AND SHE NEVER GUESSED
For just a moment as you pause in the dimly lit street you feel guilt.
You close your eyes and think. You remember her words as she kissed you goodbye this morning as you left for the office: "Have a lovely evening, darling. It's so nice that you've kept in touch with Steve so long." All these years together and she's never guessed. You look up at the flickering neon sign above the doorway: "LIVE ACTS".
You mount the steps
and enter. The dark suited bouncer with black bow tie and dark
glasses looks you up and down. You're OK. You're sober and you're
dressed smartly in your business suit. It's dark inside. The
walls are painted black and the few lights are dim. The music is
pounding and you can just dimly make out the silhouettes of
others. Only the bar is well lit. As you order a beer you try not
to make eye contact with the barman. You feel a hand on your
backside, a finger brushing down between your bum cheeks. You
turn but in the gloom all you can see is shadowy figures of other
men. You glance at your watch.
You hadn't noticed him appear. He's precisely on time, as always.
"Hi Steve. How are you doing?"
Steve's as neat as ever. The expensive suit, crisp designer shirt, bright coloured Italian silk tie with the gold tiepin, the immaculately groomed hair, the little moustache. You buy Steve a beer and make small talk about work, life, about your wife and your daughter.
Then the lights suddenly dim even further, the pounding music fades, the curtains in front of the small raised stage whir open, and the spotlights come on. The show's about to begin!
There's a motorbike on the stage, a low slung Harley Davidson with lots of shiny chrome and a big red tank. Music starts, with a beat that makes your hips sway involuntarily. A young man strolls onto the stage. He's in a black leather jacket, a white tee shirt tight over his chest, tight blue jeans, biker boots and a peaked black leather cap. A raucous cheer rises from the audience around you. In the bright light cast by the stage spots you can see who's around you. It's not like that bar you were in last night, idly watching that young man with his girl in her short tight skirt before they left hand in hand to do what you know your daughter and her boyfriend do together most nights. Here they're all men, some in suits like you, a pair in matching denim jackets and leather pants, a guy with dark eye makeup and red lipstick…..
The biker walks
round his bike. He bends over his bike, spreads his legs and his
bum sways in his tight blue jeans as he rocks on his heels.
"Ooooooooohhhh……." howls the crowd!
He steps a foot up onto the saddle, throws off his leather jacket, leers at the audience and jerks his hips forward. Another howl. You feel a hand on your backside again. You turn. It's a man in a suit. His eyes enquire.
"I'm with a friend" you reply. He nods and disappears into the crowd.
The tee shirt is off next. He's got the kind of bronzed tanned six pack guys would die for. As he struts round the stage his heavy gold necklace sparkles in the lights. Your erection's up hard and you shuffle to ease the pressure inside your pants. You feel a hand on your thigh. It's Steve's, but his eyes haven't left the stage. His fingers find the bulging ridge of your erection and follow its length through your pants. You reach down too. Steve's erection is sticking straight out against his zip, and he grunts softly as you run your fingers over its soft head. In a practiced movement as smooth as a woman dropping her skirt the biker's blue jeans are off. He's just in biker boots and tight black briefs now, the thin black satin bulging over the massive shaft beneath. He's an expert! He knows how to drive men wild! He struts round the stage. He bends over the bike again with his back to the audience, slips his briefs down round his thighs. A buttock is tattooed with a skull and crossbones. He pulls his briefs up, stands with his back to the crowd, then like a dainty girl he wiggles his hips and lets his briefs drop. Then, naked but for peaked black leather cap and biker boots he turns and the audience roars! Eight inches of gleaming muscle arch upward from his smooth shaven hairless scrotum to its bulging rounded tip. His erection swings stiffly as he struts round the stage. He crouches spread-legged on the edge of the stage, his erection pointing straight up. A hand reaches up to fondle his balls. He lets his admirer briefly play - then darts back!
Now he poses on his bike. Leaning back wide legged, arching his back so his hips jut forward, high stepping a foot up onto it, sitting spread-kneed astride its saddle and leaning back so his erection is vertical. He shows you the poses you dreamed of last night in anticipation, in bed beside her waiting till her breathing settled, then so carefully with just your thumb and forefinger round your shaft, gently at first then so careful not to rock the bed as you rose, fearing needlessly that your judder as you spurted might wake her. But it never does.
Now he's standing
astride his bike, hips thrust forward, penis bending up over the
tank. His hand goes down to finger his balls, to play with the
length of his shaft. He turns his head to look at the audience as
if for approval, and his thumb and forefinger close in a ring and
bob up and down in that movement all men know so well!
"Wank! Wank! Wank!....." chants the audience.
His hand goes down. His hips thrust further forward. He braces himself. Smooth, rhythmic, full length, riding over his soft round knob. Slowly and methodically at first, then faster….His head falls back, his mouth opens, his face twists as if he's in agony, sweat glistens on his naked body, his hand is frantic now…..his whole body judders, he grunts like an animal as his jet of semen arching right over the handlebars is caught in the bright spotlights. The applause and cheers are deafening. You feel a hand on your backside. It's Steve's.
"Let's go" he says, and you leave together.
Steve's place is as
neat as ever. Steve's a good cook. He looks so erotic moving
round the kitchen naked except for that pretty little apron in
front, pushed out by his massive eight inch hard-on. He's been
using that cream women use on their pussies, and his legs and bum
are hairless and smooth like a girl's. While Steve prepares
dinner you drink coffee and browse through Steve's magazines.
He's always got the best. Your gaze lingers on the picture of a
young man, fit, muscular, cropped blonde hair. It looks like he's
in a gym. He's standing with legs wide, naked but for designer
trainers, holding up dumb-bell weights in one muscled arm, with
his other hand wrapped round the massive erection sticking up at
forty five degrees he's proudly thrusting out, as if he's just
about to start masturbating. There's a caption under his
"Adrian. 24 (8 inches) "Hey guys, let's work out together. Work hard - play hard." There's a phone number. While Steve isn't looking you store the number in your phone.
As you eat with
Steve you watch a DVD. It's set in a boys' boarding school. It
opens with a scene in the school gym with the boys doing
exercises. The camera follows them as they strip for showers
afterwards, with glistening wet naked bodies and swinging young
penises. The boys are all meant to be young teens, but it's
obvious from size and pubic hair they're all at least 18!
"Here's my favourite bit" says Steve, and his near vertical erection says the same thing.
It's a scene in the boys' dormitory. Its night and the boys are all sleeping, except for one. The camera follows him as he slips the bedclothes down round his thighs to show his hard-on sticking straight up, then his right hand pumping his meat for all he's worth, till he grunts as his semen spurts. He thinks he's having his pleasure in private, but he doesn't know about the predatory teacher who's watching through the slightly open dormitory door. Next day the boy's in the headmaster's study with the headmaster and the teacher, being told masturbating is against the rules and he's got to be caned. He bends over the headmaster's desk, pulls down his trousers and the camera zooms in on his tight white briefs. The headmaster gets his cane. The boy braces himself in anticipation, but the headmaster's got other ideas! The headmaster runs his cane lightly back and forth between the boy's legs, and the boy spreads his legs as the cane tickles his balls. Now they're all naked. The teacher's taking photographs as the boy poses on the desk like the boys in Steve's magazines, culminating in the boy laying back on the desk and sending his semen spurting as he demonstrates what he was doing in bed last night. Now the headmaster's standing with his legs spread, the boy's on the low coffee table, on all fours with his legs spread, rocking back and forth with the knob of the headmaster's shaft in his mouth, his young cheeks dimpling as he sucks on the backstroke. The teacher's standing behind the boy, his knob nestling between the boy's bum cheeks, fondling the boy's bum with one hand as he smoothly jerks off with the other. The headmaster comes first, then the teacher splashes over the boy's bum.
Now you're in Steve's bedroom and it's time for fun! There's a bed, wide enough for anything two might care to do together, with the covers thrown back ready for action. On the pink-papered wall there's a big wall mirror, and there's a big mirror on the ceiling. You glance in the wall mirror. Your naked body is nothing to be ashamed of: trim, muscular, fit, and your erection is bending up from your thickly haired scrotum so its red-purple head is almost vertical. On a shelf there's a photograph of a young man standing on a beach. He's in tiny black Speedo's bulging out like a conical tent over a tent pole, just like your daughter's boyfriend's swim trunks did that day last year on the beach when your daughter wore that bikini that was so brief it was hardly worth wearing. You remember the blazing argument your daughter and your wife had over that bikini, and the way all around on the beach all the other guy's dicks seemed to be sticking up too.
"Kevin" says Steve, turning the picture to face the wall. "We're through."
And of course, as always, on the window sill are fresh flowers.
Steve grins. You
know what Steve likes!
"Put these on."
Your throat is dry with excitement. Steve holds out the white cotton women's panties edged with pink lace. You slip them on. They're brief and tight, the head of your penis is peeping out at the top, and the thong strap at the back is taut between your bum cheeks. You turn slowly for Steve, and you sense his excitement as he runs a fingertip along the tight ridge of your erection. He's wearing that strong perfume. For a moment you worry in case she notices the smell, but you reassure yourself that the shower together with Steve afterwards always washes any traces away. As he gently massages the head of your penis with his fingertip through the white cotton in that way that drives you crazy, that way your wife's never learned, a little wet patch appears as your pre-cum spurts.
"I've brought you these." Your voice is hoarse and you swallow.
The panties are black see through lace, with a pattern of little red hearts, and decorative red bows at the hips.
"Hey John, you've got taste!"
"They're my daughter's"
"Big girl! How old is she now?"
"Ninteen last month."
Steve fingers his erection.
"Is she getting her stuff?"
You remember that night you peeped through the gap they'd accidentally left between the lounge curtains. Your daughter on the couch, her blouse open, her legs spread as wide as she could get them, the miniskirt your wife complains about high up her thighs, kissing her boyfriend passionately, with his hand down inside these very same panties, the sheer lace showing his hand cupped over her mound, his jeans bulging as if they were about to explode.
Steve's erection is almost vertical too.
"Hang them on my cock."
You hang your daughter's lace panties on Steve's upright shaft. It's so stiff you could hang a towel on it! His six-packed naked body is muscular. He still works out in that gym where you met that day in the locker room as you walked naked past him toward the showers and saw that gay magazine in his locker. His shaft is longer and thicker than yours, and its taut skin gleams in the soft lights. Steve slips the panties on. Your daughter's a big girl but they're tight on Steve's hips. Through the sheer black lace you can see his erection forcing her panties out. He stands with his muscular legs spread. You reach down and touch Steve's penis through the black lace, feeling its stiffness and length and the softness of its sensitive head. Steve grunts as your finger tips glide over the bulge of his knob, along his stiff length and under his balls.
"Nylons John? They'll look good with your daughter's knickers."
"Yeah!" You know how hot Steve looks in nylons. Your erection strains harder!
You watch as Steve
goes to his drawer, pulls out seamed tan stockings and slips them
on. Your excitement's rising. You run your hand over his bare
thighs between his stocking tops and your daughter's panties, and
under him along the strip of lace between his legs, tickling him
round his arse. Steve growls softly.
"Mmmmmmm nice…..Now let's play!"
You know what Steve likes. You get on the bed in the white panties. As Steve watches you pose like the girls in the magazines the guys at work pass around, that you read to show you're a regular guy. Legs wide, thrusting your dick out like the girls in the magazine pictures do with their cunts. Then you peel the white knickers off, real slow, the way Steve likes. As you pose naked on all fours you feel Steve's hand between your legs, touching your arse, sliding over your balls and along your shaft. You fight not to come. Now you watch as Steve does the same for you. You ask him to keep the stockings on.
"Sure lover" Steve
grins. "Bring some of your sexy little wife's nylons next time
for us both? Now lover boy, what do you command?"
"Stand with your legs wide, sticking out that big stiff hard-on."
Steve obeys, thrusting his hips forward, bracing himself for the pleasure he knows will come. You stand next to him, your legs astride his so your hard erection presses against his thigh. Steve grunts again and judders as your fingers play with the boundary of taut nylon stocking and bare thigh. His balls are firm, swollen with semen. He growls as your fingers glide over his hairless scrotum. Your hand wraps round his shaft. You're amazed how stiff and hard it is! You look in the mirror and savour the moment you've waited for! You begin to stroke, smooth, rhythmic, full length, riding over his soft head, your thumb and forefinger catching the base of his head. It takes you back to those days when you were a teen and you used to get together with your school buddies, pass around girly magazines and get your dicks out and jerk off, and what you liked most was when you gave each other a "helping hand". Even then the pictures you liked most were the ones that showed naked guys, and your eyes lingered on them rather than the nude girls they were with.
Steve grunts and his penis stiffens even harder in your hand! You slow down, the way you like to do as the pleasure begins to rise.
Steve quivers, his hips thrust forward, his shaft becomes impossibly stiff, then jerks powerfully in your hand. Semen flies from his nozzle a metre across the room and lands pitter patter on the carpet. As Steve stands panting, his penis swinging limp and dripping a long strand of thick semen you run your hands over his bottom, so much firmer than her soft curves back home. Your erection strains so hard it aches. You pull Steve's hand to your shaft.
You lie on the bed. You glance at the wall mirror and see your erection arching over your belly. You look up at the ceiling mirror at your penis pointing in a straight line at your belly button from the black hairiness of your balls, forming the stem of a Y with your spread legs.
"Kneel on the bed next to me with your legs apart."
Your wife likes to do it for you like that, because it's easy for you to fondle her legs and pussy and reach your hand between her legs the way she likes. Steve obeys. His erection is almost up again. You fondle his thighs and bum, so much firmer than her smooth soft curves. You reach between his legs, fondle his balls and tickle his arse. You play with his stiffening shaft, so much more exciting than those fur-lined lips between her legs! Steve's an expert. He knows what men like. Light finger tips brush over your balls, between your thighs, between your balls and your arse. In the ceiling mirror you watch his finger running slowly along the length of your shaft. There's a droplet of pre-cum on your nozzle. Steve squeezes your shaft gently just below your knob. You can't hold back any more!
"Wank me!" you grunt.
Steve knows what a man likes! Full fisted, full length, squeezing just right! He's oiled his hand with cream! You watch his penis swinging with the movement of his hand. It reminds you of the way her breasts swing above you with the movement of her hand when she does it. You wonder if your daughter's breasts swing above her boy. She's a big girl now.
Involuntarily you arch your hips upward and grunt. You glance down at Steve's fist with the nozzle of your penis peeping out of it. You clutch Steve's bum.
In the ceiling mirror you see your hips ram and spurts of white semen jet up your front to splash onto your chest. You lie there panting, feeling your semen trickle down your side.
"Wipe my cum off me with her knickers"
Obediently Steve picks up the black lace panties. He kneels above you, his balls right above your face, like when you've done "69" and he wipes you clean.
It's late. She's by your side. Her breathing is soft and rhythmic. You feel as if there's an iron bar sticking up between your legs. In your mind you're back in Steve's bathroom after that shower together. You're leaning back against the wall, legs spread, holding the towel rail tight, watching Steve's bum in the wall mirror as his lips and tongue slide up and down your shaft, catching the base of your knob just the way you like. You form your thumb and forefinger into a ring…….
She stirs beside
you. She snuggles against you, pressing her breasts against you
and rubbing her bare leg against yours. She runs her finger along
the aching hard length of your shaft, then takes your hand and
presses it against the fur-lined lips between her legs.
"You want sex, don't you?......I can always tell…..Oooooohhh, so stiff…..please…..it's been so long….."
She's under you. She wraps her legs over you. They're as smooth as Steve's smooth shaven thighs above his stocking tops. Her vagina's as smooth as Steve's hand oiled with cream, and squeezes your hard shaft as tight as Steve's hand, just the way you like. As you thrust you think of her in those white cotton panties, just like those Steve was wearing. She cries out and claws your back, thrusting her hips up in her orgasm. Seconds later you grunt out her name as you jerk inside her.
She's lying beside you in
the dark. She snuggles next to you.
"I'm so lucky" she says. "Anne's husband has run off with another woman. I've never seen you even look at another woman." She hugs you and kisses you lightly on your cheek. "Thank you for being so faithful all these years."
As her breathing softens in the dark, in your mind a jet of semen arches over a motorbike's big red tank.