london

It was late morning. Simon was awake but it certainly didn’t feel like it. The last forty eight hours seemed like a dream―some kind of strange, impossible dream. He still couldn’t believe the incredible reversal of fortune. An evening that had begun in the depths of despair had somehow ended in the heights of ecstasy.



Simon rolled over onto his side to check the time. Next to the alarm clock, on his nightstand, was the Harrod’s bag staring back at him―proof that what had happened was real, proof that it wasn’t a dream, proof that eight hours ago Simon Fletcher had crept into Felicity Hammond’s bedroom and taken her.



Just the thought of it was making him hard again. Simon climbed out of bed and had a cold shower, hoping it might douse his desire. As the cool water rained over him, he tried to make some sense of it all.



The game, the rules, safe words―all of this was new to him. Simon was out of his element and he knew it. He had never done anything remotely as wild as what had happened last night.



With the exception of a sloppy blowjob that he had gotten from a stripper, Simon’s past sexual experiences had been rather tame. At twenty five years of age he had had only one other sexual partner, his fiance Bridget.



Bridget and Simon were seventeen when they first met. Each was each other’s first. In stolen moments, in secret places, they fumbled their way out of virginity. Eight years later they were still together, having been engaged for the last three. Two months ago they finally broke up. Simon remembered it like it was yesterday.



It was a cloudy summer afternoon. Simon had just returned from walking the dog when she confronted him. Bridget was standing in the hallway, glaring at him with her hands on her hips, blocking the entrance to the flat. They had been together long enough that Simon could sense when Bridget was angry, which was mostly always.



“How could you?” she asked him.



Not again, Simon thought. “How could I what, dear?”



Bridget was very particular when it came to what she expected in relationships, and Simon was constantly in trouble for one thing or another, mostly unwittingly.



“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she accused him.



“Honestly, love, I don’t,” Simon replied truthfully.



“Don’t ‘love’ me,” Bridget said. She was fuming now. “I found out what you did at Dave’s buck’s night party.”



“Oh that,” Simon said, at a loss for words.



“Yes, that! How could you cheat on me?” Bridget yelled at him. “How could you let that hooker suck your cock?



“Actually, she was a stripper, love, not a hooker,” he corrected her.



“Like that really makes a fucking difference, Simon.” Bridget was livid. “Don’t get cheeky with me.”



Simon paused for a moment, took a deep breath and gathered his nerve. This will be the time, he decided. The time I finally step up to her. The time when I tell her how I really feel. “Maybe if you gave me what I wanted, I wouldn’t have to go elsewhere to find it.”



Bridget seemed stunned by his reply. “What, and let you cum in my mouth like you did the last time? You perverted little pig.”



“That was an accident,” Simon explained. “And it was five years ago. And―”



“And it was disgusting,” she said, interrupting him. “And it’s never going to happen again―ever.”



“Well then maybe I should find somebody that will,” he said defiantly.



“What’s gotten into you, Simon? Is that what you want?” Bridget yelled at him. “A slut who takes it up the arse, let’s you shove your cock down her throat, and swallows your repulsive spunk?”



Simon steeled his nerves. “It’s over, Bridget.”



“What?” Bridget asked. “What did you say?”



“I said ‘It’s over!’” Simon said in a loud, clear voice.



“Quit the bullshit, Simon.” Bridget took a long cool drag from her fag. “You don’t have the balls to leave me.”



“I’m moving to London.”



“What?” She coughed. “What are you talking about?”



“I’ve been accepted to the London Business School. The first term starts in September.



“And you waited until now to tell me this?”



“Look, Bridget, it’s time we faced reality. This . . . Us . . . It isn’t working out. It wasn’t meant to be. I’m sorry.”



“Eight fucking years down the drain and that’s all you have to say, Simon, ‘It wasn’t meant to be’.”



“I should be going.”



“Yeah go, Simon, runaway if that’s what you want. Go! But there’s something you should know before you leave.”



“What?”



“Do you know how I found out about that hooker?” Bridget was smiling now, which made Simon nervous.



“No,” he admitted.



“Your mate Dave told me,” Bridget said. “Seems that Dave’s got quite a big mouth . . . and an even bigger cock.” She took another drag from her Dunhill Blue and blew the smoke into his face.



Simon stared at her in disbelief. He wanted to hit her, but he wasn’t raised that way.



“That’s right, Simon. I’ve been fucking your best mate, Dave. How does that make you feel?”



He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.



“And he wasn’t the only one, Simon. All of your friends have shagged me―even the fat one. What’s his name? I think it’s Frank. His belly isn’t the only thing that’s fat. Trust me on that.



“Didn’t you ever wonder why I never wanted to have sex with you?”



“I―”



“It wasn’t because you’re a lousy lover,” Bridget told him, “which you are. It’s because I was getting all that I wanted and more from your mates.



“All of those nights while you were working late at the office, I was on my back with my legs in the air, getting shagged silly by all of your mates, some nights one right after the other.”



Simon was absolutely gutted. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”



“No, you never do. You never know what to say, or what to do,” Bridget told him. “You never will. That’s your problem, Simon.”



* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



Felicity was sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a cup of tea, a biscuit, and the morning paper when Simon entered the room. She was wearing a white silk kimono. Her hair and makeup were perfect.



Simon poured himself a cup, sat down across the table from her, and greeted her sheepishly, “Mornin’.”



“Morning,” she replied, peering over the top of The Sunday Times. “You alright?”



He looked at her and wondered what she was thinking. Had it been as incredible for her as it was for him. Simon wanted to ask her. He wanted to tell her―tell her how amazing it was. But he knew it was against the rules of the game. Instead he was left searching her face for clues.



“I’m well. And you? You sleep well?” he asked, trying to make small talk to break the tension.



“Really well―deep, hard sleep,” she replied with a decidedly wicked smile.



The infatuation had begun the moment Simon had laid eyes on her and had grown worse with each passing hour. Felicity was stunningly beautiful, sophisticated, elegant and witty. She had been a fashion model when she was younger until her curvy body outgrew the job. The thought that she was twice his age, and the same age as his mum, had never crossed his mind. Simon was smitten with her from that very first night when her voluptuous body was spilling out of her little black cocktail dress.



He stirred the sugar and milk into his tea and tried to take his mind off of her. “Anything exciting in the news?” he asked.



“There was a crime in the neighbourhood last night.”



“Oh yeah. What kind?”



She put the paper down and looked directly at him. “Breaking and entering,” she said.



Simon took a sip of his tea. “Was it nearby?”



“Not far,” she replied, glancing in the direction of her bedroom.



“Do the police have any leads?” Simon asked, not picking up on the hints Felicity was dropping.



“No, not really,” she told him. “Apparently the intruder was wearing a balaclava, so they’re not sure what he looks like.”



“Any fingerprints?” he asked, not catching on.



“No, he was wearing gloves, black leather gloves,” she replied.



“Did he take anything?” asked Simon, still clueless.



Felicity peered deep into his eyes and in a sultry voice said, “I think he took what he wanted. What do you think?”



“Um . . .” Simon finally caught on to the little game she was playing. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure he did.”



“I wonder if he’ll ever get caught,” she said. “Do you think he’ll keep on going?”



“I don’t see any reason why he would stop,” Simon replied. “Do you?” he asked nervously.



“No, I don’t think so.” Felicity smiled. “I think it’s just a matter of time before he strikes again.”



“Was that the first time that that house was robbed?” Simon asked clumsily.



Felicity let out a laugh. “No, it’s been robbed before, but not in a very long time and not like that.”



“What do you mean?”



“I mean this time the robber was quite skilled and very thorough. He definitely had the proper tools for the job and he knew how to use them.”



Simon’s confidence was soaring. His mind was racing with lurid thoughts. He tried to think of a clever way to ask when the game would be played again, but he didn’t want to appear overeager, and he really wasn’t that clever when it came to these sort of things.



Felicity finally broke the awkward silence. “Do you have much on for the day?”



“Nothing exciting,” Simon replied. “I need to stop by school and pick up my books. Class starts tomorrow. How about you? Any plans?”



“About as exciting as yours I’m afraid―grocery shopping. Is there anything that you want me to pick up for you?” Felicity paused and locked eyes again. “Anything you fancy?”



“Um . . . No, that’s okay. I need to do some grocery shopping myself.”



“Don’t be silly, Simon, you don’t need to buy your own food. As long as you are living here, you are welcome to help yourself to anything that you want―anything.”



Felicity was driving Simon mad with all of this suggestive talk and the double entendres. He couldn’t take it anymore, and felt an urgent, unexplainable need to flee. “Well, it’s getting late,” he said, standing up from the table.



Simon was about to leave the room, when he noticed Felicity eyeing the bulge in his trousers. “I’d better get going,” he said quickly.



“Can you do me one favor before you leave, Simon?”



“Sure what?”



“Can you fetch me my mobile? It’s in my bedroom.” As he was leaving the room she added, “The door’s unlocked.”



Simon was halfway down the hallway to her room when the words finally sunk in. Her bedroom door is unlocked. The game is on. He grabbed the phone from her dresser and headed straight for the Harrod’s bag.



* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



Simon quickly donned the gear and became the Taker. He opened the envelope and studied the rules one more time before heading downstairs. There would be no stuff ups this time, no botched safe words, no hesitation like last time.



When he returned to the kitchen, The Taken was still sitting at the table, pretending to read the newspaper. The Taker could see her watching him out of the corner of her eye.



He crept up behind her, put a gloved hand on her shoulder and pulled her round to face him.



The Taken brushed his hand away. “No! Not you. Not again. Please,” she begged. “Haven’t you taken what you wanted? What more do you want?”



“Your mouth,” the Taker replied. “Get on your knees.” He grabbed her under the arm and pulled her to the floor.



The Taker undid his trousers and let them fall to the floor. He took out his cock and put it in front of the Taken’s face. “Suck it,” he told her.



Kneeling on the floor in front of him, The Taken looked first at his cock and then up at his towering frame. “No,” she replied defiantly.



“‘Suck it!’ I said.”



The Taken shook her head.



The Taker grabbed his hard cock by the base and slapped it against her face, before resting the tip of it on her lips. “Now” he ordered.



“And if I won’t―”



The Taker put a hand on the back of the Taken’s head and forced his cock into her mouth. “You will.”



She pulled away from him. “Alright,” the Taken finally acquiesced, “but please don’t hurt me. And please don’t come in my mouth.”



The Taker looked at the phone that he retrieved from her room. He switched it to video mode and pointed it at her face. “Now!” he demanded.



The Taken tentatively grabbed his cock and took him into her mouth. The Taker watched as her luscious lips stretched around the head. “Don’t just sit there. Suck it,” he said.



The Taken did as she was told―taking all that she could into her mouth. She began bobbing up and down on it.



Her mouth was warm, wet and wonderful. “Harder,” the Taker demanded, as he filmed her.



The Taken obeyed his command. Slurping and gurgling sounds were now coming from her mouth as she furiously worked her way up and down on his rigid cock.



The sight of this beautiful, elegant woman on her knees in front of him, servicing him with her mouth was more than the Taker could take. He knew he couldn’t take much more of this. “Deeper,” he ordered.



The Taken started frantically sucking his cock, trying to take it as deep and as hard as she could. She pushed past her limit and started choking, forcing her to pull off of him until she recovered.



“Sorry,” she said looking up at him.



“Again,” he ordered, and she went back to work. The Taker could feel himself getting close. The pressure was building, it wouldn’t be long. “That’s it. Keep going,” he told her. “I’m almost there.”



“Yes. Yes,” he repeated. “Here it comes,” the Taker said, and tried to pull out of her mouth.



But the Taken wouldn’t let him. She put her hands around his hips and drew his cock deeper inside her mouth. The Taker’s cock exploded, filling the Taken’s mouth. She held him tightly until every last drop of cum had been milked from his cock.



The Taker stopped the recording and tossed the phone onto the table. He took one last look at the her before he made his escape―she was looking up at him through watery eyes, a rivulet of his cum had leaked from the corner of her mouth and was making its way down to her chin. He was surprised to see that she was smiling.

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