Pretend

"Pretend you don't know my name," she said when she let me into her flat.

"OK, stranger..." I kissed her. It was cold out, the snow melted on the shoulders of my overcoat, dripping on her bare arms. She was wearing a dark red knit dress and black tights, looking warm and cozy.

I pulled my boots off. "So, if I don't know you, how did I end up here?"

She held my coat, thinking for a moment before throwing it on the nearest chair. "You picked me up at a bar."

We had been seeing each other for almost three months. Secretly. I was a decade younger, her divorce wasn't final. It was all a bit improper. We had never gone out, not to a bar, concert, film, anything.

"Right," I nudged her backwards into the flat. "You saw me at the bar and pressed your tits against me until I bought you a drink."

"No, there was a queue for the toilets. You helped me sneak into the men's room..."

"Right. How could I forget?"

"...and then you joined me in the cubicle and I sucked your cock. I had to thank you for your help."

"I am such a gentleman," I said and unbuckled my belt. We'd come to a stop against her dining room table, her buttocks perched on the edge.

"So, this was last night? And now I'm back to see if this slut from the bar is a good fuck."

"Seems so." Sitting on the table, legs spread, she had pulled me in close and wiggled her crotch against the hard lump at the front of my jeans. Her hands slid around my waist, stroking my buttocks.

"What's this in your pocket?" She'd found the packet of condoms.

I stepped back, pulling her with me, then grabbing her arms to turn her around. "Let me show you." I bent her over the table and pushed the hem of her dress up her thighs.

"What are you doing?" she squeaked in mock indignation. "We barely know each other."

"I know." Both hands underneath her dress I pulled her tights down around her knees and pushed her on to the table. It was a bit rough. Rougher than we'd done it before.

Holding her down with one hand, just enough to make her token resistance fun, I ripped the packet open with my teeth, unzipped my jeans and rolled the condom onto my hard cock.

She stopped wiggling when I spread her buttocks with both hands and slid a thumb into her pussy.

"Why are you so wet?" I teased. "It's not enough for you to have a secret boyfriend, you also need to go out, pick up horny bastards at the bar?"

She pressed against me, "yes..."

"You just let some stranger into your house to fuck you over the table like this?" I pressed the head of my cock against the plump, glistening lips of her pussy. She couldn't spread her legs with the tights around her knees, couldn't push back any further. Pinned down against the table she just had to wait.

I slid inside her, relishing her twitching, greedy pleasure. Enjoying the way she gripped my shaft, I took my time. This is not what she wants, I remember thinking, realizing that I wasn't doing this - I was riding along with her fantasy.

"You know I'm just here to use you..." I said, picking up speed, fucking her a little faster, a little harder with every stroke.

"Yes," she whispered.

"I'm only here to fuck you like this. To use your pussy for my pleasure... If you want to come, you'll have to do it in your own time. Later."

I thrust into her hard and fast, pulling her buttocks apart with both hands.

"I'm here to take advantage of your tight pussy, that's all."

She began to come. A tremor swelling in her thighs, pulling against the restraints around her knees. It went on and on, not so much an explosion as a row of swelling and subsiding orgasms rolling in like waves.

I held back, miraculously, riding along with her without coming myself.

When she finished, I pulled out and sat down on a chair, watching her recompose herself. My cock stuck out, hard, the condom shiny and wet.

"Remind me," I said. "How exactly did you thank me last night?"

Morning

Three days after I handed her my card, she led me into her bedroom, locked the door and pulled my hand up underneath her skirt.

"You seem happy to see me." I put down the coffee I had brought with me. If I get invited to a woman's home in the morning, the least I can do is bring coffee. And condoms.

She guided two of my fingers into the wet folds of her pussy and sighed. "There's something I didn't tell you, Mon."

"Oh?" I curved my fingers and slid them lazily back and forth.

"I haven't had any for almost a year."

"What? Coffee?"

"Fuck off!" She held my wrist tightly, rotating her hips against my hand. "Sex, you idiot. I think my virginity's grown back."

The muscles of her pussy clutched around my fingers. I kept thinking about how it would feel when they got to grasp my cock. She leaned back against the door, thrusting her hips forward, taking my fingers in deeper.

"A year's a long time." I tried to pull my hand back. No luck. "I think this calls for a detailed examination... You should take your clothes off."

"Yeah, I should..." She held my wrist with both hands while I fingered her cooperatively. "It's just... I want to..."

"Yes?"

"Let me come like this. Then we'll get naked. And fuck. A lot."

"Sounds like a plan."

Pause

We were fully clothed, in a slightly chilly hotel room. I sat on the bed, leaning back and looking up at her, dressed entirely inappropriately for November. The lipstick was smudged from kissing, her blouse unbuttoned to expose the black, shiny fabric of the basque underneath. A little breathless, she swayed on her high heels, reflexively smoothing down the front of her skirt.

"Well?" I asked, spreading my legs.

"It's not like I'm some kind of slut," she said with fake indignation, her eyes fixed on my crotch.

"Of course not. Now get on your knees and suck my cock."

She swallowed me greedily into her hot wet mouth. One hand around the shaft, the other buried in between her legs. Taking me in deep, the moans of her orgasm were almost completely stifled.

There was a small pause when she caught her breath, looking up at me with a conspiratorial smirk. Then she opened wide again...

If at first...

We all find ourselves at one point or another tying up a tall blonde from Manchester without the proper qualifications. It was all going pretty well. I had passed the soft black bondage rope, doubled up like it should be, in between her legs and through a loop at the back of her neck. There was a thick knot just above her clit, and when I would tighten the rope later, the soft bundle would press against her vulva in a lovely teasing way.

Kneeling on the bed, the black rope on her pale skin, she looked irresistible.

I began tying her arms, weaving the strands of the rope together in a pleasantly symmetrical way... and that's where the trouble began. I was about to run out of rope.

Fifteen feet had clearly not been plenty, like I thought. And I had clearly made too many wasteful decisions along the way, using too much rope just because I got caught up in the erotic intricacies of it all, maybe not thinking about how tall she is.

There was no alternative, I had to loosen the bonds and start over.

She had just been getting there... just about to slide into that state of letting go, the restraints hugging her torso from chest to crotch in a tight embrace. And then I muttered, "Um, I think I have to do this a bit differently..."

Her frustration only lasted a few moments, the premature loosening of the ropes followed by a different, more secure tightening. And this time, when I reached her wrists, there was even a foot of rope left.

On the photograph I took of her, bent over and kneeling, the spare rope slinks down between her buttocks like a tail.