tagExhibitionist & VoyeurEntertaining at Large Ch. 04

Entertaining at Large Ch. 04


[Entertaining at Home is where Susan/Suzette started her adventures. She seems to have taken on a life of her own since then. Thanks, as usual, for the comments, support and suggested plot lines. They are always welcome.]


There are times, I thought, when a neophyte stripper has to dispense with social niceties. Choosing between joshing with a naked tart in a shower, reviving a perfect tea-party host you've just given a class-A hand job to and rushing to catch a call from a punter calling to firm up a lucrative engagement made this one of them.

'Get stuffed Tracy.'

Dispensed with the first. She winked from between the shower curtains and blew me a kiss. I could hear her laughing as she washed. I ran downstairs, said a quick goodbye to a now fully conscious Mr J -- strike two - and rushed out of the house. My phone was ringing where I had left it on the kitchen table as I let myself in to my own house. I ran to catch it before the caller hung up.


I sounded out of breath even to myself.

'Sorry is this a bad time? I could call you later if you like? It's Matt here by the way.'

'Matt. Lovely to hear from you. No, I was just visiting an elderly neighbour and lost track of the time. I had to run to be back here for you.'

I heard him cough at the other end of the line and used his silence to control my panting. Fortunately the months of cycling had made me pretty fit and I was soon breathing regularly.

'Well I've spoken to my mates.'

'Good. And what did they think?'

'They thought it was a brilliant idea.'

'I'm so pleased.'

I was trying to stick to Tracy's instruction to make him do the running in the conversation. It was difficult though. I was sounding like a bit part player in a nineteen seventies British sex comedy. My dad had a pretty extensive collection and he was worse at hiding his videos than Mr J was with his wank mags. My sister and I had found them on top of their wardrobe and watched them all when our parents were out.

'Have you spoken to Tracy?'

'Yes I have. She's very excited to meet you all again?'

'She remembered us?'

I could hear the sound of his pride. If it hadn't been for his truly seductive voice and Tracy's rule about pandering to his fantasies I'd have slapped the arrogant sod down good and proper.

'Of course. She asked if you were the polite, good-looking boys sitting towards the back of the room.'

He stopped again. I pictured him blushing.

'That was very nice of her.'

'She's a lovely girl. A little naughty of course, but very sweet-natured and eager to please.'

I heard a deep laugh at the other end of the line.

'I'm sorry about that. I was just thinking...'

'What about?'

Silence again. For a guy with a voice that could talk the knickers off a nun he really was very unconfident.

'You're feeling a little shy, aren't you? There's no need. Tracy and I just want to be sure we make you and your friends as happy as we can.'

I waited for him to speak. After a full minute I gave a little laugh. It was not wholly forced.

'I can see this conversation is going to take a little time. Do you mind if I make myself more comfortable? It will only take a minute.'

'Please. I don't mind waiting.'

It was all I could do to stop myself laughing. I was sounding like a big-busted floozy from one of dad's videos just stepping out to slip into a see-through negligee. I grabbed a half-drunk bottle of red wine from the counter and a glass from the cupboard. I thought about crisps but ruled them out. Didn't really fit with the dirty-talking, sex-kitten image I was trying to promote. I went into the front room, switched on the gas fire and closed the curtains. I poured myself a large glass of the Italian wine before curling my feet below me on the sofa and picking up the phone again.

'Are you still there?'

'Yes. Welcome back.'

He gave a little laugh. I joined in hoping to help him relax.

'You really have a lovely voice, you know? I bet all the girls tell you that.'

'Well no. Not really.'

'You were going to tell me what Tracy and I could do to make your friends happy. What did they say when you spoke to them?'

'I couldn't repeat it.'

He laughed.

'Go on. You know I want to hear it all.'

'Well it's a bit embarrassing.'

'You don't need to be embarrassed. You'll be helping me understand how best we can please you.'

We were going round in circles. Time for some nasty talk.

'Did they talk about how we looked?'

'Well yes.'

'Did you join in? Come on, you did, didn't you?'


It came out almost like a whisper. I giggled, I hoped coquettishly.

'Were you talking about how hard you were when I pressed my bottom against your long prick?'

'I was.'

'Ooh. I remember how good it felt.'

'You do?'

There was genuine surprise in his voice. I smiled to myself and took another sip of the wine.

'I'm getting excited just thinking about it. Are you getting excited too?'

'A little bit.'

'Why don't you touch yourself?'

'I couldn't.'

'Please. I'm stroking myself while we're talking. You sound so sexy.'

I heard a short sigh at the other end of the phone. I could guess what was going on.

'What would you like to see me wearing for your party? What would make you get as hard as you are now?'

'We thought perhaps you might come as a Parisian street walker.'

I giggled again.

'I've slipped my hand inside my panties. I'm all wet down there. Why don't you unzip your flies and pull that long, hard dick free. I want to think about you getting harder while we speak.'

There was a gulp at the other end of the line. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of a zipper being tugged down. Matt groaned.

'You want to see me in high heels and black seamed stockings? I can feel their smooth silkiness against my thighs.'

'Yes. Your legs are so long.'

'And a red skirt with a slit up the side?'


He was breathing hard.

'Mm, I can feel your hard cock pressing against my firm bottom.'

'Your arse felt so good.'

'You naughty boy.'

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said.'

'Don't be. I'm stretching my silky panties over it now. Ooh I wish you were here.'

I heard another deep groan at the other end of the line.

'Am I wearing one of those scoop-necked white blouses?'

'Yes, yes.'

'So you can peep down my cleavage when you think I'm not looking?'

'Your breasts are perfect. I love the way they shake when you dance.'

'More. You're making me so hot.'

I feigned breathlessness. There was the distinct sound of a man masturbating himself at the other end of the line.

'I want to put you over my knee and spank you like the man did in the pub.'

'Ouch. I love being smacked. Especially when I've been a naughty girl. But your hands are so firm.'

'And your friend Tracy. Those big sweaty boobs make me want to lick her all over.'

'She'll like that. I can't wait to tell her. Will she...? No I can't'

I stopped speaking and listened to the heavy breathing at the other end of the line.

'What were you going to say? Were you going to ask if you could lick her too?'

''Would you like that?'

'The boys all thought it would be a real turn on.'

'No I couldn't.'

I tried to say it in a way which left no doubt that I was open to persuasion.

'Please. We'd be so grateful.'

'I'm so hot I think I'm going to come. My little clit is swollen and oh so sensitive.'

Tracy was a genius. She was absolutely right. They did want girl-girl action. I could hear the effect my X-rated chat was having on him.

'Stroke it for me. Are you thinking of me?'

'Your long hard cock is pressing in to me as you spank my naughty bottom.'

I faked an orgasm while I listened to Matt achieving a real one at the other end of the phone. I waited until his breathing returned to normal.

'Did you like that? I know I did.'

'Phew. I've never done anything like that before.'

'Me neither. It was good wasn't it?'

'I can't wait to see you. Can we meet before?'

'I'd love to, but I'm very busy at the moment with Xmas and everything. I'll be counting the days until the fifteenth though.'

He made disappointed noises.

'I'll be dressed as a Parisian tart. Tracy chooses her own costumes. I'll broach the subject of a bit of girl-on-girl action for you boys, but no promises.'

'That'd be great.'

'You won't tell anyone will you? I don't want everyone asking us to do things like that.'

'You have my word.'

I was touched by his genuineness and just a little guilty about my play-acting.

'And you promised to spank my tight bottom, remember?'

His deep, manly laugh was back and we wished each other a cordial good night with the promise that he would text me full details of the suite in good time for our performance.

I drained my glass and picked up a pack of AA batteries from a kitchen drawer before going upstairs for a cool shower -- my tits wouldn't take too much warmth after Tracy's ministrations. Dried and oiled I went to bed, stretching a hand under the pillows to find my vibrator as I snuggled beneath the warm duvet.

Sunday is usually a me-day. A day when I forget work, football, mates and often a useless date the night before and just do things I like. On this particular day of rest it was not to be. I got up early as usual and dressed in my cycling gear. A look out of the window told me it was definitely going to be a three-layer, waterproof day. Global warming seems to have abolished white Xmases in Britain, I couldn't remember the last one. I couldn't wait for it to get to work on the high winds, grey clouds and constant drizzle which is a very poor festive-season substitute.

The sensitivity in my nipple had all but gone when I woke, but within about a mile of setting off to meet my regular partners it was giving me little reminders of yesterday's activities. Merino base layers and Lycra tops are designed to be figure-hugging. They don't stop all movement, however, and with every twist of my body, or pot hole in the road I was getting a little pain from what Tracy had done to me; I blushed when I thought how I felt about it.

The girls were downbeat. The ones in relationships had been abducted by partners for last-minute Xmas shopping or visits to B-list relatives. You know, the ones you owe something to but are not going to let interfere with the planning of the big day. We single girls and divorcees were left to our own devices. The cake stop conversation, usually a time for catchup gossip and joking, deteriorated into one of those all-men-are-bastards bitch sessions in which my friends shared the latest litanies of male insensitivity, callousness and betrayal.

On the whole, I don't usually mind that sort of thing, but coming as it was, against the background of all the monogamy-fest hype which is a big part of the modern Yuletide, I found it particularly depressing. In an effort to lighten the mood, I told them how hot Matt's voice and shyness had made me. I avoided too many details; I still felt a bit of a newbie in the group and didn't want them writing me off as a complete slut. Their reaction? A combination of cooing about a potential love's-young-dream situation and a more X-rated version of the same. This from a group who had spent the last half-hour bemoaning the fact that you can't trust any man as far as you can throw them.

I found myself pedalling home unenthusiastically, my mind was split. Part of me was obsessing about how long it had been since I had been to bed with anyone; a proper bed, not rutting on a sofa or a kitchen table. The other considering with a certain envy Tracy's completely free attitude to her sexuality. I knew Matt, or any of the dates I had had recently, would have leapt at the chance to get into my knickers with even the slightest encouragement. But I also knew such moves would come with baggage; and baggage I could not shrug off or ignore the way my young friend did.

I got home cold, wet -- there's nothing worse on a long ride than the feeling of chilly rain water eventually penetrating your clothing defences and trickling down your back -- a little bit sore in the breast region and unusually downbeat. A long, hot shower dealt with the first two; an application of body lotion and a loose cotton bra the third. That just left me looking disconsolately into my coffee cup and wondering what to do to lift my mood. A message pinged on my phone.

"Thanks for last night, Matt xx."

That just made matters worse. Susan would have texted back "piss off wanker"; solo masturbation sessions over the phone was not the basis for any kind of relationship I was interested in. Suzette, however, had different responsibilities.

"I thought about you all night. And this morning too!!!"

I hate people who use triple exclamation marks to big-up the mundane.

I trudged upstairs to the small bedroom I had converted into a sort-of home office and switched on my lap top. On the way up, I had thought about looking through work emails but concluded that would just make me feel more like a loser. I turned to the internet and started researching. I was soon absorbed.

I was fascinated how Matt and I both had a clear image of what a street walker would be wearing. I could find nothing which perfectly matched it outside of old Benny Hill shows. What power that man had. Neither of us had even been born when his programmes had been screened, but here we were masturbating away the twenty-first century in a lost world.

I found the perfect skirt and blouse on my favourite sex toy site and added the most expensive pair of fishnet stockings they had to my basket. With luck I'd be able to model them for Tracy and Mandy on Thursday; lingerie I had in my collection already. The outfit was completed with a garter sporting a frilly French tricolour rosette and a beret in fascinator style. Tres chic.

I had never really looked through the bondage section of the sex site before. It had never been my thing; but then neither had kissing girls until yesterday, or spanking, or water sports. Despite being alone I found myself blushing as I wondered if there was anything at all which was no longer my thing. "Yes" seemed to have become my default response to anything and everything.

With that in mind I stuck a pair of adjustable nipple clamps in my basket and as an afterthought added another which were joined by a sparkly chain. Maybe a little homework would help me resolve some of my new questions. I was feeling in a better mood and starting to think about food when I was interrupted by the doorbell. I stuck on my fuck-off-and-die face as I tramped down the stairs. No one called at my house anymore. I was never in for parcel deliveries and had an arrangement for Mr J to take for me; cold callers knew better than to interrupt suburban Sundays. That only left the religious and quite frankly I had too many sexual fantasies to explore before making room for spirituality.

'Hope I'm not interrupting.'

Mr J looked a little scared as I opened the door with a jerk. He was standing there in his best suit and holding a bunch of garage-bought flowers. He had instinctively taken a step back. I smiled at him.

'Sorry Mr J. I thought you might be someone hoping to show me the way to heaven. Come in.'

I held the door open and he edged past me still looking a little wary.

'I bought you these as a small thank-you for yesterday.'

He held the flowers like a lion tamer might a chair. I gave a small curtsy and a broad smile as I took them hoping to make amends for my initial aggression.

'They're lovely. Come through, I'll get them in water straight away.'

I was almost certain I had a vase somewhere at the back of a cupboard. I think Dave might have bought one as an anniversary present. In retrospect, a clear sign that passion in our marriage was dead.

'I also wanted to invite you to Sunday lunch if you're available. I often go to the carvery in the next village but to be honest I don't really like going on my own.'

I was on my hands and knees searching for the elusive vase under the sink. I looked back at him over my shoulder.

'Mr J are you asking me out on a date?'

He looked perplexed and took a moment to answer.

'Well yes. I suppose I am.'

We looked as amused as each other.

'Then I'd be delighted to accept.'

We both beamed at each other. Me, partly, because I had located the cut glass monstrosity which I remembered when I saw it had been a wedding present from a sour-faced aunt who had never liked me.

'Sit down, I'll just sort these out and I'll be with you. Drink?'

'Oh no thank you. If I'm going to drive I should avoid alcohol and I've had about as much tea and coffee as I can take this morning.'

I started stripping leaves off the lower part of the stems and arranging the garish blooms in the vase. I placed the finished display in the centre of the table and took a step back trying to find a position in which they didn't look naff.

'There. Thank you. What a nice gesture. I can't remember the last time a man in a suit turned up at my door bearing blooms and asking for my company.'

'I suppose it is a bit old fashioned, but then, so am I.'

'I wish you'd given me some notice.'

'I'm sorry, I should have thought. You're busy. There's always another time.'

I put my hand on his arm to stop the flow.

'Don't worry about any of that. I was at a loose end and just thinking of cooking. You've saved me a job. No, if you'd asked me say a few days ago I could have prepared properly.'

'What do you mean?'

'Oh, all those things a woman has to do: call all my girlfriends to tell them, agonise over what to wear, what make-up, what perfume? The list is endless.'

'Now you're making fun of me.'

We laughed together.

'Not really; well maybe a bit. It's just that I was discussing dating with some friends this morning. Seems to me that going out with a friend who you like for a civilised meal and a proper chat is the best way to do it.'

'My thoughts precisely. I was sitting at home when it struck me that you and I have known each other a long time now and that you'd be the perfect companion for this excursion.'

'I'll go and get ready. I'll be as quick as I can. Did you say you were driving?'

'I did.'

'Then high heels it is.'

'Oh, goody.'

I jogged up the stairs in a much better mood than I had the last time. I decided on a wool sweater dress which hugged my figure as well as keeping me warm and some of my second-best underwear. An extra squirt of perfume would save another shower; the last one was only a couple of hours ago after all. I barely wore make-up these days anyway and with a quick brush of my hair which I decided to put up, I was ready. The look on Mr J's face as he saw me descending the stairs told me I had made the right decisions.

'You look beautiful. Every man in the place will be jealous of me.'

'Go on with you, you old flatterer.'

'It's the honest truth. I feel honoured to be escorting you.'

I believed him and any remains of the morning's gloom were dissipated. I laughed.

'I have to warn you though.'

'What about?'

'My mother told me never to trust a man after you've caught him having his cock sucked by a young trollop in a room with the curtains open.'

'She did? Wise woman.'

He helped me into my coat and we left for the pub-restaurant.

It was a surprisingly pleasant meal. We were seated in a quiet corner away from screaming children and tense families with surly teenagers muttering at each other in just-audible threats. Mr J had the full roast dinner. I ordered the fish. He asked my permission to choose the wine and picked a sparkling white of which he refused all but a glass. We had some fun guessing which particular circles of hell our fellow diners were inhabiting. We spoke about his friends and family and briefly touched on Xmas arrangements. He expressed polite concern that I was going to be on my own, but accepted without demur that it was my choice and wistfully wished he could do the same.

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