Loading...When, Sally, who had worked for my employers ever since she had left school but, having been redeployed, was to me, the new receptionist, I really took notice. She was an extraordinarily pretty, slim lass, with long blond locks, sparkly blue eyes, a pert nose with a cutely bulbous tip, slightly younger than I and, unfortunately, possessed of an engagement ring that she displayed with, considerable, pride.
Her virtues were many but she could be very argumentative, particularly about literature, and she appeared to have read, and remembered, every work of fiction that had been ever been written in the English language. One afternoon she and I became embroiled in an increasingly heated debate about J.G. Ballard, I’m a fan but, apparently, she had read every single one of his novels too.
“Bet you!” she snapped.
“What you bet?” I snarled, consumed with aggrieved self-righteousness.
She paused to think, for a considerable time, then broke into an evil. “I’ve spotted you ogling me when you thought that I was not looking. Well now’s your chance; if you’re right I’ll be your slave girl for one night, we leave work, go to your place and we do whatever you want to, until we have to return to work the next morning. But if you’re wrong, I introduce you to my Aunt Kate and you have to be her slave boy for the night, right up until I collect you on my way to work, on the following morning.”
“Deal.” I snapped triumphantly, undressing her mentally. Despite my knowing that I was right she proved me wrong. Auntie’s slave for the night, entirely due to my own conceit; there was, I concluded, only one way to withdraw from such a stupid bet with a shred dignity, tough it out and pray that the other party was forced to back-down.
Sally promised me a big soppy consolation kiss if I could specifically manage next Thursday and if, in addition, I would undertake one tiny, but unspecified, favour. As long as it was not too silly I would have anyway but, for me, her promise of a kiss was a definite bonus.
Thursday morning, the butterflies in my tummy gradually evolved into elephants; during the afternoon the elephants began to clump around in ever larger sizes of hobnail boot. My hands shook, my ability to concentrate was destroyed, utterly, I knocked over piles of paper, I fumbled files, their content tumbling everywhere, I still cannot find a spot where I did not splash coffee. Sally would relate nothing about her Aunty Kate, except that when her husband had died the family made sly winks, conjoined with knowing nods and alluded that she had worn him out.
By the time we were walking up the garden path, to a large detached house that was set well back from the road, I was shaking quite visibly; I was terrified. At the front door Sally said, “now you earn your kiss, hold still,” and she wrapped a long red ribbon around my neck and tied it in a big bow. She placed a hand on each of my cheeks, glued her lips to mine and, by the time we broke contact, I was sporting a very stiff todger. Sally rang the bell and a slim lady of about fifty answered. “Happy Birthday Auntie Kate, this is Harry. He’s your present, he lost a bet and now he has to do whatever you care to ask, until I come and collect him at about seven thirty tomorrow morning. Don’t you Harry?”
“Yes Sally,” I replied, my manhood wilted. It was not that the woman was ugly or anything, in fact she was quite attractive, in her Mumish way: it was the humiliating way that she was eyeing me up and down, like a dog scrutinising a tasty bone, a bone with lots of meat still left on it. If she had had a tail it would have been wagging.
“So Harry you have to do whatever I ask you to, absolutely anything in its entirety?”
“That’s the deal Auntie Kate,” I replied. Kate was, I presumed, in her late forties or early fifties, over twice my age at any rate. She was slimish, she had short black hair and brown eyes, not in the least like Sally. Her skin had lost its sheen, her brow had gained a few lines but it was her chin and neck that really gave her age away, that and her grainy hands and wrinkled elbows. She was wearing a black top with a lacy back and denim cut-offs held up by a broad belt. Her legs were still slender and muscular, her thighs firm and lightly tanned. Elderly, yes, but not without attraction.
“What could you have won?”
I blushed, but it was Sally who responded, promptly, to the blunt question “me, I’d be in his flat right now, in his shoes. Except I probably wouldn’t because I expect I’d already be stark naked by now.”
“Ooh, that kind of anything,” her aunt replied with evident relish, “well thank you for such a lovely present Sally and me thinking I would have to spend a boring birthday evening in on my own. I won’t invite you in as I suddenly have a lot of things that need attending to, many of them rather urgently.”
Sally drifted down the path as I entered the house. “Sally quite likes you Harry, she has told me all about you. If she were to split with that boyfriend of hers you’d have a really good chance there. She is a bit quarrelsome, especially about books, but otherwise she’s as nice as she looks and so generous. It was only a few weeks ago that I was telling her how hard it is to find a man who is kind and sensitive, yet has a bit of lead in his pencil.”
At that point she actually nudged me, giving me a lewd wink as she did so; “and here you are, all wrapped up in a bow, just for little old me,” she actually cackled. The pit of my stomach dropped, I was so nervous and she was piling on the embarrassment. “Do you know, when my Albert was alive we made love nearly every single day of our marriage, yes we hardly missed a day. There’s not a flat surface in this house that has not had my naked bottom resting on it whilst Albert humped us both to happiness. They recon that I wore him out, and me’bbe I did,” unexpectedly she chuckled at that, an oddly deep and ominous noise that set a tiny shiver of dread anticipation coursing down my spine.
“Sally’s a naughty girl too,” Aunt Kate had entered a little world of her own, her face lit up and the hint of a smile of things recalled played across her lips. “Do you know, the very first day that she came to work in your office, whilst you were out at lunch, she found four, big, fat, well thumbed files and placed them in the bottom drawer of your filing cabinet and the next day she started wearing stockings and suspenders. She thinks you like her black lacy panties the best but she knows that you also enjoy peeking at the ones with red, blue and green spots on; on your birthday she’s is going to. Oops, I mustn’t spoil her little surprise.” Kate covered her mouth with an embarrassed hand. “Anyway take off your shoes and come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.”
Kate went and made tea, and after she returned with the tray, played ‘mother’ and then sat opposite me on a low chair. I could see the lacy trim of her black panties peeking from under those exceedingly short shorts, I attempted, not very successfully, not to stare. If only I’d known it; she had been wearing a thong when we arrived and had changed into those lacy black panties especially for me, whilst the tea was brewing. Even tugging the lacy bit down so that I could not fail to catch a glimpse of them. “Yes my Albert was a very virile man and I cannot seem to replace him. You know men are either married, and I won’t have that, pinchin’ someone else’s, it’s not right; for example I know that you don’t have a steady girlfriend at the moment, Sally keeps herself well informed you know. Or they have limp dicks or they last five seconds and then fall asleep. And then they snore. But you’re all mine, at least for tonight.” That predatory look was back, if embarrassment were taught in universities, she’d have been the professor, head of the department and I knew that she knew exactly what she was doing.
I’ve some photo’s of me and Albert here somewhere, I’ll show you. Kate went over to the book case started to extract a white wedding album and then paused for reflection. She pushed it back, adopted that evil grin of hers and then, instead, pulled an old and battered brown leather folder, the oldest of about a dozen, that sat next to the wedding album. She came across and sat on the wide arm of my low chair, enveloping us both in cloud of musky perfume that screamed, ‘I want sex’ and opened her album of photographs. The crisp black and white image showed a woman wearing a wedding dress and a hansom man, in his soldiers uniform, standing slightly behind her and holding her voluminous dress up, not only to reveal her frilly garter, her stocking tops and her suspenders but exhibiting, for all to see, her cleanly shaven pussy, the slit barely visible. I started, it was Kate, but a very young and even more beautiful Kate. I blushed, my penis went ridged and began a fight with my underpants, my armpits went damp, I blustered.
“I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable,” Kate husked, “that’s my Albert,” she declared proudly, “he was handsome, and brave, and strong.”
“And you were stunning,” I blurted out, almost involuntarily.
She turned the page. I blushed again. She was sat on a high stool, the man, ‘her Albert’, was kneeling before her, head between her parted thighs, clearly licking her pussy. “Only man I ever knew who took his photo-floods on honeymoon,” she was clearly teasing me to alarming effect. The third picture caused me to cough and splutter. Albert was sat upon the stool now, his bride, her back to the camera, had lost her dress and was impaling herself on his huge and very stiff member. “That was the first time we made love after we were married,” spoken in the voice of someone far far away, somebody lost deep in memory; clearly she had adored Albert, doted upon the chap. “Don’t worry, I don’t suppose you’ll be as big, but that doesn’t matter,” and she began to hum ‘its not what you do its the way that you do it,’ to herself. Well that wilted my plant but the forth picture restored its state of attention, completely; Albert was shafting Kate doggy style in a photograph taken sideways on. “If I decide that you’ve been a good boy, and you ring all the right bells, as your treat you can do that to me at the end.”
Suddenly she wasn’t an old lady anymore, and I desperately needed to be a good boy. That was the moment, the defining instant, when I realised that Kate was still a very attractive and incredibly sexy woman, who was offering herself to me, on a platter, all I had to do was please her and she would most certainly be willing to please me; at that juncture who was the slave of whom became a very moot point. Oh I was still shy, very embarrassed, overpowered, intimidated even; but now all my fears about maintaining an erection, faking an interest, needing to drop false compliments, evaporated like dew in strong sunshine. I was consumed with lust, burning with desire and if I had had to confess the truth, somewhat jealous of Albert. She had seduced me.
“If, tonight, I order you to keep a secret, is that binding, you’ll never tell another soul, well unless I give you my express permission.”
“I don’t know,” I answered matter of factly. Thinking aloud I replied, “Sally, didn’t exactly specify terms and conditions for tonight, not in any detail, but I’ll keep your secret anyway. Presumably you mean keep it especially secret from Sally.”
She nodded her head in agreement, “especially secret from Sally and the rest of the family. They’ll get quite a shock when I die and they go through my stuff.”
I expected the exposure of lewd and disgusting rites would follow, extreme humiliation, extraordinary depravation and degradation. Instead, Sally said, “I’m starving, let’s make some tea. You really were a surprise so, eggs, bacon and sausages do, I’ve not much else in?”
“And beans, and toast?” I added.
“I’ll make some chips,” she laughed. “Eggs, beans, sausage and chips; that sounds good.”
“Ought your slave have to peel the spuds for you?”
“Indeed what are sexual slaves for, if not for peeling a ladies spuds? Yes, in this house slaves are obliged to peel the spuds but it is a rule that they may only do so only when stark naked.” Kate had just upped the ante rather a lot. “Oh and keep away from that chip pan, there’s one sausage I definitely don’t want to fry.”
It’s embarrassing, having to undress in front of a virtual stranger, it’s worse when the stranger is old enough to be your mother, and humiliating when they are obviously ogling you like an adolescent schoolgirl. On the other hand Kate had had such an effect upon me that I did not lose my erection, indeed my stiff member kept jerking about with the anticipation of what was to come all by itself and I was quite powerless to prevent it. I really wished that she would lose that evil grin of hers; cat, cream, hu!
We cooked, well she cooked, I peeled spuds, made more tea, buttered sliced bread, set the table, even lit the candles; candlelit, eggs, beans, sausage and chips might sound a bit odd, but it encapsulated, practically defined, the quirky mood of our relationship. By the end of our feast, oh was I randy, regardless of her age, Kate was an ultimate femme fatale. Worse, I had to pleasure her, cast my own lusts aside and allow them to be sacrificed to her sensuous indulgences, which, from the sound of it, would be many and varied. God, how I wished that I was not giving this aged siren the delight of watching a man, a man half her age, writhe in an agony of lust and I was scared by just how much she was so obviously enjoying utilising her power over me.
We washed up and dried the cutlery and the crockery, I desperately wanted… I really wished that I was not the only one of us that was naked, it was very humiliating, and she; she was so aloof, so mindless of my state of embarrassment: I don’t suppose that in reality she was, but she certainly played that role with a conviction that was absolutely flawless.
After tea, after dinner? After our evening meal, we returned to her parlour, sitting room, den of iniquity? Me stark naked, her dressed provocatively but decently, well just about; those black lacy panties, displayed so subtly, were still encouraging my erection to twitch. Kate made everything so ambivalent, she had an ability to transform life into a maze of mirrors, a talent to confabulate, confound and confuse. “So do you promise to keep my secret?”
“To the grave,” I pledged.
She went over to the sideboard, a vast construction of dark, lovingly polished, mahogany, everywhere, cupboards and drawers, and she extracted a set of keys; in all probability from a hidden recess that Albert had constructed secretly; OK I was getting paranoid, but that defined Kate. I wished that, my all too obvious erection would subside just a little, or at the very least my stiff organ would stop twitching and bobbing of its own accord, it was becoming painful to sport. She fitted the keyring around her finger and crooked the encompassed finger twice, an all too obvious gesture to follow her. I trailed, upstairs; by now wholly compliant with, and totally subsumed within, her fantasies.
She led me up the stairs, fitting an insignificant key into a child’s lock. Behind the locked door was a small lobby leading to a far more substantial inner door, fitted with a Chubb, mortise, deadlock. Kate locked the outer door behind us and then used a second key to unlock the inner door, carefully, locking this door behind us. The room we had entered was beyond immediate comprehension. It was very large, utilising the space over the double garage. “Welcome to our play room, mine and Albert’s rather large secret.” When describing it, where to begin?
The bed was, quite simply the biggest, I had ever seen. It had an ornate and intricate brass head board and a similar, lower, foot board. It was spaced well, away from any wall and you could easily walk around it. Mirrors, there were mirrors on every wall, I was almost surprised by the absence of a mirror upon the ceiling; that was exactly what you would have expected. What was suspended from the ceiling, well away from the bed, were a cluster of very solid and extremely business like rings or screw-eyes. At one end of the room was a chaise langue, two low, upholstered, arm chairs and trio of very unusual hard chairs all clustered round a stout coffee table. All three of the chairs had oddly high ladder backs with an exceptionally tiny tread. One had arms and both its legs and arms were decorated with the same complicated design that was used in the construction of the bead head and foot board. One had a simple, very narrow plank for a seat. The third almost had a toilet seat, but with the front portion cut away.
Along one wall were three doors. First. the bathroom; to the left a huge low sunken bath, able to accommodate two, with ease, to the right a shower that could hold, well a lot of people. opposite the door were a toilet, a washbasin and even a bidet. The second door was locked with another Chubb lock and Kate explained that it used to be Albert’s dark room. The third was the most extraordinary walk-in wardrobe that I had ever seen: schoolgirl and headmaster, peasant and squire, Snow White, Cinderella and Price Charming, a costume for every fantasy, right down to a white coat and straight-jacket.
“Well my little naked slave, we are going to play a little naked game soon. But first run me a luxurious bath and then attend to my toilet.”
I hoped that that meant I should wash her, rather than… well I’d prefer not to consider what the alternative might be but with this lascivious, licentious and wholly uninhibited woman you could never be too sure. By the side of the huge bath were a selection of perfumes and bubble mixtures, the bottles a little old; how I envied the dashing Albert, with his moustaches, straight back and military bearing. Kate had captivated me and I could not wait until I was allowed the privilege of being allowed to serve as his replacement. The bath was hot, the bubbles luxurious, the scent stupefying; then Kate drove me wild, simpering, “you have to undress me first, silly.”
I was paralysed with indecision: pull down her shorts, those tight denim shorts which barely concealed those sexy, black, lace trimmed, panties; or, alternatively, lift that skimpy top and discover whether or not she was wearing a bra, beneath? If she were it was, most definitively, a wholly strapless creation. A tiny voice in my head argued, ‘for God’s sakes your going to fuck your Mum,’ and another replied, very quickly, ‘well at least Oedipus got something right!” In the end I lifted her top and under was a black strapless bra, fastened at the front: ladies, if you want to hook your man, wear bras that fasten at the front: front fastening bras are so overpoweringly sexy; you can be fat, frumpy and fifty, or more; but, simply, by wearing one, you immediately define sexuality. Grey hairs, crows feet? A front fastening bra transforms you into a seductive and sensuous Rhine mädchen, ensnaring hapless lovers onto the rocks of your unabandoned pleasure with ease. OK I confess, Kate had got to me, drilled into my inner core, in a manner that I cannot express. My balls had constricted, transformed into tightly clinging sacks of lust. My stiff member was twitching, spontaneously, semaphoring my passion in a manner so direct that it was, quite simply, humiliating; yet she was, so overtly, voluptuous, that I had become truly ensnared.
I unclipped her bra and her breasts tumbled free; actually they drooped free. They hung a shade low, the left decorated with a mole just above the nipple, the right with a mole mounted high upon the curve, her darker pink areolae crinkled just a little too high. But my attention was focused upon her teats, they were dark, red and highly distended. She was every bit as excited as I was. I knelt, unbuckled her belt, unzipped her fly and she stepped out of her denim shorts, leaving her in just those black lacy panties. It was almost a shame to have to pull them down but pull them down I did, to reveal a dark dense bush. Kate turned her back upon me, leant forwards and, saucily, parted the cheeks of her buttocks to display not only the intimacies of her swollen sex but show off her tight puckered anus as well, “like what you see?” she taunted, and gave a little wriggle.
I’d like to say that I remained cool, calm and collected; the sad truth was I was about to come, without her even having touched me, her looks, attractive as she had remained, were irrelevant, she was stimulating my imagination. “Would you like to slide your rampant rod into my hot, moist slot. Feel it burrowing between those tight muscular walls, walls well lubricated with thick, feminine, lust and the viscous outpourings of a womanly passion. Then you could up the tempo until you pumped your white, sticky, smelly, seed deep inside of my feminine mysteries, perfuming the room with the obvious odour of masculine desires, satisfied?” she husked, poking her tongue in my ear. “Well first my little slave, you have to bathe me and, as my attention to womanly hygiene has been somewhat lacking of late, some regions will require a great deal of attention: oh and my breasts feel rather hot and sweaty too. Her explicitness did nothing to ameliorate my agitated state but I realised that she understood that, perfectly well.
Kate delivered her first dose of, well: bliss, humiliation, satisfaction; it’s hard to select the appropriate adjective. She sat up in the bath, pulled my foreskin back as far as it would go and declared, “just imagine if I were to take this purple helmet in my mouth and concentrate my attentions upon on its sensitive lower rim.” Which she did, promptly. Now, somewhat more muffled, ” Imagine that I used a hand to stroke the shaft at the same time.” Six strokes and I exploded into her mouth; I didn’t come, I didn’t orgasm, I exploded, unrestrainedly, pumping with abandon gobbet after gobbet. When I was quite done, and utterly drained, Kate sprung her first surprise, “now my little slave you get your first true kiss, it must be long and hard, fully upon my red lips, giving me the satisfaction of lots of tongue.” And, as my head approached hers, I could see that she had cupped her tongue deliberately, to conserve as much of my sticky seed as she possibly could. I ought to have been revulsed; in reality I felt obliged to concede to the outrageous whims of this elderly but extraordinarily beautiful and absolutely uninhibited woman: Albert, I realised, really had been the most fortunate of men.
Kate had a kink. Alright, I understand that you already think that Kate had enough kinks to construct a maze fit for the Minotaur; but she had a particular pleasure: she loved to have her pussy licked and a slave for the night was an opportunity that she was going to exploit to the full. I licked, I gobbled, I slurped, I sucked; I most certainly discovered the immediate function of the strange, toilet like, chair, the one with its front cut away: Kate sat upon her thrown and delighted in my ministrations until my lower jaw ached with the exertions of pleasuring her.
She had me lick her clit up and down. Then curl my tongue round and round that sensitive and increasingly distended little nub. Take her fat labia between my lips and suck upon them. Then start the sequence over again, time after time. All the while I had to pinch an roll her fat red teats between finger and thumb, harder and harder she insisted I squeeze. Sometimes she asked me to finger her hot moist hole, sometimes desist. Her slot dribbled, then dripped and finally poured thick clear moistness over my chin. The aroma of feminine lust was intense. Kate meanwhile gripped the seat of the curious chair and sighed and cried and moaned and groaned with utter inhibition. Her breathing became ragged, eventually she was almost sobbing to gain breath. She came and she came, orgasm after orgasm, sometimes it sounded as if they were piling pnto one another. Her pussy squelched and bubbled with her excitement, rapture was written large across her face.
When a somewhat breathless Kate eventually permitted us to retire to the bed I understood why she had sucked me to orgasm, previously; she was insatiable, indefatigable and capable of serial multiple orgasms. Had I not climaxed recently, I could not of begun to keep up with her requirements. She just kept going and, when I eventually did come a the second time, she was plainly disappointed with, and disillusioned by, my lack of self control. In contrast, until then, I had been impressed by my restraint. She simply took my soft, semen coated member in her mouth, sucked and stroked it back to hardness and carried on.
What we tried that evening: me on top, her on top, us both lying, us both sitting, us both standing up. On the bed, under the shower, on the chaise langue, her bent over the back of the chaise langue, me sitting on the hard wooden chair, her straddling me with her back to me, watching herself bounce up and down in one of the big mirrors, then similar but now with her breasts shoved hard against my chest. And, with all those mirrors, the room was constantly alive with copulating couples seen from every angle. I sucked her breasts, bit her buttocks, nibbled her earlobes; she requested that I pull her hair hard or tweaked her nipples viciously as she came. Towards the end, at Kate’s insistence and with much trepidation on my part, I even slid a finger in and out of her bottom as she shuddered her way through yet another series of climaxes.
It cannot have been all bad; seven am, upon the dot, she led me from the bed and splayed herself face down over the coffee table indicating that I should mount her doggy style. And, as if the view of me spearing her slick pussy were not enough excitement she had position herself such that we were sideways on to one of the many mirrors. That did not last long, this graphic sensory overload soon had me erupting, crying out with joy as I pumped my hot and sticky seed inside of her. As I withdrew, suffusing the air with the stink of fresh semen, Kate held my softening member and husked, “you had to satisfy me last night because you lost a pointless, and, with Sally involved, a completely stupid bet, but I’m at a loose end on Sunday afternoon, if you would care to join an old lady of your own free will I’m sure we could find something here to amuse us?” And, oblivious to our lustful outpourings that were coating my member, the little minx sucked and stroked me hard again, “now as we part we are both randy,” she whispered.
I replied with a simple “yes please,” not unnaturally, but, despite of, possibly because of, the differential in our ages, I prayed that that Sunday evening would also be equally free.