaching round to slip it into my anus. Being so thin, it hardly met any resistance as I pushed it into the tight flesh, the lube from my pussy helping it slide in easily.
Nevertheless, the contact it made with the nerves in my arse was explosive as the feeling merged with the orgasm building on the end of my fingers, finally causing a cascade of hot ecstasy to flow through me. As I came, thrashing on the lace eiderdown, my arse clenching like mad over the end of the duster, Mr Farrington let out an inarticulate cry and milked himself to orgasm. His hand on his thick cock was a blur, and blood vessels threatened to explode in his face. The spunk arced gracefully out of the straining split at the head of his organ, and splattered across the plush carpet.
When my pulse had slowed and my heavy breathing had subsided, I sat up and arranged my clothes, my raw cunt twitching as I pulled my cold, wet panties back on.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Farrington,’ I said with my customary politeness. ‘I’ll get all this mess taken care of immediately.’
He could barely look me in the eye, but grunted acknowledgement and tucked his penis, now flaccid, back into his trousers. As he made his way into the double-ensuite, I picked up the sticky duster and began to lightly flick it over the furniture, my nipples still tight and my clit tingling with the excitement of what had taken place.
I cleaned the end of the duster, put the vacuum away, and set about finishing the day’s work. The thrill of touching myself in that gorgeous, spacious room with Mrs F’s husband masturbating in front of me, went through me again and again. The treat hadn’t turned out as it usually did. But then I always liked a little variation in my routine.
The Key
by Jim Baker
Don woke slowly. He shook his head, stretched his arms wide, and opened his eyes as his fingers brushed against the warm body in the bed beside him.
He lifted the sheet and feasted his eyes on Sally’s firm round breasts. He bent and took a nipple between his lips, running his tongue around the flesh as it stiffened.
She came awake, yawning and stretching, and then sighed with pleasure as his fingers stroked her thighs. Her hand crept down and explored his stiff cock.
“My lord and master wants more? After last night?”
“It’s Sunday morning. All married couples make love on Sunday mornings. It’s the law.”
“Well, we mustn’t break the law. How would you like me, my lord?”
“On your knees, wench!”
She laughed, rolled on to her stomach and knelt facing the end of the bed, with her buttocks thrust high. They had been married for only six months, and their hunger for each other’s bodies hadn’t lessened one iota in that time.
Don settled behind her and guided the tip of his cock between the soft pink lips. Her flesh was slick from their lovemaking the night before and he slid into her easily.
He placed his hands lightly on her waist, luxuriated in the feel of the hot, tight flesh and began to thrust in and out slowly, his eyes closed.
“Faster, Don!”
She forced her buttocks back against him.
“Oh sweetheart, it’s starting already.” She panted out the words. “Touch me, baby, please touch me now!”
He slid his hand under her. She screamed as his finger found her swollen clit and he opened his eyes – and screamed himself at the sight of a small, skeletal figure standing at the end of the bed. Teeth grinned obscenely in its fleshless skull. Its hand was raised, and a bony finger was raised high.
His head spun and he fell backward, his erection shrivelling away.
“Don, are you all right?” Sally squeezed his hand as she sat beside him, her face white and scared.
“It was like a kid!” Don croaked the words as he lay shivering on the bed.
“A kid?”
“At the end of the bed. It was a like dead child, a skeleton. It pointed its finger at us. You must have seen it!”
Sally put her arms around him.
“Hush, love. I had my eyes closed. Did you have a bad dream last night? You woke me up with all your thrashing about.”
“Well, I did have a nightmare,” Don admitted. He had stopped shivering but the picture of the ghastly figure stayed in his mind’s eye.
“It was a memory from your dream, sweetheart, it wasn’t real. Let me take your mind off it.”
She took his cock between her fingers and played with it, her teeth nibbling at his ear. “Let’s see if I can get our friend working again,” she whispered.
Don body warmed as a feeling of arousal spread through it, and his cock grew in her hand. She ran a fingernail across the slit and a pearl of pre-come formed. She flicked it off with the tip of her tongue, and took the head into her mouth. Sucking gently, she ran her tongue round and round the swollen flesh until he was fully erect, and then slid back up the bed and planted a sloppy kiss on his lips.
“I want you back inside me,” she whispered. She rolled over, and pulled him on top of her. Her legs clamped high around his back as he slid into her.
“Quickly, Don, quickly!”
Her body arched up to his as he began to thrust with long, steady strokes. “Faster, baby, faster!” Don increased the pace as her voice panted in his ear and the bedsprings creaked as he rammed into her. “Hard, Don, really hard! Harder!”
She moaned, and dug her nails into his shoulders, urging him on, writhing under him, and Don became lost in a world where there was nothing but the feel of his cock pounding in her hot flesh and the orgasm that was getting rapidly closer.
“Oh, Christ, Don … I’m going to come again!” Sally’s nails dug into his back.
She gave a long, ecstatic scream and Don came in a blinding flash of pleasure, pumping frantically inside her. His climax seemed to go for ever – jet after jet spurted from his cock until he collapsed, spent.
She propped herself on one elbow and looked down at him.
“Wow! That was one of the best ever. I bet that made you forget the monster.”
She got up and pulled on her dressing gown. “I’ll make some tea.”
Don smiled but the word monster had made him feel cold again, and he shivered.
On Monday morning the sunshine was streaming through the kitchen window as Sally
washed the dishes.
Don had been quiet through Sunday afternoon, but seemed to have shaken off his disquiet by dinner time. They had shared a bottle of wine and gone to bed early, dropping off to sleep almost immediately.
The ghostly figure had not been mentioned again.
Sally had awoken at seven o’clock to find her husband naked beside her, lying on his back with a huge erection. She slipped out of bed, found a bottle of baby oil and anointed the long rod of flesh. Then she lay back down beside him and watched his face as she gave him slow, gentle hand-job.
His eyes opened and he stared blearily at her.
“Hello, darling,” she whispered. “Having a nice dream?”
Before he could reply she swung a long leg across his waist, straddled him and lowered herself on to his cock. He came wide awake very quickly as she rode him to a gloriously sticky climax.
Now it was ten o’clock, and she had the house to clean before taking Jack, their cocker spaniel, for a walk. He was sprawled under the kitchen table,
watching her every move.
Sally pulled the plug, turned on the cold tap and stared in surprise as the running water revealed a large, rusty key beneath the remaining soapsuds.
She reached into the sink and picked it up, quite sure she had never seen it before. She bent down and held it out to Jack. “What’s this, Jacky?”
The little dog stretched his nose forward, and sniffed. Then he backed away, stiff-legged. Sally watched in amazement as he bared his teeth, growled deep in his throat, and slunk out of the kitchen. She dropped the key and ran after him. He was huddled under a coffee table, quivering. She called him and eventually he crept out and relaxed as she petted him. She sat with him for a while, then went back to the kitchen, picked up the key and dropped it into the cutlery drawer.
When Don arrived home, she questioned him about it.
“Don, did you leave a key in the kitchen last night or this morning?”
“No. Have you lost one?”
“No, I found one.”
She told him what had happened and he looked at her quizzically.
“You found a key in the washing up and it scared the dog. Been at the cooking sherry?”
“No! If you don’t believe me, see for yourself. It’s in the cutlery drawer.”
Don went into the kitchen and returned immediately with the key in his hand.
“Where did you say you left it?”
“In the cutlery drawer.”
“You must have been on the sherry. It was on the kitchen table.”
Sally looked at him in disbelief.
“Don, I put it in the drawer this morning. It can’t have been on the table.”
He shook his head and started to laugh when the expression on her face stopped him. “Okay, love,” he said. “It’s only a key. It can’t hurt you.”
“I don’t like it, Don. Get rid of it.”
Don walked out of the back door and tossed the key into the dustbin.
“There, it’s gone. Funny though, I think I know what it was for.”
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