Professional Excellence Ch. 08

Cyril was going to take some time getting on the same page. He looked repeatedly from my face, then at David, then down at my hand as I massaged his dick. It was remarkably responsive given the amount of alcohol he had taken on board. He opened his mouth a couple of times as if about to speak, then closed it again. Could have been confusion, I suppose, but I think he was just too embarrassed to ask the obvious. David had no such qualms.

'Bagsy I'm the photographer.'

He leaned forward and started untying his laces. I knelt down to retrieve the condoms and discovered the bottle of oil. I held it up and shook if to get David's attention. He grinned broadly and nodded eagerly.

'All in the spirit of authenticity, eh?'

I laughed and tossed him a condom. It was only then that we both realised Cyril hadn't moved. He was looking a little shell shocked.

'Come on, kit off Cyril. Time for action and all that.'

I clapped my hands. My boobs were tingling and my pussy had left a small sticky pool on the coffee table when I stood. I hadn't realised just how much I'd been turning myself on as I fantasised.

'Chop, chop. Time for inspection. Let's get your old soldier standing to attention.'

Cyril still hadn't moved.

'Give your helmet a good polish?'

'She wants to suck you off, old man. Unless you'd just rather watch, of course.'

David looked and sounded sympathetic and had stopped unbuttoning his shirt as he spoke. Maybe it was the tone, but suddenly Cyril seemed to snap awake. There was a tiny ring as one of his shirt buttons popped off and hit an empty glass. It didn't stop him tugging eagerly at the others.

'Rather. Good show. Haven't had a decent gobble since I don't remember when.'

He had managed to stand and was pulling hard at his shirt sleeves, having forgotten to undo the cuffs before trying to get it off.

'There was that time in the early two thousands. Oman I think it was. Over there advising their military chaps. All a bit hush hush.'

'Perhaps we could save the reminiscences for later? Over dinner?'

David was sitting down again taking off his trousers. Cyril, having torn off his shirt at a cost of more buttons, was now hopping on one leg as he tried to extract the other without taking off his shoe. David stood up and, after carefully laying his neatly suit trousers over the back of the sofa pushed Cyril down and started helping him with his footwear. I had to turn my back on them to stifle a fit of giggles and busied myself massaging the lavender and vanilla scented oil into my skin. It gave me a good opportunity to play with my boobs and free my clit from the protective sheath of my labia. A few circles with my forefinger and I almost lost it. I could feel my stomach tense and the familiar combination of warmth and electricity begin building.

'Damned things.'

Cyril was bouncing himself up and down on the sofa while at the same time tugging at the whitest pair of Y-fronts I'd seen in a long while. His belly was wobbling in time with his movements and he still had his socks and vest on. David meanwhile was in the final stages of rolling the johnnie down over his penis. He too had turned his back on Cyril, no doubt for the same reasons as I had.

Being a charitable soul, I took pity on the poor soldier and bent over to give him some assistance.

'Here, let me give you a hand.'

Not the most provocative thing I'd said that afternoon, but to David it acted like a starting gun. I'd bent over from the waist so I guess the view might have helped, and the next thing I knew I had been shoved forward by the force of a stiff dick sliding between my oiled pussy lips with the full weight of a randy pensioner behind it. I had to steady myself with a hand on Cyril's shoulder. The other was already on the waistband of his tidy whites. The momentum of David's initial thrust meant my head was now hovering over Cyril's crotch, a couple of inches from his priapic member.

I'd rehearsed in my head a graphic climax to my tale, mostly while diddling myself as I oiled. It definitely included getting rogered until I was screaming; there were bucket loads of sperm involved as well as one or two innovative uses of the dildo I had slipped into the story. I had been seriously considering fucking myself with the beer bottle to entertain the pair should the opportunity present itself.

In reality there was none of that. David was insatiable. He held me tightly by the hips as he went at my pussy like he was a boy losing his virginity. I had to shuffle my legs apart both to keep some sort of stability and ease his pleasure. I must have looked like an old-time charleston dancer as I heeled-and-toed my feet apart. You should try it in stilettos sometime. I was lucky not to fracture an ankle.

Meanwhile on the sofa, Cyril had clearly sensed the proximity of my mouth to his willy and got it into his gin-addled brain that he was all set for the main event. I felt a heavy hand on the back of my skull as he pushed me down over his pants-sheathed-prick and held it there firmly. I had to struggle to get it free of the thick material. When I did, it sprang up and jabbed me in the eye as I was concentrating on trying to get the underwear down over his tight balls. I grabbed them hard with my free hand - the other was still bearing my weight against his shoulder - which, in the circumstances, was the smart move to make. The shock caused him to straighten up in his seat and I took my chance and sealed my lips around his red hot pole.

And just as I was, at last, thinking I had gained a modicum of control, it was all over. I felt David's hands squeeze tighter before he lost his grip altogether and they started to slide down the outside of my thighs. His erection pulsed against the walls of my pussy and he let out simultaneous grunts - I counted five, there could have been more. The last weak spasm was accompanied by a long slow exhalation. If I didn't know him better I would have sworn he was saying fuuuuck. That was certainly what I was going to tell him he'd said when I gave him his feedback on the excellent progress into filthiness we had made that afternoon.

'Ah, ah, ah, ah, Annabelle.'

Was the only sound Cyril made as he squirted thick, gooey cum into my mouth at the same time as David was losing his into the condom. I tightened my lips so as not to lose any of it and swallowed ass soon as he had finished. There was a distinct flavour of juniper berries in my mouth when I cleaned my lips with my tongue.

I stood stock still as the pair disengaged. Cyril just slumped further back in the forgiving cushions of the settee. His dick made a quiet kissing sound as it slid out from between my lips. I don't know what happened with David. He must have performed a pirouette worthy of a diving, Premiership footballer intent on a penalty as he somehow managed to twist himself out of me and stumble his bottom onto the sofa in a single, seamless move.

I stood up, straightened my back with both palms against my spine and smiled down at my clients. I needn't have bothered. They both had their eyes closed and gormless-looking grins on their faces. Cyril was a picture. Sitting there still in his vest, both his arms lay lifeless and palms-upwards on his pasty white thighs which themselves were clamped together by the strong elastic of the Y-fronts' waistband about half-way to his knees. With his socks still smartly stretched to mid-calf, his vest barely creased and his penis losing turgidity as it retreated beneath his belly, he could have been the poster-boy for male chauvinist piggery. Indeed, so perfect a sight was it that if his disarming loneliness and vulnerability hadn't changed my initial impression of him a phone-snapped image would have been all over the internet by nightfall.

David was only slightly more composed. His eyes opened as I disengaged the sagging condom, but there was little evidence of life behind his stare. They followed me mechanically as I deposited the knotted prophylactic in a waste bin and began tidying the glasses and bottles onto the bar. I had no idea when his housekeeper would next be here, but I was certain David would be mortified if she discovered the place looking like a bunch of teenagers had been using it.

I put on my bra but then on a whim decided to go home commando. I stuffed my still-damp panties into a pocket of Cyril's concertinaed trousers as a souvenir. I kissed the still-comatose man on the forehead leaving a red, lipstick bow to match the smears on his wedding tackle. David started to stir as I took a last look round the room and begin to make for the door. With the help of the sofa's arm he managed to half-raise himself.

'No. You stay where you are. The rest of my things are in the hall. I can see myself out.'

'Nghhh.'

Funny. I was about to say the same thing myself.'

He grimaced in reply as he watched my bottom make for the exit. I exaggerated my strut as a final encore, trying, but failing to suppress a laugh at my own joke. David's consciousness might be returning, but speech hadn't yet joined it.

My jumper was already sticking to my oily skin and I was easing my legs gingerly into my slacks when an altogether more composed David emerged. Granted he was barefoot, but his trousers were still immaculately creased and all the buttons on his shirt were fastened in the correct holes. He had even managed to loosely knot his tie around his neck. He closed the door gently behind him, came over and took me in his arms.

Thank you for that. You were... well, what can I say? I'm lost in admiration.'

'Expensive.'

'What?'

'You could say I was expensive.'

I winked at him just in case he thought I wasn't joking. He was still looking a little groggy.

'Do you think Cyril enjoyed himself?'

'Indubitably. I doubt I'll ever get him to go home.'

'High praise indeed.'

I stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. I'd slipped off my heels and put on my flats to drive home in.

'You're going to have to get him a photograph somehow, you realise?'

'Don't worry. I've got loads of studio-quality glamour ones. Tell him I'll bring you one over next week and you can post it on to him.'

He looked a little shocked. I assumed he was speculating as to where and how I had acquired pin-up shots of myself. I was not about to tell him about my escapades with one of Nigel's friends and his camera. That could be saved for another day.

'I certainly will not.'

I was taken aback.

'It's OK. They're pretty tame. I'll sign itMonique. I don't mind, really.'

He laughed.

'It's not that. If Cyril gets any inkling that Tuesdays are a regular thing, I'll never get rid of him.'

We started to laugh and then simultaneously clamped our hands to our mouths not wanting to wake the man in the other room. We walked quietly to the door where we kissed. Properly this time.

'You are almost a very filthy man.'

'And the credit's all yours.'

'Same time next week?'

'Of course. I'll transfer your fee when I've made sure Cyril's still alive. He'll want to make sure you get that substantial tip.'

I kissed him again and let myself out. I was running late, but still managed a stop at the last high-class butcher in town. Howard was getting rare steak for his dinner whether he liked it or not. He was going to need it. I was getting a thorough seeing-to from him even if I had to throw him a freebie to get it.