Lady Jane

by Rod Stiffener

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© Copyright 2001 - Rod Stiffener - Used by permission

Storycodes: n/a

(story continues from )

Part III of the Lady Jane Trilogy
(Fantasies always come in Trilogies).

A few weeks had passed since Mike and I had our threesome with Lady Jane, during which she submitted to being tied to the bed by her wrists and ankles.  She appeared to love every minute of it.  Of course she would never have said so out loud, but I think by now I can tell when a woman is aroused.  And on that occasion she was extremely aroused.
We bumped into each other again in town.  I had gone into a large and upmarket department store, one that had pretensions of being a local equivalent of Harrods in London.  How like Jane to shop here!

I saw her before she saw me.  She wore a proper-looking blue skirt and white blouse, and I could see the outline of a sturdy bra cradling her large tits.  It looked like she’d just had her hair done.  Probably tinted too, as there was no sign of any grey, yet I knew for a fact that she had a few grey hairs.  On her pussy, at least.
I said “Hello!” and she barely deigned to recognise me, giving me a very patrician and reserved response.  I felt I deserved better considering I was a person she had permitted to fuck her in the arse recently.
“Doing some shopping?” I asked superfluously, as she was already holding some designer-logo’d plastic bags.
“Oh, a bit of this and that.” she said, looking past me to smile at some other middle-aged ladies.  Probably members of her tennis club, or something like that.

She was starting to irritate me again with her stuck-up attitude.  But dislike and physical attraction are not necessarily mutually exclusive.  Not when a person as hateful as her has tits as marvellous as hers. I began to wonder how I could get her into another compromising position, like we did with her before.  Teach her a lesson, one that she would no doubt enjoy too much anyway.  But it wouldn’t be easy.  I could hardly go and tie her to the nearest lamp-post.  I am not an exhibitionist, as my fear of getting caught outweighs any thrill I might get from sex in public.  To me, the thrill is doing it without getting caught...
“Let’s go for a coffee.” I said.
“Not today, I’ve a lot to do ...”
But I cut her off.
“I’m not asking, I’m telling.”

She detected a harder edge to my voice, and didn’t protest when I took her arm and led her to the store’s coffee shop.
It was cavernous and dimly lit even in daytime.  The ceiling was painted black and the walls dark green, with copper sculptures of fantastic-looking insects decorating the walls. Object-d’art scattered about.  A place for arty-farty people to have private tete-a-tete in intimate little nooks and booths.  Perfect!
We ordered coffee and a slice each of their justifiably-famous ginger crunch, then settled into a corner table in the gloom near the back.  Our chairs were angled on pretty much the same side of the table, so we could both face out into the room.
I struck up some conversation, while trying to think what I could do with her next.

“Figured out yet who it was that helped me ravish you the other day?”
“Haven’t the foggiest, but whoever it was, they weren’t all that well hung.” She said with a sniff.
Three other middle-aged ladies took a table about twenty feet away, and waved to Jane as they sat.
“Someone you know?”
“We do the odd bit of charity work together.” Hmmm ...  an idea was forming in my brain.
“Jane, tell me honestly.  Do you enjoy straight sex, or do you always have to be tied up all the time?”
“I don’t discuss my sex life, though I am more than happy to discuss the sex lives of other people.”
“But I’ve never seen a woman get so hot as you are when under some kind of restraint!”
“That’s my business.  You are only required to fuck me, you don’t have to understand me.”
“Fair enough.  Are you ready for another game, then?”
“Right now.  Right here.”
“Absolutely not.  Those people know me.”

My hand reached for her leg under the long tablecloth, and rested on her knee beside the hem of her skirt.  No one else could see.  We were in plain view of the three biddies, plus two other couples and a man in a business suit by himself to our left.  But the generously sized tablecloth kept us hidden from mid-riff downwards. My hand went slowly under the hem of the skirt and began to slide it upwards, baring her thighs.  She grabbed my hand and tried to pull it away.
“We’ll make a scene!” she hissed under her breath.
“Only you can make a scene, by trying to stop me.” I replied. “If you just keep cool, no one will even notice us.”
My hand swept more of her skirt up until it was bunched over her crotch. She had been check-mated, and was starting to realise it.  If she protested or struggled, the others would see and would report it to the rest of her social circle.  That would be intolerable, so she had to keep still and let my invading fingers go where they will. And this was probably new to her.  This was restraint, but not by any physical means.  She was being restrained by her own social mores.  She was my prisoner as surely as if I had tied her up, but she was having to do her own restraining this time.  A self-inflicted kind of bondage, with invisible ties.

Meanwhile, my fingertips had made the discovery that, as usual, she was wearing french knickers.  Oh good!  Plenty of room in which to move.  Going up one leg of the knickers, I was soon entangled in her luxuriant pubic hair which I proceeded to tease and twirl. Needing something to do rather than sit there like a tailor’s dummy, she got out a cigarette and lit up, slowly and deliberately.  Personally I hate cigarette smoke but this time I was willing to make an exception, especially as she would purse her lips on taking each drag, like she was sucking on a little cock.  Pure ‘40’s film noir, and she was concentrating very hard on staying cool and poker-faced as my hand burrowed further into her snatch beneath the tablecloth.

She started to make small talk, to keep up the appearance that this was, after all, two people socialising.  It would look odd if our conversation stopped altogether, so she commented on the people opposite, how so and so really didn’t look good with her hair like that, how such and such was mutton-dressed-as-lamb by wearing that outfit, and the other one was a bitch anyway and no one else could stand her but for the fact her husband was the General Manager of thing-ummy-jig.  But she was rambling and unfocused as my fingertip parted the forest of cunt hairs about her entrance and felt the first hot flow of her internal fluids issuing forth.

I got a finger well up inside her vagina, but the angle was no good for getting two in.  Never mind, this was having the desired effect on her.  I was using the finger that penetrated her as a pivot to swivel my hand in such a way that her clit was being brushed this way and that.  Her insides wer very swampy by now, and she opened her legs wider to get more of me in.
Then she froze.
“He can see us!”
“Who?” I said, careful not to look away from her suddenly.
“The man in the suit.”

Sure enough, the fellow in the business suit was regarding us over his cup of coffee, looking intently at the tablecloth that was supposed to be concealing our activity.  The old biddies definitely couldn’t see, but the tablecloth was off-centre.  On his side it didn’t fall far enough to provide adequate cover, and when she parted her legs he could now glimpse her pale thighs and my hand churning away at her crotch. I didn’t break stride, and simply carried on playing with her pussy as if nothing could be more natural.  I looked at him and he winked at me over his coffee cup. 

Jane cooly took another drag on her cigarette and looked him straight back in the eye.  Her only adjustment to our game was to part her legs even wider.  I frigged her a bit more vigorously, with no fear of hurting her because she was really wet and sloppy now.  Just had to keep my movements below the table, but anyway the biddies were getting up to leave now.
One of them came across to talk to Jane, so I had to bring movement to a standstill.  Jane almost whimpered at the sudden loss of sensation, but had to collect herself because she was being spoken to.
“Hallo Jane! Will we be seeing you at the committee meeting this Thursday?
Jane’s mind was probably racing.  Meeting?  What meeting?  Who gives a fuck about any meeting?
But she said politely “Sure will, Marjorie.  See you there!”
Thankfully, the lady turned to join her companions who were headed to the exit.

I picked up where I left off, getting my fingers deep into her and really hitting her on the button.  She looked back into the eyes of the gentleman opposite, and grabbed the edge of the table for support as she started coming and coming and coming.  The noise was kept to a minimum, just long pauses between each sharply drawn breath, but her cigarette had fallen and was burning a hole in the tablecloth.  Her cunt muscles were wringing at my finger, and her eyes bored into those of the man opposite. She slumped back, and I withdrew my hand.  The businessman raised his cup in a silent salute, then drained it in a single gulp, as if drinking a toast.

Well, that was Chapter One concluded as far as Jane was concerned.  But I was now as horny as hell, and the other chap would have to be a Trappist Monk to be unaffected by what he had just witnessed.  I got up.
“Get your things.  We’re going out to the carpark.”
Still in a mild state of sexual intoxication, she got up willingly.  I nodded for the other chap to follow us. We were already on the ground floor, so the parking basement was only a single flight of stairs below us.  Its bunkerlike concrete was a stark contrast to the plush surroundings of the department store. I led Jane to the very end where a van was parked.  This would do nicely!  We would be out of sight, but not out of sound.  The chances of discovery were real, but tolerable.

We stood between the van and the end wall.  I grabbed one of her big tits and manhandled it, until the besuited gentleman had joined us.  He was forties, paunchy and balding, but presumably his prick still thought he was only sixteen or he wouldn’t have followed us. I kept the small talk to a minimum.
“Give me your tie.”
He unknotted it and handed it to me. I turned Jane around to face the van, and used the tie to lash her hands to the wing mirror of the driver’s door.  This left her bending forward slightly with her bum sticking out.  It was an expensive tie, but the guy did not protest at it being employed in this fashion. I opened my wallet and handed him a condom.
“You first,” I told him.  “If anyone comes, we run for it and just leave her there.”

He needed no further encouragement.  I squatted out of view and watched as he hiked her skirt up above her hips and slid her french knickers down until they puddled on the dirty cement at her feet.  Her bum was now bare, big globes with dimpled cellulite along the bottom curve of each buttock, long legs running down and feet spaced apart.  He unzipped and took out a fat, stubby erect penis, pulling enough of it through his fly to penetrate her with it. 
He rolled on the condom and got behind her, pressing his besuited crutch against her butt, fiddling around with his hand to get his prick aimed in the right place.  Then he was away, humping and bumping, grabbing her hips to stop her bouncing away from him.  I wished I had a camera to permanently record the sight of her, lashed to the van, skirt up and knickers down, while this total stranger banged her rear frantically like a dog mounting a bitch on heat. 

It was a truly disgusting, degrading spectacle, one which I now knew excited her more than anything else.  I was starting to think this woman had a problem.  But hey!  If she did, then I was a part of the problem.  What’s the harm as long as it is consensual? The stranger spoofed with vigour.  We could tell that these were the vinegar strokes by his desperate motions and the expression on his face.  It probably wasn’t all that great for Jane, because he had been very quick, and anyway she had already come.  Still, even after coming, it seems she just likes to be used.  And used.  And used.  An archetypal slut, such a contrast to her patrician demenour on all other occasions.

He had finished, and wasted no time divesting himself of the condom and throwing it to the ground.  Splat!  A quick “Have a nice day,” and he was outta there, his business with us was done.  He didn’t even stop to ask for his necktie back.
My turn.  And I was more interested in her top half, partly because in the coffee shop this was not possible, but mainly because she has huge saggy tits and I just love boobs like that.
I got her to squat and turn around, so that she was leaning back against the side of the van with her arms stretched up above her head to the mirror bracket.  Car doors slammed not far from us, and tyres screeched as someone left their park.  I crouched and unbuttoned her blouse enough to get my hands in, slip her bra straps down and lift her jugs up out over the top of her bra cups.  I fondled, licked and sucked, holding each spongy pillow of flesh in a two-handed grip while I nibbled on their stiff little teats.

But we couldn’t do this all day.  I stood and unzipped, getting my cock out into the breeze and lining it up with her mouth.  She gulped it in and started bobbing her head up and down on it, giving tight little sucks on each outstroke.  This was no teasing.  This was designed to make me come in double-quick time. And it was working, too.  I was in seventh heaven.  Jane was a strikingly handsome woman with good bone structure, and one could easily imagine what she would have looked like before aging and smoking began to take its toll.  She still looked good to me, with her lips wrapped around my cock and aristocratic features composed into an expression of pure slutty horniness.  She knew how to suck a cock, too! 

The sight of my cock in her mouth, her naked tits spilling out of her blouse, and the liquid-velvet sensations of her sucking were enough to get me close to spilling my seed in about four minutes flat.  My knees began to tremble and I felt the beginning of that cosmic rush, so hard to express in words, the moment when a fellow doesn’t care what orifice he is in, he just wants to get deeper up it. But coming in her mouth would have been too easy.  I quickly pulled out and got lower, shoving my dick into her cleavage and pulling her breasts around it as I started to shoot my load.  I humped her tits, lubricated by my own sperm, until my cock started to shrink and go rubbery.

Pulling back, I could see that I had made a mess.  The first spurt had hit her on the chin and dribbled down her throat.  Droplets of cum clung to the gold chain around her neck.  The rest had got squished all over her cleavage and upper slopes of her tits, making translucent damp patches on her white blouse in several places. I stood her up without untying her, and put her clothes back into place myself.  She would have to ditch the french knickers, they were all filthy from being on the cement all this time.  We could hear voices of shoppers getting into a car not far away, but so far no one had come to claim the van she was tied up to.  Just as well.

By buttoning up her blouse for her, I was able to ensure that sperm was still visible at her throat and got even more rubbed in to her blouse.  It would be obvious to anyone who looked at her that she had been in an “accident”.  I didn’t know where she had parked her little MG sports coupe, but I hoped for her sake that it was not far. I stood close and put my arms around her to untie her bonds, taking the opportunity to kiss her full on the lips and slip in some tongue.  God, I hate the taste of smokers!  I wished I had spoofed in her mouth after all, since the taste of my own sperm would have been much preferable.

Whoever eventually came to collect their van was going to find beside it a very rumpled necktie, a filthy pair of french knickers, and a soiled condom.  I wondered what they would make of it?

We walked in silence back to the stairs and emerged into the department store lobby.  She seemed oblivious to the traces of peckersnot at her throat and on her blouse.  Being pantiless was not such a problem for her, as her skirt was fairly conservative in its length.
“Bye, Jane,” I said in farewell.  “It has been wonderful meeting you again.”
“Not bad” she said as she turned to go.  “Not bad at all....”