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One – Lexi

Sharon ‘Shaz’ Johnson purred and rolled over to give me a last, long, lingering kiss. There was still some residue of her husband Richard’s cum on her cheek and there was certainly still plenty of it on mine. She glanced at him, kneeling on the floor next to the bed we were entwined upon, his once impressive erection now a thing of memory, a last dribble of cum that we somehow had missed dripping onto his inner thigh.

“Well pay the nice lady then, ya tight-arsed little shit!” Her gravelly Cockney accent always grated on me, but she was great in bed and the way we teased poor old Richard was right up my street. We had cavorted in front of him for almost an hour while he watched on, tied and helpless until Shaz was finally sated and allowed him release.

He knelt up, sweat glistening on his chest and matting his silvery grey hair. His voice was very different to hers – refined and mellifluous. “Certainly, my sweet.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket hanging on the back of the bedroom door and pulled out his phone. Within a few seconds, I heard a chime on my own phone to say that the transfer had gone through.

I nodded. “Thank you, Richard.”

Shaz glared at him, her huge false eyelashes batting. “Now you fuckin’ well thank the nice lady or I don’t blow smoke on yer cock next time!”

Richard looked at me clearly embarrassed, his lined faced reddening. “Apologies. Thank you, Miss Lexi. That was most satisfactory as ever.” He hastily began to get dressed.

Five hundred pounds for around ninety minutes. I didn’t consider it to be work – why should I? I was getting paid for something I loved doing anyway. I was making up for lost time. I’d had seventeen years of sterile, boring sex with the guy who had been my childhood sweetheart and became my husband far too young. The last four years since my divorce had been far more fun and if as they say, life begins at forty, I only had a few months left until I could let my hair down and really begin to enjoy myself.

Shaz’s strident voice lifted me from my reverie. “Love this new place o’ yours, Lexi – right cosy like. Much better than bloody London! See ya in four weeks then!” She was stuffing her oversized, over-enhanced breasts into a bra that could have doubled for a hammock. Just the thought of having that sort of work done to me made my eyes water and when she had told me how much Richard had paid, they almost started bleeding.

Despite being the epitome of the word ‘chav’, I always looked forward to the sex with Shaz, but I was also usually glad to see the back of her and her rich husband. She was a bit of rough alright, with her fake tan, enhanced breasts and lips and piercings in places that made me shudder just to think about. But boy, could she fuck and the torrent of filth that emerged from those over inflated lips as she commentated on our sessions not only drove poor Richard to the brink, but spurred me on as well.

Once I heard the front door close, I turned out the remaining dim lights and walked to the window. She was tottering down my driveway on high heels that she could barely walk in, the inevitable cigarette on the go, chattering away in her abrasive accent; the complete antithesis to her gentlemanly, refined husband.

He was wealthy, much older than her and she had him around her little finger. She was late twenties and he was just one side or other of sixty. She loved cuckolding him as much as he loved it himself.

Similar to my story, when he was widowed in his fifties, he decided to fulfil all his pent-up fantasies and more or less paid Shaz to be his wife and tormentor. I knew they saw escorts other than myself and judging by the marks I had seen on Richard’s thighs and buttocks on occasions, I could only imagine what went on. It appeared that he loved to hear her tales of dogging and ‘fuckin’ anyfink wiv a pulse’, in her own inimitable words. He was like a puppy on a leash and if she had free reign to do as she pleased, she certainly made sure all of his little perversions were very well taken care of.

She had told me once when we were alone that she was purely in it for the money. “He’s alright, bless ‘is little ‘eart. I Iove teasin’ the shit out o’ the poor old bastard but once ‘e pops ‘is clogs, I’m set up fer life!”

But he was happy and that was all that mattered to me. He had never so much as touched me in all our liaisons – when Shaz told him it was time, he would tear the tissue paper bonds that held him captive and obediently walk over to her and unload on her paean to the breast-surgeons skills. The tissue paper made it all the harder for him; we had started with him being strapped to the chair arms with Velcro, but Shaz had decided that wasn’t nearly enough. Even one session with ribbons had not made it hard enough for him, so she decided on tissue paper. If he so much as tore a single millimetre of it, he would not be allowed his release – at least not on Shaz’s tits. Sometimes his knuckles were white as he gripped the chair-arms, desperate not to tear his bonds and forfeit his prize as he watched güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri us turn each other inside out. So far, he had been successful and I had always got to share his load with Shaz as I licked her breasts clean and we swapped the cum from mouth to mouth.

I saw her take one last drag and grind out her cigarette under her heel as she got into their very upmarket silver car, her boobs bursting out of a leopard-skin print dress. I turned away, brought up the lights a notch and went into the bathroom to clean up the last of his mess before a nice long session with a large glass of Chablis and a sex toy the size of a cucumber.

I thought about doing one of my dirty-talking masturbation videos – maybe with a few naughty jerk-off instructions thrown in – but it was getting a bit late to set up the cameras. Instead, I got myself comfortable, sipped my wine and fired up my fave rabbit vibe.

I had come a long way in a short time, and in that time, I had come more often than the previous seventeen years combined.

It was both a kick in the teeth and a relief when I found out the reason I had been so neglected in the bedroom for so long. My dear husband was fucking the living shit out of his secretary and had been for years – doing all the nasty things to her he should have been doing to me. It was she that told me, the smug little cow. At least she wouldn’t have been able to blow him for a while with a split lip. I nearly broke my bloody hand doing it, but it was worth it.

Oh well, at least the pent-up frustrations that had been building in me over the years could now be acted upon. It only took me two weeks after the split to begin to make up for lost time. I picked up a guy in my hotel on a business trip to America. I did more things in the three nights we spent together than I had done in seventeen years of courtship and marriage. When he went down on me, I almost wept when I thought of never having had that done to me before. My dear husband could never bring himself to do it, and as for me going down on him – that was what whores did, apparently. Whores and his secretary of course.

Well, I certainly became a whore on those three nights with Grant Palmer from Chicago Illinois, and my life was never the same again. One feel of that silky, smooth head sliding between my lips and I was hooked. My first attempt at sucking cock was at thirty-five years old, and by my third attempt, Grant was mewling like a baby as he shot across my cheek and I sucked him dry.

A few weeks later, I was on another business trip to Berlin. I hadn’t a clue that the bar I was in was a preferred haunt of those who liked the company of their own sex. A dark-eyed, tousle-haired girl came onto me and instead of running like hell, I decided to go with it and see where it took me. If I thought Grant had felt good between my legs, Birgitte was ten times better. I barely spoke German, she barely spoke English, but we understood each other perfectly.

As she left my hotel room, I grinned up at her and held up a single, sticky finger. “First time – vir gut!”

She had grinned back, a slip of a thing almost half my age. “Fucking gut, ja. Not last?”

No dear Birgitte, wherever you are. It was certainly not my last and it was fucking good.

My first year post ‘Big-D’ as I called it was a blur. I stopped thinking negatively about wasted years and lived for the moment. My job took me to many exotic locations and soon I had lovers of both sexes in most of them. In Munich, another German girl introduced me to light bondage and I became addicted to that. She took me to sex clubs and I got off with complete strangers and had my first threesome with her and her well-hung boyfriend. She asked me if I had done it with two guys before and I said no. Three nights later, I was able to say yes and it was wonderful. Ingrid watched on as her boyfriend Gerd and his friend Alex spit roasted me. I had my first cum-swap with her and have her to thank for so much. We haven’t seen each other for a couple of years, but we keep in constant touch and our little WhatsApp group is very active indeed.

It was when I got overlooked for a well-earned promotion that I decided I’d had enough of the daily grind. I mean the work kind- the other daily grind was becoming an absolute necessity. I was sick of travelling despite the obvious attractions at the far end and it was getting to be a chore to even work from home I hated the place so much.

Over the previous two and a half years, I had built up a wardrobe of all sorts of clothes to satisfy my lovers and myself. There was a nice little collection of fetish gear, a wide range of sex toys and if what I kept hearing from my widening circle of intimate friends was true, Alexis ‘Lexi’ Kennedy was becoming very accomplished indeed in the art of sexuality.

There was no doubt in my mind what my next job was going to be.

I looked at websites that offered escort services around the London area and, as my American boss used to say, did the math. To use another of his clichés, it was güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri a no-brainer.

My notice period was three months and for the latter two I was working two jobs – one handing over to a new sales liaison officer with an international finance house, the other as a newbie, high-class escort.

Within weeks I was getting rave reviews and my portfolio of things I would do expanded rapidly. The work was incredible, the people I met were wonderful and the agency were a dream to work for. I sold my old terraced house in the western suburbs that was my half of the divorce settlement and set up in a lovely little village in the countryside about fifteen miles out of the city. It was easy to get back into London for outcalls and overnighters and the house seemed discreet, down a pretty little lane on the edge of the village. There was only one other property, so my home visits were kept nicely private and away from prying eyes. I loved the fact that my house had a name, not a number and my new address of The Willows, Foxholes Lane, Leybridge made me feel quite proud that I was moving up in the world. It certainly sounded better than 189 Molton Street, East Croydon.

I usually worked solo, doing everything from quickies for visiting businessmen, through all kinds of classy cosplay to light bondage and tease and denial. Those were amongst my favourites and I loved edging and long slow blowjobs that kept the guy on the brink for an eternity.

But my absolute favourite jobs were the dinner dates. Fine food and wine at one of the top London restaurants followed by a long, depraved evening in a sumptuous Park Lane hotel. And of course getting paid big bucks for it. What was not to like?

Occasionally I teamed up with other girls when something a little raunchier was called for. My favourites to work with were Faye and Zdenka. I adored Faye and loved to slowly part her gorgeous dark-brown pussy lips to reveal the pink coral wonder within, watching from close range as a long hard cock slid home and she groaned in genuine ecstasy. Zdenka, also known to us as ‘Zed’, could suck a golf ball through a metre of hosepipe and shared my insatiable appetite for cum-play. I was doing a foursome with her soon and couldn’t wait to see that wide, sultry mouth in action once more.

It took hard work and dedication though, and I kept myself fit with at least five gym sessions a week and a couple of runs. I had signed up for a local 10k charity run to make sure I stayed with the programme and was getting my times down to well under an hour so was pretty pleased.

Also pretty pleased was the local beauty salon in the village, Abigail’s Beauty Spot, as I became their new best customer. Abigail soon became a confidante of mine and when I was the only one in the salon, or down the pub after hours, she loved me to regale her with tales of my latest exploits. She was married with two small children and had no inclinations to do anything similar herself, but said it spurred her on in her own bedroom and her husband was very pleased indeed with the changes in her.

I also had a reminder of my rebirth. Zed had been with me when I’d had a phoenix rising from the flames tattooed on my right shoulder blade with the year beneath in Roman numerals. I’d never been a fan of tattoos, but I needed something to mark my transition and it seemed appropriate.

As my faithful rabbit did its work, I gasped as I felt myself flood onto the towel I had strategically placed on the bed for such eventualities. I purred as I removed it, licked it clean and washed it down with a big gulp of Chablis. I relaxed my stiffened muscles – my legs had been taught as my buttocks rose from the bed in my orgasm – and let out a long sigh.

Then my heart nearly stopped as I heard a tap on the window.

I looked up in disbelief as I saw a drone hovering outside my bedroom window. A fucking drone!

Maybe my new little bolthole wasn’t as private and discreet as I had thought after all.

I was being watched and I had probably just been seen by someone sucking a load of cum from another woman’s tits then wanking myself silly.

In a daze, I turned off the bedside light, got up and walked towards the window. I saw a flash as the drone shot upwards and out of sight. I peered out into the winter gloom but nothing was revealed to me.

I drew the curtains and went back to bed. During my second session with the rabbit, I realised I should be appalled, but was quite turned on. I love being watched. I love watching.

I knew it couldn’t have been Abigail – she had sworn herself to secrecy and I trusted her. But someone was watching me and somehow I had to find out who the fuck it was and how long it had been going on.

Two – Ben

Although we were close to London, it was still a pretty small village, and to be honest, at my age it was a complete bore. There were no girls of my age locally and once Becky, my girlfriend from school had gone to University, I was single once more. I was nineteen, working part time in a music shop güvenilir bahis şirketleri a few miles away, failing dismally to get a band together and craving for someone to spend long, blissful nights with. I had deferred going to Uni for a year as there had been a great chance of joining a local, upcoming band as rhythm guitarist, but after what seemed like interminable auditions and false promises, I was ditched in favour of a seventeen-year-old girl who knew about three chords.

The singer took me to one side. “Sorry Ben, but she’ll learn. She can do great backing vocals and she’s fucking hot.” I’ve seen them on YouTube and she certainly is hot and can sing, but she’s a bloody useless guitar player.

Just about the only ray of sunshine on the horizon as winter set in was the arrival in the village of a new resident. And if the girl that got my place in the band was hot, this lady was fucking incendiary.

She moved into the house down the lane from us on the southern edge of the village and I kept catching sight of her as I practised my guitar and tried to hone up on my keyboard skills as a backup.

My bedroom window overlooked the lane and I got frequent glimpses of her as she walked to the station or got into or out of taxis, usually with an overnight bag in tow. I had no idea what she did for a living, or whether she was single, married, divorced or in a polygamous relationship with half of Surrey.

The one thing I did know however was her first name. I was doing something in the front garden one morning to help out my folks when she came by in a rush, booted feet crunching on the gravel. I could see her tapping agitatedly at her phone and she sounded flustered as she spoke. “Hi, it’s Lexi – look, sorry but I’m running a bit late-“

The rest was lost to me as she moved out of earshot, but at least I now knew her to be Lexi. I would have said she was mid- to late-thirties and it was the swirl of deep red hair that did it for me the most. Shoulder length, it seemed to flow around her like silk and when the sun shone, it also shone. The contrast with her amber coloured eyes was gorgeous. She was always immaculately made-up and dressed and as the last vestiges of autumn turned to winter, I never saw her without her long leather boots.

One pair were the deepest red, matching her hair. Another pair were shiny patent leather. There was a dark brown pair with laces up the front and another dark grey pair with buckles and rivets everywhere. The one thing I could never determine was how far they went up her legs, but I could only imagine. She always wore knee length coats and as far as I could tell, the boots were still going strong as they disappeared beneath her hemline.

I began to imagine those boots sliding over my back as I lapped at her flaming red bush, Lexi calling my name as she flooded into my mouth before taking me in hers. I had a big thing for redheads and an even bigger thing for leather. I have no idea why, but it got to me every time. When Becky had bought a pair of boots one winter, I could barely keep my hands off her and in the end, I practically had to beg her to keep them on when we were making out. In hindsight, it was probably part of the reason I became history when she went to Uni.

I kept hoping some hot rock chick would turn up at the music store, but it was usually little kids with parents buying trainer violins or ukuleles. I longed to be able to show a wannabe Lady Gaga or Ellie Rowsell around the guitar section, but as usual, my dreams went unfulfilled. I played ditties on the uke for children, not Gaga or Wolf Alice covers for sexy babes.

I couldn’t work out Lexi at all. Sometimes I’d not see her for days, then there would be a flurry of activity – visitors to her house at all sorts of strange times. I would hear the crunch of tyres on the gravel and strain my eyes to see who was calling. There were a few single men, the odd woman by herself and there were a few couples – none of them I recognised from the village. One particular couple struck me as being very strange – a younger woman with an almost laughably fake orange tan, huge boobs and lips that looked like they had been inflated with a bicycle pump. The dresses she wore showed off her impressive assets, but they looked tacky – usually leopard-skin print or bedecked in shimmering sequins. The man with her must have been her father but looked totally different to her, with silvery-grey hair and immaculately dressed in a blazer and tie.

My mum had seen a few comings and goings and she assumed the woman was some sort of business consultant. Her son Benjamin began to have other ideas and decided to try and do a little detective work to see just what the new lady in the village was really about.

I got my first chance a couple of weeks later when my folks went up to London one Saturday for a meal and a show. My older sister had moved out a couple of years before and my twin brother had more sense than me and went to University at the first time of asking. Sometimes I found it all a bit lonely, but at times like this, I could crank up the volume. With no neighbours to worry about, the walls were soon shaking and the windows rattling as I started working on an idea I’d had. The rough bass and drum machine tracks thundered along as I tried out all sorts of guitar effects, but for some reason nothing was gelling.

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