My husband and I like to go to the local cinema. It’s a ramshackle place but the uncomfortable old seats have recently been replaced with good grey plush ones. The last two rows, that is, where we always sit, and pay extra. You have to pay for the best, don’t you? If you don’t treat yourself to what you deserve, who will? The story I’m going to tell you happened when my boy, Rory, was eleven. He wanted a party for his friends and we decided to have one at the cinema. They were all crazy about movies; Rory and his closest friends headed for the film club every Saturday morning at ten-thirty, so it made as much sense to have his birthday party there as to get sticky fingers over every breakable antique in the house.
I went to call on the manager, an old chap named Michaels. His bald white head shone as bright as the full moon under the hall lights, and his belly sagged over his belt like a bag full of marshmallows. I wore my blue suit and pearls when I popped in on him on my way to one of my charities. It doesn’t hurt to impress this sort of person when you’re looking to get what you want.
Michaels was the soul of helpfulness, and was completely amenable to the idea of a birthday party being held in his theatre. He would cancel that Saturday’s film club, he said, and make it a private viewing for Rory and his gang. I asked him if he minded losing the business, and he said we could just make it up to him some time. ‘I’m sure you will, Mrs Pennyfeather, I’m sure you will. It’ll be a pleasure to see your boy get what he wants on his birthday.’
I smiled at him, and left. It made me rather uncomfortable the way he seemed to be staring holes straight through the front of my suit, and then instead of looking at my expensive pearls, he was busy studying my mouth. I do not mind men looking at my mouth when they are paying full attention to the words coming out of it, but Mr Michaels seemed a bit distracted by thoughts of what he might like to put in it. I could almost see him picturing my lips opening wider and wider to accommodate whatever lay inside his creased trousers, but I tolerated it because he was giving me what I had come for. I told him I would see him two Saturdays hence, and left.
The Saturday of Rory’s birthday party my husband was away, naturally. He had given his son a great set of cars on race tracks but he could not make his party. Rory shrugged off my consoling kisses, so I said, ‘Hey, the presents aren’t everything, are they? You’ve got your party at the movies, and they’re showing your favourite!’ He cheered up a little then, and even smiled as he got out of bed.
We arrived at the cinema and found a sign on the door: Closed for a special preview. Sorry for any inconvenience.
We hurried inside.
‘Mrs Pennyfeather, didn’t you get my message?’ was the first thing Michaels said to me.
‘I certainly did not,’ I replied. ‘What are you doing with my cinema? I’ve got thirty of my child’s friends coming in half an hour. You’re not going to break my Rory’s heart and tell him we’ve let him down, are you?’
‘Well no, Mrs Pennyfeather, perhaps not, but it all depends on how much you can help me. I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine, as they say.’
‘What can you possibly mean?’ I demanded as politely as possible. He was looking at my mouth again. I was wearing a sleeveless blouse and a light cotton skirt. He took me in from head to toe, and then went back to gazing at my mouth as though mesmerised. I had chosen a soft pink lipstick today that made my lips look wet, and my blonde curls were freshly primped for the party. Rory’s friends all have mothers, and so I naturally wanted to look my best. The cake was arriving in a van any minute now, and the last thing I could entertain at the moment was some randy cinema manager.
‘This way, please,’ he said abruptly, and led me into a back room where he showed me a clown suit. ‘This is our alternative,’ he told me.
‘Where is my cinema, Mr Michaels?’ I repeated. ‘I booked your premises. We had an agreement.’
‘The cinema chain called and informed me they were showing a preview here today. That’s what my message was. There’s no party. But we have another option. If you want to take your children in there after the preview, you’re welcome to do so. You just have to keep them entertained for half an hour or so until the preview ends.’
‘Me? I have to keep them entertained?’
‘I don’t fit in this clown suit,’ he explained. ‘It was made for a girl who works here Saturdays when the club’s open. She does magic tricks.’
‘I do not do magic, Mr Michaels. I am a woman with a position in the community, I hold...’
‘If you’d like all your children to go home, that’s fine,’ he interrupted me. ‘Otherwise, put on this clown suit and entertain them for a half hour. Here are some balloons. You can twist them into long sausage dogs.’ He winked at me. ‘I don’t mind.’
I looked at him in utter consternation. ‘Just half an hour?’
‘You’re a trouper!’ His thin lips broadened to a grin. ‘I’ll look out for your cake,’ he promised, and left to watch Rory for me while I undressed in his office.
I took my shoes off, and then my skirt, and I slipped the clown suit over my white bra and knickers. I did the big orange buttons up, and realised the suit was cut extremely low for a clown’s outfit. Then I slipped on the big black boots. Finally, I put on the nose and the make-up. There was also an orange wig. I put that on as well, tucking away all my stray blonde curls, and then looked at myself in the mirror. Apart from my jutting bosom, I really did look just like Bobo the clown.
The children arrived a few at a time, and I got Michaels to swear a solemn oath that he would keep the mothers out, as I had no intention of being seen like this. He kept his word. The last thing I needed was Rory’s friends’ mothers commenting in the playground about what a wonderful clown I had made. There were about thirty kids in total, and once they were all settled down, I came out and blew a honk on my little horn. They were delighted, and they all seemed to like my costume. I let them pull off my nose and let the elastic snap back, and one thing led to another and I found myself shaking a tambourine and singing Nelly the Elephant Packed Her Trunk. They loved it, and by the time Michaels came out to tell me to stop for a moment so he could have a word with me, I was actually getting into it.
‘Bit of a problem,’ he said.
‘You want another five minutes?’ I panted. ‘No problem.’
‘No, I need you to do ten minutes in there.’ He thumbed in the direction of the auditorium.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Projector broke down.’ He sighed. ‘Happens from time to time. Thing is, this is a special audience for a test screening. They’ll get impatient and leave before I’ve time to fix it if I can’t keep them entertained somehow.’
‘So let them leave,’ I said, not seeing the problem.
‘You don’t understand. If they leave now I’ll have to get them to come back later and start all over again. That means no screening for your party. You’ll have to go home.’
‘No way,’ I said.
‘Well, you’ve just got to keep them entertained for ten minutes. Shouldn’t be hard, with your gifts.’
‘What kind of audience is it?’
‘Oh,’ he shrugged, ‘just men.’
I left him with the kids, and walked out onto the narrow stage in front of the screen. The six front rows were full of men; bored, restless men beginning to feel aggressive because they weren’t getting what they had come for.
‘Hello!’ I called out cheerfully. ‘Would you like me to sing you a song?’
‘Tell us a joke,’ one of them yelled back.
‘I don’t know any jokes,’ I said, laughing, ‘I’m a clown!’
‘Then what else can you do?’ The same man demanded. ‘You’re certainly not funny.’
‘What kind of movie were you watching?’ I asked, unable to think of anything else to do or say.
‘Dirty Debbie Does Dallas,’ a chorus of voices replied.
I blinked in disbelief. Bloody Michaels! I saw him peeking out at me from the back of the auditorium, smiling at me through the round window in the door. It was a blue movie test screening audience he had me in front of!
‘Well, um, where had you got to in the film?’ I asked quietly, trying to wrap my brain around the fact that over fifty horny men were all looking at me where I stood before them dressed in a clown suit.
‘She was just about to take her clothes off!’ someone shouted. ‘She was just about to get the shaft!’
‘I see...’ I swallowed hard, trying to think fast.
‘Strip!’ One of the men in the front row shouted.
‘I could do some juggling,’ I suggested desperately, even though I had never juggled before in my life.
‘Strip! Strip! Strip!’ The chant went up.
I just stood there.
One of the men, I remember he was wearing a raincoat, stood up, and a few others followed his lead. Michaels held up his watch to the round window, and pointing at it frantically indicated he still needed ten minutes to fix the projector.
‘I’ll take my wig off!’ I declared. ‘Would you like that?’
‘Let’s see you then.’ The man who had stood up to leave remained standing in the aisle, waiting.
It’s a strange thing, but I found it very hard to take that wig off. It felt like such an intimate act in front of so many men. I pulled up on the rough orange mop, and when my own soft blonde curls tumbled down around my face, I almost felt as though I was showing them the golden curls between my legs. And for some reason, they all gasped when my hair cascaded down out of the wig and I shook it attractively across my shoulders.
‘Now take the suit off,’ the man in the aisle said.
‘I’ll take my shoes off.’ I found myself bargaining with him breathlessly.
‘Go on then.’
I bent over, very deliberately pulled the lace out of the holes around the tongue, and then lifted my foot out of the boot.
They went wild. ‘The suit!’ they cried as the man standing in the aisle resumed his seat. ‘Take off the suit!’
I took the other boot off slowly, and then Michaels was in the window at the back again silently miming to me that he needed even more time. Then there was nothing for it but to undo the big orange buttons over my chest and let them see my breasts and my dark, hard nipples peeking out of the white lace of my bra. I could tell they loved watching the clown suit slip off my shoulders and down my silky-smooth arms, at which point I turned and showed them my elegant back. They were practically howling in delight as I reached behind me to unhook the clasp on my bra, and with my back still to them, I slipped it off and threw it at them. A man in the back row caught it as I turned to face them again, demurely holding the orange buttons over my breasts.
‘Somebody throw me my wig,’ I commanded, and someone did. I caught it, and then deliberately raised my arms to put it back on and exposed my breasts. My erect nipples were pink as candyfloss, and I jiggled my soft mounds from side to side as I pulled the wig back on, raising sighs and groans from my captive audience.
‘Show us your arse!’ a man in the back row shouted as, once again, Michaels’s face appeared in the glass pleading for yet more time. So I turned my back on them again, and looking over my shoulder with a sly smile, I let the clown suit fall down around my bottom. Then, my smile deepening, I pushed my knickers down as well. I was naked as I stepped out of the clown suit except for white socks that reached up to my knees and a red nose and wig. I wriggled my bum at them, and bending forward, showed them all my most intimate parts.
‘Turn around!’ they cried.
I obeyed, letting them all get a good look at my pussy, drops of moisture glistening in its blonde curls, and then I picked up my clown suit and hurried out of the auditorium, blushing furiously as I ran away from the terrifyingly exciting thought of being shoved down onto my hands and knees right there on the stage and forced to take all comers at both ends.
Michaels was standing in the corridor as I emerged covering myself with the clown suit. It was worse, somehow, being seen by this one man than by fifty. That had been a professional performance, this was too close to home.
‘Don’t put it away,’ he said.
‘I will, thank you!’ I snapped, and headed for his office.
‘Your clothes are in the projection room,’ he called after me. ‘I got the film going while you were out there.’
‘Is it going now?’
‘It is.’
I went into the projection room, and quickly put my clothes back on. Through the little window I could see the men I had just entertained enjoying Debbie getting shafted by a well-endowed man wearing a Stetson hat. A few minutes later, the picture ended and the men began filing out of the theatre. I ran a brush through my hair, and felt a little sad as I watched the children start pouring into the theatre with their mothers.
Michaels came in just as I was getting ready to join my son and his friends in the auditorium.
‘Never mind all that,’ he said. ‘You can talk to them after their movie and give them their cake. But you must help me first.’
‘I’ve helped you enough for one day,’ I said. I was still feeling oddly sad as I glanced back at the clown suit I had draped over a chair in a corner. I almost felt as though I had left a part of myself behind in it.
He returned my smile. ‘I can’t get the projector to work for the children’s movie, you know, not without the proper inspiration. It’s a temperamental instrument, this thing.’
‘You mean...’
‘That’s right. It only got going while you were naked. I don’t know if it’ll work without that kind of help again.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ I whispered.
‘If you don’t slip out of that skirt,’ he said, ‘I’m not sure the film will run, and then no one gets their cake.’
We compromised. I put the wig on, and the nose and the suit, but not the boots. He didn’t mind me staying in my white socks. But he insisted, if I was going to wear the clown suit, that he had to get out of his trousers. And while the projector whirred and projected a film about dolphins and their young human friends, I took Mr Michaels’s cock between my softly painted lips.
He remained standing, holding the projector mounting, while I knelt before him in the clown suit and played with his balls. And in the end I swallowed and swallowed as he bucked and thrust and came in my mouth. Then he insisted I take my clown suit off after all, and I did. I dropped the suit along with my knickers, and bent over a chair. He patted my bottom, and then began spanking me slowly but firmly. I was surprised, but he said I should pay extra for the private screening from such highly qualified staff.
He gave me an extra hard smack on my left buttock, and then grasped me firmly by the hips with both hands before sinking into my pussy from behind. I gasped with surprise that his prick had gotten stiff again so fast, and then with pleasure as he stabbed me hard and fast.
‘You know, you’re a stuck up little madam,’ he said. ‘It’ll do you good to carry the memory of this day’s work on your bum for a while to remind you.’ And he spanked each one of my cheeks again as he penetrated me. He stroked the soft hairs at the nape of my neck, and whispered in my ear that the fathers of the children in the auditorium now were the men who had attended the screening. He told me they would call me after I dropped my boy off at school and ask me to entertain their friends as well. I climaxed as he pounded into me while cruelly kneading my breasts, and I promised myself I would take the clown suit away with me when I left.
I first started taking pictures of my mother-in-law in the autumn, when the leaves were all sorts of pretty colours. She lives in a house by the woods just at the edge of town, which means anyone who wants to can practically walk right up to the house without being seen. I call her my mother-in-law, but in reality she is just my girlfriend’s mother. I guess if she had been willing to acknowledge that, I would not have gone after her the way I did.
My girlfriend’s name is Pearl. She and I have been living together for over three years now, and her mother, Annette, my so-called mother-in-law, simply refuses to acknowledge that fact. When she writes to Pearl she never even mentions me. Last year, Annette and her husband sent Pearl a Christmas card that read, May you have a lovely season, come and see us soon. They did not invite me, Donnie, Pearl’s live-in boyfriend. I might as well just be her dog, or her personal vibrator.
That’s why I began wandering down into the woods near my mother-in-law’s house. Her husband leaves for work very early every morning and she stays home alone all day. Annette is a very nice looking woman. Her bottom isn’t too big, although it’s been nicely lived in. Yes, she has buttocks you wouldn’t mind getting a hold of, and she has nice firm breasts. I know that now; I saw them for the first time that autumn.
When her husband leaves for work, Annette has her coffee out on the patio, then she goes upstairs and takes a shower. You can’t see her through the pebbled glass on the bathroom window, but I know she is showering because they don’t have a bathtub. And I know this because they did invite Pearl and me over for dinner once, over three years ago, and they were even gracious enough to let me use their bathroom.
When she’s finished with her shower, she steps back into view as she walks out into the corridor. That’s where I got her with a telephoto lens as she crossed the stripped pine floor on her way from the bathroom to the bedroom. A window in the stairway lets in the light and looks out onto the woods, and it also gives anyone standing amidst the trees a clear view into the house. I got her once with a towel on her head and clutching a bathrobe closed around her. Another time, I got her towel-drying her hair and showing her face as she glanced out the window. A third time I hit the jackpot. I think the bathrobe must have been in the wash, because she stepped out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around her head and another one around her body. It was a big grey towel with yellow trim. She was massaging the towel into her hair with one hand and gripping the second towel closed just over her breasts. Then she must have slipped on something, because she let go of both towels to try and keep her balance as she skidded forward across the slippery polished boards. The towel around her body fell away, and I saw her perfect milk-white breasts with their perky pink nipples, and the golden peach-like fuzz just below her soft little belly. And while she bent over to pick the towels up, she slipped again. I snapped a whole series of pictures of her on her hands and knees on the floor naked, her mouth gaping open in surprise as though getting ready to take an erect cock.
I began sending her the pictures, one at a time. They came out lovely, especially the ones of her on all fours with her breasts pointing down at the floor and her bottom thrust up into the air. I mentioned in the typewritten note I enclosed with the photographs that her husband might, quite justifiably, believe she had posed for those shots. You can do wonderful things with a telephoto lens and a computer graphics card. Windowsills, even background walls, can easily be made to disappear. The photos I sent her could have appeared in a top shelf glamour magazine and earned her a few thousand pounds.
She replied to the anonymous mail box number I had given her. She sent me a note after she had seen just three pictures, the ones of her in her bathrobe. She wrote, What do you want? I’ll call the police if you don’t stop. That was before she got the ones showing her on her hands and knees with her mouth hanging open invitingly, and my accompanying remarks regarding her husband. After that, she sent another note that said simply, What do you want?
It is a wonderful thing to have an attractive woman with a jealous husband right where you want her. I wrote back to her that she should come out to the woods at midnight on the night of the full moon after her husband had gone to bed. As expected, she wrote back that she couldn’t possibly do that, because he would wake up. She told me he was a really light sleeper. I sent her another photo of herself on all fours with her mouth looking like it was just begging for a cock to fill it, along with a sleeping tablet to give to her husband.
She left the house and entered the woods just after midnight. Through my infrared telephoto lens, I watched her walk out of the bedroom, and glance over her shoulder to make sure her husband was fast asleep as she gently closed the door behind her. Then I watched her trying to decide what to wear over the long nightgown she had on when she emerged from the bedroom. I saw her put a sweater on, and then she bent over the dresser on the landing to search the drawers. She held up a pair of sheer stockings, but then an owl screeched outside, and maybe she felt me watching her, because she closed the drawer abruptly and disappeared from my sight as she walked down the stairs.
She walked out into the woods and stood where I had instructed her to - a small clearing surrounded by bushes. You can see into the clearing from anywhere between the trees, but if you stand inside it, it is nothing but impenetrable thickets wherever you look. She stood there, just as I had told her to, waiting for instructions. I put down the camera and looked at her with my own eyes, practically holding my breath so she wouldn’t hear me, and because she was so lovely. Her long blonde hair was hanging free, and even in the moonlight I could see that her cheeks were flushed. The ghostly outlines of her long legs were visible through her thin white nightgown, and she stood with her arms crossed over her chest looking as nervous as a girl lost in the dark. From what I could tell, she wasn’t wearing any panties. This woman was just under forty-years-old, yet she obviously still possessed the romantic soul of a teenager, because even though she was old enough to know better, she had willingly left her warm, comfortable home and faithful husband to come stand out in the dark and the cold awaiting the commands of a total stranger.
‘Are you there?’ she asked softly, tentatively.
I said nothing.
‘Are you there?’ she repeated, and cleared her throat anxiously.
That same owl screeched again, and she drew in a sharp breath looking as though she might bolt.
I threw a small rock wrapped inside a note towards her.
She started when it landed at her feet, and then bent over to pick it up, giving me a nice view of her lovely bottom through her fine nightgown where I crouched just behind her and slightly to her right.
It was a full moon; she had no trouble reading the note. She did so, and then stood there for a long moment before she starting taking off her nightclothes.
The note had simply said, Strip. One word. I wasn’t sure she would do it, but she did. I suppose she felt she had nothing to lose since I had already seen it all. But seeing a woman’s naked body through a telephoto lens is one thing, seeing her taking her clothes off for you by moonlight in the middle of the woods is something else entirely.
She pulled her sweater off first, or at least she started to, but it caught in the clip keeping her hair swept back over one ear. She seemed to be having trouble disengaging it, so I stepped out of my hiding place behind a tree and put my hand on her tummy from behind to steady her. She gasped, and then seemed to melt a little as I helped her pull her sweater off. She stood with her head bowed and her back to me, submissively silent.
‘Don’t turn around,’ I whispered. ‘If you turn around, all those photos will go to your husband tomorrow.’
‘I’ll do whatever you want,’ she whispered back, ‘just don’t hurt me, please. Just...’
‘What?’
‘Just don’t let my husband find out.’
‘What don’t you want him to find out about?’
She started to turn around, but immediately thought better of it. ‘I’ll do anything you ask me to,’ she repeated softly.
‘Raise your arms,’ I said.
She sighed, and obeyed me. Then all the breath seemed to go out of her as I reached down and pulled her nightgown up over her head, leaving her naked in one smooth motion. I heard her give a quiet sob as I pulled the clip out of her hair so its soft curls fell forward over her ear. She leaned back towards me helplessly, and sighed again as her body made contact with mine. Slipping my arms beneath her, I reached around and felt her breasts, pressing her stiff nipples against my palms. Pearl has large breasts, I don’t know who she gets them from, but her nipples never really get hard. Now her mother moaned as I fondled her firm bosom.
Then I surprised her by slipping my thumb between her lips. I was feeling her up, and then suddenly I ran one hand up her neck and across her cheek and said, ‘Open your mouth,’ and she did. She opened her mouth for me and I fed my thumb inside.
I think she may have recognised my voice by then; I wasn’t trying to disguise it. She sucked on my thumb quite ardently, and then I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her down and forward onto her hands and knees like I had already seen her. She was crouched naked on the ground just like an animal as I sat down on a rock and unzipped my trousers. Then I picked up my camera and made her pose for me. I got her with my cock disappearing between her lips. First I took a picture of her opening her mouth for it, then one of her kissing it, and then another one of her nearly gagging on it as I leaned forward and thrust it down into her throat. I got a shot of her cheek smeared with my pre-cum as I slapped her face with my hard dick, making her beg for it. Then I shoved it back into her mouth good and proper and made her suck me like she meant it. As I started coming, I grabbed her head and fucked her mouth like a pussy, and I didn’t let her catch her breath until she swallowed again and again, until I was drained. Then she licked my balls like a cat cleaning me without my even having to tell her to.
After those pictures of her blowing me, there wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for me. I made her bend over a rock and rest her cheek against a soft bed of moss while I took off my belt, looped it around my hand, and gave her a hard lash across her bottom with it. She cried out, but I warned her that her husband would hear us and after that she kept her mouth shut, just hissing as the belt kissed her flesh and she couldn’t help sucking her breath in from the pain. I gave her six strokes, making each one a little harder than the last one. After coming in her mouth my mind was clearer, not so clouded by the lust her stiff nipples and curving buttocks and flowing blonde hair had aroused in me. She had been ignoring me, her daughter’s boyfriend, for three years. She deserved to feel some pain; it might help straighten her out. After the first lash, I made her thank me for each blow.
‘Thank you!’ she gasped.
‘What did you call me?’
‘I don’t know your name, sir,’ she answered carefully.
‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘You can call me sir.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you for beating me with your belt, sir.’
‘You’re welcome. You’ve got five more coming.’
And she took them, one after the other. There’s nothing like the excitement of a woman who’s been well behaved for too long. She’ll do anything to feel bad. She’ll even take a cock wherever her unofficial son-in-law wants to put it. Pearl has never spread her bum for me; she says it’s too rude, she says her mother didn’t bring her up that way. Well, this is what her mother did that night, and what she does on the nights her daughter is out of town on business. My mother-in-law, Annette, gets down on all fours in the woods outside her house and clutches the grass and moans as I slip my cock between her cheeks and make her squeal softly, so her husband won’t hear, as I ream her good and hard. I tease her by saying that when Pearl and I get married, I want her to come along on the honeymoon. Then I tell her that when we’re all legit, and she’s officially my mother-in-law, that my brother will want to fuck her too. I’m serious about this. I tell her, ‘He likes a woman who doesn’t mind taking it up the ass and in the mouth at the same time.’
Annette groans and says, ‘I’ll do whatever you want, just take pictures! I want you to keep sending me pictures!’ And then I come in her bottom and she comes too, shuddering and nearly sobbing from the intensity of her climax as she begs me not to tell anyone about what we do together. I haven’t told anyone except my brother. I wonder what Pearl would say if she knew what her mother and I did at night in the woods with only the moon to watch all these timeless black-and-white images of human lust.
Gloria Pryde, a voluptuous girl with plump breasts and long legs, was kneeling in the back of a luxury car with blacked-out windows on its way back to Whitehall. Her short skirt was around her waist and her tights were pulled down around her ankles and her breasts, pink as grapefruits and just as big, were hanging out of her low-cut angora sweater. Her position was a business matter, government business, an affair of state, if you will.
Gloria was the personal assistant of the Secretary for Defence. It was his limousine she was riding in half naked, and his erection that was in her mouth as she crouched before the plush leather seat and sucked and sucked as the Secretary of Defence caressed her naked bottom. Upon his insistence, she never wore any panties beneath her skirts. As always, he came in her throat, and as she was wiping the corners of her mouth with her fingers, and then struggling back into her tights and pulling her top up over her breasts again, the telephone rang. It was the Secretary’s phone, the mobile unit he always had with him, just as he generally had Gloria. She didn’t go home in the evenings like a normal PA, not if she could help it. Unless, of course, he was forced to spend time with his wife, by far his most annoying duty. But the telephone never left his presence. He carried it on his hip at all times.
‘Tony!’ the Secretary exclaimed with well-practiced delight. ‘How nice of you to call.’ He didn’t say anything else for a few minutes, just gradually turned red under his beard and all the way up to his receding hairline. He was a small, trim man with a greying beard, and she had fancied him the first time she saw him when she interviewed for the job of his parliamentary personal secretary. She’d had ideas of her own about the meaning of ‘personal’, and they had taken exactly three months to define and execute. The Secretary’s wife lived up in Carlisle, which had helped her considerably in her efforts to get his cock out of his ministerial trousers. Cocks, Gloria had found, rarely resisted too much if the women they rightfully belonged to didn’t suck them regularly.
His face ashen now, the Secretary put the phone down. ‘Yes, of course,’ was the last thing he had said. Now he stared out of the window into the distance.
‘What is it, love?’ she asked. She called him ‘love’ when they were alone. She had begun doing so soon after she started pulling his zipper down, and he seemed to like it. It wasn’t clear if he thought she was talking to him or to his dick, but then he was vain, like all the politicians she had met; he probably thought she loved his cock as much as his mind. She didn’t love either one. Love never even crossed her mind as she swallowed and bent over his rod. She was a girl with a future to make for herself, he could help her with her goal, and that was enough.
‘I have to leave her,’ he said.
A pure, adrenaline thrill sliced through her belly and made her pussy go ambitiously hot. At that moment, she felt ready to fuck a whole troupe of ministry officials. ‘Leave her?’ she asked lightly.
‘Margaret,’ the Secretary said in a distant, distracted voice. ‘I have to leave Margaret in twenty minutes flat, and then call them back.’ He was still staring out of the window. ‘Or I have to break it off with you,’ he looked at her. ‘Either way, they have to know, and they have to know now. That was Tony. A daily tabloid got the story. They’re going to run with it tonight, and the party has got to get its response ready. So, I have got to make my mind up, fast. Good thing we had such a lovely holiday together.’
Good thing indeed, Gloria thought. His cock hadn’t been out of her mouth for ten minutes, she had made certain of that. The man couldn’t see beyond her devoted head bent over his lap, let alone think straight from all the endorphins swimming around in his skull from all those blowjobs.
He had come inside her on the beach, on the balcony overlooking the beach, even in the lift up to their hotel room. She had not let him put it in her bottom yet, but she had promised to let him, if he left Margaret, that is. If he left his wife, she would get on her hands and knees on the floor and lift her skirt like a good pony girl, and he could shaft her up the butt to his heart’s content. She had not dreamed, however, that he might be collecting his prize so soon.
‘Margaret is crucial, of course,’ the Secretary was saying, his blue eyes still strangely distant. ‘She’s crucial,’ he said again, ‘to the progress of my career. The transaction of government business...’
‘What am I, chopped liver?’ Gloria snapped. ‘What sort of business have you been transacting with me this past fortnight?’ They were on their way back from Barbados, a fact-finding trip, so to speak, funded by the taxpayer and the British Council.
‘Margaret undertook,’ here his voice took on the usual air of gravity and fulsomeness it did when he was speaking into a microphone, ‘certain imperatives that the usual ministerial aides cannot be called upon to handle.’ He cleared his throat.
‘And what have I been sucking?’ Gloria asked sarcastically.
‘Don’t be vulgar.’ He looked out of the window again. ‘It’s not like that.’
‘I can do anything she can.’
‘Are you sure?’ he asked the scenery.
‘Absolutely. I can do anything she can, and I can do it better, too. Haven’t I been better for you, love?’
‘It will be over between us the moment you fail me,’ he warned mysteriously.
‘Just try asking me to do something I can’t do,’ she said. ‘If you can find something, then you can go back to her.’
‘I can’t go back to her. That’s the point. If we make this official, you are the designated second in my ministerial work.’
‘I can’t wait,’ she said breathlessly, flushed with success.
‘All right,’ he said, looking at her again, ‘you asked for it. It’s the street if you refuse to do anything I tell you to. We get divorced, and I’m finished with you.’
‘What could I possibly refuse?’ Gloria felt as though her entire body was grinning. She could taste victory like a bottle of sparkling wine poured directly over her naked skin.
‘Let me speak to Tony,’ he said into his mobile phone. ‘It’s the Secretary of Defence.’
She followed the Secretary, Derek, into his private flat in Bayswater. She had the run of his ministerial digs, and of course of his private member’s accommodations. She had handled his dry-cleaning, his laundry, his late night hand-jobs, etc. etc., but she had never seen his private flat. It was a basement one-bedroom off a side-street at the bottom of a flight of leaf-strewn steps, with a thick, dark curtain drawn over the one iron-barred window.
He switched on the overhead light, and she was overwhelmed by the smell of perfume. It was as if gallons of it had been spilled across the carpet. It was a small but plush pad very much like his ministerial residence, only here the bedroom was almost puritanically plain. The sheets on the wide double mattress were white, and only one pillow was propped up against the black iron bedstead. Hooks dangled from the four bedposts, and the only other furniture in the room was a tall dark wardrobe.
‘What are those hooks for?’ she asked.
‘No time for that now,’ he replied. ‘We’ve got a briefing with the Chinese ambassador in twenty minutes and you have to prepare.’
‘Prepare for what?’ She was wearing a mini-skirt and a tight sweater with no bra. She couldn’t imagine what a Chinese diplomat would want that she couldn’t flaunt before him in this attire while fetching Derek’s documents. That’s all briefings were, rustling folders and clinking glasses.
‘We’re having that dinner with him later this evening to announce the arms sale. We don’t have time for this,’ he snapped. ‘Get out the drinks.’
Gloria left the bedroom and found the drinks cabinet in the sweet-smelling living room. She opened the small built-in fridge, and snapped some ice cubes out of their trays into a small bowl before reaching for the bottle of vodka. Maybe Derek would calm down a little after he had a drink. Surely this briefing was nothing special, just the usual exchange of boring information and intoxicating fluids.
There was a knock at the door.
Gloria looked up.
‘I’ll get it!’ Derek hissed. ‘You get into the bedroom. And remember,’ he added, ‘I haven’t divorced Margaret yet. There’s still time for a reconciliation if you don’t perform.’
‘Perform what? I’ll flash my boobs as I pass the glasses, like I always do. What more do you want me to do?’
‘Just wait in the bedroom and open the wardrobe.’
Gloria went back into the bedroom, and opened the black wardrobe while out in the living room she heard the front door being opened, followed by a hushed exchange during which she imagined the two men bowing to each other in the Oriental fashion. But something seemed strange... she did not hear a third voice. No interpreter had been brought to the briefing. What matter could they possibly be discussing that was so clear to both of them that there was no need for an interpreter?
She was not sure what she expected to find when she opened the cupboard, perhaps some fetish clothing, perhaps some lacy lingerie Derek wanted to see her in after the diplomat left and he felt like celebrating. He always celebrated a bit of business by looking at her bare bottom. He loved to admire it and pat it and kiss it, although she had not let him enter it, not yet, not before she signed on the dotted line.
What she found inside the narrow black cupboard were scarves; black scarves, yellow scarves, red scarves; the wardrobe was full of multi-coloured scarves hanging from hooks. There was also a small pair of slippers lying in the corner that appeared to be made of black leather. She turned when she suddenly heard the two men step into the room behind her.
‘Ambassador, may I present my wife, Gloria Pryde.’ He held out his hand as if showing him a particularly fine car at a dealership.
The small, sleek-haired gentleman in a grey Mao suit bowed deeply in her direction.
Derek said in an undertone, ‘Bow!’
Gloria blushed as she bent forward at the waist, flashing some cleavage at the ambassador in the process, but as she straightened up she saw that he wasn’t interested in that. He was alternately staring behind her at the scarves in the cupboard and down at her hips. Obviously, another arse man, she thought.
Derek then began showing Ambassador Loo the wardrobe he was admiring. He ran his hand through the scarves hanging on the left side, and the visiting diplomat looked delighted. He also reached out to caress the scarves with both hands, feeling the silky cloth.
‘Get us some drinks, Gloria,’ Derek said through a fixed grin. ‘I’ve said you’re my wife, and you’ll have to act like you are now.’
‘Right.’ She slipped out of the room, and tipped vodka into two tall glasses filled with ice. There was a lime in the fridge drawer. She cut a slice and slipped it in Derek’s drink. He loved the tang of citrus in his vodka.
‘Nothing for me,’ Derek said when he stepped back out into the living room with the ambassador in tow and she turned towards them with their drinks. Ambassador Loo was holding four scarves in his two small hands, a yellow one and three black ones. They all appeared to be made of silk, and the black ones were embroidered with golden dragons. She had not noticed them in the cupboard and she wondered if they might have been in his pockets as he too shook his head at her offer of a drink.
‘I thought so,’ Derek said. ‘Just as I expected. The drinks are for you, Gloria. Down one, now.’
‘What?’ He knew perfectly well she was not a drinker, not like his wife, whom she had heard liked the sauce.
‘Get that drink down your throat, petal,’ he said. ‘It’s expected of my wives that they drink. Anyway, Margaret always drank during the performance of her duties, and I’m sure she had a right to do so.’
‘I can do anything she can,’ Gloria retorted hotly.
‘Prove it. Ambassador Loo is waiting to be briefed by my wife.’
‘Fine!’ Smiling stiffly, she tipped the glass with the green lime slice in it against her lips, and drained it straight off. The Vodka landed inside her like a wave of cold fire that felt very much like a punch in the stomach.
‘And the other one.’ The Minister smiled. ‘My wife is known for being able to handle her liquor.’
Her head already spinning, Gloria Pryde drank the second vodka, and then, as if from very far away, she heard the dull thud of glasses hitting the carpet. The room was moving, and the last thing she saw was the floor coming up to meet her as she lost her balance and fell face down on the perfume-drenched shag.
Gloria awoke to a feeling of cold around her midriff. If she had not known better, she would have sworn her bottom was bare. She opened her eyes...
The black of the bedstead met her gaze. How odd. She could not remember the ambassador leaving, and surely she had not been out for more than a few minutes. Then she tried to push herself up, and discovered the scarves around her wrists, and the ones around her ankles.
She was trussed, a scarf at each wrist and each ankle, to the brass loops on the bedposts. Beneath her tummy there was a pillow, the one pillow she had noticed resting against the bedstead, so her face was pressed into the mattress. Now she could feel that the pillow was bent double under her, which had the effect of pushing her bottom up into the air. She also realised now why she had felt that sensation of cold about her middle when she awoke, because between her sweater and her high-heeled black shoes, she was completely naked. Someone had taken off her black mini-skirt before tying her face down on the bed. She was completely exposed below the waist, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw Derek and the Chinese Ambassador standing at the foot of the bed behind her spread-eagled legs.
She blushed to the roots of her hair to suddenly see them looking straight down at her body’s most intimate recesses. ‘Derek, what’s happening?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Cover me up.’
‘Nothing is happening, my pet,’ the Minister answered gravely, ‘just the usual wifely rounds. And I can’t cover you up before the deal is done. Don’t you want to make a contribution to international trade?’
‘I don’t want him to see up my bottom!’ she wailed. ‘And why are you holding those slippers?’ Each man was holding one of the black slippers she had seen lying in the cupboard. They were both gazing appreciatively at her bottom while bending the flexible leather soles. ‘You’re not...’ she said weakly.
‘We are,’ the Minister replied suavely.
The Ambassador bowed, and swished his slipper through the air.
Gloria winced, and instinctively clenched her buttocks.
‘Don’t do that,’ Derek said sharply. ‘We’ll want those relaxed. It hurts more if you clench them.’
‘You can’t do this to me,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m your wife!’
‘That’s what you want to be, my sweet. Well, this is what my wife Margaret has done for the British balance of trade these many years.’
‘I’m not a slag!’ she sobbed. ‘I’m your lover!’
‘Of course you are, Gloria.’ Derek waved Ambassador Loo forward with a gesture that said ‘after you’. ‘But now you want to be my wife, and with such dreams come responsibilities. Relax your buttocks... there’s a dear. And hold your bum up, it saves pain on your thighs, believe me.’
‘Please be gentle,’ she moaned, closing her eyes. She felt hands on her bottom, she didn’t know whose, and added breathlessly, ‘I’m feeling delicate,’ as a finger traced the intimate line between her soft yet firm white cheeks.
‘Not as delicate as you’ll feel in a moment,’ Derek assured her, and the first of the slipper’s searing hot blows fell on her left buttock with a resounding smack.
‘Oh!’ she gasped, surprised by how much it stung.
‘Not too bad, is it?’ Derek asked. ‘Ambassador Loo is clearly a man of refinement. He won’t start you off cold. Sixty blows I believe is traditional in China.’
‘Sixty?’ She could not believe she had heard him right, and she looked up in time to catch an exchange of hand signals between the two diplomats. Derek was holding up his fingers and Ambassador Loo was holding some up in turn.
‘Good news, Gloria,’ Derek said, ‘it’s only going to be forty-five paddles with the slipper, but in exchange for the reduction, he wants to fuck your dear bottom.’
‘No! Oh Derek, no! Please don’t let him bugger me! Please!’
‘All right, my petal, as you wish.’ He nodded at the Ambassador and held up the finger of one hand plus five on the other. ‘Sixty it is, and then we shall have to see.’
Gloria’s bottom was glowing by the time the twentieth blow fell across her left cheek. Ambassador Loo considerately alternated between them, giving each one of her cheeks a moment’s respite. Or, looked at another way, it gave the pain time to peak so she suffered the full effect of each blow. By the time the slipper fell for the fortieth time, across her left cheek again, she was weeping in agony, and with a terrible excitement.
‘Care to renegotiate?’ Derek asked.
‘No! Yes... no more, please, no more!’ She was panting with misery and lust. ‘I’ll do what you want, just don’t give him my bum. But please, no more pain!’
‘There has to be more,’ Derek said calmly, ‘but we’ll see what we can do for you. After all, you are new at this wifely duty thing and you need practice.’ On his signal, the slipper came down hard on her right cheek, and again on her left cheek, and then there was a blessed pause. She opened her eyes and looked over her shoulder.
The Chinese Ambassador was unzipping his fly, and she saw at once that he wasn’t wearing any briefs. His stiff cock leaned out of his grey trousers at a rakish angle.
‘Not my bum,’ she squealed. ‘Not my bum, Derek, please!’ But the Ambassador was already intent on parting her cheeks. Then one of his agile hands reached between her glowing buttocks, and his finger caressed her most intimate slot on its way down to her pussy, readily accessible between her widespread thighs. She struggled against the scarves around her ankles, but she could not help it, his finger was exciting her. It astonished her how wet being spanked had gotten her, and her arousal was rising to a crescendo of desire as he dipped his digit in and out of her drenched slot. To her horror, she found her hips writhing up to meet his finger as it twirled casually around and around in her quim.
‘Derek,’ she gasped, ‘how can you stand this? He’s doing this to me, in the same room, in front of you! Oh, I’m going to come...’
But Derek wasn’t listening. When she opened her eyes again she found his cock beside her mouth as he leaned back against the bedstead with his trousers around his ankles, and she knew he expected her to suck it. ‘Where’s Ambassador Loo?’ she asked, because the exquisite teasing had ceased between her legs. She had been maddeningly close to an orgasm, but he stopped just before pushing her over the edge with just one finger. Then she realised where Ambassador Loo was as the finger that had been in her pussy pushed into the tight little rosebud between the cheeks of her bottom, lubricating it with her own warm juices and opening it up like a flower bud.
‘No...’ she moaned softly as the Chinese ambassador entered her slowly but inexorably, his helmet forcing open her virgin hole and filling her up. He seemed to keep sinking into her so she felt he entered not just her sex but her belly as well. And Derek took advantage of her gaping mouth as she cried out to press his cock down along her tongue, pulling her face towards him, and suddenly she found herself bucking helplessly between two officers of state as one came quickly in her tight-squeezing anus, and the other one shot his seed down her throat while she too climaxed despite herself.
The Chinese Ambassador gave her obliging bottom a pat as he slipped his cock out of her burning hole. And then Derek saw him out, zipping himself up on the way. He returned a moment later and untied her arms, and then her legs. ‘Better have a bath,’ he said. ‘The Swedish Ambassador is coming to the same dinner. He’ll be here in an hour with his two interpreters, who like to watch. Of course, then they want their own turn. Better spray some perfume on your bum. Margaret always found it covered up a multitude of sins.’
Janilla was a tall, slender girl, and she was wearing white silk stockings that set off her coffee-dark skin and slim thighs. If you followed her long legs up and up, you would eventually encounter a skirt, a very short skirt as white as her stockings, and over the skirt you would be pleased to see a tight, low-cut short-sleeved white sweater whose soft, clinging fabric set off her magnificent 34D breasts, displaying the creamy chocolate fullness of her cleavage to delicious advantage. Her taut nipples just peeked through the thin material, for her sweater was semi-transparent in sunshine or under bright lights. Her large eyes were jet-black and usually as bright as polished wet pebbles, but today she was worried so they were slightly dimmed by anxiety. Her lips was beautifully full, although her mouth was almost too wide beneath her high Latin cheekbones, and today it was being nibbled on nervously by her startling white teeth. Her hands were tightly clutching her little white handbag against the front of her skirt as if it could protect her from the immigration officer before whose desk she was standing in the custom’s office on the US and Canadian border. The officer wore a name tag that read Superintendent. He was an older man with a full head of white hair surrounding a hawk-like nose and a tight, unsmiling mouth.
‘Why all the white?’ he asked Janilla, not unkindly.
‘I... I’m getting married today,’ she replied softly, and then thought to add, ‘sir.’ Janilla thought it best to watch her manners because her passport was in his hands. It was an old passport from Paraguay, and the multitude of square immigration stamps made the pages of her visa section a red quilt of dates stamped by countless other immigration officers at a variety of exotic frontiers. Up until now, she had always made it through without being touched, even though she could tell the male officers were all just aching for an excuse to search her. Janilla knew she was just the kind of girl a border guard would love to have spread her cheeks so he could thrust a probing finger up into her bottom. Then, of course, she would have to spread her legs as well so they could thrust rubber-gloved fingers into her pussy, ostensibly to search her body’s infinitely sensitive cavity for any illegal items she might be trying to smuggle across the border. That’s what they called it, a ‘cavity search’. What it meant was that someone had the license to put his hand into her most intimate recesses, to see her naked as she bent over an office chair and let him slip his fingers inside her, first into her rectum and then into her virginal vagina. So far, however, she had never been exposed like this; her pride as well as her precious hymen were intact.
‘Getting married to whom?’ the inspector continued his enquiry.
‘To my sweetheart,’ Janilla replied, unable to suppress a smile. Talking about her husband-to-be always brought a smile to her lips it made her so happy.
‘Is he a citizen?’ the inspector demanded quietly. His manner was still relaxed, but a slight note of tension had begun to creep into his voice.
‘Yes, sir,’ she said proudly.
‘So, you’re getting married for a green card,’ he summed up breezily. ‘I’m afraid we can’t allow...’
‘Oh no, sir!’ Janilla exclaimed. ‘I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir, but...’
‘I should think you would be sorry, young lady. You should have a little more respect for the immigration service of the country you seem so keen on becoming a citizen of.’
‘Oh, sir, I have lots of respect for you. I’m a very respectful young woman, sir, I always have been, it’s just that I really do love my sweetheart. I’m not marrying him for a green card, not at all. I would never marry except for love.’
‘Really?’ The inspector’s ash-grey eyes looked her up and down slowly. They took her in from the tips of her painted toes in their white sandals, to the shining black waterfall of her long, straight hair. She blushed beneath his scrutiny, which made the skin of her cheeks a little darker than normal. He was looking too closely at her sweater for comfort.
‘Really, sir.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I love him more than I can ever express. He’s everything to me.’
‘Really?’ the inspector repeated thoughtfully. ‘Well, step aside out of the line, please. There are some irregularities in your passport I have to look into. Go into the office on your right, and wait for me.’
With a pounding heart and knees that suddenly felt a century old, Janilla walked down the sterile corridor and stepped into the office he had indicated. It was furnished with a small metal desk, two steel chairs, and there was a basin on one wall with a stainless steel counter next to it. Janilla felt her bowels clench uncontrollably when she saw the box of surgical gloves sitting on the counter, with one glove’s smooth white latex fingers hanging half out of it. Stifling an impulse to run from the room, she forced herself to sit down on one of the chairs in front of the desk, tugging her white mini-skirt down as she did so to cover up as much of her long legs as possible.
After the longest hour she could ever remember, the inspector finally entered the office. She’d had too much time to imagine those lax latex fingers stiffening as they were pulled on over a living hand - by the white-haired inspector’s hand, in fact. She’d had ample opportunity to imagine herself bent over that metal desk stark naked while he thrust his white plastic hand up inside her. She had pictured herself lying on her back on the desk, her legs spread wide open and her knees bent on either side of her face as she took first one, and then two, and finally a whole hand up into her completely exposed rectum, and then into her equally vulnerable and as yet unexplored pussy all on her wedding day. By the time the inspector arrived, she was willing to do anything she could to avoid a cavity search.
‘I’m really sorry, sir!’ she exclaimed as he seated himself behind the desk.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he replied mildly.
‘No, I’m really, really sorry. I mean, really, really sorry. Just please... please don’t search me, sir.’
‘Search you?’ he asked, looking straight into her eyes.
She blushed furiously, and glanced at one of the blank walls. The way he looked at her made her feel he very much wanted to slip on that rubber glove. ‘I really don’t want to accept a... a search, sir.’
‘Oh, you mean these?’ The inspector smiled as he reached over for the box of gloves, and set it on the desk between them.
‘Yes,’ her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the dreaded box, ‘those...’
‘Well, Janilla, if you don’t want a cavity search to prove you’re not trying to smuggle anything, and you can’t persuade me you’re not marrying for a green card, how do you propose to get into the country?’
‘My sweetheart loves me,’ she answered softly but fervently, ‘and he’ll testify for me. He’ll tell you I’m genuine. He’ll tell you how much he loves...’
‘Men lie.’ The inspector cut her short. ‘All men are capable of lying for money,’ he elaborated. ‘Commonest thing in the world, green card weddings. People accept bribes, and the happy couple are two states away from each other before the ink’s even dry on the marriage license. I’ve seen it happen too many times to believe in love any more. You’ll have to come up with something better than that.’
‘But...’ Janilla was appalled. ‘I love him! I love him with all my heart! I love him deeply. What more can I possibly say than that?’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘I love him like my own brother, like...’
‘If you love him like a brother,’ the inspector interrupted her again derisively, ‘I definitely won’t stamp your passport.’
‘Signor, please, forgive me, it is just a Spanish expression, I didn’t mean... I love my sweetheart with all my heart as a woman. When we are married, I will be a dutiful wife to him. I will give him all the pleasures a man could possibly hope to have in this world. I will love him wildly and passionately with all my heart and soul, signor.’
‘Oh?’ the inspector did not look impressed by her ardent little speech.
‘Yes!’ Janilla’s nostrils flared and her eyes burned like coals. ‘My sweetheart is a very lucky man. I will love him as only truly good and worthy men have the good fortune to be loved. He will be the happiest man alive come dawn tomorrow.’
‘Show me,’ the inspector said.
‘What?’ She had no idea what he could possibly mean by that request. Or she simply did not allow herself to understand.
‘Show me how much you love your husband... your husband-to-be, that is. If you’re going to show him a good time and be a good and dutiful wife to him, maybe you should practice a little first. We call it a rehearsal. But first you can have an audition, if you like, right here on the border, before you become another lucky American bride.’
Janilla’s face burned as though he had slapped her on both cheeks. She could not believe what he was saying. ‘You want me to...?’ she could not bring herself to voice the completely unthinkable.
‘Your sweetheart can come swear until he’s blue in the face that he loves you, and you love him. As far as I’m concerned, money speaks louder then words. But if you can convince me you’d love him like a man deserves to be loved, I may not have to take out this rubber glove here and check you out for any illegal items you may be hiding between your sweet hot cheeks.’
Janilla could barely control the terror and indignation rising up from her heart into her throat and rendering her speechless. The room seemed to be spinning around her...
‘However, if you prefer,’ the inspector went on as he reached for the glove, ‘we can go the traditional route.’
‘No,’ she gasped. Vaguely, she realised she was in shock.
‘Very well then, the rehearsal for your wedding night can start right here, right now. Raise your arms so I can take off your top.’ He got up from behind the desk and pulled the blinds closed over the window, which heightened Janilla’s fear even though she was thankful her shame would not be exposed to anyone who happened to be passing by. If she was going to take off her clothes, she was grateful to be able to do so in private. As if in a dream, she raised her arms, and he pulled the sweater off over her head. Her breasts were full round chocolate mounds, and they quivered softly as they fell back against her chest after being abruptly released from the sweater’s tight confines. The inspector’s hands reached out to feel them, and somehow she checked her impulse to shrink away from his touch. Her own hands gripped the sides of the chair and she turned her face away as his hands closed over her bosom. He massaged her nipples with his palms, and to her consternation, she couldn’t stop them from becoming as hard as mocha beans beneath his firm, circular caresses. And she was even more horrified to feel a sweet warmth spreading across her vulva and taking smouldering root in her pussy. She had not been touched in a long time, and her body was responding hungrily to all this attention.
‘Your stockings now,’ the inspector said huskily, stepping back to watch her.
She put one of her sandals up on the empty chair beside hers, and pulled her short skirt up to expose her white lace garter belt.
‘Mm, maybe he is a lucky man,’ the inspector said quietly. ‘We’ll see.’
‘I wore all these things just for him.’ Janilla was on the verge of tears. ‘He’s outside, waiting for me.’
‘Do you want him to see you doing this?’
‘No,’ she gasped. It would be the end of their relationship if her fiancé ever found out about this, if he ever learned that she had shown her body to another man. All this time, she had saved herself for him, it was one of the reasons he wanted to marry her. The marriage would be off in a second if he ever found out another man had beaten him to her treasure.
The inspector helpfully pulled off her sandals for her as she slipped off her stockings one at a time. ‘Now, stand up, turn around, pull your skirt up and show me your bottom.’
‘You won’t...?’ Her top was gone, her stockings were gone. All she had left to protect her was her skirt, a few inches of thin white cotton, and a delicate pair of white lace panties that were more for sensual decoration than anything. ‘You won’t... you won’t make me feel the glove, will you?’ she begged softly.
‘That all depends on you,’ the inspector replied, ‘and on how persuasive you are. Lift your skirt up, push your panties down, and bend over the desk.’
Closing her eyes, Janilla did as he said. First she grasped the hem of her skirt with trembling hands, and then with a brave tug she yanked it up around her hips. He got an enticing glimpse of her dark bush veiled by white lace before she turned around to face the desk. Keeping her eyes closed, she thrust her bottom out a little towards his hungry gaze, and then she reached up and pushed her panties down over the smooth cheeks of her coffee-coloured bottom as he drank in the luscious sight before him. She slipped her panties down her shapely thighs to her knees.
‘Leave them there,’ he said firmly.
She was as embarrassed as if she had been caught going to the toilet. She felt one of his hard, dry hands cup her right cheek and weigh its soft, full curve. ‘Please, no glove...’ she whispered.
‘Then I’ll have to use something else,’ the inspector said, and she heard the sound of a man’s fly being unzipped. It was not a sound she was familiar with, but there was no mistaking it. ‘You have to convince me just how much you’ll love the man you marry,’ he went on, almost gently. ‘You can show me that, and I can find that out, without using a glove. Do you love your husband-to-be?’
‘I love him very much, signor,’ Janilla answered, and bent over the desk, her eyes still stubbornly closed so she wouldn’t have to see what was happening, which might help her forget it later. If she could keep her eyes shut the whole time, there would be no images of her humiliation to torment her later, only feelings, and feelings she could suppress and forget, somehow.
Then she gasped as she felt something brush the cheeks of her buttocks and insinuate itself between them, reaching for her most private hole, and what she was feeling was definitely not a finger...
‘How much will you love him?’ the voice asked thickly.
‘As much as any man can be loved, signor, I swear...’
‘Then hold your cheeks open for me,’ the inspector commanded. ‘Show me how deeply you love.’
Janilla bit her lip, and obeyed him. She reached back and gripped her full dark cheeks with both hands, lifting her bottom up as she pulled them open for him, exposing the dimpled opening nestled between them. She knew he could see it when she felt cool air caressing it, a sensation it was not accustomed to, and which was not entirely unpleasant.
‘No glove, my precious?’ he whispered in her ear. ‘You’re quite sure?’
‘No, signor, please, I beg of you,’ she whispered.
‘You leave me no choice then.’
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard a small break in his voice, and then suddenly she felt one of his fingers spreading something smooth and cold around her little hole. It stung somewhat, but then the finger was gone and she caught her breath as he moved in tightly behind her. He grasped her hands, and bending over her held them flat against the desk. She did not need them to separate the cheeks of her bottom any more because something else had been introduced to hold them apart. Her buttocks were speared open by the rigid penis pushing slowly into her anus. It thrust hard through her resistance, and then suddenly sank all the way into her stunned rectum. She sobbed with shock and confusion as it slipped all the way back out of her again. It was all she could do not to scream; his gradual withdrawal hurting her. It was a perverse relief when he sank swiftly into her body again, because for some reason it felt better than when he pulled out. When he was lodged deep inside her, she felt sickeningly stuffed by his dick but the burning torment was not as great. It took all her willpower to keep quiet as he began moving in and out of her, and judging by his groans, he was enjoying himself immensely at her expense. She moaned too, overwhelmed by all the sensations flooding her, not knowing what to make of them until one of his hands slipped down over the thick black curls of her bush and found her swollen clitoris. She was shocked to realise that she was wet down there. Despite her pain and humiliation and her fear of what would happen to her plans for the future if her husband-to-be found out about this, she was so wet it was as if her pussy was weeping in shame of how aroused she was against her will. The inspector stroked her clit with his fingers, and biting her lip in order not to scream, Janilla felt as though some divine bomb exploded directly between her thighs as she climaxed. She came in long, helpless shudders as the inspector shot round after round of his milky seed into her hot chocolate bottom.
When she had tidied herself up, put her skirt, stockings and top back on, reapplied fresh make-up to her tear-streaked cheeks and thanked the inspector for being so kind and understanding, Janilla once more sat demurely before his stainless steel desk as he studied her passport again. She felt utterly drained, but soon, very soon, she would be out of this office and on her way to her wedding and her American citizenship.
‘Of course, that only proved you’re good in bed, not that you love him,’ he said as he turned the pages of her passport, lying open before him on the cold metal desk. He had not yet reached for his date stamp.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, even though she felt too strangely numb to really care; she could barely take in what he was saying.
‘You could be a hooker,’ the inspector explained, ‘a professional. What you did for me isn’t love at all. Or it might be. You came too, I believe? You enjoyed yourself, did you, my little wanton?’ He smiled at her.
‘What do you want from me?’ Janilla whispered in despair. ‘I love my husband. I’ll love him until the day I die, if I ever get a chance to, that is. How else can I prove it to you?’
‘What more would you do for him?’ the inspector asked softly.
‘Haven’t I shown you already just what I’ll do for him?’ Janilla was close to sobbing with frustration and exhaustion. ‘You were in... you were in my...’ She broke off. It was too shameful to say out loud. She could still feel his hot breath on the back of her neck, and his fingers working between her legs.
‘But you enjoyed that,’ he insisted. ‘Your own body showed you up. You came, my little slut. No, we need some more hard evidence, something to show you really care.’
‘What?’ Janilla asked faintly.
‘Hold out your hand.’
Past thinking, totally bewildered, Janilla held out her hand.
‘Put on this glove.’ He pulled one of the latex gloves out of the box, and she slipped it on over her right hand. It was sticky despite the talc that had been pre-sprinkled inside the wrist, and hard to get one. ‘Now, give yourself a little inspection,’ he instructed, ‘just for the record.’ And then he took a camera out of the desk drawer, an instamatic with a large flash.
‘I don’t understand,’ Janilla said stupidly.
‘Drop your panties and put your finger up your ass.’ The inspector was losing patience. ‘We have procedures here, and you haven’t been punished yet.’
‘Punished for what?’ she wailed. ‘I did everything you told me to.’
‘If you really love him, you’ll take punishment for him,’ he explained evenly, as patiently as if he was speaking to a child. ‘It’s not just fun and games, marriage. Sometimes there’s pain involved.’
‘I won’t give myself a cavity search,’ Janilla said hotly. ‘I won’t.’ It was all just too much, and suddenly she was much more furious than frightened.
‘Then you’ll go back home to Paraguay,’ the inspector retorted lightly, ‘and your wedding night will have been with me. I’m the lucky man.’
Once again, Janilla dropped her panties, and once again she pulled open the cheeks of her buttocks, but this time she slipped a cool, gloved finger into her anus while the flash went off. The inspector took pictures of her beautiful face looking proudly defiant, and then deeply ashamed as she probed her own asshole. Then he put the camera down to spank her. ‘It’s traditional,’ he told her. ‘In our country, a bride usually gets a spanking from her father the night before she begins her life with another man,’ he lied through his teeth.
‘Is that true?’ Janilla went wide-eyed with amazement.
‘Oh yes,’ he assured her. ‘You’d better tell your new husband to punish you almost every day, or you won’t be allowed to stay in this country.’
‘Thank you, signor, I will remember that.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘Now bend over and touch your toes.’
Janilla winced when his open hand made contact with her cheeks. He spanked her slowly and methodically until her buttocks were burning and the painful warmth was flooding her pussy in a frighteningly pleasurable way.
‘You’re almost ready to start married life,’ the inspector told her. ‘Almost.’
‘What more do I need to do, signor?’ Janilla asked as she pulled her panties up over her smouldering cheeks and smoothed her white skirt down over her thighs in an effort to restore her pure, virginal image.
‘You must learn to use your mouth like an American bride,’ the inspector informed her. ‘Get on your knees.’
And Janilla knelt, taking great care not to run her white stockings as the inspector unzipped his pants a second time and her beautiful lips parted to accept his cock. She took it into her mouth and sucked hungrily on the taste of her life to come, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of her future as a married woman in ‘the land of the free’.
All dressed in white, with another man’s sperm seeping onto the insides of her thighs, she went past the immigration line to meet her husband - tugging her skirt down over the white lace panties sticking to her warm wet vulva, the cheeks of her bottom burning like hot coffee - a freshly spanked virgin tender to the touch everywhere.
Anna Li was an extremely slender young woman, and she was a good five-feet-ten, which gave her thinness an almost ethereal air. She had a spiky mop of jet-black hair, barely long enough to put back in a ponytail, and she wore comfortable rice slippers everywhere, but she was tall enough not to need heels to set off her shapely legs, which seemed to go on forever. Her breasts were small, but her slim torso made her bosom seem bigger than it was below her wide, pouting lips. The extreme slightness of her arms emphasised the round fullness of the spheres beneath her shirt that bounced freely since she never wore a bra.
Anna Li’s breasts were safely tucked away this morning for her audition, a particularly gruelling audition for a very important musical body, The Young Violinists’ Trust. Her instrument banged gently against her thigh as she made her way up the long winding staircase of Wigmore Hall - all polished wooden panels and teak over plush red-and-gold carpets - to the small audition waiting room at the top of the stairs. She was wearing a very fetching short-sleeved silk blouse, a short navy blue skirt that fell to just above her knees, and today in place of her rice slippers she had slipped on shiny black patent-leather shoes over knee-high white socks. Friends had told her to go for the ‘little girl look’ which sometimes helped at auditions, and even though she did not understand why that should be the case, she took every advantage she could get, especially since it went along with her usual habit of not wearing a bra. Her light-brown nipples, hardened by the exertion as she hurried up the stairs, flashed darkly through her delicate white blouse, and becoming pleasantly aware of them, she hoped they too would stand her in good stead.
‘Through there,’ a severe woman at the top of the stairs said, and Anna stepped into the waiting room. Pictures hung on every wall of famous musicians, most of them dead already, and she wondered if anyone still alive could be considered good enough to play in these august surroundings. Then almost at once she got her call, and her belly churning, the neck of her violin a little slippery in her hand, she stepped through the great white door into a small corridor and from there onto the large, open stage beneath the lights. Beyond their bright halo lay the great black empty auditorium, and in it somewhere sat the person who would be auditioning her.
She blinked, unable to see beyond the great spotlights trained directly on her where she stood in the middle of the stage behind the music stand. She raised a hand up to her eyes and tried in vain to see out into the black auditorium.
‘Miss Li.’ A voice rose out of the seemingly vast darkness, a man’s voice, deep and firm. ‘It says here that you will be eighteen next month, only just making the qualification guidelines for this particular award. Are you sure you are in the right place?’
‘Um, I think so,’ Anna replied. She had not expected this question. She had expected simply to play, not to discuss her application with the judge.
‘You are not dressed like an eighteen-year-old,’ he observed.
‘I...’ Anna’s mind reeled. She could not tell him what she had been told, or admit that she had worn a short skirt and a half transparent blouse in the hope of gaining an advantage with them. And yet she had to say something. ‘I like to feel comfortable when I’m playing,’ she muttered.
‘Do you? Very well then, proceed. And mind you, be sure to play comfortably.’
Anna’s bow felt strangely leaden in her hand; she could never remember it feeling so heavy. It was suddenly so heavy that it might have been a piece of timber just fallen off a builder’s lorry she was expected to lift over delicate strings and make beautiful music with. And her violin, as she brought it up and tucked it between her shoulder and her chin, felt strange to her, as though it was alive, as though it was a hand touching her on the neck, a man’s hand... Perhaps it was the invisible eyes staring out at her from the impenetrable darkness before her, and the act of obeying the commands of a disembodied voice that made her so intensely conscious of her own body. She swallowed hard, attempting to digest these strange sensations without letting them distract her, and tried to pull herself together.
‘Is anything the matter, Miss Li?’ the voice enquired patiently.
‘No, sir,’ she said quickly, ‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, absolutely sure, sir.’
‘Well?’
‘I’m sorry... I’m just nervous, I guess.’
‘Everyone gets nervous,’ the judge answered, still sounding patient, ‘that is the point of auditions, to see how you react under pressure, to find out what you are made of. Are you sure you are comfortable enough to play?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Because if you are not,’ the voice went on remorselessly, ‘perhaps there is something I can do for you to make you feel more comfortable. Within reason, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ Anna said, confused by the offer, ‘but I’m fine, really.’
‘Well then play. Now,’ the voice said more firmly, a sour note of impatience ringing in its melodious depths.
She had no choice, she had to begin playing.
It was awful. The first piece went relatively well, and the second wasn’t going too badly, but then the distracting sound started. It sounded like papers rustling in the orchestra pit below the stage, or perhaps in the front row of seats, a crisp, persistent noise that disrupted her concentration, taking her focus away from the music as she wondered if the judge was bored and leafing listlessly through her application papers while he waited for her to finish so he could tell her she had not passed the audition. Her nerves snapped like brittle old strings, and after that it was terrible. The piece fell apart in her hands and the bow felt like a fallen branch she was scraping across an empty box. She felt tears burning in her eyes because she had failed, she knew it in her bones even as she continued to play. She would not get the award, and she would no longer be able to afford studying the violin.
‘Miss Li,’ the judge’s voice rose out of the darkness as she finished one piece and, her teeth clenched, prepared to launch into another, ‘I think you can stop right there.’
Anna Li heaved a silent sob. She couldn’t help herself. His comment made it official - she had failed. He didn’t even want to hear the rest of her programme she had played so badly.
‘I think,’ the voice said again, ‘that you did well to wear what you felt comfortable in, only I think you did not go quite far enough.’
Anna was too busy feeling miserable to even begin to understand what he meant by that. She had failed. She would never play the violin again. And how would she face her mother, who was so proud of her talented daughter?
‘Perhaps you would consider following my advice during the last piece in your program?’
She focused on what he was saying again. He wanted to hear her play the rest of her programme? She wasn’t so bad after all? She hadn’t failed completely yet?
‘Perhaps I can help bring out the best in you,’ the voice went on magnanimously, ‘under these difficult circumstances.’
‘I’ll do anything you suggest, sir.’ Anna blinked gratefully into the spotlights. ‘Anything.’
‘I am pleased to hear that. Take off your skirt.’
‘I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘You heard me,’ the voice replied firmly. ‘However, in case your hearing is remarkably poor for a musician, I will deign to repeat myself. Take off your skirt.’
‘I...’ Anna’s mind was definitely reeling now. She could scarcely believe what he was telling her to do, and yet she was desperate not to blow what might be a real chance to save the audition, and her career as a violinist.
‘You wanted to be comfortable,’ the judge went on smoothly, sounding completely untroubled by her stunned discomfiture. ‘If you want me to listen to the rest of your program, I suggest you follow my suggestions as to what will make you feel more comfortable. Take your skirt off. It looks quite tight, and I suspect it may be interfering with your circulation somewhat, whereas it is having the opposite effect on mine.’
Anna squinted into the darkness behind the blinding lights, decided she couldn’t face her mother if she didn’t get the scholarship, and unzipped the side of her blue skirt. It slipped down easily over her slim hips, and she stepped out of it trying to imagine that she was alone in her room and not on a stage. Then she stood with her violin held strategically in front of her cotton bikini panties, white panties to match her socks. A breeze seemed to waft across the stage from the dark wings, and her legs trembled slightly as it caressed her bare skin.
‘Are you a bit more comfortable now?’ the voice enquired.
‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ Anna replied politely.
‘Then play better this time,’ the voice commanded.
She played, and she did play a little better, just a little. But then the rustling noise began again, that restless rustling that fatally distracted her as she wondered what it could mean. Was he flipping through her CV trying to find out more about her? Was he following the music, and had she perhaps forgotten a part and he was trying to find his place again? The bow started getting impossibly heavy in her hand again, and she could feel it when she started playing badly. Strangely enough, the rustling noise interfered more with her concentration than the knowledge that she was standing in a state of partial undress on a stage. The noise bothered her more than her awareness of her naked legs, and the embarrassing thought that her pussy must be showing through her tight white panties now that she had lifted the violin up to her shoulder and left her most private part exposed to the penetratingly hot lights as she played.
‘I don’t think you’re quite comfortable enough yet, Miss Li,’ the voice abruptly interrupted her piece. ‘Do you?’
‘Please let me have another chance, sir,’ Anna begged. ‘I can play better, I really can.’
‘This is not really about who can play better, Miss Li. This is about who wants what, and how badly they want it. It doesn’t matter so much how well you can play now. Native ability is important, of course, but someone who really wants to learn to play well, someone who really wants it, will probably learn to play better than most every one in the long run. And yet no matter how good you are, you cannot get anywhere if you don’t have the opportunity. So, in reality, we are not here to find out how well you can play, Miss Li. We are here to find out just how badly you want this award. Just how badly do you want to study the violin?’
‘More than anything!’ Anna replied passionately.
‘Really?’ the voice softened, as though her response pleased him. ‘Well then, I will let you play that last piece again, but take your panties off first.’
‘What?’ she gasped.
‘You wish to show me how much you want to study the violin, do you not? And you want to be... what was it you said? Oh yes, comfortable. Well then, panties down, girl. Now. You cannot possibly be more comfortable than when you’re naked and doing what you love best. You are doing what you love best, are you not, Anna?’
‘Yes... yes, sir, I am.’
‘Well then, strip, and do not make me wait. I am wasting enough time letting you play that last piece again.’
‘But...’
‘Strip now, or leave. It is your choice, Miss Li. I have another audition inside the hour. We are only running this long because, fortunately for you, you were my last audition before lunch. I am being kind by not sending you straight home. Do you want to be sent home, Miss Li? Or would you prefer that I continue being kind and helpful?’
‘I want you to be kind, sir,’ she replied softly.
‘Then take your panties off, Anna, and let us see what you are made of.’
Anna had to put down her violin. She lay it gently on the stage beside her, propped her bow across its strings, and then straightened up again, her large eyes as strangely blank as a doe’s caught in a pair of headlights about to run her over. Then she closed her eyes, and once more tried to pretend she was alone at home as she took hold of both sides of her panties. She had never shown herself to a man before, and she could never have imagined the first time she would do so would be on a stage. But she couldn’t let herself think about it, she simply had to take a deep breath, count to three, and do whatever was necessary to get that scholarship. One, two, three... she quickly slipped her panties all the way down her legs, which felt as though they would never end. The lights fell on her small bush, a tuft of jet-black hair thicker and curlier than the hair on her head. She felt his eyes on her - the lights washing over her body were hot with his awareness of her. She squeezed her legs together and put both her hands across her pubic hair to try and hide the lips of her pussy pouting beneath it.
‘Do you still want me to play?’ she asked sheepishly.
There was a pause, and then she heard movement out in the darkness, the subtle sound of trousers rustling as a man stood up, followed by the sound of slow, unhurried footsteps coming down the aisle towards the stage. He had silver-grey hair, that was the first thing she was able to make out in the darkness just beyond the lights. And then she saw his tall, slender body walking up the steps towards her, completely invisible until that moment because he was wearing a dark suit. Finally, she saw his large and slender hands - a musician’s hands.
‘I too play the violin, Anna,’ was the first thing his embodied voice said to her as he stepped up beside her.
She didn’t know quite what to do. In a way, this was worse than standing half naked on a stage beneath anonymous spotlights. This was standing almost completely naked, her pussy shamefully exposed, in front of a strange man... a man with long, knowledgeable fingers...
‘Hand me the violin,’ he said gently.
Desperately keeping one hand over her mound, she bent over gingerly, and as she picked up the instrument she blushed to realise he was looking at her bare bottom. Too late, she tried to lower her buttocks and crouch down instead of bend over to reach the violin. ‘Here,’ she said.
‘Ah, a Carlson.’ He weighed the instrument in his hand. ‘Not a bad piece of wood, for the price. But you really should have something better. Would you like something better, Miss Li?’
Now she could see his eyes taking her in, which strangely enough gave his stare even more power over her than when it was just part of the lights. He had arrestingly bright blue eyes the colour of quartz. ‘I... I think so,’ she replied quietly.
His free hand reached out to touch her with a swiftness that gave her no time to pull back. And he didn’t just touch her, he reached into her silk blouse, slipping part of his arm up it like a snake that bit her painfully on the nipple. She squealed just like a mouse, stunned by the abruptness of such an intimate touch. He pinched her nipple, then he spread his hand over her breast and massaged it, taking its measure before cupping it and weigh it gently in his palm. ‘Are you quite comfortable now, Anna?’ he asked softly, leaning forward slightly so he was almost speaking directly into her ear.
She let herself lean against his dark suit, and closed her eyes. If she didn’t look, she didn’t have to see that his hand was in her shirt, and she could try not to think about the fact he was pulling on her other nipple now, sending oddly delicious shivers down her spine to her virgin pussy. She had never been touched like this by anyone except herself, and she had never touched herself quite like this...
‘Bend over,’ he said.
‘Pardon?’ Anna’s eyes opened, but she was surely dreaming.
‘You seem a little hard of hearing,’ he remarked, ‘a dangerous thing for a musician. Assume the position you took just now when you were, very fetchingly, fetching your violin for me. Reach down and touch your toes.’
Even though it made no sense, this was a command Anna could understand, so she bent forward and touched her toes. It put her in a humiliating position, no question about that, and the blood rushed to her head as she realised what part of her he now had every opportunity to inspect leisurely, to his heart’s content. And then, to her astonishment, she heard the sound of a violin, not of a violin being played, but of a violin swinging through space. A little jangle rose from its strings as they displaced the air.
‘Yes, not a bad instrument, the Carlson, but you really do deserve better if you’re going to be my student. Do you want to be my student, Anna? That’s what the award pays for, you see, my personal instruction.’
‘Oh yes, sir,’ Anna whimpered between her knees as she gripped her ankles.
‘Good girl,’ the judge said. ‘Hold still now. Just six strokes should do it, I think.’
‘Six strokes?’
‘Punishment for attempting to manipulate the judge of a national competition with your attire,’ he explained. ‘Your bottom needs a bit of an education before you can progress with your training. Hold tight to your ankles.’ He swung the violin back down, and smacked her buttocks with it just hard enough for it to seriously hurt, the polished wood making a sharp sound as it connected with her smooth young cheeks. Then he lifted the instrument again, and brought it down a little harder on the bottom half of her delicate rounds, which quivered deliciously beneath the impact. His second blow truly hurt, and seemed to clear her mind as she suddenly realised in disbelief that she was bent over, nearly naked, on the stage of Wigmore Hall with her bum in the air for anyone, and everyone, to see, getting spanked, slowly and methodically with her own violin. And it hurt! Then there was a terrible splintering sound, the unmistakable sound of the delicate box she had played on for the last ten years beginning to give way. The wood, after all, was much less resilient than her soft and yielding bottom. It was the fourth stroke that cracked the instrument. She bit her lip and held on tight, but the fifth blow made her cry out despite herself, and her breathless scream echoed through Wigmore Hall.
‘One more,’ her judge and future teacher said. ‘Be a good girl, or you will not get what is coming to you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The last stroke fell, and the body of the violin broke away from the neck altogether as the box caved in against Anna’s buttocks. It fell to the stage with a hopeless clatter, leaving the neck in his hand. He tossed it away as Anna straightened up, putting one protective hand over her pussy again while with the other she caressed the burning cheeks of her bottom. She froze when she saw the great erection thrusting out of his open black trousers like an obscene conductor’s wand. His penis was astonishingly white against his dark suit, and she wondered if all cocks were as pale and hard as ivory, except for its head, which was such a lovely purple colour it made her think of a big, juicy grape ready to burst.
‘What do I have to do now, sir?’ she heard herself ask.
‘Do you want to be my student, Anna?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she answered without hesitation, unable to take her eyes off his magnificent male instrument.
‘On your knees then, my girl,’ her teacher said.
She sank to her knees, it was easy since they felt so strangely weak, and looked up at his face expectantly.
‘Kiss it,’ he said. ‘You have to learn how to love an instrument before you can handle a good one. Kiss it as you would kiss a beautiful violin.’
She wet her lips with her tongue as she reached out and touched the head of the stiff penis before her with the tip of her finger. It was warm, and tender. She was pleasantly surprised, because his pale shaft had looked so cold and hard. She opened her mouth, which also came naturally since she was already gaping in wonder at the sight before her, and stuck out her pink tongue to give the tip of the judge’s prick a tentative little lick. He tasted sweet, like he had bathed in honey-water, and then it just seemed natural to wrap her soft lips around his whole head. She heard him groan above her, and strangely inspired by the sound he made, she rose a little higher on her knees and slipped his whole cock into her mouth.
He fucked her virginal orifice as though it had taken dozens of dicks before, making her moan anxiously as he kept stroking his helmet with the back of her throat and threatening to choke her. Then he pulled out of her abruptly, and even though it was a relief to be able to catch her breath, part of her was inexplicably disappointed.
‘Lie on the floor,’ he said harshly, ‘on your stomach next to your broken violin.’
She did as he told her without question.
He took off his suit jacket, wrapped it around her discarded skirt, and then shoved them both under her tummy. ‘Push your bottom up,’ he commanded, and she did as he said as he sank to his knees behind her. ‘This is your first lesson, Anna.’
She closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. She would never have dreamed that her first time with a man he would completely ignore her pussy and make her give him her rear hole instead.
‘Thrust your bottom back,’ he said again, and she did, she thrust her bottom back towards him and let one of his skilled violinist’s fingers find her clenched little hole. It felt wet, and she knew he must have licked his finger before he put it in her. Groaning, she found herself thrusting her cheeks back at him as his finger worked between them, making the tight passage between them feel warm and slick, although it was nowhere near as hot and wet as her pussy.
And then his long hard cock entered her. She felt his head pushing against her reluctantly puckered opening, and then he was in. With a hard thrust he breached her sphincter, and his whole shaft slid into her body through her back passage. She groaned in pain and disbelief as he buried his entire erection in her petite bottom, and it felt even worse when he started moving in and out of her, his hips rocking back and forth, back and forth relentlessly. And yet through the initial blaze of torment, she became aware of another sensation brewing in her smouldering pussy. She was lying nearly naked on centre stage in Wigmore Hall, and the idea of what was happening to her, merging with all these new and intense sensations, began to get the better of her... she felt the veins in her body tightening like strings, and she began climaxing under the penetratingly hot lights. She cried out as she came with a strange man’s cock pulsing in her rectum, and as she felt him pull his fleshy bow out from between her mysteriously vibrating cheeks, she breathlessly found herself hoping he would let her play for him every night.
‘Lift up your skirt.’ The usually smooth old voice sounded harsh and commandingly sharp. Madame Stryker smoothed away a stray lock of white hair that had escaped the severe bun perched on top of her head, accentuating her high cheekbones and broad forehead, as she surveyed the blonde girl standing before her in a short-sleeved white shirt and a crisp pleated tennis skirt.
The girl was Valerie D’Ambois. She was lovely, and she had all the makings of a star. Valeria possessed grace, magnetism and skill, and somehow her gorgeous thirty-six-D breasts did not hinder her movements on the tennis court. Valerie could be a star because people liked looking at her, men in particular, and Madame Stryker, like any truly good coach would, intended to teach Valerie who she was and everything she could be. ‘Lift your skirt, girl,’ she repeated impatiently. ‘I haven’t got all day.’
‘But...’
‘What is it, girl?’ the older woman demanded fiercely. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
‘But I won!’ Valerie exclaimed, in a soft but nevertheless defiant voice.
‘Yes, you won,’ her teacher responded just as quietly. ‘Of course you won. My pupils always win. But how did you win?’
‘My... my serve,’ the blonde girl answered, biting her lip as she realised what was coming.
‘Exactly, your serve.’ The older woman’s voice rose slightly. ‘Your serve! And what am I always telling you that you must learn to have?’
‘A stride.’ Valerie looked down at her tennis shoes.
‘A stride to catch the other girl’s serve and to bring her down,’ Madame Stryker added, breathing hard now. ‘And have you learned that?’
‘I’m sorry, madam,’ Valerie muttered.
‘Lift up your skirt!’
‘Not when I’ve just won.’
‘I’ll tell you when you’ve won,’ her coach snapped. ‘Now show me your bottom.’
Knowing there was nothing else for it, the lovely girl turned around obediently and lifted the short, crisply ironed pleats of her skirt to reveal her perfect pair of cheeks. They were firm but also beautifully full, and right now they were nestled comfortably inside a pair of tight white athletic panties.
‘Stick your bottom out,’ Madame Stryker commanded.
Valerie complied. She was gritting her teeth, but she complied. At least Madame Stryker had waited until the other girl left before doing this. Valerie knew her teacher enjoyed disciplining students in front of each other ‘for the general education of all’, as she was wont to say.
‘Now bend over, girl.’
Valerie cursed silently, but did as she was told. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but the old bat was obviously in a tizzy.
‘Down with your panties, and take them off completely. Don’t leave them around your ankles. I want you bare.’ Madame Stryker spat out her instructions with relish.
Valerie bit her lip again in anticipation, and fear. This was going to be the whole works, and she felt the usual blush warm her face as she reached back, her head more or less parallel with her knees, and pulled down her tight white cotton panties, exposing the taut cheeks of her bottom as she slid them down her slender legs.
Madame Stryker feasted her eyes on the displayed buttocks. They were deliciously round and relaxed, not anxiously clenched; the girl did not yet fear the punishment coming to her. Her blonde bush was just visible above the tender lips of her sex, and also visible was the little rosebud of her anus, which Madame Stryker considered her own personal prize. She knew once she had the girl properly trained that she would perform on the court just as she wanted her to. But Rome was not built in a day, nor was a girl broken in a week. She reached out a hand and rested it lightly against her student’s cheeks. ‘What have we learned, Valerie?’ she asked.
‘To be faster on the court?’ the girl responded nervously, clinging to her ankles to hold her position.
‘We should learn to obey,’ Madame Stryker said, and lifting her hand, she brought it back down again fiercely across the girl’s left buttock.
‘Oh!’ Valerie cried. ‘I’m sorry, madam,’ she apologised at once.
‘You will pay a penalty,’ Madame Stryker decreed, and her hand came down again even harder on the girl’s right cheek.
This time Valerie kept quiet, biting her lip from the pain but knowing better than to straighten up and move away. The blows fell one by one, on this cheek, and then that cheek, slowly and regularly, which was how it hurt the most. And then the punishing hand hovered over her blazing cheeks again.
‘What have we learned, Valerie?’ the severe woman demanded.
‘To do as madame says,’ Valerie replied meekly and dutifully.
‘You have done well, dear girl.’ Madame Stryker’s fingers slipped between the cheeks of the girl’s bottom, and moved down to part the soft and silky lips nestled below.
‘Oh...’ the girl’s mouth fell open, and she moaned as Madame Stryker dipped her fingers into her hot young slot and manipulated her swollen clitoris until she couldn’t resist thrusting her hips back against the skilled old hand.
‘Do we know how to obey?’ Madame Stryker asked quietly.
‘Yes, madam, yes,’ Valerie sighed, and climaxed as madame flicked her clit swiftly back and forth with a long fingernail. An orgasm making her whole body shudder, she pressed her face against her knees as waves of pleasure crashed through her blood and made her cry out despite herself.
‘Today we are playing the full game,’ Madame Stryker announced. It was a week later and Valerie was in a tracksuit and running shoes. Beneath the suit she wore a tight vest with no bra, on the insistence of Madame Stryker, who liked to pull the girl’s tracksuit bottoms down and get straight to work on the vital matter of proper discipline. ‘You have heard me discuss,’ Madame Stryker began, ‘the difference between the male and the female game.’
Valerie nodded dumbly. She found this was the safest way to respond when madame was in a certain mood, and she was, more often than not, it had to be said, in a certain mood.
‘What is the difference between the male and the female game?’ madame demanded.
‘The masculine game is fuller?’ she muttered a guess, unable to remember what her coach had actually said about the two games.
‘Stupid girl!’ Madame Stryker snapped. She picked up one of the black crops she favoured for private training sessions with her more promising pupils, a hand-stitched leather riding crop with a tightly laced grip at the handle that sat as comfortably in her hand as a conductor’s baton. ‘What is the difference between the male and female game?’ she asked again slowly, her eyes narrowing dangerously.
Thankfully, the answer came swimming out of Valerie’s memory. ‘Women play the game to be filled,’ she replied hastily. ‘Men play the game to be emptied.’ She smiled, proud of herself.
‘Well done,’ madame said, just a little sarcastically. ‘And do you know what this saying means?’
‘Um... no,’ Valerie admitted, and now she knew it was going to be one of those days. This time, her relentless coach was really going to give her the works, she could feel it.
‘Today, I wanted to show you what the male game is like,’ Madame Stryker informed her, ‘but I can see that won’t be possible. I will have to find another teacher for you, and you can go study with him from now on. What I can teach you will no longer do.’
Valerie’s mind reeled from the implication of these words. ‘You mean...?’
‘Yes,’ madame said firmly. ‘If what I said has meant nothing to you, if after all this time you haven’t a clue what I was trying to tell you, then you had best get yourself a male teacher, and he perhaps can show you. I can do no more for you.’
‘But madam...’ Valerie’s voice caught on a sob. She could not believe her esteemed coach and teacher, to whom she was utterly devoted, was just casually dismissing her like this, as though there were no personal feelings between them at all.
‘What is it, my girl?’ Madame Stryker asked.
‘I - I don’t want to leave my teacher.’ Valerie was appalled to find herself on the verge of tears. She had never felt so upset, not even after losing an important match.
‘Then tell me what it means to you to be filled,’ madame urged.
Valerie glanced back at her in confusion, tears shining in her lovely, candid eyes. All she could think about was that her teacher was coldly dismissing her. ‘What do you mean, madam?’
‘You have a boyfriend, don’t you?’ the older woman demanded. ‘His name is Lorain, I believe?’
Valerie’s face went crimson with embarrassment. Could she possibly mean...?
‘Don’t you get filled up by him, Valerie?’
‘I... I don’t know what you mean, madam,’ she replied shyly.
‘Do you want me to teach you what I mean, Valerie?’
‘P-please, madam.’ Anything was better than being sent away by her beloved teacher to continue her training with a complete stranger.
‘Then take off your tracksuit bottoms,’ Madame Stryker commanded briskly, ‘as well as your top and your vest. I want you in just your shoes and socks.’
Valerie began to obey at once.
‘You haven’t had his cock?’ Madame Stryker demanded again as she watched the young woman slip her tracksuit bottoms down her legs, her old eyes on the sweet blonde bush that bloomed into view.
‘No, madam.’ Valerie’s cheeks blushed red as blood oranges, and her pert little nose turned pink beneath her freckles. ‘I just let him... I just let him touch me,’ she confessed in a barely audible voice.
‘He probably contents himself with your beautiful breasts, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes... but sometimes he... he touches me... down there.’ She pulled off her vest and her magnificent bosom sprung into view. Her nipples were erect; she was enjoying being forced to tell madame all her secrets.
‘Do you want a male teacher, Valerie?’ madame asked the girl who was now standing naked before her except for her tennis shoes and socks, her hands crossed demurely between her thighs.
‘I only want you, madam,’ she replied, looking into her teacher’s hard eyes as her own big blue eyes watered sincerely.
‘Then look at this,’ madame said, and pointed down ambiguously.
Valerie’s eyes followed her teacher’s hand, but she could see nothing but the older woman’s long black skirt, which bulged a little strangely in the front.
‘On your knees, girl,’ madame’s voice cracked with feeling, ‘and you will see what I mean.’
Valerie sank to her knees before the long skirt, which her teacher grasped in both hands and began lifting with the slow drama of a curtain rising in the theatre. And what was revealed was not just madame’s legs, which were surprisingly well-honed and firm despite her age, but also something black and shiny that hung down just beneath the hem of the skirt.
‘Oh!’ the girl breathed. ‘What is that?’
‘Lift my skirt and you will see, my dear.’
Valerie hesitated a moment, and then gingerly reached out and lifted the hem of the skirt up away from the shiny black thing. And then she found herself gazing raptly at her old teacher’s still blonde and fragrant pubic hair beneath the tight black leather straps holding the dildo in place. The latex penis was nearly ten inches long and thrust obscenely into the girl’s face. ‘W-what is it?’ she breathed again in awe, scarcely able to believe what she saw.
‘It is what will prevent you from having to leave me for a male teacher,’ madame replied. ‘Open your mouth, my dear.’
‘You want me to...?’ Valerie’s eyes widened incredulously.
‘Open your mouth,’ madame insisted.
Valerie opened her mouth. The tool was enormous, and tasted, surprisingly, not of rubber but of butter. She realised the smooth black cock-head had been smeared with butter as it breached the barrier of her teeth and kept going, reaching for her throat as madame pushed the long black rubber dick into her mouth.
‘Relax your jaw and let it down into your throat, girl. Are you starting to get the idea now what being filled is?’
Valerie’s strangled cries responded in the affirmative as madame slowly began fucking her mouth, moving the latex shaft in and out between Valerie’s stretched lips as she struggled to breathe. She was beginning to choke when madame finally eased the cool black cock out of her mouth and asked, ‘Are you ready to really learn now?’
‘Learn what, madame?’ She coughed as she swallowed the saliva that had accumulated in the back of her mouth as she swallowed the big rubber cock. And now she realised that sucking on it had made her want something, even though she couldn’t say what exactly.
‘Go up to my bedroom,’ madame ordered, ‘and lie on the bed on your front.’
Valerie’s eyes grew even wider. ‘I never have with Lorain, not with anyone...’ she began to protest.
‘Do you want a male teacher?’ Madame Stryker looked down into the girl’s vulnerable eyes with her own steady, unflinching gaze.
‘I want to stay with you, madame,’ Valerie whispered fervently. ‘I’ll never want another teacher.’
Madame handed her a tube of cream. ‘Go and lie down,’ she said again, ‘and spread some of this in the tempting valley between your cheeks and over your anus.’
‘My... my what?’
‘I’ll show you what being filled is, Valerie,’ madame said gently. ‘Come with me upstairs.’
And they went upstairs, hand-in-hand, where Valerie sat down on one side of the bed and opened the small tube of gel while madame stroked her hair. ‘Shall I turn round?’ the young tennis star asked in a small voice.
‘All right,’ the older woman said, and pointed to a pillow, upon which the girl rested her cheek so she could push her bottom up into the air as her coach greased the tight space between her cheeks with the cold white lotion. She lay facedown on the bed while her teacher straddled her, and made her stick her bottom out even further, as she had so many times before to be spanked. But this time, Valerie’s tautly smooth buttocks met not Madame Stryker’s firm hand but something else - the cool black head of the large cock inching its way between her white cheeks, and nudging against the tight little entrance leading to her rear passage.
‘Madame...’ she whimpered.
‘What is it, my dear girl?’
‘I love you!’ the girl cried passionately, and buried her face in the pillow.
The teacher’s face lit up with triumph and her old pussy blazed with the rejuvenating fires of lust as she stroked the girl’s hair, and pushed the cruel dildo into her virgin bottom with a short, fierce thrust. Valerie yelped in pain, but her teacher grasped her hair and held firmly onto her head to keep her down. The girl stayed in place as the cock slid in past her opening, and surged all the way down her tight back passage with agonising swiftness. In just seconds, Madame Stryker was inside her, the cruelly long latex erection buried deep between her student’s beautiful young buttocks.
‘Do you understand what it means to obey?’ Madame Stryker whispered, and began sliding the thick black dildo in and out of the girl’s deliciously proffered bottom.
‘Y-yes, madame,’ she gasped. ‘To obey is to be filled up...’
‘Exactly,’ madame answered. ‘Do you want Lorain to do this to you?’
‘Ooh, um,’ she was finding it hard to concentrate on the gentle questions coming from her coach. ‘Um, no, madame.’
‘Would you prefer a male teacher I select for you, some hairy old oaf, to do this to you?’
She shook her head against the pillow, her cheek buried in its softness, her eyes closed. ‘No, madame, I wouldn’t.’ Valerie bit her lip in agony, and something else... the insistence of the cock was getting to her in a way she could not explain. She was very wet, she realised; her pussy was hot and wet even as she suffered the excruciating impression that the big black dick was ramming itself all the way up into her throat and filling her to bursting.
‘Do you want me to tell the other girls that you like this being done to you?’ madame asked softly, caressing her hair again.
‘Oh no, madam, please don’t do that,’ Valerie said through gritted teeth, because she was almost there... almost there... the discomfort was constant and yet so strangely sweet... it opened her up and made her feel so tight that the motion of the plastic shaft sliding in and out of her seemed to caress her clit.
‘Then who do you want to do this to you, my little harlot? Who do you want to fill you up forever?’ Madame thrust lustily into the blonde’s pert little bottom, her hands gripping the soft and deliciously yielding cheeks.
Valerie whimpered as her coach packed the black cock into her rear, threatening to split her open again and again. ‘I’m yours, madame!’ she nearly screamed. ‘Every part of me is yours. Do with me as you wish. My bottom, everything, is yours. I’m yours, all of me.’
‘We’ll see, my sweet, we’ll see.’ Madame laughed softly as she plunged to the very core of the sweet flesh lying beneath her.
Valerie cried out as she came violently, bucking back to meet her teacher’s black cock pumping in and out of her bottom, its unnatural length cruelly impaling her on it. Her whole body shook from the force of her orgasm, and she wept breathlessly into the pillow hoping madame would never let her go.