tagExhibitionist & VoyeurBest Seat in the House

Best Seat in the House


I was just 20 when I first went to work at Monet & Co.

It would be nice to think that I got the job because I was clever, witty and wise beyond my years. But I'm pretty sure the fact that my aunt was a high-profile art historian and a good friend of Monet & Co's chairman may have had something to do with it as well.

My very first day at the Bloomsbury office was the Tuesday after August Bank Holiday Weekend. As I walked in that morning, almost everyone else from the sales and marketing department seemed to be walking out. 'Trade fair. Frankfurt,' my new boss Janet explained.

With just Janet and me in the office -- and Janet spending most of her time on the phone -- there wasn't a lot for me to do.

Soon after lunch, Janet said: 'Look, James, things are a bit slow today. Why don't you have a half day? That way, I won't feel so bad when I have to ask you to work all weekend -- as I'm sure I will at some stage.'

Which is why, shortly after two o'clock, I found myself back in Islington where I had the use of my aunt's townhouse while she was away in New York for a month.

There were probably 101 things I could have done with my unexpected afternoon off. And there were probably almost as many things that I should have done. But it was a beautiful afternoon: warm, clear, with just the slightest hint of a breeze.

So, I changed into a pair of running shorts and headed out into Aunt Helen's tiny back garden to catch a bit of sunshine. For entertainment, I took with me the well-thumbed copy of The Delta of Venus that I had discovered among my aunt's cookbooks.

Now I know that Anaïs Nin's work is generally considered to be at the more literate end of erotica but, trust me, it still managed to get my 20-year-old blood pumping. By the time I'd read a couple of the stories, I was thinking that perhaps I should head back inside for a bit of self-administered relief.

It was at that point that I noticed a gate in the garden fence. I don't know what made me notice it. But, as soon as I did, it began to open. I remember thinking it must have been the wind -- even though, as I said, there was only a very light breeze that afternoon.

It wasn't the wind though. It was woman.

She looked to be in her late 40s. She was neither tall nor short, but nicely proportioned with well-developed breasts and broadish hips befitting a woman who had seen more than 40 summers.

Her strawberry blond hair was cut in what I believe is known as a bob. And I noticed she was wearing bright red sandals. I noticed the sandals because, apart from a pair of lightly-tinted sunglasses, the sandals were all that she was wearing.

She didn't notice me at first. I wondered if I should say something. Then, suddenly, she spotted me. 'Ah,' she said. 'Didn't expect anyone to be here. Let me see, you must be James. Yes?'

I nodded, trying hard to look at her face rather than at the neatly-trimmed patch of salt-and-pepper pubic hair that was directly in my line of sight. 'I am,' I said.

'Molly,' she said, reaching out to shake my hand. 'We're next door. Nice to meet you. Helen told us you were coming, but I didn't think it was until next week.'

'I arrived in the weekend,' I told her.

She nodded. 'That explains it,' she said. 'We were away.'

'Right,' I said -- not knowing what else to say.

For a second or two she scanned the cloudless blue sky. 'What a glorious afternoon.' Then, tilting her head to one side, she said: 'So, what's the book?' And before I had a chance to reply, she answered her own question. 'Ah, Delta of Venus. Yes. Not bad, is it? Are you enjoying it? Yes, of course you are,' she said, and she nodded in the direction of my crotch. 'Right. Well. I'll leave you to it. Shouldn't have interrupted really.'

'Right,' I said -- still not knowing what else to say.

As Molly was about to disappear whence she had come, she paused and turned. 'Gerald should be home by six,' she said. 'Come over. We'll have a G and T.'

'Right,' I said for a third time.

'Just casual,' she added.

Molly's unexpected -- and somewhat unconventional -- visit had done nothing to alleviate my need for a bit of sexual relief. As soon as I was sure that she had indeed gone, I went back into the house and enjoyed a first-rate wank while standing in the kitchen.

I must confess, for a moment or two, I wondered whether I had dreamed the whole thing. But a glance out of the kitchen window confirmed that there was indeed a garden, there was a gate, and it was slightly open.

Pretty much spot on six o'clock, I was knocking on my new neighbours' front door.

After a few moments, the door was opened by a man who looked to be in his early 50s. He was neatly dressed in a polo shirt and what my grandfather would have described as a pair of linen 'slacks'. 'Ah, James,' he said warmly, as though he'd known me all my life. 'Come on in. Hasn't it been a glorious day?'

'Glorious,' I said.

'By the way, I'm Gerald,' he said. 'But then I suppose you'd already worked that out. Come on in,' he said again. 'What will it be? G and T? Or would you prefer a cold lager?'

I opted for a cold lager, but Gerald's mind must have been elsewhere at that particular moment because he lined up three crystal tumblers and put a generous slosh of Tanqueray into each of them. The gin was followed by some ice, and then a token splash of tonic water.

Hanging above the sideboard where the drinks tray stood there was a large elaborately-framed painting of a nude. I recognised the model as a slightly younger Molly.

'Here you go,' Gerald said, handing me one of the triple-strength G & Ts. 'We'll go and join Molly. She's enjoying the last of the sunshine.'

I followed Gerald through the kitchen and out into the garden where Molly was reclining on a steamer chair. For a brief moment, I thought that she was still naked. But she wasn't. She was wearing a soft, silky skirt that almost exactly matched the colour of her tanned legs and a slightly paler silky T-shirt that draped beautifully over her ample breasts.

'James, nice to see you again,' she said.

'And you,' I said, doing my best not to stare at her breasts.

'Your aunt mentioned you're doing something in art,' Gerald said.

'Monet & Co,' I told him. 'Just started today.'

'What's that? A gallery?'

'Fine art publishers,' I said.

'Ah-ha,' Gerald said enthusiastically. 'Up market smut.'

'Limited edition art prints,' I told him.

Gerald shrugged his shoulders. 'Same thing,' he said.

'Actually, from what I've seen so far, most of the current catalogue seems to be still life or stylised landscape,' I said.

He seemed disappointed. 'What, no racy nudes?'

'A few,' I admitted.

'I knew there would be. A bit of titillation. Like the odd nude, do you?' Gerald asked.

I don't think I'd ever been asked that question before -- certainly not by a middle-aged man who I'd only just met. 'Not sure,' I said.

'Oh, come on, you must have a view,' he said.

'I suppose I do,' I said.

'What? Suppose you have a view? Or suppose you like the odd nude?'

'Well, both -- probably,' I said.

Gerald took a generous swig of his gin and tonic. 'Good. We'll have to show you some of ours. Get your opinion -- since you're an expert and all that.'

'Hardly an expert,' I protested. 'As I said, I only started today.'

'Makes you more of an expert than either of us,' Gerald said. 'How's your drink?'

'Very nice,' I said, politely. The reality, however, was that after just a couple of sips I felt that I was losing all feeling in my tongue. Gerald certainly knew how to mix a drink with a kick.

For the next 15 or 20 minutes, we did the English thing and talked about the weather: how good it had been for the past couple of weeks; how bad it had been for the two weeks before that (and ruined their long weekend in Cornwall); and how global warming just seemed to be giving everyone colder winters. How does that work?

Suddenly Gerald said: 'So James, Molly tells me you're an Anaïs Nin fan.'

I wondered what else she had told him. 'Not really a fan,' I mumbled.

Gerald looked both surprised and disappointed. 'Oh,' he said. 'You don't enjoy her stuff?'

'I've only read a couple of stories -- well, so far anyway.'

'Oh, I see what you mean,' he said. 'But they worked? Gave you a bit of a stiffy, did they?'

'Gerald,' Molly said sternly. 'James may not wish to share that particular piece of information with you.' Although, clearly, she already had.

'Oh, I didn't mean literally,' he said. And then, after a moment, he said: 'Well, actually I suppose I did. I mean ... well, that's what Nin wrote the stuff for, wasn't it? Isn't that the whole point of erotica? Not much good if it doesn't give you a bit of a stiffy. May as well read The Times. Like having too much tonic in your gin. May as well have the tonic on its own. Speaking of which,' he said, 'who's ready for the other half.'

Molly said that she was pacing herself, leaving room for a small glass of wine with supper.

'Fair enough,' Gerald said. 'James?'

I also declined. I still had at least three-quarters of a glass of rocket fuel to go.

'Oh well, just me then,' Gerald said. 'Can't fly on one wing.' And he headed off to refill his glass.

'You'll stay for supper, I hope,' Molly said.

'Well -- '

'Yes, of course you will,' Molly said. (She had a disconcerting way of looking me up and down as she spoke.) 'Nothing fancy,' she said. 'Just a bit of grilled sea bass and some salad. Oh, and I think Gerald bought some oysters too. I hope you like oysters.'

I said that I did, and Molly looked pleased.

Actually, the supper was very good, very good indeed. Molly revealed herself to be an excellent cook. 'Just a bit of grilled sea bass' turned out to be a dish worthy of a top restaurant. And the bottle of Premier Cru Chablis that Gerald produced was as good as anything I'd tasted up to that point in my life.

Towards the end of the meal, Molly announced that she needed to 'powder her nose'. I noticed that, as she left the room, she gave Gerald a little nod.

'Oh, yes,' he said -- as though he had just remembered something. And then, turning to me, he said: 'Perhaps we should have another glass of wine. What do you reckon? After all, it is Friday.'

'Actually, it's only Tuesday,' I said.

'Are you sure?' he said.

'Monday yesterday,' I told him.

'Oh well, in that case, we definitely need another -- or at least I do.'

As he returned from the kitchen with another bottle of Chablis, Gerald looked a little concerned, worried almost. 'Look, old chap,' he said, his forehead crinkling in a small frown, 'slightly delicate matter, but Molly and I -- well, Molly that is -- no, I suppose both of us really -- we like a bit of an audience, if you see what I mean.'

I didn't. Were they about to do a turn at the piano? If they were, that was fine. I just hoped they weren't expecting me to do one too. I might have had piano lessons for most of my childhood, but that didn't mean I could actually play.

'For the old bedroom gymnastics,' Gerald added. 'We find it takes it to another level on the old excitement ladder. I mean, if you'd rather not ... well, that's understandable. No hard feelings. But Molly rather thought you might, well, you know, enjoy it.'

For a moment or two I didn't know what to think. Had I heard correctly? Did bedroom gymnastics mean what I thought it meant? Was this some sort of practical joke reserved for those who were new to the neighbourhood? Or was Gerald being serious?

'I mean, if it didn't work out for you,' he said, 'you know, for any reason -- then you could always slip away and leave us to it. What do you think?'

I didn't know what to think. I'd seen people, well, 'doing it' on screen of course. But not in real life. Was Gerald serious? He certainly seemed serious.

'What do you reckon?' he said. 'Give it a go?'

'OK' I said. I mean, what else was there to say?

'You mean OK you will?' he said.

'OK I will,' I said.

At that point Molly returned and gave me a big kiss right on my lips. 'Oh, thank you, James,' she said. 'I'm so pleased you said yes.' She had obviously been listening to the whole thing. And then she gave Gerald a kiss too. 'Well done,' she said.

Gerald topped up our wine glasses. 'Shall we take our drinks through?' he suggested.

Considering that Gerald and Molly's place was a townhouse, their bedroom was surprisingly spacious. And beautifully decorated -- in a particularly decadent manner.

The rich, dark walls were adorned with framed limited edition prints by Helmut Newton, Suze Randall, and Marcus Wight. There were also several strategically-placed mirrors.

A full king-sized bed occupied centre stage. And the lighting had been carefully designed to be subtle and romantic, while still spotlighting the main action area.

In one corner, there was a slightly raised platform. And, on the platform, there was a small two-seater sofa in the Rococo style.

'I think you'll find that's the best seat in house,' Gerald said. 'Make yourself comfortable.'

I did as I was bid.

Gerald removed his slacks and his silky Royal Stewart tartan boxer shorts, and, still wearing his polo shirt, positioned himself on the bed, propped up on several pillows.

'Ready,' Molly said.

Gerald reached somewhere behind the pillows and soft music filled the room.

'OK?' he asked.

Molly nodded and began a slow strip -- for Gerald, unquestionably, but also, I felt, partly for me. She certainly made sure that I got to appreciate her from all angles.

As Molly moved provocatively to the music, shedding her shirt, her skirt, her bra and, finally, her knickers, Gerald encouraged his penis to stand up and take a proper interest in proceedings.

'That's nice,' Molly said. 'Do you see that, James? Gerald's little man is growing into a nice upright citizen. And I do like a nice upright citizen, don't I, Gerald? Do you have a nice upright citizen, James?'

Even under the more subtle lighting of the -- what shall we call it? -- the spectator gallery? -- the tent in my trousers must have been rather obvious.

'James, why don't you let him out, let him have a bit of a look around perhaps?'

It seemed a sensible suggestion. After all, I was sitting in the bedroom of a middle-aged couple who I had only just met, watching the bloke gently stroking his cock while his stark-naked wife readied herself to give him a blow job. Hell, I thought, I may as well go all the way.

Following Gerald's lead, I kicked off my shoes and removed my pants entirely, leaving me with just my T-shirt.

Molly glanced across at my erect cock. 'Very nice. Very nice indeed,' she said. 'More or less as I expected, but very nice.' And then she positioned herself on the bed, her mouth hovering over the head of Gerald's cock, her well-rounded arse presented for my delectation. And, just before she actually went to work on her husband, she reached back between her legs and spread her labia, giving me a tantalising glimpse of the glistening wonderland within.

It had not been my intention to immediately start masturbating. I knew that I would probably do so at some stage. But I also assumed that the bedroom gymnastics (to use Gerald's expression) would go on for some time, and that I would need to pace myself. Alas, I had not allowed for the extreme effect of Molly's nether landscape.

From my mini-grandstand, I had a perfect view of her sweet puckered rosebud and her pulchritudinous pudendum with its salt-and-pepper covered outer lips and its generously-proportioned, hot pink inner lips. My already-hard cock became even harder and I just had to start stroking.

After a few minutes -- and almost as if they had rehearsed it -- Gerald and Molly adjusted their position. Molly rolled over onto her back (being careful to ensure that I still had a clear view of her honey pot) while Gerald straddled her face for spot of soixante-neuf. And all the time, I slowly pumped my throbbing cock, trying to pace myself for maximum enjoyment without actually going 'over the top'.

I wondered if perhaps they had forgotten all about the fact that I was in the grandstand. But apparently not. After another five minutes or so, and, again, as if they had rehearsed, they disengaged from their mutual tonguing and both sort of swung around to face me.

'Time for a little refreshment, I think,' Gerald said, and he reached back and collected their wine glasses from the bedside table. 'There you go, my dear,' he said. And, almost in unison, they raised their glasses in my direction. 'Cheers,' they said. 'Welcome to our bedroom,' Molly added.

'Cheers, 'I echoed.

'OK, old chap?' Gerald asked, solicitously. 'Having fun?'

'I am,' I said, sheepishly. And I was.

'Right, time to move on.' For a moment there, I thought that Gerald was telling me that it was time for me to leave them to it -- which, not having reached a satisfactory conclusion to my masturbation, was more than a little disappointing.

Gerald obviously spotted my concern. 'Oh, not you, James,' he said. 'You just keep on doing what you're doing. You keep polishing that rod, old chap. And a very fine rod, too -- if you don't mind me saying. I just meant it's time for me to hide the sausage.'

Molly positioned herself, doggy style, at the edge of the bed, while Gerald enthusiastically pumped his cock back up to something like maximum rigidity. Then, parting Molly's juice-covered labia with one hand, Gerald took his cock in his other hand and lined it up with the entrance to Molly's vagina.

'How's that?' he said, turning to me. 'OK?'

'Very OK,' I said. 'Very OK indeed.'

'Oh well, I'm going in, old chap. If I don't make it out again, it's been a pleasure knowing you. My regards to your mother. And God save the Queen.' And with that he plunged all the way in, his balls smacking against Molly's now-pudgy pussy.

As Gerald repeatedly thrust his pork sword into Molly's rampantly-responsive serpent socket, my trusty hand matched him stroke for stroke, and I imagined it was my own pocket python that was doing the business with Molly.

Sometimes having a vivid imagination has its drawbacks. Within next to no time, I had passed the point of no return. Despite having enjoyed a serious wank only a few hours earlier, I managed to shoot a load that could have populated a small country -- well, a decent sized town anyway.

And neither Gerald nor Molly missed a beat. They just upped their tempo -- with louder and louder grunts from Gerald, and happier and happier squeals from Molly.

As discreetly as I could, I left them to it and headed for the bathroom to clean myself up.

I had just finished refreshing my spent penis with splashes of cool water when I heard some serious noise coming from the bedroom. After the noise subsided, I waited for few more minutes and then discreetly peeped around the door. Molly and Gerald were lying in each other's arms, each of them sporting a dopey smile.

'Ah, James,' Gerald said. 'I rather hoped you'd gone to fetch the wine.'

'Not a problem,' I told him and went to retrieve the open bottle from the dining room.

As I topped their glasses one more time, Molly took advantage of my proximity to stroke my cock. 'I hope you haven't worn it out,' she said. 'This is only halftime. And Gerald has dibs on the watcher's seat for the second half, haven't you Gerald?'

'I have,' he said. 'Best seat in the house.'

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by Anonymous

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by bachgenbachdrwg05/19/17

"Rampantly-responsive serpent socket"

Probably the most succulent description I've ever encountered. :-)

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