The
piano I was playing looked fabulously expensive, and in a sense it was. It was
the body of a Steinway grand - well suited to the not-quite-ostentatious opulence
of the Club’s main room - and it still contained the original harp and strings,
dampened with an old rug under the lid. The hammers and keys had been removed
to make way for a rather cheap-feeling digital piano - and that was what I was
actually playing. I considered this a grievous act of vandalism, as would any
musician.
Most
of the candle-lit tables scattered around the huge space were occupied by
couples, of course, it being Valentine’s Day. In the brief pauses between tunes
I glanced around the place, around the people, and wondered what dreadful
occupations paid them the money to eat here. There were no prices on the menu,
but the portions I saw the stiff-backed waiters carry past my little stage were
so small and delicately arranged that they must be expensive.
I
played on, daydreaming.
There
was a bebop/jazz guitarist in the early 20th Century named Charlie Christian,
and according to legend he’d made the comment which was now part of musicians’
culture: the thing we call Charlie’s Law. It states that there are only three
reasons you should agree to play a gig: you’re being paid; you’re having fun;
or you’re “learning your thing”. I wasn’t having fun and I certainly wasn’t
learning anything. In truth I was mainly doing the gig as a favour to a friend,
but I was also being quite handsomely paid by the Club. A Rule One gig
through-and-through.
My
fingers stopped moving as I reached the end of a piece. It took me a moment to
even notice. I decided I would play just a couple more before taking my first
break. I shuffled through my music, selected a jazz standard that didn’t
especially bore me, and launched into it. I knew it well enough not to need the
music, so I glanced discreetly around the room as I played. I didn’t really
need to be discreet - no one was paying me the slightest attention. I was as
much a part of the furniture as the piano I was playing.
At
the time I’d been single for three years, and hadn’t had sex in almost eight
months (seven months three weeks and two days, not that I was counting or
anything). Consequently I viewed the smiling, loved-up,
staring-into-each-others-eyes couples with equal measures of envy and contempt.
I noticed one couple who were feeding each other ice-cream, giggling -
sickening - and another who were clearly pleasuring one another under the
table.
“Bastards,
the lot of them...” I thought to myself, throwing in a blatantly
discordant flattened fifth just to annoy anyone who was actually listening.
No-one was.
Then
I saw her, and the rest of the room seemed to fade and darken out of all
relevance.
She
was standing in the wide, grand doorway that led into the restaurant from the
bar. She was tall, shapely, and wore a long black figure-hugging evening dress
that reached almost to the floor. Her skin was the colour of coffee with a
little too much cream; her auburn hair glowed in the candlelight like dry rust
in the setting sun. Her eyes were dark and wide, and even from this distance
they pulled at me like the gravity-well of some massive, distant star.
She
was standing there alone. It was difficult to read her expression, but
something about her stance said she was annoyed about something. A waiter went
up to her and bowed so low that his mop of hair practically wiped the floor,
then led her to a table set slightly apart from the rest, near to the tall
windows which looked out onto the terrace and, beyond, to the glittering London
skyline across the river. She was still, just, within my field of view.
She
ordered wine - red - and sat there taking small sips from a large glass. She
looked right at me a couple of times, but I still couldn’t read her expression.
Each time I tried to hold her gaze I found my fingers drifting and had to turn
back to the music. I made up my mind to walk as close as possible to her table
when I made for the staff areas, and see if I could make more meaningful
eye-contact. I don’t know why - her wedding ring was clearly visible. Sometimes
I like to torture myself, I guess.
I
never got the chance. Her husband - I assumed - arrived breathlessly at her
table a few minutes later. She didn’t stand or hug him, but greeted him with a
thin mouth-only smile, and allowed him to kiss her cheek. He sat down opposite
her, gesturing and talking quickly. His suit looked like it had cost more than
my car, and the gold watch I saw glinting from one wrist had probably cost more
than my house. He was clearly apologising for being late, and she was clearly
having none of it - only regarding him with a cold, hard stare, still sipping
at her wine.
It
amused me to think that, no matter how much money a man might have, he still
cannot escape the icy, heart-rending bite of a woman’s deepest scorn.
I
tried to put all thought of her out of my mind, and quickly reached the end of
the last piece. I closed the old wooden lid over the new plastic keys and stood
up. I took one last look at the auburn-haired woman and, to my shock and
near-horror saw that her husband was sitting sideways on his chair, turned away
from her and talking on his phone. A Valentine’s meal with his stunningly
beautiful wife, and he was taking a call. Her eyes looked like they should be
boring holes into the side of his skull. I shook my head, disbelieving.
I
realised that I had been standing there staring for some seconds just as a
voice hissed, right by my ear:
“Randall!”
I
turned to find the head waiter’s sneering, oily face very close to mine.
“Stop
fucking gawping and get your arse into the kitchen!” he snapped quietly.
“Thirty minutes and you’re back on.”
I
bristled but said nothing, and made for the staff areas. I felt the man’s gaze
on the back of my neck, and made a point of walking quite slowly.
Once
through the double-swing doors the atmosphere changed dramatically. Soft
lighting became harsh neon strips; plush wooden panels became bare, whitewashed
brickwork; quiet, elegant charm became rough-and-ready chaos. I tried my best
to stay out of the way, but soon had to make my way outside, to the tiny little
patch of terrace that was allocated to the serfs.
I
had, technically, quit smoking a few weeks earlier. Nonetheless I’d had a
feeling this would be a stressful evening and there was an emergency pack in my
jacket pocket. I ripped it open, lit up and inhaled, and sighed with relief as
I breathed out a thin plume of smoke.
I
was alone on the terrace - even the wide, multi-level area available to the
Club’s guests was deserted on this crisp February night.
I
finished my cigarette and dropped the butt into a bucket of sand. I stood out
there a moment longer, admiring the view over the river and the stars above,
and delaying my return to the kitchen. Just as I was about to head back in, I
heard a door open. Clipped footsteps came out onto the terrace.
Somehow
I knew it would be her, and it was.
I
saw her in profile, and slightly above me, as she came out onto the terrace and
walked to the thick iron balustrade at the edge of the top-most level, about
half a metre above where I stood, maybe three metres away.
Her
figure was stunning - slender but not-too-thin waist, long legs, and a generous
bust perfectly balanced by a shapely backside. She swung her hips in an easy,
sensual way as she walked, her stiletto heels clacking on the stone tiles. Her
long hair ran down over her shoulders in a shimmering cascade of deep red-gold.
She
reached the railing and leant forward onto her elbows, pushing her bum out
towards me and seeming to wiggle it provocatively. I wondered if she knew I was
there watching, if the motion was somehow for my benefit. I’m sure I was
flattering myself.
I
also wondered how much longer I could get away with being out here, admiring a
different kind of view now, before My Oily-face came out to find me. I had only
five minutes left of my break.
The
woman straightened and rummaged in a handbag. She still had her back - and
deliciously pert rear - towards me, so I couldn’t see her face. I guessed that
she had found a cigarette and placed it in her mouth, and was now searching
fruitlessly for a lighter. I saw my chance.
The
staff area of the terrace was separated from the main part by a rope, which I
quickly stepped over. I went up a short stairway, glancing around to make sure
no one else was there, and approached her from behind. She turned with an unlit
cigarette between her full, red lips.
“Need
a light?” I said, proffering a clipper.
She
regarded me for a moment, seeming to size me up somehow. Her face was as
beautiful as her figure - her eyes, again, pulled me in.
“Yes,”
she said at last. “Thank you.” Her voice was precise and refined, very English
but with the merest hint of something more exotic. She looked only a couple of
years older than me - mid thirties, perhaps.
I
lit her cigarette, then pulled out my own pack and lit another one for myself.
The woman’s eyes did not leave mine. We both inhaled for a moment in silence,
looking at each other.
“Charlotte
Christchurch,” she said, holding out a hand. “You can call me Charlie.”
“Delighted,”
I said, taking the hand and kissing it softly. Her name seemed appropriate
somehow, but for a time I was unable to place why. “Daniel Randall, but please
call me Danny.”
“Well
Danny,” she said. “If I may be so bold, you don’t look like you’re having the
time of your life up there at the piano.”
“I’m
not,” I said with a shrug. “But a gig’s a gig.”
She
nodded. We inhaled, exhaled. The smoke twisted around us, close in the cool,
sharp air.
“If
I may reciprocate your boldness,” I said, “you don’t look like you’re having
the best evening yourself.”
Her
face hardened, and I wondered if the apparent familiarity had only been in my
head. Perhaps the camaraderie of cigarette smokers did not cross class
boundaries after all.
“No,”
she said. “You’re quite right about that.”
She
took a few more drags on her cigarette, in a silence I wisely thought better of
trying to fill.
“My
husband,” she almost spat, “is a cheating bastard.”
“Oh,”
I said, not really sure what to say. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?”
she asked sardonically. “Is he fucking you as well?”
“No,
I... I just meant...” I stammered.
“I
know what you meant,” she said, her face and tone softening a little. “I didn’t
mean to be so sharp. I’m sorry.”
“No,
no,” I said. “I’m sure it must be... difficult.”
“You
have a gift for understatement,” she said with a humourless laugh.
“How
did you find out? Did he tell you?”
“No,”
she said, shaking her head with a sad smile. “He doesn’t know that I know. Not
yet. There were signs for a long time, and for a long time I wouldn’t let myself
see them. Mystery phone calls, late nights at the office, sudden business
trips. I thought about reading his e-mails, but in the end I didn’t have to
stoop so low. He came back from a trip and left his suitcase open in the study.
There was a pair of knickers wrapped round a memory stick - right on the top,
like he hadn’t even tried to hide them. The knickers were two sizes too small
and several degrees too slutty to have been mine, and on the stick I found a
video of him sticking his weasely little prick up his secretary’s arse.”
My
mouth made an ‘O’ shape, but I didn’t say anything.
“And
then tonight,” she went on, her eyes glistening and her voice cracking
slightly. “Tonight of all nights he suddenly has to rush back to the office to
deal with something important.” She sneered that last word.
“He’s
left you here alone?” I said in disbelief.
Charlie
nodded. She took a final drag on the cigarette, dropped it on the tiles and
ground it out with one stilettoed foot.
“He’s
an idiot,” I said. “You are far and away the most beautiful woman here, in a
club full of beautiful women. You have a strength and grace that outshines them
all. If he prefers some slutty secretary to you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
Charlie’s
eyes sought out mine, and I found myself drawn hypnotically into the dark brown
depths. Suddenly she leaned forward and kissed me. Her full lips pressed
against mine, our mouths opened and my tongue wrapped around hers. I reached a
hand around her waist and pulled her close to me, my already half-hard dick
pressing into her abdomen. I could feel the heat of her body against mine, a
warmth radiating out from between her legs, electrifying us both.
She
moaned very softly as my hands found her bottom, and gripped her firm, round
cheeks as she ground herself against me. I could clearly feel the lacy outline
of her panties under the dress. She lifted one knee up the outside of my thigh,
opening herself to me through the fabric, then suddenly drew back.
I
felt flushed and disarrayed. She looked more calm and composed than she had
before. She looked at me appraisingly, and somehow I got the impression I had
passed some sort of test.
“Meet
me in the bar after you’ve finished playing,” she said. “I prepared a
Valentine’s treat for Mister Bastard, but if he will insist on sodomising his
secretary instead then I think I will give it to you.” She raised an eyebrow at
me, a small lopsided smile playing across her red lips. “It would be a shame to
waste it.”
Without
another word she turned and went back inside. I stood there for a moment,
stunned, then rushed back down to the plebs’ entrance. I found the head waiter
cursing my name inside, ignored him, went back out into the restaurant and sat
at the piano. Charlie’s table was empty.
I
can remember almost nothing about my second set. I know I played for ninety
minutes - it says so on my payslip - but all the while I kept thinking about
Charlie, her delicious body and her sharply beautiful face, and what an
absolute fucking moron her husband was.
When
I finally finished playing, one person applauded. That’s the other memorable
thing about that evening - someone was, after all, listening. I took a mock bow
and went out to the staff area to collect my payment. The manager handed it
over without a word. I made to leave by the staff exit, but when no one was
looking I doubled back and went nervously out to the bar.
I
tried to lurk in the shadows, but the barman noticed me immediately and
signalled to a burly security man lounging off to one side. I couldn’t see
Charlie anywhere, and I almost panicked and ran for it. The security man came
up and grabbed me roughly by the shoulder. The oily-faced waiter appeared from
somewhere and walked right up to me.
“What
the hell do you think you’re doing in here?” he said in a clipped, offensive
whisper. “This area is for guests!
You’ve played your silly little piano shit, now get the fuck out! You’re done
here, you hear me Randall? Next time we’re hiring a professional!”
This
was a little too much for my pride to bear. I am only good at two things in
this life: playing the piano and performing oral sex on women. Despite the
overshadowing presence of the security guard gripping my arm, I opened my mouth
to say something that would probably have earned me a bruise or two, at the
least.
“Excuse
me!” said an angry female voice. It was Charlie, thank god! “What on earth
do you think you are doing to my good friend?”
The
security guard looked uncertain, but quickly released my arm. The waiter’s face
contorted into a comical parody of suppressed anger with a slapped-on coat of
obsequious politeness. If my life were a cartoon, steam would have been coming
out of his ears.
“Your
fr...?” he stammered. “Well I... I... I assure you that I really would...”
“I
don’t care what you really would,” said Charlie haughtily. It was like
being in the presence of a duchess. It suddenly occurred to me she might
actually be one - the Paragon was that sort of club. “My friend and I are
leaving,” she said, glaring hard at the man, “and I can assure you that I will
be having words in the appropriate
ears.”
The
waiter’s cartoon self would, at this point, have melted like an ice-cream under
a sunlamp, collapsed into a little puddle with two watery eyes, then dribbled
down a handy drain.
Charlotte
stormed out like an angry gale, the bewildered stares of the other guests in
the bar swept up after her like dry leaves. I lingered just long enough to lean
close to the waiter and speak my mind.
“It’s
Doctor Randall to you, you pretentious little tit,” I said in a low, quiet
growl. “And please tell Ms Townsend that the next time I do her a favour I will
require a significantly greater remuneration to compensate for the
insubordinate incompetence of the waiting staff.”
The
waiter looked like he’d just had a pineapple inserted somewhere that a
pineapple really shouldn’t be able to fit. I walked away quickly to catch up
with Charlie, leaving him to ponder my name-dropping the Club-owner's eldest and
most favoured
step-daughter (she and I have been best friends for many years, but that’s
another story entirely).
I
came out into the cold February air and walked down the wide stone steps at the
front of the Paragon Club, looking around for Charlie. She was nowhere to be
seen.
“I
believe you’ll be joining us here, sir,” said a very polite male voice.
To
my right, as I reached street level, a suited, booted and peak-capped young man
was waiting beside the open door of a long black limousine. He saluted as I
reached him, smiled in an eager-to-help way, and gestured at the door. I
climbed into the dimly-lit interior of the limo, and he closed out the cold night
behind me.
As
my eyes adjusted, I saw that the inside of the limo was decked out for the
season. The leather seats were covered in plush red fur-covered cushions, and
there was a sensual, oily smell in the air - ylang-ylang and ginseng and
something else I couldn’t identify. There were no heart-shaped boxes of
chocolates or anything cheesy like that - this was a grown-up sort of romance.
The windows were blacked out, and we were separated from the driver by an
opaque screen.
Charlie
was sitting on the wide rear seat, leaning back with her legs crossed, one
finger toying with a long strand of her hair. I knelt down on a cushion on the
floor in front of her as the car began to move. I had a feeling we might be
about to fuck.
“There
are rules to this, Danny,” she said in a serious voice. “Rules that you must
follow.”
“Okay,”
I said. “What are they?”
“Firstly,
you must make me orgasm at least twice before entering me.”
I
nodded, feeling my heart start to race. We were definitely about to fuck.
“Secondly,
when you orgasm you must do so inside my body. I am not some slutty porn-star
and I do not enjoy having semen on my face or tits. Understand?”
I
nodded again.
“Finally,
throughout the evening you will follow every instruction I give to you. No
questions. What I say is law.”
“Charlie’s
Law,” I said, smiling. “I will obey to the letter.”
“Good,”
she said with a curt nod. “Now... kiss me.”
She
lay back fully across the plush back seat, and I climbed on top of her. Her
legs opened as much as they could within the long, tight dress, and I moved
between them, pressing my now-solid penis into her crotch. Our mouths met once
more, and opened to one another. She moaned gently as I circled my hips and
pressed harder against her.
I
reached my hands behind and beneath her and moved one slowly down her back to
her rear. I moaned into her mouth as my hands explored the perfect curves of
her bum. My fingers dug into the firm flesh of her buttocks, and I felt the
well-toned muscles there tighten as she angled her hips towards me. My other
hand found the zip at the back of her neck, and I slowly pulled it down while
at the same time pulling up her dress. The zip stopped at the small of her
back. I drew back a little as she pulled the front of the dress down.
She
wasn't wearing a bra. Her naked breasts popped out over the fabric as it moved
down. They were far larger than they had seemed when she was fully clothed. I
bore down on her and kissed her again, my cock pressing hard between her legs
as our tongues danced together. I drew a trail of soft, wet kisses over her
chin and down her neck and chest, then began exploring the voluminous round
curves of her breasts, taking each hard pink nipple into my mouth in turn -
licking, sucking and biting them - each time rewarded by louder and louder
moans from this deliciously curvaceous women writhing half-naked beneath me.
“Yes,
Danny,” she whispered. “Suck them. Suck my tits.”
She
grabbed my bum with both hands, gripping me almost painfully and pulling me so
hard against her that I thought my hardness would rip through the straining
fabric of trousers and dress and panties, and enter her right away. Then
without warning she rolled over and shoved me off the seat.
My
breath was knocked out of me as I hit the thickly-carpeted floor of the limo.
Charlie landed on top of me - one knee on either side of my chest, pinning my
arms down beneath her. Her naked breasts swung pendulously, mountainously above
me. She looked into my eyes with a strange, distant expression which broke into
a dark smile. The dress had ridden up almost to her waist. She pulled it up
over her head and flung it away. She was straddled over my chest wearing
nothing but a pair of lace-edged black panties.
She
leant down, bringing her face close to mine. Her strong fingers gripped my head
and her dark eyes held my gaze.
“You
are now going to lick out my cunt,” she said in a low, breathy voice. “Do you
understand?”
I
nodded, mute. A strange tingling jolted through my body as the crude sharpness
of the word gathered a powerful eroticism in her soft, elegant diction. Without
another word she shuffled forwards until she was kneeling right over my face,
and pulled the thin strip of her knickers aside to reveal her most intimate
parts to me.
I
stared up, mesmerised, into the delicate pink folds of her glistening pussy.
The hot, delicious and pheromone-soaked scent of her cunt washed over my face.
I greedily drank it in, feeling my cock pulse inside my straining trousers, and
then Charlie lowered herself gently onto my face.
Her
soft lips pressed against my mouth and nose, and I felt the wetness of her
arousal trickle over my face. I pushed my tongue into her pulsating vagina and
felt the muscles clench against me, almost pushing it back out. The taste
electrified me. I circled around her hole with the tip of my tongue, sliding it
in and out of her. She moaned and began to rock her hips. My tongue slid up and
down her pussy crack, lapping up her juices and evincing more gasps and groans
of pleasure. She stopped moving as I closed my lips around her clit, sucking it
gently into my mouth and flicking my tongue quickly across it in a tiny
circular motion. Her wetness grew, almost choking me. Her body tensed and
quivered above me.
I
felt the car come to a stop, and heard the driver’s door open. There was a
polite knock at the window.
“I’m
coming!” Charlie yelled, clearly meaning it in the sexual sense, as my face was
suddenly washed in the juices of her orgasming pussy, and she bucked her hips
so hard that I thought at first she had broken my nose.
The
driver, it seemed, knew the sense in which his employer had meant the phrase
and did not open the door. Charlie rolled off me and quickly put her dress back
on. She immediately looked as elegant and sophisticated as ever. When I caught
my own reflection in one of the blacked-out windows, I saw that my hair was
tousled and my face reddened and glistening with her pussy-juice.
The
driver finally opened the door and we got out. I had no idea where we were, or
even how long we had been driving. I might have had my face between Charlie’s
thighs for minutes, or hours - days, for all I knew. Certainly there were worse
ways of spending time.
The
night was bitter after the warm, heady atmosphere inside the limo. We emerged
into a small courtyard surrounded by tall red brick walls. A five-story
Victorian building loomed over us, all buttresses and ornate bay windows. I
could still hear a distant rumble of traffic in the air and through the ground,
and I guessed we were either still within the city or not far outside it.
An
elderly porter in a red suit came down the long flight of stone steps to greet
us, looked confused when he saw that we had no bags, and then led us back up to
the ornate dark green double-door. A small, discreet brass plaque to the left
of the door carried the simple inscription: Hotel. Clearly this was far too
expensive and exclusive a place to need anything so vulgar as a name.
There
was no check-in or any other formality - we were led straight to a wide spiral
staircase and up to the top floor. I got an impression of grand corridors and ornate
columns and sculptures and large paintings and coloured hangings, all fleeting
by so quickly that they hazed into one texture in my mind. We came to a private
suite and the porter left us.
Charlie
led me through a reception room larger than my living room, into a surprisingly
small bedroom almost entirely filled by an enormous oak-framed bed. Another
door, closed, led out of the room at the side opposite where we had entered. A
wide, curtained window took up most of one wall and a painting I recognised but
could not place took up most of another.
Charlie
went to the window, opened the curtains a crack and peered out. I suddenly felt
nervous.
“What’s
through there?” I asked, indicating the closed door.
“Another
bedroom,” she said dismissively, turning back to me. “We won’t be needing it.
Now, strip.”
I
quickly pulled off my tie, unbuttoned my shirt and shrugged it off. Charlie
looked appreciatively at my toned chest and stomach, and I paused for a moment,
looking at her.
“Go
on,” she said. “All the way, Danny. I want to see it all.”
I
unzipped my fly and pulled my trousers and underwear down, pulling off my socks
in the same movement as I stepped out of each leg. I stood there naked in front
of her, my erection pulsing in the dim light, glinting with precum at the tip.
She stared down at it and smiled.
“Very
nice,” she said, stepping close to me. “Ready for action.” Her right hand
gripped my cock, fingers curling expertly around it and drawing back over the
full length, her touch lingering and teasing. I closed my eyes and groaned. The
touch left me, and I felt Charlie take a step backwards. When I opened my eyes
again she was entirely nude, just straightening with her panties in her hand,
looking at me with an odd sternness. Her large breasts moved gently with her
breathing, small pink nipples still hard as nails. My eyes were drawn down over
the full curves of her body, to the neat patch of dark red curls between her
smooth thighs.
“Lie
down on the bed,” she said.
I
did as I was told. Charlie leapt on top of me, and suddenly everything went
dark. She had whipped a thick blindfold over my eyes, and now tied it tightly
behind my head. I felt her kneel above my face again, and felt the heat of her
bared pussy on my skin. Her intoxicating scent entered and consumed me once
more, and I ached for the taste of her.
“Let
me lick you,” I gasped. “Let me taste you!”
“Oh,
I will,” said Charlie. “You’re going to make me cum again, aren’t you? Like a
good boy?”
“Yes,”
I whispered. “Yes, I will. I will make you cum again.”
“I
hope so,” she said, lowering herself onto me. “Because after I’ve cum, you can
fuck me. And I’m quite sure you want to fuck me.”
I
couldn’t reply, because already my tongue was busy between her legs. I found
her clit and began to suck and lick at it. The warm flesh of her thighs pressed
tightly around my face as I lapped up her pussy juices. My arms were above her
knees this time, and I ran my hands up her body and over her breasts. They felt
heavy in my hands. She gasped as I gently pinched her nipples between my
fingers. She gripped my head with both hands, pulling me deeper between her
thighs and rocking against me, her breath coming in quick, shallow gasps.
I
didn’t notice at the time, but remembering back, I’m sure I heard the door to
the other bedroom open at this point. All I knew then was that suddenly, as
Charlie ground her pussy into my face, pulling my head with both hands, a
weight settled on the bed just to the left of my hips, and another pair of
hands gently gripped my penis.
I
gasped, and tried to push Charlie up off me to see what was happening, but she
pushed me down, hard. My tongue entered her again. I began to fuck her with my
tongue as the mystery hands - soft and petite - began to stroke me.
“This
is part of the surprise, Danny,” said Charlie. “This is what my husband is
missing out on. Aren’t you lucky?”
Again
I was unable to reply. I continued tongue-fucking Charlie’s pussy as the
mystery hands slid expertly up and down my engorged cock. I had never been
wanked off so precisely - professionally, even.
Charlie
came more quickly this time, moaning and bucking against me as her pussy
spasmed and gushed around my probing tongue. As her moans of pleasure subsided,
I felt a tongue circle the end of my cock for a moment before a hot, wet mouth
slid down over the entire length. I moaned aloud into Charlie’s still-quivering
cunt. The mouth withdrew slowly. Hot, full lips closed tightly around the head
of my cock and sucked, hard, then took me deep inside again.
“Ahhh!”
I gasped. “Oh god, yes!”
My
balls tightened and my cock pulsed. I felt an orgasm rising from deep within
me. The mouth sensed this, and quickly pulled away. One hand gripped the base
of my penis, gently squeezing and releasing. I could feel hot breaths breezing
over the wet tip. Her mouth - whoever she was - was only centimetres from my
cock.
Charlie
moved off my face and rested her dripping crotch on my chest, panting. She
loosened the blindfold and pushed it up to my forehead. I looked up at her
flushed face and sweat-slickened breasts. Her eyes were closed, and she was
smiling exhaustedly.
To
her side, a perfectly naked bottom was pointed at me. A pair of small, pale
round cheeks were slightly parted, showing me a pair of smooth, glistening
pussy lips beneath a tight pink anus. When I looked back up at Charlie I found
she was grinning slyly down at me.
“That’s
all you’re seeing for now,” she said. The blindfold came down again, and was
pulled tight.
I
felt Charlie shuffle down over my body until she knelt above my stiff,
throbbing penis. I felt a wetness gently press around the tip as she lowered
herself slowly towards me, the opening of her pussy just touching me.
“Charlie,
I won’t last long,” I whispered. “I can’t!”
“I
don’t need you to,” she said, and then thrust herself down onto me.
I
cried out with dizzy pleasure as her vagina enveloped me - her slick passage
sliding down around my cock and holding it, tight, hot, wet. She didn’t move after
that first thrust, but held me inside her. I was right on the cusp of orgasm -
a tiny movement away from cumming into her. I breathed quickly and heavily,
trying to pull myself back, trying to hold out.
She
squeezed. Her vagina contracted tight around me, once, twice.
“Oh
fuck!” I cried. She stopped squeezing, keeping me right on that blissful,
teasing precipice.
Then
I felt the other woman straddle me, facing Charlie as she cradled my cock
within her. The taste and smell of another pussy washed down onto me. Wet
velvety lips came down to me, and supple bum-cheeks pressed around my face as I
strained my head forwards to lick her. I smelled her heady, warm ass-musk - not
at all unpleasant - and the tip of my nose brushed against her tight rear entrance
as my tongue entered her pussy.
Charlie
squeezed me again, and I gave out a muffled moan as I licked and sucked at the
other woman. I wanted this to last forever, but I knew Charlie could make me
orgasm in a matter of seconds, anytime she wanted to.
“How
does it taste, Danny?” said Charlie breathlessly, squeezing her pussy around me
again. “Do you like Emily’s pussy?”
“Oh
fuck yes!” I tried to say, but I suspect I didn’t actually say anything
intelligible.
Emily
was now rocking her hips above me, and my tongue found her clit. She gasped as
I took her tiny nub into my mouth and sucked. The movement was gradually
pushing the blindfold away, and soon I could see a little. Emily’s pert bottom
was circling over my face. My mouth and nose were now buried in her
pussy-crack, and I was staring right at her puckered anus. I brought my hands
up, stroking them over her buttocks and gently pulling them apart.
I
pushed her away just a little so that I could slide my middle finger into her
vagina, slicking it up and then moving it up to press against her arsehole. I
pressed my face into her pussy again, and gently slipped the finger into her.
She gave a loud cry - mostly pleasure, with just a hint of pain - and her
muscle tightened around my finger as it slid into her rectum, up to the second
knuckle. She began to rock her hips more wildly now, and her pussy gushed on my
face as I finger-fucked her arse.
“Oh
god, I’m cumming!” whispered Emily. Her voice was soft, high-pitched. Those
were the only words I ever heard her say.
Then
Charlie began to bounce up and down, her pussy stroking me, still gripping me
tight. I thrust my hips up, shoving my cock as deep as I could into her. Emily
still bucked her pussy against my tongue, pushing her arse back onto my stiff
finger, her breaths coming in short, sharp bursts.
With
a loud, animalistic roar I finally came, spurting what felt like a gigantic
load of spunk into Charlie’s tight, hot pussy. We continued thrusting against
each other until the last spasm subsided.
I
gently withdrew my finger from Emily’s bum, and she rolled off me and collapsed
onto the bed. I finally saw her face. She was blonde, thin, very pretty and
quite young - barely twenty, I guessed. Her eyes were closed tightly, her face
almost frowning, and she was panting heavily.
Charlie
lifted herself up off me. My softening cock slipped out of her and slapped
wetly onto my thigh, dripping with semen. She leaned down over me, smiling
softly, and gave me one long, tender kiss on the lips. Then she swung herself
off the bed and went to a cabinet beneath the large painting.
“Would
anyone like a drink?” she said.
We
had a drink. Whisky, single malt - the finest I had ever tasted. Emily finally
opened her eyes and sat up on the bed. She was much thinner than Charlie,
almost girlish in her frame, with small boobs, high and pert. She said nothing
more that evening.
The
three of us lay naked on the huge bed, sipping our drinks, smiling and
occasionally laughing softly, but not saying a word. It was a completely
surreal moment - few minutes, half hour, whatever it was - that in many ways
sticks in my mind more than the flirting or the sex. I had no idea who these
two beautiful, nude women were, yet we had shared something I had never come
close to experiencing before.
All
too soon the moment was over. Emily rose and left the room, still silent and
naked. Charlie disappeared from the room while I pulled on my clothes, and
returned a few minutes later dressed in grey slacks and a billowy white shirt.
“That
was a truly... amazing experience,” I said to her. “Your husband doesn’t know
what he’s missed out on.”
“Oh,”
said Charlie, smiling darkly, “he will.”
I
looked at her, confused, and she gestured towards a small bedside table I
hadn’t noticed before. There was a tiny video camera sitting there, the red
‘record’ light gleaming, pointing right at the bed.
“Don’t
worry,” she said, seeing my startled expression. “I’ll have your faced blanked
out before I show him. He’ll never know it was the dashing young pianist who
put his penis in me. But he’ll know what he could have had.”
I
relaxed a little. I’ve never enjoyed making enemies.
“Perhaps
I’ll give you a copy of the un-redacted version,” she added with a wink. “But
now it’s time for you to go, Danny. Thank you for being a part of this.”
She
hugged me tenderly, planted a single kiss on my cheek, saw me to the front door
of the suite and closed it gently behind me.
I
made my way down through the plush corridors and staircases of the hotel Hotel
to the main reception. I was left waiting for a few minutes, then the
porter came and escorted me outside. The polite young man was waiting in the
courtyard with the limo. I got inside, feeling strangely melancholy at being
there alone. I could still smell Charlie’s sex in the air, and the memories of
the evening got me hard again as the car drove me back to reality.
The
journey took about twenty minutes. The limo stopped and the driver opened the
door. We were back at the Paragon Club, SW1.
“Pleasure
meeting you, sir,” said the driver. “Lady Charlotte asked me to give you this.”
He
handed me a brown envelope, saluted, then got back into the car and drove off.
“Lady?”
I said to myself, shaking my head as I opened the envelope. Inside was a pair
of black lace panties wrapped around a tiny memory stick. The panties - the
ones Charlie had been wearing earlier, of course - were still damp in my hand.
I put them to my face and closed my eyes as I sniffed, savouring her scent one
last time.
“Sniffing
knickers in public, Danny, really?” said a voice.
I
quickly shoved the damp lace in my pocket and turned around. My best friend was
standing on the steps of the Club grinning at me, dressed, literally, like a
fairy-tale princess.
“Um...
Hi, Myrtle,” I said, blushing.
“Hi
yourself,” she said. “I hear you’ve been causing a ruckus in there,” she nodded
towards the Club. “Are you going to make trouble every time I ask you for a
favour?”
“Probably,”
I said with a sheepish grin. “Nice, er, costume."
“Fancy
dress,” said Myrtle, curtseying. “All-singles Valentine's Ball at the Meadway.
Somewhat tedious to begin with, but then I met a few rather... friendly boys
and girls. Then I went to… well, you honestly would not believe the night I’ve
had.”
“Mine’s
been pretty unbelievable,” I said with a grin, “now you come to mention it.”
“Well,
let’s go for a drink and swap debaucherous tales,” she said, taking my arm.
“Biggest slut pays the bill.”
“You’re
on.”
We
walked off into the night, found a bar, got drunk and swapped stories.
I
didn’t pay for a drink all night.
