Groper

He had obviously adjusted his dress while I had been getting the folder. His erection was now doing its job as a very effective tent pole. He was ogling my breasts which were only a few inches away, and I was desperate for him to hurry things up a little.

"Perhaps."

"You're very fond of 'perhaps' aren't you? Do you get wet for him? Do you get damp knickers?"

I folded. "Yes!"

"Does he feel you through your knickers or do you take them off for him?"

His hand had reached my gusset and I jerked with repressed desire, starting to thrust automatically as if I had been taken over by some crazy puppeteer.

"Both!"

"You're soaking," he remarked. "I expect you're thinking about all the dirty things you're going to do this evening aren't you?"

"God, yes!" I wasn't. I was thinking about all the dirty things I wanted him to do with me, but it would have been impolite to disagree with him at this point.

"I think you're a very naughty girl indeed. And you know what happens to naughty girls don't you? They have to slip their knickers down, and get spanked on their bare bottoms, don't they?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, switching to submissive immediately.

"But we don't want to attract attention, do we? So, we'll have to think of something else instead of a noisy spanking. Just bend over a little further Vivienne please."

I did, and he rose and pushed the chair out of the way, shuffling backwards and undoing his zip. And as he moved behind me a cock like an angry purple-headed cucumber sprang up and waved about menacingly. About bloody time too.

Bent over as I was, my knickers were stretched tightly over my bum and cunt area. The wet patch would be all too obvious after his kneading and my aiding and abetting. I was hoping this disgraceful sight would stiffen and engorge the cucumber to its maximum potential. He peeled my knickers down and left them stretched between my splayed thighs at three-quarter mast, adding to the general artistic appeal of the tableau before him. Finally, I felt the head of his huge cock exploring my now hopelessly gooey bits. But still the bastard took his time. He used the head to tease my clitoral area, moving in gentle strokes up and down to gather lubricant and then spread it about. I wriggled to get as much stimulation as I could without losing the head, and then, unannounced, he went for it; sliding in with the speed of an express disappearing down a tunnel the entire cucumber's length rammed inside me. It was glorious.

Then he stopped and held still, pulling me back onto him with his hands. There was no need. I was using the desk for leverage and doing all I could to get the head of his cock to come out through my navel.

"You have an exquisite cunt my dear. Sculptured and lubricated by the Gods themselves. Let us take a moment to savour their gift."

I could feel him throbbing inside me, while wondering if anyone had taught this man not to keep a lady waiting. It seemed not.

"Would you like me to move?"

"God yes. Get on with it, you bastard!"

"That's better you little tart! You want cock, don't you? You want a good seeing to!"

"Yes! Yes! Give it to me properly now!"

He began to fuck me with gusto then; I pushed back and manoeuvred myself so that I could support my weight with my left hand and reach back between my legs with my right to play with myself while he slid his engorged equipment in and out of me. Folders fell. I must have been dribbling too, I could see spots on the floor, and I hoped, in one of those weird flashes of idiocy one has, that I was not spattering the precious folders too. The feel of his cock sliding in and out was divine, and despite the ridiculous sight we must have made I wanted it to go on forever with one part of my pleasure centre, but I was also rubbing my clitoral area very energetically as the other part wanted a great big climax. This was female multitasking at its very best; it didn't really matter which part won; it was a win-win all round. Except that a man was involved, and he wasn't going to go on forever.

"Do you want me to come inside you or squirt all over your lovely arse my dear?"

"Inside, you grubby bastard. Fill me up! Drench my cunt so it's pouring down my legs!" I shouted. So much for not attracting attention. It never occurred to me there might be anyone outside the door earwigging the whole performance.

He kept hammering away and my hand was moving so fast it would have been a blur had there been a watcher. I felt a huge wave of intense pleasure rising suddenly.

"Now you bastard. Now! Do it in me now!" I shrieked manically, as I went over the top. And as I lost it, he went utterly rigid inside me, pulling me back on to him as hard as he could. He felt enormous. I collapsed over the desk and whimpered a bit, breathing like an old puffer. A squelch, and I peeped back between my legs to see a large shiny sausage swaying like a pendulum. It disappeared as he deftly pulled my knickers back up and reappeared as he smoothed them over my bum, then disappeared as he backed off, pulled my hem down and made himself decent. He picked the folders off the floor and laid the one we had been working on back on the desk. He made sure I looked in reasonable form, went to the door and flicked the latch, returning to his chair. We resumed work as if nothing had happened and twenty minutes later I was walking down the corridor with the bundle of reviewed folders in my arms. I dumped them in my cubby and made for the ladies. A bit of readjustment work in the nethers was required.

As I walked in, colleague Anne from engineering admin was at the row of basins.

"Hullo Viv! I hear he put you on the spike. Welcome to the club."

"Thanks. News travels rather rapidly round here doesn't it. I've hardly got my breath back."

"My dear, you were so enthusiastically vocal we were worried someone not in the know might pass, in which case we would have mounted a noisy distraction. He won't bother you again, unless you lead him on, of course. He likes to get to know the new girls better, but once that's over he knows not to push his luck. He would find himself in a lot of trouble, and the bugger's smart enough to appreciate that."

"A real gentleman!" I replied, with the obligatory eye-roll.

And that was that. I was one of the girls. We never discussed it. We just looked out for each other. And when the time came, before I had moved on, to keep cavie with a couple of the others when the next newbie looked as if she might be due for the spike, not a word was said. They simply walked past my cubby, and a jerk of the head in the direction of the corridor and I was up to join them in what would look to anyone like an impromptu gossip meeting outside a certain door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"So, I never did see the outfit," I observed. Viv was lying back on the settee, the dress was hitched up to her waist, and I had my hand between her legs doing the massage thing in the gusset region.

"No. I realised that when I started going over things in my mind. I just put it away in its original box and it moved around with us but never saw light until today."

"Like the Lewinsky dress should have been dealt with but wasn't."

"Sort of. Except that the whole thing wasn't a secret between us. Neither of us needed counselling. No-one impeached me. The press still don't know and never will. Nor would they care if they did. So, sort of, but not really."

"You know what I meant."

"Of course. But if you wanted a US Presidential analogy to the whole thing the JFK White House would be a bit closer. Charming handsome young President. Rumours of wandering hands and worse. Then he is taken off to immortality, no-one is called out, and the world gets completely distracted by a welter of speculation and conspiracy theories about how he died. How he lived might have been a better question to try and answer. But even that's not really close. What happened to me, and us, was a one-off. You raised the issue of consent. But it's more than about consent. It's about women's sexual freedom. Freedom to choose. We like sex. We want to have it with who we want to have it with, never mind who wants to have it with us for a moment. The old dual standards Dolly Parton sings about may have had a societal reason of sorts when powerful men were concerned to be sure who the father of their children was. But that's just history nowadays in the developed world. You can answer the question with a cheap test if you must."

"I don't think I'll bother." I was, however, very impressed with this summary given I was working diligently on my stimulating duties.

Viv had got quite aroused telling the story, and I'd done my best to help this along. On the day itself I'd taken her there and then, revelling in my one and only dose of sloppy seconds in our marriage to date. But we were a lot older now, and not in so much of a hurry.

"Put one of our old DVDs on, darling. The one where the gardener fucks the lady of the house in the potting shed. Very Lady Chatterley. Always gets me going."

Viv seemed to be going fine to me but I jumped up to do my duty while she took over my job, gently rubbing herself through her knickers.

I slotted the disc in and fired up the screen. The film came up in four by three format with black left and right borders, but that was fine. It kept the action in proportion. I sat back on the settee, fished out my cock, and began to stroke it in time to Viv.

"You like this one too, don't you?"

"God yes. It's the costume. She looks so posh, lovely spotless clothes and gorgeous underwear while he's just a bit of rough. You can almost smell he didn't wash since Sunday week ago."

"Nice big cock though."

"Sure, but a lot seem to be hung like donkeys don't they. Us mere mortals wouldn't get past the initial screening."

Madam was taking a walk around her gardens. She noticed a couple of things which needed attention and looked towards the shed in the far corner. With a decisive look on her face, she hitched up her ample skirts and trotted across the lawn, opening the shed door without preamble and poking her head in.

In the relative gloom a grubby looking chap with slightly unkempt curly hair and a good growth of stubble was on a wooden stool by a bench, and in the middle of transferring seedlings to pots. He looked up as the door opened and smiled, a warm toothy grin.

"Good morning ma'am. What can I do for you?"

She stepped in and pulled the door to, leaving a shaft of light and the dirty glass panes of the one window over the bench to provide soft shadow filled grey lighting.

"There's a few things I noticed on my round which need seeing to Smithers. But mostly I need seeing to myself as soon as you feel up to it. And I'm hoping you'll be up to it shortly." She smiled and slowly lifted up her skirts revealing white silk stockinged legs and shimmering directoire knickers. Then she moved past him and bent over the only other seat in the space, a dirty faded blue armchair shoved in the opposite corner behind Smithers' perch. She flicked her voluminous skirts over her back, presenting him with the tightly stretched white silk perfectly showing off her rounded arse cheeks and giving the promise of more beneath. Smithers licked his lips in anticipation, and moved over to stand behind her, letting what light there was play on her charms.

"Madam's behaviour would not bring her favour with our master," he observed. "He would expect me to punish madam for such a brazen show, don't you think?"

"Oh, I'm sure the old goat would indeed. If he knew what I was doing right now he'd be rubbing his cock at the thought. But he's away on business so you'll have to make your own mind up Smithers."

Smithers arm swung and his open hand delivered a resounding smack to Madam's arse. He didn't stop, and had soon developed a steady rhythm. Madam's bottom bucked and wobbled as she tried to vary the point of application and she screeched and grunted as the blows fell. But she remained in position, clutching the chair's arms with a rigid dignity. Suddenly Smithers stopped the spanking, and began working on her crutch, roughly gouging and pawing through the material as if he was trying to gather handfuls of her. She pushed back against his exploring fingers, wriggling from side to side and began panting with excitement.

Viv had got a vibrator out from somewhere and was busily using it through her own knickers.

"God she's a dirty bitch, isn't she?" she exclaimed. We both knew what was coming next.

"Does madam need to go before I stick my cock in?" demanded Smithers gruffly. He had undone his trousers and a splendid stiffy had sprung into view.

"Oh, yes please, Smithers."

He kicked a chamber pot over from under his bench, and she slipped down her knickers and squatted over it, still with her back to him and her skirts up, and proceeded to fill it. He reached under her and continued pawing her, careless of the hot stream of liquid. Then she rose and resumed her pose, he pushed the pot aside with his foot, the contents sloshing over the edge as he did so, and rammed his cock into her now soaking cunt.

Viv had risen too and was now bent over the coffee table in front of the TV.

"Come on Roger," she cried, "Time to live up to your name again!"

I had anticipated this and grabbed her knickers, pulling them down sufficiently to allow me to emulate Smithers' example.

"My God those old-style knickers and corsets harden up the old boy," I said as I did my best to keep up with the pro on screen.

"That was my plan!" she exclaimed.

Smithers was doing his duty by madam with admirable enthusiasm. "You're very good at this Smithers. You should get a wife."

"Thank you, ma'am, but I'll wait for the old goat to meet his maker then I'll propose."

"Could be a long wait."

"I'm extremely patient."

"I could say no."

"You won't."

"No, I won't. But you'll have to shave and start taking baths."

"I'll give that some thought at the time. Right now, I'm going to spray your arse, then you can go back and pleasure yourself on your feather bed while you think of my grubby cock invading your sacred cunt."

He pulled out and shot rope after rope over her bottom, knickers and skirts. She stood immediately he'd finished, pulled up her knickers, dropped her skirts, turned wordlessly, and made for the door. She trotted across the lawn towards the big house, entered via the front door, ignoring the servant waiting on hand in case anything was required, and went straight up the wide winding stairs. She hurried along the corridor to the end, and pushed open a large door to a massive bedroom with views over the gardens and countryside beyond. She kicked off her shoes, shimmied out of her layered skirts leaving them in a pile on the floor, and threw herself on the ample fourposter bed. The camera zoomed in on the wet crotch of her directoire knickers as she thrust both hands into the waistband and pushed them down to her thighs. She began working on herself as roughly as Smithers had, bucking madly as she did so, while shouting obscenities at the empty air.

I couldn't hold back anymore, and came powerfully myself. As I pulled out and collapsed back on the settee, Viv already had the vibrator buzzing between her legs again when she joined me to finish herself off. Her knickers were in the same position as madam's and she thrust madly in time to madam's writhings, the vibrator doing its magic to the last.

"I knew you'd enjoy that," she gasped as her climax subsided and the screen faded to titles.

"And you were not wrong."

"I could feel the way the movie was making you harder than you normally are. Maybe it's time to consider those blue pills we've put off trying."

"I'd been thinking the same darling. It's getting harder to keep up these days."

"So long as it's harder, that's fine. It's when it isn't we're trying to deal with."

"Ho Ho! You know what I meant!"

"Of course. And we won't bother with any more Presidential analogies either."

"Glad to hear it. Early bed? Or more setting the world to rights?"

"Early bed."

So, we killed the TV and lights and made our may up.

There was no hurry. The planet was still on pause.