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Knocking at Mr Shaw’s Door

Category: Mature
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It’s going to be a surprise. I just hope it’s a pleasant one. I really shouldn’t be going. But I’m at my wits end and can’t stop myself. It’s been over two months of denial — not that there haven’t been others, I’ve let a few virile studs demonstrate their might on several one-nighters, but he’s the one I’m really interested in.

I’m mindless to the chill as I stride along. It’s already dark, drizzle permeating the air in a fine spray, a damp Christmas Eve with no chance of it snowing, no way to pretty things up.

Cars slide past, tyres hissing on inky-black tarmac as my boot heels thunk with a quick metronomic beat.

My bag keeps time, bouncing off my hip with the strap dragging at one shoulder. Inside are a gift-wrapped bottle of rum, a card in an envelope and a bottle of wine, which hopefully I’ll get to drink. I know he likes a drop of rum occasionally, he told me himself when I saw him at one of the check-outs after his shift, one of my more forward moments when I spotted and exploited the chance for some conversation — however brief our chat might be.

Finding out his address was easy enough. Of course I shouldn’t have done it, but Phil Manners had proved to be extremely slack on computer security.

I know the IT police wouldn’t like it, Sophie, the store manager had said, but it’s so convenient if you have access. Yes, yes, he’d added, without me saying a word about it, you’re a not a fully-fledged manager, I know that; and yes I realise it isn’t really allowed, but I know I can trust you.

So I had the password to his log-in, access to information on every member of staff at the supermarket. Not that I had much interest in anyone else, just Craig Shaw, a retired policeman some thirty-seven years older than me — I’m twenty-two, which makes him fifty-nine. I’m on a fast-track managerial training scheme, post-graduate, while Craig stacks shelves and works one of the check-outs if we’re swamped and there’s a red-call. My status as a manager, albeit of the novice variety, means that company policy forbids any romantic liaison, unless we’re married that is.

More information gleaned from various sources — a snippet here, a question there — is he left the force as an inspector, a detective I believe, the reason unknown. He’s been married twice, divorced both times, no children from either union. He likes rugby and the occasional rum. I’m fairly certain he lives alone, but I’m not too sure about any lady friends he may have stashed away.

Former Detective Inspector Craig Shaw is a gorgeous-looking older man with salt-and-pepper hair he keeps short and neat, as though he’s still a policeman. He has an intelligent air about him, with pale-blue eyes that make me melt between my legs when he happens to look my way.

I know it’s probably a bit … well … wrong to fancy a man so much older than me, but I can’t help it. I’ve always been what they might call a randy bitch. My pussy needs a lot of attention. She’s constantly ravenous and it sometimes makes me blush when I think of all the cock I fed her during my university years.

My pussy snarled for a taste of him when I set eyes on the dapper Mister Shaw on my very first day at the shop. Since then I’ve masturbated a lot, doing my utmost maintain a professional detachment. At night I’d use my fingers and favourite dildo on myself, groaning and grunting as I fucked my cunt with that oversized lump of moulded latex. As I said before I’d sometimes crack and find myself some energetic thruster to help me along; which was sometimes very nice but never quite enough. I also made use of the toilets at work when things got so difficult I couldn’t concentrate, rubbing my clit or fucking stiff fingers into my sloshing pussy, teasing myself to orgasm, teeth buried in the fleshy part of my hand in an effort to stifle the moans and wails that threatened to burst out of me.

I always pictured Craig Shaw somehow catching me with my skirt hanging on the hook at the back of the toilet door, legs wide with my fingers squelching around my slot. Just what the man would be doing nosing about in the ladies’ loos I had no real idea; it just suited my masturbatory frenzy to have him find me.

Anyway, it’s Christmas Eve and I can’t stand it anymore. I’ve got the bottle of rum for him, the card as well. I’m hoping, and for that read “desperate”, for him to be at home and alone. And of course I’m also hoping he’ll invite me in and I can show him just how wrong everyone’s perceptions of me are.

I know they’re all fooled by the angelic face and long blonde hair to match my innocent features. I’ve done a good job of keeping my real persona hidden behind a demure façade. I’ve worked hard for the chance at this career; I’ve got my eye on getting to the top of the tree, one of the high flyers, maybe CEO of some future company where the financial rewards come in millions of pounds.

But I’m worked up enough to take a punt on Craig Shaw despite the supermarket’s frown.

I’m in the mood to let that inner slut out for the night. I want to suck cock and feel a man stuffed deep in my pussy. I’m so fucking randy, hot for Mister Shaw to plunder my pussy. He can fuck my arse as well if he wants. If it goes like I want it to I can let go with some potty-mouthed sewer talk as we fuck, the dirtier the better. I’m in such a raw state that I want it to be filthy-dirty-nasty.

I’m sodden by the time I get to his block.

My tummy flips and my pussy clenches in anticipation now the moment is on me.

Please-please-please let him be home. Please-please-please let him invite me in.

Please-please-please, God, make him want me so I can have my fill of man meat. I want to taste him, to spit on his cock-end and suck at his length so he groans and moans and tells me what a good slut I am. I want to feel his cock fill me, to have him squirt cum inside me. If he has a mind to I’ll take the hot stuff all over me. I’ve had some men go mental when they see a cute girl like me drenched with semen. And I don’t mind letting them.

I’m in front of the block of flats. I gulp and try to control my raging pussy when my finger presses the button on the silver panel.

*Craig Shaw*

He’d just settled in front of the television, a Sopranos box set ready run, Craig’s way of avoiding all the overly-sentimental Christmas crap saturating every element of his life. It had been bad enough at work the past few weeks, with people descending into a frenzy of consumerism as the day itself approached. Craig had decided he could do without the inanity that prevailed on Christmas Eve. His plan involved a quiet evening in front of the box, a raised glass of rum at some point — an agnostic toast before retiring for the night. Christmas Day would see a decent fry-up breakfast, a couple of solitary beers as he worked his way through the DVDs in the box set, a pint or two at the Elm Tree pub and then a turkey roll dinner with veg, roast potatoes and gravy timed for the Queen’s speech. After that it would be more Sopranos and then a shift at the supermarket on Boxing Day.

Then the buzzer sounded to indicate a caller at the front door downstairs.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” he muttered, incredulous. Craig had half a mind to ignore it, but over three decades as a policeman conspired and goaded him to answer. Brusque at the intrusion he barked, “Who’s there?” into the intercom near the front door.

The tinny reply coming through the speaker sent his eyebrows up into his hairline. “It’s Sophie Bloom … Miss Bloom. You know… from work.”

Possibilities were considered and discarded in the blink of an eye. For a brief moment Craig wondered if he might be in some kind of trouble, a ridiculous idea, he’d never once been reprimanded for any professional misconduct in his life. He knew the thought was laughable as soon as it popped into his head. First off, the company wouldn’t send anyone a junior as Miss Bloom to undertake such a task; also, any disciplinary proceedings would be a formal meeting at the store, with records kept and so on. There was also the fact that Craig had done nothing wrong, committed not the slightest misdemeanour, his nose was clean.

So what was Miss Sophie Bloom — the delectable Sophie Bloom — doing at his door on Christmas Eve?

Craig did have a vague suspicion, an inkling formed over days and weeks of occasional and usually very brief contact with the young would-be manager. But that nebulous intuition was almost as ridiculous as him being in some kind of bother; pretty blonde girls in their twenties, and an extremely pretty one at that, didn’t go for old duffers who were staring sixty in the face.

“Miss Bloom?” Craig responded, extremely curious. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, can I come in? It’s a bit miserable out here, Mister Shaw.”

A small square button next to the speaker was marked with a key symbol. Craig pressed it and heard the sound of the buzzer rising up from the entry vestibule below. The front door locks clicked open and a few moments later Sophie Bloom appeared on the landing.

Craig stood in the open doorway of his flat and watched the girl approach, his detective’s eyes taking in the detail of blonde hair in a ponytail, Sophie’s tentative expression, the bulky Puffa jacket bulking out her slim torso. He saw a tartan kilt, his eyebrows rising slightly at the brevity of the hem and the knee-length fuck-me-boots, the ensemble so incongruous when compared to the air of innocence the young woman usually exuded. He also noted the voluminous bag hanging from the girl’s shoulder, a chunky knit thing in some garish Jamaican colouring. Judging by the way it hung low and seemed to drag at the girl’s shoulder Craig assumed it was heavy.

He pulled his eyes up from a pair of the most aesthetically pleasing legs he’d seen for quite some time and said, “Miss Bloom. Please, come in.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” the blonde answered as she stepped into the flat.

“No, no,” Craig replied, taking the opportunity to ogle the distracting aspect Miss Bloom’s firm young thighs from behind. “I was just going to have a quiet night in. Just me and Tony Soprano. You know,” he adds, “the mafia programme? I’ve got a box set…”

“Oh, right, yes,” the girl said, her expression puzzled; then she changed tack with, “Well, I hope you don’t mind but I thought I’d just come round and drop off a card and a little present I’ve got for you.”

Craig heard the anxiety in Miss Bloom’s voice. He detected the slight warble and faster than normal diction. “Really?” he answered, more than a little surprised at the mention of a gift. However, recovering quickly he closed the door and turned to face the young woman. “You giving gifts to all the staff?”

Then he gulped when Miss Bloom’s eyes dropped to the carpet and she replied with, “No, just the ones I fancy.”

The DVD box set would have to wait.


I was so fucking nervous going up those stairs! It was really odd — a reversal of roles kind of thing. At work I’m the one in charge, regardless of the difference in age and experiences. Despite Craig’s previous career and the rank he achieved, in the supermarket, I’m his superior. Being on his territory unsettled me in a way I hadn’t foreseen. Suddenly, he was the dominant force.

And, as disquieting as the sensation was, I kind of liked it.

So I’m there, in his flat. There’s a to-and-fro about some DVD thing that I’m only vaguely aware of; I’ve never seen the programme, but the good news is he’s alone. Also, by the sound of it, he’s not anticipating any callers. I mention the gift and he asks if I’m giving presents to everybody … And that’s when I say it, when I make it clear I’m interested, although I hadn’t exactly considered just putting it out there like I did. I mean, I can’t quite believe I used the expression fancy. I felt a little silly using a phrase I would have used a decade before to describe a silly crush. What I felt went beyond the crushing stage, at least in a carnal sense.

But, anyway, it’s out there, and he looks at me for a long time, at least thirty seconds, perhaps longer. I can’t make out what he’s thinking, which makes me very nervous indeed. I’m worried I’ve made a real idiot of myself; I wonder if he’s going to ask me to leave. Maybe I’ve miscalculated horribly? Perhaps I’ve been a bit overconfident about the effects of my looks? I feel silly for wearing such a short kilt and the boots.

It’s quite reasonable to assume he might actually be offended.

My anxiety eases a little when he eventually pouts and nods and asks, “A gift, Miss Bloom?”

Seizing the opportunity I reach into my bag. I know I’m gabbling when I hold up the gift wrapped bottle and say, “You said you liked a glass of rum now and then … Well, I thought I’d get you one. For Christmas. Here,” I add, almost chucking the present at him. “And I’ve got you a card, too.”

Craig takes the bottle and says, “Would you like a drink, Miss Bloom?”


I gulp at the wine, doing my utmost to quell the anxiety churning in my stomach. I’m in a bit of a mess. This isn’t what I’d imagined it would be like. The scene I’d built up in my head was all about me hitting Craig hard, using my sexual allure to overwhelm him. I had thought I’d just use a few suggestive remarks while casually sitting on his sofa, the kilt high on my thighs so he’d know exactly what it was I wanted. In my head I’d seen Craig all gape-mouthed with surprise, too stunned to make any decisive move, with me dictating the proceedings, teasing the man with my legs and my bottom and my pert little tits. Not that there would be any doubt about the outcome, there was always going to be some rampant sex on the cards, but I did think I’d have a little fun before the serious stuff started.

Instead it seems that Craig is the one with it all together. He’s so cool about it all. He also looks gorgeous in his cargo pants and faded tee-shirt. I’ve only ever seen him wearing the mildly cheesy uniform of short-sleeved blue-check shirt and dark blue trousers, standard issue kit of the cheapest fabric, downright horrific on some of the members of staff but which Craig just manages to pull off with a hint of aplomb due to his build and bearing. If the work clothes aren’t exactly flattering, Craig, comfortable on his home turf in his own clothes, has managed to get me all flustered.

Craig looks cool, his demeanour unperturbed as we sit opposite one another in his surprisingly comfortable living room. I experience a resurgence of that sensation I experienced as I ascended from the entryway downstairs. I feel suddenly out of my depth, struggling to stay afloat while Craig bobs along on calm waters, completely in control of himself.

I get a surprise when I go for the wine glass and find it empty.

Craig laughs, not unkindly, just amused.

Then I catch him looking at my legs before he asks, “Another, Miss Bloom?”

His interest in my legs goes some way to settling me. My libido flares as my confidence spikes. The wine helps too, I can feel the warm buzz already. Calmer than I was, shrugging off the foolishness of drinking from an empty glass, I feel desire bubble once more.

I nod and hold out the long-stemmed goblet. “Yes, please, Mister Shaw.”

“Call me Craig,” he says, rising to take the proffered glass.

“You should call me Sophie,” I call when he leaves me and goes to the kitchen.

“I’ll keep with Miss Bloom,” he replies, voice raised from the adjacent room. “Better for us at work that way. Not that I think I’d slip up, I know how to play the game.” Craig reappears and walks to me. “There was the same crap in the force,” he adds, handing me the wine glass. “I used to run things in an informal style, but some of the higher-ups didn’t like it much. You can call me Craig and I’ll keep on calling you Miss Bloom. Or,” he says, smiling down at me, “you could call me daddy…”

Then he grins as though it’s a joke, turning to walk back to his seat, a large armchair upholstered in the same sumptuous fabric as the boat-sized settee I’m perched on. If his seat is anything like the sofa, it’s extremely comfortable.

As I digest this little quip from Craig my eyes are moving around the room, although I’m completely sightless to the books lined up on the three rows of shelves in the bookcase. I’m oblivious to the four Christmas cards sitting on the bank of a glass-fronted cabinet and the bottles of spirits arranged behind the glass. “One from each of the ex-wives and one from my mother,” Craig had informed me when he’d placed my card at the right-hand edge of the group.

Without taking them in, my eyes pass over the heavy curtains keeping the damp night at bay. I’m too focussed on the warmth spreading through my vulva to think about the flat screen television, the satellite system or the Wi-Fi router. Craig’s comfortable home and the furnishings mean nothing to me. All I can visualise are his big arms wrapped around me.

I sit there on the sofa and wonder at how secure that would make me feel, to be held by this man, tight, both of us naked, his mouth on mine while I stroke his cock and listen to his murmurs of how good it feels to have me in his bed.

I start and blink when I hear his voice, and when I look directly at him I realise he’s been forced to repeat himself. I was too far away in lah-lah land to notice.

“Miss Bloom?” says Craig, his voice barely above a murmur. When I look at him directly he adds, “Stand up. Take that kilt off … and your underwear.”

I’m trembling as I rise to my feet and place the wine glass on the table. My hands are shaking and my pussy floods with heat as I unpin the kilt and unwrap it, revealing the fact I’m not wearing any knickers.

The look he gives me makes me shiver. It’s the hungriest most predatory expression I’ve ever seen on a man’s face. There’s no doubt that he wants me.

“Turn around, Miss Bloom,” Craig croaks, his eyes just drinking me up. “Sweet Jesus,” I hear him blaspheme when I show him by bottom. “I knew you had a lovely pair of legs, but what a backside.” There’s a pause and he breathes, “Turn around again. Let me see you take that vest off.”

I’m braless beneath the baggy top. It’s easy for me that way, I don’t have much in the way of boobs, just little button nipples on top tiny mounds, areola like coins.

It makes me feel good when Craig nods and licks his lips, eyes gleaming with feral intensity as he says, “Who needs big tits when you’ve got an arse like yours, Miss Bloom.” He smirks at me and winks, eyes then moving over my near nudity. His chin juts towards me as he adds, “You can keep the boots on.”


When she was naked — except for the fuck-me-boots — Craig beckoned the girl to him with a crooked forefinger and a glint in his eyes.

After the briefest hesitation Sophie went to him.

When she arrived Craig twirled the same finger and said, “Turn around again. I want to see your arse.”

The young woman did as instructed, looking back over one shoulder as she did so, her buttocks clenching when Craig placed his palms on her skin, each cheek nearly fully encompassed by his hands.

“Huh-how tall are you?” Sophie asked, blinking.

“Six-four — why?”

Craig squeezed pliant flesh while Sophie gulped and said, “Because you’re so much bigger than me … And your hands are huge.”

In reply, chuckling and shaking his head, Craig answered with, “And you’ve got one of the tightest backsides I’ve seen in a good long while, Miss Bloom.” He leaned in and placed a light kiss on one globe. “Fucking gorgeous,” whispered Craig. “Better than I thought you’d be.”

When she heard that, Sophie turned. “You’ve thought about me?” she asked as Craig reclined, his stare focussed on her pudenda.

The man reached for his drink — rum and coke — which he’d set on a low table next to his seat. He sipped and looked up into Sophie’s face, taking his time, savouring the moment.

Finally, he nodded. “Yes, Miss Bloom, I’ve thought about you.”

With his glass in one hand, Craig sat up, his free hand reaching out to caress the velvety flesh at the top of one of Sophie’s thighs. He brushed the girl’s labia with his thumb, splitting the folds, the young blonde’s body slick with desire.

Sophie winced and gasped when he found her clit. “Oh fuck,” she mewled.

“You got a thing for older men?” Craig asked, his thumb describing light circles.

Sophie’s boot heels shuffled further apart. She thrust her pelvis forward in an unconscious gesture, making herself more accessible to Craig’s digital attentions. “Not particularly,” she gasped. “I just saw you and thought you were hot. It isn’t an age thing at all … Oh fuck,” the young woman moaned again, nose crinkling. “Don’t stop doing that.” She grabbed Craig’s wrist to hold him in place, her hips rolling as she writhed against his touch.

Maintaining the pressure, Craig leaned to the side and carefully placed his drink on the table. “So it’s me? Something about me you like?” he asked.

Sophie chewed on her bottom lip, moaning before she collected herself enough to nod and say, “Just you,” she breathed, voice breaking at the end of the second word. “It’s the way you move. You’re so confident. It’s obvious to me you’re a very clever bloke, too; and that excites me. I know you were in the police and that you were a detective.

“I’ve been dying to fuck you for weeks…”

Then a sharp gasp came bursting out of Sophie She moaned and her face twisted into a mask of pure delight. “Oh Jesus, Craig,” she mumbled, voice thick with yearning. “That’s so fucking nice. You’re going to make me come.”

The man pulled his hand free of Sophie’s restraining grip. “Not yet,” he growled, rising to his feet so abruptly that Sophie let out a yip of alarm and staggered backwards. “You’re going to be a good girl and walk about a bit for me.” Craig waved a hand in an airy gesture that encompassed the room. “Just strut about in those boots. Let me watch you move. I’ll sip my drink and look at you.”

Sophie’s face creased with a degree of puzzlement. “What? I don’t get it.”

Sighing and shaking his head, Craig said, “Don’t disappoint me, Miss Bloom.” He waved the finger again. “Just walk around the room a little. Strut your stuff. I want to see you from all angles. Show off those beautiful legs and tight arse.”

The girl caught on and grinned. “Like this, you mean?” she asked, turning and sashaying across the room with an exaggerated swing to her hips.

“Fucking lovely,” Craig smirked in response, settling into his chair once again. He sipped from his glass, attention fixed on Sophie’s round buttocks. “Really fucking marvellous,” the man added on a sigh, shaking his head in wonder. “I reckon this is just a dream. I’m going to wake up and it’ll be me sitting here on my lonesome on Christmas Eve.”

Sophie chuckled and bent at the waist, feet widespread. She reached back and splayed the globes of her backside, the surprisingly meaty flaps peeling apart with sticky reluctance. “It’s real,” she murmured, looking round to see the man behind her.

Craig nodded and sipped rum, his eyes bright lasers centred on the scarlet gape.

“At least I think it’s real,” the young woman continued. “Otherwise I’m dreaming, too.” Then she purred and moaned while sliding a forefinger into her opening.

“Come here,” Craig growled — a command, not a request. When the girl approached he put down his glass and indicated she should clamber onto his lap. “Astride me, Miss Bloom,” he said. “Straddle me.”

“Like this?” Sophie grinned, climbing onto the chair and settling her knees either side of Craig’s thighs.

“Perfect, Miss Bloom,” Craig sighed, hands going round to squeeze taut flesh. He parted the twin moons and eased a finger into the moist heat of her pussy, Sophie gasping and squirming in response. Craig slid a second digit in along the first and stirred the girl’s insides. “How fucking wet are you, Miss Bloom? That’s a creamy little cunt I can feel.”

“Oh, yes, finger me,” Sophie returned, fingers clamped against the upright back of the chair as she ducked in to kiss the older man’s mouth.

During that first kiss, that serpentine writhing of tongues, for the full minute it went on, with Sophie moaning and gasping into her lover’s open mouth, Craig worked at her pussy, rubbing the button of Sophie’s clit before teasing the puckered ring of her sphincter.

“Dirty bugger,” Sophie squeaked, pulling away when the tip of Craig’s forefinger dabbed at her anus.

Smirking, Craig snickered. It was a low and dangerous sound.

In a tone to match the snicker, his expression feral, Craig said, “You have no idea, Miss Bloom.”

Her response came on a sigh as she moved in for another kiss: “Then show me … daddy.”


Being naked in front of him is a thrill. I like the little touch with the FMBs, too — just a hint of kinkiness in it as I walk about for him in nothing but the boots. I’m already thrumming, but showing off this way cranks me up a gear.

He’s so in control, too. Him sitting there fully clothed while he just … stares at me is a little unsettling. The way he looks at me makes me nervous, a bit like being in a room with a supposedly tame tiger. It’s meant to be safe, but…

All the same, as anxious as I am about him staring at me all predatory still churns up my insides and has me gagging to fuck.

When he tells me to, I go to him, climbing onto his lap so he can finger my cunt while we share a first kiss. Then he tickles my arsehole, that touch sending me reeling, and after I’ve called him a dirty bugger he sends me back across the living room to the settee.

Of course, I get on and do it; I think I’ll do anything he wants me to.

And I tell him so as I’m knelt on the sofa, my backside thrust high while Craig is back there slurping at my rectum, holding me wide apart with his big hands, his tongue wriggling into that dark, taboo cavern.

“Oh God,” I whine, thrilled at what he’s doing. It feels so wet and squirmy. It’s such a nasty thing to do but it’s really getting me going. The wrongness only makes it better. “Do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. I’ll be your Christmas gift, Craig,” I groan when he sucks my pussy-flaps between his teeth, a finger diddling my clit. “Use me. Do whatever filthy, dirty things you want.”

Craig laps at my pussy, wriggling that tongue in there like he did to my anus. He’s got two fingers in my cunt as he rises up and leans over me. Then we’re kissing, my lust on his tongue. I can taste my own sex on him while he works my insides.

“I could phone a few of the boys,” the filthy-minded fucker whispers at me. “Four or five of them could come over and we could all take turn at you, Miss Bloom.” His fingers have me clawing at the chair; my hips are rolling as I try to force myself onto his hand.

When he breathes the obscenities into my ear I groan and sob, as close to coming as I’ve been since we started. ‘m so fucking desperate to come I’m moaning and grunting and babbling obscene nonsense.

“If you want me to do that,” I’m squeak. “I’ll do it for you. I’ll suck and fuck their cocks if you want me to. I’ll take them all on. They can gangbang my cunt. They can cover me in cum. I’ll let them pump spunk into my body if you tell me to…”

Then the bastard leaves me knelt there, pussy on fire, my body gaping and soaked with my desperate need. I’m absolutely choking to climax, as mad for cock as I’ve ever been — and I’ve been pretty hot for fucking in the past. So horny and worked up that I’ve done what I said I’d do for Craig. At university one hot summer’s evening, after an afternoon of drinking I took on three men at the same time.

It was absolutely superb. I had complete control of three very hard cocks, with three very ardent young men to fuck them into me. It went on for ages, with me milking one of them dry with my cunt or my mouth or my hand, another one ready, willing and very able popping up quite literally to take his place.

At one time, when I was totally wild for it all to happen, I had one in each hole. I was astride one fit young bloke while another nudged away at my anus, the third trying to force his length into my gullet. In amongst the madness we fell into a rhythm, with the man in my mouth under control of one of my hands before he got too carried away and shredded my throat.

When it ended I had spunk drying in my hair and smeared across my face. My tits and the cheeks of my arse were covered in dollops of semen. Jizm seeped out of my pussy, which felt all battered and achy after being used so harshly; my anus stung and I had bruises dotted on the tender places at the tops of my arms from where those men had hauled me round to suit their needs. My thighs were no better off.

But, as sordid and slutty as it had been, I sure was satisfied despite the aches and pains.

So, if my new Daddy wants his mates to gangbang me — bring it on!

With Craig behind me, with me gawping back in surprise at his sudden abandonment, he shakes his head and says, “Not tonight, Miss Bloom. Tonight it’ll be just you and me.”

And then he’s pulling his tee-shirt over his head, and in the process reveals a decent bod for an old man. Craig is big around the chest, broad-shouldered with brawny arms. He’s got some definition on him — not a tight-bodied youngster to be sure, but fit enough to hold my interest. Then he unbuttons his cargo pants and shucks them to his knees, boxers going down too. Craig then straightens to show off this great lump of a gnarled and veiny cock. Honestly, the fucking thing’s like some kind of medieval weapon, a bludgeon used in some dark and terrible dungeon. It’s stiff and angry, waggling around like some heavy jib in the wind.

“I didn’t know you were coming round,” the dirty old bastard smirks, cranking a hand along his length. “But I hope this will do as a nice little Christmas present for you.”

“Little!” I blurt, boggling at the loveliest example of male appendage I’ve ever seen — and I’ve seen quite a few. “That thing’s enormous.”

Craig smiles at me. It’s not exactly a pleasant smile, more like his predatory I’m-going-to-split-your-cunt-in-two-with-this kind of look — which is exactly what I’m hoping.

“You say the nicest things, Miss Bloom,” he rumbles, stroking his thick dick.

I can’t reply because soon after I’m trying to stuff the huge domed head of that cock between my lips.


He watched her for a minute or two, took pleasure in the sight of her struggling gamely to accommodate his girth with her mouth.

Then, he reached for her ponytail and — gently, he didn’t want to cause her pain — guided her to her feet.

Craig stepped back and worked his fist slowly along the length of his cock. “Come here,” he growled. “Put your arms around my neck. I’ll lift you up.”

Blinking, Sophie asked, “You want to fuck me? Now?”

The man nodded and said, “Stop fucking about asking questions. Come here.”

A few seconds later she was monkey-hanging off Craig’s neck, his big hands a cradle beneath her buttocks. Craig used the tips of his fingers to peel Sophie’s flesh apart, urging the girl to reach under with one hand.

“I’ll hold you,” he assured the blonde. “You won’t fall. Put it in, Miss Bloom,” Craig breathed, eyes shining with inner desires. “I want to feel your hot cunt around my dick.”

“Use that word again,” gasped Sophie as she took hold of Craig’s erection. “Lift me up a bit so I can get you in. Tell me dirty stuff. I’m in the mood for–” The girl groaned and winced, mouth falling open as she then stared wide-eyed at her lover, the length of him splitting her open.

“In the mood for a good fucking?” Craig retorted. “How does that feel, Miss Bloom? Is it good? I can tell you it feels fucking sweet to me. Your pussy’s hot and wet and tight, you little slut. Is this why you came round to see me?” Craig bounced the girl a few times, with her raising herself up, using her arms to lift her body off that cock before sliding back onto it. “Did you need your cunt stuffing with cock?”

“Oh,” Sophie whined before pressing tight to the man, her mouth hungrily searching for his.

They kissed, with Craig using his strength to aid Sophie as she eased up and down his length.

The heat of the moment nearly overwhelmed the man’s senses. What a total surprise, a complete shock: the delightfully fuckable Miss Bloom turning up on Christmas Eve all hot and bothered between her legs. It was a once-in-a-lifetime-occurrence, a Halley’s Comet event he wasn’t going to let slip past. Craig returned the kiss, lust surging inside him. She was everything he’d imagined and more. The girl was exquisite, so petite and beautifully formed. He’d often felt the tug of some deep, primal urge as he’d watched her at work, surreptitiously observing the eager young manager while lewd fantasies formed in his mind.

That he was living the reality of Sophie’s physical presence was unbelievable. He struggled to accept the truth of the situation: that her taut young body was in his hands, that her sex squelched on his cock and her insides were gripping him with that molten embrace.

The kiss went on, tongues swirling as the pair conveyed their desires to one another with gasps and sighs and murmured nonsense.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Craig mumbled.

“Fuck me, oh please, just fuck me,” Sophie babbled in response.

Craig replied with, “I’m going to, Miss Bloom. I’m going to ride the fucking arse off you.”

“You can fuck my arse if you want,” gasped the girl. “You can do anything…”

They met for another kiss, desperation ballooning within Craig. He wanted to get at the young woman properly. Having her on his cock was good, the sensations divine, but what he really wanted was her on her back, legs hooked around his arms so he could pound at her vulnerable cunt until the bliss pumped from him.

He carried Sophie from the room, staggering slightly as he negotiated the wide hall, moving past the door of the second bedroom, heading for the end of the corridor.

There were two doors facing him, both closed. Craig pushed the one on the left open with his foot, entering his bedroom with Sophie still clinging to him.

With a yelp of fright coming from the girl, Craig launched her onto the bed. She bounced there for a second or two, wide-eyed and gape-mouthed with surprise.

He was on her before she could say a word.

Craig moved to the foot of the bed and hauled the blonde to the edge. He knelt on the floor while Sophie’s legs fell wide of their own accord. After that, following a few moments pause to savour the sight of such a healthy young woman all aroused and ready, Craig ducked in and lapped at Sophie’s swollen clit.


I felt so stuffed with him when he first told me to put it in. I reached down and grabbed it and mushed the bell-end against my pussy. There was a little thrust from Craig as I bore down…

And fuck me but didn’t that big thing just slide in. It took my breath away, him filling me up like that.

He’s a strong old bugger. Craig managed to hold me up while I went a bit mental for his dick. I’m tiny, yes, but I was going for it in a big way, loving the way he felt inside me. I felt safe in his hands, confident he wouldn’t drop me.

So now we’re in his bedroom. I haven’t had time to notice much at all. He flung me onto this massive bed, some kind of extra king-size thing as big as a tennis court before he got down and started to suck my pussy.

There was an uncomfortable moment before he started at me with the tongue and the fingers, when he stared at my pussy for a few seconds.

I’ve got this “thing” about my labia. To me they seem too … well, big. I’m a small girl but my flaps are out of proportion and I’m a bit shy about them. If I’m in complete slut mode I’m not bothered at all, but during that very brief lull, as horny as I was, I was anxious that Craig might not find me very attractive down there. I think my flaps are like elephants ears, dangling and trembling between my legs. Neurotic perhaps? Okay, yes, maybe I’m exaggerating their size a little, and nobody has ever complained, but I did get a little jab of anxiety when Craig paused to stare, a little jolt of unease that soon evaporated when he started to lick my pussy and clit.

He’s still down there, working two fingers into my opening while he sucks the meaty folds of my labia between his teeth. He goes at my clit, the pleasure lifting my pelvis from the bed as I try to grind my cunt against his face. I need it on my clit. If he goes for my clitty some more I’ll come.

And there he is, licking me, tongue working my flesh, the climax simmering away. It’s as though he’s read my mind — or maybe I grunted at him to do it?

All it will take is another few seconds.

If he keeps at it I’ll get there.

Oh, here it comes, here it comes…

And the bastard pulls back again! Right at the final second! Just as I’m about to boil over he lifts his head from my pussy.

“I was almost there!” I wail.

He ignores me. Craig stands and reaches down to grab my wrist. He pulls me up, with just enough pressure to indicate he wants me to stand. He isn’t dragging me forcibly and I manage to raise myself.

“One arm around my neck,” he says through clenched teeth.

I pick up on his urgency and comply, hooking an arm around my lover’s neck. Then he lifts me in both arms, his hands going to a place on my thighs just above my knees, turning me away from him at the same time so my lower back is to him.

Next, muttering the instruction as he spreads me wide, Craig says, “Put me in again.” I feel his breath hot against my neck when he repeats the order. “Get hold of my cock and put it in your cunt, Miss Bloom.”

I do as he says and I’m suddenly filled with him again.

Craig turns, and that’s when I notice the bank of mirrors fronting the wardrobe. He’s got hold of me, my torso angled against him while he’s got my legs hooked around his arms. Craig holds me wide; I couldn’t close my legs if I wanted to. I can see it all right there, my body jammed full of big cock.

“Oh Jesus,” I moan, boggling at my reflection. “That’s just so fucking bad…”

Lust explodes inside me, an arterial burst of intense yearning brought on by seeing myself accepting the girth of Craig’s cock. I can see him stretching me, my flesh tight around him while the length probes my insides.

Watching myself fuck isn’t something I’ve experienced before. I’ve done a lot of other stuff, but never seen myself in the act. Witnessing my pussy jammed with dick is one thing, but when I look up and see my face it’s a whole new story.

I don’t recognise myself at first. Who is this blonde slattern looking back at me with glazed, heavy-lidded eyes, her face slack with whatever it is she’s feeling?

But I know exactly what it is that girl feels, and it’s bloody divine.

And I don’t want it to stop. I never want this to end.

“I’ve never felt this way about a man,” I mumble, the emotions I’m experiencing too complex to convey. “Don’t let me go.”


We’re back on the bed. I’m on my back with my legs wide. Craig, the absolutely gorgeous bastard, has my knees hooked around his arms. He’s holding himself off me with locked elbows, fists against the bed, his eyes locked on mine while he fucks in and out of me.

I want to scream the fucking place down. It’s so lovely feeling the mass of him splitting me open, his cock touching me in all the right places.

Lifting my arms I beg him for a kiss, and a second later we’re joined at the mouth as my tongue dances with Craig’s and my cunt clenches around his dick.

I’m coming at last. My world explodes and I’m lost to a juddering and very vocal climax, the pleasure of it rolling on and on and on.

I have no idea how long I’m away for. All I can focus on is the intensity of that orgasm. I know I’m wailing and groaning, I can hear myself making a real fuss, but I’m not really aware it’s me making all the noise, I’m just too wrapped in the moment for my senses to pick up much of the reality.

Then, as that beautiful climax cools and I’m coming down from the plateau, I hear my lover bellow out he’s coming too. I swear I can feel that big cock pulsing, and the realisation Craig is flooding my insides with jizm gets me there again.

“You’re going to fuck a baby into me,” I hear myself moan. “Come inside me, daddy … Show me how much I turn you on. Get there … Get there … Yes, pour it into me. Give me that love.”

Craig is grimacing and grunting, wall-eyed, teeth clenched in a portcullis of what I take to be exquisite agony while he unloads into my pussy.

Finally he collapses on top of me, spent, his erection dwindling. Then we’re snogging again, locked at the mouth as our tongues explore.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Bloom,” the man says as he rolls away. He lies next to me, an arm over his eyes like an actress in a bad melodrama. “Are you going to stay with me tonight?” he asks.

I roll onto my side and snuggle in, folding Craig’s free arm around me as I do. I feel safe there, secure in that cocoon.

“Do you want me to? I’ll do anything for you. If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.”

The bed dips when Craig slides onto his side to face me. He looks at me and whispers, “I want you to stay, Miss Bloom.” His eyes search my face as he adds, “Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow? It’s Christmas Day and…?”

Knowing his circumstances are similar to mine I assure Craig there’s nowhere I have to go, no obligations. His mother lives in another city, as does my immediate family. I’m going to see them within the next week when I have my scheduled break.

“There’s nothing until Boxing Day. That’s my next shift.”

He nods. “Mine too.”

Of course I already know that, but make no reference to it as I continue with, “I’ve got time off at new year like you.”

There’s a short pause before my lover quietly says, “I want you to stay with me tonight, Miss Bloom.” I see him grin, the expression on his face sending a ripple of further arousal through me. My tummy flips and I feel myself warming up again. “I want you here in my bed so I can fuck your wet little cunt again. You can strut around the flat tomorrow, naked except for those boots. That’ll make it a great Christmas.”

I gulp and breathe, “Oh God…”

“There’s so much I want to do with you, Miss Bloom. And we’ve only just started.”

He eases me onto my front and commands me to tilt my pelvis so he can get at me.

“You’re hard again?” I ask, incredulous. “Already?”

Then he’s slipping into my pussy, the goo he’s recently deposited squelching out of me, displaced by his lovely big dick.

I push up to meet him, our bodies moulded, my rump tight against my lover. He fucks into me, grunting and groaning, sometimes leaning in to brush my neck and shoulder with his teeth. I’ve got a hand down under me, fingers working my clit, semen and my own lust a slick, viscous lube.

We don’t last long.

I come, squeaking and wailing and making such a fuss that Craig blurts out he’s there as well.

After that he needs time to recover, although I’m amazed at his stamina as it is — after all, he’s nearly fifty.

“I thought a man’s sex drive waned when he hit forty,” I quip when we’re back in his living room. I’ve lost the boots; I took them off before taking a very necessary bath. Now I’m sitting on Craig’s lap, naked at his insistence.

“I’ve always been a horny bastard,” the man smirks at me, one palm smoothing over my thigh. I shiver at his touch, hoping it’s the precursor to something more. “And you, Miss Bloom, could raise the dead.”

At work on Boxing Day we maintain our professional cool. I have no idea how I managed to keep myself from dragging my lover into the loos so we could enjoy a frantic rut, but by closing time I’m choking for Craig’s attention.

By the time New Year’s Eve comes round I’m in love with Craig Shaw.

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