The Winsome Widow - Part 1 free porn video

“It is the tale, not he who tells it”Stephen King

Chapter 1 - Barrow
In one of the secluded laneways off Macleay St in Potts Point, Sydney, sits a set of five handsome two-story Victorian brick terraces; each with a brass plaque beside the door identifying the surgeon or barrister who practices within. The westernmost of the group has no name on its plaque; just a relief impression of a woman in profile, not unlike the obverse side of a coin; one from a realm blessed with a most beautiful and elegant monarch.

This building is The Winsome Widow; a gentleman’s club of such secrecy that it has no business registration or certificate of incorporation, no advertising, no web site and as near as I could tell, no membership roll or club dues. Men come and go of an evening, but there is no evidence of debauchery, such as deliveries of alcohol or exotic dancers; no loud music, no drunken, stumbling patrons leaving at late hours and never a hint of trouble that has involved law enforcement.

Surprisingly, no disenfranchised or loose-lipped member has ever revealed the secret of what happens within its walls; but perhaps most surprising of all is that the club allows members to admit guests, and to the best of my investigations, every guest has thence become a member and maintained the secrecy of the club. Every single one; no exceptions.

It was not without some trepidation that I stood inside the gate, looking up at the barred and curtained windows as I prepared to enter what members simply called The Widow; my sole intent being to discover her secrets. Curiosity killed the cat? Ah yes, but information revived it!

“We’ll be met at the door by Stevens,” Riley explained, my reluctant co-conspirator for the evening. “He’s the butler; try not to say anything, but if you must then keep it brief.”

“Stevens?” I smirked. “How butlery. Not Mr Stevens? No first name?”

“If he has one then I don’t know what it is,” Riley said without any humour in his voice. “It would be a mistake to underestimate him. He is the most singularly enigmatic man I have ever met; I believe that very little escapes his notice.”

“Well, are we going in?” I asked ironically. “Or waiting for him to come outside and get us?”

“You might be surprised,” he answered enigmatically. Perhaps it was rubbing off from Stevens.

We walked to the wide oaken door and I looked for either a bell or a knocker but there was none. I glanced at Riley, but he made no move to announce our presence so I reached out to knock.

“Give it a moment,” he murmured.

I turned to look at him, my hand poised in mid-knock, when the door was opened by a tall, austere man of about thirty wearing a plain black suit and grey necktie. I half expected tails and a bow tie with a white linen napkin draped over one wrist, but even in his conservative modern dress, Stevens’ bearing and manner still screamed English butler.

“Welcome back, Mr Campbell,” said Stevens, his neutral accent not exactly English but not exactly Australian either.

“Thank you, Stevens,” Riley replied in neutral tones of his own. “This is Alex Barrow, a colleague.”

Colleague? I was a junior associate and Riley had his name on the door, but I suppose he could hardly introduce me as his extortionist or his blackmailer.

“Welcome to The Winsome Widow, Mr Barrow,” Stevens said dryly, managing to line up all those Ws without sounding comic.

I held out my hand but he chose that moment to step backwards and open the door fully, thereby ignoring my offer of greeting without appearing to do so. It was probably a butler thing; no fraternisation, no contact.

Riley allowed him to take his coat but Stevens made no attempt to remove my tweed jacket, something that Riley insisted I wear; his only condition before acceding to my threatening demand to be brought to the club. I had tried to get an explanation for this insistence, but even upon threat of exposure, he still refused and I had no further gambit to play. In the end I wanted The Widow more than I wanted to know why I had to wear a jacket that went out of fashion fifty years ago. I managed to spare myself the indignity of leather elbow patches and I was actually surprised at how stylish and quirky I looked with a matching waistcoat and a pair of designer, rectangular-framed eyeglasses. Riley only shook his head when he saw my attempt to ‘pull off’ the tweed look, telling me I had missed the point, but conveniently forgetting that he refused to explain the point in the first place.

I followed Riley down the corridor into a large sitting room with high Victorian ceilings and decorated in timeless gentleman’s club chic: timber panelling, burgundy patterned wallpaper, leather wing-back armchairs and an open fire with a good bed of coals and a low flame. I looked around for Stevens, but he was gone so I joined Riley at the liquor cart just inside the door; it was stocked with labelled decanters of red wine, sherry, port, cognac and scotch whiskey. No ice, no mixers, and certainly no beer; I wondered if Stevens would fetch me a Bloody Mary, but I was disinclined to ask.

Riley poured himself a red wine and I nodded when he gestured towards me with the decanter. I sipped as we walked to a vacant pair of armchairs and found it to be exquisite. Riley saw the question on my face and answered it before I could ask.

“They’re all from The Widow’s cellar,” he explained. “Nobody except Stevens has ever seen the bottle, and the most he has ever offered is that it’s a special vintage from a local vineyard. Davis is a bit of a wine snob,” he flicked his eyes at a forty-ish man reading a newspaper, “and he can’t even identify the grape.”

He watched as I swirled and sniffed and tasted the sublime flavours of berry and liquorice and black current. “The Widow has many mysteries,” he said. “You soon learn to accept and not to question.” I smiled inwardly; I planned to answer at least a few of those mysteries before the evening was over.

I heard a familiar voice at the front door and flashed my eyes at Riley.

“It’s Evan,” I hissed. “Where can we go? I don’t want him to recognise me.”

“The last time he saw you, you had tits and no beard,” Riley said in a low voice, making no indication that he was matching my movements to leave. “Relax. I don’t even recognise you.”

I watched the door in a dull panic, trying to control my breathing as I mentally practiced my man’s voice in my head. Evan walked through the door and I felt a familiar surge of wanting; he looked characteristically hot in a tailored gunmetal grey suit, stylish eyeglasses and square-toed Oxfords polished to a mirror shine.

He poured himself a scotch and – looking around – caught Riley’s eye with practiced ease and came over.

“Farrer,” Riley greeted him, making no attempt to stand up. “This is Alex Barrow.” I wasn’t used to this all-male informality of surnames and casual introductions; I didn’t know whether to stand and shake hands or to smile and nod.

“Evan Farrer,” he said, stepping close enough to obviate the need for me to stand, clearly he didn’t expect me to get up.

Making sure I got a good grip, I tried to squeeze in an un-womanly manner and misdirect his attention from my small hand. I felt a spark of lust as we touched, silently reproaching myself at the same time; I dumped him, for fuck’s sake; it frustrated me no end that I couldn’t just forget about him.

“Evening,” I said, deliberately using a one-word greeting so that I could mask my voice with a croak and a cough to clear my throat. I was suddenly very conscious of my disguise; I was accustomed to men running a slow gaze down to my thighs and then haltingly back up over my hips and breasts, currently strapped painfully flat while padding in the lining of my waistcoat straightened out the curves of my waist. I was almost disappointed; Evan didn’t check out my tits or my legs; he just smiled and looked at my eyes as we shook hands, two quick pumps and then he let me go.

“I see you’re in tweed tonight, Mr Barrow,” he smiled with an ironic nod to my jacket. “That’s probably sensible for your debut at The Widow.”

I just smiled and nodded, raising an ironic eyebrow of acknowledgement indicating a shared understanding that I didn’t actually share.

“Yes, that was my recommendation,” Riley interjected. “I myself wore a navy blazer on my first visit and I don’t mind admitting that I left that night a tad shaken.”

“I bet!” Evan laughed quietly. “I bet you did! Oh, I would pay a high price to have seen the look on your face.”

“Well you can ask Johanssen then,” Riley smiled disarmingly. “He was the one who invited me. He can wax loquacious after a couple of ports, so you should get a pretty vivid description even now, twenty-eight years after the event.”

“I know,” Evan returned enthusiastically. “I’m told he has the chair tonight? We should hear a fine tale with a long, slow burn.”

“Indeed, indeed!” Riley nodded knowingly. “With Waterhouse gone, Johanssen is the last of the old men. If we’re lucky he might treat us to one of the old tales; I bet he has a few from the early days that none of us have heard before.”

“We can only hope.” And then changing the subject, “Actually, I’m glad you’re here, Campbell,” I was unaccustomed to anyone using Riley’s surname without ‘Mr’ in front of it. “I wanted to pick your brain about a commercial property in the city.”

“Well,” Riley smiled. “Sit down. I just finished telling Barrow about the library and he was keen to abandon me for a quiet read.” This was news to me, but I was more than happy to be out of the way of any conversation; I would just have to trust that my hold over Riley was strong enough that he wouldn’t reveal me to Evan.

I took my cue and stood up; even with the lifts in my shoes I was still six inches shorter than Evan and had to stifle an urge to stand on my toes and kiss him. I followed Riley’s gaze towards a door and walked off with a smirk as I thought about the quid-pro-quo of giving Evan a beard-burn with my fake facial hair.

Chapter 2 - Alex
Evan and I were six months separated but we lived together for almost two years prior to that. The initial attraction was mutual; we were both successful professionals in our late twenties with similar interests in food, music and movies. We are both considered more than moderately attractive and are rarely short of options in our choice of partners, but we had the good fortune to meet at a time when we were both in relationships that were circling the drain.

The mutual attraction and mutual interests led to a string of ‘chance’ meetings, which led to a date, which led to the swift despatch of our respective partners so that we could finally consummate our attraction in my bedroom.

I wouldn’t describe our early sex life as electric, but to give Evan due credit, he was a most attentive lover who always ensured that I came; although far more often it was under the ministrations of his tongue than his cock. If a girl can possibly complain about coming every single time she had sex with her lover, then I suppose I am complaining. Even though I relished the sweet relief of climax with his tongue on my clitoris, I longed to share that moment with him inside me, arching and straining with my own crescendo as his cock throbbed deep within my womanhood and emptied his seed into my molten core.

Shortly after we moved in together, I was contemplating how to brooch the subject of a light bondage fantasy in which he could restrain me and take me with animal abandon, not worrying about my orgasm but trusting that the raw physicality of the moment would bring me through … and if it didn’t, well a smart girl always keeps a ready supply of batteries, right?

My plans had progressed so far as lingerie shopping, which was fun; to browsing bondage aids at the adult superstore, which was terrifying. My little bag of tricks included sheer red stockings with lace trim and matching garters and belt, no panties (I congratulated myself on the savings), and a red lace quarter-cup bra that lifted and separated my B-cup breasts but covered only the undersides, leaving my nipples deliciously free for his entertainment and mine.

With these things bagged and paid for at my favourite boutique, I entered and then circled the sex shop for more than an hour, finally proceeding to the counter with cheeks redder than my new lingerie and – clutched in my white-knuckled fist – a spreader bar; a lightweight rod about two feet long with thick velcro ankle straps at either end. I also eyed the handcuffs, but the metal ones looked too scary and the furry ones looked ridiculous, so I bypassed them altogether and chose to consolidate further practical savings by calling into service one or several of my own silk scarves to bind my wrists.

As I waited to pay for my new acquisition (cash, of course), I held my breath in silent terror of the clerk calling over a crackling PA system ‘Kinks and Fetish to the register, kinks and fetish; I need a price check on a spreader, that’s a price check on a K24 BondMaster leg-spreader, thank you Kinks and Fetish!’ How a woman can buy tampons from a 15-year-old boy at the supermarket but baulk at showing her chosen sex aid to a fat middle-aged woman in a sex superstore beggars belief; but that was my reality.

On my way home on the train with my new purchase safely concealed in a nondescript bag, I looked around at my fellow passengers and tried to imagine what they would think if they knew the long package in my hands was a leg spreader. I admit that I found the thought titillating. Then of course, I wondered what they would do if I took it out and tried it on; hiking my charcoal pencil skirt up my thighs so that I could open my legs wide enough to strap myself in, exposing my lacy panties which at that moment would be showing a spreading stain that betrayed my arousal. I desperately wanted to reach down and touch myself, and it was a sweet agony to be helpless with my sexy thoughts, wriggling in my seat and squeezing my thighs together so that I could feel the lips of my pussy slide against each other.

Upon arriving home I almost ran to the bedroom to try on my purchases. I stripped naked and immediately plunged a finger into my open slit; the relief of finally being able to pleasure myself was like a physical weight being lifted. With considerable willpower I stopped myself from going further and withdrew to gently massage just the outer lips, still wanting to save myself for Evan. Enjoying the sensation of denying myself, I tried on the lingerie first, even though I longed to strap myself in to the spreader. With slow, deliberate movements, I sat naked on the bed and watched in the mirror as I pulled the ruby stockings over my shapely calves and up my trim thighs. As I stood to put on the garter belt, I could see the level of my arousal in the mirror; the smooth lips of my outer labia pink and engorged from the rubbing, while the deeper coral pink of my opening glistened with wet promise.

Lastly, the quarter-cup bra; its sheer and lacy crescents hoisting my breasts to a level of perkiness unseen since my teenage years, their shape drawing focus to the hard, pink points of my nipples. With no panties, the belt, garters and lacy tops of the stockings formed a crimson picture frame around the wanton, pink perfection of my shaved pussy. The overall effect was … stunning! God, I looked so hot, I wanted to fuck myself!

Breathing heavily, I unwrapped the long package and held the spreader, feeling its potent energy course through me like quicksilver as I fingered the soft padding of the thick ankle straps. Sitting on the bed before the mirror again, I first strapped it on to one ankle and then, drawing a shuddering breath, I opened my legs wide and leaned down to strap on the other end.

Nervously licking my lips to a glossy sheen, I looked in the mirror, trying to remember the last time my legs had been spread this wide. Gymnastics at school? Goodness, that was 15 years ago. Certainly I never opened myself up like this for sex; I only ever spread my legs modestly wide and then lifted my knees to give my lover access. This? This was perverted! Prostitutes probably opened their legs like this to their seething, salivating clients. I had never felt so … fuck it; I had never felt so God-damned HOT in my entire life.

I tried pulling my knees together, straining uselessly against the ankle straps, but the bar was too long. With my hands tied I would be utterly helpless; my pussy wide open and inviting for anyone or anything that happened by and needed a hot wet place to park. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to reach into my drawer for a vibrator and buzz myself to a cataclysmic orgasm; I figured it would take all of about forty-five seconds.

I was saved by serendipity as the phone beside the bed rang; I looked longingly at my reflection and then at the bottom drawer where my toy awaited, and with a resigned sigh I reached for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey babe, it’s me,” Evan, of course.

“I was just thinking about you,” I smiled, treating myself to some discreet fingering while I talked. “Will you be long?”

“Actually, that’s why I called,” he sounded a little disappointed to be the bearer of bad news, but there was an undercurrent of excitement as well. “One of our clients has invited me to his club and I was calling to tell you to have dinner without me.”

I wasn’t exactly dressed for dinner and there was nothing in the fridge. I sensed a pizza delivery in my immediate future. I watched my finger gliding up and down my slit in the mirror and wondered what the pizza delivery boy would look like.

“Really?” I asked. “Is there anything I could say to change your mind?” My soft and sexy voice actually titillating me more than Evan as I watched my reflection pleasure herself.

“Probably yes,” he laughed. “I think it’s just a bunch of old geezers sitting around telling lewd stories from their salad days, but they’re rich and powerful old geezers with more influence than the State Upper House, so ...”

“So you’re going.” Statement, not a question.

“Yeah,” he said. “Can I make it up to you?”

“Uh huh!” I replied brightly. “I have a surprise for you when you get home. Don’t have too much to drink, okay?”

“Sounds intriguing,” he laughed. “Maybe I should come home right now.”

“Go have fun with your geezers,” I said, letting him off the hook. “But don’t be too late. And text me when you’re on your way.”

“Done. Love you.”

“Love you too,” I blew a kiss and hung up the phone.

Well, what to do? I could rub out a quick orgasm and be horny again when he got home in four or five hours, or … The thoughts of bondage and self-restraint and denial had me excited and the thought of denying myself a bit longer was strangely more arousing than it was disappointing. With a little reluctance but mounting excitement, I released myself from the spreader, put on a bath robe and went in search of a pizza menu.

Chapter 3 - Evan
The text came through from Evan at 11:30pm; he was on his way home. I had downloaded an erotic eBook a bit earlier and was keeping my fires burning with a little bit of reading and a little bit of rubbing … through my robe, of course; I think if I touched myself properly then things would have quickly spiralled out of control.

Heart pounding in my chest, I raced into the bedroom and found a couple of silk scarfs in my drawer. Watching in the wardrobe mirror, I tried a few poses in bed: sitting up, lying down, arms apart and arms together; I settled for a semi-reclined position on the pillows with both hands tied above my head at the centre of the bed head. From here I could watch all the action in the mirror, and I liked the way the position of my arms lifted my breasts even higher in the quarter-cup bra.

Not knowing how long Evan would be, I fumbled with the spreader but eventually got it fitted and then tried to tie myself up to the bed head. It was more awkward than I had imagined; I didn’t want my hands so loose that it looked like I could easily get free, but I needed an extra set of hands to bind myself properly. In the end, I tied one scarf in a loop around the top bar of the bed and then simply wound my wrists in loops and – when I couldn’t wind another turn – I held the small amount of slack between both hands.

Looking in the mirror again, the effect was pretty convincing, and incredibly erotic. With my shoulders propped up, breasts exposed, legs open wide, knees slightly bent, nipples hard and pussy absolutely dripping with excitement; I looked indescribably sexy in my lingerie as well as completely helpless and exposed.

Now I was really nervous; I had no idea how Evan would react, was he even into this kind of thing? He was pretty conservative and restrained so in my mind it wasn’t a certainty. The last thing I wanted when he saw me was a conversation or to have to explain what to do; I just wanted him to take me and fuck me – not make love to me; not his usual, considerate, let’s-make-sure-Alex-comes gentle loving – I wanted to have to scrape myself off the bed afterwards and to know that I had been administered the fucking of a lifetime.

I didn’t really have any plans on how to achieve this, but since it was a fantasy, I thought a fantasy role-play would be a good way to let him know what was required. And that’s about as much time as I got to think about it, because within a minute or two of getting myself tied up, I head his key in the door.

“Is there somebody there?” I called out in a frightened voice as I heard the front door open.

“Alex?” Evan’s voice; good. This would be embarrassing if it was the pizza boy coming back.

“Help me!” I cried. “I’m in the bedroom.”

I heard him coming at a run but he stopped dead inside the doorway, trying to work out what he was looking at.

“Please, Sir,” I pretended not to know him. “Help me. There was a man … but you scared him off.” I twisted my hips on the bed, trying to close my legs to hide my naked pussy. “Please untie me. I’m so frightened.”

“Al-..” he began, my name freezing on his lips as he suddenly worked out what I was doing. “Ma’am,” he started again, I could almost see the cogs turning in his brain. “Did he …?” Evan froze again on the word, not sure whether he should say such an ugly thing.

“Rape me?” I asked. “No. He just stripped me and tied me up and then …” I eyed the pink dripping centre of my sex, making sure his eyes moved there as well. “… and then he undressed too, and …”, I forced a sob into my voice and tried to squeeze out a few tears, “… and he was holding his … his cock,” I spat the word, “… just looking at me and stroking it … and it was so big and so thick …” I sobbed a few more times and drew in a shaky breath. “… and I couldn’t help it. I’m so ashamed. I thought about what he was going to do to me … if it would hurt me because it was so big … and I started to get wet.” I cried through this last bit, impossibly trying to close my legs in pretend shame at my arousal.

“Are you going to untie me?” I asked; I managed to have a few tears cascading down my cheeks by this point, and I noticed with some satisfaction that Evan was thick and erect beneath his suit trousers. “I was so frightened. But now you’re here to rescue me. Won’t you cover me up so you can’t see how …” I eyed my steaming opening again, “… how … I’m so …? It’s so humiliating.” I had both eyes teary now and was gazing up at his blurry features.

“Shhhh,” he soothed, coming to the side of the bed. “You have nothing to be ashamed of at all.” He placed a hand on my fluttering stomach and fingered the fine lacework of the garter belt. “It’s very understandable,” he continued, moving his fingers slowly down towards my shaved mons pubis, “that in your helpless state …”

“I am,” I pleaded. “I’m completely helpless. He could have done anything to me; anything at all.”

“… that in your helpless state … with your emotions high …” he was pausing every few words, searching for the right script; I wanted to applaud him, he was doing brilliantly. A lesser man would have simply stepped up to the plate and started fucking. “… that feelings … seemingly opposed feelings … would overcome you.”

“I … I suppose,” I sobbed.

“For example,” he continued. “Here you are, still utterly helpless and frightened, and yet …” his hand cupped my searing pussy, “… and yet, when I do this, you probably still find it arousing beneath all that helplessness and fear.” He slipped his middle finger into my slit and glided it frictionlessly up and down over my opening.

I didn’t need to act for this part; I had been effectively masturbating without direct contact to my pussy for the better part of four hours and when his finger touched my entrance, I felt a bolt of pure sensation tear through my core, like throwing gasoline onto the glowing coals of a fire.

“Ohhhhhhh-uhhhhhh,” I voiced a guttural, bestial moan of desire; writhing my hips and pulling one leg up and the other down, vainly trying to close my thighs tight over his probing finger.

“Are you sure you want me to untie you?” he asked, leaning down to take a nipple between his lips, sucking and flicking the hard tip with his tongue while he entered me with his finger.

“Ohhhhhhh,” I moaned. “Please, don’t.”

“Don’t do this?” He moved to the other nipple and effortlessly slid a second finger into my gaping hole at the same time. “Or don’t untie you? You’re not being clear.”

I let out a little shriek of passion as he went in deep with his first two fingers and worked my aching clitoris with the tip of his thumb. “No. Don’t. Stop,” I gasped between ragged breaths and cries of ecstasy.

“Don’t stop?” he said, sounding surprised. “Well if you insist.” He got up and moved to the foot of the bed, continuing to finger me mercilessly until he couldn’t reach any more. Grabbing the spreader in the middle, he pulled towards himself and with a genuinely frightened shriek I felt my bottom lift off the bed. I clutched the silk scarf in a death grip as he did it again, shaking me out like a beach towel, screaming and eyes bulging with excitement and fear. The next time he lifted, he turned the spreader and I flipped neatly over like a rotisserie chicken; my hands tied high on the bed and my back arched painfully downwards. I felt Evan let go of the spreader and I pulled my legs in, getting my knees underneath me so that I wasn’t bent backwards any longer.

I was disappointed that I couldn’t see what was happing in the mirror, but I realised I was in a perfect fantasy rape, doggy position; hands tied to the bed head, bottom high and legs spread wide with my steaming entrance open and inviting. I heard Evan unbuckling his trousers and I dropped my shoulders to push my pussy out even more; wriggling my hips, straining against the spreader bar and powerless to close my legs.

Evan climbed onto the bed behind me; one moment I felt his knob feeling around my opening and the next he was slamming his pelvis into my ass, his knob thundering into my cervix as the muscles up and down my vagina rippled and spasmed with this sudden incursion. I screamed, although it was more with surprise than with fear or pain. Evan is about medium-large – I have certainly never had cause for complaint – and he always works his cock gently into my pussy, even if he has already tongued me to an orgasm; so to have him fill me so completely and so instantly, it felt like he was turning me inside out.

I didn’t have time to get used to it because he grabbed me roughly on the curve of my hips and set to fucking me with a vigour and pace I had never experienced before. Each time he pulled almost all the way out, I felt like I could take half a breath again, but then he would pound his meat back into me and I would scream again from the incredible feeling of fullness and the explosion of ecstasy as he ground his knob against my cervix.

After half a dozen strokes, the pussy spasms stopped but I could feel a powerful orgasm already building deep inside me. I managed to get control of the screaming, but with every one of those powerful thrusts, I couldn’t help but cry out a little with building passion, only to gasp and snort in a very unladylike fashion as I desperately sucked in air on each backstroke.

Holding onto the bed head now, I pushed back against him as my orgasm exploded and every nerve ending in my body lit up like a Christmas tree; tears streaming down my cheeks, I laid my head back and released and animal cry of desire, like a big cat in heat.

I could feel Evan getting ready to cum as well. “Fuck me!” I screamed at him. “Cum in me!” With my orgasm abating and now feeling well and truly stretched, I couldn’t believe how full I felt. My vagina always feels wonderfully tight around his cock, and I love the way he is just the right size to touch down at the back of my pussy, but tonight it felt like I was a virgin again; he felt … bigger somehow. Longer!

Still pounding into me like a machine, I felt him coming; his hot seed spilling into me, while his seemingly massive cock pumped it around my love canal like a washing machine. And still he didn’t stop; if anything he felt even harder than before. I’ve never had anything quite like it in my pussy; long and thick and hard, it was like being fucked by a police baton. While he slammed his hips into my ass, I pushed back harder, bringing my clitoris into contact with his thick, wonderful cock. I looked down between my breasts at the steaming, cum-soaked train-wreck of our coupling; his balls slapping wetly against my shaved mons while his thrusting cock pumped his seed out of my cunt and down my thighs.

This almost pagan image of my pussy being so utterly dominated and conquered by his thick, pounding dick was bringing me to a second orgasm. Crying again as the surge of adrenalin and emotion built up inside me, I unleashed another animal roar; tears falling and spit flying from my lips and even a disgusting run of snot from my nose that I couldn’t wipe with my tied hands and was forced to smear on my shoulder as I screamed and pleaded for him cum in me again, to fill me up until I begged him to stop.

With my orgasm still washing over me, he fulfilled my wish and unloaded again; if anything, this one was even more powerful than the first and I could feel the individual jets of cum spraying deep inside my core as his thick cock throbbed painfully against the constricting walls of my womanhood. Two, three, four pumps and he was still going; five and six and once again I could feel fresh, hot cum spilling from my opening and down my soaking thighs to stain the tops of my stockings.

Finally his thrusts began to weaken and I felt his cock mercifully lose some of its heat and size as it wilted inside me. My own climax finished, I didn’t have the strength to hold myself up any more and fumblingly unwound my wrists from the scarf and fell to the bed, flat and helpless and still locked in the spreader as Evan pulled his softening member wetly from my hole.

I tried to roll over but couldn’t and he took pity on me, releasing both ankles with a stereo rip of velcro. Flopping down beside me, he looked and sounded at least as spent as I was; relishing my newly found freedom, I rolled onto my side and snuggled into him, pressing my nipples into the thick muscles of his chest as we kissed, softly and lovingly, belying the frenzied, animal sex that we had just enjoyed.

“How was the boys club?” I purred.

“Actually it was pretty good,” he laughed. “But I’m glad I came home.”

“Really?” I said, stupidly. “I didn’t know whether you’d like it.”

“No! God, it was just what I needed,” he said. “You know what lewd, lascivious shit guys talk about when there’re no girls about…” he asked, rhetorically, I suppose.

“Actually no, I don’t!” I cried mischievously, eyes flashing as I pinched his bottom lightly.

“Well, they can be pretty crude,” he said. “I’m ashamed to say it got me so I was looking forward to getting home to you; hoping you wouldn’t be asleep yet.”

“Oh, Sweetie,” I mocked him gently. “Did the bad men at the club get you all horny?”

“It doesn’t sound very nice when you say it like that,” he laughed. “But kind of, yeah.”

I just laughed at his frankness, happy for him that it worked out so well; to come home horny and see his girlfriend tied to the bed in lingerie and ready to fuck.

“So you won’t be going back, then,” I said.

“Well,” he considered it. “I wasn’t going to. But you may have changed my mind.”

“Oh, really?”

“Hmmm!” he said, considering it in his head. “I mean, that was a pretty special surprise you planned, but I don’t think we can lay that whole experience at the door of some sexy undies and a bondage fantasy. I think the night out might have helped.”

“So let me get this straight,” I laughed. “You need to go out with the boys to you can come home and fuck your girlfriend in a way to which you hope she becomes accustomed. Is that it?”

“Do you disagree?” he asked.

I thought about it; about how hard his cock was … and how fucking BIG it felt inside me. To be honest, I didn’t think my little fantasy could take credit for all that. And he came twice! Jesus, can guys even do that? What the fuck happened at that club?

“Actually,” I said, squeezing him tight. “I’m willing to give the club another go as well.

Chapter 4 – Club Night
I was too sore to have sex for a couple of days after our first successful experiment with light bondage, but I got out the spreader bar and scarves on a few more occasions, sometimes surprising Evan like the first time and sometimes letting him tie me up in positions that appealed to him. One time I talked him into taking me by surprise, tying me up and ‘raping’ me; I contributed to the fantasy by struggling and crying, although I stopped short of screaming and trying to hurt him. Even though we had a safe word, Evan was still tentative and gentle and loving, often asking me if I was okay; he never achieved that animal abandon of the first time and – as a result – my orgasms were a bit of a lottery; sometimes yes, sometimes no, but never another multiple. Upon reflection, I’m not convinced that it was an improvement over our previous sex where at least I was guaranteed a climax; but there was a certain excitement in trying something different and a bit naughty.

By the time the last Thursday of the month came around again – Evan’s club night – I had resolved to try something new, and given the outstanding success of last time I allowed it to coincide with his boys’ night out. I asked him to text me again when he left – so he knew I was up to something – and when my phone cheeped I ran down to the end of our street in a tight mini and heels. When his car turned into our street, I stepped off the curb and stood in a hipshot pose, pushing out my small breasts and pretending to hitchhike. At first he drove straight past me and then – just before my heart had a chance to sink – I saw his brake lights come on … the car even skidded a little, which was wonderfully flattering. He reversed back to me, wound down his window and said something like “Isn’t it a bit late to be out on the streets alone.”

We played a little hitchhiker fantasy, where I pretended to be frightened but ever so grateful, and he drove around for an hour while I gave him little glimpses down my top (no bra) and beneath my hem (no panties). Eventually, as we were circling back around to our suburb, I asked how I could ever repay him for the ride; I was so grateful, but I had no money. He said he could think of a way that a pretty girl like me could make some money, and we went off into a reluctant hooker fantasy where I pretended to be initially disgusted by the idea but quickly came around.

“But I won’t do everything,” I said demurely.

“Like what won’t you do?” he asked.

“I won’t do anal,” I said, shivering; no role-play needed for that one.

“That’s okay,” he said. “No Greek, fair enough. What about Spanish?”

“Spanish?” I asked; I really didn’t know what that one was.

“You know,” he said. “Tit fucking.”

I almost laughed; I wasn’t accustomed to his dirty talk, and it was really turning me on.

“I’m not sure mine are big enough,” I giggled. “You might want a refund.”

“Show me,” he said. “I’ll tell you if they’re okay.”

I pulled the top of my dress down to my waist and showed him my breasts, making a little lunge at the wheel when he started to veer off the road.

“Hmmm. Maybe,” he said. “Push them together for me.”

I did as he asked, making a nice soft channel down the middle that I had no trouble imagining his cock sliding into.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’d fuck that. What about creampie?”

Once again, I made him explain it in lewd detail, pulling up my dress while I looked at my engorged pussy, pretending to consider whether I would allow him to cum in me and then watch while it dripped out again.

We went on in this vein until he turned into our street again. Would I swallow his cock? Sure, I’d try; depends on the size. Could I see it? Fine, but I’m driving; you’ll have to get it out. Which, of course I did; stroking and squeezing it while I contemplated whether I could swallow it.

When he parked the car beneath our building, I left my dress around my waist and kept hold of his erection while we caught the lift up; I briefly wondered if anyone was monitoring the security camera. We got into the apartment without being seen, which was almost disappointing, and then went on with the role-play; I pretended reluctance again and he tried to bring me around, stroking my nipples, raising the price and edging me slowly into the bedroom.

Ultimately, the sex was once again amazing. He fucked my mouth, my breasts, my pussy and even between my closed thighs, deliciously grazing my clitoris and making me come for the third time. He also came twice, once in my mouth and once in my pussy; but like last time he didn’t get soft in between. In fact, he just seemed to get bigger and harder and when he finally entered my pussy, I had that first-time feeling of being opened up like a ripe virgin again, my pussy clinging and gripping at his thick manhood as he plunged all the way into my steaming core.

~~~
Evan’s club night became a little tradition with us; one night I texted him an address and let him seduce me at a bar; on another I had my car ‘break down’ so he could help me; I even pretended to be a slutty cop one night, stopping him, strip searching him and then making him perform a ridiculous and sexy sobriety test on the side of the road. Every time we fucked like wild animals, and every time I came at least twice; five times on one occasion.

After the first couple of adventures, I thought that my recollections of the size and hardness of his cock were being influenced by the intensity of the sex; but more and more I came to believe that on club night he really was thicker, longer and harder than normal. My pussy agreed with me too; although I fully expected to have tender lips from his pounding cock, I also felt sore and stretched on the inside, and probing around with a dildo the morning after, there were indeed a few tender patches in there that suggested a bigger-than-usual cock.

After that first month, we didn’t try again to recapture the magic mid-month; we just had regular, satisfying, loving sex and saved the raw, animal sex for that last Thursday night. 

~~~
One club night I had to work late and I had already warned Evan that I had nothing planned; in fact he would probably beat me home. As it turned out I did get home first, but I was so tired that I just undressed and crawled into bed. Evan came home after I fell asleep and crawled in behind me, snuggling up close with one hand cupping my breast while his hard cock pressed uncomfortably against my bottom. I was so tired that I was initially prepared to warn him off, but then surprised myself when I started to get horny and wet.

I opened my thighs a little and Evan slipped his cock between them, fucking that little triangular gap where my pussy meets my legs, while I crossed my ankles and squeezed him tight between my thighs until he came. Did I think that would be the end of it? Oh, so wrong! He was still hard and he just flipped me over, ripped off my panties and plunged his cum-dripping cock into my soaking cunt, pounding me with a dozen quick strokes until he had me screaming and writhing, grinding his knob against my cervix while star-bursts of ecstasy exploded in my womanhood.

Evan went on fucking me to two more climaxes, the third one exploding while I was still coming down from the second; and then he came again, pumping jet after jet of thick cum into me while he stirred it with his cock, working his hot seed into every corner of my molten pussy.

~~~
That was the night that sparked my interest in Evan’s club. Prior to that, I was prepared to believe that our wonderful lovemaking was a fortuitous product of my creative role-playing and an evening of lascivious guy-talk over a few lubricating drinks. But this time the role-playing was removed from the equation and the sex was still every bit as good – or better if you consider that I didn’t even want sex that night – I had to question exactly what went on at that club to get my boyfriend into a pussy-pounding, animal-fucking, twice-cumming kind of mood.

I tried asking Evan, of course, but he said it was very secretive; like Fight Club, the first rule of The Winsome Widow is that there is no Winsome Widow. Of course, he didn’t say that; I didn’t even know the name of the club until I hired a private investigator. But that was later; after I had run out of options.

Our routine went back to normal, or so Evan thought; every month he would go to his club and when he returned we would fuck like walruses in heat. Even in my suspicion I couldn’t deny the raw sexuality; it wasn't like I was just playing along, he really did make me indescribably horny when he came home and he really did bring me to two, three and even four consecutive orgasms; always having two of his own and never softening in between ejaculations.

Wondering whether they had hookers at the club, I checked for the obvious signs like lipstick and perfume and cum stains in his underwear, but never found anything amiss. Taking my investigation to the next level, I waited outside his work and followed him one night, learning The Widow’s location, though not her name. Parked down the street, I watched men come as the light bled out of the day; usually alone although some in pairs; and at the end of the night about eight of them – including Evan – came out as a group and with quiet nods of farewell they made their way to their own cars or walked up towards Macleay St and Kings Cross.

I pulled out quietly and drove away to keep ahead of Evan but stopped near home and got out, dressed in a sheer body stocking and waited for his car so that we could engage in a streetwalker fantasy, something we had tried before. He would ask for all kinds of outrageous sex acts and I would quote equally outrageous prices or quiz him over details, like would he bite my nipples, or did he expect me to swallow his cock, or could I use his cum to rub into my tits as a skin conditioner.

And even though I was suspicious of what he was doing at the club, even though I had just spent a few hours sitting in my car secretly monitoring his activities; still from the moment I leaned in his window, I was soaking wet and breathlessly desperate to have his cock inside me. I recognised how bizarre this was but I couldn't help myself; I had tried brushing him off on club night and ended up fucking even more frantically to four powerful climaxes. I considered the possibility that the club was dispensing pheromones or a powerful aphrodisiac, such was my bafflement at the bizarre horniness that club-night brought out in us both.

Once a month I got the best sex of my life; hell, I’m betting I got the best sex of almost any woman’s life; and between times I had a faithful, attentive and sensitive lover. The right thing to do would have been to thank my lucky stars; that would have been the right thing … but it wasn’t my thing.

The curiosity consumed me. I had tried asking Evan a hundred different ways what happened at the club, what they drank, what they talked about; hell, he wouldn't even tell me the damned thing’s name or the names of any of his friends there.

On the last night we were together, I played my final card and tried to withhold sex, pleading with him to tell me, but he just picked me up and carried me to the bedroom, tearing my clothes off my body as I kicked and fought. Naked and pinned to the bed, I had our safe word on the tip of my tongue but I couldn’t utter it; the awful truth was at that I longed for him to take me like this. When he pressed his knob against my entrance I was barely surprised to feel him sliding around in my freely flowing juices; and even though I was crying and still weakly fighting him, he still entered me in single stroke and both of us came with intensity of the moment.

The following morning, with my perspective restored, I delivered the ultimatum that I have regretted ever since: tell me about the club or I leave.

I left.