The Pleasure Toy Ch. 06

Lewis Carter read the message on his phone and grinned with excitement. He'd spent nearly a week fantasising about receiving a text like the one on his screen, and now that he had, was so aroused that it was the closest he'd ever been to orgasm without being touched. He read it again, then for a third time, and replied with a simple "ok".

Rachel Grant read the reply and grinned in anticipation of what she had planned for the afternoon. Her message had been brief: "My house in an hour. Come round the back. Make sure you're not seen and delete this now. R x". She'd spent nearly a week fantasising about sending a text like that to the 23-year-old son of one of her best friends, but it had felt even better than she'd thought it would. In fact, she was close to turning her pale blue panties navy with excitement and had to breathe deeply to regain some semblance of self-control so that she didn't act on impulse when Lewis arrived. She desperately wanted to fuck him, and had thought of little else since Sunday, but she knew how important it was to resist the temptation: Just an hour, maybe less, and then he'd be her fuck toy for as long she wanted.

Lewis deleted the text, lied to his mother that he was going to visit a friend and set off to Rachel Grant's house at the same time as she was carefully laying out an all-white set of fancy lingerie on her bed. She sniggered at the thought of him wearing such a traditionally "pure" colour when her thoughts weren't even remotely innocent, but it didn't turn her on in the slightest. All she wanted was to have him between her legs as often as possible and getting him to dress up like Claire had done was the most likely way to make it happen. Rachel was well aware that sooner or later her toy-boy lover was likely to meet a girl closer to his own age, and then he wouldn't be quite so keen to fuck a 50-year-old, but as her friend had pointed out when they'd discussed the possibility of providing each other with cover stories, leverage was an excellent motivator.

Lewis Carter clambered over the wall at the back of Rachel Grant's house, ran up the garden and through the open kitchen door, and was greeted with the longest, most passionate kiss any woman had ever given him. He almost came in his pants and might have done had she not stopped to ask him "a favour". Lewis nodded enthusiastically in response and didn't even question why, if she'd got copies of Claire's pictures, did she want to see for herself what he looked like wearing women's underwear?

Rachel Grant sat down in her favourite armchair and tried to stay calm as Lewis Carter practically ran up the stairs. He didn't particularly want to dress up like some sort of transvestite prostitute, but his mother's friend had been very persuasive: "it would just be this one time", "it could be fun", and had even promised to wear "something very special" just for him "next time".

He undressed as quickly as he could, pulled on the thigh-high stay-ups, put on the long-sleeved lacey gloves, squeezed himself into a pair of frilly white panties way too small to hold his rapidly stiffening erection, and then "accessorised" the outfit by hanging a garter belt over his hard-on like it was a prize-winning toss at a fairground hoopla stall. Lewis Carter then skipped back downstairs, hesitated for a few seconds, and walked into the room where his mother's 50-year-old friend was desperately trying to maintain her composure

Rachel didn't know whether Lewis was turned on by wearing her thirty-year old wedding night lingerie or was still aroused from her greeting five minutes earlier, but seeing his erection adorned with a garter and sticking up from the waistband of her skimpy knickers was the single most erotic thing she'd ever seen in her life.

Her intention had been to take some pictures which might one day have been useful for what Claire Harrison had called "leverage", and then a few more of him naked just for fun, but not anymore. It was the visual confirmation that a 23-year-old man would willingly do anything just because she'd asked, more than how he looked that was so flattering it felt almost orgasmic, and that meant that wasting a second more than necessary wasn't even remotely possible.

She dropped her phone, lifted up the hem of her knee-length skirt with one hand, pulled off her rapidly darkening knickers with the other, parted her knees, and spluttered, "Come here!" Lewis smirked in response to what he thought was a reaction to his little hoopla joke, instinctively dropped to the floor as that was what every older woman had wanted him to do and crawled towards her quivering lush pink crevice.

Rachel Grant gripped his hair with both hands and let a low guttural moan of pleasure as his tongue flicked against her clitoris. She'd wanted him inside her when she came, but Lewis instantly dropping to his knees was so much better than that could possibly have been. It did more than reinforce just how attractive his submission was making her feel, it made her feel like royalty. All she had to do was find just a little bit of self-control, cross her legs around his back to keep him in position, and if she managed to time it just right, she could tilt his head upwards and squirt all over his pretty face.

It took less than two minutes, and Rachel Grant somehow managed to time it to perfection. She lifted his head, revelled in the feeling of power that accompanied an orgasm so intense that her whole body shook, and then giggled like a teenager at how wet she'd made him.

She took a few seconds to compose herself as he looked up at her in such way that she thought he resembled a puppy in training hoping for a treat, sniggered at thought, put her hands under his armpits, helped him up from the floor, and with the garter belt still dangling around his erection, guided him inside her. Rachel Grant wrapped her legs around him for a second time, dug her nails into his back and lay almost motionless while Lewis pumped away frantically until he finally splurted helplessly.

Rachel Grant immediately pushed him onto the floor, picked up her phone and her sodden panties, and dropped them on his face. "That was fucking wonderful," she smirked, "Now wipe yourself down before you make a mess on my carpet."

Lewis Carter mopped up the creamy mess dribbling from the end of his still-semi-hard-on, and then looked up to see his mother's 50-year-old friend stood over him clicking away. "For when I'm older," she said with shrug, followed by "You might as well go now. I'll message you," as she put the phone in her handbag.

Rachel Grant sat back down in her favourite armchair, watched Lewis walk out of the room, briefly wondered what Claire would think about the red mess her heels and nails had left on his back, and then decided that she didn't care. Lewis may have been "their" pleasure toy, but if her friend didn't like what she did when it was her "turn" to play with him, then she had absolutely no objection to keeping him all to herself as long as Claire kept up the pretence of the two of them going shopping on the rare afternoons she was left with an empty house.