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Sex for Peter had been both a participation sport and a performance art. A duet, a dance, and a doubles match. At times a chess game of probes, combinations, and position. A waltz, rumba, tango, or a punk pogo. Then a zen moment of pure unthinking action. Yet those were only the great experiences, and sadly not all of them were up there. For those less than inspiring moments, there was the secret well of fantasy, just as we all have. To be drawn upon when thirst required it. In there, anything was possible and permissible, so long as it stayed in there. A walled garden that only he had the key to, until now.
The women who came to visit Peter online drew from that well. When the charade of actually meeting had been properly dispensed with, unspoken yet accepted. Then the real fun began. Bored housewives, single mothers, and career women messaged him to have their wildest and wickedest desires explored and articulated. Not extracted but expanded, just as you would expand a balloon. Breath, pause, breath, pause, breath. A journey deep into the underworld of impossible forbidden desire. Their comments guiding the way for his words to be the vehicle. It would not be appropriate even here to plunge too deep into the far reaches of the depravity he could explore. It would depend entirely on the ladies tastes. One may be taken to a horse race and bent over the rail at the finish line. Her her yelps of delight drowned out by the thundering of hooves and crowd. Another auctioned off in a dark room full of rich men in grey suits, cigar smoke, and old leather chairs. All within the safety of the internet. Yet that was just a beginning. It was only lately that he had discovered his true talent.
He had met their her ilk online so many times now. A small percentage of them can be found on any dating site. The lack of a profile picture, the racy biography. By now he could spot them quite quickly. To call these women cock-teasers or time-wasters was somewhat accurate, but narrow-minded. Being by now in his late 50s, he increasingly encountered these younger ladies online. Their aim was not to have sex, but to sext. Not knowing the rules had rather upset him at first. He was actually taken in by the promise of a liaison with a succulent, wanton woman by far his junior. Eventually, however, the old adage, "If it seems too good to be true, it probably is," prevailed and common sense had triumphed. It was only after the initial disappointment subsided had the enjoyment of the game itself came, and the game was called, "What will you do to me?"
Where ordinary sex fantasies ended, Peter had taken a leap forward. To be unrestrained by statutes or morality was one thing. What he had come to realize was that he was also restrained by any possibilities physical or metaphysical. Once a woman had entered his world, he could take her anywhere and do anything. He had succeeded in becoming what he had failed to be in his relationships. All things to all women and more. In his time, he had been the good looking teacher or collage professor they had a crush on. Keeping them back after class. The counselor who had touched them inappropriately on a Sunday school picnic. Yet this time she would not run to her parents crying of a stomach ache, but stare boldly at him as he buried his fingers in the hinge of her white panties. Unashamedly embracing and taking control of the new sexuality growing within. Perhaps, thought he, that there was a kind of therapy involved here. One spinster from a religious background. Never seemed to tire of him being the devil himself, complete with horns, etc. Once a month, beneath the pop idol posters and crucifix that adorned the wall, he would deflower her in the adolescent bedroom. Whilst simultaneously ravishing her older sister with his tail. The massive phallus of medieval drawings would cleave aside her maidenhood. Yet leaving it seemingly untouched in the morning. Though his favorite that he kept for special travelers was the time machine, they would both go back and visit themselves. Then arrange a foursome. Their former young firm bodies indulging in straight, gay, and lesbian sex, with more experienced and liberated versions. The fact that it was actually them, that they were having this orgy with, conveniently blurred the line between homosexuality and masturbation. Not only that, but each sensation would instantly become a memory as well. So if you touched your younger self, then you would also remember being touched. A concept only a few of his visitors could grasp.
SuxieQ45 was one his new regulars. A single mom with the usual daddy issues. Holding down a full-time teaching job and raising two kids. When she messaged him, he would give her a vacation from responsibility and control. A charabanc mystery day tour excursion of submission. Leaving her as sexually fulfilled and as unburdened as he could. Hopefully, he supposed better equipped to face the next week of being the woman they all depended on. He had not gone too far out yet, but the things he had done to her included forcing her to tit wank every man in a dockyard pub for drinks, masturbating in an Amsterdam window, and giving him a blow job in church. Then she would be gone till the next time his board rang.
It was a dull April Saturday morning. The first coffee had been downed and the empty cup sat surrounded by its previous rings on the desk beside the keyboard. The morning news was on the TV as Peter idly checked his boards, SuxieQ45: "Hi." This was not like her. Like most, she was an evening traveler. Her time was 8 PM to midnight. In between the kids going to bed and the end of the bottle of white.
"Horny? x"—his standard response, but this time instead of the usual "Always x" there came back.
"Where shall we go today?"
A well-worn opening gambit, which was again partially declined by:
"Your place x"
"Okay let me see"
"NO... YOUR PLACE"
Peter had lived in lots of different dwellings from a scrapyard port-o-cabin to a large fully-staffed country house. All within the confines of the keyboard. Never had she asked for any reality before.
"I WANT YOU not the story you but real YOU!!"
"Are you okay Suxie?"
"no im not but thats ok 2 coz if i wasnt i wldnt b fkn asking"
"Have you been drinking? x"
"yes but only a couple" "its shit and i want out ive had enough" "take me to yours please NOW"
The messages coming though as fast as Morse code in a frenzy of desperate SOS calls. "She was sinking fast," thought Peter. So he asked her "What up Suxie?"
"me im up for it. thats all you need to no. do you want me now?"
"Yes of course," he answered without thinking. Then regretted his haste. "Perhaps, she is just testing me or maybe she will calm down and back out if I call her bluff," he half-thought. So he typed in the hard close, "Address and phone number?"
It was quite a shock that they not only came back but also with an attached "how long will u b?"
"Okay, I have to tidy mine a little and have a shower plus the drive time. Let's say 1 1/2 hours."
"just shower. i dont care about tidy"
"Sure 1 hour then? x"
The flat was far from clean. Despite her protestations to the contrary. He felt obliged to a least dispose of the empty beer cans and used tissues that were the usual ornaments adorning his coffee table. The single bachelor life left him little inclined to do housework. His love making, now mostly confined to cyberspace, also provided even less of an incentive to spring clean. However, it would have to suffice. What was more pressing was his lack of clean underwear to change into. "Okay, well, if this is not a day to go commando then what is?" he thought and as he carefully zipped up his fly, making sure all his bits were ensconced jokingly saying, "I'll be back." A quick check to see if he had everything needed, phone with address and number typed in—yes; keys—yes; ah blue pill? Better take one now, his friend who had given them to him said they can take a while to work. Then just as he left he grabbed a grey scarf off the rack.
It was 35 miles or so to her address. Even with good traffic, he would be hard pushed to make it on time. Starting out he telephoned her on hands-free. This was for several reasons. One: Make sure she was still up for it. Two: To verify it was actually her number and three to find out what had prompted her mayday call. Her voice was high pitched, but soft. A bit calmer than her frantic messages had led him to believe, slurred, but still eager for him to come. It transpired that she had had a row with her ex over child support. He had come to take the kids out and have them overnight. A planned trip to a theme park had only exacerbated matters with her exclaiming, "We eat fish fingers through the week but you can afford theme park money!" To further add insult to injury her best friend with whom a girlie day out had been planned had canceled at the last minute. In consequence the bottle of chardonnay had been opened at 9 am and was nearly gone when she messaged. "Time to take charge," thought Peter.
"Get in the shower, get dressed, but leave your knickers off," and then he abruptly hung up.
He was a pretty normal guy. His sex life in the real world had up to this point had been good but rather vanilla. Although he enjoyed porn in the usual way but the vast distance between the images upon his screen and his own personal limitations were insurmountable. He could enjoyably watch an orgy yet doubted ever participating in one. He felt that he would be too self-conscious and shy. Added to this, porn had become far too predictable. His journeys far to wild and impossible. So it was not without a considerable amount of anxiety that he approached this encounter.
The address was in a nondescript housing estate on the outskirts of the city. Children's small bikes left in front yards and little room to park. A quick text to say he was waiting and in what car, then the anticipation. When she emerged it was no great shock. A little overweight, around 42 to 45, she wore a short black leather skirt with matching bag, with a blue blouse that showed off her ample bosom. Light blond hair that could have been done better and a little too much make up for this time in the morning. Yet she was a looker and any faults in preparation could be easily attributed to her state of mind and lack of sobriety.
It took a lot of courage for him to think of what he would actually do at this juncture. The chasm between thought and deed he concluded would be best straddled one piece at a time. Here was his first. He came out of the driving seat and held the passenger door open for her.
"Hi..." she started to say in a high pitched nervous way, but he looked in piercingly deep into her blue eyes then placed his fingers upon her lips.
"Primrose, you look delightful and I want you to do exactly as I say. Can you do that, Primrose?"
"But my name's not..."
Again, he gently put his fingers to her lips and staring into her said, "Today your name is Primrose, and you do exactly what I tell you to do. Nod if you understand."
Her eyes grew a little wider as she nodded.
"If at any time you wish to cease being Primrose, then all you have to do is say SuzieQ and you will be free. Nod if you understand."
Again, she nodded but with a smile curling around cheeks.
"Now please sit in the car, Primrose," he said taking hold of her bag.
Primrose dutifully sat in the car, but when she reached for the seat belt, Peter firmly grabbed her wrist saying, "I only told you to sit." Then taking the buckle from her fingers reached over and put it into its clasp. As he did this his face came to within an inch of hers. His eyes bore directly into hers and then gazed down the heaving bosom of her blouse.
His eyes then returned to hers and he said, "That was not a good start, Primrose. I really should punish you for that but seeing as we just began our journey I will let it go. However, you did sit when commanded and a small reward is appropriate." Eyes still burning into hers he placed the lightest of kisses on her pouting lips. She leaned forward eagerly wanting more but he had pulled away by then. What happened next surprised her. Instead of just closing the passenger door he climbed into the back seat behind her. Then taking the grey scarf he folded it three times to make a blindfold, that then was knotted firmly at the side of her face. She felt his hands undo the top two buttons of the blue blouse and his fingers gently stroke the top of her left breast. Then the drivers side door was heard closing and the engine started.
The next step was also carefully planned on the drive down. As Peter switched on the car stereo, out of the speakers came a deep tones of Richard Burton reading "Under Milk Wood" by Dylan Thomas. Words washed in and out of her. "Starless and bible black... slowblack, slow, black, crowblack." The very voice seemed reach down into her fears and sooth them away like unseen arms cradling her. Eventually she felt the car reach a constant pitch and direction. "They must be on the motorway now," she thought as the words "I love you more than all the flannelette and calico" made her moist.
"Did you do as I asked on the phone?" She jumped a little. It was the first words he had spoken since the drive had began and the contrast between his real voice and the haunting welsh lilt startled her.
"Yes I did," she said.
"Show me." His voice was gentle yet firm, like suede.
"She could back out now. Say the password and pull this stupid scarf off and ask him to turn around. She should, she should. After all the crazy things he had said online god knows what he had in store for her later. He could have half a dozen mates all set to gang bang her for all she knew." Ashamed that even that thought did not stop her. Instead she did as he asked. Lifting her bum off the seat, she pulled at the skirt.
"Slowly," he commanded and so saying she felt his hand unzip the side of her leather skirt. "Is that easier, darling?"
It was that word "darling" that got to her. Trepidation disappeared in an instant. It brushed away misgivings like straw from her hair. She had not been at the center of anybody's world for such a long, long time. "Darling" she whispered as the skirt climbed upward past the mound of pubic hair.
"Not expecting guests, I see."
Her hands almost brought the leather back down, till a stern voice said, "NO." She froze till much softer he said, "It's lovely." Then something brushed lightly though tangled diamond.
"Oh god! oh god, oh god, ohgod, ohgod, ogod, ogod, ogod, ogod, ogod... what the fuck was that?" As if rainwater had gone down the back of her neck, she clenched shoulders, buttocks, thighs and cervix. The gasp throwing breasts into the air and exclaiming, "Fuck me in a hedgerow. I want you to touch me. Oh god just do it please." Her pelvis trembling. The desire to put her hand between her legs was almost overwhelming. Yet it was forbidden and she must not.
Peter had positioned the car behind a slow moving lorry. The guy that does 55 MPH all day and all night. A perfect spot to save fuel and be least likely to fall foul of distractions.
He grabbed her leg, purposefully drove through the tight gap short of the knee and then pulled it towards him. The foot resting on what she assumed was a cup holder. Somehow the stereo had stopped. Her quim exposed to the sky, blouse half undone, yet no embarrassment or guilt could dilute the sensation of his hand stroking her thigh. If anything it intensified and amplified it. Each stroke like an incoming tide lapping inevitably closer and closer to its high water point.
"How long before journey's end?" she thought. The exquisite torture of his hands caress. It touched everywhere except where desire longed for it to be. Time meant nothing, just the lapping of the sea. When it came too close it would change direction. Veering off to some point in the distance. It took an eternity before he got to her lips. By now her clitous felt like it would explode. Then the lightest of touches did that precisely and exactly. The whole center of her being was sent into convulsions by the softest and quietest note in a cacophony of sensations.