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Friday Came on Wednesday

By: mandywilluk2000



Chapter 1

It was almost a year since I had been with a man. Nearly twelve months since I had felt lips on mine, a tongue in my mouth or hands on my breasts. It seemed an age since an erection had been pressed against me or I had held man's hardened penis. Nearly a year since a man's cock had slipped into me. An eternity, it felt, since I had been fucked.

And nearly every moment of that year had been agony. There had hardly been an hour go by when I did not think about sex or when my body did not yearn to be touched, stroked and caressed. Physically I missed it so much. But emotionally I didn't. I felt better by not having sex and that is why I had become celibate.

After thirteen years of what, mostly, had seemed to be a loving marriage, as it subsequently turned out my 'loving' husband had been shagging all and sundry all through my 'idyllic' wedlock, I had to confront building a new sex life. I had tried being a 'new woman.' That is being like a man and 'fucking 'em and leaving 'em,' but late thirties was too late to start. I had dated guys to whom I felt, or developed, affection and had let them shag me because I felt I might fall in love. I had a few one-night stands and for a while I had, what the Americans call, a 'fuckbuddy.'

None of them worked. I always had a feeling of remorse, some guilt, a touch of slight disgust. My early, very English, middle class, upbringing got in the way: love and sex were intertwined; you only did the latter if the former was present.

So, after trying, quite hard, for a couple of years after my divorce, I took the radical step of 'going celibate. Emotionally it has been a success, physically a fucking disaster. I am like a bitch in heat most of the time; I masturbate all the time and I must be one of Duracell's best customers!

It struck me all of a sudden. The common denominator with my post wedlock sexual career was that I knew them. The men that I had sex with that is. I knew them before, during and, mostly, after the sex. Sure, the couple of one nightstands I never saw again and one guy didn't call me after he screwed me (was I that bad?), but in the main I knew them after the sex as well.

Yes, I was acquainted with them, but felt little more than that. There was no love, but I had sex with them. And after, perhaps getting up from their bed and going home, maybe putting my panties back on in a car or, occasionally, leaving a hotel room, I felt awful. The realisation that I had let them shag me combined with the knowledge that I would have to see them again revolted me, made me feel guilty and filled me with remorse. I felt that they were judgemental about me, though none said anything, that they categorised me, an easy lay, and that they condemned me; they probably didn't, but I have always suffered from tortured logic!

But now I began thinking. If it was the knowing them and having to see them again that was at the core of the problem, maybe I could do it with men I didn't know?

Over the next week or so, that idea was never far from my mind; it nagged at me. Could I do that? Could I let a guy I didn't know have sex with me? And if I emotional could, would I and how could I arrange it?

The more I thought about and the more I realised that after being shagged I would never have to see him again, the more it appealed. Total anonymous sex. Also, there would be no build up. None of that awful, 'should I or shouldn't I', 'will he or won't he' and 'what will he think of me if I let him?'

I wouldn't have to wonder if and how he was judging me. Whether he thought I was too forward or not forward enough? How good and sexually accomplished he considered me to be and where on the male sexual rating would I be, a fucking awful five or a nicely, naughty nine? I wouldn't have to continue with an affair that I knew after the first fuck was pointless. The advantages seemed endless. I wanted to try it, but could I bring myself to do it?

Chapter 2

I decided that I could do it, well might be able to. However, it would need to be with someone I didn't know, obviously. Also, there had to be a quick closure on the relationship, nothing after the sex. As importantly as the post sex was the pre sex. No build up, no getting to know each other, no preamble and no seduction. 

I racked my brains to think of how I could create those circumstances. I though of three ways.

First, I could simply pick someone up, have sex and then leave.

Second, I could get a male escort and third, similar, but go for a ladies only massage.

I hit the Internet. It was so easy. I tapped in male escorts and it was purely a case of how many and where? Female massage was less productive, but I found several men offering it, although none were anywhere near as specific as the female ads offering massage to men. So I knew I could make those two work. The third was in my own hands. 

I pondered for some time. Still not at all sure I would do anything at all, I nevertheless made an appointment for myself. The weekend of the anniversary of my last fuck would be when I broke my celibacy. Three days, a Friday, a Saturday and a Sunday. Each day I would try a different way. Friday the escort, Saturday the pick up and Sunday the massage. No, too on top of each other. What if the escort had me several times? What if I was sated or, even worse, sore, I smiled hopefully?

Ok then, three separate days over a three-week period. I recalled that the last sex had been on a Friday, so decided that would be the day of the week when I would break my celibacy. Three Fridays in a row.

Still not at all sure I would go through with any, let alone all three, of the ideas; I decided that using an escort would be the first so I started to plan that.

It was actually quite good fun and, surprisingly, exciting. I must have looked at a couple of dozen websites before narrowing my choices down to a short-list of three. I e-mailed each of them and heard nothing from one, but got an almost instant reply from another and a reply the next day from the third. I exchanged mails with both of them before deciding on Grant. 

He was thirty four, which I felt was old enough not to embarrass me, but young enough to have the sexual vigour I had missed dating men of my age and older, basically forty five year olds and up.

I had been tempted to indulge one of my fantasies and go for a nineteen year old or so toyboy type, but resisted that. With Grant I was, though, satisfying another fantasy; he was black. His photos and the video I had seen of him portrayed a tall, well built guy, with short hair, a lithe muscular body and, I have to admit, even though it's not something I would usually concern myself with until undressed, a great cock, both flaccid and erect. See why the website search had been mildly exciting?

On the selected day just after noon, I could hardly believe that I was checking into a hotel not too far from where I live. Everything had been arranged by e-mail including the two hundred pound fee, which covered 'all afternoon and evening', and within reason 'as many times as you want.'

I had chosen a 'superior' room. It was large, by London standards, had a small balcony with floor to ceiling glass doors leading to it and a great view over one of the old docks. I had asked for a king size double bed and simply looking at it, as I dropped my bag, made me tingle as I realised that was where my escort would have me: it all seemed a little cold and sterile, but also very exciting.

I had arrived early, for Grant wasn't due until 2.30, so I had a long soak in the bath, redid my hair and make-up and slipped into the dressing gown provided by the hotel. Room service brought the salad and the bottle of Chablis I had ordered at about 2.00. I nibbled bits of the salad, but was really too nervous to eat, and had a glass of wine to settle me and to, hopefully, release my inhibitions a little.

When planning this I had thought about what to wear. I was undecided whether I should, perhaps, just wear a dressing gown or, whether I should be fully clothed? If the dressing gown, with underwear or naked under it. And if fully clothed what sort of underwear, sexy or normal.

I had no idea whether Grant would undress me or, whether we would simply undress ourselves and go to bed.

In the end, I decided to wear a pale grey, silk dress. The loose skirt was just above the knee and slightly flared, although it fitted snugly over my tummy and bum. The top was fairly tight emphasising my boobs, and somewhat low-cut, showing a lot of them and there were, what I thought were, inviting looking buttons from the plunged neckline to the waist. 

After much deliberation, I had opted for sexy underwear. Why? What was I trying to prove? For whom was I doing it? God knows. However, standing before the mirror at 2.15 I felt very nervous and even more excited. The white lacy bra and thong looked good against my, pretty much, all-over tan. The bra was ridiculously flimsy, but somehow coped well with its 35 D cargo providing the slight support it needed, but really hiding nothing. My nipples had, as they always do when I am sexually aroused, exploded and were standing up hard and straight and were very visible through the diaphanous, net and lace. The white, lacy thong covered what it needed to at the front, had a gusset that contained my lips and a slither of silk that snaked between the full cheeks of my bum. I hadn't chosen stockings on the grounds that they would probably be a bit OTT. 

As the 2.30 deadline approached, I still couldn't believe what I was doing. That I was going to pay a guy to fuck me: it just didn't seem possible. However, the phone ringing and a voice saying. "Hi, is that Amanda, it's Grant here," showed me that it clearly was not only possible, but was actually happening.

Waiting for him to come up in the lift, I was actually shaking with nerves.

I was relieved that Grant measured up well to what I had seen on the net, for I had no idea what I would have done had he been vastly different.

"Hi Amanda?" He asked when I opened the door.

"Yes, yes I am Amanda and you're Grant, right?"

"I certainly am," he replied flashing me a big smile, his eyes glinting slightly mischievously. "You going to invite me in or send me away?" He added, his smile even broader.

"Oh sorry, yes, yes of course, please come in," I stammered opening the door further and pressing my back against the wall as he came in.

"Mmmmmm, what a lovely room," Grant said walking over to the window and looking out. "And what a great view."

I walked over and stood beside him a few feet away. He turned and looked at me and again flashing that rather captivating smile added. "In all directions."

I'm sure I blushed. "Er thanks, um yes, it is isn't it, outside I mean."

"I meant inside as well Amanda, you are beautiful."

I was just getting more and more nervous. I didn't know what to do or what to say. I felt awkward and uncomfortable as I looked at the young guy with whom I would shortly be having sex. Was that possible?

"Really, Grant. I mean thank you, thanks."

"You are very welcome."

I managed to gain a modicum of control.

"Can I get you a drink; I have white wine or water?"

"Wine would be great thanks; shall I pour for both of us?" He asked as we both moved towards the table holding the ice bucket with the two bottles in at the same time. We nearly bumped into each other.

"Yes sure, thanks that would be fine," I mumbled very, very aware of our closeness and his presence.

Our eyes met and he put his hand on my wrist.

"You seem very nervous Amanda."

"Yes I am, I have never done this before."

"I know, you told me in an email. Just relax, I'm pretty experienced," he smiled.

"Yes I guess you must be."

He poured our wine and we stood looking out over the dock by the window.

"How do you want to do this Amanda?"

"What, how do you mean?"

"Well different ladies have different preferences."

"I don't understand."

"Well some like to sort of be seduced, others like to take the lead, some want to play out a fantasy and yet others just like to undress, do it and then finish."

"Oh I see." Of course I didn't really see and of course I was now panicking for I hadn't given that any thought, silly bitch, I really should be blonde, not chestnut.

"Er, I don't know," I answered truthfully, but adding for some reason. "Shall I pay you now?"

That smile greeted that suggestion. "Sure."

I gave him the envelope with the money. He opened the envelope and glanced at the twenty pound notes, but didn't count them and simply shoved them into his inside pocket.

"Would it help, Amanda, if I led the way?" He asked.

I felt relieved and pleased.

"Yes Grant, I think it would."

He closed the gap between us and I thought for a moment he was going to kiss me. I wasn't sure I wanted that. Kissing a stranger means nothing does it? And also it's very affectionate, tender and loving. What we were about was sex, nothing more, nothing less, simply straightforward sex.

He didn't. Instead, he took hold of my hand, turned and led me to the bed. He pushed me down so I sat on the edge and said.

"Lay back, right in the middle of the bed."

He plumped the pillows up so I had a pile to lean back on. For some daft reason, considering that soon I was going to be naked with him, I pulled my skirt down so that most of my legs, which I had bent and drawn up a bit, were covered.

He stood to the side of the bed and simply stared at me for a while as I wondered what the hell he was going to do.

"Just relax Amanda, shall I call you that or, Mandy?"

"I don't mind," I replied a little croaky; things were becoming far more intimate than I had imagined they would.

"Tuck your legs up, Amanda, you'll be more comfortable," he said quietly his fingers going to the buttons of his sparkling white shirt. I did tuck my feet under my bottom rather than laying out on the bed, he was right it was more comfortable.

His eyes were boring into mine as one by one, without saying a word, he undid all the buttons on the shirt and pulled it out of his tight blue jeans.

"Fuck" I thought he's going to strip in front of me, and that is exactly what he did. The sheer fucking confidence of the man amazed me as he shrugged his shirt off and I looked at his glistening almost hairless chest. Each muscle was well-defined, he looked fit and very strong. I was becoming aroused.

"Yes?" Grant said enquiringly as his hands went to the brown pleated belt.

I nodded, I couldn't speak. He undid his belt and his fingers grasped the tag of his zip. Again he asked me.

"Yes Amanda? Shall I?"

Again I simply nodded as the heat rushed through my body. My clit seemed to vibrate, my breasts seemed to swell and my nipples exploded into their fullest hardness. Surely, I thought, they would show through the thin silk. I looked down and felt embarrassed at just how obvious they were and just how much they were on show. "Shit, why be embarrassed, this is pure sex and I'm paying him?" I suddenly thought

As I looked at him sliding his zip down, I saw the knowing smile on his face, he had noticed.

"Touch them Amanda," he said softly. "Touch your lovely breasts for me." 

It was as if I was hypnotised, as if I was under his spell. I cupped one of my breasts and ran my fingertip across the swollen nipple of the other as he slid his jeans down. I gasped when I saw that he hadn't bothered with underpants, or socks come to that; wise, men look so awkward removing them, especially if left to last!

Sliding out of his jeans and holding them at arms length as if offering them to me, he stood before me naked. He looked fantastic. He wasn't erect, but there was clearly some swelling in his penis, well I thought there must be, for it seemed to be larger than what I had seen on the photos on the net. I almost giggled when I thought. "Perhaps he has grown." 

Grant moving right to the edge of the bed and resting one knee on it so that he was just a few feet away from me, stopped any thought I had of giggling. His well-built, muscular body, his shiny black skin and his respectably, no unusually in my experience, large cock made me shudder with want.

"Undo the buttons if you like Mandy," Grant said with an assurance I had never experienced in a man. He took his cock in his hand and lifted it up. "Get your breasts out for me, make me hard."

The effect of his words and actions on me was incredible; I so wanted to please him, and I was paying the fucking bill! 

I had never been in such a situation, I had never been with a stranger like this, I had never been with anyone who had the assurance and confidence in themselves and their body as Grant, I had never been with a male hooker and I had never been with a black man. But now I was going to experience all of those things in one fucking-great package.

I did undo the buttons, I did caress my breasts, I did get them out of my bra and I did play with them. And wonderfully, magically and so satisfyingly for me, Grant got hard. It was a fabulous sight: his cock reared up and stood proud, hard and straight right up his flat belly straining so that the uncircumcised tip reached his navel.

He ran his fingers up and down it looking me in the eye all the time. I was now squeezing and pinching my breasts, desperately, almost, wanting to be naked and crushed up against his firm, muscular black body.

There was a slight knowing smile on his face as he whispered.

"Be the slag you want to be Mandy. Be the slut your body desires, but your mind resists."

God the words were so right, so apt, just what I wanted to hear. How did he know to say? 

"With me Mandy you can indulge your body not comply with your mind. In an hour or whenever, I will walk out of this room and you will never need to see me or talk to me again, so you can do whatever you want, you can be whatever you like, no one will judge you, there will be no tomorrow."

Oh fuck I thought as those perfect words crashed into my mind. He was saying exactly what I wanted to hear.

"Take the dress off for me Mandy," his soft voice demanded as he stood so close stroking his awesome cock.

I struggled out of it.

"Mmmmm, you look wonderful, so sexy."

Rather stupidly all I could think of saying was. "Thank you, so do you?" As indeed he did. But then what woman, especially a celibate one in her early forties, wouldn't think that a young man with such a physique and such a strainingly hard cock just inches from her sex starved body didn't look sexy.

"May I?" He asked, indicating for me to turn so He could reach my bra strap, As he leaned forward kneeling on the bed, his cock rubbed against my arm. It made me shudder and want to grab it, but I was enjoying him being in control and, despite the fact that as I was paying and could presumably do what I wanted, I preferred to be directed and led by this sexually fascinating man.

He adeptly undid the clasp and removed my bra. He reached round me murmuring as he cupped my boobs. "You have wonderful breasts Mandy, gorgeous breasts, do you like me playing with them?"

Fuck, did I like it? It was fantastic. He had a lovely touch and combined lifting them, pressing them together squeezing them and rubbing them, with pinching and pulling on my nipples. It was amazing and I felt myself both pushing my tits against his hands and leaning myself backwards so his cock pressed against my back. I closed my eyes and revelled in the lovely feelings for what may have been a few minutes or an hour, I didn't know, I just let the sensations waft over me.

Then he stopped. I turned and saw his cock was just inches from my face. He was holding it, as if offering it to me. In fact he was offering it for he said softly.

"Do what you want with it Mandy, no one will ever know."


Friday Came on Wednesday



I almost choked at the erotic suggestion and the perception of his reminding me that no one will ever know. He saw that and went on.

"And you will never have to see me again or ever talk about it, so use me as you want, do whatever you wish with me. I am yours for the afternoon."

"Oh Grant," I sighed, reaching out, wrapping my arms round his hips and burying my face in his stomach. His cock pressed against my cheek, across my eye and onto my forehead. My hair tumbled down over it. I felt his balls on my nose and lips. I dug my fingers into the near perfect, round fullness of his bum, pulling on it so his front, his gorgeous, delicious front, made firmer contact with my face. I rubbed that all over his length, stomach, thighs and balls as I stroked and caressed his arse. 

This was such a self-indulgent sex session that momentarily I was amazed and surprised at myself and I thought about pulling away. But I didn't. I couldn't for, frankly, it was just too good. Not just his gorgeous cock and body, not just the arousal, not just the anticipation no, it was all of those things and his words and attitude. It was his reminder that I would never have to see him again, never have to justify anything that went on here, and never be judged for my actions.

That buoyed me up, boosted my confidence and removed the last vestige of inhibitions from me. 

I took his big, black, awesomely hard cock in my hands, both of them. I moved my head away a little so I could look at it. In the unusual state I was in, it was simply the most gorgeous cock I had ever seen, let alone held. At that moment Grant's dick was an object of extreme beauty to me.

I licked it feeling his hands running through my hair and rubbing my scalp. I licked all of it, up and down and round and round. I licked its length, its girth, its hilt and its bulbous tip. I cradled his big balls in the palm of my hand and then licked them. 

I was letting go with a man to a level I don't think I had ever let go before. And his responses were simply perfect. He caressed my head, stroked my face, ruffled my hair, reached down and cupped my breasts and said................. absolutely nothing. Words were unnecessary, they were pointless and were the last things I needed in this extraordinary situation. The usual epithets of how good it was, how much he felt for me and that sort of bollocks were not only not wanted, but would have spoiled the mood. We were two strangers who would be lovers, intense lovers even, for a time and then we would vanish never to meet again.

I opened my mouth. He slid in effortlessly, but more than filled it, I had never had such a mouthful, I would have smiled, if I could. I ran my mouth up and down and he got my rhythm. We moved together, slow and languid, but deep and so fulfillingly, for both of us.

I was still holding his tight bum. The feelings on my hands as his cheeks contracted and expanded as he pumped himself slowly in and out of my mouth were amazing. In fact the whole fucking thing was amazing: him, me, us, what we were doing and the whole scene, it was all amazing.

As if on the TV, or from afar, I heard some, what seemed to be, muffled words. They didn't register at first so into sucking this delicious lollipop was I, but then I made them out. And as I did so they crashed into my mind. God they were so stirringly right for that moment.

"Do you want me to cum Mandy?"

I couldn't reply, but managed to raise my eyes and sort of nod my head. The incredibly appropriate words went on. Well one did and that hit me like a punch in the stomach. Yes the simple request of "Where?" seemed so fantastic, silly bitch that I am. 

I pulled him out of my mouth, but clung onto the stalk of black, hard, throbbing flesh pressing it against my face as a slobbered over it. I looked into his sparkling eyes as I slowly wanked him.

"There's no need for that unless you want to do it Mandy."

Oh God he also had what seemed like super-human control as well. He went on.

"Where do you want me to cum Mandy?"

I thought of really going for it and taking it in my mouth and swallowing it, but thought better of it, after all he was a male whore wasn't he? And on top of that I didn't like the taste of mens' cum.

"Where would you like to cum?" I managed to ask between slobbering licks, kisses and sucks. That wasn't the most sensible question to ask I realised as I said it for, I guessed, like most men he would say in my mouth. But he didn't.

"How about on these?" He asked pressing his cock against my tits. "Lay back."

I most willingly laid back onto the pile of pillows as Grant knelt beside me holding his cock in his hand. He started to wank himself. I adore watching a man do that, I always have.

"Do you want to do this?" He asked so politely he could have been referring to anything.

"No, you do it, I like watching," I groaned, my hands finding my breasts and rolling them together.

It's the look in a man's eyes and on his face as he masturbates that's as big a turn on for me as the act itself I think. And Grant was no exception. Eyes half closed and a little glazed, jaw set tight, mouth half open and head dipped forward hunched between his shoulders, he pumped himself slowly and firmly. Long strokes, his foreskin vanishing backwards exposing the purple, glistening head he surged in and out of the surrogate cunt made by his hand.

"Ready, Mandy," he grunted, pleasing me that he wasn't in total control.

"Yes, yes I am," I whispered, pushing both tits together and holding them there as his cock simply exploded. There was loads of it. It shot all over my tits, onto my chest and stomach with even a few globules hitting my chin. I looked down as he rubbed the tip of his cock over my breasts, it was a fantastic sight.

The fuck, well fucks actually we did it twice, were fine, but not that special. Maybe having a man invade your body does require some form of attachment or affection, after all it is rather intimate.

The first time, about an hour after he'd cum on my tits, was less fulfilling than the second. I think that was due to the position, for we did it on our sides facing each other, looking at each other, staring into each other's eyes, holding each other, just like lovers. But that we weren't, we were strangers, two people meeting then parting, we were a client and her whore. That's what we were and that's how I wanted it and, I think, how Grant preferred it as well.

So the second fuck was better, less intimate and more satisfying. I was on all fours on the bed and he fucked me hard, doggy style. It wasn't just that either, which made the second one better. It was also that no more than ten minutes after fucking me, he pecked me on the cheek and said.

"I enjoyed it Mandy, call me any time, bye," and he was gone.

What a perfect end, I thought,

Chapter 3

I was really going for it on the running machine when I first saw him. Although I was wearing a strong sports bra, my tits were leaping around as he walked past. Our eyes met, he smiled and I found myself smiling back. He was gorgeous. Probably late twenties, blonde, tall, muscular, tanned and handsome. He had one of those demeanours that exuded warmth and friendliness. 

My gym was being refurbed and I had been given free usage of another gym a few miles away. It wasn't as nice a place as my one, but it had some compensations, I smiled.

He went onto a machine slightly behind me, but just in my eyeline. I could feel his eyes on me. I turned and caught him looking, presumably at my bum. I was wearing tight, hipster gym trousers. He smiled again and, unusually for I was quite used to getting hit on at the gym, I smiled back. What the fuck was going on?

He moved to another machine, where he sat down facing me. I stopped running; I was tired and sweating and felt awkward with his eyes on my bouncing tits. I went onto a rowing machine. Stretching forward and then pulling hard on the 'oars' as I arched my back I again saw him staring. He was sitting, his legs in short shorts wide open as he reached up and pulled down on the two bars. On each upward stretch the material of his shorts was pulled tightly across his stomach, emphasising his bulge and the bottom of his short singlet, which was not tucked in, rose up his stomach; I took surreptitious glances at him, as I knew he was of me, what a six-pack I saw from the corner of my eye. Was this what ending celibacy was all about?

I finished my workout. Picking up my towel, headphones and water bottle I walked towards the gym door. To get there I had to walk between a long row of exercise machines. To my left, there was another walkway between the rows of machines. There were lots of young girls just out from work in the big offices, mainly banks, that surround the gym in Docklands. Slim, with stick-like figures, tiny bums and small tits, I envied both their evident fitness and their lithe, slender figures. Then I saw him. He was walking along the other walkway slightly behind me, hardly looking at the swaying bums and jiggling tits, but instead at me. That actually made me feel good, I was flattered. This gorgeous-looking, beautifully put together young man, ogling my forty plus body, not those of the twenty somethings.

As I left the gym and headed down the stairs to the changing room he was just behind me. Suddenly, and inexplicably, my mind went back to the previous Friday. I thought of Grant, the male hooker I had invited to a hotel room I had taken for the afternoon. I found myself almost trembling as I reached the foot of the staircase at the same time as him, for my mind was recalling the amazing time I had with that hooker.

"Hi Mandy, how are you?" A girl I had got to know quite well at the gym asked. She went on. "Are you ok?

"Yes sorry Gill, I was miles away," I replied as my mind recalled Grant's big, black cock exploding sending streams of his cum all over my tits which I was holding together to receive his offering.

"I'm just going to press some weights, see you soon," Gill said.

"Great, I'll see you later then." I said stammering a bit at the clarity of my recall of both him cumming on my tits and the two fucks we had later.

I had all but forgotten my mystery admirer, as I peeled off my tight vest, sports bra, trousers and thong in the changing cubicle. As I struggled them off I wondered why sports gym gear for women especially has to be so tight or, was it just me? No I knew it wasn't just me, I concluded standing there naked looking in the mirror. We all wore our tops, singlets, shorts, cropped pants, long trousers or leotards very tight. Now that may be fine for the twenty something stick insects, but for forty old year old, rather more voluptuous DD cup thirty seven inch hips old birds like me, it wasn't quite so appropriate, I thought my eyes running up and down my nude body. Still mystery man hadn't minded, I thought as I cupped my boobs and contemplated masturbating, so arousing had been the memories of last Friday.

As I slipped into the 'sensible' bikini, the hunk who had been eyeing me up in the gym came into my mind: could he be part two? The only problem at the moment was that this was only the Wednesday!

I was wearing a yellow bikini, the panties of which were quite full. They covered all of my bum and the waistband was quite some way up my tummy. The bra wasn't cut that acute across my boobs so, given that it was a bikini, I wasn't showing that much. Past experiences had taught me never to wear skimpy ones at the gym pool.

I tied my hair up into a roll at the back, pinned it and then walked out of the cubicle and with my towel and water bottle in hand I entered the pool area. That contained a large swimming pool, five or six different spas, several types of a shower, a couple of saunas and a steam room. 

I showered and slipped into the pool. It wasn't until I had finished a few lengths that I saw him standing leaning against the sauna talking to one of the instructors, a pretty girl aged around thirty with blonde hair. I glanced at him and saw that he seemed to be focusing entirely on her, but then he looked over her shoulder and, although we were twenty or so yards apart, our eyes met. I ducked my head into the water. The same thing happened on the next lap and the next. I finished my swim, pulled into the side and walked up the steps wondering, but not daring to look down to check, if the cool water had hardened my nipples? 

He had moved round to one of the spas and was sitting on the low wall staring at me: did that mean they had? He was wearing fairly tight shorts, his body and hair were wet, he looked good. He smiled, I just about smiled back. I went to the shower and stood under that letting the warm water wash the chlorine away. I went to the massage spa, the one with the fiercest bubbles. His eyes followed me from the wall of the next pool. I sat and relaxed in the pool, my eyes closed the waters whooshing all round me. I opened my eyes. He was sitting two places away from me. I closed my eyes again. The water was pounding at my body shaking and wobbling my boobs, I knew that made for quite a sight. I opened my eyes again, he was still there and still staring.

The whole pool area had cleared out quite a bit, we were the only two in that spa. Thankfully he didn't speak, but then I didn't think that he needed to, his eyes said all that was needed, I thought. His eyes said what Grant had done twice last Friday, that he wanted to fuck me, of that I was sure, well women know don't we?

Laying back against the wall of the round pool with the jets of water bashing against my body, making everything jiggle, I saw that his eyes were looking at my bouncing tits. They watched me as I stood up when the bubbles stopped. They were on my bum as I clambered up the steps, on my side as I walked round the pool and again on my rear as I strode alongside the pool to the steam room.

Was I exaggerating the jiggle of my tits? Was I emphasising the wiggle of my hips? Did I actually glance over my shoulder? Was Friday starting to happen early?

Naturally he followed me into the steam room. There were two others in there, both older women on the large side. They were nattering away 'nineteen to the dozen' and had hardly noticed me sit down; they didn't even notice when gorgeous entered. He sat alongside from me so that we were discretely two places apart. I felt him glance at me and I sneaked a couple of looks at him when I didn't think he was looking. Clad just in his tiny shorts, soaking wet, sweating and close up, he was even more appealing. Fuck what was happening to me?

I'm not sure whether I was apprehensive or elated when the two women left. I glanced out of the partially steamed up, glass door and looked across the pool area; it looked deserted. Could I fuck him here, suddenly came into my mind? God what was I thinking? What I was thinking, was that I was pretty sure Friday had arrived early!

"Hi," he said.

Turning my head I saw that he was leaning forward. "Hello."

"Hot enough for you?"

"Yes it's fine, thanks." I said, leaning my head back against the wall, closing my eyes and resting my hands on my knees: my back was at a slight angle to the wall.

Inane chatter, just what I didn't want.

The steam room is deep and rather narrow. It has tiled seating all the way round and could comfortably seat probably twenty or so with seven or eight along either side, the remainder at the end away from the door where we were sitting, me at the end, gorgeous on the side, two places away from me. It is quite dark and there is that spa sort of mystical musing playing. The glass door looks out over the pool and anyone approaching can be seen for some way off. Also, I suddenly realised, as I opened my eyes and saw that he had moved slightly nearer and was staring at me, when I had entered the room, it took a few moments for my eyes to get accustomed to the gloom and steam. That told me that anyone coming in would not be able to see anything at the far end of the room.

Was it a form of madness? An insanity that had lay dormant in me all my life? I don't know, but I suddenly became the sort of female that many men spend their entire life hoping to meet. The one in a million woman, who needs to have sex and is willing to have it anywhere and with anyone.

I leaned further back, stretched my legs out and rested my head against the wall. My eyes were tightly closed as I bent my arms and ran my hands up from my elbows onto my shoulders. I held my crossed arms there for a moment or two, my right hand on my left bicep. Then I ran both of them downwards uncrossing them as they glided along my chest, over each breast, down to my hips and onto the fronts of my thighs. I left them there as slowly, I slightly opened my legs. I didn't look at him, but squinting through my eyes now and then, I kept a look out for anyone crossing the pool in the direction of the steam room.

I felt amazing. So powerful, liberated, adventurous and totally fucking horny. 

I started moving again. Up my legs, over the slight bulge of my tummy, up my lower chest until the sides of my thumbs were touching the undersides of my boobs. I paused and pressed, my thumbs sinking into each mound a little. Then, bending my hands away from my body I cupped each of my tits and lifted them up a little.

"Oh fuck," I heard him say. "What's your name?"

"That doesn't matter, don't talk, just look and do as I say." I replied curtly.

I rolled my boobs around slowly edging my hands upwards until they were pressing against the front of each one. Then delicately, gently, invitingly and so suggestively I eased my fingers inside both cups of my bra: they were on the bare flesh of my tits, just touching the, almost, rubbery dimpled pinkness of my nipples.

I glanced at him. The look of sheer lust and desire on his face was fantastic. It started to make some sense of the performance I was putting on; well my tortured logic thought it did.

I pinched my nipples, quite hard. I pulled them and twisted them, putting on these extravagant show for my silent, but gorgeous admirer.

I opened my eyes, but continued pinching my nipples as I stared at him. He half-smiled, as I did too. He went to speak, but I shook my head as, holding his gaze, I slowly eased each breast out of its cup. The band of yellow material was under my breasts as I held each of them, almost offering them to him. He leaned forward.

"May I touch?"

"Mmmm," was all I could, or wanted, to manage.

He had a remarkably light and nice touch. Unlike many men, he didn't treat my nipples like taps and twist and turn them roughly. Instead, he flittered his fingertips around and across them, more like women do. He cupped each boob, squeezed them and pressed the two orbs together into one mass of tit flesh.

He had now moved right next to me and had put his arm round my shoulder. As he caressed my breasts he went to kiss me. I turned my head away.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Then let me kiss you."

"No, just do what you are doing."

He got the message.

I slid my hand down his chest and across his youthfully flat and taught stomach to find, inside his shorts an equally youthfully taught cock. It was so hard, just like Grant's. God how I had missed the hardness of young men.

I pushed the waist of his shorts down a little so I could get to him more easily. I stroked his cock and cupped his balls as I felt his fingers slipping into the panties of my bikini.

Although I was pretty confident we would be ok, even if someone did come in, I kept glancing through the door. I could see a few people moving around, but none seemed to be heading our way. 

I slid myself forward a little and lifted my bum. It was as clear an invitation as I could give without speaking. He slid the panties down my thighs a little, but sensibly, made no effort to remove them. I opened my legs. His fingers found my slit, fumbled a moment or two then lighted right on my clit. It felt wonderful and my whole body jerked as he rubbed it, with just the right amount of pressure. At the same time, I rubbed him more firmly. That felt fantastic and the combination of the two was amazing.




Friday Came on Wednesday



He made me cum, quickly. 

The excitement of the outrageous thing I was doing, where I was doing it and him, combined to put me over the top almost as soon as his fingers entered me.

I closed my thighs around his hand and, unashamedly, thrust myself downwards onto his pleasure giving fingers, onto the surrogate cock he had shoved up my cunt. I squirmed and writhed, my eyes closed my mouth open gasping for breath and groaning with excitement as I climaxed powerfully, his so hard cock still in my hand.

He leaned forward, putting his arm round my shoulders and pulling me to him as he placed little kisses over my head. It felt nice and I let him continue, but stopped him when he pulled my face up and went to kiss me on my lips.

"No, don't."

"Sorry, but that was incredible, did you enjoy it?

"I don't want to talk about it," I replied.

"Sorry."

"That's ok, but just don't say a word. Stand up."

He did as I told him and stood in front of where I was sitting. His shorts were round his knees; his erection was rearing up his beautifully flat stomach, right in front of my face. I took it in my hands; it looked wonderful. It's so odd isn't it that most women when they look photos of naked dicks feel little? Even seeing a naked one doesn't do that much. But when close up and personal to one which you are making love to, it takes on a whole different perspective and becomes an object of extreme beauty. The gorgeous one's cock became just that.

I kissed it, I couldn't stop myself licking it, stroking it and running my tongue up and down its glorious, hard length. I felt his hands on my head, holding it, caressing it, pulling it closer. I let him do that, pulling his erection away from his body so that it was, almost, parallel to the ground, so that it was at the right angle, so that it was ready for what I now had to do.

It tasted as wonderful as it looked. I took him deep into my mouth and then almost out. I sucked the very tip and then surged it onto the depths of my throat. I took one, then the other then both of his balls into my mouth as I softly scratched him between the back of them and his bum.

His hands found my breasts. He squeezed and pressed them and my nipples. He tried to get his hand further down my body, but our positions prevented that. 

"Kneel on the bench," he croaked.

I did.

His hands immediately went between my legs, from behind. I opened them, invitingly.

I was now pumping him in and out of my mouth nicely rhythmically. His fingers found that rhythm and his cock found it too. He started to finger fuck me as his cock started to fuck my face. We were both near. I could feel my body starting to boil over and I could feel his extra tension in my mouth.

Considerately, I thought, he grunted.

"Oh fuck I'm cumming."

I slid him out, and slipped his cock between my tits, pressing them, wrapping them round him. And like that he exploded. I couldn't remember ever seeing so much sperm, but then it had been such a time since I had had such a young man.

"That was amazing, thanks," he said.

"Shush," I said sliding my panties up and putting my boobs back in the bra.

"I want you," he said. "I want to fuck you."

"Yes," I replied. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

I almost ran across the pool, showered quickly and was in my car and on my home within minutes. Enough is enough I was thinking as I opened my flat door and saw my daughter and her friends there doing their homework. It seemed as if it must have been a different person who such a short time ago sucked a man's cock in a public place.

Chapter 4

It was a typical suburban house in a typical suburban street in an Essex town called Woodford. As I had been requested, I left my car a hundred yards or so past number 42 and walked back. It was a well kept house with a neat front garden, gleaming paint and sparkling windows. That made me feel good and gave me some faith in what Ben had told me on the phone.

"It's a clean, tidy house; you will feel at home with me."

"Hi you must be Amanda," the tall, quite good looking, grey haired, dark skinned man said when he opened the door. "I'm Ben."

I walked in and we shook hands. The place smelt clean, he was clean, he hadn't been leading me astray on that, which gave credibility to the other things he had claimed in the e-mails we had exchanged.

He was about 50, he did have grey hair, he was slim and tall and quite good looking. That made me think the massage would be wonderful, that he would have the educated hands he claimed and that he would, in his words, "Ensure I had a wonderful time."

But I wasn't sure that he actually really offered what I was after. I thought he probably did, I guessed that he would make me cum, but I hadn't been able to summon up the courage to ask him.

I followed him up stairs.

"OK Mandy, you can change in here," he said showing me into a small bedroom. "The bathroom is next door," he added, leaving me alone.

There was a white towelling robe on the narrow bed, which I assumed I should put on. I stripped down to my panties. Should I keep them on or remove them, I wondered?

There was a knock on the door. "When you are ready, come across the landing, I'll be waiting," Ben said.

I knotted the tie on the robe, opened the door and went across the landing. Ben was standing just inside the front bedroom, which was dimly lit. There were several candles flickering and some soft music, probably Enigma, playing. Ben had changed clothing. Gone were the jeans and tee shirt. He was now wearing a shorty, silk dressing gown, which, like mine, was tied at the waist, but his was dark blue silk and ended mid-way down his thighs. Where the lapels gaped I could see his fairly hairy chest, the hairs varying on colour from black to silver. His lower legs were bare.

"Come in Mandy," he said, holding the door open for me.

He shut the door behind me and dimmed the lights even more.

I was surprised not to see a massage table, but instead there was a mattress on the floor covered by a large towel.

"Yes we don't use tables," he said guessing, or seeing my surprise, it's more relaxing on the floor."

"Ok," was all I could manage.

"For both of us he added," taking hold of my elbow. "Would you like to lie on your front first, Mandy?"

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do about the robe, so I hesitated, with my hands hovering by the bow. He turned his back and picked up a couple of towels from a pile on a table.

"Yes take that off please." He said in a rather officious tone.

I laid down as instructed, oddly pleased that he averted his gaze. The mattress was soft and warm; it was pleasant to lie on and quite relaxing. He knelt beside me and covered my body in two or three warm towels. It was just like being in a regular, straight spa. If it hadn't been for the way he was dressed I would not have even thought that there might be the 'other services' I wanted.

He started on my back by peeling the towel back a little and pouring a warm oil between my shoulder blades. He massaged me fairly deeply all over my shoulders. It felt good. That finished, he repeated the exercise with each of my legs. Each time merely rolling the towel back to expose the part that he was about to massage and, with both legs, tucking the top in a little round my bum. I was beginning to worry that maybe I had read the situation incorrectly and that this was just a straight massage, so similar was it to all the spa treatments I had experienced.

But then it changed.

I felt him roll a towel upwards exposing my lower back, waist and the top of my bum, just where it starts to flare up into the two mounds of flesh. He poured oil onto the small of my back and started massaging that and my waist. His hands were sliding a few inches up my back all round my waist and onto my hips then back and just up the swell of my bum. It was gorgeous. I could feel the sides of his hands keep pushing against the towel that was draped over my bum, moving it down a little. It felt as though it had moved quite a way, but in reality it was only inches.

"Feel good Mandy?"

"Mmmmmm, very nice," I groaned back, finding speaking difficult with my head resting on my arms.

I felt the towel over my bottom being lifted.

"May I?" he asked.

I wasn't sure what he meant, but in any case I murmured. "Yes."

He removed the towel.

"Oh Mandy, what have we here?" He asked, obviously referring to my panties.

They were dark blue, lacy, hipster shorts, cut acutely across each cheek of my bum.

I didn't reply, I had no idea what to say.

"Very pretty, very nice," he said as I felt his fingers run over them.

Nothing happened for a moment or two. I simply lay there as Ben, presumably, simply stared at my bum. That excited me. It played to my new-found sense of exhibitionism: I may even have slightly wiggled a little.

"Very nice and very sexy," he went on quietly, resting a hand right on my cheek. That excited me even more, but nowhere near as much as his next words did. "But also, very unnecessary."

He didn't ask, he simply assumed and took over; that also thrilled me.

"Lift up a little," he said quietly as he slid his fingers into the waist-band.

"Fuck he's taking my knickers off," I thought, as I did as he asked and lifted myself up. And that is exactly what he did, took my knickers off. It was an amazing feeling to be lying there on that mattress, my eyes closed, the room dim with mystical music playing as this older man, kneeling beside his bare leg, pressing against mine slid my panties down my legs. I knew that he must have seen all of my bottom and probably my pussy to, from between the backs of my slightly parted thighs.

I knew then, with that most erotic of gestures that this was most definitely not going to be a straight massage. And from then on it wasn't. His touch became softer, more of a caress than a massage, he went nearer to my more intimate places and his body came into more frequent contact with mine as I lay on the mattress on the floor in his house.

I felt him remove the towels covering my legs so that both of them were bare. He shuffled behind where my feet lay on the mattress and took hold of both of my ankles. Without asking, he pulled them apart, wider and wider. He didn't say anything at all but I suddenly got the most stringent charge of sexual arousal as I felt his fingertips brush up the inside of my left thigh, stopping just millimetres from where my pussy lie open, wet and waiting. 

I felt his knees against the soles of my feet, he was pressing there as he caressingly massaged my inner, upper legs. Even in the dim light, he could not have avoided seeing my pussy lips, I wondered if they were glistening with my female excretions. 

He lifted one foot. He caressed and massaged that, the ankle, my instep, the arch and each of the toes. That was surprisingly erotic. He lifted my foot further and pressed, quite hard, on the sole, massaging all over that and the ball of my foot. And then, he rubbed the bottom of my foot against the silk of his dressing gown; I was not sure, though what part of his body that was covering, well not at first that is. But then I gasped with sensation as I felt the bottom of my foot being pressed against what was obviously his bulge through the silk. He wasn't erect, but there was some hardness there. It was such a charge, I loved it.

I felt him shuffle between my opened legs, his knees pressing against my legs, just above my own knees pushing them even wider apart. I knew he must be staring at my open pussy. His hands found my bum. He squeezed each cheek and rolled the flesh around, kneading and squeezing it and then pulling my cheeks apart. I could feel him leaning forward and then had I a fabulous sensation; one that I had never experienced before. I felt him blowing his breath firstly, along the crease between each cheek, then right on my bum hole and then all along the cheeks of my pussy. It was an amazing feeling and I couldn't stop a deep grunt of pleasure slipping from my mouth as my entire body jerked and my bum wiggled at him.

"Nice?" He asked, moving his face away.

"Mmmmmmm," I moaned back.

"Good," he went on rewarding me by replacing his breath with his finger running softly right along the length of the crease in my bum.

I moaned and jerked again so intense and lovely were the sensations he gave me.

Then he moved his hands up my body and started to massage my upper back, shoulders and neck. To reach them he moved deeper between my opened legs. Deeper, until the front of his knee touched against my pussy. Another big jerk and moan from me. He pressed more firmly. I pressed back, he pressed more, I tried to close my legs round it, tried to sort of ride it, I suppose, but he stopped me.

"Not yet Amanda," he said in a rather schoolmasterly way as he kind of admonished me.

He moved away and said softly. "I think it's time for your front now. Turn over please."

It was so incongruous, I thought, that as I struggled my body over from my front to my back, he averted his eyes. He compounded this charade of being discrete by holding up a large towel, just as straight masseurs do, who are trained to avoid looking at the clients' naked bodies. But they only provide muscle relief, not the sexual pleasure I was expecting from him.

He laid the towel over me. It covered me from my waist to my ankles.

Laying there on my back, naked and covered in just a towel I got the chance to have a good look at Ben, my masseur. Kneeling beside me, he leaned forward and placed a pillow under my head, gently lifting my neck to do so: that was a nicely tender touch; I liked his gentleness and consideration.

I also liked the way the lapels had now slid very widely apart showing his hairy chest. It was open to his waist; there was no sign at all of a bloated stomach, in fact, what I could see above the tie, looked firm, taught and flat. Nice, I thought. 

He shuffled from alongside me to behind my head, out of my view. Before he moved out of sight, though, and as he shuffled alongside me, the bottom part of his robe gaped. I wasn't sure, but it looked as though he was naked under it. For some daft reason, considering I was here for him to give me sexual satisfaction, that seemed incredibly exciting and made me want to plunge my hands under that robe and grab at the bulge, my foot had experienced earlier.

As Ben gave me one of the loveliest scalp massages I had ever had, something I find immensely erotic even when performed by a straight masseur or a hairdresser, my mind was consumed with wondering whether he was naked under the robe. That seemed such an important issue. My mind was buzzing with curiosity and queries. Was he naked, was he hard, how big was he, was he circumcised and would he later offer to fuck me with it, or simply let me hold it? Would he present it to my mouth for me to suck him: and if he did what would he taste like?

Those questions had to remain unanswered though, at least for a while, for he had started to massage the front of my shoulders, along my collar bone. My eyes were tightly closed, but I knew he would have to be leaning forward from his kneeling position. I frequently felt the silk of his robe, probably the cuffs or elbows, brush across me face; a heady sensation indeed, silk is so sensual, I find. Then I opened my eyes and saw that it was not the cuffs or elbows, but the folds covering him beneath the waist, the part covering his, what I was sure would now be, his erection. I still couldn't see that and how I stopped myself from reaching up for it, I have no idea. It is so unlike me, but I had such a desire to feel and stroke his cock that my body was exploding with want.

I closed my eyes again and gave into the feelings, sensations and emotions that Ben was creating in me. He certainly knew his stuff, both from a technical massage and an arousing a woman angle.

His hands were softly massaging that area between my collar bones and where the flesh became fuller as my breasts flared out from my chest. His fingers, for I think he was just using those now, were rotating in little circles, moving steadily downwards, although when he moved down a few inches he would then go back up again to near my collar bone. Down, then up, up towards my shoulders, down towards my breasts; up to nice feelings but not sexual and down to the erotic playground of my breasts and nipples.

But now, as his hands and fingers slid downwards, each time I felt them push against the towel, the edge of which was just where my breast flesh erupts from my chest. 

And of course that meant two things.

One, that each time he pushed the towel, the edge moved up the swell of each boob and two that as he did that, so the edges of his hands touched that most sensitive flesh. 

Although I knew, or thought I knew, that soon my breasts would be bare and he would gaze at them, touch them, squeeze and caress and maybe even suck them, and although he, presumably, knew that as well, we both continued with the charade. The charade of pretence, the game of not knowing, the play of anticipation, building the suspense and creating the hope and expectancy of impending sexual delight.

I opened my eyes again. The silk of his robe brushed against my forehead as he leaned forward his hands on a downward sweep. I watched them go slowly nearer and nearer to my breasts. They rested against the edge of the towel, the sides of his hands and his little fingers were on my breast flesh, touching it, sending wonderful feelings through my body. The towel moved up each breast. It was now half way up each mound. I could see at the peak of each of them the outline of my nipples that were so aroused and erect they were making very evident indentations in the fairly heavy towelling material.

I so wanted that towel to go, to be removed, for Ben to slide it away so that my aching breasts were his to gaze at, adorn and do with as he wished. I was so fucking aroused and horny I was sure I would be up for anything.

But like the master arouser he evidently was, he didn't rush, he didn't hurry things; he continued building the moment, keeping me in suspense and on the boil. Playing with me, knowing what I wanted and needed I am sure.

I closed my eyes again and revelled in the magic moments he was giving me. His hands touched the towel and the slope of my breasts again. They eased the cover further up the slopes of my boobs, which due to my supine position were slightly flattened, providing a less extreme incline. 

Again and again it was edged up as again and again he leaned forward his robe caressing my face his hands touching my boobs. I desperately looked to see if I could catch a glimpse under his robe, but the angles were not right and, in any case, the room was too dim for me to see. I could not indulge my voyeuristic desire by seeing his prick, but I could certainly indulge my hedonistic needs by loving the touch of his hands on my flesh. The question my mind was now grappling with was, if and when I would be able to fulfil my exhibitionist instincts and have Ben see my naked breasts and swollen nipples. 

It didn't take long for the edge of the towel to climb the mini mountainside of my breasts and for it to sit precariously right on their flame tipped peaks. His hands now had more skin to flitter across. They had the expanse from the top of each orb to just before each nipple. Three to four inches of super-sensitive flesh that he was lightly stroking, caressing, touching and massaging. I was squirming my bum a little, crossing and uncrossing my legs and gripping the towelling covered mattress with my fingers. My breathing was heavier, my eyes were shut tightly and my mouth was slightly open; probably I was groaning and moaning quietly. And then I felt it, then it happened, then, suddenly my breasts were free, they were uncovered, they were bare, they were available and they were ready for him.




Friday Came on Wednesday



I didn't actually feel the towel being removed, but then I realised it hadn't been. Ben had taken the simple expedience of sliding his hands under it, of running them up each boob, of opening his hands up and cupping my tits in his hand.

The grunt that escaped from my mouth was almost animalistic, my body trembled, and I writhed my bottom and arched my back pushing myself against his hands. It was fantastic.

"Oh yes," I sighed as he squeezed and rolled my tits around. He pinched my nipples; he pulled them and pressed them. He pushed the two orbs together

squeezing them into one mass of tit flesh, pushing his fingers into the crevice between them. 

The towel did come off then and my boobs were bare. Not just them I suddenly realised, but all of me. He had removed the other towels as well so that my entire was exposed.

"Mmmm, lovely," he murmured, bending right over me so the part of the robe covering his thighs and stomach pressed against my face obliterating my sight. His hands slid further and further down my body. Past my tits, over my lower chest, onto my hips, along my stomach, across my pubes and, with no hesitation at all right between my legs that I so willingly opened for him.

His fingers made a cursory caress of my pussy lips, they checked out my clit making my body, almost, convulse. I grabbed his hand and closed my thighs round it, shoving myself as hard against his fingers as I could.

And like that he made me cum. Not once but several times, several wonderful times.

He held me as I came down from my orgasm, comforting me and stroking my hair. But not once did I get see or feel his cock. I never even knew whether he did have an erection.

Chapter 5

So that was how I celebrated my first anniversary of being celibate. Without doubt, Friday had arrived on Wednesday and I just can't wait until the same time next year.