An Evening In

                               AN EVENING IN

       I opened the door as directed and stepped into a gloomy hallway. A voice from behind the door on the right told me to come through. It was a husky voice, rich in suggestion.

       I pushed open the door and stepped back in time. I‘m not sure if it was the mirrors with the heavy gilt frames at either end or the deep red velvet which covered the fireplace and opposite walls. Either way, it was a room which reeked of old-fashioned decadence. A well-established fire in the grate  provided most of the light and cast shadows into every corner. Some dim walllights were on but did little but provide some  feeble glow circles on patches of the walls.

       As I entered, I could see her sitting in an upright fireside chair. The wing and the infilled arm hid most of her from view but my eyes were immediately drawn to the black patent leather boots. The reflection of the red glow of the fire danced along her shins.

       A guy I knew from work had told me about this place  while we got rat-arsed after a successful sales pitch. He told me that he had heard about it from his brother-in law and both reckoned it was the best hundred quid they had ever spent.

       ‘Let me look at you,' came the order from the chair.

       I sidled over and stood two yards in front of her. Adopting a pose, I tried to look cool with a featureless expression and my legs apart so that the contour of my cock was clearly outlined.

       I sized her up. Above the long black boots was an expensive looking camel skirt, not in the least bit tarty. The top half was another matter. A white silk blouse was partly covered by a tight black snakeskin waistcoat. And then there were the elbow length black leather gloves.

       ‘Let me guess,' she said, ‘Your boots and jacket tell me that you're a leatherman. You'd like to go the whole way but you're embarrassed, think you might be marked as a gay boy. Perhaps you are. Even someone with my experience can never be sure.'

       I could not make her out. A head of piled-up black hair made her look quite intimidating as did the large shades which were quite unnecessary in this gloomy room but gave me no insight into her thought processes. Her first assessment of me was right on the button though.

       ‘I'll take your silence as a yes then,' she continued, ‘let me work out the rest. Probably married to a dried-up shrew and you haven't got the guts to ditch her. Your best cock action these days is late at night when you come across something interesting on your computer.'

       Hell, she was unnerving. How did she know what tickled my fancy these days. Three guesses or assessments and everyone of them had hit the mark.

       ‘Yeah,' I said, ‘it's depressing to be so predictable.'

       ‘Nice to hear your voice,' she said slightly sarcastically, ‘these few words tell me a lot. You're bored with the pictures of those gorgeous girls teasing you their shaved pussies. Maybe some of them are quite good. You'll never find out. But you want to move on, you want to touch them, smell them, see if they really will give you the fuck or maybe just the wank of your dreams.'

       ‘You've heard it all before,' I replied trying to sound nonchalant, ‘I guess we're all much the same.'

       ‘To a degree, she said, ‘my challenge is to find your special spot. What will really blow your mind. Tell me more, which type of girl do you fancy most?'

       I thought about it , ‘to tell the truth, none of them is what you would really call sexy; I mean they wear the gear but their expressions make clear that they're only doing it for the dough. One or two show a bit of enthusiasm but most of them are simply posing for tossers.'

       She gave a mild chuckle, ‘I like it, you don't do the bullshit. I know you'll give me a straight answer if I ask whether you're one of the tossers?'

       ‘I can jack for queen and country, ma'am,' I proudly replied. ‘Sure I like playing hide the salami as well but when you've got it in your hand, you don't have to do the  thoughtful bit. It's all in your own time, entirely as you like it.'

       ‘That's a novelty! An honest tosser.  I'm taking notes and they say 90% in hand and the other times up the love canal.'

       Yup, that was about right, maybe a bit of an exaggeration on the love action bit. Funny how it had all changed. For the first five years of wedded bliss, the percentages had been the other way round; all fuck and no fist. And now the see-saw was tilted the other way. The marital bliss might be non-existent, as rare as a swallow at Christmas  but there were others out there who still looked the part, hadn't let themselves go and were a whole lot more grateful for the attention than they would have been twenty years earlier. I'd been cutting a swathe through this group of fortysomethings  in the last couple of years. Some of them were as keen as mustard, desperate to make the most of their vanishing babe years. Some played it coy to start with but soon enough, they were begging. And why not? Even in their prime, many of them had not had the pleasure of an hour with seven thick inches buried inside them.

       Even though it wasn't my style, I found that I could get away with a bit of the rougher stuff which I never tried in my youth. When one of them asked me over, I went in, joked, kissed, then pushed her up against a wall . Firstly, I got my hands under her blouse and unclipped her bra. After I'd given her tits a good feel, I let my hand slip down to her jeans. Unbuttoned in a flash, I eased down her zip and slipped a hand under the knicker elastic and into the wetness. All this before I had even taken off my leather jacket which she was fondling and kneeding like home-baked bread.  While one hand gently probed her cunt, the other squeezed her nipples and all the time, my mouth was clamped over hers. Her hands would be on my shoulders running down the back of my jacket, getting off on the sensation of the leather. After I'd brought her off with my fingers off the first time, I'd ease her jeans and knickers over her hips and let them fall to her ankles. By this time, my solid cock would sticking out like a flagpole. Using my knees and thighs, I'd part her thighs, crouch slightly and then bring my pole up into her sodden fanny. Sometimes, they might give a little gasp of anxiety about the lack of protection. To show my thoughtful side, I'd whisk out a condom and slip it on. Other times, I ploughed on. While I could now employ both hands for a good tit grope, their hands would be fondling and kneeding my still trim arse or getting a full kick from my  jacket. And after we'd come, I pushed her gently to her knees and asked for a good, cleansing suck of my wilting cock. 

       And as for the virgins, well the two of them, they could not believe their luck. They had independently rationalised that there was no point in saving themselves now. Before they were ready for the care home, they wanted to savour the memory of a fully-equipped, modern Cary Grant showing them what they had missed out on. I could have lived quite comfortably at their expense, on their hard-earned savings and their substantial inheritances. A career opening as a gigolo was mine for the asking.  It was tempting but I still had some money of my own and for now, I wasn't ready to be tied down. I still had a lot of sexual adventures of my own to pursue and that was why I was standing in this room.

       She peered at me from behind those dark, expressionless glasses. ‘I read your application e-mail. I find a little composition exercise soon sifts out the neanderthals. Yours did not thrill me with anticipation but you didn't bore me to death with some predictable violent fantasy.'

       Cheeky cow, I thought, am I here paying good money to be insulted? Well yes I suppose. Insulted and assaulted if the stories were true. ‘I'm flattered that I've passed your rigorous selection process.'

       ‘Ah, an insolent bastard as well. I'll knock that out of you. Get your cock out right now!' I was stunned by the abruptness and looked at her for a second.

       ‘This evening please, sometime before the dawn arrives.'

       She was winning the war of wills. She raised her voice. ‘And I don't want to see a couple of floppy inches. If you can't get it rock hard for a mistress who is going to make you weep and holler, you're no fucking use to me, tosser boy.' After that outburst, she got to her feet and then I realised that even allowing for the heels, she was well over six feet tall.

       I started to unzip and felt inside my knickers.

       ‘Not that way, boy, drop them to your ankles.'

       I did as ordered. The couple of floppy inches took a moment to adjust to the drop in temperature. So I took the liberty and with finger and thumb, started to help them grow. From several inches above, she stared at my every  move. At last, it was up there, seven inches and proud.

       ‘Don't stop,' she ordered. ‘Let me assess your tossing technique.'

       And so I gave it full fist and wanked directly in her line of vision. I can't say I've done this before not even with some of the hungry matrons I've satisfied. They didn't want to see it, they wanted to feel it deep inside them although a few hours later, I would feel a hand giving my cock the loving treatment and it wouldn't be either of mine. As I started to enjoy this exhibitionism, I should have guessed that this was too simple.

       ‘Stop right now,' she commanded, ‘and turn around with your hands behind your back.'

       I was becoming conditioned and did as she ordered. I didn't know where it would go from here but I might have guessed. The manacles were snapped over my wrists in a trice. My confidence drained away like water down the plughole. There was no turning and walking out of here now. With my hands tied and my trousers and knickers around my ankles, she had me as disabled as a careless fly which has landed on the spider's web. What would come next from this large black thing behind me; probably  paralysis from a pair of fangs stabbing into my neck.

       Instead, I felt one gloved hand on my shoulder, the other around my waist. Was she inviting me to dance. If so, she would do the leading and she steered me across the room until I was facing a sofa. With footwork worthy of a dirty Premier League defender, she took the legs from me, gave me a shove and I sprawled face-first into the soft leather cushions. Even with this soft landing, my nose took the blow and tears welled up in my eyes.

       ‘I've never decided whether or not I like crying boys,'said the mocking voice behind me.

While I tried to stem the flow of tears, I heard a zip being unfastened and then a belt being tightened.

       ‘I prefer them when they squeal, you know, like stuck pigs. That English author was right when he wrote that famous book and made the comparison between men and pigs.' She was on my back now and one hand had my cock in a firm grip. My jeans and slip had been pulled off earlier and my exposed arse was high in the air. But her wank technique was good and I delighted in the way she pulled me back, her thumb getting just the right level of purchase.

       She was right on top of me now and I could feel her damp pussy pressed against my arse. That was a feeling I'd never experienced before and I reacted positively. I opened my arse wider She eased off after a couple of minutes although she still had my cock in a fantastic hold.

The old girl was better at wanking me than I could do myself.

       She wasn't ignoring my arse either. There was now her thickest finger probing me. It was very damp but I couldn't tell her to stop. She pushed in and now she was having me both ways. My mind was screwing up; should I tell her to stop or let her go on. But I stayed speechless and let her finger fuck my arse.

       I had just got my head round that when she blew my mind for keeps. While her right hand was clamped around my cock, I nearly seized up when she placed her left hand over my mouth. The confusion lasted at least two seconds. If her hands were in front of me, what the fuck was up my arse?

       ‘I can read your confused little mind,' she whispered in my ear. ‘In the trade, it's called ‘pegging'. It's what happens  when a sweet little arse takes a lady's fancy. It's the biggest breakthrough yet in the war of the sexes. A bit of kit that means a girl can roger a guy. You better get the hang of it because every girl is going to have one soon.'

       I was still speechless. The truth was that this was a bit of a turn-on. I went with the flow and let her screw me to her own orgasm. She timed it beautifully and just as she came, my cock erupted. The flakes of spunk flew into the sides of the sofa and started to drip behind the cushion.

       At that point, she withdrew and got to her feet. I turned round and looked up at her, my gaze inevitably coming to rest on her black ‘cock'. She smiled down at me pitifully. ‘I call that one my virgin-buster. It's the smallest in the range.'

       All I could think was that I'm glad she hadn't used the standard model. The virgin-buster might not be any thicker or longer than my middle finger but my arse was aching.

       She unclipped the manacles before throwing a packet of tissues at me with an order to clean up the mess. ‘It's time for me to retire,' she announced as she headed towards the door.  ‘If you're still here in five minutes, the butler will be along to help you find your way to the front door.'

       Somehow, I knew that the butler in a place like this would resemble Igor rather than Jeeves. I made myself respectable and was fumbling with the front door lock in two minutes flat.