Written by a woman.
Pat Smylie was beside himself with excitement.
From his vantage point in the attic he'd seen Collette enter her bedroom in her dressing gown, and strip off. As she stretched her naked body, he'd shot some excellent close-ups, being careful to make no sudden movement which might draw her attention to his presence. When he saw Robert enter the room, his joy was complete. Pausing only to reload the camera, he captured the entire session in a series of photographs which could not have been more detailed even if he had been in the room with them.
On the bed below, Robert had rolled off Collette, leaving her lying spent on her back, his semen forming a white trail oozing out of her swollen red gash. She rose on her elbow and took his flagging member into her mouth, where the redness of her lipstick formed a striking contrast against the alabaster white of his cock as she licked the wetness from the vermilion helmet which jerked spasmodically in sympathy with her ministrations.
Gradually she began taking more of his length into her mouth, until his entire shaft had disappeared from view. His hand had found its way to her cunny, and began rubbing the remains of his ejaculation around the smoothness of her labia, occasionally inserting two fingers deep inside of her.
Their passion reached a climax once more, and Pat saw quite clearly the jerking of Roberts cock as he shot his come into Collette's willing mouth.
Her hand was around the base of his cock, as if trying to pump out every last drop of come.
When finally she lifted her face from his groin, she moved to position herself above his head, bringing her quim down neatly over his waiting mouth.
For what seemed like an age to Pat Smylie, Collette gyrated and ground her cunny over Roberts mouth, his tongue darting about her privates like a manic snake, pushing her clitoris out of its little hood, and then disappearing to its full length up her vagina, which by now was generating a steady flow of wetness which coated Roberts mouth, and ran down his chin in an effervescent sheen. Her pleasure was evident as she pressed her hands against his head, trying to pull him ever deeper inside her.
Eventually he was able to take no more. Roughly he pushed her off his chest, and onto her back.
Within seconds had mounted her thrusting vigorously, as her legs came up around his shoulders, enabling him to penetrate her with the full length of his well worn cock.
Her hand reached behind her buttocks where having realised that her advanced state of wetness was affording him no friction at all, she applied her fingers to the task of squeezing his cock as it repeatedly forced its way up her welcoming cuntlet.
Finally they came once more, with a groan which was audible through the double glazing which seperated them from Pat Smylie and his camera.
Pat set to packing up his equipment.
He had shot four rolls of film, and was now anxious to get home to develop them. There was also the matter of the attending the tremendous arousal the events of the past hour had caused.
Sally Smylie was washing up in the kitchen when Pat arrived home.
She turned to greet him.
'Hi luv'. He smiled the tight lipped grimace which was the closest he ever came to showing her affection, and slipped an arm around her waist.
'The washing up will have to wait', he said, working his hand up beneath her skirt.
'Pat, the kids will be back any minute, what are you playing at'.
He paid no attention to her, pulling roughly at her arm, he led her through to the living room, and pushed her back onto the couch. Within seconds he had dropped his trousers, and pulled her cotton briefs down past the ample expanse of her thighs. She resigned herself to the inevitable, and lay back, opening her legs to reveal the thick black mat of pubic hair which curled almost up to her belly. He drew himself on top of her, and parting her labia with two fingers, thrust himself inside her. She gasped in the pain her dry state caused her, but this had no effect.
'Pat, your hurting me', she wailed.
He thrust more brutally, fucking her with all the bitterness that his heart felt. It was over in minutes, a squirt of milky come, and he dismounted, turning his back on her as he pulled up his trousers.
She lay back, wondering what had brought this on, as she wiped up the semen that was running out of her, with a kitchen towel.
A few hours later Pat Smylie knew true happiness for the first time. The photographs were better than he'd expected. He selected five choice shots for his next move. One close up of Collette's face, with Roberts cock brushing her lips, her tongue clearly visible on the underside of his straining penis. Another of her lying on her back, legs spread-eagled, with a thick stream of semen running out from between the open lips of her swollen cuntlet.
All the pictures showed her face, and some or other part of Roberts body. Storing the negatives in a safe place, he placed the five copies in an envelope, and set off for Greyspoke manor in his panel van. Pat thought as he drove, but the excitement of the moment, and his inexperience as a top class blackmailer were becoming evident. No clear plan emerged by the time he reached the gates of Greyspoke, and he resolved to play it by ear. See what the bitch suggests. One thing he was sure of.
He wouldn't let this little lot go for less than a lot, and he'd recognise that when he saw it.
Aletta answered the door when he knocked.
'Id like a word with the missus', he announced with more confidence than he'd felt in a long time.
'I'll see if I can find her'. Aletta replied, leaving him waiting in the hallway.
She returned within minutes.
'She says what do you want'.
'I'd like to talk to her now. Tell her it's urgent'.
Without replying, Aletta returned to the library, where Collette was sitting reading.
'He says its urgent ma'am'.
'Very well then Aletta, show him in', she instructed, more irritated than curious. Pat Smylie appeared at the library door.
'Yes, what is it that can't wait till next Wednesday' she asked in the tone of voice reserved for those especially recalcitrant members of staff.
'I think you'd best pour yourself a stiff drink', he suggested, relishing the euphoria of the moment. Collette simply stood silently, instinctively aware of the menace posed by the repulsive figure before her, trying to compose her response to a situation quite out of the ordinary.
'I think you had better explain yourself' she ordered in an icy monotone.
'No darling, I think its you who'll have to do some explaining to your husbands City friends when they see these'.
Casually, he handed her the manilla envelope. Still standing, Collette opened the flap and withdrew the five ten by twelve prints.
Her heart stopped, and the room seemed to start a slow clockwise spin.
She turned unsteadily, and sat in the sofa.
It was like a dream, looking at the details of her sex so clinically displayed. In a voice suddenly stripped of all its former arrogance she spoke without looking at him.
'What do you want?'
'I'll tell you what I want', he replied, 'I want you to suck my cock better than I've ever had before, and then just maybe I'll be able to forget the way you've been treating me long enough to decide what we're going to do about our little secret'.
Without waiting for her reply he moved in front of her and unzipped his trousers, allowing them to fall about his ankles, and positioning his limp member level with her face.
The shock of the past few minutes had thrown Collette completely.
Her thoughts blurred and without making the decision, she reached for his cock, cupping his testicles with one hand, and running the nails of her other hand along its length. The obscenity of her situation had a curiously stimulating effect, and gradually she found an escape from the unbearable reality of what was happening by focussing on the task to hand.
By now his cock stood out at half mast. She leaned forward, running her tongue along the underside of his helmet, feeling him pulse in her hands as he became fully erect. He reached both hands behind her head and pressed her firmly toward him, forcing her to take his full length into her mouth. She almost gagged at the feeling of his cock rubbing the back of her throat. Using the pressure of his hands behind her head, and the thrusting motion of his hips, he found a rhythm with which to fuck her mouth. She kept a hand about his testicles, squeezing the hairy sack while her other hand encircled the base of his cock.
As she felt the contracting of his scrotum warning of his imminent orgasm, he pulled her head backward with a firm fistful of her hair, and with his other hand started wanking his cock as the spurts of semen jetted out. Collette closed her eyes as she felt what seemed like a never ending series of spurts of come splatter about her face. To her horror she felt her own body responding, and she experienced a tremor of her own orgasm as she tasted the silken saltiness of his sperm as it trickled into her mouth. With a loud moan of pleasure he thrust his still spurting member back into her mouth.
'Suck me you bitch' he ordered as he thrust his full length inside her.
She responded by pressing her tongue against the underside of his cock, by now very slippery with the combination of his sperm and her saliva. For minutes after the last drops of semen had stopped flowing he kept up his pumping motion until his hardness began to disappear, and only then he pushed her back onto the sofa where she lay, too shocked to move. He stepped back, and began doing up his trousers. Looking at her lying there, traces of his come still lining her face, and her normally immaculate hair a tangled mess, Pat Smylie felt he had at last touched the raw nerve of life's happiness.
He moved over to the bar, poured two liberal measures of whiskey into two crystal tumblers and carried one to her. She sat as he had left her, eyes wide open staring into space. Too numb to even recognise her vanity and go to the bathroom to wipe the evidence of her recent debauch from her face.
She seemed to snap out of her mood as she took the tumbler from him. She knocked the drink back in one swift motion and waited for him to speak. 'You know what will happen if these photo's do the rounds do you. Your husband will have a hard time explaining to the Queen when he gets his Knighthood'.
He knocked back his drink, and moved back toward the bar.
'So what do we do now?' he spoke, almost as if to himself.
'What do you think this would be worth to you?'
He poured another large measure of whiskey, and drank it in a brave gulp.
He felt elated. The alcohol combined with the sensation of power he had never experienced before fuelled his irrationality. He turned toward her, his eyes ablaze with improvised confidence.
' I'll tell you what the negatives will cost you' .
He paused for effect,' You give me half a million pounds, and you're clear. I'll give you a week to do it.'
Placing the tumbler back on the bar, he turned to leave. 'I'll be back in one week'.
Collette heard the front door close as he let himself out.
Friday night dinner at Greyspoke followed the usual pattern.
Aletta served dinner at eight as usual. Michael had arrived home at seven, as usual for a Friday, and after a shower and a change of clothes still had fifteen minutes to enjoy an aperitif with Collette prior to dinner.
They shared the usual small talk, and over dinner while watching Michael eating, Collette realised the extent of her problem. This was something she could never explain to Michael in the hope that he might be understanding and forgive her.
'You seem somewhat preoccupied my dear, is something the matter?', he asked over coffee.
'Yes actually' she replied on impulse.
'I think I need a couple of weeks in the sun. Miriam and I were talking about how nice it would be to spend some time together at their villa in Ibisa. Would you miss me awfully?'.
By the time Michael reached the end of the fine bottle of red he was drinking, he had agreed, and by ten on Monday morning Collette had arranged a two week trip to Spain. She desperately needed time to think.
Pat Smylie had his plan worked out as he turned into the driveway of Greyspoke. He believed Collette would be able to come up with fifty thousand pound's, and her relief at not having to find the unrealistic figure of half a million would be such that she would surely agree. Fifty thousand would do nicely . He could just see it. He also envisaged another fuck before he handed over the negatives. Getting her to bend over and shoving it to her doggy style. He felt the pulse in his loins at the thought.
He reached the front door and rung the bell. Aletta opened.
'Please let Mrs Pemberton know I'm here,' he asked.
'I'm afraid the madam is away in Spain.' she replied.
Pat felt a flash of anger.
'When is she back,' he asked, trying to conceal his fury.
'Don't know' replied Aletta, 'She said she would phone her instructions to me and I'm just to mind the house till she gets back.'
Pat drove away in a state of advanced agitation.
What is the bitch playing at he wondered to himself. Did she think he would just disappear?
As he drove, a new plan became clear. Michael Pemberton was about to find out a thing or two about his wife, and just for good measure the price would now go up to seventy five thousand for the additional aggravation this delay was causing. His new resolve brought back the warm glow of the past few days.
He headed for home to check up on the address of Michaels work.
By the time Pat Smylie had found the Kensington office's of City Mercantile, and parked his van, it was already after eight in the evening. As luck would have it a couple of executives were leaving the building just as Pat approached the entrance, and he was able to enter the building without announcing his presence.
There was no-one at the reception, and scanning the display in the lobby he soon found what he was looking for.
Michael Pemberton, Vice President, Suite A, 17'th Floor.
Pat exited the lift on the seventeenth floor, and made his way to the reception area of Suite A. The secretarial office marked 'Sylvie Spenser' was empty, although Pat noticed the computer was still turned on. He stood looking around for awhile, beginning to think that he had obviously missed Michael Pemberton and would have to return the following day, when he heard sounds emanating from behind the door at the back of the office.
He entered the office and made his way across the room to the door at the rear. The sounds became more clear. The unmistakable moan of a woman in a state of sexual arousal.
Carefully he tried the handle on the door. It was unlocked. Spurred on by his recently acquired bravado he pushed the door open a few inches. Looking into the room he was greeted by the sight of a man's naked buttock's. A woman was lying on her back over the desk, and the man was standing at the side, pumping vigorously into her. In a flash Pat realised that this was in fact Michael Pemberton putting in a few hours of overtime with his secretary. He withdrew silently, closing the door behind him. What to do next? Almost as if by providence, his eye fell on a camera lying on the secretaries desk. He seized it and checked the film. Only five shots used. By now his pulse was racing. He made a quick recce of the area in preparation for a quick getaway, and with camera at the ready he silently re-entered the room. He knew that once the flash went off he would have mere second's to escape, and prepared himself accordingly, moving slightly to one side of the room.
On the table before him things were clearly almost at an end. The woman was bucking energetically on the table, her breath coming in sharp moans. He had a firm grip on her hips as he held her down to prevent her movement's dislodging his member.
'Oh, I can feel you so deep inside me' she wailed,
'I want to feel your come inside me'. The pace of his thrusts increased, and suddenly his grunts of pleasure signalled the arrival of his orgasm.
Neither seemed to notice the flash as Pat Smylie shot his first picture.
Time seemed to stand still as he watched the scene before him through the lens of the camera. Pemberton suddenly realised what was happening and turned toward Pat, causing his still spurting cock to pop out of the red gash beneath him.
Pat held his position, snapping as quickly as the camera would allow.
'What the hell', roared Pemberton, as the women's face appeared in the picture, conveniently positioned for the camera directly above the sperm lined gash of her still pouting pussy.
Turning on his heels Pat made his escape, running straight to the stairwell rather than risking the wait for the elevator, and spurred by the adrenalin of it all, he succeeded in making it to the ground floor and out of the building without being apprehended.
Within minutes he was in his van, and heading for home.
Pat Smylie couldn't believe his good fortune as he looked at the five photographs before him. One of the shots actually captured a spurt of semen jetting out of Pembertons cock in the direction of the open cunt before him, with the expression of bewilderment clearly evident as he faced the camera. There was no mistaking his identity, nor that of the woman on the table next to him.
Pat felt quite giddy with the elation of it all.
By the next day Pat's new plan had emerged, and he began his preparations.
Duplicates of the photo's, along with a typed letter would be in Michael Pembertons hands by nightfall.
The letter read -
'If you want the negatives, have one million pounds in used notes ready in one week. I will contact you to arrange the transfer.'
With his barter mentality, Pat Smylie reasoned that asking for a million would make Pemberton far more likely to agree to a lesser sum at their next contact.
The past week had been a nightmare for Michael Pemberton.
After considering all the options, he had attached the blame to Sylvie.
In the back of his mind he suspected her involvement in the set up. How else would the blackmailing photographer have known to be there.
Still it was difficult.
He couldn't fire her, and that made it worse.
Coming in every day and seeing her there.
Finally, after due consideration, he decided to pay the bastard off.
One million would stretch him to the limit, but the alternative would be worse. As he sat at his desk, having finally decided on the best scenario, he suddenly felt the need to relieve his frustration.
He reached for the intercom.
'Sylvie, please come in', he asked.
The door opened, and she entered.
'Lock the door Sylvie' he said, rising from his seat. She responded, and crossed the room toward him. She was dressed in a knee length skirt, and a matching black top.
'Lift up your skirt, I want to see what you're wearing' he ordered.
Silently she complied, revealing a pair of black lace french cami-knickers. He moved toward her, his fingers brushing the crotch of her panties to one side and finding their way into the warm gash between her legs. She succumbed instantly, leaning forward against his body, and moving her legs apart to facilitate his movements. He slipped two fingers inside her, pressing hard against her pubis. She turned her face upward toward him, but he resisted her attempt to kiss him. Instead he pressed his face against her neck, biting her skin, breathing in the scent of her perfume. She began to moan, moving her crutch to meet the pressure of his fingers. 'Bend over the table' he ordered in a hoarse voice. She moved to the desk, and spreading her legs apart, rested her chest on the leather table top. He moved behind her. His erection was hurting by now. He undid his belt and dropped his trousers to the floor. His cock stood out like a flagpole before him. He reached for the hem of her dress and pulled it up over her thighs. His hand moved between her legs, pulling the gusset of her panties to one side as he slipped two fingers inside her damp cuntlet. Holding her open with one hand, he pressed his cock into the warm cleft of flesh. Entering her slowly, moving in an inch, and then withdrawing till the tip nudged against her labia before driving slightly further with each return thrust. After what seemed like an age he had his full length inside her. His fingers worked in small circles around her clitoris, rubbing the little bud till her moans signalled the arrival of her orgasm. Her cunt contracted in pulsing waves of pleasure as he began to thrust deep and hard against her, causing the heavy table to move slightly with each push. Her moans became one continuous wail as he finally let go and felt the warm jets of semen spurting deep into her womb.
Exhausted he collapsed on top of her, still holding his deflating dick inside her until finally it dropped out from her soaked snatch followed by a gush of their combined fluids which fell with a resonant plopping sound onto the wooden floor.
His usual reserve in asserting his desire to dominate women was overridden by his feeling that his present predicament was directly attributable to her negligence, and as such he could command her to obey his every whim.
'I want you to lick my cock clean' he instructed as he stood up, 'and then I want you to lick my come of the floor'. His tone of voice left no room for misinterpretation.
She turned to look at him, and meekly went on her knees in front of him, taking his flaccid member into her mouth, and sucking as if it were the nectar of life itself.
'Now clean that of the floor' he said, pointing to the small circle of semen next to the desk.
Slowly she turned on her knees, trembling with the feelings his degrading dominance was causing her, and leaned forward, running her tongue along the sticky whiteness as if she were licking an ice cream. The sight of this caused his cock to start hardening again.
By the time she had removed all trace of the come from the floor, he was hard again.
As she turned to look for his approval, he grasped her hair, pulling her face over his cock, and forcing his full length inside her mouth.
'Seeing as you like the taste of my come so much, perhaps you'd better have some more' he said.
Her hands reached for his cock, grasping the base, her fingers circling tightly around the thick shaft, wanking him into her mouth.
Her tongue darting in wide circles around the helmet of his cock until he could stand no more, and she felt the warm jets of sperm gush against the back of her throat. Still she kept licking and sucking, until sure that he had spent his last drop, and only then he released the pressure on the back of her head.
He reached for his trousers, leaving her still kneeling.
'You can go now' he said in his business like monotone.
When Pat Smylie's correspondence reached Michael Pemberton the following week, he opted for decisive action.
He prepared a contract giving him legal title to the photographs in question, with which he would be able to sue his blackmailer in the event of further attempts at publication. Then he requested a further week to come up with the money, as one million pounds in cash takes a little longer.
Finally he returned his correspondence as instructed, and set about the transfer of his savings from Gibraltar. By drawing on all his reserves, he calculated that he would just about squeeze through.
Collette had been arrived back from Spain with just a glowing tan to help mask the inner anxiety she felt. The feeling of terror at having her entire existence threatened had not diminished with the passing of time. She still had no plan of action and sometimes imagined that the whole thing was a bad dream.
The sound of Alettas voice announcing the arrival of Pat Smylie reminded her that it wasn't.
'Show him in' she instructed helplessly.
Pat Smylie waited for Aletta to leave, before closing the door to the living room and turning to face Collette.
'Your jerkin me around lady, and I don't like that. I told you what would happen if you...'
'Stop right there. You've got something I want, and I'm prepared to do a deal with you. So lets just get to the bottom line. I could go to the Police and have you arrested for blackmail, but I'm prepared to try it another way. I will get hold of the half million you asked for, but I need at least a week, and secondly, If you ever come back for more, I will have to hand it over to the Police, so I will need more than just your assurance that you will be giving me the negatives and any copies you might have made. So, you come back one week today, I'll have the money, and you'll have the negatives. Do we understand each other?'
Pat Smylie didn't trust himself to say anything, and for some time just stood looking at her. She was dressed in a striking black two piece outfit, with matching black high heeled shoes. The skirt reached to her knees, and beneath it the curves of her shapely legs were highlighted by the sheer stockings she wore.
He felt a pulse of movement in his loins as his body responded to her very feminine qualities.
Suddenly he felt reckless.
'Right, I'll agree to all that, but theres one more thing', he paused, his confidence rising in equal measure with the erection straining his trousers.
'I want to seal our deal with a little gesture of good faith.
I'm going to fuck you good and proper, but first I want to see the same show you gave Robert.'
Collette could hardly believe her ears. Her first instinct was to tell this horrible smelly man to get out and never return.
While she composed herself to respond she became aware of a far more sinister instinct. For some reason the sheer dominance of his position, and the sheer helplessness of her own had a startling effect on her sexuality. She felt her nipples harden against the lace fabric of her bra, and the tingle of sexual anticipation between her legs.
Without saying a word, and feeling helpless beyond repair, she started unbuttoning her blouse, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. She removed the blouse to reveal her full breasts, beautifully restrained in a black lace bra, the erect nipples straining against the see-through fabric.
She reached for the buttons of her skirt, and it too followed the blouse onto the nearby sofa.
She now stood before Pat's hungry gaze in her underwear.
Black suspenders matching the skimpy black panties which barely concealed the swollen outline of her labia.
Her lithe frame, beautifully set of by her recently acquired tan was no longer her own, but had become an instrument for Pat Smylies pleasure.
He moved forward, reaching for the elastic of her panties, pulling them down her legs to reveal her trim pussy. She felt his hot breath on her inner thighs as his hands reached behind her, grasping and kneading the flesh of her buttocks. His mouth reached the hairless folds of flesh encapsulating the bud of her clitoris, and with a deft motion, his tongue unsheathed the little red button of pleasure.
She felt her legs shake with the intensity of the waves of pleasure which washed over her.
His hands reached lower, allowing his fingertips to grasp the outer lips of her labia, which he then pulled apart, exposing her completely to the ministrations of his tongue.
He pressed his face hard against her open wetness, his tongue reaching deep inside her tube while his nose ground ceaselessly against her clit.
'Fuck me please' she moaned, 'I need to feel your cock inside me'.
He rose from his kneeling position, his cock standing at full mast before him. Collette reached for it, pulling him toward her, and guiding him to her waiting quim. As soon as the tip entered the fleshy folds of her cunt, she thrust against him, encunting the full length of his member. She rubbed her breasts hard against his hairless chest as they ground their hips together, her nipples hard as small marbles.
He felt the imminence of his orgasm, and abruptly withdrew. 'Bend over against the sofa' he instructed.
She moved to the sofa, raising her buttocks provocatively to reveal her swollen wet pussy, her head buried in the cushions on the sofa, waiting for his final assault. He moved into position behind her, using his hand to rub the tip of his cock along the length of her slit, allowing the round end of his helmet to enter her wetness, but not pressing any further.
Her moans increased each time his cock brushed against her clit. Finally he inserted two fingers inside her, stretching her wide open as he pressed forward, burying the full length of his member inside her.
It took no more than a few strokes before she felt the warm spurts of his orgasm pulsing in the steamy depths of her well worn cunt, and was overcome by the most intense orgasm of her experience.
Things moved fast for Pat Smylie over the next few weeks.
Michael Pemberton had, much to his surprise, come through with the money, and received the negatives and photographs as arranged. Thus Pat Smylie found himself sitting in his loft conversion with a briefcase containing one million pounds in used fifty pound notes. The afternoon after having collected the money from Michael Pemberton, he arrived at Greyspoke to see Collette. Aletta answered the door, and showed him through to the library where Collette was waiting.
Minutes later Pat Smylie left with another briefcase containing half a million.
Back at the loft conversion, his mind was working overtime. Something strange was happening to Pat Smylie. He had money beyond his wildest dreams, and yet he felt an aching need he couldn't quite identify.
The longer he sat, gazing at the wads of cash, the more aware of his unhappiness he became, and the more frequently images of Collette penetrated his conciousness.
Michael Pemberton sat at his desk scarcely able to believe the memo in front of him. Somehow Collette had drawn half a million from the Gibraltar account in the same week that he had drawn a million. That left the account out by half a million, and the bank screaming for an answer. All this coming a day after the news of a major reversal in Michael's current project, a seventy million pound account, made gloomy seem an upward motion.
Back at Greyspoke Collette was doing some soul searching of her own. Michael would be furious about the half million, but she believed he would eventually forgive her and life would return to normal. What she was less sure of was the appeal of a return to normal. A spark had been lit in her quest for excitement and she remained unsure of her options.
When Michael arrived unexpectedly that evening to confront her, Collette was hostile in a manner which he had never seen before. An hour later he stormed out of the house to return to the London apartment in a black rage. Such was his anger that he never saw the stationary truck on the hard shoulder of the A4.
The coroners report was that he died instantly as a result of massive internal injuries caused by the hundred mile an hour smash.
Collette greeted the news with great stoicism, reinforced by the knowledge of his substantial insurance policy.
It was only after the funeral, at the meeting with her lawyer that she was made aware of the withdrawal of the million pounds by Michael shortly before his death, and the subsequent effect on the remaining finances. The bottom line was that Collette could no longer afford the substantial upkeep of Greyspoke, and the manor would have to go on the market.
Two months later Collette sat in the drawing room waiting for her lawyer.
A buyer had appeared, and an exchange seemed imminent. Collette waited to meet the prospective owner with a heavy heart. Greyspoke was not just a home.
It was more like a part of her. As she sat reflecting on the foul turn off events over the previous three months, the door opened and Brian Aaronstein, her lawyer, entered the room.
'Your buyer has agreed all our terms, and has generously agreed to discuss your vacating the premises at your own convenience.
He asks if he can call this evening at seven, and I agreed this on your behalf.'
'Thank you Brian' she replied in her newly acquired, resigned, tone.
When the doorbell rang at seven, Collette answered herself, curious to see the new owner of Greyspoke.
Her heart stopped when she looked straight into the face of the man whose arrival in her life had changed everything. Pat Smylie met her gaze with a smile.
He was dressed in a tailored Saville Row pinstripe, as becoming for a man of his stature, and somehow Collette sensed that more than just his appearance had changed.
For a few moments she stood dumbstruck staring at him, until mechanically, she motioned him to enter. He followed her into the drawing room.
'Right, its simple' he said.
'Things have changed a bit, but you could be in for a bit of good news. I ain't never had a fuck like you before, and seems to me I could get used to you. So one chance. You fuck me here and now, better than I've ever been fucked before, and I sign half of the house to you when we get married.'
Collette stood in stunned silence for what seemed like an eternity, while her brain attempted to work its way through the many and varied possibilities confronting her.
She needed more time.
'Why don't you wait for me in the living room, while I go and slip into something more comfortable', she instructed.
Five minutes later, Pat Smylie had drunk two large whiskeys from the Chrystal decanter in Collette's living room, surveying what would soon belong to him, and waiting in a state of some arousal.
He turned with a start as Collette entered the room. She was dressed in a flowing, ankle length silk gown. The heels of her black evening shoes added another six inches to her height.
'Why don't you just take your jacket off and sit back on the couch', she directed him, taking the jacket, and throwing it to the floor.
Pat Smylie sat back in the sofa, his erection already clearly visible through his trousers.
Collette stood in front of him, keeping her eyes submissively on the ground at his feet, as she began to slowly remove the dressing gown, swaying her body in the style of a strip-tease artist.
The gown fell to the floor revealing a black one piece basque which accentuated her cleavage, and with suspenders which were fixed to sheer black stockings. She wore no knickers, and her pussy pouted through the black lace which framed it.
Her cuntlet was cleanly shaven, save for a small triangle of closely cropped hair starting just above the hood of her clitoris. As Collette stood facing him, she dropped her hands toward her pussy, using two fingers to hold her labial lips open.
'Do you like what you see?' she asked in her most seductive, husky voice.
Pat Smylie just nodded.
'Why don't you take of your clothes and let me give you a little massage', Collette suggested. Within seconds Pat was naked.
'Now sit back and let me take care of you.'
Collette produced a bottle of aromatic oil, and starting at his toes, began to massage generous quantities of oil into his body.
She gradually worked her way up each leg until her hands were on the inside of his thigh.
His penis was massively erect, occasionally jerking spasmodically as her fine touch teased him. With the lightest of touches Collette gathered a small droplet of the clear lubricant emanating from the tip of his cock, and traced it lightly over the swollen vermilion helmet, causing him to squirm with the exquisite pleasure.
He reached toward her breasts, but she stopped him.
'No touching now, you just leave it all to me.' Collette untied the clasps at the front of the basque to expose her breast to his eager gaze. Her nipples stood erect, flanked by the darker flesh of her aureola. Using both hands to press her breasts firmly together, she leaned over Pats lap and pressed his oiled cock between her tits. At the height of each forward motion, she allowed her tongue to trace vague circles along the underside of his helmet, before withdrawing and pressing his length hard between her breasts.
Soon Collette sensed the closeness of his orgasm, and withdrew, leaving him lying on his back on the leather sofa. Raising her right leg over him, she began to unfasten the clasps on her suspenders.
The position she was in, with her legs apart, and one foot on the sofa, gave him a close up view of her open, pouting cuntlet.
She rolled each stocking off each leg in turn, and then removed the basque entirely, to stand naked before him.
His eyes were rooted to the bald lips between her legs. With her right hand, Collette slowly inserted two fingers into the cleft of her sex, and slowly withdrew them, tracing over her clitoris in the same motion.
'See how wet you've made me' she murmured huskily, as she raised her hand to her mouth, and licked her fingers, with a look of absolute pleasure, as if tasting the very elixir of life itself.
'Would you like to watch me come?' she asked.
He nodded affirmatively, unable to trust himself to say anything for fear that his voice might betray the extreme of his rapture.
Collette raised her right leg onto the sofa, astride his body, position her sex in clear view of his ravenous gaze, and reaching between her legs began a gentle circular motion with the fingers of her right hand around her clitoris.
'See how swollen my little clitty gets when I'm about to come', she whispered, pulling the little hood of flesh back to reveal the clitoral bud that was the focus of her attention.
Pausing only to lubricate her fingers by inserting them deep inside the wetness of her snatch, Collette kept up the rubbing motion, moaning softly as if oblivious of the presence of anyone else.
Her moans increased in volume, as did the motion of her hand until with a scream of pure pleasure she cried 'God, I'm coming, I need to feel you inside me'. Grasping his swollen pole with one hand, she straddled him in one swift motion, and pressed her open wetness down on him, burying his cock between her legs.
'Fuck me, oh please' she yelled, as she rode him with animal urgency. In his advanced state of excitement, Pat had barely felt the slippery wetness of her cuntlet around his cock, before the warm jets of sperm began to spurt inside her. Collette's fingers had found their way to her clitoris, and even as she rode his dick as if her life depended on it, she rubbed frantically at her clitoris, moaning uncontrollably, as orgasm after orgasm racked her body.
After she realised that his cock had finished spurting the contents of his testicles, she raised herself slightly to free his member from the clutches of her willing cuntlet. Using all four fingers on her hand, she caught the semen that gravity tempted back from the depths of her womb, and using this as a lubricant, began rubbing it into the swollen lips of her labia, moaning the whole time as if her orgasm was one continuos process.
Although Pat had just come, incredibly he realised that his cock had remained hard. The smell of sex was heavy in the air, and the sight of her rubbing herself with one hand, while the other curved around his oiled shaft, had stimulated him beyond the bounds of his self control. Raising himself from his position on the sofa, he moved to position himself behind Collette, who, with her eyes tightly shut was completely absorbed in the process of fingering herself to yet another orgasm. Pat grasped her hips from behind. 'Bend over' he instructed. Even as she complied, Collette felt him enter her from behind, his cock sliding easily into the slippery wetness between her pouting labia. His hands kept a firm grasp on her hips as he thrust the full length of his cock deep inside her, and began to pound ferociously.
Finally, when it seemed to Collette that she had lost all control of herself through the succession of orgasms which racked her body, she felt his penis begin to spurt its soothing balm into the burning depths of her cuntlet.
When, afterwards both were sitting, still naked on the sofa, sipping at their whiskey glasses, Pat turned to Collette.
'I'll call my solicitor in the morning, and you book the registry office as soon as possible.'
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