This is a print version of story Strange Relationship – Version X Chapter 002 by ChrisTracy from xHamster.com
Strange Relationship – Version X Chapter 002
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 hours before falling asl**p, 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 showering and 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 player 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. The suspicion that this player was my new crush – Roger Thornhill – 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 bl**died 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 v******e on the pitch, and punctuated only by the yapping of my neighbour’s pooch which I had tied up outside. Wholly unlike James Bond I slipped through the double doors and down the corridor in silence in 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 schoolc***dren 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 blue 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 f***eful 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 f***ed 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, at least not yet – seeping through and making me uncomfortable. It was heavy material and would hold water for ages, and be cold whilst doing so. 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 f***ed to ask:
“What the hell’s ‘ah-shuck’ supposed to mean?”
“It’s a name; specifically it’s the name of the 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 four, six five 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 still less than 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?”
“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 poor 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 will not 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.
“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. Some of the bravado in me 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 wriggled a little to make the belt sit more comfortably on my wrists. I could already feel the bl**d starttt draining out of my arms.
“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 socks, 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, very comfortable by my f****y’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 pussy with my hands.”
There was silence for a second, before Skipper extended a hand to bid Asok take the floor. With more 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, f***ed 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 shouted out that 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, 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 bully 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 nod 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 course 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, but whilst I remained bound there was of course nothing I could do. “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 to join me. 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 so much younger than me whom 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.
“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 men 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 from behind 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 on not being the filling in this hot human sandwich.
“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 f***ed 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 f***ed 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 a little too excited, 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 f***es 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 to 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 f***es 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 f***ed 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 Asok 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 had, I tried to f***e 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 its 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. 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 f***e 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 friend’s 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 f***e 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.
He started massaging my bum, working from the cheeks inwards towards my crack. It felt nice; I let him play, feeling sure it was a prelude to something else, but the moment I relaxed he sensed as much and f***ed the tip of one forefinger into my anus. It was wet, lubricated with spittle and thus not really painful, but the surprise of this movement caused me to squeal, just a little, before I caught myself. I knew instinctively he was smiling, and then I felt him wiggling his finger, forcing it a little deeper into my bum. A reflex action caused my sphincter muscles to contract, preventing further ingress which Skipper took as a hostile action. He pulled his cock out just a fraction and I understood that progress between cock and finger were linked; the further I let him stick his finger in, the further his cock went. I was desperate for him to fuck me, and I did my best to relax. Cock and finger slid slowly inwards, past their previous mark, until I felt the hilt of both.
Skipper’s penis felt slightly longer than Asok’s, and wider too, but the difference was difficult to focus upon due to the presence of his digit, stretching my anus. This was so new to me, even having something in that hole let alone th
Story URL: http://xhamster.com/user/ChrisTracy/posts/4204.html