Mrs Harrison, Peepshow Star

Adele Harrison was desperate to feel fresh air on her skin. She had been the only person wearing a coat in the whole Tube carriage, and it had made her hot, and it had made her feel conspicuous, which had made her hotter still.

She emerged from the Tube station into the jostle of Piccadilly Circus and immediately checked her watch. Five to six! She set off up Shaftesbury Avenue at once, still trapped in the coat, her neat white suitcase bounding at her heels like a lively poodle.

If Soho lived up to its reputation, once she got there and took the coat off, what she was wearing underneath wouldn’t make people stare. They might have stared in the Tube carriage.

The south end of Berwick Street was soon in view. But Soho was definitely not living up to its reputation. There were no strip clubs. There were no women displaying themselves on street corners in outfits to make her own look tame. Everywhere was crowded, and Berwick Street had an extra bustle because market stalls were being packed away, but it all seemed respectable, even smart.

She stopped in Berwick Street where it met a dead end side-street, stripped the coat off with a sigh of blessed release and folded it away neatly in the suitcase. Then she swapped her shoes for her party pair. People glanced curiously at her. She swallowed anxiously and avoided their eyes.

It was 6.00pm exactly. Steve could appear at any moment. She took a deep breath, gulped, blushed, backed against a lamp-post and thrust her shoulders back and her breasts out, ready for him to come up to her and proposition her. Then he would take her to a hotel, where she would — do anything he paid her to do.

A couple were staring. She lowered her gaze and saw that her tight leopard-pattern top had ridden up. She smoothed it down with brisk, nervous fingers, disclosing an extra inch-and-a-half of milk-white cleavage below her tan line, flicked her wavy brown hair back off her shoulders, thrust her chest out again, and looked for Steve. But her only reward was an admiring glance from a burly young stallholder wheeling his stall away.

She checked her watch. Steve was standing her up, even though his football match had finished long ago.

It was their wedding anniversary, and she had thought up a way to celebrate. A little adventure. A sexy adventure, because she thought their sex lives needed jazzing up. Steve had surprised her by not being reluctant. He had even proposed that they travel down to London for it. He had booked the hotel, then he had remembered that his team was playing in London that day, so they might as well travel early so he could watch the game beforehand.

Actually, the stall-holder was quite attractive.

She didn’t expect any surprises when she and Steve got to the bedroom, but she liked the idea of Steve seeing her as an object of lust. Speaking of which, here was the stallholder passing again, smiling and openly eyeing her up. She gave him a tiny smile in return, lost her nerve, cleared her throat, and inspected the red varnish on her fingernails.

Anticipation was having an effect on her. Or perhaps it was the stallholder’s look. Dessi, her friend at work, who was always a bit over-the-top, would have said ‘she wanted cock, she wanted it massive, and she wanted it pronto’. Dessi made her laugh.

Still, if Steve didn’t arrive soon she might get approached by some unsavoury male. You never knew what would happen in London.

It was Dessi who had explained to her that sex workers these days — all young city women, really — waxed their pussies. That had seemed a bit extreme to Adele, and itchy when it grew back, but as a compromise she had trimmed her pubic hair very neatly. She liked thinking of it being closely inspected by Steve. Or even by the stallholder.

She frowned. Where the hell was Steve? Honestly, she wouldn’t mind if he saw her get propositioned. With all these normal people around, no punter would dare get stroppy when she turned him down. And the idea of a random stranger coming up to her with a hard-on in his pants was rather spicy. She could pose with her feet a bit apart — like this — and show a lacy stocking-top through the slit in the miniskirt. That should be a come-on to any passing trade, and serve Steve right.

All the same, she jumped visibly when an unfamiliar male voice spoke cautiously from below her left ear.

‘You don’t happen to be waiting for anyone, darling?’

A short, shapeless man in a bow tie and a wrinkled blue suit had appeared by her left elbow. His diffidence calmed her. ‘Well, yes. I’m waiting for someone called Steve, actually.’

‘Steve?’ The man looked oddly relieved. ‘He’s already here. Been waiting a while, in fact. Follow me.’ He immediately set off down the side-street at a rapid waddle, with Adele and her suitcase following uncertainly behind.

The side-street was more as Soho was supposed to be. One of the several bars was below street-level, with an old-fashioned neon sign that showed alternately a cocktail glass and a woman in a bikini. Possibly Steve had arrived much too early and popped into a bar to wait, and then he had asked the bar staff to keep an eye out for her.

The man in the suit said over his shoulder, ‘The name’s Michael.’ He abruptly swerved into a narrow alley. ‘Girls often can’t find the place. Follow me, follow me.’ He turned right through a dark doorway.

The wheels of the white suitcase rumbled hollowly on uneven floorboards. It was all starting to feel like a misunderstanding. Adele spoke uneasily towards the man’s bald patch. ‘Is this the staff entrance?’

‘That’s right. Just follow me, follow me.’ They went down stairs to the basement and another grubby passage. At its end the man opened a door. ‘And here,’ he declared, ‘is Steve. Steve, here’s your six-thirty.’ He turned to Adele. ‘I’ll let you two get on with it.’ And with that he slipped past her, leaving her staring into the eyes of an older man who was distinctly not her husband.

After a moment’s hesitation — her uncertainty made him uncertain — the man reached out a strong hand and shook hers, saying, ‘Steve,’ in a deep, warm voice.

‘I’m Adele.’

With a smile the wrong Steve said, ‘I get the impression you’re new to this, Adele.’

Whatever ‘this’ was, it was certainly new to her, so she confusedly said, ‘Yes,’ to this tall, broad-shouldered, well-groomed patrician — a gentlemanly older devil in a grey dressing-gown of figured silk, who was clearly intrigued by her.

She should phone her husband. Her phone was in her coat pocket. Where was her coat?

Steve saw her glance down anxiously at her suitcase. ‘Oh, you’re worried about your… Shall I…?’ He lifted the suitcase.

Thinking that he was going to put it on the table for her to delve inside — behind him was a dressing-room table, with a mirror surrounded by lights — she nodded. But instead Steve slipped past her, opened a door in one side of the passage, said something she didn’t catch to someone she couldn’t see, and handed the suitcase to the hidden person. Then he closed the door and returned.

‘It’ll be perfectly safe with Michael,’ he said.

The suitcase seemed to have taken the last vestiges of Adele’s presence of mind with it.

‘Now,’ said Steve, ‘after you.’

Adele stepped forward into the room. It small with a low ceiling, and was divided into three by cheap Chinese paper screens to left and right.

‘You won’t see the audience, so you really won’t find it terribly different from what you’re used to,’ Steve said reassuringly. ‘Actually, you’ll hardly have to speak if you don’t feel like it. If you can trust me to lead, you should find it’s all rather fun. OK?’

Adele turned, to find that Steve had a friendly grin. ‘I get it,’ she said, smiling back despite not getting anything at all. He was not handsome in a cliché way, but there was something commanding — the iron-grey hair gave him distinction — and there was an energy about him — and though there was something raffish in his grin, he was obviously a gentleman, so he was bound to be considerate. She had come to London for an adventure. This might be the adventure.

‘The theme is younger and older,’ Steve explained. ‘As you may have guessed when you saw me. Look, Michael’s always fussing about the time, but we do genuinely need to get a move on. If you’ll just go behind that screen,’ he pointed to the screen on the left, ‘you’ll find a lot of costumes. Pick anything that fits the theme.’

Adele went behind the screen, where she found two clothes rails hung with garments.

Younger and older. She wasn’t very young any more, but there was certainly an age difference. Presumably she was to take part in some sort of experimental improvised theatre. Very London.

She said apologetically, ‘I haven’t done any sort of acting since my Drama GCSE exam.’

‘The ability to act is desirable but not essential.’

The first costume was a Dutch milkmaid’s outfit. Then came riding kit, complete with boots and spurs — an air hostess uniform, but PVC — a black leather corset-like thing made largely of straps and buckles — something made of red latex, tubular and stretchy.

And a hooker’s skirt and top exactly like what she was wearing.

She gasped, and her face turned scalding red. She’d been so confused that her brain had slipped completely out of gear.

Steve’s deep voice came from beyond the screen. ‘I’ll explain the setup. We do the sex in a circular room, with twenty or so peepholes round the walls. There’s a low stage. Everything’s painted black and the scale is, you might say, intimate. The stage slowly revolves — Michael’s just had the wiring seen to, so tonight we can be fairly sure it will actually revolve — and on it is a high ottoman of scarlet leather. A sort of couch without a back or arms. And next to it is a bar stool with a clear moulded seat.’

Adele went on mechanically leafing through the costumes, barely seeing them. The wire hooks of the hangers scraped and squealed on the rails. She had to choose a way forward, and quickly. What would Dessi do?

‘See something you like, Adele?’

She did not speak. But a few seconds later she stepped from behind the screen holding up a hanger in each hand. She cleared her throat and said tentatively, ‘If it’s about being younger, there are these two.’ One hanger carried an outfit of white blouse, short pleated tartan skirt, tie, white knee-socks, and a straw boater with two blonde hair-bunches hanging from the back. The other bore a nun’s habit, hat and wimple. ‘I don’t know, but, I mean, I could be a novice nun? Like Maria in The Sound of Music. That would be amazingly rude.’ The ruder the better. Now that she’d taken the plunge, she wasn’t going to throw this away on half-baked rudeness.

‘Nun and priest is always fun, and plain sailing compared to the school uniform. I’ll look out my cassock.’

Her voice was almost steady as she said, ‘Yes, the school uniform is a bit complicated.’ Adele was behind the screen again, slipping off her high heels. ‘I’d have to cram my hair up into the boater.’

‘That too. But I was thinking of audience expectations.’

‘Oh, well obviously.’ Blasé. She would die if he realised how naive she’d been. She gripped the hem of her tight leopard-pattern top, ready to peel it off. ‘But I’m game for anything.’

‘They do tend to expect a bit of spanking.’

Adele’s head was now inside the top. She paused in a world of out-of-focus leopard spots, cleared her throat and said,’Naturally.’ Spanking! But she should have known. Dessi had explained to her about spanking.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Just pop on the wimple and that provocative behind of yours will be safe.’

‘Yes. I mean…’ Nobody had called her bum provocative before. She hesitated, then asked, ‘Provocative, how?’ and stripped off the top. She hoped he didn’t mean anal sex. Dessi said you had to train for that.

‘Spanking a tempting bottom like yours gives me great pleasure. The punters love it too. Brings them back for more. Still, whatever we do or don’t do, they’re not going to complain to the Office of Fair Trading. So I always let my lady partners set the agenda, if they so wish.’

On the wall at the end of the clothes-rails was a full-length mirror. She inspected her shapely outline and her breasts, which bulged a little around her soft bra — she had deliberately chosen the pink one that was slightly too small. Her boyfriends had all loved her boobs, and if she was a little bit bottom-heavy, well, apparently Steve liked a good target for his spanking activities.

And there would be the room lined with peepholes hiding hard dicks. ‘Twenty or so’, all hardened by the sight of that same body in the mirror. She let out a long, excited breath.

Despite her bounding heart she spoke coolly. ‘Well, spanking can be a lot of fun, can’t it?’ Experienced. Sophisticated. Decadent, even.

The scrape of coat-hangers came from Steve’s side of the room now. ‘Absolutely. The cane can take a bit of getting used to, though.’

Adele started to unzip her miniskirt, but paused in mid-zzz, frowning, considering. Then she took a deep breath and announced, ‘I’m definitely going for the school uniform.’

‘Attagirl!’

She smiled at his enthusiasm, and rolled down her stockings. She wanted to experience Steve in all his devilish intensity. She wouldn’t get another chance.

A rustle of clothing was coming from the other side of the room. He had started getting changed. A vivid image came to her, of his naked body as he prepared to put on his costume: not heavily built, yet well muscled, with a flat stomach. Her husband had the beginnings of a beer-belly.

‘By the way,’ he said, ‘stating the obvious, but they like to witness the moment of truth, so to speak, so I’ll cum on you, not in you.’

‘Oh, I’d like to see you cum!’ Not the cool tone she had been aiming for. But watching Steve ejaculate would be wonderfully filthy. She had never dared asked her husband to oblige. He’d have thought it strange.

‘Let’s see, what else do you need to know? Hmm.’ The ‘hmm’ was a deep purr. ‘OK. Wear your own knickers. Michael is a conscientious manager but he does tend to forget to wash the house knickers.’

‘Right.’ She had just started peeling her white panties away from her wet pudenda. She pulled them up again. White, with a minimal strip of lace round each leg-hole, because her husband liked simple white panties. He liked clean, normal sex.

Adele heard a series of snaps, like press studs being closed.

‘How’s the costume coming along?’ Steve’s voice was nearer.

‘The tie?’ Adele asked. ‘Oh, I see. Velcro.’

‘You must be almost ready.’

‘Completely ready.’ Adele stepped out from behind the screen.

‘Young lady, you look just the job.’ He ran appreciative eyes up and down her body, and she automatically tugged down the hem of the tartan skirt so that it covered the cheeks of her rear.

‘I left off my bra,’ she said.

‘I noticed,’ he said, with that raffish grin of his. Adele’s dark nipples could be faintly seen through the crisp white blouse. ‘And the heels are a nice touch.’

Steve was the first man to show he appreciated her party shoes.

He had changed into a black academic gown over a white shirt and grey silk tie. Flecked grey tweed trousers showed below the gown, and heavy black slip-on shoes.

‘The gown and the shirt and tie are all one piece,’ he explained, as he settled the outfit over his shoulders, shrugging and tugging. ‘Press studs behind the buttons. Tricks of the trade, you know?’

‘Clever. Would you mind checking the back of my hat?’

Adele turned her back to Steve. As he deftly tucked a few loose strands of her brown hair up between the straw-coloured fake bunches, his fingers brushed the nape of her neck.

‘All done, young lady.’

She settled the hat and adjusted the elastic — it had a narrow navy-blue band under the jaw — then turned back to him, and let his smiling grey-green eyes hold her brown ones for a moment.

‘Look, I’d better show you the cane.’ Steve disappeared behind the further screen. When he reappeared he was holding a traditional bamboo schoolmaster’s cane, curved into a handle at one end. He flexed the cane in his hands. ‘Quite whippy.’ He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

Adele nodded. ‘Um, is this particular cane very painful?’

‘For dramatic effect, I do raise a proper swish and crack. And that does mean — well, let’s just say you’ll get welts.’

‘Oh, I can’t be doing with welts.’ Her husband was unobservant, but even he would ask questions about welts.

Her main feeling was relief at having a reason to refuse. Yet she she felt a tingling… She imagined Dessi, wide-eyed as she told her, ‘An erotic caning? Oh, you know me. Try anything once.’ Nonchalant.

But back in reality she said to Steve, ‘I have a regular who wouldn’t like welts. What else could we do?’

‘There’s OTK, of course. That just raises a blush like a red traffic light.’

Before Steve could explain there was a knock on the door and Michael’s voice said from the corridor, ‘You’re on, you two.’

Steve called back, ‘It’ll be student-professor.’ To Adele he said, ‘This place is a bit of a warren. I’d better lead the way.’

It had started. She followed Steve along the corridor. They turned into a dark side-passage near the stairs. Almost at once they were confronted by a heavy fire door. They halted under a dim tungsten lightbulb. Michael’s voice came faintly from beyond the door.

Steve whispered, ‘Listen. Spanking. We use a signal. After each smack, wiggle your bum if you can take another one.’

Adele’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of nerves and glee. ‘But what if I just keep wiggling?’ she whispered mischievously.

‘Then I will just spank harder and harder.’

Adele spluttered, ‘Oh gosh!’

They heard Michael finish with, ‘All performers are over eighteen. Thank you very much.’

‘My cue,’ said Steve with an encouraging smile. He opened the door. Michael squeezed past them muttering fussily about a full house. Steve whispered to Adele, ‘Let me be alone on stage for ten seconds, then knock on the partition.’

‘Partition?’

But the word only met Steve’s departing back. She followed him as far as a flimsy black curtain which hung across a gap between black-painted plywood partition walls. As she mentally counted to ten she heard a masculine cough from perhaps a foot away, behind the plywood on her right. The peephole cubicles must be narrow. Through the flimsy curtain she could just make out Steve on the stage, lit by overhead spotlights and looking magisterial in his black robe. That red blur would be the ottoman.

She took a deep breath and rapped with her knuckles on the plywood.

‘Come!’ Steve commanded.

Adele pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the warm black space. As she put her high-heeled shoe on the revolving stage she wobbled, and a momentary bolt of anxiety shot through her.

‘Ah yes. Miss Smith,’ Steve said severely. ‘Stand here.’ He pointed to a spot a few feet in front of him.

Adele took her place facing him. Shoulders back. Tits out. All those lusting male eyes behind the peepholes. Actually, she had always been a good girl at school. The revolving stage made the soles of her shoes vibrate.

Steve looked her sternly up and down. ‘It has come to my attention, Miss Smith, that you have lately been in the habit of sending so-called “sexts” to boys. I have seen some examples. They are of the most disgraceful variety.’

‘So?’ said Adele defiantly.

Steve frowned into her eyes so convincingly that Adele stifled a nervous giggle and dropped her gaze. At the front of the closed academic gown something horizontal was peaking the cloth. His penis must be out of his trousers, ready for action.

‘What is worse,’ Steve continued, ‘I have been forwarded certain so-called “selfies” of a revealing character.’

Adele looked up at his face again with a teasing curl of her lips. ‘Yeah? And did you like what you see, sir?’

‘Very nice — I mean, that is beside the point, Miss Smith.’

‘How about a look at the real thing, sir?’ Adele tugged at her tie. There was a vicious tearing of Velcro and it fell to the floor. She began to undo the buttons of her blouse with tantalising slowness while Steve looked down at her bust in mock horror.

‘Miss Smith! I order you to stop that at once!’

‘Whatcher goin’ to do about it, sir? Spanking’s against the law now, sir,’ she taunted him, and undid another button. She had plainly discovered her inner pert minx.

‘Miss Smith, you will cease on the count of three or I may forget what the law forbids. Understand?’

‘Yes sir, I understand exactly.’ She popped open another button.

‘One.’

‘I understand you’re planning to spank my naughty bum, sir. Oh my!’ Another button. Now Steve’s penis was slowly elevating the black fabric of the gown. Its size was hard to judge among the hanging folds, but it was certainly bigger than her husband’s.

‘Two.’

‘That’ll make my pretty arse-cheeks lovely and rosy, won’t it, sir?’ Her blouse was only held closed by the waistband of her skirt now.

‘Three!’

Steve shot out his hand, seized her collar, and snatched her towards the ottoman. A very genuine squeal escaped her as she lost her balance. In one movement he sat down and steered her onto his lap, so that she ended up draped across his thighs with her rump pointing to the ceiling.

‘Oh sir, you’re so strong!’

‘A fact which you are shortly going to regret, young lady!’

He flicked the tartan skirt up over her back. Adele just had time to realise that this must be ‘OTK’ — Over The Knee — when she felt the back of her panties dragged down below her buttocks with one tug of his hands. Her uniform blouse was short and covered very little. Her rump was bare and at his mercy, and exposed to the gaze of the lusting punters.

And then — slap! Steve’s hand had landed squarely across both cheeks.

‘I bet you can spank a lot harder than that, sir,’ she said encouragingly, and wiggled her bum.

Slap!

Now that one stung. And — ‘Ooh, what’s this pressing up on me from between your legs, sir?’ A giggle, and another wiggle.

Slap! That one was a lot louder, and even brought an excited gasp from one of the peepholes.

‘Hmph!’ said Steve. ‘You young miscreant! I believe you know only too well what that is.’

Wiggle.

Slap!

Wiggle — an extra-wiggly wiggle against his cock where it pressed up. Heavy breathing was coming from many of the peepholes.

‘Have you learned your lesson, Miss Smith?’

‘I’ve not learned nothing, sir. Do it again sir, it’s making my arse lovely and warm.’

‘Why, you young…!’ Steve grabbed her by the back of her blouse. ‘Stand up,’ he commanded, helping her up by dragging on the blouse.

‘Bend over the stool.’

She took a step to the stool, and as she did so pulled the opening of her blouse wide of her breasts so that they were on full view. She knew men liked her dark-pink nipples. Large nipples, though her areolas were not big.

Steve’s fingers twisted in the back of her collar and his knuckles forced her down towards the stool. She placed her hands on the clear plastic seat, arms straight, but he kept pressing till she was leaning well forward with her elbows bent either side of her ribcage and her breasts hanging. Of course, he must want her rear sticking right out.

As the stage revolved the peepholes were gliding past her, downward-pointing triangles which showed the punters’ faces from their eyebrows to their lips. The nearest punter was gazing at her breasts, and the bobbing of his head showed that he was thrusting his pelvis while masturbating. She squeezed each of her nipples in turn to make them good and hard, and slid the blouse off her shoulders and down to her elbows. Then she gripped the stool again.

She expected another slap any moment, but next Steve dragged down her skirt. Then she felt Steve’s fingers hook into the waistband of her panties, and skirt and panties were going right down past her knees together. They dropped to the floor, and she stepped out of them so that she could spread her legs. With any luck Steve would get a rear view of her pussy.

Slap!

Wow! This was up a level from OTK. Her skin was sizzling.

For a moment he kept his hand against her rear, grabbed a cheek and dug his fingers in.

She took a deep breath and gave another wiggle.

Slap!

That was harder still. He was getting a proper swing of his arm now. The air of the close black room was alive with hoarse male panting.

He had grabbed her cheek again. Her bum had got a bit squidgy in the last year or two, but he obviously didn’t mind. Meanwhile, grunts and gasps came from every peephole.

Wiggle.

SLAP! A slap so loud that a short, woody reverberation thrilled from the plywood walls.

‘Oww!’

That one had jumped to a higher level still. Adele gulped. She felt as though she’d been whacked by an infuriated gorilla armed with a bunch of stinging-nettles.

Next moment one of the punters let out a string of loud, blissful groans. Steve’s mouth was suddenly by her ear. He murmured, ‘We’ve got a cummer already. Well done.’ Then he straightened up.

Adele hesitated. She must be doing things right. Still, she did not wiggle.

Steve asked sternly, ‘Have you learned your lesson now, Miss Smith?’

‘Oh, yes sir,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ve learned that you know how to make a bad girl’s pussy wet, sir.’

‘Why, you impudent young hussy! You’re going the right way about getting another spank.’

‘Please no, sir,’ said Adele hastily. This gorgeous man’s hand had got her hole aching for sex — but you could have too much of a good thing.

‘Then will you obey me from now on?’

The punters were calming down a little.

‘Yes sir. I’ll do anything you want. Anything at all.’

‘Anything?’

‘I only want to please you now, sir.’

‘I will take you at your word, young lady,’ Steve said meaningly.

A series of snaps. Steve was releasing the press-studs on his gown and shirt. A sighing rustle as they dropped to the floor. She waited breathlessly. He took a step nearer. Then she felt something shockingly thick pushed between the tops of her thighs. For a moment she thought it must be a sex toy, but there was the feel of living skin.

Pussy-juice had made the insides of her thighs slippery. She could feel the sturdy smoothness of his erection perfectly as he slid it between them, past her opening.

He must be gripping his cock by the base to angle it, because his fist arrived near her rear hole. He slid it away, then his crotch pressed forward. The rough fabric of the tweed trousers rubbed her rear, making its reddened cheeks sting. Strong hands gripped her bare shoulders. His cock-shaft was against her pussy-lips. A squeeze with her thighs drew a faint grunt of pleasure from him, but then she spread her legs a little so that he could move freely.

He stood still for a few seconds. Adele was conscious of the punters’ excited breathing again.

Then Steve began to run the shaft of his cock backwards and forwards over her wet pussy-lips. The distracting, stinging roughness of tweed had gone, so he must have dropped his trousers. She closed her eyes. God, she was so wet! If she’d needed moisturiser there was a whole potful down there, and still she was getting wetter by the second.

And then the tip of his penis was against her sex-hole. He was taking a grip on her pelvis, strong fingers grasping soft flesh.

She pleaded, ‘Sir, I promise I won’t be bad ever again if you’ll just fuck me nice, sir, please sir, right now please sir.’

Steve gave a stern grunt, but then the tip was entering her.

She took a sharp breath. The way it was stretching her! She had longed for Steve’s bigness, but she hadn’t thought about what his size would do to her sex passage. She mustn’t tense up. Then she found that though it was stretching her like no cock had ever stretched her before, it was stretching her beautifully.

He filled her in one slow, deep, relentless thrust.

His pelvis was against her rear again, flesh against flesh, his muscular firmness against her softness. He leaned forward until his torso was against her back. She felt the hair on his chest and pictured crisp grey and black curls. He reached round her and roughly seized her breasts.

A punter was exactly ahead of her. He had his eyes half-closed, watching Steve’s hands as they gripped her tits, kneading her nipples.

Steve spoke softly into her ear. ‘Straighten up.’ He moved his hands and arms down around her ribcage. She straightened, and he lifted her. Her weight drove her down, toes just brushing the floor, and she found herself deeply impaled on rigid cock, with the top of his tight balls pressing at her entrance. Behind, his crotch was so hard against her that her cheeks were forced wide apart and his coarse pubic hair pressed against her anus. She lifted her legs and crooked them behind his calves, suddenly aware of the white knee-socks between her skin and his. Her shoes had fallen off at some point.

Another punter came into view, his eyes wide beyond the peephole, his mouth an O. He was getting a good view of her whole body and Steve’s balls jammed against her pussy. She grinned happily and squeezed her nipples to give him a little extra thrill.

Steve could only make small thrusts with his pelvis in this position. She lifted one foot sideways and put it on the clear plastic footrest of the bar stool. Now she could take some weight off Steve and raise herself. Only an inch or two, but at once he was moving much more freely.

A storm of panting and grunting filled the air from the peepholes. He was licking her neck. His head nudged the straw boater. Her voice came out a breathless, yearning moan. ‘Fuck me hard, sir, and I’ll be your good obedient girl for ever.’She rolled her nipples between her fingers. ‘Oh sir, you do fuck me nice, sir.’

The stage turned. Eyes surrounded her. She vaguely realised that Steve probably wanted every one of the punters to get a front view. Well, this could go on for an hour as far as she was concerned, and the more bad men rubbed their dicks to her the better.

The peepholes passed in procession, shadowed triangles in the black walls. Adele’s gaze was caught by a pair of dark eyes fixed on Steve’s bigness as it pumped between her stretched-taut pussy lips. As the eyes passed her, the eyelids drooped, the watcher’s dark-skinned head lolled and a series of soft orgasmic moans came through the peephole.

That pushed Adele to the edge. She had never before been able to reach orgasm without attention to her clitoris, but she was heading towards a climax now. ‘Sir.’ Her voice was a sighing, pleading moan. ‘Sir, shoot me lots of cum up my pussy. Now, sir, please, sir. Please.’

But Steve was pulling out. Maybe he’d been near cumming himself. She begged pitifully, ‘Please fuck me more sir, you do it so beautiful.’

‘Silence, young lady,’ Steve replied sternly. ‘This is a lesson in unquestioning obedience.’

He released her from his arms and she stood on the floor again. His body was no longer against her. She felt him take hold of her blouse, then he was dragging it down — dragging it right off her, leaving her completely naked except for her socks, the hat and her watch. She felt a powerful hand on her upper arm. He turned her round.

‘Oh sir, you’re so masterful! Are you going to make me lie down and have my pussy licked?’

‘Certainly not.’

Adele pouted. ‘Oh sir! I taste really good, sir. I’ve often tasted myself. And I bet you’re really good at licking pussy, sir.’ She looked up at him with sly innocence. ‘You know, the women teachers will be queuing at your study door after I tell them what an amazing fuck you are, sir.’

‘What!’

‘Why sir, it’s almost like you’re not proud of your lovely big dick, sir. Don’t you want me to tell the whole school about how good you are with it, sir?’

‘No!’

‘But I shouldn’t keep it to myself, sir, should I? That would be selfish.’

‘Young lady, some moral questions are too complex for you to understand.’ Steve was struggling to keep the laughter out of his voice.

‘Maybe it would help me understand if you licked my pretty pussy, sir.’

‘Why, you cunning vixen, you!’

‘I am, aren’t I sir?’

He frowned, though his mouth still tended to curl at the corners. ‘Hmph. Perhaps if you just lie down on the ottoman with your legs open we can keep all this a secret between ourselves.’

‘Willingly, sir. I only want to be a good girl now.’

Adele sat on the ottoman. ‘Ouch, sir!’ she giggled. ‘My bum tingles so I can hardly sit down.’ She pivoted on her tingling rear nevertheless, and lay flat along the length of the red leather upholstery, carefully resting her head partly over the end because of the rim of the straw boater. But her pussy was probably not well-placed for Steve, so she pivoted on her back, shuffled her rump to the edge, spread her legs and dropped one foot to the floor.

Steve was now standing near her feet, completely naked, his magnificent erection glistening with her vaginal juices. He was clearly enjoying the sight of her body. Adele was relieved that she’d trimmed her hair down there — he was probably used to waxed pussies, but at least hers looked as though she took pride in it. To show it off she placed a hand on either side, palms down, with the tips of her thumbs touching above it. ‘Do you think I’ve got a nice one, sir?’ she asked coquettishly.

‘Allow me to inspect it more closely,’ said Steve, kneeling next to the ottoman. He pushed her free leg wider and leaned forward with his face a few inches from her wet labia. ‘A very pretty pink, Miss Smith,’ he declared, and planted a kiss.

He lifted his head to shoot her a smile so devilish he might have borrowed it from Mephistopheles, opened his mouth, and pressed his tongue flat between her inner lips. Then he slid his tongue up and down the pink valley. After a little of this he teased her inner lips with a series of little nibbling kisses, first one side, then the other.

Among the general panting she heard sighs and rough, dog-like breaths. For the pleasure of the audience she put the fingers of each hand in her mouth, gathered a lot of saliva on them, and rolled her nipples in her slippery fingers.

Steve began sucking on her clit, until he released it with a smack of his lips, teased it with rapid flicks of the tip of his tongue, then sucked it again.

‘Oh sir, sir…,’ Adele moaned.

She felt strong fingers against her thigh. Then the fingers were entering her. She was still loose from his thick erection, and it seemed he had slid four fingers inside her, pressed together. He was sliding them in and out almost to the top knuckles, stretching her again. ‘Oh sir…’

His tongue-tip was rubbing her clit. ‘Sir, sir…’ He was pressing his tongue near her cunt-hole, then running it up to her clit. A hard, wet rub of her clit, then starting again near her hole. And again. And again…

Next he put his free hand at the top of her thigh and slid it to her cunt. She felt fingers in the short pussy-curls above her clit. Now he was pulling the skin above her clit upwards, drawing the hood up. He lifted his head away from her. She craned her neck to look along her body. He was gazing at her cunt. Really looking at it. Enjoying the sight of it. She felt his hot, panting breath on her clit for a moment, then he was passionately kissing it.

She was going to cum soon. She liked her nipples treated roughly while she climaxed. She grabbed them firmly and yanked them up, twisting. Steve seemed to know she was ready — he sucked on her clit again while his tongue worked its hardest.

As she climaxed she was vaguely aware that she was moaning loudly, ‘Ooh sir!’ over and over. Many of the men were getting loud too — gasps, groans and grunts filled the warm, black space.

She emerged from the tunnel of orgasm to gaze serenely up at three spotlights and a low black ceiling, slowly revolving.

Looking along her body, Adele discovered Steve’s eyes twinkling back at her over her curl-topped pubic mount. His wicked eyes. She reached down and took his head in her hands. He raised his head and smiled at her with lips glistening with her sex juice.

The punters had gone quiet apart from some gentle panting. Maybe it was all over.

She had forgotten about ‘the moment of truth’. Steve stood up, took his proud penis in his hand and began masturbating. His fingers and thumb encircled his foreskin — she was pretty sure her own fingers wouldn’t actually meet around his cock — and he was sliding his foreskin up and down. From where she was lying his cock seemed to reach almost to his navel. He had his balls cupped in his other hand. He was gazing at her breasts, so she folded her arms under them and squeezed them together to make the most of them.

His hand worked faster, his gaze shifted to her pussy, and she was surprised by a fresh surge of lust, so soon after her climax.

He took a long, deep breath and slowed. He pushed his erection down to the horizontal. A few more steady strokes, then a rope of white sperm flung itself from the tip of the dark, smooth helmet. It splashed onto her belly just under her navel, and another one flew out and landed above it. With a half-smile of delight she gazed at this fascinating natural phenomenon. As he went on the force diminished until the rich semen was splashing straight down onto her pussy.

She could hear that a few punters had saved their own orgasms for this.

Steve sighed a long sigh, the last drop hung on the tip without falling, his shoulders relaxed, and he stood still with bowed head while the stage slowly turned.

Then the spotlights were turned off and the only light came from a green emergency exit sign above the black curtain. The stage stopped with a jerk. Adele sat up. She could dimly see Steve, bending by the stool as he took things from the floor — her shoes and panties. He straightened up, murmured, ‘Exeunt omnes,’ in her ear, and they were heading back to the dressing room.

*

Adele took the top off a bottle of mineral water and said, ‘He told me he does it to keep a little bit of the old Soho alive. He obviously doesn’t need the pay.’

‘How could you tell that?’ Dessi asked.

Adele poured some of the mineral water into the pot of the small fern she kept next to her monitor. ‘He mentioned he was going to a restaurant afterwards — I’ll remember the name in a minute — one of those famous ones. Where unless you’re a celebrity or a cabinet minister most people have to book a year in advance. He said he always eats there after a show. He was actually rather keen for me to come with him, but obviously I couldn’t.’

‘Gosh!’ Dessi dark eyes were as round as the top of the plant pot. ‘But — so — what had actually happened to Steve?’

Adele pivoted her chair back to face Dessi. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Your husband, Steve. What had happened to him?’

‘Oh, him. He’d got Berwick Street mixed up with Brewer Street. I didn’t turn up at Brewer Street, and I didn’t answer my phone, so he phoned some of his football mates and they got together in a pub quite near. There were a lot of gay people there, apparently, which would’ve made him uncomfortable normally, so I’d guess he was already a bit drunk.’ She added, ‘His team won.’

‘But when you met up — didn’t he ask what you’d been doing all that time?’

‘I pretended to be too angry to talk about it. And I made him take me to a restaurant that was about three times more expensive than the one he originally wanted. Guilt is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? I’m glad I don’t suffer from it.’