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Caitlin Writes Ch. 01

By: Christopher Tracy



"Would you like someone to tie you up whilst you have sex?"

"What? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening. What was the question?"

"Caitlin, pay attention! Question eleven: have you ever let a man tie you up? Nat and I said yes, and Liz will if she ever stops wasting time and lets you-know-who get into her knickers!"

"Shut up Jen, I'm just making him wait. I just want to make sure, that's all, just make sure that we're ready for it!"

"Oh my god, he couldn't be more ready! His tongue permanently hangs out. He has a thing for you so big you can see it from space! Caitlin, answer the question, we're nearly there. Ever indulged in a little tying-up?"

"Sorry, no, I've never been tied up. Never tied anyone else up. I might have tied someone's shoes up once or twice, does that count?" I ask, smiling innocently. They all laugh at me. So far I've answered no to pretty much every question. Where do they find these silly magazine questionnaires about sex? Is it really necessary to read them all out loud on the tram in the morning? And how is it that I end up answering no all the time? Of the girls that I am with, Liz is the youngest, and even she's done more than me, if her answers are to be believed. Maybe I'm just in a bad mood, seeing as I really did have the worst weekend ever. Shouldn't have gone clubbing on Saturday night. I ask them for the next question, confident that, as the oldest, sooner or later there must be one that I can answer with 'yes'.

"Okay, question twelve. Ooh, maybe we should skip that. Let's do thirteen, it's about anal!"

"What's wrong with twelve? Ask me number twelve."

"But we know what you'll say to this one. Oh, what the heck. Question twelve then: have you ever kissed another woman?" Immediately, and in spite of my best attempts to resist, my face wrinkles at the prospect.

"Told you!" Jenny laughs. "You always pull that face whenever someone mentions it."

"I'm sorry," I say, pretending to look offended. "It's just that some of us know exactly which side our bread is buttered, thank you. I'm quite happy sticking with men, which is more than one or two here might say!" With this last, Jenny and Nat have the good grace to go at least slightly red. On several occasions -- admittedly only when very drunk -- they've ended up sprawled out on a sofa in a bar somewhere with tongues down each other's throats.

"We only do that for the free drinks-"

"It's just to make the guys go crazy-"

Complaining in unison, Liz and I laugh at them. Furtively they glance at each other, pride knocked but not mortally damaged. None of us think that they're actually lesbians, and it does only ever happen towards the end of the night when they're very drunk. Maybe it's because they're so much younger than me -- I have a good two decades on them -- but somehow it doesn't seem right to me. I can't blame them, I suppose, because men do seem to find it extremely captivating, and when they surface for air offers of drinks are never far away. Smiling, I shake my head as they start picking on each other over who does the most outrageous things when they're drunk.

They were doing it on Saturday night, in the club. Jenny and Natasha pulled each other, bitch-face Karen shagged the best-looking man in the city centre and I had a pizza. Technically, I had a hot and spicy garlic bread on a pizza base, but the point is that I had to eat it alone.

"Am I boring?" I ask, throwing the question out from leftfield somewhere. "Am I too plain for words, or simply too old?" I don't actually know where that came from and now I wish I hadn't said it. They looked at me as though I had just produced a mountain bike from a bowl of semolina. "It's just that..."

"We know what you mean," said Liz, the United Nations Ambassador for Nightclubs and Bars in Sheffield City Centre. "This is about Karen, and that bloke, isn't it?"

"Absolutely not," I lied firmly and unequivocally, before inspiration struck. "I was thinking about Richard, actually. Although the, uh, the Karen thing sort of summed it up nicely."

Richard is my partner. 'OFT', as the girls call him -- they claim it's an acronym for 'Old Father Time' but I'm fairly sure that the 'F' is an expletive - is ten years older than me, and a lecturer in drama at the local university, which is sort of how we met. I make props and scenery for the theatre in the city centre where we all work, he wanted to send students for practical experience, yada yada yada.

He asked me out when I was at my lowest ebb for years -- the driver of the car that killed my husband had served his eighteen months, or whatever it is that drunken teenagers are given when they steal a car and kill an innocent person. Anyway, said murderer had just been released from prison and I desperately needed a Samaritan. I broke down on him one day backstage, he took me out for lunch, and we spent the whole afternoon talking. The afternoon became the evening, and that became night, and for the only time in my life I went to bed with a man who wasn't my husband. His first marriage had also been until death parted them, and it just felt right.

Now, it's different. What struck me as passion for his work when we first met now just seems like workaholism, and we barely see each other. We still have our own places, I haven't even met his family, which to be fair only comprises of a son, Ben. Although I have recollections of enjoying a sex life, that seems like a long time ago. When he can stay over, when he isn't too tired, and when I can get him to stop talking about work, it lasts about eleven minutes. Strictly lights off, no talking, by the book missionary position. The girls know all of this.

"No, the thing with Richard is nothing to do with what happened on Saturday night," said Natasha soothingly. "Richard's just not interested in sex, and the bloke in the club was using you to get to Jenny."

"Thank God," I mocked, "I was worried men would only have one reason to reject me, but I'm pleased they're operating with a whole panoply of reasons." It was Jenny who piped up with a pointless and inane comment to break the sarcasm.

"You should have an affair, C, that would sort everything out." A stream of bizarre comments punctuated by neologisms would often constitute a conversation with Jenny. I don't understand it, much as I don't understand why I love her to death. Some things just are. This last was quite a surprise even by her word-salad-as-conversation standards. We'll come to why in a moment, but for now we must pause to let Liz interject.

"Jen, even for you that's a daft thing to say. Caitlin is altogether a more sensible and mature person that to lower herself with a cheap fling." Jen was ready to rebut, but Natasha also had an opinion.

"Actually I don't think it's that bad an idea," she said, pensively. "She might realise that the grass is not always greener, or whatever cliché best sums it up, and decide she's better off with what she had." An interesting point of view - misery and rejection preferable to finding someone else. I would let Jenny make her case, then deliver my verdict.

"I don't doubt that OFT is an excellent partner, in his own way. He never cheats; works hard at a very decent job, makes sure you lack nothing, and is generally attentive to your needs except in one area. Granted he can be quite vacant and self-absorbed," she paused, building up to the punchline "but as I see it his lack of sexual interest is cancelled out by the fact that he's so bloody self-absorbed you could take lovers in the kitchen and he wouldn't notice. What you need to do is find a nice, safe shag; someone who's only interest is banging you until yours ears bleed, and doesn't want to stop for conversations."

"Jen!" Liz exclaimed. "She would never do that, she's so much more sensible than that."

"So what you're saying is," I started, quietly, "I should sleep around so people stop thinking of me as boring."

"Caitlin!" they cried in unison for entirely different reasons. I was determined to make them understand my reasoning.

"Liz, you used the word 'sensible' twice to describe me in less time than it takes Jenny elicit a marriage proposal from a stranger." Jen shrugged in an 'I can't help it' sort of way that made me want to hug her. "I know that you meant it in a complimentary way, but I don't see myself as sensible. I think of beige chunky-knit arun cardigans as sensible."

"Ooh!" exclaimed Jenny, hot on the trail of a random statement. "If I were clothes I would be a denim mini skirt!" We look at her and she fails to understand the meaning of the look.

"Perhaps," I smiled, "I wouldn't mind being thought of as sensible, as long as that's not all people think of me, but I think it sums me up." The tram lurched to another stop and people started to file on. "I would rather like to be thought of as exciting, or attractive, or sexy, or desirable. Frankly, even interesting would be an upgrade." Silence sidled into the carriage and we shuffled along our seats to accommodate it. Unfortunately silence was forced to give up its seat when Karen got on.

"Hey ladies," she smarmed charmlessly. My head filled with an image of keeping butterflies in a jar until they died. At the exact same point last Friday I thought about raptors ripping someone to pieces. That's the effect Karen has on people. Jenny calls her 'trout-face' behind her back. Different strokes, I say. "What's happening, bitches?"

"Caitlin's going to have an affair and I want to be a pair of strappy fuck-me shoes," Jenny said conversationally.

"Actually that's not quite what I said..."

"Oh Caitlin, why would you want to do that? It's not like you, you're so... I don't know, what's the word?"

"Sensible?" Jenny added helpfully, failing to evade the flying pumps of both Liz and Natasha.

"No," Karen said. "Not sensible... You're so... old," she added grandly. "I mean, at your age. You really shouldn't. It's just not becoming of a mature lady." I hated Karen. I hated her killer cheekbones, crystal clear eyes, and perfect lips. I hated her naturally vibrant red hair, body honed through twenty years of dancing, and never-ending legs. Oh, I hated her, and I hated her more for actually proving my point.

It's while I'm busy hating her that I see him. See him again, technically, because we see him most mornings on the same tram as us. Sort of fair-ish brown hair spiked on top, with too-long-to-be-stubble but too-short-to-be-a-beard facial hair. Wearing a smart black suit (jacket never buttoned) with a white shirt and no tie, he is absolutely, totally and utterly not my type at all. Yet when I see him...

"Girls... look at her..." Nat hisses, giggling.

I snap to, suddenly aware that they're looking at me. I break from my definitely not fantasising about a stranger commuter-trance and smile. They all laugh at me and several of the other 'trampanions' (as Jen once called them) turn round and look, or tut-tut disapprovingly out of the window.

"Bet I know who she's dreaming about," Nat says, and without wanting to I instinctively glance over at him. Immediately I search the floor between my feet but it's too late, they've all seen it. Another peal of laughter, and I think at this one my cheeks start to go a little pink. I contemplate fanning myself a little with the paper, but that would be to draw attention to it. 

"Caitlin," Karen schmoozes, "I really don't wish to be disparaging, but are you serious?" Clearly I fancy him so there's little point denying. Rather, I stay quiet, try to give her no ammunition. "Honey, he really is out of your league, you simply don't have a chance. I mean, he's not just too good-looking for you, he's so young! Compared to you, I mean. You might have gone to school with his dad, or something!"

Smiling sweetly, I reach over Nat's shoulder for the bell whilst trying not to look further back into the carriage at him. Instead, I try to force my way into the gangway of the packed tram and as I do Karen can't resist one last attempt to light my fuse. 

"Caitlin, if you hurry I'm sure he could help you with crossing the road!"

Ignoring trout-face, I make an attempt to leave with dignity. It's my turn to fetch coffees from everyone's favourite coffee super-power, which is why I'm getting off the tram one stop before everyone else.

"Caitlin, don't forget not to put sugar in mine!" Liz calls as I try not to get swept away by the tide of travellers. I half-turn to reply, but the dangerous combination of not looking where I'm going and some sort of learner-tram-driver emergency stop conspire to make me miss the step and for a moment my mind is wholly taken up with close-up images of the floor, and imagined sensations of how hard it must be.

That's when his arm comes out and catches me in the perfect romantic Hollywood embrace.

Somewhere beyond the dark side of the moon I can hear the girls gasp, and I think Karen may be laughing at my less than graceful introduction. We're leaning over like the winning contestants on 'Come Dancing' and I think I may be digging my nails into his biceps. Trying to seize dignity from the jaws of embarrassment, I compose myself for just a moment before looking up to thank him in a composed and business-like way.

My mouth sort of droops open and I think there's spittle on my chin.

"I never dance before midnight, but if you insist..." That's the first time I've heard his voice, and it's not the deep, British leading-man baritone that has of course never featured in my dreams. It's more of a transatlantic drawl and it comes as a surprise. Is he foreign? Worse, is he -- gulp -- an American?

"Stole that line from a film." he says in a completely different voice while raising me upright onto unsteady legs. "Stole the accent too, although", he adds, lips curling into a mischievous smile, "obviously not from the same film. Never was terribly good at doing the voices. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I say.

"That's great, just terrific. I'm glad you're okay." Awkward pause. "So, no harm done then," he says. Trying to think of suitable words of thanks, I just smile in a prim manner.

"So, not hurt, or shaken or anything?" Rummaging through my memory for some indication of how to employ my voice box, I do at least manage to shake my head without hurling myself to the floor. He's still looking down at me, and I'm very conscious that I feel like I'm sixteen again. In fact, this is just how I felt the first time that Andrew Rose asked me out to a dance. It's exactly like that; in fact, I think I'm getting the same vibes from this stranger too. I think to myself, careful Caitlin, you're daydreaming! This complete stranger, this incredibly beautiful man, is not going to ask me out and make winning the bet easier. He's at least half my age, if not more. Then, he opens his mouth to speak, and I stop breathing so that I don't miss anything if he does ask me out.

"I'm awfully sorry to interrupt your meditation, but do you think I might have my arms back now?" Realizing that I'm still gripping him hard, I disentangle myself hurriedly, musing over the strange way he has of speaking. It makes him sound older than me. Meanwhile, I nod my assent whilst mentally thumbing through the owner's manual for my voice. I discover that it's in Swedish and curiously there seem to be some small, plastic items with a flange left over. Maybe that's why I still can't speak.

I think I should explain at this point that I am not normally like this. You may if you wish mock me, given the ineptitude of my performance so far this morning, but the fact is that I am a mature, educated woman, a widow for the past few years, and not generally given to schoolgirl flights of fantasy. I am intelligent and independent, eloquent and erudite, with no previous history of hurling myself at strangers on public mass transportation. To complete the picture, I am a curvaceous five feet and six inches tall, wavy brown hair (looks sort of red in the sun) that curls just below my shoulders. Bored to the point of distraction since the death of my beloved husband, who I met at university. He was taking some qualification in architecture, and went on (as one does) to become a chef and later restaurant owner - a placed Kyz Kuu, down by the canal. I'll tell you the story behind the name some other time, but for now all you need to know is that it was the sort of restaurant without a menu. My husband would come to your table once you were seated, and discuss what he was going to make for you. The place was never empty until he died, and it passed to me. Oh, it's always full and very popular, but without him it's empty. Now we're introduced!

"Well, it was nice talking to you. Try not to hurl yourself at any more strangers this morning!" Awaking from my reverie in time to see the beautiful stranger walking away, I discovered that I was standing outside one of the quieter bars on West Street. 

Making my way towards coffee ground zero, I shake my head as I try to understand exactly what as just come to pass. I don't know his name, he's so much younger than me, and now it would appear that I have a crush on him the size of a decent hotel in Dubai. Weaving in and out of the morning rush hour human traffic, I try to recall the usual coffee order.

"Big Issue! Morning ma'am, would you like a copy of the Big Issue?"

"No, I'm okay thank you... "

"'Ave you got change for a cuppa please?"

"Sorry, I've got no change on me at all."

"Spare a pound for an old ex-cripple?" I spluttered with indignation, then used a hankie to clear the indignation from my jacket lapel.

"An ex-cripple? I don't even know where to begin with that!"

Realising that I hadn't picked up a paper yet, I made my way to the kiosk near the tram stop and wrestled with a hefty broadsheet. A gust from a nearby tram threatened to separate me from my intended purchase, and the instant I start juggling I dropped my purse - change everywhere. The miserable witch behind the kiosk tutted and served the next customer as I tried to gather up the loose coins.

"Can I get you anything?" she snorts at the lucky person behind me on whom she has focussed her immense charm and personality.

"Actually no, I think I'm quite content just enjoying the view from where I am." There's a pause of several seconds before it occurs to me that I know that voice. When I look up, there he is again, doing exactly what he described and staring down my vest top. Normally such overt leering would make me wretch, but instead I just blushed, and abandoned the rest of my change for the tramps to find.

"Well, I'm glad I brightened your morning." comes my riposte.

"Twice."

"I beg your pardon?"

"That's twice you've brightened my morning, in just a few minutes."

"Well, I'm pleased that my efforts have not gone unnoticed!" I bluster, faking light-heartedness.

"They haven't, because now I shall be thinking about you all day..." Oh God, that should sound so cheesy, but you had to be there.

"Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow," I say, smiling at him shyly as I sashay away. Unfortunately what would have been a magnificent pose is broken by the fact that I still haven't paid for my paper, and at a yell from the fat spotty girl I have to return to pay for it. I hear him chuckle as he walks away.

Flustered, I decided to stop for death by cholesterol breakfast on my way to the theatre. Annoyingly, the queue at the 'restaurant' was longer than the queue to avoid a Jamie Oliver book signing, which meant that I had to wait in a queue at everyone's least favourite fast death chain. And as usually happens when you're there, food you wouldn't normally consider feeding to a dead yak inexplicably seems incredibly appetising. When the foreign student whose English vocabulary seemed to be limited to gangster rap lyrics took my order, I asked for the cardboard imitation of a breakfast.


Caitlin Writes Ch. 01



Wrestling my way through queues of people who never seem to realise they won't get to the till unless they let you move away first, I scanned the 'restaurant' for somewhere to sit. This entails wandering around for forty years like Moses in the desert deciding whether to sit next to the bag lady who smells of urine or the school kids comparing Asbos. Just as I was about to stand where I was to eat, I saw an empty chair at a table for two and pounced. Of course, it wasn't until I got closer that I realised it was my tram saviour who was already seated there. I froze, not really sure whether my nerves could take being sat across from him. Enjoying a similarly nutritionless meal as me, he was playing with his wallet. Taking one nervous step forward I could even read the name on his video rental club card as he shuffled things about in his wallet - Roger Thornhill. Strange, I didn't have him down as a Roger. 

I was not the only one who decided to pounce at that moment. One of the girls who cleaned the floor area - Sophie, according to her name badge - moved in first, flirting with him shamelessly as she untidied a table in order to talk to him. Like an Englishman facing a penalty shoot-out I waited apprehensively whilst those with a much clearer game plan took advantage. Sophie was pretty, I suppose, in a sluttish way. Her blonde fringe fell over one eye, almost managing to cover the excessive eye-shadow. To draw attention away from her too-square chin her shirt was unbuttoned two buttons too low, and even from where I was I could pick out the detail on her black push-up bra. Clearly he enjoyed her attentions as she thrust her fringe and cleavage around dangerously, and I could hardly blame him. Still, the acceptance that I had been beaten by a younger woman did little to assuage the curious pokers of jealousy that were prodding my chest.

Whichever saint it is that looks after frustrated middle aged women of Irish extraction suddenly turned the full beam of his gaze upon me. As Sophie bustled pointlessly around his table, she caught his beaker of orange juice with one of her pointlessly oversized yet somehow fashionable bangles. What followed was ninety seconds of true slapstick comedy as she attempted to clean his crotch (the new home of the aforementioned orange juice) with her damp rag, before admitting defeat and leading him off, presumably to the kitchens, to get cleaned up. My rival besmirched and a table cleared for me simultaneously, my guardian saint sat back and folded his arms, whilst I enjoyed a hearty meal of gelatinous crap and monosodium glutamate.

Like a lion and a Christian, we battled with ferocity, guile, and a disposable blue biro, but eventually the crossword left me bloody and bruised, and with my elbow in someone's milkshake (question: if she was fussing around the table for three or four minutes, how come she didn't manage to wipe it up?). Folding my paper contemptibly, I thought it best to head for work, with just the briefest of detours to visit the little girl's room. In this particular 'restaurant' (never fails to make me laugh) the toilets are downstairs and so, skirting the mop and bucket, slipping on the wet floor and tripping over the wet floor warning cone, I made my way downstairs and then along the corridor.

A noise at the door made me start, then stop. You hear about it all the time, women being assaulted in a public toilet, and you wonder at how they manage not to be discovered in such a busy place, people in and out so frequently. I listened at the door but couldn't make out the noise. I may be many things (a pound or two overweight, starting to collect laughter lines, getting more insecure about my looks) but I am not, I think, a coward.

Still, it was definitely more prudent to inch the door open slowly until I was sure exactly what was occurring inside the toilets. The door was open around six or eight inches when I realised I could see them, not in front of me, but reflected in the huge mirror on the opposite wall.

Sophie was kneeling on the floor before him. I thought he was holding her head but actually had a handful of hair, the other arm raised above his head. I could see her looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes, waiting for the inevitable. His head was half-turned away from me so I couldn't make out his expression. I could, however, see perfectly his long, smooth cock as Sophie expertly teased it in her right hand.

Gently she kissed it up and down the length of his shaft, taking care to lift his cock and pay attention to his balls. Looking down at her I could see him smiling, and they maintained eye contact as she slowly took his erection into her mouth. When she'd taken in the first three or four inches she closed her lips around it, cheeks sucking in as she availed herself of his cock.

Expertly she fellated him as simultaneously she undid his trousers, pulling them down further. I couldn't see his bum through the mirror, and I found I was imagining feeling it, raking my nails across it as Sophie was now. Her head started to move backwards and forwards as she allowed him to gently fuck her mouth. I could see her hands were exploring him, sliding up and down his belly and round onto his bum. It was clear from his face that she was good, and he was enjoying it.

Her hand slipped between his legs and she fondled his balls with affection, taking them one by one and massaging them gently, conscious of their fragility. He ran his hands through her hair, pulling out her scrunchy so it hung loose and made her dark roots visible. He whispered a command and she broke away for a quick moment to haul the polo shirt over her head, revealing nice but small breasts in a bra that enhanced them. They were not, it occurred to me, anywhere near as large as mine.

For three or four minutes I was transfixed, in the doorway, watching their illicit sexual liaison and marvelling that there were people quite so adventurous, that would take a chance on an encounter with a stranger, particularly at this time of the morning. I think that last comment summed up my mood this morning.

Sophie was clearly free from such hang-ups, and was now giving a true pornstar performance. The whole of his shaft was inside her mouth, so I don't know whether his wide-eyed expression was borne of an impending orgasm or amazement that she could take him all in. He grabbed her head suddenly, both she and I recognising that he was getting close. Slowly, teasingly she withdrew him from her mouth, and turned instead to manual manipulation. With her sophisticated two handed wanking method no man was going to last long, and in less than a minute he came, with her aiming him the best she could into her mouth. She licked his semen from around her mouth but missed the most part.

From the instant I first saw them, I'm sure that I had neither moved, blinked, nor breathed, but as she knelt there, self-satisfied grin only partly obscured by a faceful of sperm, I became aware that my heart was thundering. Whether it was the illicit nature of their interaction or the fact that I had observed it whilst remaining unobserved myself, something had caused me to remain stationary and unseen. Not only that, but I had become aware of increasing sensations within myself. Realising that in my eagerness to watch them I had opened the door further, I tried to discreetly back out and leave them to it, as it were. Of course, the instant I tried to move the door it squeaked like a rat being massaged with a cheese grater, and my cover was well and truly blown. Sophie looked up at me immediately, horrified at first, but slowly smiling as she recognised a feeling writ large across my face that I hadn't even registered myself yet. He turned his head slowly, still grinning like... well, like a man who'd just received a first class blowjob. Our reflected eyes met in the mirror, and locked. I couldn't even blink.

"Told you I'd be thinking about you all day," he said, earnestly.

I'd run out of the restaurant, across a busy road and traversed a public square, into the theatre, down some stairs and along a corridor, up a few more stairs and into my 'office', slamming the door behind me as I locked myself into the toilet cubicle, before breathing again. I wasn't just trembling, I was literally quaking. Whether it was the excitement of what I'd watched or the fact that I'd been caught watching I didn't know, but something had lit a fire under me. In fact, I was ablaze all day, right up until Richard invited me out for a drink that night. Talk about cooling one's ardour.



Caitlin Writes Ch. 02



Caitlin's log: Sunday, 10 a.m. I'm lying in bed with a terrible, nagging ache. You'd be forgiven for thinking I'd gone ten rounds with a Cabernet Sauvignon, but you'd be wrong. The ache was spiritual rather than physical, the apocalyptic realisation that for the third night running I'd lain awake for hour before falling asleep, contemplating all manner of things related to re-igniting my sex life. See? That's what I keep doing, dressing the issue up in euphemisms - "re-igniting my sex life", "putting the excitement back into my love life". I loved Richard, I really did, but I was reaching the point at which I could no longer handle being so ignored. Therefore, you could put it however you liked but in the end we'd still be talking about having an affair.

A quick walk on the park, fresh air and sunshine, would be the tonic required to revivify myself. I tried to help out my elderly neighbours when I could, and walking their dog was one of the ways I could offer my assistance, so after dressing I nipped round to collect the dog (a Greek breed, the dog's name was Candaules, don't ask me why). I'd have a walk round the park - school playing fields, technically - drop in at the newsagent, and get back to start on lunch.

It was certainly colder than I expected on the park. Windy, which gave the air a deceptive bite if the breeze caught you. Should have worn something more substantial than a vest top and combat trousers, but there you go. There were two games in progress on the park, and I watched the wrong one - the dull one - for a good ten minutes. In fact, it was only the mantra-like 'ooh', 'aah', and 'shit, that must have hurt' that made me turn round. Watching closely, there was a certain defender on the far side who was, shall we say, uncompromising in his determination to win the ball in tackles. There was an egghead in a white coat who was measuring the impact of his tackle with expensive-looking seismological equipment, let's put it that way. After one particular transgression, and a protracted and unnecessarily complicated attempt to construct a homemade splint for one of their players, said enthusiastic tackler received an invitation to an early shower. My suspicion that this player was my new crush, Roger, was confirmed when he left the pitch a little further down the sideline. I watched him as walked across the field in the direction of the school changing rooms, dabbing his bloodied nose with what remained of an opponent's shirt, as his team mates shouted things like 'bad luck skipper' and 'we'll get the bastards for you skipper'.

There's no real way to slip away from a football match to follow a young man into the changing rooms without the adjective 'furtive' being squirreled in there somewhere. If I were writing a book and the requirement for such a description arose, I think I'd be tempted to go with 'breezily, she took an early morning stroll around the playing fields, simply enjoying the buzz of activity, fresh city air and morning sunshine'. See how false it sounds? 'Furtively, she slipped away from the crowd with head bowed, trying not to look like she was following the dismissed captain into the changing rooms in order to secure a conversation she absolutely didn't want anyone else to hear'. You can't argue that it simply sounds more natural, not to mention accurate. 

The silence inside the school building was an eerie contrast to the noise, activity and hangover-fuelled violence on the pitch. Wholly unlike James Bond I slipped through the double doors and down the corridor in silence, staccato bursts of movement followed by a pause to listen for any indication I'd been observed. I've no idea why, so don't ask. I just knew that I wasn't supposed to be here. Listening at the doors in turn, I made my choice of which to enter. After apologising to the gang of nearly naked 8 year old boys inside, I went for my second choice with rather more caution.

There were sounds indicating activity, but with no chatter I assumed the occupant was alone. I closed the door quietly, making the sharp right turn along the corridor and into the changing room. Peering round the corner stealthily - think the waiter from Fawlty Towers trying to be a spy - I scanned the benches down either side of the room for him, but through the forest of jeans and shirts I could see no sign. If he was in one of the many cubicles I wouldn't have a chance of spotting him anyway. Emboldened, I skulked further into the changing room. It was bigger than I thought, and beyond the dressing area was a large anteroom designed for schoolchildren to dry themselves before entering the changing room proper. Beyond the drying area was a large, communal shower where shower heads protruded from the four walls like some bizarre collection of stuffed miniature triffid heads, and where Roger stood naked, soaping himself down and grinning at me.

"Come in," he said simply, trying not to laugh at me. I observed the proper rules of decorum and etiquette and blushed furiously.

"You're, umm, sorry to intrude, naked," I stammered eloquently. Accurately, too. 

"Yes, I find it the most effective way to take a shower," he soothed. His sarcasm, gently applied and lightly rubbed in, did little to dispel the awkwardness I felt. "Of course, if there's compelling evidence that there's an alternative and more effective way to shower I shall certainly consider it. Perhaps there's been research into the matter that I'm unaware of." Whatever he may be unaware of, I remained utterly aware of his still-nakedness. He continued soaping himself as though alone, and unable to find words I simply watched as he washed his arms, his chest, his thighs.

"Not that I mind such company as yours, but was there something that you wanted?" Well yes, there was, but I should wait until you've finished soaping it.

"I saw your nose bleeding, just before got sent off for grand testicle-icide, just wanted to make sure you were okay," I lied unconvincingly. He laughed, a deep bellow that made my diaphragm vibrate. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

"He caught me with a good one in the first half, with his elbow. My nose is still bleeding, on and off. I just wanted to make him aware that he who lives by the elbow, dies by the size twelve!"

"But your nose, is that okay?" Why was I blathering on about his nose? It was the one protuberance I was least interested in. He laughed at the obvious transparency of my remarks.

"Yes, it's fine, thank you for your concern. I do wonder how it provoked such concern in a complete stranger, though," he asked, not unreasonably. I felt like I should to bring up what happened the other day, but I wanted to do it in such a way that made it clear I wasn't a voyeur, or simply an outright pervert. Strangely I decided the best approach would be to follow the bull into the china shop.

"Well - skipper (here he smiled, knowing that I must have been watching him for some time) - I was thinking about the other day..." His expression suggested he'd been waiting for this topic to come up. His eyebrows arched in expectation of my protests; it occurred to me that he was actually waiting for me to complain! There are many, many things that wind me up in this life - bank charges, American presidents, reality TV, do-gooder pop stars - and one of them is people pigeonholing me. This young man already thought he knew me, and that made me mad. It wasn't just waving a red flag at a bull, it was having him come home and find you in bed with Mrs. Bull. I was determined to confound his expectations of me - but how could I do that and remain true to myself? "What happened the other day..." My voice trailed off again. He smiled, but it ran dangerously close to being a smirk. 

"Did you enjoy watching us?" He asked quietly, nonchalantly, as though discussing the right shade of beige for the carpet in the hall. Strangely his expression, and the tone in his voice made me want to mother him, and boy was that ever the wrong thing to be thinking with his dick waving about in front of me. "I was hoping you would join in but you left... with an abruptness that bordered on being rude." Floundering, I tried to comprehend the rules to this game. I wanted to discuss inadvertently watching him in a private sexual encounter; he was scolding me as though I'd left the table without excusing myself. Just what was happening?

"I... I wasn't being rude. What you were doing with the hired help was your business. I was simply looking for the toilet."

"Nevertheless you found us. Found us, and watched for several minutes, did you not?"

"It was just a brief glance..." Never has one snort expressed such derision. I deserved it.

"I'm sorry, but I must disagree. It was several minutes, during which you could have joined our little tryst at any point. You would have been very welcome. Still, you're here now, so let's make the most of this opportunity."

"What! We can't-"

"Of course not. What on earth was I thinking?" He strode forward, apparently oblivious to the semi-erection waggling in front of him, and extended his hand. "We haven't even been introduced!" Lost, I simply took the proffered hand of the naked man young enough to have been my son and shook it. His grip was strong, his hand large; instantly my mind filled with thoughts of it slapping my buttocks, which I had to shake my head to clear.

"Caitlin," I offered, simply.

"Caitlin," he echoed. "What a terribly nice name. Quite unusual. And I am-"

"Skipper, I heard," I said, trying to smile. So much nicer than Roger, which frankly seemed an old man's name.

"Just a nickname, and probably the only name they call me that's fit for broadcast. Now that we're no longer strangers, we should move on. I'd like you to remove your clothes. Start with your trousers please."

"No. I'm with someone, I have a boyfriend-"

"He's not here. I am, and I am telling you what to do." The forceful extra emphasis on the last personal pronoun jolted me upright. There was a pause whilst comprehension flittered around my head before finally settling down.

"Skipper," I started, using the term sarcastically, "I don't know what you think is going to happen here-"

"Do as you're told and take your clothes off!" His voice raised and his tone commanding, he reminded me of an English Army officer from an old war film. He had no need for fiery invective or coarse language; even naked he projected such authority that for a moment I almost capitulated immediately. Almost...

In my imaginary book, I'd have been tempted to write something like, 'with trembling fingers she undid the buttons on her blouse, each operation taking an eternity to complete'. But I didn't want to be that type of heroine. I wanted to show him that anything I did, I did of my own volition. What we were doing was wrong, for sure, but if we were going to do 'wrong' things I wanted to do them as an equal partner. Plus, I was wearing a vest top and there were no buttons to undo.

I wish that a more eloquent objection had occurred to me, but putting my hands on my hips and sticking my tongue out felt most comfortable at that moment, so I just went with it. Surprisingly he laughed at me, which kind of shattered the sub/dom thing we had going on, although I guess no more than me sticking my tongue out did.

"Just wait!" he laughed, in a mock-scolding voice, snatching up a towel and trying to whip me with it. Then he was after me as we ran around the rows of changing cubicles in true Benny Hill style. Doubling back, he forced me into the drying area and when he lunged at me I took that fatal step back I didn't mean to take. I caught my breath as the water caught me, and even dodging backwards out of the way of the first shower only took me into the path of two others in the corner of the shower room. It only took seconds for the skimpy vest top I was wearing to become soaked through, and once soaked it became emphatically clingy. My hair escaped the better part of a soaking, but my top and trousers were drenched.

The echo of Skipper's laughter ricocheted about the room, which did not improve my mood as I stepped into the changing room. Snatching at the proffered towel I dabbed at my hair and then surveyed the carnage in my cleavage.

"You did that on purpose," I snapped, with more venom in my voice than I really felt.

"Oh come on, we were just playing around. I didn't know you were going to dive into the shower like a sun-baked lemming!" He scratched around for another towel as I tied the first around my top half. In a movement Houdini would have been proud of, I whipped my vest top off, leaving my modesty intact and thankful that the thick terry towelling meant that my nipples would not have someone's eye out just yet.

"Find me something to wear then, I can't go home like this. And get me a towel for my hair!" His eyes widened and he pursed his mouth as he mocked me. He did eventually offer me a towel, only to snatch it away a moment later. I snapped at him again and he relented, only to do it again a second later. He kept goading me until eventually I made a lunge for it. My lunge was of course telegraphed so clearly that Edison would have been proud, and as I flew past him he grabbed the towel around my top. The momentum was sufficient to make a decent job of unravelling it, and it took a moment for me to comprehend that I was topless. By that time he'd already helped himself to an eyeful, but still I raised a defensive arm cross my chest.

"If I could just have my towel back, thank you!" 

"Your trousers are soaking, take them off,'" he suggested.

"I will not! They're not that bad," I offered, but actually I could feel the dampness - from the shower, not anywhere else, not yet - seeping through and making me uncomfortable. It was heavy material and would hold water for ages, and be cold whilst doing it. He saw the hesitation in my face and pounced.

"Seriously, Caitlin, I'll give you my t-shirt, and if you put my surf shorts on they'll just look like cropped trousers on you." The offer was tempting. He turned and scrabbled in his bag, offering the advised clothing to me. Haughtily I looked at him, as he knew that I'd have to use both arms to take the clothes and thus reveal myself to him. He tutted.

"Caitlin, we're both grown-ups, and you don't have anything I didn't see ten seconds ago."

"Well, at least turn round then. I'm not generally given to flashing at young men." He did as bidden and I snatched the clothes from him, stashing them hastily on the nearest bench. I was actually glad to be taking these heavy combat trousers off and whilst his back was turned I took the chance to give my legs a quick rub with the towel, restoring some of the warmth.

"That's a terrific view, don't you think, Asok?" I knew he'd turn and look! Wishing irrationally that I had worn something more substantial than this tiny, sparkly g-string, I still couldn't help but smile at his compliment. Not wishing to dampen down the sentiment, I was still forced to ask:

"What the hell's 'ah-shuck' supposed to mean?"

"It's a name; specifically it's the name of the Indian medical student who wields a smelly sponge and calls himself the club doctor, despite the fact that no-one here would trust him to cure a guppy with indigestion."

"Okay, well why did you mention his name?"

"He's been standing by the door watching you for the last few minutes. Like I said, Asok, one hell of a view."

"Not wrong there, Skipper!" came the reply in a cheerful but curious mix of Asian and South Yorkshire accent.

Not wishing to accept the inevitable, it took me a moment to straighten up, but when I did there certainly was a third person in the room. He was tall and bony, must have been six three, six four and staring at me with great intent and delight. His midnight black hair was run through with a few odd looking blonde streaks and his mouth was the widest thing on Earth after the Grand Canyon, although his smile was not without charm. How had I come to be in a compromising situation with two young men whose aggregate age was not far from mine? Given that they'd both been peeking, there seemed little point trying to cover myself. Feigning a casual affect I reached over for the shirt Skipper had given me.

I'd assumed that most of the plans that he had for me didn't involve clothes; it didn't take an Oxbridge graduate to make that particular mental leap. So when Skipper motioned for me not to get dressed, I had a defence prepared. Sort of.

"I can get along with being outnumbered, I'll always stick up for myself. I can go with being naked too, if that's how things are to be. But I'm not going to suffer at a disadvantage," I said, looking directly at Johnny-come-lately. Unsure of how to play the game Asok remained silent, but Skipper remained in control.

"What if I offered a trade-off that suited all parties?" he suggested. I indicated that he should continue. "I've not made a secret of the fact that I've been trying to relieve you of your kit. Quite reasonably you pointed out that you did not want to be both outnumbered and disadvantaged, and made a point of saying that we're strangers, knowing little, well nothing of each other.

"What if, you voulunteered certain pieces of information, intimate information, and in return Asok will remove his clothing until we're all au natrel. You get to share a little about yourself, I get to see you naked, we all win."

"Uh, Skipper?" Asok asked. We both ignored him. I countered the proposal.

"And what after? What are you hoping to achieve from all this?"

"Skip?"

"Simply put Caitlin, I'm looking to put my cock in your arse and make you squeal. I thought I'd made it clear that I fancied you before, and now either you're being terribly slow, or an awful tease. I think it's the latter, in which case not only do I want to fuck you, but I'm inclined to make it hurt just a little by way as payback."

"No really, Skipper, I just-"

"Shut up Asok!" we shouted in unison. I fancied Skipper and somehow, God only knows, he fancied me. I'd only ever slept with two men and never cheated on either, never even come close. I wasn't wholly onboard with the idea now but something in my life had to change. In an inspired piece of rationalisation, I decided that as long as it was just between the three of us, I could cope, just once. I think it was the power of the high that you get from simply being so desired. Do scientists call it reciprocal liking? I thought he was gorgeous, and he wanted to, ahem, put his cock in my bum. We'd have to negotiate that last point, but I think I could sign up for the rest. Somebody pass me a pen before I change my mind.

"Okay," I started, doing a rank job of hiding my nervousness, "but we have to agree on a couple of points. What happens here must stay between the three of us. I have a boyfriend and I cannot risk it getting back to him. I'm sure you two are probably in similar position. Second, I'm not into the bottom stuff, we need to talk about things like that." Asok retained the bewildered look he'd had for the last few minutes, but Skipper smiled. It was one hell of a smile; charming, seductive and dangerous. I could have just eaten him up. He approached me, smiling.

"From this moment on Caitlin, I promise," he charmed, "that you will never issue another demand to me again. You will do as I tell you." There was such a discrepancy between the tone of his voice and the things he said that for a second it didn't register and I just stood there. It gave him ample time to grab me, and then things just moved too fast for me to comprehend.

With Asok assisting once commanded to do so, Skipper dragged me into the showers, holding my arms in anticipation of a struggle that never materialised. The surprise robbed me of any real fight. We struggled briefly under the showers, and all that registered in my dumbstruck brain was the feeling of Skipper's erection slapping against my skin as we tussled. When the boys stood back, my arms were tied above my head, secured by a belt or somesuch device to one of the shower heads. Warm water cascaded down my front, dripping off nipples that were almost painfully erect. The pleasurable feelings induced by the water and my advanced state of arousal conflicted with the indignation of being manhandled, and my trepidation of the situation I was now in. Skipper's erection had grown harder, and there was a bulge in Asok's groin that left no doubt as to his mood.




Caitlin Writes Ch. 02



"How's that? Not too comfortable, I hope?" I squirmed, but my hands were very secure, not so high as to hurt but certainly high enough as to render me incapacitated. There was no way of fighting back - I couldn't even kick out, or I'd lose my balance. He came over, leaned in so close that I could feel the stubble on my ear.

"No more instructions, ever. You will do as you're told, Caitlin." He stepped back, the dangerous smile still in place. "I think the terms of our original agreement may still stand. Let's get to know each other a little better!"

"And how exactly do you see that happening?" 

"I'm guessing, from the way you have carried yourself this morning - caught naked between two young men, yet still quite sure of yourself - in fact, Asok, I might even be tempted to say bolshie - that you have issues. To clarify; I think you're unhappy with your sex life. I think you are desperate for more, and I think that telling us about it might help." It's an uncanny thing, when someone speaks out loud that little gem that you kept hidden under the mattress of your subconscious. It must have showed in my demeanour, my failure to respond. He continued. "It would seem here we have an ideal way forward. You share with us some detail of the sex life you would like, some fantasy you thought would never find an appropriate forum, and Asok will remove an item of clothing." Up until that point the Cheshire cat looked miserable alongside the young Asian, but that smile quickly dropped. The deal actually seemed fine to me, in fact I was worried that once started Asok would not have enough clothing to continue the game.

"And what happens if Asok runs out of clothes?" 

"Perhaps I can find new ways to reward your confidences," he said with sincerity.

"Then we have an agreement," I said.

As if knowing my intimate needs more than I did myself, Skipper motioned for Asok to kill the harsh fluorescent lights. The diffused daylight through the frosted skylights was much better, and suited the mood. We made ourselves comfortable on the bench, with Skipper on my right and Asok on my left. Some of the bravado seemed to evaporate, so I asked one of them to get me started. Asok started pawing at my breast and I had to slap his hand away.

"Asok! Not like that, she means she wants to be asked about things, have the stories started off, not her orgasm!" Skipper was a little harsh, and I felt sorry for the young man. 

"Okay, I'll start with the questions. Can you remember the first fantasy you had?" Thank you Skipper, for an easy one to start off with.

"I can. I first had it on my very first day at University. You have to remember my parents were very strict Catholics, so university was a liberal culture shock from what I was used to."

"You never had a fantasy before then?" asked Asok with wide eyes.

"I never even had a kiss by then," I said wistfully. "Then on the first day of university I saw my husband. Well, I knew he was going to be my husband; he didn't, not then. He caught me looking at him, and he came over to say hi. I ran away. For six months I refused to speak to him, I was so shy! That night, I had a fantasy about us getting married. As I became more aware, sexually, it focussed on our wedding night. He would carry me over the threshold, and straight up to the bedroom.

Laying on my back, still in my wedding dress and shoes, he would start kissing my neck, my ears, my face, but never my mouth. From my neck he would move downwards, a trail of kisses leading into my cleavage. Gently he would ease my breasts free of the wedding dress and love them too. All this time he would slowly be gathering the dress up until it was around my waist.

"Once he could get access, his head would disappear beneath my dress. He would pepper my thighs with kisses, plant them all over my virginal little pussy too, but only ever through the material of my knickers. When I couldn't help myself, I would pull my knickers aside myself so that he could... Attend to me properly. He would lick, and kiss, and suck, until I was screaming.

"Finally I would have to have him inside me. I would pull him up onto the bed, throw him on his back. Not stopping even to remove my knickers I would free him. He was already hard for me, and immediately I would sit astride him, slowly lowering myself onto his cock. I would ride him, easy at first because it hurt, but then harder. My breasts would be bouncing, and he would play with them. We would screw like that, man and wife, Mr. And Mrs. That was my first fantasy, and it seems live I relived it every night for three years, until we got married the week after we both graduated."

I paused for breath, but that was the end of the tale anyway. I realised that was actually the first time I'd spoken it out loud. I never expected anyone else to find it sexy. Skipper's prick had hardened substantially, but nowhere near what I knew it could reach. Asok was already wriggling on the seat and adjusting his trouser. I smiled. Was that really the power that erotic words held?

"Thank you Caitlin, that was terrific. Asok, it's time to reciprocate, if you please." Nervously, he took two paces to the middle of the room. He wore sandals and sock, knee length khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, which he unfastened to reveal a wiry upper body without a trace of fat. He folded his shirt fussily, which seemed out of place, believing his ordeal over for now. Skipper resumed the role of ringmaster.

"Caitlin, do you recall the first fantasy that didn't involve your husband?"

"Well, the next one I formulated sort of did and didn't have him in. His parents were reasonably well off, comfortable by my family's standards, and they paid for us to go to Paris on our honeymoon. Paris was decadence, so far as I could tell, but up until that point I'd only ever seen the little village on the Irish coast, where I was born, and Sheffield, when I came here to study. Paris seemed like the place that the priests warned me off, where I would be led into temptation."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Oh God, I loved it! Paris had life, like I had never seen. After Paris I had an imagination. We visited the theatres, and that's when I fell in love with the theatre, and why I still work in them now. But one night we found ourselves in a restaurant, bar sort of thing with a stage. I didn't know what it was, but girls came on stage, danced about in their underclothes. I think my husband was a little ashamed at first, he had no idea what the place was and was worried I would be offended. I couldn't tell him how it made me feel. Even then I thought he was more reserved than me."

"So how did it make you feel?" Skipper probed.

"I'm coming to it! That night, after we had made love, I lay awake for hours thinking about the bar, and the girls dancing on stage in their underwear. The power they had over the men in the audience was incredible, they were cheering and applauding, leaving money on the stage for the girls to collect. That night I dreamt about being on the stage, and having men watch me. Not just watch me, but want me. They all wanted to be with me, and I loved that feeling. My husband was in the audience, and was proud that all the other man wanted me, but happy that he was the only one that could ever have me. That was the first night I really masturbated. Before that, I would just sort of cup my fanny with my hands."

There was silence for a second, before Skipper extended a hand to bid Asok take the floor. With less trepidation than the first time he did so, wobbling on alternative legs as he removed first one sandal, then the other. I felt a little cheated because he was no more naked than before - he could have taken his socks off! I was warming to the game now, and felt that I probably had enough stories in me to strip him completely. I opened my mouth to continue, but Asok stopped me with a question.

"Caitlin, would you mind me asking if you ever had fantasies involving another woman?" Ah, the perennial staple of men's fantasies.

"To be truthful, Asok, no. Funnily, my girlfriends and I were talking about this a couple of days ago. A couple of them are given to kissing each other on nights out, but it's more for effect and I don't think they've ever gone further."

"So you haven't been with another woman? You wouldn't want to?" he persisted.

"I haven't, and I can't imagine doing. It's never been a fantasy. It seems like something young women are given to these days," I sighed, "but I'm not a young woman now." His hangdog look suggested I'd disappointed him a little, so I decided to cheer him by embellishing the truth slightly. "I suppose if it happened, I wouldn't say no, but she would have to take the lead. I wouldn't know what to do." He looked happier at the thought of me being a submissive lesbian, so I smiled and left it there.

"Thank you again, Caitlin. I believe that counts as a story shared, so Asok, please?" Dutifully he removed his socks and, determined to have him naked soon, I continued.

"Whilst in Paris, we happened across a couple making love. We were lost down some side street, and we ambled down a dead end. He had a cheap street map and was determined to make sense of the French directions. We daren't even stop to ask directions, our French was so bad. Anyway, it got darker and we were down this side road, hadn't even passed another soul in ten minutes. He was under a streetlight looking at the map, and I heard a woman talk, so I wondered off down what turned out to be a dead end. 

I saw them, a young girl and a man quite a bit older. Maybe she was a working girl, I never really thought about it. Well, not that aspect of it. I saw them kiss and thought about interrupting, but then she undid his trousers and all I could do was hide behind some rubbish. She took his cock out, started to rub it. He was quite rough with her, forced her head down onto his cock, held it in place by grabbing a handful of hair. She didn't seem to mind, quite enthusiastic she seemed from the noises she was making. I could hear the noises from my hiding place.

"Obviously at some point he'd had enough of that and wanted something more. He dragged her to her feet and pressed her up against the wall. He fumbled with her clothing, I assume pulling up her skirt and dealing with her knickers, then pretty much just stuck it in her with no finesse. I remember her squealing, and also thinking it wasn't just a cry of pain.

"I could see he wasn't really comfortable, crouching as he was. He got his hands under her bum and just lifted her off the floor. She wrapped her legs around his waist and that's when it struck me what a waif she was. He fucked her hard and I remember thinking that that was what the word 'pummelling' was invented for. It was hard, and brutal, and she squealed and moaned all the way through. My husband called my name and at that time the waif looked up, also hearing the noise. I ran away, but I'm sure that we made eye contact as I turned to run. Since then, I've always wondered about being watched during sex; me being watched by someone else, watching two others do it, even what might have happened if I'd stayed to watch after the girl had seen me."

Skipper breathed out, and I realised he'd been holding his breath for a while. I also realised that I'd played into his hands if he cared to bring the bathroom incident up again. His cock was fully hard now, and really beautiful in its excited state. I wished we were alone, and then regretted thinking it. Asok stood automatically the second Skipper looked at him, and with ever increasing trepidation wriggled out of his shorts. The outline of his boxers suggested he too was aroused, and I was again secretly gladdened and thankful that I could raise young men to this state. I wanted to see Asok naked; I imagined the way his penis would look and the way it would feel in my hand. I imagined Asok's being chestnut brown, like his skin, compared to Skipper's wonderful whiteness. I thought about taking man in each hand and comparing them, only stopping when I became aware of a dampness between my legs that had nothing to do with my sojourn in the showers.

"Would you like to contribute another story?" Skipper suggested quietly. I would. Firstly I wanted to see Asok naked, but mostly I wanted to see if I could really arouse Skipper, reduce him to his most base urge and make him want to fuck me, plead with me to be allowed entrance to my vagina. Then, I would say no, at least for a while, just to savour that power over him.

"I do have another story. It's shorter, and was precipitated by something that happened before I was married, and only found a way into my secret dreams much later, when the first rush of marriage was cooling.

"I called at the house he used to share with his friends. I liked his friends and I think they liked me, all except one boy. Isn't there always one? I rather suspected they all had a joke at my sexual naiveté, and mocked my husband for his patience in waiting for me, but this boy was worse. Sly remarks, nasty comments, haughty looks. I was too much the little girl in the big city then, and wouldn't stand up for myself. I could never understand why they were friends.

"I was due to meet him at his house, and was running early. I knew he was likely to still be in a lecture, but I knew his housemates wouldn't mind me being there. One of them let me in and a bunch of us watched TV for a while. I was cold, so I went to fetch a sweater from his room. 

"At the top of the stairs I heard a noise as I passed this bully's room. Looking slyly through a gap, I saw him playing with himself. He was looking at a magazine. I moved on quickly, retrieved a sweater and went downstairs. The bully came down ten minutes later, and went out of the house once he saw I was there.

"I gave it five minutes and excused myself to the toilet. Of course, I sneaked into his room and the magazine was still there on the bed. It was full of men and women naked; men having sex with women, two women together, one woman with two men, women with plastic things in both holes. I was young, naïve and stunned. I only looked for two or three minutes, but thought about it for weeks. I obsessed over it, totally. I even thought about asking the bully if he had any more. I realised, my interest lay not in the acts depicted in those grubby, creased pages, but in the thoughts and motives of the people in the photos. Why let people see you doing this private, intimate act?

"I'd almost forgotten about the magazine until Paris, when I saw the couple having sex. There was a power in having people see you, whether you were having sex or dancing on a stage. Even the risk that someone might see you added something, although I knew not what back then. Fact, I'm not even sure I know now." And that, friends, was the end of another story.

There was absolute quiet. Neither of them were breathing audibly, and there was a vitality, sensuousness in the atmosphere. My heart raced like no other occasion I could recall. At a word from Skipper Asok was on his feet, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his shorts. He paused - I imagine this is not how he foresaw his Sunday morning - and looked at me. I felt sorry for him, he looked so nervous. I so wished there was something I could do to put him at ease, but of coure there wasn't and a second later the point became moot. His prick was his body in microcosm, long and wiry, with the promise of latent strength. This moment was all about Asok overcoming the trepidation that literally made him tremble. 

"Asok, you have a terrific body," I soothed, wishing I could trace my fingers across his chest, bolster his confidence. "and a beautiful penis."

Anxiety fought a pitched battle with pride for control of Asok. How fragile young men could be; not the blustering oafs one could see dozens of on a saturday night, but perhaps suffering their own crises over their looks and desirability. Some young men; the other one in here with me never looked as though he encountered such thoughts.

"The magazine I saw in the bully's room? There was one particular photoset that turned me on more than the others. One man was sat in a chair, watching a man receive a blowjob from a gorgeous young blonde. It excited me, the man watching the other man receiving oral sex, but then I realised he was tied down to the chair at his wrists and ankles with coarse rope.

"I realised then he wasn't just watching, but he was straining to join in. It must have been agony to be watching, bound, but even worse when the woman started to touch him and he could do nothing himself. Eventually the woman was standing, bent over at the waist with her palms wresting on the man's knees for support, as she got fucked from behind by a second man. She was using the man in the chair as a prop, a support, and even though with each thrust their lips came close enough to kiss she did nothing to include him in their sex act. He may as well not have been there.

"Such torture! I imagined the scene myself, at night. At first my husband was fucking me, which was a nice fantasy. Then as I grew more confident it was my husband bound to the chair. Finally, it was I in the chair as my husband screwed another woman. I would imagine being in that chair, the other woman so close, me straining to kiss her just for some form of contact, but never being allowed to do so."

"I liked that one," Skipper said with a grin. "Definitely my sort of story! So that leads us on to the matter of what, now that we are all naked, we are to do in return for your story?" Actually, I already had an answer to that one worked out...

I beckoned Asok forward. It may have been I who was bound, but I thought I might still have a little power to wield. I whispered my instructions and Asok, mesmerised, carried them out. He was behind me, kissing my neck and reaching round to massage my boobs as his erection pressed into my lower back. Warm water triclked between us and once he started using shower gel too, the manifold sensations left me almost unable to carry on. I tried to imagine the way I looked to my audience of one, hands tied above me head, being groped by a man twenty years younger than me that I'd known for twenty minutes. I liked imagining how it looked; it made me feel hot.

"Ready to continue, Caitlin?"

"I think I can find one or two things that would be suitable for the occasion," I breathed, pausing because the next one was one that I hadn't told anyone else, ever, and I didn't even think about it that often because it was about the most extreme fantasy I had. I think that says something about my relative inexperience given my age.

"The fantasies that I had about being a dancer, the ones I told you earlier, started to progress as I grew older. Whereas at first I was just dancing and enjoying the adulation, the evolution of my fantasies led to me imagine taking my clothes off, stripping for the audience. Over time I dreamt about removing more until I was dancing naked. Then, the basis of my fantasy audience changed to being solely male. No waitresses, no girls behind the bar, I was the only woman in the building.

"After that I went further and further with my act. I kissed the men in the nearest row to the stage, allowed them to touch me. I never touched them in return; they were the ones who could not control themselves.No longer able contain their excitement, several of the men storm the stage. I'm naked but for high heels, and they're all wearing suits and tuxedos. I dance around them, and one by one they all start to take out their penises and play with them. I touch their chests, squeeze their biceps, stroke their faces, but I won't touch their erections. By their faces I can see that they are frustrated, they want to go further. They want me to play with their pricks, go down on them, suck and squeeze their balls, but I refuse.




Caitlin Writes Ch. 02



"One of the men, a huge man with a shaven head and stubble, can't take it any more. He drags me to the floor and kneels over me, furiously pumping at his erection. The other men join in, so that some are holding me down whilst others are wanking over me. I'm not going to go anywhere, but the feeling of powerlessness is incredible! There are groans from the man who are wanking, and the clear liquid dribbling from their cocks twinkles and glistens from the stage lights.

"Then, one of the men stops suddenly and grunts, and it's clear that he is about to come. With a supreme act of will he straightens up and finishes himself off, and hot, sticky come splashes across my thighs. The other men take this as their cue, and one by one they too release themselves over me. Their cum is on my hair and face, over my chest and belly, it's splashed across my knees and shins. It feels hot but nice, and I start to massage it in." I stop, because that's where this portion of the fantasy stops.

"If you want to know how the fantasy finishes, you owe me another treat!" I said, laughing but speaking earnestly. Skipper already has the next step in mind and approached me slowly. With Asok working the right side of my neck Skipper started on the left, kissing and nibbling, as our bodies slipped and slid together and the foamy water bubbled and frothed between us. My breathing became a little erratic and I had to close my eyes to concentrate.

"Taking it in turns to hold me down, all the men cum over me, then pause to regain their breath. The ringleader, the one who originally forced me down, stands up and looks out into the audience. They're all watching, excited, wanting to know what will come next. The man jumps down into the audience and I lose sight of him, because the footlights are too bright and I have to squint. When he comes back, he's dragging another man by the sleeve. They jump up onto the stage and I get to look at the newcomer. In contrast to the other men on the stage, he is fat and ugly, with untidy stubble and thick glasses. His hair is forced into a greasy comb-over and I can smell the BO -- he's sweating so bad there are dark patches under the armpits of his scruffy, creased jacket." 

It seems like Asok is getting close, his breathing is very erratic and he can't keep his hands still. My poor little pussy can't take this much more, I'm going to need someone to take care of me soon. I sigh, and I think Skipper takes a cue from that because his hand glides towards my pussy, and I squeal a little as he starts to masturbate me. There's soap on his fingers and it mingles with my own juices.

"The ringleader speaks harshly to Mr. Scruffy, but because of the music I can't hear what he says. Wide-eyed, the new man looks down at me like he's been asked to do something terrible, and for a moment I panic. Then the man's face contorts into an ugly smile and I see how bad his teeth are. While I'm preoccupied with his dental disaster I don't see the man undo his trousers, in fact I only realise he has when he yanks them down to his knees, followed by the grubby y-fronts underneath. His erection, which he takes in hand, smiling, is short but wide. I wonder if the man is going to wank over me too."

As I reach the climax of my story, I stop to compose myself, because the constant friction on my pussy is killing me. Looking down at Skipper's prick again makes me bite down on my bottom lip. I need to be fucked, hard, feelings that I don't remember having with such ferocity since I was a younger woman. Wondering how long I can keep up with this assault on my senses, I finish the story.

"The man is still grinning as he kneels down between my legs, and in a way I'm thankful because I don't want this gross man's sperm anywhere near my face. With cock in one hand he reaches out and starts to paw my pussy roughly with the other. I don't like his affections, and he doesn't seem to be wanking fast enough to get off.

"He leans forward, and I have to control a retch as he tries to kiss me because his breath is so foul. Suddenly I realise he's not trying to kiss me, he's getting in position to fuck me! His cock is at the entrance to my vagina and there's nothing I can do to get away because he's so much bigger and heavier than me, and the other men are still pinning me down, and parting my legs. They hold my ankles and I cannot move. Roughly he forces his way into my hole and I'm startled, because the man's cock is wider than I expected, and it stretches me. I squeeze with my vaginal muscles in a token of resistance, but he grins again and takes it as a challenge.

"Brusquely he starts to hump, and every thrust makes my eyes water because my poor, newlywed honey pot can't take the girth - it's only been a week since I gave up my maidenhood. With no thought of my pleasure he fucks me roughly, and despite my mental revulsion my body betrays me, stretching and lubricating in order to accommodate him." 

"I dig my nails into the stage, because I don't want this man lto make me orgasm. My body simply won't listen and the nerve endings in my pussy fire off at will, making me shudder. The man sees I'm close to orgasm, despite my making it clear how much he disgusts me. This makes him thrust with redoubled effort, and my back arches as my muscles spasm and my orgasm takes over. He hasn't done yet, so he pulls out and scrabbles round the floor towards my head. He grabs my hair, lifting my head towards his cock, which he then forces into my mouth. He begins thrusting and I almost choke, but I can't move. It only takes a few seconds, but the man comes in my mouth. The end of his cock is at the back of my mouth, and I'm forced to swallow his spunk."

There are more stories, but the concentration required both to summon them to mind and thence vocalise them has expired. Twisting my head I try to kiss Skipper, but he won't have it. Instead he gently - not too gently - took my hair and pulled my head backwards, inclining it towards Asok. Tentatively he began to kiss me, frustrating kisses that bordered on politeness when what I needed was passion. My inhibitions falling away as rapidly as my clothes, I tried to force the pace myself and insert my tongue into the young Asian's mouth, but Skipper took control again and pulled my head backwards, breaking my contact with Asok's mouth completely. Through the simple premise of taking hold of my hair I was rendered immobile, already unable to move my arms and legs the loss of head movement meant there was little else I could do. Eventually Skipper relented and I was allowed to kiss Asok again, but the kisses were only increasing my urges rather than moving some way towards satiating them.

The status quo was preserved for several minutes; Asok and I kissing tenderly as he massaged my boobs from behind, whilst Skipper infuriated my hot little hole by resolutely doing anything to make me orgasm. His touches, assured and calculated, were nice and made me feel good, but (purposely) were not doing anything to get me off! Unable to argue and unwilling to waste my breath trying, I left my two gorgeous young boys to make the pace.

Then came a change as Skipper started to slide down my front until he came to be kneeling in front of me. With my head inclined backwards to kiss Asok I couldn't see what Skipper was up to, but no sooner had it occurred to me that he was almost staring my pussy straight in the eye, than he hoisted first one leg then the other over his shoulders. He braced himself so that he supported my weight without allowing me to use my arms, and in doing so left me with a cascade of water brushing right over my sadly under-abused clitoris. Oh my God, that so made up for it being left out earlier! The water bubbled and frothed over my clt and along my vulva, and once Skipper added the deftest of tongue work to these sensations, my orgasm was guaranteed and surely only moments away. I tried to keep kissing, but could no longer concentrate, as the whimpers and moans attested. Once the big O hit me I wouldn't be surprised if my thighs snapped shut and took Skipper's head off, but that was his problem.

Skipper eased himself further upright and now my feet were several inches from the floor, my weight entirely supported across Skipper's broad shoulders and my balance assured by Asok's embrace. Skipper's tongue resumed it's good works and Asok and I renewed our tongue wrestle on equal terms, my head neither restricted in movement nor straining upwards to meet his. His tongue delighted mine as his fingers squeezed and teased my nipples, and his palms massaged my aeriole.

With access now eased, I could feel Skipper start to run his fingers along my swollen pussy lips while he sucked at my clitoris. The shower water notwithstanding this was as wet and as aroused as I could recall being, certainly the most since the early days of my sexual exploration with my late husband, trapped here between two strong young boys whose combined age was about the equal of mine. My head was spinning, a roulette that I tried to endure wouldn't stop on any subject concerned with Richard, but the more I focussed on the current situation the hornier I got; I found I wanted to take them on, scream at them what I wanted to do and be done to me. They made me feel deliciously filthy, and I wanted them inside me.

There was a break in the action down below that I didn't appreciate and when Asok briefly grunted I briefly panicked that something was happening to spoil our little party, but that was not the case. I realised that Skipper had reached behind me and taken hold of Asok's erection in order to position it below me, and even now was gently pressing the shaft into my pussy lips, massaging my hole with his length. He began to masturbate Asok, his fist closely wrapped around his friend's erection, and as he moved up and down the shaft Skipper's knuckles grazed my pussy and clit; two fingers held my pussy wide open and my swollen clit exposed. I was so excited by this - were young men now so advanced, free from hang-ups that they could masturbate their friends during a menage-a-trois? This was so far removed from my experience that the thought made me squirm in excitement!

With a little fidgeting Skipper raised me up until he could fit the head of Asok's knob between my lips, teasing me with it. I knew there was no point arguing, so didn't bother. Skipper could see this; to shake up my complacency, he lowered me a little too quickly onto Asok. Gasping, I tried to mentally accommodate Asok into my pussy. I was wet through, and it needed little extra work. Asok put his hands under my thighs to support me as Skipper stood up, then he too did the same. Having four hands (and one cock) supporting my weight had the effect of widening my legs, meaning Skipper could press himself close to me, and we kissed for the first time. I'll be honest, I had never imagined that the first time I kissed him I would have someone else fucking me, but there you are. Slowly my boys started to raise and lower me and with delicious slowness I could feel Asok's cock filling me up. This, well it might have been morally wrong but it was the closest I'd been to heaven for some time. As my pussy lips clung to his shaft and my muscles squeezed him, there was nothing that could spoil this feeling.

Unfortunately, we had neither kept an eye on the time nor reckoned with the rest of the team. Caught up in our own little game as we were none of us had given a thought to the fact that the rest of the team would be along pesently, but as the outer door slammed against the wall and we heard the cackle of studs on a vinyl covered floor, we knew we had seconds. I was on the verge of panic, but Skipper was in control.

He unhooked my arms from the shower head (but did not, I noticed, unfasten them) and we disentangled ourselves. At Skipper's bidding I followed him into one of the cubicles, the one closest to the shower and facing the wall, rather than the interior of the room. He fumbled around on the bench, then hissed at me to turn round. His voice left no room for contradiction, and within seconds my hands were freshly bound behind my back. He spun me round to face him and kissed me once, quickly, on the mouth.

"Sorry," he whispered. Stupidly I opened my mouth to ask why, and that was all he needed to force a gag into my mouth, fastening it behind my head. Nausea filled my head as I prayed to all gods that weren't otherwise busy that this wasn't a football sock in my mouth. He pushed me backwards onto the bench, leaning in to whisper not to go anywhere - as if I could - and that he would be back soon.

As the door slammed shut behind him the room started to fill with the rest of the team. I heard some of them shouting for their captain, eager to find out if he was okay, but the sound was mostly drowned out by the noise that seemed to emmanate from my chest - my tell-tale heart, anxious to reveal to the assembled audience details of my transgression whilst I waited naked, bound and a flimsy door away from being discovered for whatever Skipper had planned.

It was three or four minutes later that the door opened again. I already had my eyes closed anyway, so when the door started to open I simply added to the list of futile actions by closing my eyes. When I was brave enough to open them, there stood Asok, naked now but holding a towel that I imagine he'd just unwrapped. He pulled me to my feet and yanked down the gag (a scarf, thank God) and kissed me with both tenderness and passion that surprised me. Reciprocating, I wished I could return his embrace but there was simply nothing I could do. His erection returned with predictable speed, whilst the time spent naked in a room full of athletic young men unaware that I was naked and trussed a few feet away from them had not seen my arousal levels diminish. Put rather more succinctly, I wanted him back inside me. I tried to break away and tell him, but I think he knew anyway.

Pressing my back against the wall, he lifted my left leg so my foot rested on the bench and he could gain the necessary access to my pussy. With speed borne of necessity he crouched a little, located the entrance to my hole and pushed himself home. The suddeness of his entry made me catch my breath, and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping no-one had heard. Asok started to thrust whilst I did my best to retain my balance. I felt sure the noises my pussy made as he fucked me could be heard, but the team seemed to be making enough noise to cover what we were doing.

My head filled with images of the door opening and the team catching us, but these thoughts only made me hotter. My vagina, now well lubricated, seemed to tingle incessantly at the prospect of being caught and I found myself musing on the possibility of breaking away from the kiss and 'accidentally' letting out a few moans, and giving away our location. Was I mad?

I tried to focus on events closer to my temporary home, and whispered to Asok to untie my hands, and was not surprised at his reply of 'the Skipper says not to'. Despite the uncomfort of having my arms pressed up against the wall behind me, Asok's lean Asian cock was working hard to bring me to orgasm. Harder and harder he thrust home, and as his breathing started to falter I knew he too was growing close. The reality of the situation grew somehow larger at the prospect of this young man orgasming inside me. Whilst the mental image of him shooting inside me, feeling Asok's hot spunk inside me was appealing, letting him come inside me absurdly made it seem 'more' like cheating, as though somehow what I'd done so far was forgiveable. I whispered to him not to come inside me, and he nodded, expecting this but probably attributing my comment to other reasons.

Acquiescing to my request he grudgingly pulled out of me and allowed my leg to drop to the floor, although it did little to make me more stable. Over silent protests he replaced the gag and pushed me down onto the bench. His cock was at face height, glistening with my juices just inches away from my face. Taking it in his right hand he started to masturbate himself, slowly at first but soon growing more rapid, and all the time with it pointing at my face. Mesmerised, I couldn't stop looking at it. This was the closest I'd ever been to a man wanking, and as clear liquid started leaking out of his slit it dawned on me that I was going to get a whole lot closer to it. He was furiously bashing away at himself, so hard it made me wonder it it hurt. I leaned forward, subconciously wanting to accept his offering.

With Asok a split-second from orgasm the door opened and my unwished-for fantasy of displaying myself to the rest of the team looked like it might come true, but I wasn't surprised to see Skipper at the door. Asok didn't break his stroke, and with the last furious tug of his cock his spunk erupted, landing on my cheek, my chin and my boobs. He resumed wanking, milking every drop and ensuring it landed on me. Skipper watched, enthralled, an enigmatic smile flighting across his face. 

When Asok appeared to be done I relaxed backwards against the wall, as though mine had been the harder work. Dribbling strings of sperm leaked - oozed - from Asok's penis as he allowed his right arm to fall by his side, and he looked to make way for his friend, but Skipper was not quite done. With two fingers stretched out together he caught the last of Asok's load, allowing it to land and collect on his upturned fingertips. Asok seemed unperturbed but again I marvelled at his sexual ambivalence. When Skipper felt there was no more to come, he used his left forefinger to tug down my gag and gently, lovingly almost, inserted the come-covered fingertips into my mouth. Closing my eyes I savoured the flavours, Asok's sperm and Skipper's skin, my tongue slowly swirling around, fellating his fingers.

At a nod from Skipper Asok left the cubicle, quietly pulling the door shut behind him although I noted Skipper neglected to lock it. He pulled me upright, spinning me round simultaneously to face the cubicle's back wall. I knew what was coming next (me!) and parted my legs without waiting to be told. To my surprise my restraints were removed, and I rubbed my wrists to restore the circulation. Before I could stop to ask why he'd released me, I was bent forward and needed my hands free to support myself on the cubicle bench. I spread my fingers out, palm down, on the slatted wooden bench and waited for his next move.

Closing my eyes I focussed upon the machinations of Skipper's tongue as, holding my bum cheeks apart, he delved expertly with his tongue. He switched confidently between my sopping, hungry little pussy and my bum-hole - a sensation that was entirely new to me (I think ordinarily I might have been freaked out by this last, wondering if I was suitably clean and so on, but hey, I'd only just come out of the shower!) and felt strange, but nice. I marvelled at the fact that, as so many men carried on normally, they remained uncogniscent of the fact that in their midst was a horny, naked woman old enough to have mothered half of them, with a stranger's tongue in her backside. Not only that, but at that moment I felt so unashamedly dirty that I would have let any or all of them take Skipper's place at a word. The thought itself was liberating.

All too soon Skipper seemed to tire of this game, and instantly I regretted the absence of his tongue and touch, but no sooner had I whimpered and pouted like a brat than I felt the unmistakeable touch of the head of his cock between my pussy lips. Trying to engulf him I rocked back on my heels, hoping to force him inside me. He allowed his prick to slide inside me, just the glans, then stopped me from moving any further. The feeling of having just a couple of inches of him in me was an inverterate tease, but he held my ass and I could simply do no more.




Caitlin Writes Ch. 03



The Red Dragon is, I suppose, my local, in that it's the closest pub to my house. Saying that it's not actually terribly close, being about a fifteen minute walk away, and I didn't frequent it a great deal. Richard loved the place though, being equidistant from his house in the opposite direction, and hence we spent a few Sunday lunches there followed by a nice walk back to his house. I wasn't all that keen on eating there, what with owning my own restaurant anyway, and I always felt a little put out that Richard knew all the other patrons so well, whilst I often felt like an arm-adornment. I'd arranged to meet Richard - no, it had been arranged by Richard for me to meet - there.

Swirling the ice cubes around my diet coke, I waited for the inevitable text message to say that Richard would be late. Even the text message was late this time. When it did come through - at 8:45 it arrived fifteen minutes after Richard himself should have - I merely glanced through for an indication of when he would be here, not bothering with the excuses. Sighing to myself, I smoothed down my dress and prepared for the wait.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" came a cheeky voice from behind me. "No, that one won't work on you. How about, call heaven quick, there's an angel missing? No, wait, I'll get it in a minute. Get your coat, you've pulled? What's a worm do? Any of them likely to let me buy you a drink?"

He was tall and athletic, not bronzed exactly but with a weathered look, the sort of tan you only get from working outdoors, and I had a vision of him digging holes in roads for the council which instantly made him less attractive. Still in muddy shorts, so probably a stray from the boisterous group of young men that had obviously just finished football training (although I suppose it could have been rugby. Wasn't cricket though, I could tell that much). Nice smile and cheerful eyes. Reasonably gorgeous, actually, but a little too pretty for my liking. Listen to me, I sound like a connoisseur of young men already.

"You could have just said, 'may I buy you a drink', and then you wouldn't have had to stand there and sound quite so stupid." Ouch. I didn't mean to sound so harsh, but you'll appreciate that this is not a normal period in my life. I'm still dealing with the aftershock of cheating on the aforementioned absent boyfriend.

"Okay, okay, I take the hint," he said, turning to go. What the hell, I figured, I'll only be sat on my own for another half an hour.

"You don't want to go back to your friends having completely crashed and burned, do you? Mine's a vodka and diet coke." I motioned to the stool beside me at the bar. "Best make it a double. You don't have a chance, by the way, but a little company would be nice seeing as my date is going to be late. Just wanted to clear that up." I don't know whether he was as stunned as I was by the authority I managed to project into my voice, but there it was. He ordered the drink and set it down beside my other.

"I'm-"

"What makes you think I care?" I replied, haughtily, with a questioning stare at him over the rim of my glass before sipping demurely. I don't know whether it was guilt going sour in my system like unused adrenaline, or the fading of the buzz the encounter had given me, but something had certainly put me on one.

"So what's with the noisy boys over there?"

"It's er, we are, uh, I'm-"

"Jesus, do you need a bib or something? Are you trying to chat me up or do you intend to stutter and dribble your way into my knickers?"

"But, all-"

"Let me ask you; do you find this the most effective way to approach women? What sort of success rate do you anticipate when you set out of an evening, intending to employ this approach?" I let him sit there in silence, manifesting both confidence and disdain that I didn't really feel. "Is this a routine that would normally find success with ladies of your own age? Or perhaps this is not your normal approach, but rather one of your rugby chums over there put you up to this, sent you on a dare, as it were." Placing my glass down gently on the bar, I swung my foot gently whilst humming a completely different tune from the one on the sound system. He was silent for a moment, and I let the silence hang between us. I was only having a little fun with him after all. His despondence was almost tangible, and when he turned his head and made to have another go, I looked up and opened my mouth to let him have another broadside, but he was no longer looking at me. Richard was standing beside him.

"Hello Caitlin, sorry I'm late," he flustered, pecking me on the cheek. He turned to the young man beside me and smiled.

"It's okay Ben, I think I can take it from here."

"You two know each other then?" I asked, too surprised to worry about the blindingly obvious answer to the question.

"You could say that, yes," said Richard, in his slightly slimy, patronising-students voice. "Since he was about, ooh, so high," indicating with his hand. I have to admit I was starting to panic a little, despite the fact that there was absolutely nothing to panic over. Knowing my luck, this young man would turn out to be the son that Richard is always talking about and that I have yet to meet. In fact, did he not just call him Ben?

"I take it you've had a match tonight?" enquired Richard.

"Sorry," I interrupted, "I was just wondering how you two gentlemen know each other." Disturbingly, they glance at each other for a second before breaking out into an 'all-lads-together' laugh.

"Well, you could say we go way back!" laughed Richard. So this must Ben. Terrific, I mused, even different generations of Richard's family find me attractive. I must be cursed. Thinking so, and musing on the possibilities of breaking said curse and the part that silver bullets and moonlit cemeteries might play in this process, Richard finally put me out of my misery.

"So where is my son?" he asked, and suddenly everything was sunshine and swallows and half-price summer sales.

"Ummm, he's around somewhere, surprised he's not over here actually, trying to get round one of the barmaids (further conspiratorial chuckling). Maybe he's in the loo. Shall I have a look for him?"

"Caitlin, seeing as I finally have Ben here, would you mind if we said hi? If you don't feel up to this, we can do it another time. We've spoken on the phone but I haven't seen him lately. Is that okay?"

"Sure, whatever," I huffed, indignant at not actually receiving even a perfunctory apology for his being late. Glancing over at said noisy boys, I wondered which one was Richard's son. There was one that would soon need a comb-over, he was a contender; a portly fellow, stout of tum and sure of fetlock, was another; and there was one who was clearly slightly older and displayed the same genetic oddities that other mobile phone salesmen I'd encountered had. He was practically dripping with sleaze, self-importance and sweat. I almost shouted him over there and then. Summing up, there was a fat chap who I assumed was the goal minder, or whatever they're called, someone with legs like a giraffe, a wheezy youngster sucking on an inhaler, my new friend Roger 'Skipper' Thornhill whose semen had splashed across my boobs just so recently, and a tall coloured man whose laugh was so deep it sent seismologists into a panic.

Trying hard not to do a slapstick comedy double take, complete with incongruous cartoon klaxon noise, I looked at him again; the beautiful stranger, who'd played havoc with my imagination since I last saw him, was here now. You know the cliché about panic tasting like steel? Actually, it's true. It's a hard-edged, metallic taste, which rises from the depths of your stomach was devastating speed whilst simultaneously draining the blood from your legs. To encounter him again was difficult enough, after the way we'd parted. To encounter him whilst I was with my partner was indescribable. When they manage to come up with a word to describe how I felt after seeing him again while I was with my partner, and his son, and after being hit on by one of his mates, I'll let you know. Leave me your email address or something.

"Ben? Ben!" shouted Richard. I tried hard to look disinterested at which of the young men replied. Had I been standing, my knees would have buckled with relief when comb-over stood up and came over to us.

"Ben, it's my round. What do you want?"

"Same again Dean, cheers. Will you get Ben one as well, he was in our round." The newcomer looked over to the group, proclaiming to Ben that he had got the next one in. The man whose tongue had been in my bum-hole straightened up and acknowledged the shout with a wave of his empty pint glass. Then, with a look of cheery recognition, he saw Richard and ambled over.

"Hi Dad!". Honestly, you couldn't make this stuff up. "Who's this?" he queried innocently, flashing me a toned down version of the same smile that dazzled me before. I opened my mouth to respond, but his father cut me off.

"Ben, this is Caitlin. Caitlin, my son Ben." I tried to return the similarly downplayed smile whilst hiding my indignation at not being allowed to speak for myself, the level of which was matched only matched by my confusion. This is the famous Ben? What about the name I saw, Roger Thornhill, in the wallet? Whoever he was, he extended the same hand from which the waitress had licked his spunk a few days ago, which I shook limply although I assume he'd washed it since then. He kept smiling at me.

"Hello Caitlin, how are you? Dad has told me so much about you, blah blah blah." I managed a polite laugh at his almost-a-joke. Terrifyingly, he then followed up with the seemingly innocent "I'm sorry, this sounds very trite, but don't I know you from somewhere? Do you think we've met before?"

Apparently, in Australia, they don't have the saying about rabbits caught in headlights. They apply the cliché to kangaroos, who are seemingly similarly certain to stand statuesque as oblivion hurtles headlong towards them. I imagine that had they been there, or indeed had they actually existed, the Royal Society for the Preservation of Clichés would have been forced to drop clauses involving rabbits and kangaroos for all time and replaced it with the far more poetic 'caught like Caitlin in an, oh I don't know - some word beginning with C that describes my sexual faux pas', in honour of my reaction at that point. Rabbits would bow before me, kangaroos would doff their caps. My blood congealed, my synapses ceased firing, and indeed time as Stephen Hawking and I understood it failed to have any significance. 'Don't I know you from somewhere?' Why didn't he just say 'don't you think my cock is a lot bigger than my Dad's?' and to hell with it?

The question hung between us. Very slowly, it seemed, Richard turned his head to face me. It was an action loaded with malice, like when the little girl does it in The Exorcist. Still caught in slow motion, I could see Ben opening his mouth with a follow-up as my life and its collection of perfectly inadequate men rippled past my eyes.

"On the tram! With the blonde with the loud laugh! Of course, I've seen you all getting off the tram at West Street, haven't I?"

"West Street?"

"Yes! You catch the tram with the blonde girl, the one with the really loud laugh! You should tell her discreetly to tone it down a touch."

"Down?"

"She can be a little loud, don't you think? Very pretty though!" and again, they all laughed the boy's own club laugh.

"Caitlin, Ben and Ben have been friends since they were toddlers. They became friends because they both had the same name. Played in the same football teams together their whole lives," smarmed Richard.

"Football?"

"Caitlin, whatever is wrong?" he asked.

"Sorry," I stuttered, shaking my head a little. "I was thinking about who you mean. Jenny, obviously, the other two are reasonably normal."

"I haven't offended you, have I? I never thought, I mean obviously they're your friends, I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, no, it's quite okay. Not a problem. We all tell her she's too loud anyway, but that's just how she is. You, er, do you work on West Street?" Subtle, Caitlin.

"Yes, well, just off it actually."

"Ben's a social worker," his obviously proud Dad interjected.

"Really?" I offered, actually quite interested. "Unusual choice of job for a man, wouldn't you say?" I said, stereotyping him nicely.

"Not at all. I did psych and sociology at uni, this just seems like a natural progression. I enjoy the job a great deal."

"Doesn't it get you down though? You don't find you end up taking the job home with you, as it were?"

"Ah!" interrupted the hitherto forgotten other Ben. "That would be where we come in. He comes and kicks seven shades of shit out of us, and he's all sweetness and light after that. Or rats and snails and puppy-dog tails, whichever it is." We all sort of stared at him for a minute wondering what the hell this last was all about, and he gratefully resumed his forgotten role before eventually wandering off.

"Well, it does sound very interesting," I smarmed, doing a very passable impression of Richard. "You must tell me all about it some time."

"Of course he should," said Richard excitedly. "You practically work around the corner from each other, you should have lunch one day! You can keep Ben out of trouble!" he laughed as Ben looked dutifully bashful. "What do you say? Look, I have to nip to the loo. I'll leave you to discuss it!" Obviously, I was looking for an awkward opportunity to be on my own with him. I decided to be upfront about it.

"What happened to Roger Thornhill?"

"Who the devil is Roger Thornhill?"

"I thought that was your name, I thought... I saw the name in your name in your wallet." He looked puzzled.

"Sorry, must be a case of mistaken identity." A pause, then a light bulb flashed on suddenly above his head. The bar manager returned the lighting to the previous dim setting, and a eureka look crossed Ben's face. "Oh, you mean the wallet I found at the restaurant! It was left on the seat where I sat. I was trying to return it to the waitress before she hurled orange juice at me."

"About that morning, in the-" He cut me off with a laugh.

"Yes, that was rather good fun! Cute little thing, wasn't she?"

"Did you know her?" I asked, regretting such a naïve question the instant I'd spoken it.

"Of course not. We were just talking-"

"Yes, I saw you 'just talking' beforehand!" Early barbed comment dispatched, I moved onto the main question. Err, except I didn't really know how to phrase it.

"You're wondering about the fact that you've slept with both father and son, and what's going to become of it."

"I was, except of course nothing will come of it. I'm with your father, and despite what happened between you and I-"

"-and Asok-"

"And Asok, I love your father. What happened happened and I can't deny that, but your father must never know." I was never happier than at that moment to be rescued by Richard's return from his ablutions. "So how are you two getting on? Planning to meet up for a sandwich or something?"

"Well, I don't mind if Caitlin doesn't?"

"Ah, no, that would be very nice..." I soothed. What else could I say?

"Well then, that's great. I suppose the nearest place to us is the burger joint on West Street-", he said, trying not too hard not to grin.

"I think I know which you mean." Oh, but he's good. The force is strong in this one all right.

"Shall I give you a call?"

"Ummm, I'm not always the easiest to get hold of," I murmured in a placating tone. "Why don't you drop me an email instead?" Emails are far easier to ignore, I thought, fishing a business card out of my purse for him. It seemed the most painless way to fob him off. He took it from me and looked it over, turning it over between his fingers two or three times.

"An email it is then. Say Dad, Christian is about somewhere, mind if I take this young lady off your hands for a moment to introduce them?"

"Not at all, I'll see you later." 

"Come on then!" his grin made you think he was the boy who spent most of his school days standing in the corridor, banished from the lesson. "Hey, do you think I could call you mum yet?" he laughed, winking at his dad. They both laughed, and we left him talking to Ben.

"Only if you want a stiletto heel through you eye socket," I grimaced, as he took my hand and dragged me to the far end of the bar where a sullen looking young man was drinking alone, away from the masses in a dark corner, his elbows resting on the bar with a cigarette in one hand and a tumbler of clear liquid in the other. 

"Caitlin, this is Christian, my best friend. Chris, parle-tu bonjour a Caitlin, s'il te plait," Ben chided. The young man reluctantly spun his bar stool to face me. Shaven-headed, his face was tanned and his eyes were exactly the right distance apart. He extended an arm, tightly packed with muscle that represented the rest of his body well, and I was left with an impression that this boy could be both the start and end of a lot of trouble.

"Caitlin," he said with a French accent that made him sound, bizarrely, tougher and somehow schizophrenic. "Irish name?" I nodded, and he continued. "Fucked an Irish girl once. Wouldn't let me come in her ass," he laughed slyly. I ignored his attempts to rile me.

"Ignore him, he has a hang-over and he's sulking because he's been watching me play football and he hates it. He's a rugby man. Prefers more male contact, I think!" Ben dodges a punch, laughing. It's clearly a well rehearsed routine. I attempt to be pleasant and sociable, which is more than Christian did, spinning his stool back to the bar so he could resume his slouch whilst watching the barmaids.

"Where did you two become friends?" I ask, aware that it makes me sound what I am, roughly the sum of their combined ages. It's a feeling I'm getting a lot lately.

"At University-" Ben started to say, but Christian interrupted. His voice was quiet but carried an unmistakeable menace that Ben seemed oblivious to.

"Ben and I like to fuck the same girls," Christian explained, as though he were discussing the weather. His nonchalant attitude to coarse language in the presence of a stranger bothered me. Ben and I both made to say something, but Christian carried on without stopping. "That's how it was, non?"

"Well actually," Ben said with awkwardness, "yes, that's how it was." I looked back at Christian, who was looking at me the same way as I imagine lions look at wildebeest, for an explanation.

"Ben and I were both seeing the same girl, though we didn't know. By chance we found out, a mutual friend confessed they had known all along," Christian explained. I was surprised, I thought that would make them enemies and said as much.

"We wanted to make sure, oui, confront her about it? I arranged to be with her, in her room. I would leave the door open, and Ben would come in and catch us." I could see Ben looked a little uncomfortable, but he made no move to stay the story's telling. "The time comes and I am set. The mademoiselle in question is eager for some action, but I am unsure as I know Ben will arrive. She grew more eager, so in the end I though, what the fuck? We may as well have one last fuck while we are waiting for Ben to come."

"So what happened?" I asked, finding the story more compelling than it should have been.

"Ben had already come!" Christian laughed. With furrowed brow I indicated that I didn't follow. This piqued Christian's attention, and he spun his stool round to face us again. "You do not know mon ami Benjamin's 'special interest'? How long have you two been together?"

"Christian-"

"Ben and I are not together, and we only met recently - earlier," I falsely corrected myself. "I am in a relationship with Ben's father." Christian actually threw his head back, laughing. It wasn't an unpleasant sound and made me warm to him. "Madame, I am sorry, I assumed that you and Ben were fucking." Nervous glances on my part; nothing registered on Ben's face. In a conspiratorial way Christian leaned forward to elucidate.




Caitlin Writes Ch. 03



"I thought Ben was late, arriving in the girl's room. In fact, he was already there. He'd already had his little confrontation and made his demands known, and our hot little friend went along willingly." I still wasn't quite sure I understood but Christian had no intention of leaving the story there. "Ben was in the closet, watching us fuck! This is Ben's little..." he stopped to look at Ben, whispered a word to him in French. Ben, translating, whispered back. "Peccadillo, merci. Ben's little peccadillo! He likes to watch." That tied in with what little I knew of Ben, which is why I said-

"That's why you let Asok have me first-" oh no. Oh no no no no no.

Christian looked at me, at Ben, then back at me, a sly smile dissolving the hangover scowl. Oh what I wouldn't do to wind back time just the few seconds necessary to stop myself. Panicking everso slightly I glanced at Ben, who was by now sharing his friend's smile.

"Ben, have you been doing someone you shouldn't?" Christian laughed, as Ben just continued to smile. It infuriated me; why wasn't he blindsided by panic, like me? I'm his father's girlfriend, for heaven's sake!

"We fucked in the changing rooms at football the other day. Asok was with us. I'd be inclined to say we had a good time, wouldn't you, Caitlin? A terrific way to get to know my future step-mother! No secrets between us now."

"Is she good? She has a nice derriere, I'd love to fuck her from behind. Beautiful tits too."

"Excuse me," I snorted indignantly.

"Christian, her boobs are just delicious. I wanked off all over them, and I could do it again right now. In fact, her whole body is terrific, curvy and sexy, like a real woman." Whilst I wasn't averse to his compliments, I wasn't happy about, well, everything else. The less people that knew I'd had sex with Skipper - with Ben, as I would have to get used to calling him - the better, and I wasn't comfortable with the way they were discussing me either. Yet they carried on as though I were just not there.

"Maybe one day you and I can fuck too, non? I can come all over your tits too?" That was too much. I had to say something.

"Ben, you cannot talk about me this way with your friends. From now on I am your father's girlfriend and we should conduct ourselves appropriately."

"We'll conduct ourselves in whatever why seems most appropriate at the time. Right now, my friend is complimenting your boobs. I think that's it's only fair you should allow him to see them." Was he serious? Had I heard him correctly? I couldn't have, Christian seemed nonplussed by the conversation.

"Ben, if your father knew what you were asking me to do..."

"Are you threatening me? Perhaps if I told him how you sucked my friend's cock while I had two fingers up your bum he might well reassess the whole situation. He'd forgive me for my part, I had no idea who you were. But you told me you were in a relationship and you still fucked my friend and I."

"That's rubbish. You wouldn't..." Only, I really believed he would.

"My friend wants to see your boobs. It's out of the way in this corner, you'll get away with a quick flash." Christian, impassive, sat with his drink and paid little attention to the power struggle. "Do it now before I decide to call my father over." I had to make my stand.

"No. I won't do it."

"Dad!" He shouted across the bar in a serious voice, then had to repeat it to gain his father's attention. I didn't believe he had done it, but the evidence was incontravertible. I was apoplectic with a mixture of rage and panic.

"Please Ben, don't tell him," I whispered. He looked down at me haughtily.

"You'll do as asked?" What choice was there? I nodded, deflated, and he smiled before turning back to hail his father again. "I'm getting Caitlin a drink. Do you want the same again?" He received his father's answer and motioned to a barmaid before turning back to me. "You're a good sport Caitlin, I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun." By which I assume he meant that flashing my boobs wouldn't be the last thing he made me do.

Christian tapped me on the arm and furtively I looked around, gauging who was closest. Ben was right, there wasn't really anyone that close. If I pulled down the front of my dress, quickly, I could flash my bra and no one would see. I hopped onto the stool by Christian's side, with my back to the room. After one last glance round, I leaned forward and lowered my dress. Luckily the lingerie I had on was a nice set, all in black and very lacy. He took in the sights and nodded appreciatively.

"Knickers to match?" he asked, gruffly. I nodded. "Let's see them."

I didn't want to do this. The episode the other day made me feel both wanton and wanted. Being so desired drove me to depravity I didn't know I could feel. This here was simply sleazy, it was cheap, and I didn't like feeling this way. Unfortunately my alternatives were none. Perversely it was easier to flash my knickers, my dress being short enough to wiggle further up, so I did that. When I looked up Christian wasn't even looking, he was merely holding a hand out. I looked at Ben for guidance.

"He doesn't just want to look at them," Ben said, as though talking to a moron. Sighing, I looked around again apprehensively. No one was paying us any attention, and Richard was now holding court, talking to the landlord and his wife and a couple of regulars. Quickly I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my knickers, and by rocking from cheek to cheek I inched them down to the hem of my dress.

From that point it was a little more difficult. I tried to be quick, pull them down, but only succeeded in dropping them to the floor as they slid down my calves and over my shoes. Ben was the first to bend and retrieve them, returning them to me with a nod and a smile. He was a curious mix of a proper gentleman and sex-obsessed pervert. I returned the smile, although the lingerie I had to pass to Christian.

I heard the laughter from the other side of the room trail off and was glad to see Richard approaching. Christian was still fondling my knickers although I was vaguely sure no-one would recognise the silky garment for what it was, least of all Richard - even his son would have a better idea of my lingerie than he would. As his father drew close Ben took a step towards him, and as Richard installed his elbow on the bar to get comfortable Ben was between us, also leaning at the bar. This meant Ben obscured his father from me, and although I couldn't think of one I was sure there was a downside. Spinning my stool to face the bar I could lean forward to see Richard, which was enough.

Ben and his father started chatting, amiable but dull stuff. My head was still spinning at the evening's events and for once I was actually glad Richard was ignoring me. It gave me time to think. They were both leaning forward on the bar now, elbows on the bar and one foot on the rail, unconsciously mimicking one another. They were happy ignoring me, I was happy being ignored. Christian was neither of these: he was also bored and horny. He hissed at me and I inclined my hear to the left, the better to hear him.

"I've got a hard-on for you," he whispered, nonchalantly. At first what he'd said didn't register. When I realised the import of his words I looked at him. He wasn't grinning, he looked serious. 

"Let's go somewhere and fuck," he suggested. I swallowed hard, looking round at Richard. He did not know I was there. Without turning to face Christian I shook my head, discreetly but definitely. He reached over and grabbed my left wrist, which previously had been lying on my knee and not complaining about it. I tried to snatch it back but he squeezed it, and it hurt. Looking all the while at Richard I tried to extricate my hand, but Christian was strong and the more I struggled the more it hurt. I gave in. He started to rub his crotch with my hand.

"You," he hissed savagely. There was no chance of Richard or Ben observing what Christian was forcing me to do from their current position, but if Ben moved Richard would see my hand between Christian's legs. As bidden I began to rub, feeling his organ start to swell almost immediately.

"Take it out," was the next instruction. I paused, because this was dangerous. We were near a wall so technically there was no reason for anyone to walk past, but someone approaching from the right wrong angle would see everything. He squeezed my wrist again in impatience so quickly and with nervous hands I unbuttoned his fly and took out his semi-erection. It seemed shorter than any of those I had recently been intimately acquainted with, but once I started to masturbate him and the blood flowed to his member there was a noticeable increase in size. In fact his was the biggest I'd had hold of all week, length matched by girth.

I employed the technique that had only recently served Asok so well, although the confines of space under the bar overhang made things harder. Additionally we were at least partly protected by the hang of Christian's jacket and I was anxious to preserve that particular status quo. Christian's face remained impassive, although his erection spoke for him and secretly I was just a little pleased at my technique and its effect.

There was a blur in Christian's lap and it took a moment for me to realise he'd thrown my knickers back into my lap. I was surprised, for this was a gentlemanly move I had not expected. Unfortunately my instincts were well attuned, as through a mixture of Gallic mime and lip-reading I came to understand that Christian wanted me to wrap my knickers around his erection and wank him off using them. With a well-timed fake laugh I made Richard think that I was paying attention to him, as I wrapped my knickers around my left hand. I resumed masturbating Ben's friend, ensuring that the expensive material was sandwiched between my hand and Christian's erection. My action was slower now, allowing Christian to focus on the exquisite friction created by the lacy material, and even I was forced to mentally concede that the sensations were enjoyable.

As my fist passed over the head of Christian's cock, I became aware of the growing dampness. To his credit his face never changed, and he remained looking as surly and miserable as when we were first introduced. My arm was starting to get tired, and I needed to bring this to a resolution and hopefully convince Richard to leave. Squeezing a little tighter I accelerated the movement of my hand too, and I think I saw Christian flinch just a little. I rolled his foreskin to and fro, from shaft to glans and back again, and I found I was imagining the feel of his cock in my mouth; the heat and taste, the intricate patterns formed by skin, vein and muscle. Realising that that was perhaps a little unhealthy in the current situation, I decided to risk an extra effort to bring Christian off. The extra speed and effort I employed made Christian strain, the signs evident in his face and demeanour. I knew I could not keep up that pace for two much longer in the position we were in, although surprisingly enough Christian seemed quite happy.

"Caitlin?" asked Richard, leaning forward to see past his son whilst I (after the immediate split-second rush of panic had subsided) slowed my pace down so as not to look too strained. There was a grunt from my left; I assume either Christian was annoyed with me for slowing down as his orgasm approached, or expressing his amusement that my boyfriend was talking to me whilst I wanked off another man. Either way I was happy that Richard couldn't see what I was up to from that angle. "Can I get you anything?" 

"I'm fine thank you," I indicated, holding up my wine glass to indicate it was half-full. Now my masturbating technique had to slow to its most leisurely in order not to make the red liquid slop over the side of the glass. This was simply Richard remembering I existed and paying attention; within seconds he was talking to Ben again, which really pissed me off. It almost made me want to look after Christian properly...

Safely forgotten I resumed wanking Christian, but with extra vigour. Christian raised an eyebrow and I smiled at him demurely whilst I tried to sip my wine. The heat from Christian's penis was evident even through the material of my knickers; if they had still been fulfilling their original function they'd still have been covering aroused, excited sex organs. It was almost as though my little interaction here with Christian was a way of getting revenge on Richard for being ignored, and therefore I could overcome my initial reluctance and distaste for what I was being made to do and where I was doing it. 

My enthusiasm must have been reflected in my performance, because it was less than a minute later that Christian started to look very intense and made low guttural noises while exhaling. I knew that his orgasm must be close and it suddenly struck me that this had taken Christian by surprise, partly because he never expected to be getting a hand job, and partly because he didn't expect such a polished performance. I could see a dark, wet patch in the material stretched taut over the head of Christian's cock, and, smiling, determined to look Christian in the eye whilst he came, just to let him know that I was not a woman to be underestimated. I couldn't tell whether his expression was a sneer, or just a grimace as he attained the plateau where he would find his orgasm. He grunted, once, and I could feel the ripple of muscles and veins as the sperm shot through his penis and out through the slit, only to be constrained by the flimsy material of my black lace knickers. Christian did his best not to fold double and I wanted to continue wanking him, only for him to grab my wrist as his penis reached that point of sensitivity that makes men want to be left alone. I felt my knickers pulse as though alive as Christian's spunk bubbled up inside the material. Unable to touch him I simply held the material in place in so the semen did not escape. The whole time I kept smiling at Christian who eventually folded, unable to meet my gaze.

Withdrawing my hand I picked up my glass and drained it, tapping my son to be on the arm to indicate that I wished my drink to be refreshed. Glancing quickly at his friend's lap as I saw him smirk, an expression that grew into a grin as their eyes accidentally met with Christian looking just a little sheepish. Richard excused himself to visit the WC and I smiled at Ben, feeling surprisingly pleased with myself. Christian caught this look and threw my knickers at me, acting annoyed that a woman had somehow bested him.

"Do something with these," he harrumphed. I laughed and made to stash them into my purse, making a mental note to be rather more careful mounting and dismounting stools. Before I could do that Ben gently but firmly took hold of my hand.

"You'll need to be careful, if you're going to parade about with no panties on underneath a dress that short," he cautioned.

"I don't intend to parade about," I announced, indignantly, "but all the same I thank you for trying to look after me." Unfortunately I had misread Ben's intentions. He wasn't looking out for me; he was simply siding with his friend.

"I think that perhaps it would be safer if you put your knickers back on, rather than ran the risk of unintentionally flashing your private parts." He looked perfectly serious.

"I can't wear them now, they're..." I paused, not really wanting to say out loud what the problem was. "They're dirty."

"Caitlin, put them back on," he commanded, as Christian sat smirking behind me. I didn't want to and my expression said as much. "You will put them back on, Caitlin. My father will be back from the bathroom shortly. Do you really want to be caught pulling your knickers up when he returns?" There was a look on his face, pleasant yet undeniably stern, which made me think whether I should really be arguing with him. Without breaking free from his stare I found I was untangling my knickers, conscious of the sticky, warm fluid dripping free onto my hand. I leant forward, putting my right foot in first, then my left. I pulled them up as far as I could from a sitting position, then shuffled forwards off the stool and dropped to my feet so I could complete the job. 

"Pull them up tight," Ben commanded. I could feel Christian's semen squelching in my knickers, as obviously was Ben's intention. The schoolboy grin replaced the headmaster gaze and he took a step towards me. Our chests were just touching as his right hand started to gather up the material of my short dress, until Ben's fingertips brushed lightly against my knickers. Letting the material drop, he walked his fingers up to the waistband of my knickers and took hold of it, making sure my knickers were pulled up as far as they could be, which they were. My eyes inexplicably dropped to the floor as he started to rub me through my knickers, exploring my exposed lips, touching my aroused and tender clitoris, all of them now coated with Christian's spunk. His intentions were not to arouse me, or bring me to climax; he simply wanted to enforce the humiliation I felt at this moment.

Seeing his father emerge from the WC Ben removed his hand and took a step back so it merely looked as though we were in conversation. I'd been crowing mentally at being able to bring Christian off so quickly, and now I felt like a naughty schoolgirl. I wanted to leave now, get away from these two. I looked up at Richard as he approached, a frown breaking across my face.

"Richard, I have a headache," I whimpered, taking his hand in mine before hurriedly replacing it with the other as I realised it was the hand that still had dips of Christian's sperm on it. "Do you think it would be okay if we left?"

"I don't mind, in fact I'm quite hungry. Would you mind if we picked up something to eat along the way?" I didn't mind at all, as long as we just left quickly. "So how are you two getting on?"

"Oh, Caitlin's just a treasure! Far too good for you, Dad," he laughed.

"Well, I'm glad you're getting along. Say, you two both work in the city centre. Why don't you plan to meet up for a sandwich or something?"

"Well, I don't mind if Caitlin doesn't?"

"Ah, no, that would be very nice..." I soothed. What else could I say?

"Well then, that's great. I suppose the nearest place to us is the burger joint on West Street-", he said, trying not too hard not to grin.

"I think I know which you mean." Oh, but he's good. The force is strong in this one all right.

"Shall I give you a call?"

"Ummm, I'm not always the easiest to get hold of," I murmured in a placating tone. "Why don't you drop me an email instead?" Emails are far easier to ignore, I thought, fishing a business card out of my purse for him. It seemed the most painless way to fob him off. He took it from me and looked it over, turning it over between his fingers two or three times.

"An email it is then."