A Fit Bird

I am sure I heard a compliment as I walked into the gym. You know, one of the kind that most women don’t enjoy.

I am sure I hear the words “fit bird” from one of the two builders as they see me go by and haul up their trousers to hide the cleavage.

I look round and glare. They make eye contact and smile defiantly.

“Wankers” I mutter underneath my breath and go in to begin my workout.

I love the feel of Lycra, love the look of my sculpted legs in pink legging the tightness around the crotch. I am aware of the looks I attract as I work out but I pretend not to notice. I always start on the exercise bike and, even at 6.30 in the morning, I am reading. I read obsessively and usually have four books on the go. One of these is always a book of filth.

I don’t mind reading openly in the gym, in fact, if they want to look at me, and admire, my legs , my bum, my tits beneath the loose fitting top, let them know what kind of woman I am.  I read, I pedal my way into an easy rhythm, feel the Lycra hugging my skin. Exercise can be deeply sensual and I am feeling aroused even before I begin to read.

I read a page, dwelling on the words, the images, I put the book down, I feel again the Lycra on my skin, the tightness of the leggings around my crotch.  A damp patch is forming, darkening the pink.

I pull Natalie to the ground, roughly pull down her blouse. I suck greedily at her nipples, pulling the breasts, squeezing hard with y lips and twisting so that she gasps with pain that is at the same time pleasure.  I draw her head close pulling her hair as I do so.  I want to hurt her, want her to feel pain, because this makes me horny. I kiss her, pushing my tongue into her mouth as roughly as I can. ,

“I am going to make you suffer for making me suffer when I read your book, in the gym, on the bus, in places where I ache for relief but can’t get any, because I spend so much time at the office when I should be working, locked in a cubicle in the ladies’, playing with myself.”

I kiss her again. She smells of cider, of the roll up cigarettes we have often shared outside conference venues, the hair is unwashed and unkempt but she smells of animal sexuality. She is so different to me, no make-up, there is a mysterious masculinity about her whereas I am all girl. I kiss her again and smudge my bright red lipstick over her cheek. This is a marker of my ownership.

“You’re a filthy slut and I am going to spank you hard.”

I drag her roughly over my knee and pull down her panties. I rubbed my hand over the blank white canvas of her buttocks and pinched until she cried out. I lay my left arm across the base of her spine and, cupping my hand loosely, took aim.  The force of the first blow reverberated back through my hand.  The second made my hand sting. She cried out as it landed and left a red hand print on her right buttock.

I continued, building up the tempo, feeling the warmth I generated. I felt arousal as I began to hit hard and rhythmically and she began to moan. After a while I stopped and caressed her glowing buttocks before digging my fingernails in to twist and scratch,

“Stop it you bitch!”

“You what?”

I dig in harder.

“Fucking bitch” she shouts as I drew blood.

“Your turn now” she says. She stands up, walks across the room and picks up a dildo and harness.

“I am going to take you up the bottom.”

I am soaking wet by now.

“I just want you inside me. Just do it.”

And she bends me over a chair, felt for me with two fingers, before pushing in inside slowly, with a cold slap of lube. She thrusts and I pedal. She is strong, she is forceful and I am aware of a shift in the power dynamic of this encounter. She is pushing harder than I have known before. I clench the muscles to tighter my passage against the invasion. But yield as I must. I cry out as if seeking rescue. Natalie’s buttocks sting and now she is turning the tables on me.

I lean forward and increase the speed of the exercise bike a notch. I feel a stabbing brain in my quads. I need more of this. And when Natalie has finished, she takes off the harness, throws it casually aside and returns to her writing.

I am wet.  A patch of darker pink is spreading across my crotch like tea through a sugar lump. I raise myself slightly out of the saddle from which I am starting to slip to keep pedalling.  I am nearly done, I have burned a bacon sandwich worth of calories but I will resist that temptation as I pass the café on my way home. I pedal hard, embrace the pain.

And even now that I am so nearly spent, Natalie isn’t finished with me.  She looks up from her laptop and motions to me to lie down again and spread my legs. Once more she straps on the dildo and approaches. She is magnificent, six feet of Amazon in stockinged feet, a toned body. She takes my wrists and holds them tight, pushing them roughly to the sheet twisting the skin in her hands as he does, Chinese burn style, .

“Stop it” I say “You’re hurting me.”

Sarah says nothing, just slips a finger inside my c**t, holds it against my mouth.

“Taste” she orders quietly.

Then she takes a longer, fatter dildo, and goes down on me, pushes her way in and begins to pump forcefully. I arch my back to allow her to penetrate more deeply.

I look furtively around the gym, slip a finger inside my leggings and rub my clit as I pedal harder and faster to a climax.

I come with a scream and sink back onto the bed. The exercise bike bleeps to tell me my workout is finished.  I take a sip of Lucozade, pick up my book and kiss it.

Natalie withdraws and slides the condom off the end of the dildo. She leans over me and kisses me gently on the forehead.

“You’re a fit bird you know that?”

She smiled.

I pack my things into my gym bag. The workmen are still in the gym reception area as I leave. I smile at them and they look away, avoiding eye contact.

I swing my bag over my shoulder for the walk home.

I can’t stop smiling.

Smutathon

I was wondering what to do for Smutathon but have now decided to edit and finish off the novella that I began six years ago and have toyed with on and off over the years, even reading a chapter at the Eroticon slam in 2016. I will now finish it because it deserves to be finished.  It changed my life.

Those who have met me will know that, in addition to being into sex and smut, I have a deep love of vintage fashion, and particularly of 50s fashions. This came about through writing smut….really. I had an idea one day of writing a story about a young woman who loved the fashions and style of the 50s , to the extent of living the lifestyle 24/7. So I invented Claire, who is my absolute favourite person of those who have been born from my imagination. Claire is different, she is proud of being different, she finds vintage empowering. And she likes sex. Rough sex. Sex on the back seats of cars.  Sex where she sends a man home with a ripped shirt , bloodstained from running her fingernails down his back.

I actually had the idea watching a programme about a woman in her early 20s who lived in the 50s even to the extent of using a Vauxhall Wyvern Series E as her everyday transport. My parents were amazed at  the attention to detail with which she had furnished her house. I have no idea what her sex life was like but she inspired the vintage bit of Claire.  And the sex  bit? Well that came from a Ford publicity shot for the Mark 2 Zodiac. A simple shot of a woman behind the wheel, in a circle dress,,, wearing leather driving gloves.  I have a huge glove fetish and my imagination ran wild as I looked at the photograph. I was aroused.

In this way the pieces came together, vintage fashion, classic  50s car, and unbridled eroticism.  So, on July 1st, I will put a nice frock on, open the laptop and finally finish this novella.

Claire, I promise I will do you justice. This will be my love letter to you.

smutathon4.png

War Paint

I don’t know why this song suddenly came to me as I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in one of the big fluffy hotel towels. I sprayed on a little 4711 and settled down to wait for Steph.

“War paint war paint you don’t need war paint”

I knew that Steph would be made up immaculately, she always was, foundation, blush, mascara that picked out each lash individually, the glistening red of her lipstick countered perfectly against her lips. War paint war paint and it brought me to surrender every time.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I had chosen a biker jacket to go with jeans and boots. I had never quite dressed this was before but this was to be the last time. And the first. My husband had found out and I had made my choice. Steve was a great lover but I had never quite been able to see him as a long term partner. I was going to have to tell him.

I opened the door. She came inside. I could have dropped to my knees and worshipped her.

*

I looked at him. I told him the news. Then I added

‘It’s my poorly day….I’m sorry.’

I thought that would be that. The fact is that men are disgusted by women in their elemental messiness. And most men I had ever had sex with never wanted it during my days.

But I wanted him. I wanted him so fucking much. I wanted to see his bell end covered in my blood. I felt my clit swell and brush against my panties. I put a finger inside and felt how wet I was getting. I saw deep submissiveness in his eyes. He would deny me nothing.

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard. Give me something to remember.”

*

 

Steph had shocked me when she told me she was finishing with me. But I wanted her and I knew I wanted to needed to fuck her one last time and I had for the first time that feeling that I craved her blood. She undressed and removed her panties which were stained red, and her tampon and placed them on the bedside table.

I pushed in. there was a certain resistance, Steph wasn’t as dilated as normal but the abrasion of my initial penetration gave way to the warm and softness as her vagina wrapped around my raw and exposed bellend. I felt further stiffening as I began to pump.

She moaned

“oh baby baby….give it to me.”

Six thrusts and a final deep violent push and she came with a scream as I felt my ejaculation pushing out into the wider waters. I remained there for a few moments before pulling gently out. My prick glistened with a mixture of come and menstrual blood which dripped onto the white sheets on which I would be sleeping later as Steph drove home through the night.

*

This was quick sex, but I was so horny I had no need for foreplay. I just wanted Steve’s cock inside me for the last time. I wanted him to be quick and brutal. He withdrew and rolled over, spent. We were both dripping onto the bedclothes, come, ejaculate and blood. I thought it looked beautiful.

I took my stained panties from the bedside table and pushed it into face, pressing hard to make him struggle for breath. I began to rub and grind. I ordered him to wank but he almost didn’t need to. I rubbed my fingers on the sheet and turned his face red as he came in creamy glugs. I took some of his come in my hand, rubbed it with the blood and thought.

“Wank again and come over my tits. “

He kneeled up and after a few brisk movements was squirting come over me before licjing my breasts. I was covered in come and Steve in my blood. I remembered a line from a poem

“Whatever dies was not mixed equally.”

We were bound together in our mixed fluids. It was smelly, it was dirty, it was beautiful. I wanted more.

*

“We are bound together in love, bound together in blood” shouted Steph. I had come once inside her, twice over her, and she wanted to be fucked again.  I picked up her boots.

“Put these on “

She pulled them on and pushed a sole into my face. I licked and licked feeling myself become hard before she slid down the bed to take me in her mouth, bringing me to the edge again before turning round so that I could take her from behind.

*

And that was it. I was sated. I was a mess. I stank of sex. I guess Steve was disappointed that I didn’t stay for a final shower with him but I had to enjoy this on the drive home. Besides my husband was out, so a shower could wait.

*

She left closing the door softly behind her. I looked at myself in the mirror. I took some more blood and painted two lines, one on each cheek. We may never see each other again but I was no longer ashamed of this.

I left the room and headed for the lift. I began to sing out loud

“War paint, war paint, you don’t need…..”

But I so did.

Another Girl, Another Planet

This is a short story I wrote specially for the Eroticon reading slam. There was a certain amount of inspiration from a song, as older readers may notice.

‘Space travel’s in my blood’ she said, pulling off her silver boots, ’there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Tell me about yourself, how you came to be doing this.’

‘My name is Neptunia. I was born on the Neptune colony four thousand years ago and came to this galaxy through the time shift, after the solar system was abandoned I have travelled a lot, I enjoy it and when..’

‘they allowed sex again?’

‘Yes, I was chosen to apply to be an inter-galactic sex worker and I jumped at  the opportunity. I see a lot of the cosmos, the money is good  and I ways wanted to be a teacher.’

A teacher was what I needed. This was my first permission to visit our galaxy’s pleasure planet. I had read about sex in antique data storage from the days before humans destroyed planet Earth and the solar system had to be abandoned, musty stained things called books. I grew up after the move towards the more efficient asexual reproduction of the species.  For millennia sex was forbidden. Oh we still married, but only for companionship. Ova and sperm were produced by industrial process so there was no need for the human body to be involved. And sex for pleasure was deemed harmful, detrimental above all to the efficiency of the galactic economy. Like all males I had been locked into a chastity device on my thirteenth birthday. It was only ever removed under medical supervision for purposes of washing and so on,  and we knew nothing other than the dull aches and throbbing pain of the erection being crushed by the pitiless kryptonite.

And now sex was allowed as a privilege, but only for those with the means to travel to the pleasure planet and pay one of the few handpicked sex workers like Neptunia.

‘We only have an hour’ she said ‘maybe we should get on with it?’

She removed her gauntlets and pulling down the shimmering suit revealed two small firm breasts followed by a stomach tattooed with a pink meteor shower and then her pussy, her pubic hair shaven into what Earth language called a Brazilian. As the suit fell round her ankles she stepped out of it and walked towards me. I gazed at her. I had never seen a naked woman before. She took my hand and guided it to the hair, the lips and made me feel my way gingerly up and down.

‘You’ve never seen a woman before have you?’

‘No I er…….’

She gently kissed the top of my head.

‘The pleasures of the body couldn’t be denied for ever’ she said, ‘ and I am so glad the Administration realised that. Just relax……feel my hair, feel the roughness of the stubble, then feel your way down..’

She guided my hand to wear I could sense an opening, then put one of her fingers in and pulled it, put it on my tongue.

‘Taste. I’m getting wet, that’s what women do when they are ready for sex.’

She knelt before me, pulled my head towards hers and kissed me, forcing her tongue between my teeth.    I pulled away horrified.

‘But that’s so unhygienic. It’s gross.’

Neptuia laughed.

“You need to forget all they taught you at school. This is not dirty. It’s really wonderful to get close and intimate with another human being like this. Besides I’m clean and if you want to suggest otherwise you know where the door is,’

She wasn’t laughing now.

‘Just get this straight. I am proud to be a sex worker and any ideas you have about dirty disease ridden whores are just so ancient solar system. Just get them out of your head. Besides only I have the cyberkey to your chastity device. So you had better be nice to me.’

She began to laugh again.

She pulled a thin metal rod out of her bag and pointed it at my crotch. The chastity device loosened with a click and she was soon on me, Gently sliding it off, pushing me onto my back as she kissed me again. This time I could feel her strength as she pinned me down and pushed her tongue into my mouth so hard that I struggled to breathe. I made a token effort to throw her off but she was too strong for me. She slid down my body, her tongue leaving a damp trail until she arrived at my penis. She licked the end before whipping it delicately with the end of her tongue. I felt it harden and rise, now unrestrained for the first time in thirty years. She took it into her mouth and began to suck.

I stiffened and made to draw back.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that I’ve never done this before i…..”

The move into her mouth had drawn the foreskin back and the unsheathed bellend, all purple and shiny with her saliva felt vulnerable and exposed. I shuddered.

“Trust me. I won’t hurt you.”

I lay back on the bed took a deep breath and tried to relax. She started again.  This time I shut my eyes and tried to yield to her. She began to move in and out in slow rhythmic movements, and I felt myself beginning to enjoy the warmth and softness of her mouth. Another tongue whipping, another couple of swift movements in and out and I had come, feeling more pain than pleasure as one huge ejaculation quickly followed another.

Neptunia swallowed but kept a little in her mouth as she kissed me and passed some of the creamy fluid into my mouth.

“That’s the taste of a man. That’s your taste.”

She wiped her lips and smiled.

‘That’s it” she said. “Your time is nearly up.”

“And sex?” I asked not hiding my disappointment.

“Not today. I need to file my report and the Pleasure Ministry will decide if you can have a second appointment with full service.”

“And if they don’t?”

“If they don’t they don’t” said Neptunia matter of factly. “It’s down to the Ministry to decide if you need sex, or if the productive capacity of the state will be enhanced. It’s not my decision. And to be honest I don’t care either way. I’m a sex worker. I service my clients and show them the door. I don’t get emotionally involved.”

Perhaps she could see the disappointment on my face because she quickly added

“I like you and I’ve enjoyed spending time with you. So I will write a positive opinion. And maybe you will come again.”

She reached behind her and picked up the chastity cage and cyberkey.

“Come here. I have to put this back on.”

“No” I said, surprised at the firmness in my voice. “I’m not going back into that.”

I backed away but she stood up and walked towards me with a determined look.

‘That chastity device IS going back on. It’s inter-galactic law and I am here to enforce it.’

She pushed me back against the wall and hissed

‘Are you going to do as you’re told or do I have to hurt you?’

The last words came out with such venom that her spit flecked my glasses.’

‘Just remember the report I have to file. Piss me off and you’ll never come here again. You’ll live the rest of your life like a fucking monk. Is that what you want?

‘No’

My resistance was broken. She clipped it back into place, locked it with the cyberkey. I looked at her, as he pulled on her boots. I felt desire for her again, felt the blood pumping into my penis, which rose and swelled until cruelly restricted by the cage. I bent low with the agony and sank to my knees crying. It was not just for the desire of Neptunia but for what I had understood. Chastity was slavery, I had always wondered about the things I had read from earth days when chastity was a form of play in something called BDSM. I realised that when we are not free to use our bodies as we want, when we cannot express ourselves sexually then we are slaves. My head was teeming with subversive thoughts. Did The Administration realise how dangerous this could all be?  I knew too that I could say nothing of this to Neptunia who was after all a spy for the police, part of the control apparatus. What an irony there was there!

In any case I had to come back, to push my penis for the first time through those mysterious soft folds of flesh, into that secret place of the ultimate warmth and softness.

‘Come on’ said Neptunia. ‘it’s time for you to go.’

She led me out to the docking pod and I was soon on my way, her planet a distant speck and her body a sweet memory. It is a long and tiring flight to the Pleasure Planet and back but I know I will return. Long journeys wear me out but I know I can’t live without it.’

 

O Tannenbaum

Over the years Birmingham’s German Christmas market has always seemed the ideal place to meet those old school friends, and old school acquaintances,  who have got in touch through social media  and whose curiosity, or sometimes mine, led to the suggestion that we should meet up for a drink. Usually we do only meet on the one occasion. It is nice to chat, nicer to be recognised after so many years, but clear as well that we have both moved on and that we have neither the time, nor enough in common, to sustain a friendship. I was hoping tonight might be different but not expecting too much. .

I was standing in the cold, in front of the bar above which an elk’s head repeated “O Tannenbaum O Tannenbaum” over and over again without ever getting to the verse. I stood looking around for my friend, sipping at my wheat beer when I noticed a woman looking at me, as if trying to place me.  We made eye contact and I walked over to where she stood at one of the tables in front of the Council House. I was glad to be able to put my drink down.

I looked at her closely. She was dressed in a waterproof jacket, denim skirt and boots. She was in full make up and her hair was a stylish asymmetrical bob with a big splash of red.

“I’m Karen” she said in a voice that was a little deeper than I had expected.  “I am sure we have met before somewhere.”

I wasn’t so sure, and really I have never known cross dressing men, or transsexuals or whatever you ae supposed to call them. Such people had always seemed rather weird to me. I realise that my schooling in the very masculine environment of the single sex King Edgar’s Grammar School and my lack of exposure to the opposite sex until I went to university, had coloured y attitudes. You can call me old-fashioned, a bigot, if you like,   but I am a straight guy who well……

Karen smiled again. I did find her attractive and this was a little disconcerting. At the same time her features were beginning to look familiar.

“I’m Paul” I said  and sipped again at my beer  as the moose sang again

“O Tannebaum”

“I know” said Karen with what seemed a conscious effort to take the bass tones out of her voice.

I put my glass down and reached out to touch her face. I ran a finger down her cheek, feeling the smoothness of her skin underneath the expertly applied foundation. I ran it back up, against the grain, and felt the stubble, the sort that even two close shaves could not remove. I stroked her again and as I withdrew my hand she took out a packet of cigarettes, out one in her mouth. She handed me a lighter.

“A lady should never have to light her own cigarette” she said in a very matter of fact way.

“It’s Tim isn’t it?”  I said, feeling my heart race and my armpits start to sweat.

“Karen….these days.”

She took  a deep drag on her cigarette and leant her head back to expel the smoke upwards into the cold Birmingham night.

The smoke, the relentless singing of the elk, the snatches of other people’s conversations,  the clink of glasses, all seemed to freeze in the moment. I was 16 again, with Tim who was becoming Karen, and I realised we can never step into the same river twice.

Tim has smelt of sweat, polo mints and testosterone. Sometimes I could detect orange peel on his breath, Karen was Opium, mulled wine and Marlboro  Llghts.

“Did you want this meeting as much as I did?”

“I don’t know” she replied. “I just wasn’t sure how..”

“But you’re still you.”

I took a step forward, it my hand round the back of her head and drew her towards me. She did not resist and opened her mouth, just a little,   teasingly little, for me to push my tongue inside and feast on her new flavours. No more orange peel, no more mints, but this was a more enticing prospect, cigarettes and wines, a softer, more voluptuous body that pushed back, thrust a tongue deep into my mouth and then went limp in my arms as our tongues intertwined.  .

As we kissed I was aware of nothing but the song

“O Tannenbaum O Tannenbaum”  And then the next verse that I knew from school

“Wie treu sind deine Blatter”

How faithful……..and how we were rekindling an adolescent passion……. We had  kept the faith for 30 years, hadn’t we?

I felt precome damp on my boxers. Pushing my leg p against her thigh to shield my hand, I reached up inside the denim skirt and fumbled inside her panties to touch a cock, that was as stiff as mine, yet bigger. I pulled myself free of her and said, panting,

“Come on Karen, let’s go and find somewhere quieter.”

THE END

Cutting the Sage Derby

This story arose from a challenge I took on last week to write a short story involving cheese.

CUTTING THE SAGE DERBY

I was about to order when a man’s voice interjected

“Excuse me, I was next.”

I looked around startled and the only words I could find were to apologise.

“I’m sorry I…”

“No worries” he said.

He brushed past me as he went up to the counter, a little too firmly, I thought, to be entirely unintended. I watched him order a wide selection of cheeses, there was Jarlsberg, Roquefort, Gruyere, the stinking Alsatian Munster, Reblochon, Shropshire Blue, Sage Derby. Observing him I decided that he was about 15 years younger than me, trim. Bearded and well….he obviously didn’t eat that much cheese. A connoisseur definitely. He picked up his jute shopping bag, now bulging with cheese, took his plastic bag of cheese and smiled as he made to walk past me.

“You know your cheeses don’t you?” I observed in a conciliatory tone.

He smiled.

“Well yes. Actually I’m having a few friends round for cheese and wine tomorrow evening. Would you like to come?”

The following evening I walked the short distance to his house, two bottles of Gewurztraminer clanking in a plastic bag as I went.

“I’ve got a confession to make” he said as we clinked glasses and looked at the cheese laid out on the table. “I said I was having a few friends round. In fact there’s only going to be us.”

“And your friends?”

“I kind of uninvited them.”

He smiled.

“And if I hadn’t come?”

“That was a risk it was well worth taking.”

He took the wine glass out of my hand and placed it on the table.

We kissed. I buried my face in his luxuriant facial hair, pushed back against him, forcing my tongue in deep. After a while he struggled free and said

“We really can’t let this cheese go to waste can we?”

On the table he had laid out the cheeses on wooden boards. He took a piece of Sage Derby and with the knife carved it into a green veined cock. I dropped my skirt and took up handfuls of the soft goats cheese and smothered my mound in it. He knelt before me, licking it off eagerly before tonguing my swollen clit. He moved down to nibble gently, teasingly at my labia before sliding the Sage Derby dildo into my rapidly dilating pussy. Slowly, cautiously at first, then gradually picking up

the tempo, he slid it in and out. He pulled it out, and offered it to me. I sucked, gently, felt the cheese soften in my mouth, gently tongue whipped the end, then bit off a chunk, swallowed it with my sour juices as I did so. .

I took a piece of Gruyere from the board, placed two fingers in the largest hole and rubbed gently to widen it. I slipped it over his cock and moved it backwards and forwards. As his prick hardened and swelled, the cheese broke and I caught the pieces in my hand, put them in my mouth, chewing slowly before dragging him forward and placing my mouth over his, passing the cheese from mouth to mouth. With a violence that caught me by surprise he pushed me back onto the table. I felt a Camembert squeezed under my back, its ripening softness gushing from the crust. Biscuits fragmented under my buttocks as he forced my legs apart and climbed on top to fuck me, slow and hard, slow and hard, then gathering in speed and intensity as he moved in and out until the orgasm ripped through me and I could see nothing but green veins of ecstasy pulsing through me, to every corner of my body like the sage spreading through a Derby cheese.

As he withdrew he sent come spilling onto a piece of Reblochon. I licked greedily and ate.

“I presume you’ve planned dessert?” I asked.

 

No Trumps at the Ace Cafe

This is a chapter from a novella I am working on. Claire, my heroine, is a young lady with a passion for vintage who sets out to find her perfect man and have loads of good sex as she does so……..

Claire was delighted at Dorothy’s news but it had the effect of increasing her own frustration. She redoubled her man hunt. Her encounters so far had been unsatisfying. So she placed an advert in the personals section of a classic car magazine.

‘Lovely fifties girl. Has Zodiac, will travel. Seeks mechanic with a piston for her cylinder.’

There were just two replies and only one of these seemed worth following up. She soon found herself driving down to London for a rendez-vous with a man called Paul at the Ace Cafe. It was the evening of the monthly Mark Two Consul/Zephyr/Zodiac meet. There would be loads of sexy cars and Claire  hoped too that Paul, with his Zephyr, would be the man of her dreams. She was day dreaming even before the day she had arranged to go down to London to meet Paul. She imagined the traditional semi they would live in with the period furniture, the box television set with the nine inch screen, the his and hers Zodiac and Zephyr parked on the drive.

 

She wore a skirt to drive down the M40 to London, cruising at a stately 55 mph, with her left hand

down her front playing with herself. It was going to be a long drive back if she didn’t score and, in

any event, she needed to be wet enough to do it quickly, round the back of the cafe or maybe on his backseat after dark. Either way, she was going to be gagging for it. She was going to be ready.

 

The Ace Cafe is a London motoring legend, located on the North Circular Road. Claire had long planned to go down, to one of the Owners’ Club meets. Claire enjoyed petrolhead talk. She knew her stuff. It’s just that she felt that a girl does need a little looking after and surely a man should be able to look after her car in exchange for his home-baked treats, the pleasure of having a woman as striking and as stylish as Claire on his arm, most of all for being able to have sex every day and three times most days. It was Claire’s first visit and when she pulled onto the forecourt and parked her Zodiac among a bevy of its brothers and sisters and Ford Consul cousins, there were hosts of admiring looks. And not just for the car. A crowd soon gathered round. One man stood away from the crowd looking a little unsure of himself. He waited until Claire withdrew a little way to light a cigarette and introduced himself.

 

‘Hi I’m Paul. You must be the girl in need of a piston.’

Claire smiled. ‘I certainly am. I hope it’s a big one and that it throbs and gets really really hard.’

‘Well’ laughed Paul nervously, ‘I’ve got loads of spares in my boot. Would you like to have a look?’

Claire was puzzled by this. Surely he didn’t mean piston literally? Sadly he did and opened the boot

of his Zephyr to reveal a mass of Ford spares chucked in any old how.

 

‘This here is a layshaft for a Consul gearbox’ he explained with a smile ‘and this is a Mark Three

Zephyr steering box and this, I got this at an autojumble…. how much were you looking to pay?’

‘Paul’ she said crossly. ‘I have come from the Black Country to see you and your car. The least you

can do is take me inside and buy me something to eat.’

 

Inside the Ace Cafe Claire ordered a burger and a banana milkshake. She was going to do things in proper fifties style. Paul seemed suddenly nervous as if Claire’s intentions were slowly dawning on him. As the drinks arrived and he could see whatever Claire wanted was to be put off for half an hour or so he relaxed. Although clearly shy he began to talk animatedly about his interest in cars. Claire tried to steer the conversation round to sex but he didn’t get the hint. Then Paul asked

 

‘Why does a girl like you drive a Zodiac?’

 

‘I love the Fifties’ she said, ‘the styles the fashions, the cars. And the Mark Two Zodiac is perfect for sex. Bench seats front and rear, a big throbbing six pot to get me in the mood. It turns heads. It’s not only men that can use big cars to pull you know.’

 

She looked at Paul who was clearly a little uncomfortable. Claire continued.

‘I will clean and wash and iron. I love being a girl and I will pamper my man. All I ask in return is that my man look after my car and looks after me, that he brings me flower, hugs me when am I sad and, most of all,’ she leaned forward again to continue in a whisper, ‘is always ready to fuck me. I need sex every day, lots of it, and if you don’t want it as much as I do then you’re not the man for me.’

Paul continued to look gormless. He shuffled nervously in his chair as Claire sucked intently on her straw and looked at him.

‘I’m sorry Claire I didn’t realise I…’

Claire ate a last mouthful of burger and said

‘I’ve driven down from Dudley to see you. I haven’t been fucked for four weeks. What are you going to do?’

‘Well I suppose, if you really wanted to…’

‘I do want to’ said Claire fixing him with a stare. ‘Do you want to?’

‘Yes’ said Paul quietly.

‘I’m going to pop to the loo. I’ll text you when the coast’s clear. If anyone sees you and asks what you’re doing, I’m stuck and you’re coming to help me. Alright?’

Paul was shaking as Claire strode off . Paul watched her go, listened to the heels clattering up the metal stairs like a ringing out of hos doom. It seemed like an age but was in fact only thirty seconds before his phone buzzed and shook on the formica topped table. He put it in his pocket and went off to his fate.

As he entered the ladies the door of the first cubicle opened and he was pulled inside. He heard the latch slide in behind him as Claire put her arms round him and pulled his face towards hers and slide her tongue into his mouth.

Paul was unused to sexually assertive woman, or at least to those who didn’t take money off you. As they kissed Claire let her skirt fall around her ankles and took Paul’s hand and guided it to her pussy. Pausing from kissing him she whispered

‘Put a finger inside and feel if I’m wet enough.’

Paul did as he was told. He said

‘You’re quite wet.’

‘I played with myself all the way down the M1 just to be ready. Before I set off I lay on the bonnet and felt the vibration of the engine against me. Six cylinders, six rock hard pistons going in and out. What does that remind you of?’

Paul said nothing.

‘It’s the sexiest car I’ve ever had. I’ve got Ford publicity brochures at home and thee are shots of women in fifties dresses and driving gloves and I bet you’ve seen them too, dreamed of fucking them, I bet you lie in bed with pictures of them and play with yourself. I’m like them, I’m your dream come true. Satisfy me now and you can have me in my Zodiac next time, and I’ll wank you with my leather driving gloves and you can come all over the seat, and I’ll lick it up and……feel me again’

Paul put a finger in.

‘How many fingers?’

Paul tried with two, then three, then four and Claire whispered

‘I’m going to lean over the loo and you can take me from behind. I’m so wet you’ll go straight in. I want it deep and slow’

Claire took a condom out of her handbag and handed it to him.

‘If you’re a good boy I’ll put it on with my tongue next time I see you.’

She let her panties fall on top of her skirt turned away from Paul; and bent over the toilet. She heard him fumble with the condom wrapper then heard him roll it on. So he had used one before. That was a relief. She felt his hands on her buttocks and the fumbling of his penis searching for the right opening.

With a touch of impatience she reached beneath her crotch seized the hardening member and guided into her.

‘In deep and work slowly’ she gasped and let out a sigh as Paul set to work.

‘I’m sorry I’ve slipped out.’

‘Then try again’ hissed Claire.

‘Think about your car, if that turns you on more than me, think about a piston moving in and out of the cylinder, think about McPherson struts, think about any fucking thing but shag me. Give it to me hard.’

As Paul fumbled again she felt tears of frustration running down her cheeks.

‘Please Paul. Please, just fuck me and when I’ve come you can go home. I just need you inside me. Please.’

He moved in again and entered Claire unaided and she gasped with pleasure as she felt at last the piston enter her cylinder and move in and out.

‘What’s the firing order in a Mark Two Zodiac?’ she asked him as he warmed to his task.

‘1 5 3 6 2 4’ Paul answered without thinking.

‘Good boy’ said Claire, ‘now give me the six strokes quick and hard. I want to feel you thump against my buttocks.’

Paul withdrew until his swelling penis was right at the edge of Claire’s labia then thrust back in hard/

‘One’ he shouted. Then he repeated the action, and Claire felt a surge of pleasure coursing through her as he said

‘Five’ and Claire was suddenly far away from the toilets of the Ace Cafe; she was suddenly on Beachy Head on a summer’s day as the wind blew across the grass and she lay, legs apart on the bonnet feeling the engine at her back as a man (Paul?) worked his way in and out, straining every last muscle for her pleasure. She closed her eyes and waited for the orgasm that was waiting to explode.

Then Paul slipped out.

‘What’s happened?’ asked Claire angrily.

‘I’m sorry, I’ve gone soft…………I ……….. I only ever do it with, you know and they have no expectations just as long as I pay and they make no demands, they are kind to me but you…you want it so much.’

He began to cry.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be a real man for you Claire.’

Claire pulled him close, placed his head against her little breasts, kissed him on the top of the head and said

‘It’s alright Paul. You’re a very nice man and I’m sure you’ll find someone just right for you.’

Paul freed himself from her embrace, hoisted up his trousers and left hurriedly, not wanting to see Claire again in this moment of humiliation. Claire waited till he had gone and shouted

‘FUCK’ as loudly as she could. She beat the wall with her fist. Then she looked at the floor.

‘He could have taken the condom with him’ she thought as she picked up the used rubber with distaste, wrapped it in a piece of toilet paper and flushed it down the toilet. She went outside. She needed a cigarette.

It was late when she arrived home. In the bedroom, with the big welcoming double bed that was not getting the use it needed, she took the laminated Ace Cafe menu card and wrote on it in marker pen.

‘PAUL = ZERO. I WANT TO CRY’

She inserted it into her Man Hunt exercise book which she threw angrily against the wall. She shouted again

‘FUCK’ and climbed into bed. She played with her clit and dreamed of sex on the bonnet at Beachy Head before going to sleep.