by Timothy Lea
‘Last night?’ I say. ‘You mean, you saw her again?’
‘I couldn’t say no. What do you know about Bondage?’
‘You mean the films with Roger Moore? She took you to one of those, did she?’
‘That’s James Bond,’ she says. ‘I meant tying people up to increase sexual excitement.’
‘It’s always seemed a bit complicated to me,’ I say. ‘Supposing you want to blow your nose?’
‘It was exquisite,’ breathes Sue. ‘I don’t think I’d better tell you. You probably wouldn’t understand.’
‘You could try,’ I say. ‘WaaaaaaaaaH! ! !’
‘Why did you do that?’ says Sue.
‘I thought those people were coming into this compartment.’
‘There was no need to jump up and down and start strangling yourself. They’ve probably gone to get the guard.’
‘Tell me about your experience,’ I say, trying not to sound too eager.
‘Well, we both took off all our clothes and then I lay on the bed while she tied me up. Not so it hurt but so that I couldn’t move.’
‘I wouldn’t have let her do that to me,’ I say. ‘She might have been a bit funny – I mean, even funnier than she obviously was.’
‘She probably wouldn’t have wanted to do it to you,’ says Sue. ‘Being a man doesn’t automatically mean that you’re a passport to sexual ecstasy as far as every woman is concerned.’ I can’t think of a quick answer to that one so I keep my mouth shut and continue to look interested. ‘Where was I? says Sue.
‘You were tied up on the bed in the altogether,’ I say.
‘Oh yes,’ she says, giving a little smile like she is remembering something nice. ‘Then she lay down beside me and started bringing herself off.’
‘Bringing herself off?’
‘Masturbating. With her fingers at first and then with her fingers and a vibrator. It made a soft whirring noise like when you hear a motorboat across a lake.’
‘She must be potty,’ I say feeling percy lumber into the vertical at the thought of it all.
‘Potty?’ Sue looks at me like I am crawling up the outside of the window. ‘It was the most sexy thing that has ever happened to me. Being tied up while she was doing that. I was dying to get at her or make love to myself. The frustration was delicious.’
‘Er – yes,’ I say. ‘Well, I suppose –’ I don’t want to appear like a square though I can hardly believe my ears. Is it possible that the tide of sexual freedom has washed over me and left me stranded on the beach? Is everybody doing things I had never even thought about? How upsetting. Maybe I had better start remembering all those knots they tried to teach me when I was in the Cubs.
‘Then she untied me and made me tie her up. I wanted to make love to her immediately but she said it would be better if we did it her way. So I lay back and closed my eyes – I always do, you know – and started to stroke myself – are you all right?’
‘Just changing position,’ I say. ‘I’m a bit stiff.’ I am not kidding either. Down in the groin region it is strictly standing room only.
‘But she told me to open my eyes and watch her and myself. Also, to do it very slowly. I didn’t use the vibrator, just my fingers. After a while I began to really like it. I could see that she was turned on and that made it even better. Have you ever masturbated with anyone else?’ Another couple shiver in horror and hurry past the compartment.
‘No,’ I whisper, feeling almost guilty. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Just shows how sheltered one is,’ says Sue. ‘We see ourselves as being sexually orientated but in fact it’s just the tip of the iceberg.’ She looks down into my lap. ‘Would you like me to suck you?’ Percy gives another lurch and for a second I think that my zipper is going to be catapulted from its mooring.
‘Please!’ I say.
‘What does that mean? Please yes or please no?’
‘Wait till the train starts,’ I say. As if on cue, the guard’s whistle makes sweet music in my ear and the train lurches forward in an indifferent imitation of my cock. ‘How about the blinds?’ I say. But Sue is already bending over my lap. She has just got my zip down when I recognize the first couple who seemed likely to disturb us coming down the corridor. I spring to my feet and snatch the hamper just in time to jam the wickerwork down on my rampant dick. The sensation is not exactly akin to that of being dusted with long-haired velvet.
‘In here, Amanda,’ says the dinner-jacketed geezer loftily. ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to share with the cretin and his friend.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
The journey must take two hours and every sodding minute of it I sit with the bloody hamper wedged on top of an enormous hard. What a waste – apart from all the agony. It is like waking up in the morning with a rock cock between your legs and nowhere to direct it except down the lav. Sue sits beside me smiling and looking out of the window and I try not to think of all the things she was doing with my customer. She looks so innocent in her chiffon. If only the other two would push off and discuss Madam Butterfly in the buffet car. I could at least tuck myself away.
I still have the same problem when we arrive at a large country house set in rolling grassland and all that caper. My dick is wedged underneath my jeans but it is still jumbo-sized and showing no signs of going down, I wonder if the hamper fouled up the withdrawal mechanism? It is like getting an umbrella jammed as you try to enter a telephone box.
‘I don’t know about you but I’m famished,’ says Sue. ‘Shall we find a likely spot and get down to it? Everybody eats before the performance. How does Cosi Fan Tutti grab you?’
‘I like any kind of icecream,’ I say. ‘How about over here behind these bushes?’
I am all for getting stuck into her right away but she is a typical woman. ‘Not now!’ she says as I try and shove my hand up her skirt ‘Why do you have to be so impulsive? Open this bottle. I take it you like Riesling?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, deciding that it is best to be honest. ‘I’ve never riesled.’
Sue looks at me hard and seriously. ‘You have a very strange sense of humour,’ she says. ‘Ellen never makes jokes.’
Ellen Grant. I see the name staring at me as it did from the note about putting the milk in the fridge. Why did she want it in the fridge? And what about the dripping? I repress a shudder. Control, Lea. The night is young.
‘It looks nice,’ I say glancing at the bottle and realising that I have made a tiny mistake. ‘It’s German, is it?’
‘Alsatian,’ she says.
‘Blimey!’ She must be joking. It has a heavy yellow colour but surely it can’t be—
‘From Alsace,’ she says. ‘On the borders of France and Germany.’
‘Oh,’ I am unable to keep the relief out of my voice. I mean, those bloody dogs have put the mockers up me since I was a kiddy. I wouldn’t fancy patting one, let alone drinking its gypsy’s.
I remove the cork – well, in fact it is a bit loose so I push it into the bottle, but it doesn’t matter as long as you suck your little finger clean and shove it up the spout and don’t mind getting the first pouring up your sleeve. Sue does not say anything but I think she is quietly impressed by the suave way in which I pick the little pieces of cork out of her glass. As I have said before on many occasions: little touches mean a lot to a woman, and I don’t mean shoving your hand up the back of her skirt when she’s doing the washing up.
Sue unwraps some chicken legs from paper serviettes and the whole occasion begins to reek of high living and good taste. All around us, the grass is littered with people tucking into their nosh and I am reminded of the scene in a layby along the Kingston bypass on a busy Bank Holiday.
‘What happens about the opera?’ I ask. ‘This seems like a blooming great picnic.’
‘It’s al fresco,’ says Sue. ‘The whole thing takes place under the stars.’
I rack my brain but for the life of me I can’t think of Al Fresco. I remember Al Martino and,
of course, the fat bloke Mum liked – Mario Lanza, but this other wop is beyond me. Still, you can’t know everything, can you?’ Apart from Swan Lake and Les Syphillis I hardly know another opera.
‘Lovely spot of grub,’ I say, quietly shoving a chicken bone into the lawn so it won’t mess the place up. ‘Did your aunty knock this up?’
‘No,’ says Sue. ‘I ordered it from Fortnum’s. Would you care for a punnet?’
‘Not half!’ I am just sliding my hand up the inside of her oh-so-cool thigh when she shoves a basket of strawberries into my hand.
‘What has got into you?’ she says indignantly. ‘Have you no control of yourself?’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I misunderstood you. Punnet, yes, of course.’
‘Ellen was grace personified compared to you,’ she says.
‘She changed her name, did she?’ I ask.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You said she was called Grace Personified,’ Sue gives me another funny look and I sense that something beautiful may be slipping away fast.
Something that isn’t slipping away fast is my old man. There must be something wrong with it. It has got more back bone than a battalion of ghurkas.
‘What are you doing?’ asks Sue irritably.
‘Just getting more comfortable.’
‘You’re like a monkey,’ she says. ‘Always playing with yourself.’
‘That sounds pretty good coming from you,’ I say.
‘How petty,’ she sneers. ‘And how typical of a man. Desperately insecure in the face of any liberated woman. It’s not penis envy today, is it? It’s fanny fear. You’re frightened by the increasing revelation that we’re more than well-equipped to look after our own sexual needs. We don’t need your thick, insensitive penises.’
‘Insensitive?’ I say. ‘My throbbing friend here is a blooming lighthouse of sensation.’
‘I think I’m going off men,’ says Sue, holding out her glass. ‘Is there any more wine?’
I pour a generous measure up my sleeve and some into her glass and prepare to persuade her that she is wrong. It is getting darker and people are beginning to wander towards the house. No doubt the performance is due to start soon.
‘Listen,’ I say, deciding to give her the full force of my sophisticated banter. ‘Shadows are lengthening and they’re not the only things. How about it?’
‘How about what?’ she says.
‘How about trying to recapture the moment of rapture we were about to partake of on the chuffer?’ I say. ‘When you were bent on parking your lips around my giggle stick. Perhaps I could reintroduce my north and south to your furburger. The rhododendrons beckon.’
Sue looks at me and runs her finger round the rim of her glass. ‘I don’t know if I feel like it,’ she says.
‘You felt like it on the train!’
‘I know, but that was different.’
‘What was different about it?’
‘It was hours ago. Talking about Ellen had got me excited.’
‘It got me excited as well !’ I tell her. ‘It still has! Cop a gander at this.’
‘Really!’ she says. ‘Put it away before somebody has a seizure.’
‘It’s not easy,’ I say. ‘I think I’ve done something to it – I think you’ve done something to it. It won’t go down. It’s like Birmingham City.’
Sue ignores my amusing little soccer joke and glances round before stretching out her hand. ‘Good heavens,’ she says. ‘It’s hot, isn’t it?’ She looks round again and her eyes settle on the bushes.
I draw closer to her and nuzzle her cheek. ‘What do you want me to do with this banana skin?’ I ask.
‘You could slap it around that thing,’ she says.
‘Highly amusing,’ I say. ‘Come on, let’s – er shuffle into the shrubbery. I want to show you that there are still some things a bloke can do best.’ When I sniff the mixture of perfume and woman smell I feel like sinking my teeth into her there and then.
‘We’ll miss the curtain going up,’ she says.
‘I can suggest a substitute,’ I breathe.
‘You’re so coarse,’ she sighs. ‘Ellen says that men can put their heads between their legs without bending their backs.’
‘Stop thinking about Ellen,’ I say. ‘She’s an unhealthy influence.’
I do myself up and pulling Sue to her feet, lead her into the bushes. She is still wittering away but I am pretty certain that once I get her staked out behind the delphiniums she will respond to the old body magic. It is quite dark now and all I can hear is what sounds like the continuous buzzing of a swarm of bees. I hope they are not going to louse everything up. I push my way through a gap in the bushes and draw Sue down beside me. Her breasts are swelling forward and I press my head between them before rising to engulf her lips with my mouth. If she wants to say anything she can’t and I gently rock my head from side to side until her tongue meets mine and our kiss becomes a two-way experience. I press her gently back against the grass and slide my hand up inside her skirt. This time there is no resistence. If anything, the pressure of her kiss increases at the moment my fingers brush against the swelling mound in her panties. I slip a finger inside and run it down the moist curls. Uhm. Definitely ripe for the entry of the clefted clit-clobberer. I have already taken off my jacket and I swiftly shed the rest of my threads whilst keeping as much contact with Sue’s moving parts as is possible. The night is balmy and a gentle breeze caresses my naked body accompanied by Sue’s awakening fingers. If she is still thinking about Ellen Whatsit she does not show it. The bees must have turned in for a spot of kip because the noise has stopped and the only sound is a slight rustle as I ease Sue’s panties down to her ankles. She draws her legs up and parts them and I start to play the Moonlight Sonata on her drooling snatch – blimey! I did not expect a full orchestral accompaniment. A spotlight zooms over my head and half a dozen violins start scraping away sounding like they are in the bushes behind us. Hardly have I checked that my heart is still beating than the bush we are performing against starts to move. It is a terrifying experience. One minute I am about to immerse my dick in nether nectar, the next I am crawling across the lawn fast in pursuit of a bush. Things like this don’t even happen to you on Clapham Common.
The bush stops and I huddle behind its cover and stare into Sue’s worried face. At least she has only left her panties behind. Two more spotlights hit the ground a few feet from us and the orchestra do their nuts. I look up and am horrified to see that there is a huge woman towering over me. She is wearing a long robe and a helmet with horns sprouting from it. ‘Lo’ she screams. ‘I spy a tiny elfin sprite!’ I am about to tell her that she has made a mistake when Sue puts her hand over my mouth.
‘We’ve blundered on to the stage!’ she hisses.
‘What brings you here in this pale guise, oh wanton woodland spirit?’ The lady with the horns is belting it out like there is no tomorrow and a bloke dressed in tattered rags jumps over my bush – both of them.
‘I know not what thou speakest of!’ he rants. ‘I am but a poor anchorite, passing through these woods by night.’ They both start singing at the tops of their voices and I look around for a way to escape. This is definitely not my cup of tea. I don’t even care for the music. I can’t see where the audience are without peeping over the bush and when I look around I am blinded by spotlights.
‘Then summon all our pixie folk—’ a hand reaches out and pulls me to my feet and I hear a gasp which answers my question about where the audience is. Two girls dressed in wispy costumes take me by the hand and walk me round the stage. It is a good job the costumes are wispy because one of the bits gets snagged on my dick and adds a touch of restrained delicacy to the proceedings. It is certainly needed because my cock is still standing out at right angles to the rest of my body. Maybe I took some of Mum’s iron pills in mistake for aspirin.
‘Join our revels, dance till dawn—’ More people appear out of the bushes and I find
myself part of a large circle of birds and creepy looking blokes who wear slightly more eye shadow. They all start to dance, bringing their knees high in the air. Oh dear, that could be very dicey in my condition. I see Sue gazing up at me in amazement as I start to circle her bush. It is on wheels. I see that when I trip over the wire that is pulling it.
I am just about to bolt into the bushes and only stop running when I reach the bus shelter at the top of Scraggs Lane, when the big bird with the horns and the ragged geezer make a simutaneous explosion of noise and everyone files into the shrubbery to tumultuous applause. I expect to be grabbed by half a dozen coppers but only one languid cove comes up to me.
‘Get rid of that, love,’ he says, jerking his thumb at my hampton. ‘You can only take them one step at a time. Rudolph was a bit naughty slipping you on in the first place.’
‘Where is Rudolph?’ says one of the male dancers who was prancing round the grass with me. ‘Wardrobe have done it again! Look at my sequins. Hanging on by threads. I want somebody’s guts!’
‘You’ll have to make do with cotton like everyone else,’ says the first bloke. ‘And don’t start squawking about Rudi. You know Rudi never watches his first nights.’
‘Oh spit!’ says the dancer. ‘I wish I’d stayed with Sadlers Wells. They appreciated me.’ He looks at my old man, tosses his head and flounces off.
‘There’s been a bit of a misunderstanding,’ I say. ‘If you’ll—’
‘I know, dear. We didn’t get your entrance right. Rudi didn’t mention it, you see. We all know his little surprises. Now, what are we going to do about your problem? – ah yes. Hermione!’
A willowy looking bird of about six feet pulls up alongside us and looks me up and down appraisingly. ‘First night nerves, dear. Could you straighten him out or rather, you know what I mean?’
‘Poor darling,’ says the girl. ‘Yes, of course. Michael. We can’t have that brutal great thing putting everybody off their chocolate ripples. Come with me, dear heart. Aunty Hermione will take you in hand – should all else fail.’
