His Mistress’s Voice (19 page)

So he perforce sat quietly while she came back to an earth which he hoped had moved for her.

At length she stirred and got to her feet. When she moved out of touching range, Tom couldn’t guess where she was or what she would do next. Her receding footsteps told him she was moving about, probably going to the loo, as so many women did after sex. At least this woman didn’t rush off immediately, she waited a decent interval and didn’t give the impression that she was glad to get away. Tom hoped she was only going to the loo. He didn’t want her to leave just yet. However, there was no easy way to convey this desire to her unless he worked up another erection and she happened to notice it. At that moment he thought that particular feat was beyond him, unless he had help. He concentrated on waiting and thinking erotic thoughts which he beamed at his visitor.

She didn’t seem to be receiving them, however. He heard her moving about the ground floor. She didn’t come back to the dining area as far as he could tell, so he concluded that she was stalking about the place in the nude. Now
there
was a happy thought. The mental image of an attractive woman roaming about the house with her interesting bits bobbing about was arousing, and he concentrated on that. Perhaps she was still wearing her stockings and suspenders. He added that to his mental picture and felt a pleasant sense of warmth and reviving interest in his own bits. The noises off continued, now louder and now softer as she went about her rounds.

There was only a limited number of things she could be doing, so she would have to make her intentions clear before too long. She could now be making some coffee, though he couldn’t smell anything like that. Maybe she was getting a drink. Or washing after their lovemaking. Putting on more perfume, or repairing her make-up. Even though he didn’t like to take too much credit for himself, Tom imagined her make-up would have suffered to some extent during their recent encounter.

Or she could be snooping about the place. Suppose she went down to the basement and came back with some things from Harriet’s collection to try on him? Was she into bondage as Harriet was? After all, Harriet must know her quite well to allow her access to the house (and to him) in her absence. The probability that his visitor was also into the bizarre was having a salutary, if not a conventionally good, effect on his more interesting bits. Yes, there were definite signs that the south was rising again.

Tom wondered if Harriet had given her instructions to leave him as she had found him, or if his visitor was allowed to try out certain of her own ideas. Of course, she could do her own thing and still leave him tied to the chair. He wouldn’t tell Harriet exactly what she had done. But what if Harriet demanded to know what had happened? Most women would at least be curious about what they had done. He decided not to volunteer information and so retain some sense of his dignity. He knew what Harriet would say about his sense of pride or dignity, so he resolved to guard it himself as best he could.

The footsteps came closer, and Tom tensed in anticipation. They stopped quite close to him. He fancied he could feel the air stir as she moved. Her scent came to him once more: perfume overlaid with the sharp odour of her musk. She used a warm wet cloth to clean him off: whatever hadn’t gone into her had run down onto him. He appreciated her thoughtfulness in several ways, some more obvious than others. It was the most obvious way that she noticed. At any rate she spent a great deal more time cleaning and encouraging his stiffening cock than she did on the rest of him. She was making little wordless noises of approval that did wonders for his ego, and for the other thing as well!

The cloth was replaced by a hand which gently stroked the underside of his cock. Tom wondered briefly if she knew this was one of his specially sensitive areas. Had Harriet told her? But it didn’t really matter. It was all very agreeable, and he surrendered himself once more to her manipulation. He could tell where all this was leading but didn’t mind. With an inward smile he thought, this new-style sex was certainly addictive. Instantly addictive, was how he expressed it to himself.

This time there were fewer preliminaries. She took him into her mouth and he felt her tongue and teeth working once again on his cock. Although he was trying hard to prevent it, he knew he was going to prove a liar if she didn’t stop soon and do something else. He hoped she would appreciate his inability to warn or influence her when he came in her busy mouth.

As if she could read his mind, or maybe she read the signs from his cock, she did stop. But only to sit once more on his lap. As she shifted her weight he could feel the plug shifting inside him as well. This was almost as bad as before – if you thought such things were bad. This time he could feel her thighs resting atop his, and he knew she was wearing stockings from the silky sliding of her legs on his. Her tits were once more pressed against his chest, the nipples taut with her excitement. His cock was pressed between their bodies. Last night’s performance with Harriet was in danger of repeating itself. He held on while she cradled his head and licked his earlobes. Her tongue in his ear felt all warm and slippery. It’s a pity more women didn’t know how this excites a man, he thought.

Just how much did this strange woman know about him? She seemed to be uncannily well-versed in what drove him wild. Tom wanted to know who she was. He imagined meeting her again in different circumstances, when it was he who was in control of the situation. As it now was, he could pass her in the street and never recognise her. But of course she would have trouble recognising him as well. The gag and blindfold concealed most of his face. He didn’t like the idea that they would never meet again.

But now the matter of a solo climax was under serious consideration as his shaft was massaged between their sweaty bodies. Tom would have preferred it if she came too. It seemed ungentlemanly to come alone. However, she once again stopped at the critical moment and stood up. In a flash Tom’s thoughts turned to disappointment: she was going to leave him hanging as Harriet had done. Amazing how much conscience a stiff prick doesn’t have!

Tom lost track of her as she left the room. It looked as if she and Harriet belonged to the same club. This was just what Harriet would have done at this point.

The sound of the radio being switched on in the kitchen gave Tom some idea of what she was about. He couldn’t tell which programme she had chosen, but the sounds of the outside world were reassuring. He had lost track of things after Harriet had gone out. Until this visitor had come, he had been dwelling wholly in his own consciousness. And when they were making love he hadn’t been aware of anything beyond that. Now it was good to be reminded that the rest of the world was still there, pleasant as it had been to drop out for a time. He waited for the next move. There had to be a next something, even if it was only her leaving. Somehow he had the feeling that she was not finished with him. But she continued to listen to the radio in the kitchen and paid no attention to him. Noises off suggested that she was getting something to eat. He felt sympathetic hunger pangs but tried to ignore them.

After what seemed an eternity she came back into the dining area. She wet his cock with warm water and soaped it liberally. Then she began to masturbate him. Except for the occasional breaths of cooler air, it felt exactly like being in a warm slippery cunt – almost always a good place to be. Predictably, he began to get hard almost immediately. She continued the slow massage and he found himself approaching the point of no return once again. Tom reflected that he was going to outdo himself this weekend. Harriet was due back some time later, and he imagined she would have further plans for him and the rest of the weekend. Would she join forces with this woman? He had never had two women to deal with at once. It occurred to him that he didn’t have to deal with anyone. They would deal with him. He would have to deal with Monday on his own after this session, that might be a hard job, but that was later. Now was more important.

The unknown woman stopped and used a cloth to wipe him dry. When that was done she sat on his lap once again and with no hesitation or preliminaries she took him inside her. As he went fully home Tom thought how wonderfully a naked woman around the cock concentrates the mind. He could tell that she was already aroused. The moist warmth of her was unmistakable. Could that have been from the sight of him, or from her earlier teasing? He had no way of knowing, and soon he ceased to worry about it.

She began to raise and lower herself on the spike of his erection. From the low contented sounds she was making he knew that she was enjoying the ride. She ground her cunt against him on the downstroke, almost losing him entirely on the upstroke until she slid warmly down to envelop him once more. She gave a little wiggle of her hips from time to time, emitting a low groan of satisfaction as she did so. Tom felt her vaginal muscles tense as she came. Tom held on as she gasped and heaved in the throes of her orgasm. She didn’t pause. It seemed to Tom that she was coming almost continually, her movements becoming more and more frenzied. With some women it was hard to tell if they were enjoying it. Not so with this one. When he could hold out no longer Tom joined her, shooting inside her as she writhed against him.

Afterwards she seemed to rest a long time, as if the encounter had been especially tiring. He was tired too, but with the relaxed fatigue which follows a good satisfying screw. When she at last got to her feet, Tom felt the cool air against his body as the sweat dried. He didn’t think he could do any more that day, and he hoped he wouldn’t be expected to.

But with Harriet one never knew what might next be demanded, nor what she would do if someone couldn’t perform. Tom wondered if Harriet admitted to a distinction between ‘can’t’ and ‘won’t’. And what she might do with someone she suspected of being recalcitrant. Dully, Tom realised he was considering how hard it would be now for him to perform for Harriet. Until the arrival of this stranger he had been lusting after her with all the ardour of the lover denied his lady’s favours. If a stiff prick has no conscience, he reflected, then a recently stiff one is equally short of enthusiasm.

Tom woke with a start. He hadn’t been aware of dozing. But he must have slept through the departure of his unknown visitor. Hardly the gentlemanly thing to do. He felt the condom on his cock, so he knew she must have gone. It was thoughtful of her to fix things so he could pee if the need arose. As it did now. When he had done so he could only wait for Harriet’s return, or for the next development. He dozed again.

Some indeterminate time later the sound of the front door opening let in the sounds of the street outside, and also, presumably, Harriet. The gust of wind that accompanied her seemed to sweep the cobwebs from his brain. Harriet had that effect. Curious he had never noticed it before. ‘It’s only me,’ she called cheerfully, emulating Mary Kingsley. Tom wondered who else it could have been, unless she had given the keys to half the city.

He heard the sound of packages being set down nearby – results of her foray to the shops, no doubt. He heard the sound of clothing being removed, and felt a stab of alarm. Was he on again so soon? Her hands were on him, removing the condom and giving his cock a playful squeeze in passing, as if to reassure herself that no harm had come to it in her absence. Despite being tired, he felt himself respond to her. There’s life in the old man yet, he thought wryly. He was becoming a sexual athlete.

‘Did you enjoy the surprise?’ Harriet asked brightly. ‘Of course you did,’ she continued. ‘There’s no one I know who wouldn’t enjoy a day with her. Except perhaps the sexually constipated – of whom there are not a few about. I’ve known her for a long time.’ Harriet was removing the gag and blindfold as she spoke.

The sudden light dazzled Tom’s eyes. When they had adjusted, he saw that it was late afternoon. Harriet’s watch said 4:47. So he had been there for almost seven hours. He felt stiff and cramped and was glad relief was at hand.

‘I don’t suppose she said anything to you. That was part of our arrangement. And of course you have no idea what she looks like. Would you like to see a photo? I have one somewhere about . . . Yes, I can see you would. Just give me a moment to get you untied and I’ll show you.’ Harriet was working on his legs. She spoke in her usual headlong manner. When he was free she brought the leg-irons and locked them onto his ankles. ‘There,’ she said, ‘now you’ll be more comfortable.’

She finished untying him and he stood up. He was stiff, and moved about slowly as the muscles unknotted themselves. Harriet pulled the plug from his anus and set it aside fastidiously.

‘You’ll have to wash that off in a moment. And empty the bucket. You can walk about a bit to get the circulation going while I get the cutters for that tic wrap.’ Harriet went into the kitchen. In a moment she came back with the cutters and removed the plastic strap from his balls. She also laid a photo on the table.

The woman was a brunette. Beautiful was the first word that came to Tom’s mind. Something told him not to say it. ‘Nice. Very nice,’ he amended hastily. Even so, Harriet frowned slightly. The woman in the photo was wearing a leather outfit not unlike Harriet’s. Apparently it was a popular garment in the B&D trade.

‘Her name is Helen,’ Harriet said.

‘Of Troy?’ Tom asked.

‘Of Earl’s Court, actually.’ Harriet’s tone caused Tom to look sharply at her.

In an attempt to relieve the tension, Tom said jokingly, ‘Then she’d have nothing contagious, would she?’

‘Nothing but her cunt,’ was Harriet’s acid reply.

Could she be jealous, Tom wondered? Yes, he thought so. But she had been the one to set up the encounter. Now, it seemed, she regretted it. That remark about Helen of Troy must have done it. Tom was glad to learn that the woman he had thought of as aloof and cool, who insisted he call her Mistress, could feel jealousy. He would have to remember that in future. He shrugged and turned away to go to the bathroom, picking up the bucket and plug as he went. In the mirror he noticed a long red hair entangled in his own chest hair. He plucked it off and studied it. His visitor had had brunette hair in the photo. But there were such things as hair rinses.