You go two weeks without the urgency, the need. At the same time, your pussy still feels the licking and the pounding, and one morning you awaken with your nightgown on the floor, your middle finger inside your pussy up to the second knuckle, drifting in and out of you, slippery with more juices than you thought you would have this soon.<\/p>\n

In the shower, you set the shower to a stinging spray on your nipples, as you drive your blue friend in and out of your cunt, taking only a few thrusts to reach orgasm. It\u2019s not exactly what or who you want, but good enough, and you keep your moans quiet in the dim morning light, before toweling off and getting dressed for work.<\/p>\n

You check the pile of papers by your house phone, and after a frantic minute, find the piece of paper with my number on it. No name, just seven digits, and the note \u201cLV MSG\u201d and nothing more. With only two minutes to go before you have to leave, you dial the number with your cell, taking care to save it, just in case.<\/p>\n

As before, the number rings twice, then the message comes on, and you hear my voice, a sensual tenor, if you had to guess at that, saying what it said before. \u201cIf you\u2019re calling, you know why. Leave a time and a number, and I\u2019ll let you know.\u201d The message tone sounds, and your breath catches in your throat. This is crazy!, you think, but manage to speak your number without stammering, you think, and then say, \u201cTonight, Wednesday, at 5:30 p.m.\u201d<\/p>\n

Not for the first time, you wonder whether I have multiple playmates, more than one woman who comes to me for my particular sort of play, or if I\u2019m just having fun with the message, and whatever woman calls it. You\u2019re not sure which you hope is true.<\/p>\n

Minutes later, you get my text. \u201c6:00, not 5:30. Be ready to play.\u201d Tonight, you think to yourself, Round Two.<\/p>\n

* * * * * * * * <\/p>\n

The house is the same as before, of course. A tan, recently painted, fence, a solid barrier with no visible holes or slats to peer through, surrounds my house. The gate is also solid, with a wheel and channel to keep it on track. You pull the chain, undo the latch, and push the gate just wide enough for you to slip through before you pull it shut behind you, wondering if anyone saw you enter, or if upon seeing cared at all.<\/p>\n

The small alcove and porch are different this time, because there is a dress hanging on a small hook, carefully set away from the dust on the siding. You are about to knock, just before noticing the note safety-pinned to the lace on the dress\u2019 collar. \u201cWear me.\u201d<\/p>\n

You realize you are panting quietly, and your panties are moistening in anticipation. A quick glance around confirms there are no cameras, and no-one apparently peering around a corner or through a window, and the fence is close enough to the alcove to hide anything on that porch from view.<\/p>\n

The wind rises, and goosebumps rise on your arms. Deciding you will change inside the house, you take the dress off the hanger, and knock twice. There is no response, no answering call from me. You knock again, wanting to change inside, but you hear nothing, and wonder if I\u2019m even there in the house. A third, fiercer pounding elicits no response.<\/p>\n

Gritting your teeth against the cool wind, you strip down to your underwear, and are surprised to see how hard your nipples are, caressed as they are by the breezes inside the alcove. The dress is one piece, like something for Oktoberfest, or a medieval tavern, and the question of what I have planned rises again, but you have no answer yet.<\/p>\n

On the hanger, clothespinned there, are a bra and panties, both of white silk and luxuriously soft to the touch. The costume is obviously meant to include these, too, and you put the hanger back up, then strip naked in the alcove, hanging the ones you\u2019ve been sweating and lubricating in on the doorknob. Almost tauntingly, the wind comes up again, and your nipples curdle at the briskness of it, and your exposure.<\/p>\n

The silk undergarments are pure pleasure. The bra is exactly your size, and the softness of the cups against your erect nipples makes you shudder, moaning slightly at the sensuousness of it. The panties are warmer than you would have guessed, but you also think it may be the heat of your need that makes them so.<\/p>\n

Finally, you put the dress on, holding it over your head and letting it slide down, the fabric like the breath of a lover on your body. You start to knock, then on impulse try the door. It\u2019s unlocked, and opens at a touch. You hang your clothes and underwear in the hall closet, and close it before walking past the entry into the living room.<\/p>\n

A thick rug or blanket is d****d over the hallway, and you part it, gasping for a moment at the wave of heat from beyond. What little light there is comes from the fireplace, which has been banked to glowing embers. The room must be over ninety degrees, you realize, and you are already beginning to sweat profusely.<\/p>\n

The fabric of the dress is slightly rough on your skin, a delightful counterpoint to the almost sinfully creamy feel of the silk. You start to pant, and you realize it\u2019s probably not from the sweltering heat of the room.<\/p>\n

For the first time, you look around the great room, and are surprised at the arrangement of the furniture, and the furniture itself. The chaise longue from your first visit is missing, and in their place are three rude wooden tables, with two benches apiece. Two or three tapestries are on the walls; you assume one or more cover windows, or maybe doors, but you don\u2019t remember any of them on your last trip, where you were so distracted.<\/p>\n

The fireplace is large, unusually so for most homes, and the fire within gives off a ruddy, almost bl**d scarlet glow to the entire room. You can make out a pair of barrels in one corner, oddly familiar and normal in my transformed great room.
Finally, you see me, seated alone at one of the benches. I\u2019m also in costume, that of an Elizabethan nobleman, complete with a ruff at my collar, and a jaunty feather in my brocaded cap. You have some difficulty making out much more than that, but you do see that I have a large stein, ornately decorated. You look over to me, and start to speak.<\/p>\n

I speak first, imperiously, arrogantly. \u201cAh, there you are, wench! Autumn is bitter cold outside, and yet I am dying of thirst whilst you rouse yourself from your slumber. Bring me another ale!\u201d The words are harsh, but you catch my smile, inviting you into the role I\u2019ve chosen for you. I incline my head, quite out of character, but only for a moment, to the low table set up as a bar, with a small wooden keg and what appear to be meat pies or other foodstuffs on a small number of platters alongside the keg.<\/p>\n

Gathering yourself, you turn to me. \u201cM-my lord, I shall serve you at once.\u201d The stammer is real, as you try to get into the role, and the mood. You walk over and take the stein from in front of me, and you suppress a grin as I nod my head in appreciation.<\/p>\n

The keg is cool to the touch, and you fill it with the frothy amber liquid. Bringing it to my table on a small tray thoughtfully set by the keg, you present it to me, and set it upon my table. \u201cGood.\u201d I take a swig, and set the stein down with a thump. \u201cBy god, woman! That is wonderful ale!\u201d I glance around, taking in the empty room. \u201cAnd where, pray, are the others that usually grace this hallowed tavern? And where are the musicians and entertainments you promised me?\u201d
You brain whirls with ideas, and quickly settles on one. \u201cThe roads are icy, my lord, and the bridge damaged fearfully by
last night\u2019s storms.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, we are alone tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n

Your heart flutters briefly, and the warmth of your pussy in the silken panties edges up a notch or two. \u201cWe\u2026are alone, my lord.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen we shall make our own entertainment, wench! Sit with me a spell, and draw a tankard for yourself. T\u2019would be rude not to extend companionship to one another, under the circumstances. True?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTrue enough\u2026er\u2026enow, my lord.\u201d You take the tankard, and fill it partway from the keg, then taste it. You\u2019re not surprised that it\u2019s very good. You start to turn, then think to ask about the meat pies.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. Bring one meat pie for each of us, and sit beside me.\u201d You bring two of them over, hand me one, and sit down. Like the beer, the pie is good, but small. You wonder for a moment if I intend this as a date of some sort, but continue eating, as I do.<\/p>\n

You finish with me, and I produce two linen napkins for us to tidy ourselves with, and I leer knowingly at you. \u201cNow, to the entertainment!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cEntertainment, my lord?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, woman. Entertainment.\u201d I stand for the first time, and take your hand. \u201cHave you ever wondered how lords and ladies fuck?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo\u2026yes\u2026mayhap, my lord. \u2018Tis not a rightful thing to concern myself with.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut you have considered such things before, wondered at them?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cY-yes.\u201d The heat and the ale have you almost languid, and you want me to take you right there. A rivulet of sweat makes its way from under your brow, trailing down the side of your face and cruelly between your tits, teasing them innocently as it traces its path to your belly, and down to the new panties, moistening the waistband.<\/p>\n

I lift your hand, and you rise from the table. As I guide you away from the fire, you are almost grateful that the heat is slightly more bearable. We reach the barrels on the other side of the room. \u201cDo you know what I want, wench?\u201d
\u201cTell me.\u201d<\/p>\n

A wicked smile crosses my face, and not for the first time you wonder if I\u2019m playing, or serious. \u201cSo, you do know.\u201d Squaring your shoulders, even with mine, I stoop slightly, and gather the folds of the dress, bringing it up to your waist as I rise. Still gripping the hems, I maneuver behind you, so the barrel is in front of you. \u201cBend, and lay your udders on the barrel.\u201d You comply, and feel the gloves, a soft k** leather, slide the now-sodden panties off your ass, past your knees and down to the floor.<\/p>\n

\u201cBy god, you are a fine-looking woman! I would have you learn how lords and ladies truly fuck.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMy lord, yes, please! Fuck me now!\u201d Instead of my cock, you feel the softness of the gloves playing over your ass, and one finger works its way between your legs, to your clit, and starts to massage it.<\/p>\n

\u201cNot yet, wench. We are not cattle or peasants. Lords and ladies begin slowly, and take each other\u2019s measure. I will fuck you when I am ready.\u201d Two of my gloved fingers, so soft and silky, glide into your pussy, slowly finger-fucking you, and your juices are flowing, and your sweat soaks the dress and the brassiere. It feels like you\u2019re going to melt and run all over the room, and you grip the barrel tightly, savoring the penetration of my fingers in your pussy.<\/p>\n

My voice is low, husky with desire. \u201cYesss\u2026now you\u2019re wet enough. Don\u2019t you think so, wench?\u201d Before you can answer, my other hand darts around your ass to your clit, and flicks it before rubbing it side to side. Meanwhile, the two intruding fingers push further in now that I\u2019m behind you, and my fingers are at a better angle to drive deeply into you. My voice is barely louder than the fire, muffled by the warmth in the air and in your cunt as I pick up the tempo, driving faster, flicking your clit faster, more insistently.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me what you want me to do\u2026.\u201d The whisper is nearer to your ear than you had thought, and it\u2019s all you can do to form words, let alone continue to play in character.<\/p>\n

\u201cFuck\u2026m\u2026Wouldst care to fuck me now\u2026my lord?\u201d<\/p>\n

You\u2019re sure I\u2019m smiling when you hear my reply. \u201cSuch manners, you could almost be a lady.\u201d From your position on the barrel top, you can\u2019t see anything, but the sounds of my pants coming down, and the slow, languid penetration, flesh and not velvety glove, tells you that I\u2019ve acquiesced, and am inside you now.<\/p>\n

The scent of your musk is heavy in the area, more pungent with the heat roaring in the fireplace. You feel my gloved hands, already politely moved away, granting access to your pussy, are on your hips, and I start to fuck you in earnest. My groin slaps your ass with insistence, and you relax the muscles in your arms, whose tense grip on the barrel you hadn\u2019t realized, and savor the sensation of my hard-on sliding smoothly in and out of you.<\/p>\n

My hands slide forward, coming to rest at your titties, cupping them, squeezing lightly at each thrust of my cock inward. \u201cWench, you are overdressed. I would feel your udders without cloth on them.\u201d You feel the back of the dress loosen as my hands trail down your spine, and I slide the dress up your body, over your head as you move first one, then the other, arm out of the way. Somehow the silken bra came loose; you don\u2019t know how nor care. Dress and bra are soaked through with sweat, almost drenched, and as the dress passes over your face, you experimentally stick your tongue out, tasting the rough fabric and your salt; it is wonderful to your senses.<\/p>\n

Your naked body, glistening with beads of sweat running off you like rain, is now against the dark wood of the barrel. My hands, still wearing the incredibly soft, supple leather gloves, move to your tits, your \u201cudders\u201d as I named them. If anyone else called them that, you would slap them, push away any man demeaning you in that fashion, but it\u2019s oddly arousing now, and my cock still thrusts into you, withdraws, thrusts again. Your moans are quiet, as if you\u2019re unwilling to break the spell with too much noise.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour teats are glorious, woman! So soft and rounded, kept better than most ladies would have them.\u201d My fingertips knead your nipples gently, sending tingles through your body, timed differently from my thrusts, like street noise intruding on a symphony, but it feels wonderful, a counter-point to the rhythmic fucking you\u2019re receiving.<\/p>\n

My hands withdraw, to your disappointment, but my throbbing cock continues its steady intrusions, the slapping sound each time I reach the apex of my thrusts beating in time to your own cunt tightening around it, almost trying to hold it fast in your grip, failing but not disappointed when, like a bow against the strings of a violin, it eludes capture, and tightens you all the way to your toes.<\/p>\n

My hands are back, bare now, and we are both covered in sweat. Cupping your tits, cradling them, I start to thrust faster, and the slapping sound is slightly louder. Now you hear my moan, barely a sigh over the crackle of the fire, and grind your hips back into mine as I thrust in. You\u2019re rewarded by my eager moan.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou are\u2026talented, wench.\u201d The strain of holding back my own orgasm is evident in the tightness of my throat as I speak. My humping increases again, but you sense I\u2019m not quite ready to shoot my load.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy\u2026lord?\u201d You realize you are closer than you thought, too, and squeezing the next sentence out is almost agony. \u201cMy lord, wouldst\u2026put thy seed inside me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you want my seed planted in your fields, girl?\u201d My short gasp tells you there might not be long before the question is settled.<\/p>\n

Yes, come inside me now, you want to say, but search for the right words. \u201cIf you wish it, my lord, I will take your seed\u2026\u201d
I start to hump faster, fucking you harder, and you respond by rotating your hips, grinding your ass into me with each thrust. \u201cThen you\u2026shall\u2026have it\u2026 When I am ready to plant it, girl\u2026 Inside your cunny\u2026\u201d My control is starting to slip, and you wait for what must happen soon.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, the slapping of my groin against your ass is louder, more frenzied, and you feel your own orgasm rising. You hold yours back, wanting to make sure I\u2019m not teasing you, making sure I actually come, and don\u2019t leave you suspended mid-fuck.<\/p>\n

My hands fly down to your hips, pulling you back into me, as my last thrust slams into you, deeper than any of the others, all the way in. Deep inside, you feel my cock pulse, and cum spills forth into your belly. I resume thrusting, and you ride the momentum, letting yourself go over the edge to your own orgasm, even as you feel another spurt of cum wash over the shores inside you, and again, and again\u2026.<\/p>\n

We both moan with our mutual release, and continue for a time, you grinding and me humping. We subside, more in exhaustion than in acknowledgment that we are finished, and in a few more moments, you feel my softening cock pull slowly out of you, teasing you one last time for now. You can\u2019t quite stand, but, bracing yourself against the barrel, you sit heavily on one of the benches, and watch cum dribble out of your still quivering pussy.<\/p>\n

I sit next to you, and stroke your hair for some moments. You permit it, and lean a little closer to make it easier for me to reach you, and then settle my arms around you while you recover.<\/p>\n

* * * * * * * * <\/p>\n

This time you don\u2019t shower, letting the sweat dry on your skin, tightening it as the salt binds and stiffens. The odor of our fucking has worked itself into you, and you revel in the salt, and the musk still exuding from your pores, and the scent of my cum on your fingers, when you absently massaged your pussy while we relaxed against each other.<\/p>\n

You draw on the pantsuit you were wearing, grinning lustfully when you realize that you\u2019ll have to send it to the dry cleaners, maybe twice, before you can wear it again. I hand you the silk panties and bra, still sodden with sweat and pussy juice. \u201cYou seemed to like them. Keep them.\u201d<\/p>\n

You start to protest, then shove them into your jacket pocket. Turning to leave, you pause, then look back at me, now wearing the same robe as before. \u201cHow did you know I\u2019d even like that?\u201d Still no names, probably never any names, but you have to know.<\/p>\n

I smile, genuine humor in my voice. \u201cI just know what you need, or I think I do.\u201d My lips touch yours in an almost chaste farewell, and your heart quickens for a couple of beats. \u201cUntil next time, then\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

You wonder when that will be.<\/p>\n