A Night to Forget

Spending the evening at a "Masked Black and White Ball", especially one given by somebody I consider to be a pretentious prat, is not high on my list of pleasurable events.

Unfortunately, my lovely wife Maeve was looking forward to the event. And I found out years ago that when Maeve sets her heart on something, it's easier to give in and agree from the start.

"So.' She asked over breakfast. 'What are you going to wear for the ball? Got anything in mind?"

Without being a mind reader, I could see she had something in mind for me. So I answered quickly.

"Oh, yes. I'm going as James Bond. OO7.' I tilted up my chin and ran my fingers over my cheekbones. 'Of course, I do have the advantage of being a dead-ringer for Daniel Craig.' A glance at Maeve told me she was prepared to argue, so I went on quickly. 'It is a black and white ball, so all I need to do is take my tuxedo to the dry cleaners, maybe buy a white carnation for the button hole, and voila! Instant license to kill.' It was obvious she was still not convinced, so I added hurriedly, 'what are you going as?"

Maeve folded her fingers beneath her chin and smiled smugly.

"Little Bo Peep."

I choked on my coffee. When she had stopped laughing, she said,

"You should have seen your face! Priceless! Actually, I'm going as the Scottish Widows' Woman. You know, the one on the advert who wears the swirling black velvet cloak with the hood drawn around her face. That should be pretty dramatic, worn with a white Venetian carnival mask."

She was right. She would look wonderful.

"Great. The only problem is that it's going to be held on the last Friday of the month. You know that's the one day where I'm always late home from work ..."

I tailed the words off suggestively. I needn't have bothered.

"Of course it is. How clever of you to decide to wear a tuxedo. You can take it in to the dry cleaners the day before, and collect it at lunchtime. That way you can change into it at work and nobody will think anything of it.' Before I could point out that that would make both of us very late, she added, 'don't worry about coming back here to pick me up. Suzi's been invited as well. I'll get a taxi to her place and get changed there, and she says she'll drive us both to the ball."

I know when I'm beaten.

"Great." I said.

At least it meant I could have a drink. Or two.

Grudgingly, I had to admit I was impressed by the venue. A fabulous barn conversion with a huge, open-plan lower floor and a mezzanine I assumed held bedrooms and bathrooms. As soon as the door was opened, I was met by the sound of music -- something that sounded like jazz/classical fusion to my uneducated ears -- played by a quartet of pretty young people on a raised dais, competing with the hum of people laughing and talking.

I stared round, searching for Maeve in the crush. I didn't see her so I made for the bar.

"Vodka martini, please. Shaken not stirred." What else, I thought complacently. One had to keep in character, surely!

I propped the bar up and glanced around, still looking for Maeve. Through the sea of people who filled the room, I finally caught a glimpse of her in front of the French doors. But by the time I had politely pushed my way through the guests (and who, I wondered, had thought it was a good idea to dress up as Charlie Chaplin's 'Little Tramp' in a dusty old black suit and white shirt? Or even worse, the Arab sheik in flowing white robes and a black keffiyeh? I began to feel quite smug about my own stylish tux) and reached the French doors I was taken aback to find Maeve was no longer there.

A quick scan of the room found her talking to a small, plump woman dressed as a nun. I had to admit that Maeve's choice of costume worked brilliantly. The sweeping cloak made her look tall and elegant, while the white carnival mask added a touch of mystery. She glanced up as I approached and smiled; her lips were as perfectly scarlet as a geisha's against the white mask. Immediately, I wanted to kiss those lips.

Hard.

I didn't get the chance. A man and a woman dressed, I assumed, as a Roman and his wife in trailing white togas, got in my way. By the time I had skirted them she had gone again.

I smiled at the nun, said "Great party!" and moved on before she could answer. I lost Maeve for a few minutes; just long enough to get a refill from the bar. As an afterthought, I asked for a second martini.

"It's for my wife." I assured the surprised barman.

This time, Maeve was harder to find. I stood on tip-toe and scanned the room. There she was, by the staircase. I lifted my hand and waved at her, and she raised her hand in return.

I thought I had been married long enough for nothing to surprise me about my own wife, but that night proved me wrong. Maeve held her hand up, palm inward, and then slowly and deliberately crooked a single finger at me in invitation. The gesture was so intimate in a room full of people it was deeply erotic.

A second later, she turned in a swirl of cloak skirts and seemed to float up the stairs. I looked at the second martini in my hand and resisted the impulse to down it in one gulp.

The mezzanine was dimly lit with glowing lights at floor level. I walked down slowly, feeling oddly light-headed, although that may have had something to do with the effect of two powerful vodka martinis on an empty stomach. All the doors I passed were firmly shut, until I almost reached the end of the corridor. The final door was slightly open. Invitingly open. I paused and then pushed it fully open quickly.

"Hello, there. It's a long way down to the bar. I wondered if you might like a drink?"

Maeve was lying full-length on a king-size bed, propped up on a mound of pillows. Her scent hit me at once; spicy and heavy, totally unliked her normal light, floral perfume.

Immediately I remembered the days after I first met her, when I couldn't even think about her without getting an erection. Just like I had now, so stiff it was tenting out the front of my trousers.

"Thank you. What is it?"

Maeve's voice was as husky as I felt.

"Vodka martini. Shaken not stirred." The cliché sounded quite appropriate.

"Of course, what else? Do come in Mr. Bond. And shut the door behind you. And lock it."

"Call me James." I growled. Two could play at this game. "And what do I call you, madam?"

"Oh, just call me ... M."

Maeve took the glass from my hand. Her fingers brushed against me and I felt a mild shock of static.

"Delicious.' She took a sip and then put the glass down. 'Time we got better acquainted, James."

I goggled as she undid her hood and threw back the enveloping cloak. I expected her to take off her carnival mask, but she left it in place. I had just enough time to register that the silk lining of the cloak was exactly the same shade of scarlet as her lipstick when my eyes focused on her body, and all other thoughts were ousted by total lust.

She was wearing a black basque, cut invitingly low over her breasts and high at her hips. Suspenders held up sheer black stockings; my eyes fixed on the strip of lithe, tanned flesh between them and the tiny pair of panties -- shockingly, purely white -- that peeped coyly from beneath the basque. As I watched breathlessly, she tugged teasingly at the ribbon that held the basque together.

"Allow me." I said throatily.

Maeve held her hands apart with the palms open in invitation. I sat on the edge of the bed and yanked the ribbon, praying it would not be knotted; that I would not fall on the floor and make a complete arse of myself; that I would not overbalance and fall head-first into her cleavage.

Maeve would have laughed at my hesitation. M did not. She smiled secretly. And waited silently.

The ribbon came undone at once. The two halves of the basque eased apart. As if she was suddenly impatient, M stretched, thrusting her breasts upward. Each breast was revealed slowly, like a glorious mystery. She cupped her hands beneath each, offering them to me.

I needed no urging. I leaned forward and sucked on her nipples, then raised my head and paused. M sighed in disappointment but I did not move. A moment later and she was gasping with pleasure as the cool night air raised her nipples to exquisite tenderness. I watched as they puckered, enjoying her response.

Satisfied, I leaned forward and began to lick from between her breasts, down her stomach; finally reaching her panties. They were absurdly tiny, more of a cache-sex than anything. My hands had found her breasts by then and I was reluctant to move them, so I tugged the panties away with my teeth.

When did Maeve get a Brazilian? Had she and Suzi done this for each other, earlier today? I found the idea of two women touching each other's sex so intimately deeply arousing. I rubbed my nose against the landing strip on each side of her opening and she arched against me, forcing my lips into her slit.

I responded in the way I knew she loved, licking the inside of her vaginal lips, flicking my tongue in and out teasingly. Only when she groaned did I slow down and allowed my tongue to slide up and down her wet flesh, loving the clean, slightly perfumed taste of her. Teasingly slowly, I moved my lips up to her clitoris, first licking and then taking her love button in my teeth, rolling it against my tongue.

Maeve -- M -- arched her back, trying to force more of me inside her. I could hear her breath rasping in her throat, and then her hands laced across the back of my head and she was forcing my face into her slit, rubbing herself up and down against me like a cat on heat.

My erection was pulsing with anticipation. I pulled my head away and began to lick back up her stomach, my lips wet with her juices. M moaned in disappointment and I fastened on her nipple hungrily as my hand took the place of my lips.

She was slippery wet. Wanting to tease, I inserted a single finger into her wetness. She thrust against me immediately, hard, and I allowed another finger and then another to follow the first. M was writhing wildly beneath me and I gave in to her desire and pushed all my fingers inside her. Still she writhed and pushed and I pulled back far enough to allow me push my whole hand inside her, then made a fist and rotated it, pushing all the time.

M screamed with either pleasure or pain or both. By that time, I was too crazed with desire to care which it was. Somehow, I managed to keep my pulsing hand in place as I fumbled with my zip and released my penis, positioning myself so it reared close to her face.

At once, her mouth opened in invitation. I maneuvered the head so it brushed against her lips. Her tongue flicked out, there and gone again teasingly. I thrust hard, trying to force my cock as far into her mouth as I could. Immediately, her teeth snapped shut, denying me entry. The message was clear -- this was her party. I played by her rules or not at all.

With a massive effort of will, I stayed still. M parted her lips slowly and back came the flicking tongue, although this time it did not content itself with touching just the head of my prick, but searched across and round, forcing itself beneath my foreskin. When I was close to screaming with lust, M closed her lips suddenly, sucking hard and fiercely on my cock.

Not content with that, she began to bite. Almost tenderly at first, and then harder and harder still.

"Pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin, James.' Her voice was muffled by my prick, but I heard her anyway. She bit once more, to make sure I was paying attention - I was! I was! -- and then pulled her head away to let me plop out of her lips. 'Now, let's see what you can really do for me."

I was shaking with anticipation.

M planted her hand on my chest and pushed me firmly to her side. My hand slid out of her with the movement, and both that and my cock immediately felt cheated.

But M was not finished with me. She threw herself back on the pillows, her arms and legs spread wide. Her breasts jutted firmly; her trimmed bush invited.

I needed no further urging. I rolled on top of her, gripping her hands tightly so she was pinioned. I opened her leg with my knee and then forced my penis inside her in one jab. I sank deep, delighted by her heat.

In spite of her wet arousal, her cunt was tight. As soon as I was inside her, it became tighter still, holding me in place more effectively than if she had grasped it with her hand.

She laughed silently at my amazement, her mouth a deep, dark hole.

I couldn't move. I tried; I could rock my body freely, but my prick was imprisoned and at her command. She relaxed her internal muscles slightly, and I plunged in response. She allowed the movement then tightened again, trapping me in place.

My need was sky-rocketing. I was so frustrated I nearly threw my head back and bayed like a dog, worshipping the full moon. I tried to thrust forward again, but she had my prick in a vice.

Very slowly, she relaxed slightly. It seemed to me that her domination had swelled me way beyond my usual size. Or was it just that her muscles were holding me so tightly I seemed to fill every fraction of her cunt?

The madness of needing to fuck above all else was consuming me. I thrust again, as cautiously as I could manage, and found she had relaxed enough to let me move. I thrust again and again until I knew I was about to explode. Was M ready? I had no idea. I couldn't help myself anyway.

I came with an explosion that flung my head back. The semen flowed from me so fiercely I surprised myself. Finally, the gush stuttered and stopped and I relaxed, ready to slide off M's sweat-slippery body.

But she was having none of that.

She fastened her hands on my ribs, holding me in place. At the same time, those amazing internal muscles tightened on my increasingly flaccid prick. She began to rock herself against me, slight movements at first and then with increasing urgency.

To my amazement, I felt my sleeping cock begin to wake up. A minute later and I was hard again, and ready to go. I heard M laugh with obvious pleasure and then she was riding me hard, hard, harder.

I was almost at the point of coming again when she slowed, and at the same time her grip on my cock clenched still further. A moment later and she threw back her head, her mouth wide and her whole body tense. I came again with her. She finally rolled off me, panting with pleasure.

I lay still, hardly believing what had happened. Absurdly, I realized that my trousers and underpants were around my ankles and that my shirt was still fully buttoned, my tie half way around my neck. I had not even had time to get undressed, or take off my mask.

M broke my reverie.

"That was quite excellent, James.' She purred. 'I really could do with a drink, now. As you're almost dressed, do you think you could get me one? A gin and tonic, with plenty of ice. No lemon."

She spoke in the tone of somebody who was used to being obeyed. Instantly. I got up at once, hitching up my pants and underwear and straightening my tie. I was in need of a drink myself, and I rather hoped that a miracle might happen and by the time I got back I would be ready for another go.

We could, of course, just go home and pick up where we left off. But it would not be the same as doing it in a strange bed, in a strange house, with the possibility of being disturbed. I prickled with excitement at the thought.

I had to wait at the bar. Eventually, I got M's gin and tonic and another vodka martini for me, and went back upstairs as quickly as I could without spilling the drinks. I opened the door with my elbow and knew at once that something had changed.

Without even glancing at the bed, I knew M had gone. The room felt empty. Still hopeful, I put the drinks down on a bedside cabinet and checked the bathroom.

Empty.

I sagged with disappointment and drank my martini without tasting it.

Then an idea came to me. Of course, M -- Maeve -- was teasing. She had probably found Suzi and persuaded her to take her home. Where she would be waiting for me in her black basque and tiny panties.

All my fantasies about the illicit pleasures of having sex in a strange place fled. I was out of there and into the car before you could say 'license to kill.'

"Maeve.' Now I was back home, I felt slightly silly calling her M. 'Where are you?"

"I'm in bed."

My lust climbed down a notch at once. Maeve sounded woeful, almost as if she had been crying. Was she regretting our erotic sex already? I hoped not. I climbed the stairs two at a time and pushed open our bedroom door.

Maeve was back alright. But by some alchemy she was Maeve again. Not M.

"What is it, babe?' I said cautiously. She had been crying. Her face was blotchy and her eyes smeared. Bye-bye more hot sex.

I sat on the edge of the bed and managed a smile.

Maeve looked at me dolefully. "I've had the most horrible evening, and I couldn't even get hold of you on your mobile 'phone. It just rang and rang and you didn't answer. Were you so busy enjoying yourself you couldn't be bothered?"

I licked my lips, wondering what the hell was going on? To gain time, I said,

"Sorry, love. It wouldn't fit into any of my pockets in the tuxedo, so I left it in the car. What ... what's the matter?"

She said icily, "Didn't you even wonder where I was?"

I glanced at her cloak, thrown over the back of a chair. A black cloak. With a grey lining. I swallowed convulsively as I began to wonder exactly what had been going on this evening.

"Of course I did. Look, I was even later leaving work than I expected. I got to the ball and searched everywhere for you. When I couldn't find you, I had a quick drink to be polite and then came straight home.' The lies poured fluidly from my lips. 'What happened? Are you alright?"

Maeve sighed and her lower lip trembled. She believed me; I could tell from that lip. I sent up a silent prayer of relief.

"I'm alright, but Suzie isn't. We were just about to leave her house when she tripped over the cat and hurt her arm. We've been in A & E all evening. Turned out she's sprained her wrist. I drover her home and then got a taxi back here. I've only just got in myself."

"Oh, dear.' I said lamely. 'Poor Suzie."

My mind was literally whirling. Maeve had never got to the ball? In that case, who the hell was M? And what had I done...

Maeve smiled and shrugged.

"It could have been worse. We thought she'd broken it at first. Still, now you're home, maybe we could have an early night? Make up for the disappointment?"

A grin fixed itself on my face like a rictus. Maeve sat up in bed and the sheet slipped down. She was wearing a pale pink basque, embroidered with sweet little rosebuds. And tights, not stockings. The effect was more yummy-mummy than erotic. She slid one of the basque's straps down in a come-and-get- me gesture.

"Wow. Great idea." I lied. I waited for some response from my exhausted cock, but none came. Oh, well. Worry about that later. Her tears forgotten, Maeve giggled.

"Suzie said she wasn't at all surprised it had happened. It's her birthday today, and she says she always expects something nasty to happen on her birthday. She said it was her own fault for being born on April Fool's Day."

Deep in my mind, a jeering, cynical voice commented,

"Happy April Fool's Day, Mr. Bond."