After hugging and kissing, Gary introduces me to his friend. ‘Loretta this is my very good friend, Bobby.’

Bobby took my offered hand and said, ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you Loretta. Gary has told me so many good things about you.’
‘Glad to meet you Bobby. Any friend of Gary’s is always welcome here. Both of you have a seat. Let me get something to drink.’

As I headed toward the kitchen, I paused to ask, ‘What’ll you guys have?’
‘I’ll have a beer.’
‘Bobby?’
‘I’m fine, thank you.’
‘No, you’re not. Tell you what. I’m going to open a bottle of wine. Would you like a glass?’
‘Sure. Why not?’
Loretta headed into the kitchen of her small apartment. I watched her go. At 5′ 8″, she seemed tall. At least taller than I was used to at the ripe old age of twenty-two. She had a cute face but her skin was dappled and weathered. She had large blue eyes, a turned up pug nose and full lips. She had on shorts and a halter. She had nicely shaped dying for free porn action legs but there were patches of surface veining from being on her feet so much. She did have a shapely posterior but there wasn’t much definition at her waist. I determined she must be in her mid to late thirties. In other words she wasn’t bad but I initially thought she looked used. That was my first impression of the woman that came to wield more influence on me than any woman and helped me develop into the man I am today.

I headed toward the kitchen. ‘Can I open the bottle for you?’

‘Thanks Bobby, but I wouldn’t be much of a cocktail waitress if I couldn’t open a bottle of Beaujolais,’ she said, peeking around the corner from the kitchen. ‘So tell me what good things has Gar told you about me,’ she added with a salacious wink.

‘ He said you were smart and could help me. Gary interrupted, ‘I said you were nice and friendly. I told him you really know human nature and might be able to help him with his problem.’
I felt myself reddening. ‘Gary, Please! This is embarrassing enough!’
‘ Do you want help or not?’
I nodded.
‘Do you want to tell her or me to tell her?’
‘No, go ahead.’
Loretta smiled and said, ‘Alright already. Someone tell me the big secret.

‘Okay, Bobby was married to his college sweetheart for about sixteen months and then she took off and moved in with a guy.
I added, ‘I was very hurt for a while but now I’m over it. With Gary’s help I hope to get back in circulation.’
‘Trouble is Bobby is a little backward when it comes to women,’ added Gary, ‘Mary leaving him and moving in with her tennis instructor really shattered his confidence, so I was hoping you could help him. You know, teach him how to act around women, what to say to them, how to make them laugh and how to seduce them.’
I was surprised. Bobby was a handsome, personable young man. Surely he couldn’t have that much trouble finding companionship? I decided I hked Bobby and would try to help him.
‘What makes you think I can help him?’
‘I don’t know. I just have a feeling. You’re friendly, jovial, have a great personality and you said yourself that you know a lot about foreplay and sex.’
I looked at Bobby. ‘Let me ask you a question, Bobby? Are you a good lover?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I mean, dear Bobby, is, do you consider yourself a good FUCK!’
Bobby turned bright red.
I laughed, ‘Boy, you are a shy one, aren’t you? I’ve got an idea. Did the two of you come together?’
Bobby answered, ‘Yes, I left my car at Gary’s.’
‘Gary, Bobby and I are going to get into some personal matters. Would you be a dear and leave Bobby here tonight and pick him up in the morning? That is if it’s all right with you, Bobby?’
Bobby turned even redder. ‘Ah.. .yes.. .1 suppose so.’

Gary came over and hugged Bobby. ‘You listen to Loretta. She’ll get you straightened out.’
Then he hugged me and whispered in my ear. ‘He may not tell you this because it embarrasses him. Bobby has trouble getting and staying hard. He needs his confidence restored, if you know what I mean.’
Gary pulled away and said, ‘Take good care of my friend.’
‘You can count on it’ I replied and winked.
Gary walked to the door and waved to Bobby. Bobby waved back and Gary stepped through the door.
I closed the door behind him and threw the deadbolt. Bobby was all mine!
Loretta came up to me and said, ‘Bobby there are two ways we can approach this, platonically or intimately.’
I felt myself flush again. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I can be your helpful big sister or your sex therapist.’
My face must have registered confusion, because she continued.
‘To put it bluntly, we can talk or we can fuck and talk.’
I flushed again but this time I felt a stirring in my groin. For the first time I began to look upon Loretta as a potential sex partner and it excited me.
‘Which do you prefer?’ Loretta continued.
‘Can we sit on the couch and see where it leads?’ Why was I fighting it?
She took my hand and I felt a sensation that ran all the way to my penis. She led me to the couch and set me down before sitting next to me. She put her hand on my thigh, sending another shock to my genitals.
‘So tell me, Bobby. What exactly are your goals?’
‘I want to go back to school and be a -’
She laughed. She had nice laugh.

‘No silly!’ she said interrupting me. ‘What is your goal here – with me. Do you want to be a player, a sexual predator, or get enough confidence and presence to find a girl and settle down again?’
‘I suppose I’d like to be a player until I can find someone special.’
‘Good. Let me ask you this. Your ex-wife left you for another man, right?’
‘Yes, except we’re still married.’
‘Alright, your wife’s cheating on you and it hurts like hell, doesn’t it?
I wondered where she was going. ‘Yes. Why are you bringing this up?’
‘Two reasons. First, if you become a player and then find that special someone, could you stop being a player and be true to that girl?’
‘Oh yeah. That’s the way I am at heart. What’s the second thing?’
‘The second thing depends.’
‘Depends on what?’
‘If you find me attractive?’ She moved her hand halfway up my thigh, within inches of my growing phallus. I could barely breathe.
‘What difference would it make if I found you attractive.’
‘We have to work on your naivety. Do you find me attractive?’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Then I’d like you to take your hurt out on me.’
Loretta suddenly left the couch and got on her knees in front of me. She undid my belt, unzipped my jeans and pulled my hard-on out from my briefs.

I thought Bobby would faint as I pulled his cock out from his pants and engaged him into awesome free porn action; he was so uptight. Not bad-looking though. Tall and thin, wiry actually, with a boyish grin and a wave of blond hair falling just over his baby blues. This was like seducing a teen. I kept reminding myself that Bobby was a grown-up, even though I was almost twice his age.
His cock was average in size and appearance, standing straight up, awaiting the application of a warm, moist oral cavity. I love sucking cocks. I would never tell Bobby but I must have sucked a couple of hundred. Hey, practice makes perfect! There’s something about having a man’s sex filling up my mouth that drives me crazy. I don’t even mind the semen. In fact Bobby is so clean and sexy, I just might swallow his load.
I wrapped my right hand around the base of his six-inch tool and took the rest of him in my mouth. Bobby jerked around spasmodically while I applied all the sexual wiles I had accumulated in my thirty-seven years. Rotating my hand back and forth upon his staff, my other hand cupped his gonads and squeezed. My tongue flirted over the sensitive underside of his cock.
That’s what I loved about sucking cocks – Bobby was out of control and I, as long as my mouth held his cock, was fully in control.

I couldn’t believe it. Loretta fieed my erect penis from the confines of my jeans. Held it in her hand, stroked it a couple times, stopped, stared at it, smiled and then swallowed it.
I don’t remember much after that. Mary and I had tried this a few times and it felt good, but it was amateur hour compared to what Loretta was doing. She was doing all kinds of nasty things. It was divine. I never knew oral sex could be so heavenly. That’s when I decided to learn

everything this woman could teach me. I wanted to be her star pupil. I wanted to give like this as well as receive.
‘Oh Loretta! You are so fucking good please don’t stop. I feel wonderful. Ow ahhh. That’s it swallow my cock.’ I grabbed Loretta’s somewhat messy, blonde hair. I placed both of my hands upon her head above her ears, directing her mouth’s up and down motion. Then I began to raise my cock up in rhythm to meet her downward oral thrusts.
Then it began. The wonderful, tingly sensation that inexorably built up signalling the beginning of a massive orgasm. ‘Ohhh oh! I’m gonna cum,’ he warned her. But she didn’t pull away. If anything, she sucked me even harder, even as my cock ejaculated into her mouth.
With his cock still in my mouth, I looked up at my young plaything. He was trembling but he had a beatific appearance on his adorable face. He saw me looking and smiled. He still held my head in his hands and lifted it and me up. He brought my lips to his lips. Despite the fact that I had just swallowed his cum, he kissed me.
‘That was like a slice of heaven. I want you to see stars like I did. Take me into your bedroom and teach me.’

I grasped Bobby’s hand and led him into my boudoir. My bedroom is very feminine and sexy. Bobby’s eyes grew wide when I flipped the light switch. Holding my hand, Loretta led me into her bedroom. I was a step behind her, so I was able to admire her shapely ass. I was picturing it naked when she turned the light on in her bedroom. The room was large, inviting, frilly and very sexy. Decorated in warm yellows and peaches, there was the occasional red or pink accent. The white-washed furniture appeared to be antique and contained a plethora of knick-knacks and trinkets. Several tasteful paintings of nude women dotted the walls, except for the far wall, which held a ballet bar and was fully mirrored. The king-sized bed jutted out from the wall to my right. The ceihng above the bed and the headboard were mirrored and a sign above the headboard trumpeted what was about to happen:

This is where I sleep and if I’m lucky- FUCK!
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
T think it looks like a fun place to sleep… and FUCK!’
‘Now you’re getting into the spirit.’
Loretta went to her closet and grabbed a garment. She walked over to me and gave me peck on the lips. ‘Since you just chmaxed, we’ll take it slow.’ She handed me the garment – a blue satin robe. ‘Here, put this on. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Loretta gathered something out of her dresser and ghded into the bathroom. I took off my clothes and shpped into Loretta’s robe. Anticipation was stimulating my hbido. By the time Loretta emerged from her bathroom I was semi-erect. Seeing Loretta completed my erection. She was wearing black nylons, a black garter belt, with no panties and a non-functional black bra that was designed to show off the breasts rather than support them. And show them off it did. Loretta possessed a fine set of C-cup knockers with sexy raised pink nipples. The garments acted as an enhancement to her nakedness. All the best bits were exposed, but tantalisingly hidden with bits of lacy cloth.

I came out of the bathroom practically naked. I had hoped to get him excited enough to make love. Two reasons: I thought that would get his mind off of his cheating wife and I wanted his hot cock inside me. Unfortunately the expression upon his face resembled more a lamb going to slaughter, than a man being led to sexual bliss.

I sauntered up to him and started to make a comment about the robe but he precluded that by taking me in his arms and kissing me. His tongue entered my mouth, sought out and found mine. He went through the motions but because of inexperience or other reasons he wasn’t a very good kisser. Something I need to tutor. I did notice something positive though. A stiff bulge was trying to penetrate my belly button.
I reached down and grabbed his erection. ‘My, my. It didn’t take you long to get rejuvenated, did it?’ He smiled that shy little boy smile. God I loved that smile. It’s too bad my goal was to trade that innocent smile for one of cocky self-assurance. But, at least for the time being, he was my innocent little hunk. As I stroked his cock I told him, ‘Suck on my tits, Bobby. Good. Put your hand under it. Move your tongue around the nipple. That’s it. Now, do that with your hand on my other nipple. Good, I like that. Nibble on it, but not too hard. That’s it. Now suck on the other one. Ohhh, that’s good. Bobby?’
‘Yes?’
Pulling him toward the bed, I said, ‘I’m ready for you to bury it inside me now.’
I laid on the bed and spread my legs. I pulled him down and opened his robe. He shrugged the robe off and it fluttered to the floor. Still holding his cock I placed a condom, which I had tucked away, on his staff and said, ‘I want you to make me lucky.’
He looked confused, so I used my free hand and pointed over the headboard. ‘My sign, remember?’
Recollection flashed in his eyes as I inserted him into my warm wet pussy.
He wasn’t bad. He had good movement and a varied technique. As he fucked me he began sucking on my tits once more. My hands were on his fine tight ass urging him in and out. I said to Bobby, ‘Honey, if it’s all right with you, we’ll spend a lot of time together and I will teach you to be a great lover and seducer, but would you mind if I just enjoy your stiff cock inside me tonight?’

Bobby didn’t answer. His response was to smile and double the pace of his thrusts. Ooooh! He was good! ‘That’s it baby fuck me hard. Ummm. Fuck my brains out. Give me every inch of your cock. Ooooh, ahlih! Give it all to me, don’t save any of it. Fuck – fuck – fuck! Can you reach my tits? Fondle my tits, tickle my nipples. Suck on them. That’s it lover. Run your tongue around them but don’t stop giving me your hard cock. You’re a fantastic lover. Oooh, yeah! Take your hurt out on my pussy with your vicious weapon.’

‘That’s it. Feels good doesn’t it? Now roll me over. I want to be on top.’ After rolling over, I straddled Bobby. ‘I want you to watch me fucking you! Look beside and above us in the mirror. Watch us fuck. Pretend that Mary is watching us fuck. I want to make you forget that cheating bitch.’
I began riding Bobby like he was a saddle, gnashing my entire vulva into his pubis as his pretty penis was buried to the hilt inside me. Soon, I reached my own SexualJoy with a seizure-like display that made Bobby come once more.
I thought, Bobby isn ‘t going to need much help when it comes to fiicking. I hope I can rejuvenate him again. If so, this is going to be a long night.
I’ll have remember to send my friend Gary a thank you note.

I’m an amusement park aficionado. A rollercoaster rambler. A thrill rider. I’ve been to just about every theme park in the continental United States and Mexico and Canada, ridden almost every coaster and ride wooden, steel or composite fibreglass. I’ve been on more log plumes than a Quebec lumberjack, more jungle cruises than a great white hunter, and plunged down more white-water adventures and splash mountains than an Olympic kayaker.

So, when I was walking away from Universal Studios Hollywood on a recent vacation/pilgrimage to Southern California park country during my third-year college summer break, I was more than a little intrigued by the dirty old man who jumped out from behind a tour bus and cried, ‘Wanna see an amusement park not on the maps?’

He had a crazy look in his eye. But not the kind you get from cheap booze. Rather, the kind you get when you’re pushing 4.2 G’s at 96 miles-per-hour in an eighty-degree freefall from the 310 foot high point on the Millennium Force rollercoaster at Cedar Point, Sandusky, Ohio.

I was instantly drawn to the man.

‘You love ‘em, don’tcha? You love to ride?’ he babbled, before I could even answer his first question.

‘M-maybe,’ I croaked.

He barked laughter, squinting at my chest. ‘Those ain’t dimples doo-daddin’ your Psycho House T-shirt, honey.’

I blushed under my sunburn. I do tend to get overexcited when ‘amused’ at a theme park, emotionally and physically.

The old guy bobbed his bushy head. ‘Yep, I can spot a true believer every time. Used to be a park crusader/rollercoaster rambler myself. Hell, they built Disneyland right around me back in ‘55. An’ I was at Coney Island when it was an actual island, not just some punk peninsula,’ he cackled, his rheumy eyes growing wistful.

‘Wow,’ I breathed, shifting my long, bare legs around like I had to pee.

‘So, how ’bout it? You wanna see an amusement park you won’t find in any two-bit travel brochure? Ride rides and play games no tourist ain’t never rid or played?’

‘You mean a private park?’

He glanced around at the sun-baked, car and bus-clogged parking lot, then back at my chest. He nodded.

‘Where?’ I squealed. ‘What’s it called? What types of rides, games, sideshows, and attractions do they have?’ Finding an unmarked amusement park was like riding a rainbow into a pot of gold.

This dirty leprechaun beckoned me closer. I jumped forward, and he latched his greasy fingers onto my upper arm, squeezed. ‘Lolliewood,’ he breathed.

I fought the urge to gag, both from excitement and the man’s breath. ‘Larry Lollie?’

‘You know?’

‘I’ve heard rumours.’

He nodded, rubbing his grimy hand up and down the electrified skin of my arm. ‘They’re true. Larry Lollie used to roll more travelling circuses, carnivals, and freak shows run more amusement parks, than the Ringling Brothers and the Knott Family put together. Until…’

‘Disney came along?’ I panted.

He shook his head. ‘Nah. ‘Til the IRS got their hooks in him, seized all his assets.’ He hooked his own skinny arm around my waist, drawing me close, caressing my rib cage. “Cept for a few hidden assets, that is – things not listed on the books, or maps.’

I gulped. If it was Larry Lollie, the rides and attractions were sure to be first-rate. ‘Wh-wh-where is it?’

The dirty old man grinned a jack-o’-lantern grin. ‘I got a map,’ he said, sliding his hand up and over my brimming breast, pressing the flesh. ‘Like them star maps, ‘cept this only has the one big star.’

I bit my lip and batted my eyelashes, my blood boiling. ‘Where is it and how can I get in?’

He released my tingling breast long enough to dig a withered piece of paper and a red, plastic card out of his dilapidated workpants. He held them up, the credit card-sized card gleaming in the bright sun, gold holographic double-L lettering winking seductively at me. ‘With this here and one of these, you can find ‘er and get in.’

I swallowed hard, perspiring everywhere now, pulse racing. ‘What’s-what’s it going to cost me?’ I asked, knowing full well I’d blown my last traveller’s cheque on the Jurassic Park Paver Adventure inside Universal Studios.
He shifted the card over to his map hand and worked his other hand over my breast again, fondling, plucking at my stiffened nipple. I shivered. Maybe this was how the old guy got his thrills these days. But if it would get me into the legendary Lolliewood, then he could ride all day. I grabbed on to his shoulder, raising dust, and something that wasn’t dust – yet – in his middle third. He looked at my hand and grinned. ‘You’re gonna love this place, honey. It’s…adults only.’

I grabbed on to both his shoulders and moved my face downwards, eyes closed and lips puckered.

‘Hey, what’s going on over there?’ someone yelled. A security guard, racing towards us.

The dirty old man dropped my boob and his map and card and took off running, the security guard in hot pursuit. They were both dodging traffic across the freeway when I scooped up the map and the red card and dropped them into my purse. Then I skipped on over to my rented car, singing, ‘Lolliewood, Lolliewood, oh lollie-lollie-lollie Lolliewood…’

Larry Louie’s ‘ranch’ was way out in the back of beyond, a dusty two-hour drive due north-east from Anaheim and my Doodlebug Motel, in the middle of the dry gulches and shale buttes of semi-desert country.
I finally located the rocky plateau three miles west of the ‘Next Gas Stop 60 Miles’ sign as night was falling. From the highway bottom, it looked like nothing was there but volcanic rock and a few scraggly bushes. But as I drove off the asphalt and on to a dirt road, up the dusty trail that wound around the outcropping, I suddenly came upon a locked gate and a guardhouse.

Three men boiled out of the guardhouse, each of them looking as big and tough as Green Berets, or Disney attorneys. They ordered me out of the car. One took my purse and went through it, confiscating my cell phone and camera, while another ran his hands all over my body, searching me. While the third scrutinized my park pass and told me I’d have to sign a waiver forfeiting all rights forever to bragging about my adventures at Lolliewood to anyone living or dead.

I signed the waiver, and the man cut my pass card in two. Then I was let through the gate. I drove rapidly up the dark, serpentine road then down, winding around into a heavily-treed valley. The irrigation costs alone must’ve been astronomical.

Finally, I cruised into a parking lot, and another security man met my car. He gave me the once-over all over again, before gesturing towards a paved path that led into the forest of palm and pine trees. I hustled on down the bunny trail, ahead of couples who were sauntering along like this was an every-night occurrence to them.

And after a dozen more twists and turns, I came at last into a clearing. And there it was. Spread out at the bottom of that lush, man-made valley, walled in by towering, barren volcanic rock. Lolliewood. In big, bold, neon-red letters burning away above a black, gold-spiked fence that encircled the entire blazing, blaring private amusement park. I felt like the mother stumbling on to the alien landing area in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
I dashed into the theme park. The theme being S-E-X, in big, red-hot letters.

There were carnival games galore, old favourites turned decidedly adult in nature under the glittering lights, amidst the cacophony of calliope music and a grunting and groaning soundtrack. You didn’t spray water into a clown’s mouth until the balloon broke over his head; you sprayed water between the sculpted legs of a lady until her clit popped. You didn’t ring a bell at the top of the strongman tower when you banged the bottom with a mallet; you banged the bottom with a mallet and two strobing balls shot up the pulsating, phallic-shaped tower, warm goo splashing out of the slitted top if they reached all the way. There were rides, too. Bumper cars shaped like body parts, the whole structure lighting up and vibrating and letting off steam whenever anyone banged the right parts together. Spinning bra cups and penis plumes that dove into vagina-shaped pools of warm, sticky liquid. A giant, pink and red-lit rollercoaster shaped like a shapely woman lying on her side, and then her back. I rode her curves repeatedly, the acceleration from sternum to breast-top amazing, the freefall from nipple crest to pussy-bottom exhilarating.

I went through all the rides at top speed, surging with glee, tingling with delight, ogling the gorgeous, unclothed carnal-carnies who were everywhere in abundance. An erotic amusement park – my two passions combined. I’d died and gone to…well, not heaven, certainly, but some place just as pleasurable.

Then I came to a screeching halt in front of the House of Whorers. And things got really exciting. The southern gothic mansion was a stirnning recreation of an old-fashioned bordello, three storeys high and gabled and balconied like it had been flown straight in from Bourbon Street. It was lit up in shades of blue and green and red, and throbbed with activity, well-hung and well-endowed shadow figures gyrating behind the back-lighted windows. A big-bosomed animatromc madam called out and beckoned at me from an overstuffed couch on the front porch of the house, and holographic ladies of the evening strolled the grounds and surrounding sidewalks, making with the come-ons.

I watched all the action for a moment, weak in the knees and wet like after a Jaws tram ride. Then I crept bar by bar over to the front gate of the house, only to be crushed when the naked hunk standing guard said, ‘Sorry, couples only.’

I desperately looked around for an unattached man in the laughing, loving crowd of beautiful people. And couldn’t find one. I slumped against the fence like someone had just stolen my cotton candy, rubbing up against the iron.

I almost jumped out of my skin when someone touched me on the shoulder. ‘I was just getting something off my shorts,’ I yelped, spinning around. The man laughed. ‘And I was just wondering if you wouldn’t mind being my companion for the evening?’

He was tall and thin and dark, with flashing black eyes and white teeth, dressed in a maroon-coloured silk shirt and a grey pair of pants. I opened my mouth to reply, but the words got stuck in the dry gulch of my throat. So the stranger took me by the arm and guided me past the buff doorman and inside the illicit mansion.

A man and a woman – both model-perfect nude in appearance – came forward to meet us in the chandelier-lit, red velvet entrance hallway. While holographic and projection women and men in period dress and undress paraded around in the background, the sounds of their laughter and innuendo filled the perfumed air.

The large-breasted flesh and blood blonde took my escort’s arm and led him away down the hall and into a room, closing the door behind them as holographic harlots tittered and pointed nearby. Then the red-haired muscleman with the amazing endowment gripped my arm and escorted me down the hall, into a room opposite the one my companion had disappeared into.

It was a bedroom, red-lit and done up in campy gothic style. There were two semi-nude, see-through figures on the canopied bed, a man on top of a woman. They briefly stopped what they were doing and looked at us. ‘Always room for one more,’ the spectral John said, grinning and gesturing with his arm, before going back to his dirty business. The bed banged against the wall in rhythm to his urgent thrusting.
‘You have to be this naked for this ride,’ my guide informed me, gesturing at his body.

I gulped and nodded, turned my back and hastily peeled off my T-shirt, shorts, and shoes, and panties. The hangman then handed me a pair of 3D glasses with the comment, ‘Wear them when instructed’. Then he took me through another door, into a room that contained only one piece of furniture – a red foam-rubber recliner-type chair/bed, like an upraised hospital bed without the sheets. He arranged me on the recliner and then shut the door, leaving me all alone. Which is exactly when the lights went out.

The bed and I started moving. Then big white letters burned briefly in front of me: ‘Meeting’. Images started flashing all around me; images of girls and guys meeting, men and women talking and laughing, some in black and white and some in colour, still and moving pictures, from olden days to modern times.

‘You’re a real swell girl,’ a holographic young man suddenly said right next to me.

He was dressed up like Potsie from Happy Days, and I thought he was talking to me. But then a young woman appeared, holding his hands and saying, ‘I think you’re real neato, too, Ralph.’
I cruised further along, and the big white letters flashed, ‘Making-Out’. And the kaleidoscope of images changed to men and women holding hands, hugging, pecking each other on the cheeks. Then tentatively kissing, deep-kissing, trenching. A sensual soundtrack of lip-smacking and wet-slurping accompanied the sexy imagery. And the bed grew warmer, matching myself.

Full-size holographic figures popped up ahead and alongside me, entwining and kissing. And then a giant pair of burning red lips appeared; appeared to be bearing down right on top of me. I felt someone actually kiss me – on the lips. Again, and again, setting my mouth on fire.

I just lay there/sat there and took it, took it all in, gripping the heated foam rubber and trembling, the wet, burning sensation on my lips and between my legs radiating all through me. And then the petting began.
Images cascaded all around of men stroking women, women stroking men, intimately caressing one another in a roiling sea of flesh. The bed itself seemed to pulse with electricity, setting my skin ablaze. Glowing, orange hands reached out and touched me, stroked me, the sounds of passion escalating in intensity, drowning out my plaintive whimpering.

The large pair of hands settled on my breasts, cupping and squeezing. I moaned, as the orange fingers slid up my shimmering boobs and over my achingly-hard nipples, lightly and exquisitely pinching and rolling them, as holographic and digital naked men and women were being felt up all around me.

Then the hands and imagery disappeared, leaving me bursting with unfulfilled need. I moved forward, on to the next stage: ‘Mating’. The big white letters added, ‘Please Put Your Glasses On’. I fumbled the forgotten 3D glasses over my eyes and the blurry images that had started up again popped right out into my face.

Giant cocks and tits and pussies, swollen hoods and nipples and lips, veiny pink shafts rising up and towering, cherry-red nipples flowering, directly in front of me. I lifted my hands and tried to grab on to a cock, opened my mouth and tried to take in a nipple. But couldn’t.

Genitalia of all shapes and sizes throbbed away only inches away from me, thrusting at me. Until the 3D body parts morphed into 3D people, men grunting and pumping away at groaning women, so close I could almost rub their shining bodies and stick my tongue into their open mouths.

Their heated cries of passion pounded my ears, the sensory overload setting my head to spinning. And then the 3D went 4D again, the bed undulating, vibrating, a glowing green hand appearing between my legs and rubbing my dripping pussy. ‘Oooh,’ I moaned, arching off the bed, the neon fingers sinking inside me.

Glowing hands fondled my breasts, glowing lips kissing me, enveloping my rigid nipples in wetness and warmth and sucking, fingers pumping my pussy. Shivers of joy shot all through me, as I got trenched and felt up and finger-fucked, as beautiful men and women made mad love all around me.

The bed started moving again, the hands, fingers, and lips and the imagery disappearing, leaving me hanging precariously on the slippery edge of ecstasy. My breasts heaved wet and yearning, my pussy burning achingly empty.

And there, in answer to my wicked prayers, stood my missing companion who’d helped me get into the house of pleasure, shining naked in a blazing white spotlight dead ahead. He was waiting for me, large cock pointing straight at my pussy and growing closer.

I tossed my glasses aside and the bed split open, opening my legs up along with it. I floated right up to the dark-haired stranger, wide open and more-than-willing. His condom-encased erection kissed my slickened petals, and he grasped my waist and slid effortlessly inside, the two of us becoming one. The symphony of sensuality swelled to a climax, fireworks exploding all around us. He flung his hips back and forth, fucking me, filling me, thrilling me like even no rollercoaster ride can, sending me sailing into sexual fieefall.

‘Yes!’ I shrieked, digging my fingernails into his arms and exploding with joy, a hot tidal-wave of orgasm surging through my burning body.

He grabbed my shuddering breasts and crushed them in his hands, pumping me in a frenzy, stoking my inferno, pulsing his own white-hot orgasm deep inside of me. I tracked the dirty old man down two days later. He was loitering behind a garbage bin in back of Six Flags Magic Mountain. I just had to thank him, and ask him something.

‘Enjoyed yourself, eh?’ he grimaced, lunging at me.

I let him catch me, hold on. ‘Is there any chance you could get more of those passes?’ I pleaded.

He leered up at me. ‘Mebbe. For a real pretty thrill-seeker like yourself

‘Where do you get them, anyway? I don’t mind waiting in line.’

He laughed. ‘You don’t get them, honey, they get you.’ He stuck a grubby hand in my face. ‘Name’s Larry Lollie. You interested in a summer job, by any chance?’

It’s an old trunk sitting on the sidewalk that catches my eye. It sits beside a set of concrete stairs that go down to a basement level store, an old metal trunk, dark blue with brass trim, and a lock that hangs a little askew, with a cardboard sign taped to it, an arrow pointing down. I slow down for a second to look closer. The concrete steps descend a bit farther, then pause at a landing where other items beckon in a group: an old wooden telephone table, a vase, a milk pitcher painted bright orange. The lower-level store has been empty for some time, so of course I glance in the window, which is a half circle that rests about street level, curving up to just under my chin. Half Moon Antiques & Curiosities crawls in spindly lettering around the curve.

And it’s one of those things, just circumstance; I look down just at the right moment as he’s looking up, cell phone in his hand, in mid conversation. But I can see him hesitate as he sees my pink shoes, and while I keep moving, pushing my legs forward, the lean angles of his face, the dark eyes, the platinum-tipped hair that springs in so many different directions from his head, are etched into my mind, where they brew all day at work as I make phone calls and fiddle with papers at my desk.

The next morning I try to assure myself that my interest is purely in antiques, try to stop my pace from quickening as I reach the row of shops and spot the trunk sitting there on the sidewalk again. He’s setting small glass pieces in the windowsill: blue and green, orange and yellow, birds and flowers and butterflies. They catch the sunlight prettily, but I find my gaze wandering away from them. From under unruly brows, his eyes rise up to my leather boots, then higher still to my tailored leather jacket, three-quarter length. Jet black, those eyes meet mine for a split second, but then drop down again just as quickly; down and down to the lower edge of my jacket, looking for the hem of my skirt. Without thinking I move a little closer to the window as my legs open in stride. I see his tongue, licking his lips. I turn my head again, just in time to see it again, just to be sure and feel a shiver just as if that tongue had snaked higher still, up between my thighs.

I’m at work, trying to answer phones and sift through papers with a warm glow between my legs. He’s invaded me that easily, from behind a glass and in a basement store. It’s animal and anti-intellectual, something that pulls at me from the inside and makes me wet just to think of it.

There are forms to print out here; the beige walls of my cubicle stare passively as I make my way to the end of the day, occupying myself with trivialities so most of my brain is free to run over his dark eyes, his pale face, and his tongue, over and over and over. The heat between my legs grows unbearable, and I run to the ladies’ room to stroke myself, oh so quietly, to a gushing orgasm, and still I can’t get his face out of my head.

The next morning, he’s not there. It stops me in my tracks. I look down into the store and there’s a blonde woman and what I imagine to be a teenage son, they unpack boxes and arrange shelves. I hesitate a second and she sees me, smiles and I smile back, pausing as if looking over the glass pieces. Disappointment seeps in, at first in the background and I try to contain it there. I straighten, I look around, suddenly aware this very first time that there are others on the street, people on their way to work, maybe even people who live above the stores; people who glance out their windows in the morning and see me looking in here, hesitating here like a fool. I’m stung and it follows me to work, the thought hovers like smoke curling around the corners of the room.

I hardly even slow down the next day, just barely, only long enough to see the back of her head – blonde – and hurry on. The day goes by in slow motion, excruciating, the minutes creeping by as they laugh at me, left feeling bereft at this, all those minutes yawning empty, sapped of any music.

And what do I want, exactly? What was I hoping for -some silly movie ending, with him, a dark-eyed man -angel, standing shyly one morning, offering a bouquet of flowers? But no. That’s not what I wanted at all.

After a weekend of mundane chores, I set out for work with a curious mixture of apprehension and excitement roiling in my middle. I try to walk casually by, just stroll down the street looking in the shops, but have to stifle the disappointment when he’s still not there, no sign of him at all as the blonde woman greets customers and stocks shelves, not as Monday bleeds into Tuesday and the sweet flurry of hopeful excitement dissipates. Wednesday, it rains, gathering in cold grey puddles on the sidewalk. I’m looking down at my basic black shoes dodging the puddles, honestly not looking for him any more, but there, out of the corner of my eye, it’s unmistakable – his blond spikes, the back of his head. I stop abruptly, breathless in an instant, but he doesn’t see me. I’m jolted but try to reason my way out of it. I force myself to keep going. Just because he’s there… I don’t have to look or react… But all day at work, it buzzes in the background noise inside my head, the sight of those platinum spikes, the memory of his dark eyes and red tongue, no matter how much I reason against it.

Coming home I start to feel my pulse quicken and my steps slow down as I turn the corner – that corner, that block – and I don’t fight it this time. He’s there. Is he looking for me, too? He comes to the window as I pass, slower, slower, he’s watching as my long jacket flies open in the damp wind. His eyes are hungry, my skirt is short. His tongue, just the end of it, wet and red, runs over his lower lip again and again, back and forth, as I walk by, slowing down. I take a long stride for a good look. His lips purse, he stares intently, then kisses his palm and blows it up to me, and it follows me all the way back home, licking its way up between my legs. I have to rush to the bathroom, leave my cat yowling for dinner, stroke myself to orgasm as bath water runs, thinking of the rosy red tip of his tongue.

There’s no rain in the morning, though the sidewalk is splotchy, still mostly damp. A stiff wind separates the gloomy clouds and whips the surface of the puddles into urgent patterns. We have a meeting early at work, it’s still half dark as I scurry along and none of the shops are open. During the meeting – boring, but the pastries are good, coffee decent – I’m looking out of the window as the darker clouds thin out, finally pull apart altogether to reveal satiny blue high above. And why shouldn’t there be magic present? A ghost has entered the machine, an email virus that cripples our server just as the meeting ends, leaving the office in confusion. The system down, we can take some of our ‘personal time’ and leave the office early if we like. Not gratis, understand, especially when I have only one personal day left. But I take it as an omen. And there’s magic of an older, earthier kind – fertility goddesses and phallic symbols. I feel that too. The weather cooperates, it’s dry but still cool, so I walk home with my coat on, but open, flipping here and there in the breeze.

The elevator takes for ever, then the blocks seem unbearably long as I make my way back towards home, my shoes pinching in the conspiracy to slow me down. Finally, I reach the last block, covered by a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion that I only now acknowledge, huffing slightly, and approach from the opposite side of the street and yes, it’s to throw him off a bit, but more so to look into the store and, yes, it’s empty, except for him. I can’t contain the smile that tugs eagerly at the corners of my mouth as I step off the sidewalk. He’s all in black today, his face almost ghostly, hair glowing, he comes into full view as I reach about three-quarters of the way across the street. His eyes take their usual trajectory, flitting up to my face, then quickly much lower down, and as they watch, as I draw closer, my fingers reach for the hem of my skirt and pull it up slowly, using my nails to crawl it up little by little and reveal the laced edges of my stockings as I continue to walk. His eyes widen.

I glance around – there are a few people about a block away, and only two cars even farther away – then back to him. He fingers an orange glass butterfly, fiddling with it absently, his mouth slightly open. I pull a small notepad from the pocket of my coat, I pull it out as he watches intently, and as I reach the sidewalk on his side, I toss it on to the pavement.

He looks at the notepad. I look at him. I get closer, kneel to the ground to pick it up, there right in front of the window, I kneel at the same time my fingernails reach the bottom edge of my hem, pulling it up under my coat. His eyes are wide and unblinking, the notebook has landed just in front of the glass and we’re only inches apart now as I reach for it, I look like I ‘m reaching for it, but drop my hand between my legs, his eyes following, pulling my panties aside so he can really see me, spreading my pink pussy lips so he can see them shiny wet inside. Wet for him. Wet for you, I whisper it to him through the glass, fucking myself with two fingers as he smiles a thin, tight smile and the rosy tongue appears, runs over his lips, back and forth. He raises his eyes to mine after a few moments. I close my legs, begin to rise again. Thank you, he mouths the words back, reaches up to touch the window with his hand. I kiss my own fingers and touch him from the other side, leaving a slight smear of my vagina juice on the glass. Just like a movie ending, after all. Just like a goddamn movie.

‘This is the beginning of Lord Harestone’s land Miss. It’ll be another five minutes till we reach the Manor.’

Exhausted though I was by this interminable journey, I studied the land. It was bleak with lumpy hills reminiscent of an old hag’s face with the odd tuft of sedge grass. The hillocks were cropped by sheep who stared as we rattled past, then went back to pulling at what nourishment the impoverished earth afforded them. Heavy drips of rainwater spilled off the sheep’s grey wool, and off the edges of the carriage window, splashing on to my cloak. Hunger, the aching cold in my bones and hours of journeying all sapped my strength.

Joy entered my heart as the driver announced, ‘Here we are, Miss. Harestone Manor.’ I stepped out in front of the imposing stone house and pressed precious pennies into the driver’s hand, he’d earned them. He closed his wet glove over them and pulled at his cap. “Thank you, Miss. You’ll be staying here a while then, as Governess to Lord Harestone’s heir?’

‘That’s right, at least a year, to complete the young master’s education.’

‘Well, good luck to ‘ee.’ The driver handed down my one small bag and I watched as he clambered up and whipped the horses into action. I stood alone. All around me, for miles in the evening half-light brooded the empty sodden heath. Behind me, Harestone Manor. Having come this far, twelve hours ride from home, I would not get away easily, should the position not work out. I shuddered at the thought of being caught in the situation if it did not suit me, but lifted my chin, determined to see it through. After nursing a husband now dead from the coughing sickness and with only few pennies in my purse after paying off his debts, I had no choice. Here was my destiny.

I curled freezing fingers around the bell-pull and heard it clang inside the house, summoning a middle-aged woman. ‘You must be Miss Canning. Welcome. I am Mrs Alderly. My daughter and I keep house for Lord Harestone and the young master. Come and take off that wet cloak or you shall catch your death.’ We walked through a hallway lit by a central chandelier of candles which threw a ruddy light. Mrs Alderly showed me into a warm kitchen. ‘Come now, we’ll place your cloak across the chair to dry. You’ll be hungry after your j ourney. In future you will dine with his Lordship and the young master but tonight we have for you some hot soup and bread.

Then I will show you your room and after that introduce you to your Masters.’

Feeling considerably revived after the steaming meal, I followed Mrs Alderly’s candle up a wide staircase decorated with green wallpaper of an ivy-leafed design. My bedroom was grander than any I had experienced, with a high four-poster bed in the centre. It felt a little odd when Mrs Alderly showed me a connecting door and opening it explained that the young master’s bedroom was attached to mine allowing for constant observation by myself of his movements. For a young child this would be the norm, but my young charge, Master Tom, would be nineteen years old this summer and surely able to look after himself. I thought I had been taken on to refine his education in respect of French and Latin before he entered the Church, not to nursemaid him.

Mrs Alderly left me, saying that I was expected in the front room at eight o’clock to meet Lord Harestone and Master Tom. After checking my grey woollen dress was not much affected by splashes from my journey, and neatening the hair piled on my head, I ventured downstairs. The front parlour was a comfortable room with a roaring fire in front of which stood the two gentlemen. Lord Harestone, the father, immediately struck me, so much did his presence fill the room. Over six foot tall and wide-shouldered, he blocked the heat from the fire. Pale breeches clung tightly to thighs powerful from country pursuits and I registered that he was well endowed in every way. There was a stern darkness about him. He scrutinised me appraisingly before beckoning me to him.

Next to him stood Master Tom, a long-nosed pale youth utterly lacking the force and presence of his father. The callow youth smiled weakly at me whilst glancing at his father, as if fearful of his reaction.

I curtsied. On my rising, his lordship traced a finger along my jaw line and raised my face to the firelight. ‘What do you think, then, boy? A good choice or not?’ Both men studied me as though I were a prize brood mare.

‘Turn around, Miss Canning and let us observe you better.’ My cheeks burnt red with embarrassment. This intrusive appraisal made me acutely conscious of my figure which was a little too rounded for a woman my age and my rough dress which was all I could afford.

‘She’ll do extremely well, father,’ said the boy, eyes lighting up as if he were choosing buns in the baker’s shop. I swear I even saw him lick his lips.

‘Miss Canning, you will be pleased to hear you have my son’s approval.’

I curtsied, feeling as though I had passed some sort of test.

‘Thank you, sir. I would be pleased if you would outline my duties. You explained in your letter that I am to complete Master Tom’s education. I assumed this was in the classics and languages but perhaps you could elaborate.’

Lord Harestone laughed gently as if I had made some kind of joke. ‘Ah now, Miss Canning, permit me to offer you a seat, and perhaps a small glass of Madeira?’

Lord Harestone’s delay in getting to the point troubled me. I gratefully accepted the Madeira to calm my nerves. I was acutely aware of Master Tom’s eyes constantly upon me, as if he had never seen a woman before. I was also aware as I took the seat and kept my back straight and my legs together, as befits a lady, that Lord Harestone too never took his eyes off me. They roamed from the hem of my skirt, up my legs, over my waist and bosom and down again in far too direct a manner for comfort. His gaze gave me the sensation of being uncovered; so much so that I raised my hand to my chest to ensure my buttons were securely fastened and felt there the rise and fall of my bosom.

I jumped as Lord Harestone spoke again. ‘We discussed a wage in our correspondence, did we not?’

‘Yes sir, my Lord.’
‘I should like to treble it’
‘But my Lord, why?’ I gasped. I was torn between my delight at this extraordinary news and concern that my duties might be too onerous to complete. Never had I been offered such riches.

‘Miss Canning, I will come to the point. I have a direct nature. My ward,’ he looked over at Master Tom who sat opposite me in silence, ‘has had an expensive education. He is exceptionally bright and is in all ways ready to enter the Church. He needs no more coaching in normal subjects.’

‘Then why -?’ I stopped, aware that I must not interrupt my employer even though I burned with curiosity.

‘Your role, Miss Canning, and one I am sure you are eminently able to fulfil, is to teach Master Tom the ways of adults. We are so isolated here that Tom has become shy, particularly around women. He knows nothing of their.. .more intimate ways but he wishes to learn in this, his last year of freedom. He needs to partake of the pleasures of the flesh with one whom he finds irresistible before he enters the church and is denied that pleasure for ever. Tom, I can see, is very taken with you. He admires womanly curves and soft plump skin. In fact I think I can go so far as to speak for him and say that he yearns nightly for feminine charms like yours,’ Lord Harestone looked over at his ward who nodded eagerly. ‘We will treat you extremely well, you have seen your room. Your only duties will be at night time. In the day you will be fiee to partake of my extensive hbrary and live the life of a woman of leisure on an extremely good wage. Your only duty will be in educating and pleasuring this young boy. And being pleasured by him.’ I saw a glint in Lord Harestone’s eyes that made me swallow hard.

Hearing his words, my eyes became rounder and rounder. I had been a married woman so was well able to fulfil this task but never had I been asked to perform such extraordinary duties nor offered such wealth. My life of late had been unbearable, living in near poverty, and an escape from it was most appealing. But having the hands of this callow, pale youth upon me, could I cope with that? I looked at the father. So much more commanding than the son, a man any woman would be pleased to take into her bed, with his knowing eyes and masculine figure. Now if only he were the subject of my nightly task I would not hesitate.

Lord Harestone twirled the neck of his glass in sensuous fingers, lifted it to full lips and drained the glass. ‘I can see you are thinking it over; one more thing which may sway you. My son admires fine clothes and likes to see women in them. There is a wardrobe upstairs full of outfits purchased for his ‘governess’ from the seamstresses of Paris. I think you may like to take those into account when you think over our offer. We will leave you now, Miss Canning. If in the morning you have dressed yourself in one of the fine outfits upstairs we will take that as a signal that you accept your duties. If however you are still in the grey woollen garment you stand in now, I will arrange for a coach to be called to take you back home and we will assume you do not want the post. Goodnight.’

Thus dismissed, I retired to my room shocked at the offer made to me. I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling, my thoughts in turmoil. In the next room, only a thin door separating us, I could hear Tom about his night time ritual. I heard him undress and the creak of the bed as he got into it. I wondered if he thought of me in my bed. I shuddered. Could I possibly allow that boy to make love to me, show him, guide him when I found him to be utterly repulsive. Like a greyhound, he was all skin and bones and angular features. And yet the money I had been offered would solve all my difficulties and allow me to start afresh. Pondering, I rose and went to the wardrobe. Inside were delectable dresses in silks and taffetas. Reds and golds sat alongside deep aquamarine and purple, the skirts a cloud of colour. I buried my face in their finery and rubbed the cool softness of the materials over my poor skin, chapped with cold, neglect and poverty. Opening a drawer, I beheld half a dozen beautifully stitched corsets. I ran my hands over the boning and the laces of one which was a glorious shade of turquoise. I lifted it up and held it against myself in the mirror. It was a work of art and I knew that if I were to wear it I too would feel like the most precious object. The fact that I would be pawed by that creature next door, who gave me a feeling of sickness every time I thought of him, was something I could possibly learn to block out.

I released the pins in my chestnut hair, felt it tumble heavily down my shoulders and lay myself down on the crisp cotton sheets. My mind was made up. However disagreeable I found Master Tom, I would accept my fate.
At dawn, after washing myself in the bowl provided, I opened the wardrobe again. The glare of the colours was even greater in the morning light. As I again fingered the turquoise corset there was a gentle knock on my door. I gathered my nightdress about me suspicious it might be Master Tom come to gain his prize early. But it was a young girl who announced herself as Sarah, Mrs Alderly’s daughter, and offered me help as a lady’s maid in dressing. Never had I had the luxury of a lady’s maid. As she assisted me into a fine muslin shift which fell over my breasts and would protect the fine silk of the corset from the oils of my skin I began to warm to my part. I did not have to like Master Tom to teach him, but I did enjoy the feel of the corset as Sarah laced me in. A pleasant sensation of constriction, like a frighteningly tight embrace overcame me as Sarah pulled harder and harder. My breasts overflowed like velvet-skinned apricots over the tight boning and my buttocks appeared lush and full underneath the tight silk. ‘These are the latest corsets from France, ma’am, with little suspenders to hold up your stockings. Here let me help you on with these silk stockings.’

The feel of the material against my ankles, then my knees and finally halfway up my thighs, delicately rolled and pushed up my legs by Sarah, made my legs tingle. I watched the girl kneeling as she clipped the stockings into their holdings after which she laced up my boots and helped me into a white muslin day dress. Never had my waist appeared so pinched and tiny and never had I been so acutely aware of my breasts pushing and straining over the top of my dress. As the corset: pressed against the pubis at the bottom of my stomach I felt a sensation of desire for animal satisfaction which had never affected me before.

I went down to breakfast and witnessed Master Tom’s evident admiration at my hourglass figure and delight that I was staying. I almost expected him to salivate at the mouth in anticipation of his coming night’s education. I was given the freedom of the house and, as I moved about, became aware of eyes upon me. Looking around, I caught not Master Tom, but Lord Harestone, staring blatantly at my form. I stood examining a book in his library at the time. Whether some devilment had entered me in my fine new clothes I cannot say. But, aware of his Lordship’s eyes burning into me, I reached as high as my constricting undergarments would allow, and purposefully revealed a well turned ankle in black silk. Lord Harestone stared, smiled and walked away.

The evening came, dinner was done with, and feeling as though I were jumping into a pool of cold water, I announced to Master Tom that he and I should now go upstairs and begin his education. I felt very ill-disposed towards him, as if I wanted to tell the poor naive creature off for his lack of knowledge. At the top of the stairs I ordered him into his bedroom and commanded he kneel by the side of his bed and wait for me. Going into my room, I breathed deeply, feeling nauseous at the thought of his hands upon me, and trying desperately to summon up the courage for my task. My beautiful skirt swished as I walked across the room and just as I was about to enter through the open connecting door, I noticed a door at the other end of Master Tom’s room. Through the narrow slit I could just make out Lord Harestone, seated, his eyes directed at his young ward.

Of a sudden, a warmth spread through me and a pleasurable sensation shot up between my stockinged legs, moistness creaming my maidenhood. I had to squeeze my legs together as I walked, to stop the liquid dripping down my legs, as I imagined Lord Harestone’s eyes following me across the room. Acutely aware of his gaze, I did not give away that I knew his secret but looked down only at the kneeling Master Tom. Tom’s eyes looked up at me like a spaniel’s and I watched a flickering nerve tick at his temple.

I moved around him, holding him with my gaze until I was sure I was in the best position for Lord Harestone to view our antics.

‘Lift up my skirts.’ I commanded in a harsh voice. Tom’s hands fumbled at the layers in his eagerness. My heart quickened, not at Tom’s inept touch, but at the knowledge that as my legs were being uncovered, Lord Harestone leant forward in his secret place, in order to see me better.

‘Stay kneeling. Don’t you dare do anything until I tell you,’ I barked. Tom nodded his head, petrified and bewitched as he stared at my ankles, my knees and finally the ivory whiteness of my thighs bulging out of the stockings. ‘You may kiss my thighs,’ I said. The boy held my leg as if it were a soft feathered bird and pressed his hot lips against it. Like a starving man, he slavered and sucked. I watched the top of his head as he got carried away and saw him breathe deeply, enjoying my scent. I spread my legs a little wider, tempting him in but when he moved his mouth over my labia I slapped him hard on the cheek.

‘How dare you presume to do anything before I tell you.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lord Harestone smile wickedly, enjoying my harshness. I directed my gaze at Tom but kept Lord Harestone in my sights as I leant down and kissed poor Tom, the pink marks of my hand on his cheek. ‘There, there, don’t be upset. Tell me what you’d like to do.’

His voice came so quiet I could barely hear although I knew what he said. ‘Louder,’ I demanded. ‘Speak louder boy, tell me what you want to do.’

‘Lick you,’ came his voice.

‘Go on then.’ I ordered.

Still kneeling, he moved around until his head was under my cunny and pressed his face upwards. As his pink tongue came out and the tip dipped into my juices I let out a moan of satisfaction, loud enough for Lord Harestone to hear and saw, with satisfaction, Lord Harestone’s hand move to rub the front of his britches. I held the back of Tom’s head, forcing him rhythmically up and down, pressing him into me. He slurped and pawed at my thighs, his tongue darting in and out. I used him to work around my sex again and again, riding on his face and savouring the pleasure of watching Lord Harestone’s brooding stare as his Lordship continued to rub himself.

‘Give me your finger.’ I commanded to Tom.

Still sucking at me, the boy put his finger slowly towards me and gasped, as I used it to mop up the trickle down my thigh and then buried his finger deep into my waiting redness as high as it would go. I had to congratulate the boy here. Instinct made him push his finger in and out without instruction and when he felt me get comfortable on it, he pushed a second finger in, stretching me most agreeably. Still laced up tightly, I felt as if my breasts would burst out of their confines:  they were becoming so swollen, the nipples painful against the edge of my corset and straining against the thin muslin.

I now felt uncontrollable with desire. I knew I needed a real man inside me. This simpering youth was acceptable for starters but I was so heated I felt I would go mad without proper fulfilment. The time for subtlety was over. I turned blatantly to Lord Harestone. His secret was a secret no more. I watched petrified as, still seated, he kicked the door open with his foot. Tom barely flinched so intent was he on drinking my nectar. Lord Harestone ripped open the panel on the front of his britches and displayed a jutting, magnificently veined erection. Getting up, he strode over to where I stood, and Tom knelt. Standing next to me, he pulled my hair back, and prised open my lips with his tongue, thrusting it viciously into my mouth. I kissed him back, wild with desire. With Tom still pleasuring me with his tongue, Lord Harestone moved his fingers over the muslin at my breasts and tore it away exposing my jutting bosoms topped with hard sensitive nipples. He took one feverishly in his mouth and nipped it in his teeth making me cry out with ecstasy. Once it was moist he took it between thumb and forefinger and rolled it like a cigar. Taking my other nipple, he sucked it mercilessly till it reddened and peaked. Once my breasts were fully sensitised, Lord Harestone moved around behind me, and pressed himself against me. His huge throbbing member forced up against my buttocks. He pushed me over the bed till I was bent double and commanded me to hold on to the bed rail, which I did to steady myself. His knee between my legs prised me open, spread-eagling me still wider. Tom stopped for a moment to wipe his mouth and take his fingers out of my aching pussy. Then, taking the initiative, while Lord Harestone positioned himself behind me, Tom gently fingered my fanny and gazed lasciviously at the swollen red sex lips.

Poking out his tongue he licked me with the whole length of it, flicking it mercilessly over my point of ecstasy. Driven to distraction, I clung on to the bedpost, my buttocks jutting upwards, the tight corset cutting into my flesh, waiting for Lord Harestone to fuck me. Shockingly I felt his almighty prick drive into me as he gripped my shoulders, his fingers digging in. He pummelled me back and forth, panting like a demon possessed. Tom’s licking became more urgent as Lord Harestone drove his cock deeper. Lord Harestone moved his hands to grip my breasts, pinching the nipples between his fingers, giving me the most mind-numbing sensation of being totally and utterly dominated.

With the two men gasping and pushing, sucking and thrusting, I felt my eyes flicker and my swollen sex peak into a shuddering, bursting hardcore orgasm. Just after I came, Lord Harestone gripped my hair and yelled as he pumped his load into me, his sperm running down my legs.

Thus began the best year of my life. Each night was a journey. Each one longer than the last. Tom proved an apt pupil, and an interested observer when my Lord and I allowed him the privilege of watching us sate our passions on each other. Tom is now a pastor at a small parish many miles fiom here. And me? I stayed on, for why would I not? The educator became the educated at Lord Harestone’s fine hand. And yes, dear Reader… I married him.