1 comments/ 37191 views/ 5 favorites The Haberdasher Ch. 01 By: AaronAardvark Warning this story was written in England by an Englishman. It utilises English vocabulary, spelling and grammatical conventions; some readers find these disturbing. * The instant I entered the building Syd, our porter, head of security and dedicated Sun reader accosted me. "You're to go straight up and see Mr. Briggs hisself." I plodded towards the stairs. "No lad, you don't understand. You're to take the lift and go directly up to t' top floor, on your own too. Here's 'override key so's lift won't stop for any-bugger else. Give it to Mr Briggs' secretary when you get there and don't forget to do that lad else I'll 'ave to track 'ee down and I'm all'us busy." Six months with Briggs and Daughters Ltd. and I was to be sacked. As I trudged to the lift I reflected, 'kicked out of my first real job after just six months.' I did not even have the least clue as to what I might possibly have done wrong. I did my work, it thought that it had been going well; OK I had had problems but the warehouse men had grudgingly accepted the changes they had had to make. They couldn't nick stuff quite so easily anymore. Yes at first the'd resented that but they had become resigned to it. "Mr. Morris," I said to the secretary, "Mr. Briggs asked to see me." I passed over the precious key. She pressed a button on her intercom and spoke into it, "Mr. Morris is here for you sir." "Thank you Penelope," the box rumbled back. "Send him in." I entered the huge office for the first, and probably last, time. I was impressed with the fine view of the moors afforded by the gigantic picture window. "Well lad' has thou summat to tell us then? A little secret thou needs to share?" "No Mr. Briggs?" "Don't gawp at me like I'm daft lad. Let's try again. Are you likely to have something to tell me in t' near future?" "No Mr. Briggs," I answered, my confidence growing. I was not being given the sack, well not right now. "Are you tryin' to tell me that thou knows nowt about it." "I'm sorry Mr. Briggs but I really do not have any clue what you're talking about." "Well then. Congratulations lad you're no longer t' graduate. You've just become my new head of computing. Your salary is doubled, I'll not be thought a niggardly man an' any-road you'll 'ave to put in a load o' time at first, an' as you're staff y' get no chance for grabbin' (local parlance for overtime). Your first job is to recruit a deputy head who'll be paid two thirds of what you get and two assistants who'll be paid what you was on yesterday. All clear lad?" "Uh, yes Mr. Briggs." I could not hold back, "what's happened?" "It's none of your damned business but I suppose you'll find out soon enough. Your three colleagues have all buggered off to work the new computer our rivals, Mitchell and sons, have just rented. I kicked 'em out today before they could do any proper damage." "Mr Briggs may I then suggest a different list of proprieties?" "If thou knows better than me say thy piece lad. I nivver mind people been' right but I won't put up wi' fools f' long neither." "First I check that the system is all OK, no hidden nasties, then I recruit my new co-workers." For the first time Mr. Briggs smiled, "Devious thinking lad. Well don't just stand there like a wet Monday, get checkin' 'n' be right smart about it." The computer room seemed strange with just me and the two operators in it but with that damned chain printer going it was no more quiet. In fact I was not head of computing really I was head of programming. Maureen, the woman who supervised the girls on the terminals was given the job of looking after the staff, mine and hers. This was just as well because I have a short fuse when I think that people are being stupid and I find that a lot of people can be pretty stupid. That's why I like computers, they do what they are told when they are told and don't argue back. I had been in this new role for three months when out of the blue Maureen, or Mrs. Jones as she liked to be addressed, asked if I would care to attend one of her intimate little suppers. Her husband was the head of the town's association of trades and they liked to think that they were someone. Despite numerous reservations I accepted; I knew all too well that I really could not afford to annoy Maureen too much. I arrived fashionably late but not overly late. I was, by far, the youngest person there. I guessed that the most junior of my fellow guests were in their early forties, close upon twice my age. To my surprise I discovered that many of the guests were also already pretty tipsy. I was handed a cocktail and the very first sip explained why, my 'martini' was really neat gin with an olive in it, the glass huge and the measure deep. In those days dinner parties, which is what the intimate supper was really, were somewhat predictable: prawn cocktail, Dover sole in a parsley sauce, either duck a l'orange or, as upon that occasion, beef Wellington, trifle and finally a selection of cheeses, one of them adventurously foreign (i.e. French) served with biscuits and celery. That evening every course arrived with its own wine and the guests quickly passed from gentle inebriation to serious drunkenness. On my left sat a lady, well a woman, who was a house wife and a mother to three delightful, perfectly behaved, unbelievably intelligent little angels of indeterminate sex. Her grossly overweight, rubicond husband sat to her left. He owned the local pet food company and had political opinions that were dangerously to the right of those of old Adolph one ball himself. Adolphus I christened him. Opposite me was a vicar who appeared to agree with everyone and drank a great deal of, what even I realised, were the truly excellent wines that were being served. I gave a little silent prayer for my decision not to bring a bottle, my best choice would still have appeared to be cheap plonk to our hosts. To my right was a dowdy looking woman, yet one of the younger guests. She sipped her wine, kept remarkably quiet and did her best to conceal a hearty appetite. Given the, by now, outright racist sentiments being expressed to my left and the banal inanities expressed by the man of the cloth opposite I attempted to engage my remaining taciturn neighbour in conversation. My various remarks, observations and question elicited monosyllabic answers until she suddenly looked me straight in the eye and snapped, "I'm Annabelle, I'm forty four, I'm divorced and I own a small sewing and knitting shop on the high street." "I'm Keith, I'm nominally Maureen's boss and I expect I'm here to make up the numbers." Annabelle paused then actually smiled, "so you're not one of them" and her eye swept the table malevolently. "Sorry. I really have been somewhat rude to you and perhaps you didn't deserve it. So you are one of the spare men. At least I have been seated next to the best of the bunch. The other thrree are the dear vicar opposite," who was by then slurring so heavily that he had become incomprehensible. "The old man to the left of our most kind and generous hostesses. He is the most wealthy man here, by far. Finally, there's the fat man near our host; he's actually the cleverest person here and well worth talking with but women have to keep well away from his groping mitts if they don't want a bruised bum, or worse." The alcohol was getting to me, "if I'm a spare then I guess that makes you a loose woman." "Any more cracks like that and I will think you're a spare," she reposted almost gaily. "Anyway spare men are hard to find so we have to be nice to them regardless of whether they are noxious or nice. What exactly is it that you do? Maureen considers you to be a really clever pain in the arse whom she has to tolerate because Trevor insists upon it." Well she certainly knew her gossip but who the hell was Trevor? And Maureen had a cheek. Annabelle listened patiently whilst I summarised the exciting life of a mathematician and computer programmer. "I asked for that didn't I. Do you have hobbies, preferably ones that me be remotely interesting to a human?" "Reading," I replied and the rest of the meal passed very pleasantly as she too was quite a serious bibliophile. So too was the vicar opposite who sobered mysteriously when he discovered that there was a conversation in progress that he could both participate in and enjoy. After the meal the ladies were shooed from the room and we men settled down to brandy and cigars, or in my case attacking an excellent decanter of port. As I was not in business I was clearly of no importance and was largely ignored. At least I was presented with an opportunity to move away from Adolfus who, by then, I could have cheerfully beaten to a pulp; the smug, sexist, racist, potty mouthed, pompous, twat that he was. At eleven it was Adolphus who asked, "shall we rejoin the ladies?" Grunts of assent were forthcoming. "Gents, shall we play the game first?" This was greeted with a chorus of yeses. Several of the men threw their car keys onto a coffee table and then picked up a different set. The vicar came to with a start, looked at the keys aghast, winked at me and hissed, "wife-swapping. Disgusting," and promptly resumed to his state of somnolence. Once the various participants had collected their keys we did indeed rejoin the ladies many of whom had then to discover just whom they were saddled with for the night. This appeared to involve enduring a great deal of groping and mauling of breasts and buttocks. Skirting the ruckus carefully, Annabelle came over accompanied by a tall, slender lady of fifty or so. "At least you can't sell me down the river," she beamed at me. "I would not dream of it. Anyway you're hardly mine to sell. God the whole thing is pretty sordid really." "They're bored. Sad bored people trying to find a little spice and excitement to sprinkle into their dreary commonplace existences. Don't be so judgmental, you. When you're older, wiser and vastly more experienced..." "I'll be an even more cynical, sarcastic and pompous liberal!" Annabelle tittered. Tall and willowy rescued us, "no please don't judge our little circle by its more unrefined elements," she protested. "I'm having a small, more select gathering on Friday. To be quite frank I was rather hoping you'd come and make up the numbers. I'm a man down and desperate." I had never seen anyone make such a hash of trying to flutter her eyelashes. "It will be considerably more genteel than this..." She was funny but that genteel did it. I was desperately trying not to giggle. Worse, I knew that if I started I would set Annabelle off as she was already alternating between taking deep breaths and biting her bottom lip. So despite myself and all my reservations I butted in and accepted, not least to defuse the woman's obvious embarrassment at having to ask me in the first place. Next Friday was a revelation. I knew just three people when I arrived; the tall thin lady, our hostess, Annabelle and to my utter horror my boss, Mr. Briggs himself. "Ah, young Morris if I recall correctly," he boomed. "Meet t' missus, Mrs. Briggs," he laughed loudly at his own worn out joke. "Dorothy meet m' head of computing, Keith Morris. Keith this is Dorothy, t' wife. So thou's climbin' greasy pole without patronage from me. Good on'ee lad," and he actually thumped me playfully on the shoulder. I hoped he didn't pinch ladies bottoms because they'd sustain bruising. How the hell did he remember my name was what I wondered, but "charmed Dorothy," was what I replied. "The pleasure is all mine," she twinkled. I felt like I ought to kiss her hand but the boss's misses? Probably best not. "Keith here is t' work's bore but he's proper clever in an educated sort of fashion, if you've t' brains f'r that sort o' thing." "Trevor Briggs! Keith is not a bore. He's better read and more cultured than you'll ever be, you clodhopping, gargantuan ignoramus," Annabelle had appeared at my side and had sprung to my defence. "Yes Trevor, just you behave yourself or you'll compel me to flirt with this dear boy for the entire evening just to compensate for your lack of social graces," Dorothy slipping in her tuppenny worth. "Alice be a dear and do make sure I'm sat between Keith and my husband here so that I can keep this dreadful boor under control!" So our tall thin hostess was named Alice; the boor was my boss! I was relieved, I had expected Mr. Briggs to be angry but he was far from it. He was feigning contrition, apologising loudly to left and to right. But he was still grinning, obviously well used to and well satisfied with the lively banter he could generate. The 'select' gathering was actually rather larger than the one held by Maureen and her husband. No cocktails here, dry champagne - with or without crème de cassis - to get everyone in a celebratory mood. Lobster for starters, followed by perfectly cooked sea bass. The latter was seared but otherwise largely left to speak for itself, the only garnish, a small pile of browned shallots scattered down one side. Saddle of venison for the main course, dished up with what I later discovered were called potato rosti together with red cabbage cooked in wine, rotkraut: all somewhat Germanic. Profiteroles and cream for dessert, now common place but then the epitome of luxury, followed by soft French cheeses, again at the time, their multiplicity a pinnacle of sophistication. After dinner, and after much heated discussion, we all played charades, no men only cigars and brandy that evening, thank the Lord. I discovered that for all his bluff and bluster my boss was really very smart indeed. As it turned out this was, for me, the first of many such parties as spare men really were hard to find. Moreover, when necessary, I was even young enough to be paired, though not necessarily trusted, with daughters. More often than not I was paired off with Annabelle who, it turned out, was a close friend of the Briggs. Mr. Briggs could not resist the occasional toy-boy joke but never repeated these at work; there he maintained his distance, fastidiously. Autumn arrived, the leaves began to disappear and Christine Jones was invited into our circle. She was the niece of one of the regular couples: pretty, long blond hair, generous boobs, long slender legs, a gorgeous body, interesting mole on her left breast as well as being quick-witted, intelligent and feisty. Yes it would have been more politically correct to have at least reversed the order of her attributes but: one, I am a man. Two, I think her ordering of priorities was pretty similar to mine, except that my prominent mole is more intimate. We hit it off immediately and in no time at all we were at it like rabbits, she soon discovered my mole. Their was one problem: sadly it was not long until she had to return to her native Australia, a departure which terminated our brief romance. We knew it had to come but when it did it still hurt. Christine was special, at least to me. I hoped that I had been special to her too. When it was over kindly Annabelle invited me to a series of meals, tête-à-tête, and I must have bored her silly explaining how wonderful Christine had been. She smiled sympathetically, asked lots of pertinent questions yet gently diverted me from the topic and eventually weaned me off of the subject. I would have to buy Annabelle a Christmas present. I knew that was the thing to do, but what? She lived in a large expensively furnished house with original pictures on the walls, not valuable but all the same all original drawings and photographs she'd picked up here and there. Neither too many nor too few. Her clothes were exquisite, she actually made many of them and I could not afford to match either their style nor their quality. Jewellery, she had heaps, lots of gold, lots of diamonds and the odd swathe of pearls. In desperation I sought the advice of Mrs. Briggs. I was mortified when she passed the question on to her husband. He guffawed loudly turning the heads of those around him including, to my horror, Annabelle's. "What was that Trevor?" she asked of him. "Keith just told us a mucky joke, it's definitely not fit for t' delicate ears of a lady so it's just as well that only t' wife overheard it." He guffawed once more. She slapped him playfully, "don't be so rude you great big bully." He mopped his brow with a huge floral handkerchief and tears streamed down his face. "Now I do wonder. What ever could young Keith her give middle aged Annabelle for Christmas?" He was almost choking with laughter, "I ask you? What a ruddy daft question! Well if you need buy summat you could get her a bottle of fine single malt whiskey, try Talisker, th' older t' better. It'll cost you an arm and a leg but you're well paid, I knows that, and you owe her one, mebbe more," and he bestowed upon me the lewdest wink that I had ever received. It fell upon innocently deaf eyes. The dinner's fell into two sorts: those that ended when a cabal departed for an evening of wife swapping and drunken debauchery and those which ended with, more or less, serene social games. My boss and his wife, the Briggs, only ever attended the latter type but I was invited to both. At the latter, whenever wife swapping was on the menu, Annabelle was always my partner and, as I did not drive, we were precluded from any such activities. As Christmas approached I discovered that the, hitherto gentle and modest social games could take on a distinctly more intimate aspect. It was the turn of my boss to host the evening. I had been co-opted to help plan the menu. He dictated that it was to be "a rite grand but essentially local do". "Proper gradely essentially but local do," I had corrected him, cheekily. To start we were to have potted shrimp on toast, shrimp potted in Morecambe Bay naturally: well it was that or tripe. Have you ever tried tripe and onions, even ladies tripe and onions? Mindful of my brief, Whitby sprats followed. Small fish dusted in paprika and oregano and then deep fried, delicious. Lancashire hot-pot just had to be the main course but made with best-end of neck and accompanied by pickled red-cabbage, pickled beetroot as well as buttered suede. For dessert, pear cobbler with egg custard, none of that cornflower based packet rubbish. Finally, a choice of Lancashire mild, Lancashire creamy, Lancashire tasty, Ribblesdale and Wenselydale cheeses all with distinctly southern, but tasty, Bath Oliver's, served with celery sticks, apple wedges and sweet seedless grapes. After dinner, as Christmas was coming, they avoided charades, trivial pursuit and the usual panoply of activities. Instead they settled upon playing the jar game. Annabelle and I were the only none (married) couple so we were gently but firmly coerced into joining in together. The jar game is simple and discretely lewd. You all sit in a circle, men with their partner upon their right. Everyone thinks of three rude, but not wholly indecent, forfeits that you and your partner can undertake, writes them down and places their ideas in the jar. Alternatively you can direct a very mild forfeit to be undertaken with the person sitting next to you who isn't your partner. In addition two general forfeits were added to the pot and finally a general two-part forfeit, the two-parter. At first the pot is passed round and the men take their pick; subsequently the ladies take their turn. I was very nervous when I had to choose for the very first time. My hand was trembling. It was a weird one, "sniff the gusset of your partners panties." I passed it wordlessly to Annabelle. She laughed out loud and parted her knees for me. I ducked my head under her skirt quickly, hoping that no had noticed how much I was blushing. I duly sniffed loudly and resumed my seat. In doing so I learnt that Annabelle was wearing black stockings held up by some sexy blue suspenders. I liked Annabelle, she was really good company and by now a true friend but, for the very first time, I began to contemplate her with a considerably more predatory eye. The Haberdasher Ch. 01 She was nearly twice my age, that was a fact and why previously I had never really considered her sensuality. There again, she was still most definitely very attractive with shoulder length light brown hair and sparkly blue eyes. She was quite short so looked plumper than she really was and had retained a very luscious figure. Her bust was generous, her buttocks gently padded and her thighs well rounded. I certainly was not in love with her, nor anything like it. But then Christine had been my only partner during a whole year and a new lover would certainly... Being young and relatively inexperienced what I had not considered was that an older lady like Annabelle might just want to indulge herself too. When Annabelle's turn came she drew, 'lady to unbutton man's shirt and tickle his nipples with a fingernail'. Annabelle straddled my lap and undid my buttons one by one, leering wickedly all the while. I discovered that evening that I have really sensitive nipples and when she was done my poor pole was as hard as a rock. Annabelle had taken note of my excitement because when my member had began to stiffen she had started wriggling and grinding her bum over it making my excitement, and my embarrassment, all the more intense. This was the point when I really did begin to consider the pleasures that were likely to result if I were to walk Annabelle home. The second forfeit that I drew ordered me to kiss Mrs. Briggs, 'tongues buried in each others mouths for a full minute.' I was scared but she sat on my lap and applied herself to the task with enthusiasm; so I was allowed to kiss the boss's wife with a passion. Moreover as she explored my mouth with her probing tongue, which she did most thoroughly and provocatively, the minx pressed her ample bosom firmly into my chest. Her ample buttocks rolled over my groin and, to put it politely, her behaviour was exceptionally suggestive. Fortunately, Mr. Briggs was not given long to reflect upon his wife's licentious demeanour because, shortly after, the first general forfeit was picked out, 'the ladies were to go into another room and remove their panties.' This caused quite a buzz of excitement as the ladies filed out. When they came back they looked no different but the air was electric; well there had been forfeits such as, 'the man to run a finger up and down the crack of his partner's sex and bottom' and 'the lady to sit on the mans hand, whilst held palm up'. Certainly my cock was straining to escape the restrictions of my trousers. Annabelle's second forfeit was a corker, not really that rude but designed to embarrass, 'simulate doggy style sex with the lady bent over the coffee table. Lady to come first followed by the gent.' I blushed again, simulating sex was OK, that I did not mind. Having to fake an orgasm in public, that was a different kettle of fish: recall all this happened long before Harry met Sally. Annabelle didn't bat an eyelid she simply draped her self over the coffee table so that all I had to do was kneel behind her and pretend to hump. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I shoved against her for the first time. She whispered loudly, "oh my God you're so big. Be gentle with me lover boy, take your time, you really stretch me so wide." Well my cock might not have been inside of her as she pretended but after that outburst it was just as big and stiff as it could be. Annabelle was good, really good and so wholeheartedly convincing. First she held herself a little stiffly and inhaled sharply between her teeth every time I punished against her rump, making a noise that could have indicated either pain or pleasure; perhaps the combination of both. As she slowly relaxed her body she also began to breath in and out loudly and rhythmically, air hissing through her teeth; uncomplicated pleasure now. She had very visibly adjusted to my clearly outsized rod. Her breathing became noisier and more ragged. "Faster, deeper," she cried out loud. We eventually established a steady rhythm, when I pushed she let out a great "ah" of excitement and as I pulled back she let out a loud "ooh" of pure lust. Her pants became shorter and sharper and she was definitely well on her way to coming. In response I began to make little grunts of my own, doing my utmost to sound like a man who was trying desperately to put-off his own impending orgasm. In the end we almost 'climaxed' together. After that I performed those last few tentative strokes of a man with a hyper-sensitive penis trying to extract a few further moments of delight from a purring pussy and Annabelle appeared to sprawl and mew with contentment. When we stood up we were give a loud round of applause accompanied by a great deal of laughter. These were followed up with a number of squalid proposals as to what we might care to next entertain the crowd with next. "Better take him home with you Annabelle, sounds as if you could use him," that was Alice's husband, our generous host. His wife, Alice, was about to elbow him in the ribs but then she had a better idea, "if you don't want him leave him behind! I could use some of that and Tony's outbursts tell me he's already had too much to drink to be any real fun tonight." Tony blushed and to a great deal of ribald laughter tried to protest his relative sobriety. Anyway I was grateful for his confusion because he took the spotlight off Annabelle and I. Except that Annabelle dragged it right back, "you'd better walk me home Tony or these harpies will gang together and keep you'll never get any sleep." The game recommenced, now boisterous: with a great deal more double entendre and much more overtly lascivious groping and fondling than had been the case earlier. Suddenly an utter silence fell. The second general forfeit had been drawn. It was the first part of the two-parter. 'Ladies tell your man what sexual treat you are going to bestow upon him when you get home, be generous in your favours and explicit.' Annabelle's reaction shocked me, I expected her to propose a good night kiss or if I were really lucky the hint of a little gentle cuddling an canoodling. "I am going to lick and suck that rock hard prick of yours until you pump thick come down my parched throat," she whispered fiercely. I was speechless. Annabelle sat down and stared at me with the expression of a cat who's just caught a nice fresh mouse to play with. "I don't know what Annabelle offered young Keith but it's left him gob-smacked." That was Mr. Briggs. At that precise moment I hated my boss, I hated him with a passion. If I was given the chance of kissing dear Trevor's wife again I would definitely squeeze her bum and her boobs this time: she had certainly afforded me plenty of opportunities upon the last. I was now the very centre of attention, every eye was focused upon me. Fortunately another pair soon distracted the croud, they had to simulate sex with her led on her back knees pulled up to her chest. This would have been interesting in any event but with no knickers on it was quite a challenge for the poor woman not to expose herself too all and sundry. We watched hungrily, the women just as predatory as the men: it seems everyone revels in the misfortune of others. She retained her modesty, just, and they began he now hiding any chance of inadvertent exposure. To my shame I actually took pride in the fact that their performance was not a patch upon that that Annabelle and I delivered. I think Annabelle agreed because, as the woman cried "Oh my God," theatrically, over and over again, she winked at me. Another general forfeit soon followed, 'The gentlemen are to remove their trousers and sit in just their underpants. Sounded all right to me until I realised that there would be no possibility of trying to disguise the fact that I had a towering, almost painfully stiff, erection. Instantly, I was really looking forwards to walking Annabelle home; at that moment I'd have walked the skinny old lady with the grey iron bun home if that's what it took to escape. Actually she was a game old bird and had given a really good performance of how she usually gave her husband a blow job. His reactions were pretty convincing too. A game pair of old birs. I need not have worried all the men were trying to hide little tents. I hoped I would not have to simulate sex again, just underpants and no knickers might prove a little too realistic. Indeed, a man of about fifty, James, had to pretend to make love with his petite rolypoly wife, her straddling his lap. The aroma that permeated the room when he feigned his orgasm suggested that he was not acting. We were all very polite and pretended not to notice, though his wife went crimson from the roots of her hair down to the top of her bosom. My final forfeit was to have Annabelle straddle me as we kissed like teenagers for a full three minutes. They left us to it and carried on with the game, well nearly so. When we broke for air a stern voice admonished, "you've only been at it for two minutes and ten seconds lad, get stuck back in there." That prolonged kiss eliminated any doubts that I might have had that Annabelle was as ravenous as I. As we had embraced she had guided one of my hands to her breasts and the other to her base pussy. Once I was settled she had slipped a hand down so and fondled my cock and balls gently. The last of the general forfeits was finally chosen, the second half of the two parter. 'Ladies you have promised your partner something special later on, now tell him what he has to do to you first, in order to earn that pleasure.' I wondered if Annabelle had guessed what was to come because she whispered, "first you have to lick my pussy until I've had so many orgasms that I simply cannot take any more." Oh boy was I on a promise. Annabelle's final forfeit was superficially the most simple of all but it proved challenging, 'tell us all a dirty secret.' For most of the couples this was an easy one: Jane and Martin had made love on a train once, Terry had fingered Susan to a climax at dinner, in front of her Mum and Dad. But Annabelle and I did not have any secrets, how could we? Finally I blurted out, "I can't wait to get Annabelle home tonight." Tony our host, through tears of mirth and with a great deal of much exaggerated thigh slapping, objected. "That's hardly a secret! try again." Annabelle attempted, "I've fancied Keith from the moment I saw him and I've been plotting how to seduce the poor boy ever since." The word boy ought to have been insulting but it made me harder still and my cock began to twitch visibly inside my pants. I prayed that no one was looking. "Annabelle, that's not really a secret either," Dorothy protested. "You've been like a bitch on heat at every do you've both attended and..." She shut up abruptly; clearly she was about to reveal something that she knew she mustn't. Instead of Annabelle flaring up, as I half expected, she smiled. "Thank's Dorothy, that was secret. When Keith and Christine paired up I was consumed with jealousy." And after Christine and I had been forced to go our separate ways, I reflected to myself, it had been Annabelle who had consoled and comforted me. Had endured my endless besotted accounts of our antics and adventures together. Indeed she'd encouraged me to reveal all, had discovered just how kinky Christine could be and... Annabelle knew all and still wanted me as her lover? I flipped form shame to amazement. Suddenly I knew just how the shark on the hook feels when it finally has to capitulate after a long and hard struggle. I was consumed with lust for an intelligent, imaginative, uninhibited and probably unprincipled woman who had been reeling me in steadily. How did the evening end? It ended much as you would expect. I walked her home. We adopted a ridiculously fast pace, practically racing one another. Half way there she opened her handbag and proclaimed, "silly me I forgot to put my knickers back on," and handed me the concoction of frothy white lace whose gusset I had sniffed earlier. "I hope you remembered to put your trousers back on?" "I did," I replied resignedly to her asinine query. At that particular moment said trousers were restricting my stiff shaft in a most pressingly uncomfortable manner. We did actually make it through her front door. She undid my pants and dragged me on down on top of her as she tumbled backwards onto the cold lino in her hall. I took her with her knees pressed to her chest and as I scabbarded my aching sword in of her hot moist slick sheath she cried aloud with relief and delight. I was grateful that she was so overwhelmed with lust that she came right away because the urgency of my passion robbed me of any hope of restraint or vestige of self control. We had been building tension all night and that near simultaneous orgasmic release was both equally explosive and equally rapid for both of us. Just as soon as I was spent and my hips stopped their almost involuntary bucking she pushed me off of her, grabbed my hair tightly and crawled across the flood dragging me behind her into her front room. I was glad that she had a long front garden because, in our haste, we had not even bothered to pull the front door too. Annabelle also spotted or minor faux pas and giggled, "poor Mrs. Jenkins; she's insomniac and keeps binoculars in her bedroom. Bet the old goat's had a cardiac, she'll not have missed a stroke of that." In the front Annabelle thrust me down into a chair, knelt before me and sucked me hard once more. "Not as big as doggy man but you'll just have to do. God that was fun. So do me again long, hard and slow and do it right this instant." I didn't, well not immediately. Instead I pinned her down and peeled her garments away with a slow and sensuous predictability. She knew our destination alright but I made her catch the stopping train. As each strip of flesh was exposed I kissed or licked it. Plump torsos are generally so sensitive and Annabelle squirmed with ever intensifying lust as I paid compliment to the charms of the crooks of her elbows and her knees, the delights of her inner arms and the backs of her calves. As I sucked her fingers and toes she melted. When I tackled her belly and inner thighs she evaporated. I was not finished though. Oh no, not I, well not yet. She had to endure my licking her neck and nibbling her pendulous earlobes; the latter making her pussy pump quite audibly. I risked a probing finger and she was indecently moist, dripping in fact. Her response was to attempt to buck the insides of her hot humid slash against the hard hand that was projecting and guiding that delicately probing digit with an urgency that was frantic. Christine had taught me the pleasures and agonies of teasing all too well, 'no Annabelle, poor dear,' I thought, 'before I penetrate your hungry sex I still have to taunt your nipples for a little while.' Annabelle had thought her red pouting nipples hard when I began. When I had finished licking and sucking upon those over-sensitised, swollen teats and those deeply crinkled, light brown areolae she had a new perspective upon the ecstasy and agony of stiffness. When I was done with her breasts she was already puffing like a grampus and I had not even started to tease her sex. It's amazing what you can do with a really randy woman and just two or three fingers. One pair of her lips were soon dribbling with lust and squelching with desire. The other pair, they were either panting with squalid desire or squealing with helpless frustration. At long last I permitted her to savour the delight of me spearing her sex. Instant orgasm, a howled response to the very first thrust. What I had failed to anticipate was just how many times over she could repeat that pleasure. Christine had been randy but that night Annabelle was insatiable. Those orgasms arrived with increasing frequency until they abandoned all semblance of forming an orderly queue, jostling and fighting to wring sighs, moans, gurgles, groans and howls from her throat. When, as was inevitable, I lost control and convulsively pumped hot seed copiously for the second time she cursed me roundly, her grip of the vernacular truly impressive. To be fair to me she had had a good ten or minutes of orgasmic excess by that time, but she clearly did not consider this to be sufficient. At least she was forced to permit me a brief respite from her desire. She locked the front door then returned to drag me up to her bedroom. This is no exaggeration, she simply slid her fingers through my hair, clutched determinedly and yanked hard. I was left to follow her as best I could. Finally, she permitted me to strip naked but the instant I was in her bed she slithered under the covers and sucked me hard for a third time. Once I she had rendered me capable it was good old missionary position. At last I did finally manage to satisfy her but my legs and calves were aching with the effort. Following her previous ministrations I had no chance of coming. I realise that the stags and stallions amongst you will consider this the behaviour of a wimp but you would have done no better: she was a human lemon squeezer she'd have left anyone running on zest alone. I made a mental note that for evermore I must be careful of middle aged spinsters, when their frustrations were released their pent up passion could be virtually boundless. Finally, she slumped, almost inert with her efforts. We slept the sleep of the dead. It was, according to her clock, half past three in the morning when Annabelle awoke me demanding more sex. Her approach had been simplicity itself, she sucked and licked on my limp and exhausted member until it and I were sufficiently roused and able. Confused and groggy - true enough - but still just about roused and able. I had only ever encountered such insatiable lust once before; that had been the night when a girlfriend and I had surrendered our virginities to one another. Annabelle wanted me deep inside of her and curled her knees to her chest so that I could achieve a more complete penetration. I soon learned that at the end of each stroke I should ram my pubis hard against her mons: that really made her shriek with appreciation. Had she had neighbours they would definitely now be awake and explicitly aware of exactly what was going on next door. I tried to count her orgasms but in the end I lost track. Lots. At least I now had no worries about keeping going for ever. Well so I had imagined; yet eventually I too spasmed. I don't expect that much dribbled out, indeed it was possibly the legendary dry hump, but the intensity of the sensation was exquisite. The morning! In the morning Annabelle expected us to partake of the licking and sucking we had promised one another, or rather that she had promised me, the previous evening. Actually she did not expect at all, she demanded it. I protested but she just rolled me on my back and straddled my face, "get that tongue of yours buried and busy in that hot slot of mine or you'll be smothered boy." She smelt of stale sex and perspiration but if I displayed anything less than unbridled commitment and uncontained enthusiasm she would lean forwards and bury my nose in her silky pubes leaving me unable to breath. She came, once, twice, thrice; I had seen this performance before, I gave up counting and licked for dear life. It felt like an eternity before, at long last, she knelt up and released me. She did keep her promise, too. She sucked and licked the throbbing helmet of my, by that time, well stiffened shaft. As she did this she stroked the slack in my foreskin up and down its stalk. I thought I would be dry but obviously some magic had been worked in my sleep and I splattered copious quantities of hot, thick white gloop down her throat; spasm after spasm of the sticky smelly stuff. When I was done she grabbed me by the hair again, rammed my head back determinedly and kissed me hard on the mouth, forcing me to taste my own come. The Haberdasher Ch. 01 "Just think my little perverted sex toy, we've still the entire weekend left and that was just the beginning. You hardly know me yet!" The Haberdasher Ch. 02 Warning this story was written in England by an Englishman. It utilises English vocabulary, spelling and grammatical conventions; some readers find these disturbing. * Annabelle, a woman almost twice my age, had finally managed to seduce me at a dinner party. Once circumstances permitted us to slip away to her home, she had revealed just how unbridled her lust really was. That night her desires were apparently insatiable, her fires unquenchable. I could, of course, tell you about the rest of our weekend. The party was on the Friday evening, we woke up in bed together on the Saturday morning. Following some utterly delightful oral sex, as pledged the previous evening, Annabelle made it abundantly apparent the she knew that my diary was completely clear until the Monday morning and so was hers. She had arranged the almost impossible, a Saturday off work for herself: revealing that the little minx had pre-planned her assault. A recounting of what followed between us that weekend would be lewd and crude to the point of indecency but would also be repetitive, predictable and ultimately, dull. As a compromise I'll précis. She took me on a tour of her house and we exploited the various features found in the different rooms to explore the pleasures of an extensive variety of sexual positions. You know! You liar! Oh yes you do. Coffee tables are really good for doggy. Kitchen worktops are the perfect height for her sitting, you standing. Easy chairs; she splays her legs over the arms, you kneel and... And well; finger, lick, screw and try combinations thereof. Bathrooms, we spent a long time in the bathroom, well: shower, bath, bidet; I ask you, the possibilities are and were endless. The cellar was a bit creepy but it's quite amazing what you can do with a saw horse and a woollen blanket for padding! We also spent a prodigious amount of time exploring the many possibilities for a man and a woman to couple when supplied with a well padded saw horse. Naturally bed was best and she owned, at the very least, three of them. We allowed ourselves, at the least, one different position in each, most of them two; no I tell a lie, all of them at the very least two. My favourite was reversed cow girl. Annabelle's favourite was on her back, knees to her chest. For a woman in her forties Annabelle was amazingly flexible, unbelievably fit and improbably inventive: what I had failed to take into account, at that point, was that she was also very, very practised. It was the following Wednesday evening, when Annabelle had suggested that I should return and, once again screw her silly, that our relationship evolved dramatically. I arrived all youth, eagerness and enthusiasm. In contrast, she was reserved and hesitant, almost shy. As we passed the open door of her dining room I noticed that the huge dining table was, quite literally, covered in papers. She intercepted the direction of my glance. "I was doing the books. I'm a bit down tonight; actually I'm bloody well depressed. Sorry but no matter how I work it, slowly but surely I'm going to go under. I'll last a half a year, perhaps a little more, but after that..." "I can profile your accounts on the computer." I interrupted, rudely. "You can make savings; that's what I do! Everything will be alright," I chirruped, all upbeat and assured. "It won't," she snapped back. She was trying not to cry and the effort of restraining herself was causing her to lose her temper. "Tell me!" I was far too abrupt with her. "You think you can do anything?" She snarled back. "I can't if I don't know what the problem is." I softened my tone and took a deep breath, "maybe I can't, even if I do know what the problem is but at least I can listen." "You must go. You must go right now. You can leave with the satisfaction of knowing that you have given me my best memory ever and that I'll never ever forget you." Her shoulders began to heave. She was sobbing quietly, yet trying her very best to suppress her all too evident distress." "For God's sakes tell me!" I railed at her. "It's no skin off my bloody nose and you should realise I'm not stupid either. Take a break, spill the beans, open some wine and get it off your chest." I had lost it, "It would be best if I went wouldn't it?" "Yes you damn well ought." My heart sank. "But only after I've opened the wine and we've drunk a stupid toast: I don't love you but I do want you, I desire you, I need you." I knew exactly how she felt. So whilst I sat, she shrugged and slunk off dejectedly to the kitchen. I was in despair. All my previous relationships had been fun and frolics, sex, light-hearted and fancy free. Full of meaningless decisions. Go out and screw later or to stay in and screw now? A weekend in Bath, or dinner for two somewhere really posh? The biggest crisis was when a girlfriend had skipped a period after she had gone on the pill. Not unusual, but at the time it appeared to the pair of us monumental. A potentially life changing concern, enduring an enforced marriage in wildest suburbia. But none of these experiences had prepared me, a lad of three and twenty, for coping with real life intruding upon sensual pleasure, sexual or otherwise: previously the two had always been easy to keep in their own, individual, isolated bins. We sat in her spacious sitting room. Large glasses of fine wine in our hands, not white, nor red nor even rose; a dry (trocken), orange coloured wine from Germany; a wine with a happy sunshine on the label. At least something was happy, even if was only a cartoon. "What shall we toast? What ough't we cheer 'afore we pair of hapless lovers submit ourselves to the cruel and pitiless jests of the cruel fates." A smile played upon Annabelle's quivering lips. She paused as she considered a rejoinder. "Prithee, good sir. Tarry a while longer; sup deeply and mayhaps join me in a second cup? And I? At thy command I will attempt to reveal the roots of my despairs." It was my turn to laugh. By far she was the more accomplished of us at delivering cod Shakespeare; more conversant in its pleasantries and strictures. More ominously, I failed to realise, far quicker thinking than I could ever hope to be. This exchange also exposed the fact that, despite the disparity of our ages, we shared a common educational background: she at the beginning of its era - at least for girls - me near its end. Best of all, the ice had been broken. Annabelle was, once more, calm, composed and relaxed. "My shop doesn't really make any profit these days. No one makes their own clothes now. We make our money selling wool and knitting patterns and women are now giving that up too! And it's getting worse. Things cost less and less and your staff request more and more. It's cheaper to buy ready made in a big store, from India, than make it yourself! Made in Hong Kong, made in Japan, I simply can't compete. I've been running the shop to keep my staff in a job for two years now. Two of the girls; well, their husbands are out of work, it would be a body blow if they lost their jobs." Just to set things in context, 'her girls' were mostly in their forties and fifties, one in her sixties. 'The new girl' had been there for two years and would remain the new, idle girl till a new 'new girl' was hired. At that point the old 'new girl' would be promoted to the position of 'that lazy fat trollop' and all the other girls would shift up the ladder one rung. It also made me laugh because the current 'lazy fat trollop' was as skinny as a bean pole and a real grafter. "It'll be the same for you soon, either Briggs and daughter will be the biggest distributors in the country or you and your boss will be looking for work yourselves! Why do I go to those shitty evenings that culminate in sordid wife swapping? I'll tell you why! It's because I'm as subjugated as you are. You have to humour Maurine and I have to humour those bastards because those are the bastards who prop my shop up. They order kinky stuff, occasionally for their wives, but more generally their lovers. I design and sew it and they pay for through the nose for it. Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful to you in ways that have nothing to do with last weekend. If it hadn't been so fulfilling, I would wish that last weekend had never happened so we could carry on like before. Don't fret, it was my best sex ever, you little donkey. Anyway, when you appeared regularly upon the scene all the leering suggestions of threesomes vanished, thank God. No. 'I'll design and manufacture kinky costumes for you and your downtrodden wife or lover, Mr. ghastly-wife-swapper. And yes the costumes are outrageously expensive: but even so you don't get to fuck me as part your squalid little deal.' Customers like that, they think they are someone, they don't like to hear that. And their wives. Many of those poor dears begin to find 'girl on girl' is a delightful luxury! They're not even real lesbians, they just fancy pleasure that's pure, unsullied and, above all, considerate of their needs and wants." "I asked, you explained to me." I gulped my wine, which was a travesty because it was truly excellent and deserved to be sipped slowly and with due appreciation. "The girls in my shop, they used to sit. Now they sit and sew, sometimes crochet; the most able are learning to make lace. But I cannot obtain enough orders to keep us going for ever. I need to branch out." Dejectedly, I realised that I could not really help Annabelle. What did I know of kinky knickers, wife swaps and stuff like that? Wryly, I reflected that I didn't even have a wife to swap, and even supposing that I qualified for a driving licence, it did not sound like Annabelle would be even vaguely interested. "Is there any good news?" "I did have lots of orders for Christmas presents and they're just about all done so I can carry on until February. After that, unless we find lots of men looking for Valentine's gifts, I'll have to start letting staff go. I've worked so hard for all this," Annabelle cast her eyes round the luxurious room. "Unless something happens, in a year or two, it'll be back to flatland for me and no jobs for my staff. I can live in flatland but I'm not some shitty male executive, I care about my staff!" I was flummoxed. "Branch out. Do new stuff. These bored, kept women and even more, the even more bored hapless wives of the men who want threesomes. You make kinky costumes for them and they wear them; perhaps they even get some pleasure from wearing them. What do these women really want? Cater for that!" Annabelle came over, squeezed my cheeks between her hands and kissed me hard upon the lips. I relaxed, I had got something right. Tonight my lusts an desirers would be more than satisfied after all. I responded in kind. Annabelle was just so sexy and she now considered that I might just have hit the jackpot: my prize? A night of expectation fulfilled. I had missed the point utterly; I was planning the fate of my, by then. very stiff member in a seriously sexy lady for that evening alone. Annabelle had visualised a future: a future that offered financial security, financial safety and encompassed being able to sate her many lusts and diverse desires in perpetuity. I had yet to acknowledge that I was infatuated with a total siren. "Shower and wash their bodies, wash their hair, manicure, pedicure, massage, deep massage," I did not like they way she eyed me as she said, 'deep massage,' but missed the point. "Hot baths, oils, perfumes, flowers, candles, we could offer all that." "Champagne, chocolates, real tea, real coffee, rich butter shortbread," I intoned; a little clueless of what was happening but adding my perceptions of female susceptibility. "Flowers; lots of flowers. We could charge a small fortune. Come I'll show you where." Annabelle led me to her cellar. The saw horse was still there, with the blanket still draped over it. The cellar had three obvious rooms one with two windows stood either side of a door that led to the garden and two spacious but windowless rooms behind. One with a big hole at the back. "That's the old coal hole, don't go in there tonight it's absolutely filthy. The other back room had a butlers sink and an ancient boiler on one wall and a drain in the middle. "This will be the shower and bath room," declared Annabelle. "The front I'll divide into a reception area and a sitting room. The other room will be the massage area and pamper space. "You are brilliant," she enthused at me, "and you must help with other good ideas, that is if you want to." I opened my mouth. "No don't tell me now. Tell me later after we have played a little game together. If you want to keep on seeing me after I've had my fun tonight then you can help too. I'm a very demanding woman and not easy to please. But first you must go to the bedroom and I will go and put one of my costumes on before we play my little game. When Annabelle entered her spacious bedroom she was modelling a broad green choker, a tight, leather and satin waist cincher or waspie and green high heels. The foundation of the waspie was constructed of dark brown leather, the panels, they were covered in dark green satin. The edges of her overtly sexual creation. were trimmed with dark green lace. The cups pushed her breasts up to make her cleavage seem vast, yet left her tightly puckered, dark red, teats bare and very ripe for sucking. The waist was ridiculously tight, apparently she had a little machine to help with that. The bottom was cut so that the entire length of her slot, from the top of her pubis to the beginnings of her tail bone, was wholly accessible. Occasionally, little strips of braided leather were worked into the main strips; from one of these, set low and round the back, dangled a thin black leather covered rod that ended in a short leather strap. I was transfixed by the outfit. "This is mine. I use it to explain my talents to potential clients. Don't worry the cups are usually adjusted so that they are a little less revealing and I have some green lacy panties. briefs to die for, to go with the costume. I nearly put them on; their gusset is cut and shaped perfectly so that you always think you're going to see just a little more as I bend but actually you never do. For outdoor use, under clothes of course, I have a similar pair of panties but with a built in dildo which really makes sure they stay in place. The choker I leave off outdoors but here" and she strutted across and raised her chin so I could see the solid gold strip that ran along the fabric. It was engraved with a single word, "Mistress." "There's hours of work and I can sell them for:" here's a problem, the sum she named would, today, sound trivial, but then it was a fortune. Annabelle could charge the equivalent of the salary of a middle manager for about a week and a half's work but then, it took about that long to make them. She didn't do all the work herself, naturally. She sub-contracted and took a good profit but it gives you an idea. "Now does little doggy want to play with mistress?" "Oh, yes please, woof, woof." I pretended to wag a non-existent tail. "Bad doggy. It's yes please mistress, it's always mistress." She unhooked the rod from her costume and slapped against her palm, ominously. "Now, do doggies wear clothes?" "No mistress," my already stiff member pulsed with blood and anticipation. "Well get undressed and, puppy and be quick about it unless you wish to incur my wrath." "Yes mistress," I said as I began to unbutton my shirt. As I removed the rest of my clothes Annabelle strutted over to the door and picked up a small box I vaguely remembered her bringing it in with her. She carried it over to me and opened it. Inside was large dog collar and a leash. "Good doggies wear a collar. Here's yours. Read the inscription then put it on." The tag was engraved on both sides: one said 'sex toy' and the other 'property of Annabelle Jenkins.' I donned the collar and intoned, "thank you mistress." "Now what's this? Bad doggy." She grabbed my stiff penis and rolled my foreskin back as far as it would go. "Oh mistress," I gasped with obvious pleasure. "Never mind, 'Oh mistress,' how dare you point your pathetic little piddle stick at your mistress and then allow it to bob up and down like a cork. On your knees you impudent puppy. You must be taught a lesson. Listen puppy, at all times I demand respect. I'm not some common little mongrel bitch who's fanny you can sniff at. Near me you will look at the floor puppy. Can't you read? You're a sex toy: your only justification for existing is to give me pleasure. Lot's and lot's of pleasure. So don't you dare presume to admire my figure like that." "No mistress. Sorry mistress." "No your not, that cock's still bobbing. How's anything that excited going to give me a long slow sensuous spearing. It'll spurt and spew its smelly secretions in a second leaving my swollen slot slavering and unsatisfied." There was a strange swish, liquid fire raced across my buttocks. I sprang up, "fucking hell Annabelle that really hurt," I rubbed the affected area. "Jesus that was not funny, that really fucking stings. Shit!" it hurt like hell. "Get back down you bad puppy. Down boy. Down, right this instant!" I considered storming off right there and then, but yet again my cock was really aching with lust and my bum was already a little less sore. I dropped to my knees, resumed my doggy stance on all fours and gave Annabelle a second chance. "Bad puppy. You were only supposed to get one of those. Just so's my little puppy wuppy would know what happens to disobedient puppies. Now potty mouth puppy will have to take a second stripe and this time 'thank you mistress' will be all puppykins will say." That fearful swish sounded once more. "Thank you mistress," but I could not stop a fat tear running down one cheek and I resolved that if she attempted a third blow I would, indeed, be off. "Well my sex toy is a broken one. It's obviously totally useless as a phallus. It'll come so quick it'll tease me rather than pleasure me. Then I'll have to wait until it gets hard again. Then it might not be a lot better the second time around. Third time it probably won't be stiff enough to be a proper sex toy. Bloody useless puppy." All the while mistress strutted round and round my prostrate form but, much as I wanted to watch her magnificent figure in her leather and green waspie, I looked at the floor as instructed. Every time she passed my anal crack she gently tapped my scrotal sack with the leather thong of her switch. True this made my penis twitch with anticipation but I was terrified that she might increase the savagery of the blow leaving me doubled over with agony. "That's a better puppy, at least you do trust me." Another tap to the balls, another twitch. "So puppy what's in working order?" "Please mistress you could enjoy my tongue, that's fully functional. Good puppies love to lick their mistress." "So I do hear." She tapped my dangling testicles just a little harder this time, sufficient to make me suck air in but still light enough to make my penis twitch in response. My poor balls were literally aching with lust, in the whole of my life I had never been more desperate to come than I was at that moment. Worse, Annabelle was cleverly blurring the distinction between pleasure and pain. That last flick should have simply hurt, not hurt a little but a lot. And, indeed, it had been painful yet it had also rendered me stiffer than ever. "I suppose I could allow my little pet to pleasure me that way but, gosh, it will take ever so long. I hope my little puppy has a strong, tenacious tongue!" I considered poking it out and panting but my buttocks were still on fire. Good little puppy had certainly learnt obedience. The Haberdasher Ch. 02 "Let's go to my chair and you can lap your mistress up." "Thank you mistress." She snapped the leash onto my collar. She led me through to a bedroom that I had not been into before. It was a large room facing the rear of the house. The wall with the window was completely obscured by a pair of dark blue velvet curtains. The wall opposite looked like something out of a gymnasium, all poles and wall bars. The walls in between, excepting the door, had been hung with mirrors. In the corners were large mirrors set at angles and mounted upon castors. A room where you could really see yourself. Mistress, no my mistresses, there were thousands of them, looked so elegant, so incredibly sexy in their green waspies as they strutted on their green heels. In the centre of the room was a low, relatively narrow arm chair fitted with a loose towelling cover. Mistress led me to the chair, sat in it and splayed her legs over the arms. Yes that chair was, low, narrow and very comfortable for a woman who needed to be splayed wide for a long time. "Right puppy! Lick me to ecstasy. Then you shall do it again." I knelt between her legs, parted the lips of her sex with my hands spreading them wide and commenced licking the very tip of her red and engorged clitoris with the very tip of my tongue. "No puppy lap round and round it... Just a bit more firmly... Yes that's right. Ooh that's so good." "Now lick it up and down... A bit faster,,, Just a bit harder. Oh yes, "she sighed, "that's perfect. Slip two fingers into my hole. Wriggle you knuckles. Lovely, yes that's heavenly." I got it, not only was I to lick and finger mistress but she was going to tell me exactly what I had to do. If things were not going quite right she would tap the arm of the chair with the crop, as if to remind me of me of the subservience of my role. At first she was using me to tease herself. Christine, my former lover, had adored being teased and her 'little spot' was that strip of flesh between her pussy and her anus, the perineum. If I licked there she became ever more excited but never actually achieved orgasm. With Annabelle, I discovered that her little spot was the hood of her clitoris. You know you've got it right when they moan and sigh, ever louder, with desire but don't ever manage to cry out with ecstasy. When their pussy starts to burp and fart. When their pulsating slot oozes so much of that thick sticky lubrication that the glistening droplets run down and dribble over their little puckered lower hole, you know that you've hit the 'little spot' of frustration. Soon Annabelle was well gone. Hardly able to breath, trying to inhale and exhale at the same time. Eyes closed, chest heaving, a little smug smile playing over her lips when they were not quivering and forced apart by her rigidly clenched jaw. Slick with her own outpourings. "Frig my pussy, lick my clit hard and direct." Complying with these direct orders rapidly induced her first, and all consuming climax of the evening. Annabelle certainly knew how to come and how to enjoy her multitudinous orgasms. Were they multiple orgasms or one long continuous one? Who knows, afterwards Annabelle certainly didn't. When you describe a woman as melting it is normally as simile or metaphor, but that night her outpouring of glutinous feminine grease were so copious that it appeared to be literal. She flowed, practically gushed. Finally she slumped, utterly spend. "Sit," she husked. "Puppy must fetch. Fetch mistress a glass of wine, puppy dog." "Yes mistress," and I did craw from the room. I decided that crawling downstairs was too dangerous so I walked down and poured Annabelle the final glass of that delicious German wine. When I returned the room smelt faintly of the sweat of excretion. Annabelle herself had regained her breath and was now still splayed akimbo across the chair but composed, serene even. As I approached her I could not miss seeing what the towelling cover was for, a huge dark stain was spreading from under her bum. Her sticky juices, my spittle and our sweat all making their contribution to the big, dark, damp patch. "Whilst I sip, puppy, you're to suckle my nipples. When I an done with the wine you may lick my face and ears, pay especial attention to my ear lobes. When I force you to kiss me upon the lips guide your aching tool into my hot, tight tunnel, but then hold perfectly still. Do not come. If you come I will thrash your bare bottom until it bleeds and you won't sit for a week. Do you understand?" "Yes mistress." "What are you to do." "I am to suck your nipples whilst you drink your wine. When you have finished your drink I am to nuzzle and nibble your ears and kiss your neck until you kiss me on the mouth. When you do I am to bury my aching rod into your pussy but then keep still. What ever happens I am not to come mistress." "Good puppy, get sucking." Her teats were dark red, swollen and as long as I had ever seen them. Their areolae were brown and wrinkled with desire. You could really suck on those distended teats, I only wished I was possessed of two mouths. "Bite them too puppy." I was not expecting that but I gave the teat I was working on a playful nip. "No puppy, harder than that." I bit a little more firmly. "Harder puppy." I was going to hurt her but I did as I was instructed, applying more force until she sucked in a sharp intake of breath and then sighed "Oh yes puppy like that. Hard as that. Now do the other one too. Make them take turns to suffer." Annabelle wanted me to hurt her, she was actually deriving pleasure from the pain I was inflicting. I did not understand then, but I gather now, that it is not uncommon for people, particularly women, to enjoy some types of pain. Annabelle was one of them. As I nibbled her ear lobes I took the initiative and continued to pinch her nipples between finger and thumb, first one, then the other. Her breathing was deepening and she was making the odd gurgle of pleasure. The randy bitch was coming on heat again, she had recovered in under half an hour. I had thought when she exploded with orgasms that would be it. I had presumed that she would be satisfied for the night. I was wrong. "Finger my pussy puppy but tease don't please. When you slide inside of me I want to be as desperate as you. I want us both to have to resist the temptation to couple like common curs." I moved a hand down, walking the fingers over her body, and slid two of them inside of her. She was so wet. I began to work them slowly. seeking those little spots that excite but offer no real relief. Hit those, pinch her nipples and suck or nibble her ears, Annabelle would soon be desperate to come once more. Finally she grabbed my hair and used it to drag my lips to hers. When our tongues were wriggling deep in one another's mouths I shifted position and slid my aching member into her tight tunnel of desire. We both paused to sigh with the sheer intensity of the feeling. It took a huge effort of will not swing my hips and buck up and down. Annabelle would not stop me, she would not be able to prevent me, her orgasms would be too powerful to resist and she would be too desperate to grab them whilst I was still capable of serving her so. She was already wriggling and squirming, trying to grind her little love button against my pelvic bone. We kissed and kissed and kissed. My balls tightened, my seed began to gather. If I were not careful I was going to come anyway. Annabelle was clutching and releasing my shaft just using the walls of her pulsating sex. I could not even moan or groan to relive the tension as Annabelle was effectively gagging me with her tongue. Fortunately for me Annabelle herself needed to grunt and sigh a little and we broke apart. "Down dog and get licking." This time as I tormented the hood of her clitoris with my tongue as I squeezed and pinched her nipples. Annabelle writhed and wriggled as she hissed out loud with lust and frustration. I was doing a fine job of teasing her and she had just discovered that puppy was pinioning her into the chair with his arms so all she could do was endure. I thought she had flowed before but now her pussy and thighs were slick with the juices that her slot was pumping out quite noisily now. In addition her puckered little anus was twitching all by itself. Of course when I switched the focus of my attention to her clitoris proper at the same moment that I began to finger the inner walls of her slot she was once more propelled into heavenly bliss. She swung her legs from the arms of the chair, wrapped them round my back and crammed my face against her sex for a good five minutes. Whilst I almost suffocated she cried and screamed wantonly with the all the wild abandon of one who's lust is being quenched in the most satisfactory of manners. When she was done my upper lip, my jaw and my cheeks all glistened with her juices and she was damp with sweat. "Good doggy." She stood up, wearily, patted me on the head, slumped over the seat of her chair and husked, "now you can take your bitch: doggy style of course."