V, chapter 2

Well perhaps it was a concession to me, although concessions from V are very rare. Perhaps she was a little gratified that I was still in touch after having my cock scorned at our first meeting. More likely she saw it as a chance to stage a show, theatre of the most bizarre kind being a favorite pasttime for her.

We met at a city pub on the edge of the gay district. A rustic pub, once frequented by visiting farm folk, untouched by modernity except for attempts at sanitation. A spot for backpackers and bands on the way up. We talked over a beer, mundane stuff really. She was a courteous conversationalist, the outcrops of her remarkable life only glimpsed under the flow.

Beer over, she said 'let's go' and we walked a few meters up the street. I thought I knew the neighbourhood well but I hadn't seen this door. A steel door, tall and narrow, unmarked and unpainted. She found the key and we entered. Long narrow stairs led emptied us into the first floor, an elegant Victorian living room with ferns and a piano. Bay windows to the street below. Only the erotic prints to hint at what was to come.

Up another long flight of stairs, open this time. To the must of an old storeroom. Bathroom facilities pointed out. Ancient but clean and working. And over here. A dungeon. Two floors up. I'd never seen one. The walls awash in amazing implements. A Wheel. And two altar beds, designed to be comfortable and easily cleaned.

We had agreed on a doctor/nurse scenario. Trouble with my boy cunt. She disappeared behind a screen to dress while I removed my lower clothing and reclined as instructed. Cold leather on my butt cheeks. Stirrups for my heels. To wonder at the instruments on the walls and what might have gone before.

She emerged in white dust coat, stethoscope hanging. Sat beside me. Asked some questions about my medical history. Very professional. I answered nervously.

Eventually she rose and donned the gloves. A flick of her wrist and I was back in the examination position. A cold finger entering, searching. My cock, which had been oscillating between fear of a repeat of the last performance and anticipation of what might be coming, stood to attention. Another finger. And another.

Pronouncing the examination successful she announced it was time for the treatment. Doffing the dust coat. A hand made leather bikini as though painted on. A tight teenage body belying her age. An intricate and beautiful leonine tattoo across half her front and half her back. Long leather boots. And her cock. Not too lifelike - that would be a betrayal - but perfectly placed and thanks to her skills as a seamstress, attached to her as though her own flesh and blood.

The examination table was too low so she had me bend over the higher altar. Lubed. A small dildo appeared in her hand, teased, and entered me. My apprehension went away, her nurse persona back for the moment. A glow around the dildo which was now moving easily. The pleasure coursed through my body and I relaxed into the altar.

I wasn't aware of the dildo going away but suddenly her cock was resting against me. Teasing me. My body pressed back to her of its own accord. Her hands on my hips. The entry. Mmm. She waited for me to adjust, playing, after all, the medical professional. And then the fucking started. The swing of her hips showed plenty of practice. Bringing me to the edge and back, time and again.

I had a butt orgasm. No fluids involved, just a shattering spasm from head to toe leaving me weak and happy. All tension lost, all right in the world. The glimpse of a proud smile on her medical professional's face. I lay face down, bathed in sweat and lube.

She nodded to the examination table and I padded loosely across the floor. I want to see you come, she said. Standing over me in her Wonder Woman bikini, cock still proud. I reached to touch her leg and she pushed me away. Cocks are so useless, she said. Come once and they run away. Mine withered a little. Come on, she said. Girls can come all night. She was telling me I was a lesser being. That it was time for me to get out of the way so she could go into the night for some serious sex.

Fortunately the medical professional realised a more positive approach was required at this point. Nice cock, she said. Stroked my balls a little. Finger sliding down across my perineum. My cock at last recovering its pride and exploding. One last glimpse of her proud smile. And then the professional again. Re-robed, she pointed me to the bathroom.

And we went out into the night. To share another drink at the pub. And talk of this and that.

Introducing Vic

Vic B. A most unlikely name, almost certainly a nomme de net. She showed up on Pinkboard looking for cock, a female misfit on a gay guys' site. I loved her the minute I saw her ad, and hit the Reply button.

She had a definite scenario in mind. I would see her across the room at her favourite watering hole, and become obsessed without her knowledge. When she left I would follow her and watch her enter her quarters, a room attached to a medical research facility. After giving her time to settle I would peep through a door left ajar. Spot her working at a desk. Ease the door open and approach her waiting back. Take her.

Almost all went according to plan. Nervously parking the Ducati across the street I took up my viewing position, identified her from her description. Long blonde hair. An astonishing amount of metal embedded in her face. And a startling schoolgirl ensemble, pigtails and a tartan skirt. Which soon I was to see swinging down the street ahead of me.

I followed with caution. This part of town famous for schemes to part fools from their time and money. Sure enough, she entered an august establishment. Sure enough, a door which should have been securely locked was ajar. Enough to see that she was continuing with the scenario. Without an accomplice.

I entered the room as planned. She remained, bent over her PC. I approached. There was the tiniest flicker to indicate that she was aware. I touched her shoulder and she stood, facing away from me. Allowing me to confirm that in true Scots fashion there was nothing under the tartan.

My instructions were, to hasten. I eased my trousers off as smoothly and silently as possible - no easy task - unleashing a throbbing cock. A tiny tilt of her head indicated lube and condoms on the next desk. I pressed myself against her firm little rump, running my hands over the front of her body. And the metal embedded there. Tiny rings in her nipples, 5 or 6 below. And as I slid the tartan up in the semidarkness, the tail end of a quite beautiful tattoo on her lower back.

I rubbered and lubed as indicated, and entered her swiftly, also part of the plan. Her body was lean and tight, like a dancer or athlete. Her cunt lean too; a cunt well used but not by men. As I pushed against her, her nates, also lean and muscular, were a perfect fit between my hip bones.

Unexpectedly - for there had been total silence until now - she started to talk. Not the faked moan of a porn star. Not the sweet words of a lover, or the lusty tones of a woman in heat. But vitriol. A tongue lashing for my cock. Too small, too soft. Well supplied with accolades from other lovers, I knew she was lying. And yet, a remarkable thing happened. My cock, erect for the previous hour and always reliable, shrivelled. I slunk into the night. Leaving her rampant at her desk.