The Liberation Of Father Mortimer
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Missing Time free porn video
With a start, he woke up clasping a pillow in a light, airy bedroom. Beams of watery winter sunlight hurt his eyes and forced them closed. He took some air through his nostrils; they filled with a hint of perfume and the faint musky smell of sex.
He had no idea where he was.
Rolling onto his back, his body complained with a dull ache and so did his morning glory. His mind blank, whatever he had done and whoever he had done it with - it had been strenuous, very strenuous. He ventured to open his eyes again and slowly regained focus as he ran his fingers through his hair. The mattress was soft and seductively tempting him back to sleep – his racing mind had other ideas.
“Hello?”
It was a gruff croak; his dry mouth had a terrible metallic taste to it.
He cleared his throat the best he could and tried again a little louder, “Hello?”
Nothing.
He did not recognise these surroundings. As his torpid brain rifled through his memories, he had never been so drunk that he could not remember what had happened. His anxiety levels began to rise and his head began to pound; a sonorous dull thump marked time with his beating heart.
Office Christmas Party, drinking games with Ned, Soup, Jonesy and Stella. Licking salt off Stella’s tits, necking Tequila, thrusting his face into her cleavage to bite on the lemon nestled there.
A quiet groan left him, “Oh fuck.”
Stella taking his hand and saying, “I have something to show you, come on, you’ll like it.”
Whilst he had never been to Stella’s flat, they had something of an arrangement. She was a port in a storm, a booty call, a friend with benefits.
A fuck buddy.
His head hurt too much, he had to stop. He had to pee too; his bladder was full.
Finding the bathroom, his mind had built up a momentum of its own and unleashed another torrent of memories. His recollection had an ethereal quality; it felt vague and lacked the clarity he sought. The accompanying images were blurred or missing.
At the party, pulling up her dress and pressing her against the cubicle wall. Her parted legs wrapped around his hips and he thrust his raging cock inside her. Filling her and feeling her cossetting tight warmth, he heard her gasp as he penetrated her. Soft moans as he stabbed himself inside her, fucking her urgently. Kneeling before him as she sucked the load from his cock, looking into his eyes as Stella took it all.
Fucking her in the hotel toilets of all places, it was the office Christmas party. His boss and the executives, everyone was there - all five hundred of the bastards.
They were sure to find out and there would be ramifications. His heart sank and panic set in.
To the sound of flushing water, he saw the bathroom cabinet and felt hope that there might be some painkillers. He did not dwell on the mirror but this undercurrent of anxiety swelled up when confronted with a new terror – his appearance.
“Shit!”
He pulled with his fingers at the skin on his neck, small oval shaped purple marks dotted on both sides of his neck and well above the collar line. One, two, three, four violent love bites, he could even see the bruises made by teeth.
“Oh my fucking God!”
Framed by silk stockings and suspenders, there was a vivid red butterfly tattoo on her inner thigh.
He remembered Stella’s invitation and he liked everything he saw, her new tattoo and her lingerie.
Her smooth puffy cunt, her pink slit glistening with wetness and feeling the surge of animal desire. Writhing, squirming against him, and slipping over each other as they gasped wildly for air. Encouraging him for more, wanting it harder and with his body – he gave it to her. Hot and sweaty, wrapped together in a strong embrace, the painful clench of nails clawing at him. Climaxing together and shooting deeply into her, feeling ecstasy suffused with pain.
Necking down a couple of aspirin, he closed the cabinet door and turned his back to the mirrored front. Craning his neck to see, etched over his back were the livid scarlet scratch marks of their congress.
“Jesus!”
Stella must have been possessed and he had encouraged her. They had fucked plenty of times before but never like this. Alone, bewildered at his predicament and carrying the damage of his night with her - it was either fight or flight.
He chose flight.
Dazed and absent-mindedly, he made his way back to the bedroom. He noticed that his clothes were scattered down the hallway, shoes in the distance then his jacket, dress shirt, trousers, briefs and socks all crumpled before him.
Pressing him against the closed front door, her frantic hands roamed all over him. Trying to strip him, they rolled each other against the wall to assert themselves. Pulling the zip of her dress down and watching it fall to the floor; her hands pushed off his jacket and pulled his shirt from his body. Tugging at his trousers and pulling his underwear from him, he was naked. Firmly gripping his hard cock, she led him by it to the bedroom.
He stood at the bedroom door and surveyed the room for any hint of a clue. He spied it with alarm, there clashing with the tasteful décor was a vibrant blue dildo on the nightstand.
Startled, his need for flight pounded through him with a malevolence he could not overcome.
Easing the toy from her with her arse in the air, sobs punctured the silence as he pushed his cock into her tightest hole. Pulling with his strong arms, his loins slapped against her and he impaled her on his rampant cock. Violating her arse, pushing her down on the bed, he sawed his cock into her as she begged him for more.
Next to the toy, there was a small note propped against the bedside lamp.
Make yourself at home, aspirin in the bathroom cabinet. Will be back at 12. S.
He looked at the post-script.
P.S. You were incredible.
Whatever recompense it was, it was not enough. His need to run away was too strong an instinct to resist. He spied the alarm clock – it was barely past eleven.
In a pathetic exhibition of gallantry, he scribbled under the note.
Had to go, sorry. No pressies for anyone yet. You were incredible too. Ouch.
Smiley face.
For such a small statement, it contained many white lies. He tried to convince himself that she would forgive his leaving. No doubt Stella would fill him in on the sordid details at her earliest convenience. Not too early though, she had worked him out good, his body felt so sore and used.
Hurriedly splashing water on his face, he primped his hair in a vain attempt to look respectable. The marks on his neck told a different story and were impossible to disguise. Retrieving his clothes, he pulled the collar of his dinner jacket up. It barely concealed his neck and he knew he looked stupid; rather that than blatantly advertise the outcome of his nocturnal activities. Attired in formal evening wear and looking hungover on a Saturday morning, - it would be clear enough to anyone what had been going on.
“Ha!”
Inspired, he found his phone; he would call for a taxi.
“Shit!”
Nothing – the battery was flat. He searched for a phone but to no avail.
He would have to make the walk of shame home and he cringed.
With his best foot forward, he would brazen it out and slammed the front door shut. The quiet residential street joined a busier street with traffic moving with ease. He had no idea where he was, nothing looked familiar and he looked at the street sign. The sign said NW1, he lived in NW1, he seized his first lucky break and he embraced the sense of relief.
He stood on the busier street waiting to see the next empty black cab. The cacophony of people milling around were engrossed in Christmas shopping and each other. They paid him scant attention and he gave thanks that he would spirit himself away with ease.
Waiting outside, trying to hail a taxi, the bitter cold air blasting through the thin layers of his jacket and shirt as he sought refuge in a doorway. Pressing herself against him to keep warm, her lips met his. Her breasts crushed against his chest and she pressed her soft loins against his stiffening cock. She took his hand and led him further away from the mass of people outside.
With an outstretched arm, the cab pulled over.
“Trent Gardens, please.”
Slumping into the commodious backseat, the cabbie looked in his rear-view mirror. Their eyes met and he immediately realised that he might not have the fare for the cab. Rummaging in his jacket pocket, he tugged at his wallet. He pulled it free and he had snagged something with his hand. They were black, satin and they hung from his fingers to his obvious horror.
Fackin’ ‘ell. Someone got lucky!” cackled the cabbie.
He squirmed a little and smiled sheepishly.
“Left ‘er mark too on yer neck!”
The cackling grew louder, “Merry fackin’ Christmas eh? Eh?”
He smiled uncomfortably. The raucousness of the cabbie’s laughter boomed through the Perspex wall between them.
Pushing her hand into his jacket pocket with a quiet snigger, she took his hand and pressed it against her inner thigh. He felt the surprise of feeling her legs ease apart for him. The moist wetness of her naked sex as his fingers parted her silky entrance spurred him on. In the shadowy low light of the cab, he revelled in the sense of danger as he fingered her cunt.
He checked his wallet; the reassurance of finding enough cash in his wallet was palpable.
As they turned into another street, he recognised where he was. He could kiss the ground with gratitude.
He handed over a crisp note, “Please keep the change.”
“Cheers, Merry Christmas. Mind, you’ve ‘ad your fackin’ present early eh! Eh?”
To the sound of the cabbie’s dirty laugh and the clattering engine, the cab pulled away. He turned to walk up the short path to the block of low-rise flats.
Holding hands as they fell out of the cab, the sound of the door slamming shut. Stopping to kiss, kissing passionately feeling the cloying pillowy softness of her full lips. Dark shadows concealed them, the pressure of her hand on his stiffening cock conveyed her intent. Clasping her breast, feeling its firm springiness, her hand violated the insides of his trousers seizing his hardness.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The remainder of Saturday was a total loss; nothing could abate the thumping in his head. After a long shower, he sent Stella a nonchalant text and received a nonchalant text in return. Appended with a kiss and a smiley face, he shied from approaching her with the gory details of their night at her flat.
Blurry, somewhere, not sure where, he was with Stella. “So how about it, you and me? Y’know, more than just fuck buddies?”
He squirmed that he had revealed his hand to her, drunk and vulnerable. To compound his misery, he could not remember her answer; he could even remember where he was. He resolved to being in her flat and probably close to passing out with exhaustion.
He slept for much longer than he was accustomed to that night and that customary full hardness of his cock was there as he awoke. His body had lost most of its aches and pains.
Standing before him striking a pose, her body encased in fine lingerie, his eyes drinking in the erotic vista of her exquisite body. The heft of her full breasts confined in black lace, the taut curves of her body and the bite of her suspenders belt into her feminine hips. Perched on the bed and erect, she straddled him and pushed him with her hands. Crashing back into the soft mattress, she took him in hand to guide him into her wet folds. Watching as she engulfed him slowly, his eyes closed as she rode his hard cock with an assertive firmness that made him flex inside her.
He held his cock to gauge its steely hardness and grasped it; it felt sore which alarmed him. He never needed to recover like this before. Whatever Stella had done, she had done it with a violence that was alien to him. He opted to abstain; he felt no sexual frustration and no need for release. He hoped for a repeat performance and he swore that next time he would be ready for it.
In the bathroom mirror, the mottled welts on his neck had faded a little but carried a larger smear of yellow around them. They were ugly and nothing would mask them.
Fishing out a black polo neck sweater from his wardrobe, it would have to do for his return to the office on Monday. A clear contravention of the company dress code but showing his battle scars to his colleagues was a much worse option. He would never live it down.
He would dismiss it as needing to keep a cricked neck warm and leave it at that. If anyone asked, just this perfunctory statement and changing the subject would suffice.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
With a sense of foreboding, he slunk into the office quietly and was determined not to draw attention to himself. With a weekend of rest behind him, it afforded him an inner calm he would need to get him through the day. Only Ned inquired about his black sweater. His lie went down easily without challenge and it emboldened him. Comparing notes about the party, he had spent his time with his friends and Stella but Ned had left early. It was enough to think that he had escaped unscathed with his public reputation intact.
With his newfound bravery, he ventured to the canteen for a coffee.
A solitary word punctured his daydream.
“Hi.”
It was Stella, she looked pleased to see him, and a relaxed carefree smile dimpled her cheeks. Her generous cleavage was on display through the open collar of her blouse. He could not help but look and he did not care if she noticed.
“Hello.”
He was talking to her breasts for a moment and she was still smiling as he looked into her eyes.
“So, how are you?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m good. How was your hangover? Tequila?”
The expression on his face said it all; her light giggle made her eyes sparkle.
“Fancy a coffee Stella?”
Hopeful in getting something of an explanation to fill in the blanks, he led her to a remote table in the corner.
She opened with a simple gambit.
“It was a good night.”
“I was so out of it, I certainly remember you though, you saucy minx.”
Stella smiled.
“I don’t know what came over me.”
He laughed a little at her deliberate double entendre.
“You just looked so dishy in that DJ, I had to, y’know?”
“I know,” he added taking a sip from his drink.
“And you remember what you asked me?”
He felt his skin flush a little, “I do, and what about you, how do you feel about it now?”
He needed her answer and he watched her avidly, expectant at her reply.
She looked at him and smiled, “You are sweet.”
Her voice lowered to a whisper, “And a great fuck.”
He waited for a ‘but’ as she smiled at him softly.
Maintaining her hushed tone, “I don’t make a habit of fucking in toilets either.”
He smiled, “So in the light of a cold Monday morning do you feel any different?”
“Oh no, we should still cool it a bit. It was lovely of you to ask though. Is that ok?”
He nodded with a lingering smile on his face. There was her answer for today, the party and at her flat. He could not discern between the mixed feelings of relief and melancholy.
Stella glanced at her watch, “Oh fuck, I have to go, meeting with Karen!”
“Oops.”
They walked back on their floor together.
“So what’s with the polo neck?”
Her question was innocent enough and he felt the relief of not needing to lie.
“Well Stella, I thought you might know.”
“Sorry?”
With barely enough to time to register her reply, a figure came into view making their way towards them. He could see that she had taken one look at him and her displeasure was clear, his contravention of the dress code was not going to go unnoticed.
“Oh fuck, the boss,” he hissed under his breath.
As the sound of her footsteps drew near, it was impossible to avoid eye contact any longer.
“Hello Cass, how are you today?” he brazenly ventured.
“Hello Rory, your attire seems to be out of place, my office please.”
“Later Stella.”
As Cass turned tail back to her office, he offered an impudent smile behind her back towards Stella. Feeling a deflated sense of the inevitable, he followed Cass to her office.
Always immaculately presented, Cass expected the same from her staff. She was fastidious with everything and everyone around her. He afforded himself a good stare at her tight skirt and pert derriere as she sashayed up the corridor. Expecting her admonishment, he would accept her disappointment as the price he had to pay for today.
Her corner office was an oasis of order amidst the bare office space covered in sheets. She had wanted this half of the floor renovated over the Christmas break. At least his dressing down would be out of earshot of any staff.
“Take a seat.”
Her cut-glass accent was brittle and exquisitely upmarket; he never tired of hearing it. As he sat in the sandalwood coloured leather chair, the fully frosted door clonked shut. Her office was the model of emotionless efficiency, her desk clear, files tidied away and no loose papers messed up the place.
Whilst Cass was more driven and successful with her career, they were a similar age. He found her timeless beauty attractive; he found her pristine demeanour alluring. It was no secret that she had gone through a messy divorce that year and Ned reckoned it was on account of the frost between her legs. He looked at her and consoled himself that if she were going to make him squirm - he would enjoy looking at her while she did it.
She took to her chair behind her desk and stared at him determinedly.
“So Rory, care to explain yourself?”
“The polo neck? I slept funny and cricked my neck, it hurt when I put my shirt on this morning.”
She was impassive.
“No, not that, tell me about what happened at the party.”
The impudence of his answer only exaggerated her deliberate tone. He felt a burning surge welling up his body and prickle his cheeks.
“Come again?”
His feigned nonchalance did not work. The expression of bewilderment on his face laid bare his inability to recall precisely what did happen at the party. He could feel his synthetic confidence ebbing away from him and it was written all over his face.
“I was with my friends the whole time, they can vouch for me.”
“Rory, when I go for a piss, I don’t expect to hear two people rutting in the cubicle next to me!”
The heat in his face was burning now; drops of perspiration were forming on his brow.
“And I know you were there because we do not have anyone else called Rory working here.”
If the ground could swallow him up now, the word ‘Geronimo’ sprang to mind.
“So Rory? Is this acceptable?”
She expected a reply.
“Erm, sorry Cass. I was a bit out of it and I’m struggling to piece together what happened.”
“You address me as Cassandra.”
“Sorry Cassandra.”
“I see. Well, that leads me onto something else.”
He expected the worst; it would be dismissal as there were standards, high standards. This was not getting drunk and falling asleep in a chair territory at all. This was fucking the hell out of someone whilst his boss was involuntarily listening whilst stuck on the loo. He wanted to laugh at the visual it conjured in his mind. He summoned every ounce of concentration to freeze every single muscle in his face. Still burning with shame, he looked to her for a cue; she was ice cold and expressionless.
He looked down at the ground in humiliating shame.
These moments felt like hours as an atmospheric silence bore down on him. He looked up to see her bright white teeth bared with a broad happy smile on her face. She was laughing; it was a happy intensely amused laugh. It threw him completely.
“Cassandra?”
“Call me Sandy.”
A torrent of memories washed through his mind as the final piece of the puzzle slotted into place. She watched as the realisation of what they had done together hit him squarely in the face.
Will be back at 12. S.
S for Sandy.
P.S. You were incredible.
Seeing the penny drop she nodded her head slowly, “Oh yes.”
“Oh fuck.” he hissed incredulously as his chest pounded hard, “It was you, fucking hell, you, you….you’re amazing… shit!”
She sat at her desk still smiling broadly.
He paused, “But, but…. Erm, how?”
“Listening to you fucking her, I heard Stella congratulating you on your thick cock. I thought I would have some; you looked very dashing in your dinner jacket. I might as well admit it, I have had a crush on you for a long time. At the end of the evening, I followed you out of the hotel and found you in a doorway. After we had fucked each other senseless, you were drinking vodka out of my belly button until you passed out. You were very sweet and I was very naughty."
"Fuck."
"Quite. No man has ever taken me in a way that I wanted until I had you. You were incredible.”
She handed over her phone.
“You wanted to make a sex tape, so I recorded it on my phone. Play it you dirty bastard.”
He watched, part stunned by his actions, part engrossed to salve his curiosity. It was her, it was her flat, it was her spectacular naked body. It played out her insatiable sexual appetite, her needy cunt and wanton arse. He’d risen to the challenge and fucked her dementedly. She matched him for every move he made and encouraged him for more. As the screen played out this one carnal act of many, he felt deeply aroused - his cock had stiffened fully. It was a tour de force of sexual chemistry and abandon. They had inspired each other and as he watched, she watched him avidly examining every reaction on his face.
Pleased with his broad smile, he placed the phone back onto her desk with a shaking hand, his mouth struggled to form any words.
“I… I… I mean, you? My neck, my back, I fucking ached all over… you? Fucking hell!”
“Do you want me Rory? Do you want me again?”
“Erm, Oh fuck. Yes, yes. You… you…. you’re amazing. So beautiful, so, so beautiful.”
She stood from her chair and he felt the passage of time slow as he stared hard in disbelief. She had pulled the fabric of her skirt up to her hips. Her sex was bare and suspender straps held up black sheer stockings.
She placed her soft satin panties into his hand.
“For your collection, they are a little moist, I want you so much.”
Her pronunciation made it sound like utter filth and drew him to her like a moth to a flame. Paralysed with incredulity and incapable of words; he was incapable of tearing his eyes away from her. Watching as she perched on the edge of the desk in front of him, she eased her thighs apart.
The sight of the red butterfly on her inner thigh was the final coup de grace.
“Oh fuck!”
“You can fuck me later. I am sending you home for a breach of our dress code. I’m coming with you.”
Drawn to her nakedness, her smooth wet sex was there before him as his heart began to pound harder in his chest.
“Oh God.”
“No but I expect to be worshipped. I want more of the same from you.”
She paused to laugh and savoured the outline of his stiffened cock held captive in his trousers. She had craved it on Saturday, Sunday and she ached for it now. He looked at her and smiled, he wanted her badly and his need for her coursed through every muscle in his body.
“Now eat my cunt.”
He had no idea where he was.
Rolling onto his back, his body complained with a dull ache and so did his morning glory. His mind blank, whatever he had done and whoever he had done it with - it had been strenuous, very strenuous. He ventured to open his eyes again and slowly regained focus as he ran his fingers through his hair. The mattress was soft and seductively tempting him back to sleep – his racing mind had other ideas.
“Hello?”
It was a gruff croak; his dry mouth had a terrible metallic taste to it.
He cleared his throat the best he could and tried again a little louder, “Hello?”
Nothing.
He did not recognise these surroundings. As his torpid brain rifled through his memories, he had never been so drunk that he could not remember what had happened. His anxiety levels began to rise and his head began to pound; a sonorous dull thump marked time with his beating heart.
Office Christmas Party, drinking games with Ned, Soup, Jonesy and Stella. Licking salt off Stella’s tits, necking Tequila, thrusting his face into her cleavage to bite on the lemon nestled there.
A quiet groan left him, “Oh fuck.”
Stella taking his hand and saying, “I have something to show you, come on, you’ll like it.”
Whilst he had never been to Stella’s flat, they had something of an arrangement. She was a port in a storm, a booty call, a friend with benefits.
A fuck buddy.
His head hurt too much, he had to stop. He had to pee too; his bladder was full.
Finding the bathroom, his mind had built up a momentum of its own and unleashed another torrent of memories. His recollection had an ethereal quality; it felt vague and lacked the clarity he sought. The accompanying images were blurred or missing.
At the party, pulling up her dress and pressing her against the cubicle wall. Her parted legs wrapped around his hips and he thrust his raging cock inside her. Filling her and feeling her cossetting tight warmth, he heard her gasp as he penetrated her. Soft moans as he stabbed himself inside her, fucking her urgently. Kneeling before him as she sucked the load from his cock, looking into his eyes as Stella took it all.
Fucking her in the hotel toilets of all places, it was the office Christmas party. His boss and the executives, everyone was there - all five hundred of the bastards.
They were sure to find out and there would be ramifications. His heart sank and panic set in.
To the sound of flushing water, he saw the bathroom cabinet and felt hope that there might be some painkillers. He did not dwell on the mirror but this undercurrent of anxiety swelled up when confronted with a new terror – his appearance.
“Shit!”
He pulled with his fingers at the skin on his neck, small oval shaped purple marks dotted on both sides of his neck and well above the collar line. One, two, three, four violent love bites, he could even see the bruises made by teeth.
“Oh my fucking God!”
Framed by silk stockings and suspenders, there was a vivid red butterfly tattoo on her inner thigh.
He remembered Stella’s invitation and he liked everything he saw, her new tattoo and her lingerie.
Her smooth puffy cunt, her pink slit glistening with wetness and feeling the surge of animal desire. Writhing, squirming against him, and slipping over each other as they gasped wildly for air. Encouraging him for more, wanting it harder and with his body – he gave it to her. Hot and sweaty, wrapped together in a strong embrace, the painful clench of nails clawing at him. Climaxing together and shooting deeply into her, feeling ecstasy suffused with pain.
Necking down a couple of aspirin, he closed the cabinet door and turned his back to the mirrored front. Craning his neck to see, etched over his back were the livid scarlet scratch marks of their congress.
“Jesus!”
Stella must have been possessed and he had encouraged her. They had fucked plenty of times before but never like this. Alone, bewildered at his predicament and carrying the damage of his night with her - it was either fight or flight.
He chose flight.
Dazed and absent-mindedly, he made his way back to the bedroom. He noticed that his clothes were scattered down the hallway, shoes in the distance then his jacket, dress shirt, trousers, briefs and socks all crumpled before him.
Pressing him against the closed front door, her frantic hands roamed all over him. Trying to strip him, they rolled each other against the wall to assert themselves. Pulling the zip of her dress down and watching it fall to the floor; her hands pushed off his jacket and pulled his shirt from his body. Tugging at his trousers and pulling his underwear from him, he was naked. Firmly gripping his hard cock, she led him by it to the bedroom.
He stood at the bedroom door and surveyed the room for any hint of a clue. He spied it with alarm, there clashing with the tasteful décor was a vibrant blue dildo on the nightstand.
Startled, his need for flight pounded through him with a malevolence he could not overcome.
Easing the toy from her with her arse in the air, sobs punctured the silence as he pushed his cock into her tightest hole. Pulling with his strong arms, his loins slapped against her and he impaled her on his rampant cock. Violating her arse, pushing her down on the bed, he sawed his cock into her as she begged him for more.
Next to the toy, there was a small note propped against the bedside lamp.
Make yourself at home, aspirin in the bathroom cabinet. Will be back at 12. S.
He looked at the post-script.
P.S. You were incredible.
Whatever recompense it was, it was not enough. His need to run away was too strong an instinct to resist. He spied the alarm clock – it was barely past eleven.
In a pathetic exhibition of gallantry, he scribbled under the note.
Had to go, sorry. No pressies for anyone yet. You were incredible too. Ouch.
Smiley face.
For such a small statement, it contained many white lies. He tried to convince himself that she would forgive his leaving. No doubt Stella would fill him in on the sordid details at her earliest convenience. Not too early though, she had worked him out good, his body felt so sore and used.
Hurriedly splashing water on his face, he primped his hair in a vain attempt to look respectable. The marks on his neck told a different story and were impossible to disguise. Retrieving his clothes, he pulled the collar of his dinner jacket up. It barely concealed his neck and he knew he looked stupid; rather that than blatantly advertise the outcome of his nocturnal activities. Attired in formal evening wear and looking hungover on a Saturday morning, - it would be clear enough to anyone what had been going on.
“Ha!”
Inspired, he found his phone; he would call for a taxi.
“Shit!”
Nothing – the battery was flat. He searched for a phone but to no avail.
He would have to make the walk of shame home and he cringed.
With his best foot forward, he would brazen it out and slammed the front door shut. The quiet residential street joined a busier street with traffic moving with ease. He had no idea where he was, nothing looked familiar and he looked at the street sign. The sign said NW1, he lived in NW1, he seized his first lucky break and he embraced the sense of relief.
He stood on the busier street waiting to see the next empty black cab. The cacophony of people milling around were engrossed in Christmas shopping and each other. They paid him scant attention and he gave thanks that he would spirit himself away with ease.
Waiting outside, trying to hail a taxi, the bitter cold air blasting through the thin layers of his jacket and shirt as he sought refuge in a doorway. Pressing herself against him to keep warm, her lips met his. Her breasts crushed against his chest and she pressed her soft loins against his stiffening cock. She took his hand and led him further away from the mass of people outside.
With an outstretched arm, the cab pulled over.
“Trent Gardens, please.”
Slumping into the commodious backseat, the cabbie looked in his rear-view mirror. Their eyes met and he immediately realised that he might not have the fare for the cab. Rummaging in his jacket pocket, he tugged at his wallet. He pulled it free and he had snagged something with his hand. They were black, satin and they hung from his fingers to his obvious horror.
Fackin’ ‘ell. Someone got lucky!” cackled the cabbie.
He squirmed a little and smiled sheepishly.
“Left ‘er mark too on yer neck!”
The cackling grew louder, “Merry fackin’ Christmas eh? Eh?”
He smiled uncomfortably. The raucousness of the cabbie’s laughter boomed through the Perspex wall between them.
Pushing her hand into his jacket pocket with a quiet snigger, she took his hand and pressed it against her inner thigh. He felt the surprise of feeling her legs ease apart for him. The moist wetness of her naked sex as his fingers parted her silky entrance spurred him on. In the shadowy low light of the cab, he revelled in the sense of danger as he fingered her cunt.
He checked his wallet; the reassurance of finding enough cash in his wallet was palpable.
As they turned into another street, he recognised where he was. He could kiss the ground with gratitude.
He handed over a crisp note, “Please keep the change.”
“Cheers, Merry Christmas. Mind, you’ve ‘ad your fackin’ present early eh! Eh?”
To the sound of the cabbie’s dirty laugh and the clattering engine, the cab pulled away. He turned to walk up the short path to the block of low-rise flats.
Holding hands as they fell out of the cab, the sound of the door slamming shut. Stopping to kiss, kissing passionately feeling the cloying pillowy softness of her full lips. Dark shadows concealed them, the pressure of her hand on his stiffening cock conveyed her intent. Clasping her breast, feeling its firm springiness, her hand violated the insides of his trousers seizing his hardness.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The remainder of Saturday was a total loss; nothing could abate the thumping in his head. After a long shower, he sent Stella a nonchalant text and received a nonchalant text in return. Appended with a kiss and a smiley face, he shied from approaching her with the gory details of their night at her flat.
Blurry, somewhere, not sure where, he was with Stella. “So how about it, you and me? Y’know, more than just fuck buddies?”
He squirmed that he had revealed his hand to her, drunk and vulnerable. To compound his misery, he could not remember her answer; he could even remember where he was. He resolved to being in her flat and probably close to passing out with exhaustion.
He slept for much longer than he was accustomed to that night and that customary full hardness of his cock was there as he awoke. His body had lost most of its aches and pains.
Standing before him striking a pose, her body encased in fine lingerie, his eyes drinking in the erotic vista of her exquisite body. The heft of her full breasts confined in black lace, the taut curves of her body and the bite of her suspenders belt into her feminine hips. Perched on the bed and erect, she straddled him and pushed him with her hands. Crashing back into the soft mattress, she took him in hand to guide him into her wet folds. Watching as she engulfed him slowly, his eyes closed as she rode his hard cock with an assertive firmness that made him flex inside her.
He held his cock to gauge its steely hardness and grasped it; it felt sore which alarmed him. He never needed to recover like this before. Whatever Stella had done, she had done it with a violence that was alien to him. He opted to abstain; he felt no sexual frustration and no need for release. He hoped for a repeat performance and he swore that next time he would be ready for it.
In the bathroom mirror, the mottled welts on his neck had faded a little but carried a larger smear of yellow around them. They were ugly and nothing would mask them.
Fishing out a black polo neck sweater from his wardrobe, it would have to do for his return to the office on Monday. A clear contravention of the company dress code but showing his battle scars to his colleagues was a much worse option. He would never live it down.
He would dismiss it as needing to keep a cricked neck warm and leave it at that. If anyone asked, just this perfunctory statement and changing the subject would suffice.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
With a sense of foreboding, he slunk into the office quietly and was determined not to draw attention to himself. With a weekend of rest behind him, it afforded him an inner calm he would need to get him through the day. Only Ned inquired about his black sweater. His lie went down easily without challenge and it emboldened him. Comparing notes about the party, he had spent his time with his friends and Stella but Ned had left early. It was enough to think that he had escaped unscathed with his public reputation intact.
With his newfound bravery, he ventured to the canteen for a coffee.
A solitary word punctured his daydream.
“Hi.”
It was Stella, she looked pleased to see him, and a relaxed carefree smile dimpled her cheeks. Her generous cleavage was on display through the open collar of her blouse. He could not help but look and he did not care if she noticed.
“Hello.”
He was talking to her breasts for a moment and she was still smiling as he looked into her eyes.
“So, how are you?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m good. How was your hangover? Tequila?”
The expression on his face said it all; her light giggle made her eyes sparkle.
“Fancy a coffee Stella?”
Hopeful in getting something of an explanation to fill in the blanks, he led her to a remote table in the corner.
She opened with a simple gambit.
“It was a good night.”
“I was so out of it, I certainly remember you though, you saucy minx.”
Stella smiled.
“I don’t know what came over me.”
He laughed a little at her deliberate double entendre.
“You just looked so dishy in that DJ, I had to, y’know?”
“I know,” he added taking a sip from his drink.
“And you remember what you asked me?”
He felt his skin flush a little, “I do, and what about you, how do you feel about it now?”
He needed her answer and he watched her avidly, expectant at her reply.
She looked at him and smiled, “You are sweet.”
Her voice lowered to a whisper, “And a great fuck.”
He waited for a ‘but’ as she smiled at him softly.
Maintaining her hushed tone, “I don’t make a habit of fucking in toilets either.”
He smiled, “So in the light of a cold Monday morning do you feel any different?”
“Oh no, we should still cool it a bit. It was lovely of you to ask though. Is that ok?”
He nodded with a lingering smile on his face. There was her answer for today, the party and at her flat. He could not discern between the mixed feelings of relief and melancholy.
Stella glanced at her watch, “Oh fuck, I have to go, meeting with Karen!”
“Oops.”
They walked back on their floor together.
“So what’s with the polo neck?”
Her question was innocent enough and he felt the relief of not needing to lie.
“Well Stella, I thought you might know.”
“Sorry?”
With barely enough to time to register her reply, a figure came into view making their way towards them. He could see that she had taken one look at him and her displeasure was clear, his contravention of the dress code was not going to go unnoticed.
“Oh fuck, the boss,” he hissed under his breath.
As the sound of her footsteps drew near, it was impossible to avoid eye contact any longer.
“Hello Cass, how are you today?” he brazenly ventured.
“Hello Rory, your attire seems to be out of place, my office please.”
“Later Stella.”
As Cass turned tail back to her office, he offered an impudent smile behind her back towards Stella. Feeling a deflated sense of the inevitable, he followed Cass to her office.
Always immaculately presented, Cass expected the same from her staff. She was fastidious with everything and everyone around her. He afforded himself a good stare at her tight skirt and pert derriere as she sashayed up the corridor. Expecting her admonishment, he would accept her disappointment as the price he had to pay for today.
Her corner office was an oasis of order amidst the bare office space covered in sheets. She had wanted this half of the floor renovated over the Christmas break. At least his dressing down would be out of earshot of any staff.
“Take a seat.”
Her cut-glass accent was brittle and exquisitely upmarket; he never tired of hearing it. As he sat in the sandalwood coloured leather chair, the fully frosted door clonked shut. Her office was the model of emotionless efficiency, her desk clear, files tidied away and no loose papers messed up the place.
Whilst Cass was more driven and successful with her career, they were a similar age. He found her timeless beauty attractive; he found her pristine demeanour alluring. It was no secret that she had gone through a messy divorce that year and Ned reckoned it was on account of the frost between her legs. He looked at her and consoled himself that if she were going to make him squirm - he would enjoy looking at her while she did it.
She took to her chair behind her desk and stared at him determinedly.
“So Rory, care to explain yourself?”
“The polo neck? I slept funny and cricked my neck, it hurt when I put my shirt on this morning.”
She was impassive.
“No, not that, tell me about what happened at the party.”
The impudence of his answer only exaggerated her deliberate tone. He felt a burning surge welling up his body and prickle his cheeks.
“Come again?”
His feigned nonchalance did not work. The expression of bewilderment on his face laid bare his inability to recall precisely what did happen at the party. He could feel his synthetic confidence ebbing away from him and it was written all over his face.
“I was with my friends the whole time, they can vouch for me.”
“Rory, when I go for a piss, I don’t expect to hear two people rutting in the cubicle next to me!”
The heat in his face was burning now; drops of perspiration were forming on his brow.
“And I know you were there because we do not have anyone else called Rory working here.”
If the ground could swallow him up now, the word ‘Geronimo’ sprang to mind.
“So Rory? Is this acceptable?”
She expected a reply.
“Erm, sorry Cass. I was a bit out of it and I’m struggling to piece together what happened.”
“You address me as Cassandra.”
“Sorry Cassandra.”
“I see. Well, that leads me onto something else.”
He expected the worst; it would be dismissal as there were standards, high standards. This was not getting drunk and falling asleep in a chair territory at all. This was fucking the hell out of someone whilst his boss was involuntarily listening whilst stuck on the loo. He wanted to laugh at the visual it conjured in his mind. He summoned every ounce of concentration to freeze every single muscle in his face. Still burning with shame, he looked to her for a cue; she was ice cold and expressionless.
He looked down at the ground in humiliating shame.
These moments felt like hours as an atmospheric silence bore down on him. He looked up to see her bright white teeth bared with a broad happy smile on her face. She was laughing; it was a happy intensely amused laugh. It threw him completely.
“Cassandra?”
“Call me Sandy.”
A torrent of memories washed through his mind as the final piece of the puzzle slotted into place. She watched as the realisation of what they had done together hit him squarely in the face.
Will be back at 12. S.
S for Sandy.
P.S. You were incredible.
Seeing the penny drop she nodded her head slowly, “Oh yes.”
“Oh fuck.” he hissed incredulously as his chest pounded hard, “It was you, fucking hell, you, you….you’re amazing… shit!”
She sat at her desk still smiling broadly.
He paused, “But, but…. Erm, how?”
“Listening to you fucking her, I heard Stella congratulating you on your thick cock. I thought I would have some; you looked very dashing in your dinner jacket. I might as well admit it, I have had a crush on you for a long time. At the end of the evening, I followed you out of the hotel and found you in a doorway. After we had fucked each other senseless, you were drinking vodka out of my belly button until you passed out. You were very sweet and I was very naughty."
"Fuck."
"Quite. No man has ever taken me in a way that I wanted until I had you. You were incredible.”
She handed over her phone.
“You wanted to make a sex tape, so I recorded it on my phone. Play it you dirty bastard.”
He watched, part stunned by his actions, part engrossed to salve his curiosity. It was her, it was her flat, it was her spectacular naked body. It played out her insatiable sexual appetite, her needy cunt and wanton arse. He’d risen to the challenge and fucked her dementedly. She matched him for every move he made and encouraged him for more. As the screen played out this one carnal act of many, he felt deeply aroused - his cock had stiffened fully. It was a tour de force of sexual chemistry and abandon. They had inspired each other and as he watched, she watched him avidly examining every reaction on his face.
Pleased with his broad smile, he placed the phone back onto her desk with a shaking hand, his mouth struggled to form any words.
“I… I… I mean, you? My neck, my back, I fucking ached all over… you? Fucking hell!”
“Do you want me Rory? Do you want me again?”
“Erm, Oh fuck. Yes, yes. You… you…. you’re amazing. So beautiful, so, so beautiful.”
She stood from her chair and he felt the passage of time slow as he stared hard in disbelief. She had pulled the fabric of her skirt up to her hips. Her sex was bare and suspender straps held up black sheer stockings.
She placed her soft satin panties into his hand.
“For your collection, they are a little moist, I want you so much.”
Her pronunciation made it sound like utter filth and drew him to her like a moth to a flame. Paralysed with incredulity and incapable of words; he was incapable of tearing his eyes away from her. Watching as she perched on the edge of the desk in front of him, she eased her thighs apart.
The sight of the red butterfly on her inner thigh was the final coup de grace.
“Oh fuck!”
“You can fuck me later. I am sending you home for a breach of our dress code. I’m coming with you.”
Drawn to her nakedness, her smooth wet sex was there before him as his heart began to pound harder in his chest.
“Oh God.”
“No but I expect to be worshipped. I want more of the same from you.”
She paused to laugh and savoured the outline of his stiffened cock held captive in his trousers. She had craved it on Saturday, Sunday and she ached for it now. He looked at her and smiled, he wanted her badly and his need for her coursed through every muscle in his body.
“Now eat my cunt.”
Oprah
- 26.04.2020
- 3
- 0
- Category:
- Hardcore
