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Subject: "Lady Jane" (Part 1) by Rod Stiffener (mf,bond)
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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
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Archive name: lady_1.txt (mf,bond)
Authors name: rodsti@hotmail.com (Rod Stiffener)
Story title : Lady Jane I
-------------------------------------------------------
(c) Copyright 1998
This work is copyrighted to the author, with all rights
reserved. -- This work may be archived and displayed on
non-commercial web sites without permission, but please
do not remove the author name or address. Thank you
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LADY JANE I
by Rod Stiffener
Part I of the Lady Jane Trilogy
(Because fantasies always seem to come in Trilogies).
I play bass in a jazz quartet, just for fun and we all
have day jobs. Music is a hobby, and if I had to do it
for a living then it would start to become a chore. We
play at small clubs now and again, also weddings,
friend's birthdays, charity fundraisers, and so on. We
try to appear in public no more than about once every
two or three weeks.
Our sax player Mike lines up most of our gigs as he is
a bit of a social animal with a wide circle of
aquaintances. He and the keyboard player are both in
their forties and quite experienced musicians. The
drummer and I are mid-thirties and new to playing
jazz.
Mike knew this lady called Jane, a divorcee, who's son
was getting married. The lad's father had pots of
money, and the bride was well-connected, so it was
going to be quite a society wedding. Two days before
the main event, there was to be a garden party at the
bride's parents place so that the two families could
get to know each other. Sort of the high-society
equivalent of dogs circling and sniffing each others'
butts, I suppose.
I turned up on the day itself and helped set up the
gear in one corner of the large landscaped garden
under a small marquee. The house was set further
back behind some trees, and another marquee formed
the bar and headquarters for the fingerfood.
Jane came over to talk to Mike about the evening's
programme and to ask us what we wanted to drink.
She was a tall, elegant woman with very straight and
erect posture, in her mid-forties. She had that rare
combination of slim figure yet big boobs. Almost
Barbie-doll-like in proportions, though of course
things were starting to sag a bit now and her breasts
hung fairly low. But they were still hooters of
considerable substance. She was immaculately turned
out and extremely well manicured, with pageboy
haircut. Unfortunately she smokes, and the skin on
her face was lined and a bit dry-looking as a result.
She talked posh like a Sloane Ranger, but could swear
like a trooper. Being already a bit tipsy, her talk
with Mike about arrangements was interspersed with the
odd "Fookin' ay!" and suchlike. Mike is the "sex
symbol" of the group, actually he is like a little
leprechaun with a big pot belly but an outrageous flirt
and he does it with such humour that he gets away
with it. If I said half of the things he says to ladies,
I would be continually drenched from having drinks
thrown in my face. But when he does it, chances are
he will get lucky!
We were all set up, had done our soundcheck, and
now people were arriving. Old maiden aunt's, doddery
uncles, but also bridesmaids and friends of the young
couple. The bridesmaids (four of them!) were dressed
in what I might term your "basic little black number,"
in other words skimpy mini-dresses that showed a lot
of leg and a lot of cleavage. The bride was more
demure, in long evening gown.
We started our set, playing more subdued "elevator"
jazz to start off. Swingtime and bossa, like "Sweet
Georgia Brown" or "Girl from Ipanema". Not to my
taste as I like to get really intense with more of the
funk-fusion and Miles Davis stuff, but we weren't
there to scare the gentry and livestock.
Of course everyone totally ignored us. They were way
too cool and sophisticated to acknowledge that a live
band was there playing just for them. And playing for
free as a favour to the bride's mother. But the catering
staff were enjoying it, at least they were the only ones
giving any positive feedback. And Lady Jane, of
course. She was hovering around to make sure that
wine was flowing in our direction, and we were
starting to get a bit loose.
At the end of the second set, Jane asked Mike "Are you
all getting enough to eat and drink?"
"Yes" said Mike, "But noone has offered us any sex yet."
As ever the outrageous flirt, and Jane tittered.
Jane's elder brother was within earshot.
"Go and grope one of the bridesmaids," he suggested.
"Surprising things might happen!"
"Yes, aren't they lovely!", says Mike, "but I prefer
maturity and experience!" He gallantly pecked Jane
on her cheek, then made a point of peering very
obviously into her deep cleavage before standing back
again.
"Very bloody likely!" says Jane, but smiling all the
same.
For our third set we didn't care whether people liked
what we played or not, as we were now fairly pissed
and so were the audience. We were playing stuff like
"Birdland" by Weather Report and funky R&B
numbers like "Green Onions" and "Watermelon Man".
The bar staff were grooving, meanwhile there were a
few Hooray Henries and Henrietta's stumbling and
falling into the undergrowth, while at least one
matriarch went down flat on her back by the fountain
and had to be carried up to the house. Nothing like a
bit of alcohol to bring out peoples' true colours!
Time to pack up our gear, my favourite part of any
gig. We badly needed some groupies able to carry
speaker cabinets as well as give blowjobs. But the few
groupies we had were not inclined to do either, so
nothing for it but to lug the stuff ourselves. Mike and
I were winding up electrical leads, of which there were
a lot, some about forty feet long.
Jane tottered up to us. "Can I get you any more to
drink?"
"No!" says Mike. "And look out for my saxes!"
Too late, her leg had bumped the tenor, which
bumped into the alto, which was about to bump the
clarinet when Mike managed to grab them and get
them back upright.
"Ooh, sorry!" says Jane.
"Bad girl!" says Mike. "You should be severely
disciplined!"
She giggled. "You wouldn't dare!"
Never say that to a bunch of inebriated musicians.
Mike grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her
back. Playing along, I got a microphone lead and
quickly wrapped it around her slim arms and tied it
off against the pole of the marquee. There, she
wouldn't knock over any more instruments now!
I had expected her to struggle, or at least squeal a bit,
but she didn't. She just went all limp and passive. It
had been so easy to bind her up, that hardly anyone
had noticed. It just looked like she was standing
against the pole. But I noticed that her breathing was
now uneven, in fact a bit ragged.
Mike was a bit disappointed by the seeming lack of
reaction, as we had been doing this to stir her up for a
bit of humour. So he tickled her, on the side of her
ribs. She couldn't stop him, as she was unable to
move her hands. But the tickling made her squirm
around in an effort to avoid his invading fingertips.
Her eyes were going round as saucers, and she let a
high pitched moan escape from the back of her throat.
I said "And now, your punishment! You shall be
spanked!" I raised my hand as if to land a slap on her
rump, and without hesitating she turned and stuck
out her derriere at me to receive the slap! Well, this
was really getting into the spirit of it!
We concluded that she was playing along just to deny
us the satisfaction of upsetting her. A bit like Brer
Rabbit saying "Skin me alive, but pleeeaaze don't
throw me into the bramble bush!" Well, that was no
fun so I slackened the cord and she took her hands
out.
"Really!" she slurred, bosom heaving, "You are too
awful for words!"
"That's what all the girls say!" riposted Mike, but Jane
had turned on her heel and gone.
By the time all the gear was packed, I had sobered up.
Nothing like exercise in the cool night air to clear the
head. And just as well, because I had a vanload of
gear to drive away. Almost everybody had gone, just
the caterers rounding up the last few stray glasses
from the lawn and shrubbery.
I was opening my driver's door when I noticed Jane
further down the drive, trying to get her keys into the
door of her little car. It was an MGB-GT, one of those
classic sports-coupes with just enough room inside for
two people, a packet of sandwiches, and a change of
underwear. She was not having much luck getting the
door open, because it was dark and she was drunk.
I walked toward her.
"Everything alright?"
"Ah, its my attacker!" she hissed.
"Not a good idea to be driving" I said to her.
"How the fookin' hell will I get home then?"
"I'll take you. Wait here while I park my van in the
street."
When I got back she had succeeded in unlocking and
was now in the passenger seat of the MG. I squeezed
in behind the wheel and fired it up. Like most British
cars of the sixties it was pretty agricultural to drive
and the suspension was as hard as rocks, but it had a
satisfying rasp to the exhaust note as I pulled away
from intersections. She had the window rolled down
and was breathing deeply of the night air.
She didn't have much to say, apart from giving me the
address and occasional directions to get there, also a
few words about how lovely we had played that night.
We pulled up at her apartment block and parked in
the basement garage.
"Thanks, you've been so kind. Will you come up for a
minute?"
No conversation in the lift, she just watched the floor
numbers roll by and I looked at her reflected rear in
the wall mirror. A nice rear it was too. The years had
been good to her. Either she exercised a lot, or she
killed her appetite with regular ministrations of gin.
Probably the latter.
Opening the apartment, she turned on a wall lamp
and made for the liquor cabinet.
"Fancy a liqueur before you go?"
A Cointreau for me, and Drambuie for her.
She handed me my glass, then stood right in front of
me as she sipped hers. Behind her hung a fairly erotic
painting, very tasteful and artistic but nevertheless
depicting a buxom woman playing with herself. She
saw me glance at it.
"You like?"
Yes I did, and I said so.
"Are you an art lover?"
"No, just a lover."
"Well, there's more in the other rooms, if you're
interested."
She led the way to the dining room (a couple
intimately entwined, though it was "artistic" rather
than "graphic") then a bedroom (two views of
cunnilingus in progress, again very artistic).
"And here, in the master bedroom."
She opened the door to what was clearly her own
bedroom, being the largest and looking most lived in.
A large brass bedstead with railings at head and foot.
Various items of clothing laying about, also knickers,
and a few silk scarves.
The theme of these three paintings was Restraint. A
nude sitting up with feet tied at the ankles. A nude
wearing a blindfold. And a nude standing with hands
tied to a post behind her back.
"What a coincidence!"
"Do you like that one?"
"More to the point, do you?"
"An impertinent question, but would I hang up
pictures that I DON"T like?"
She stood looking at me. And I looking at her. She
was studying me with the air of a chessplayer who has
completed her move, and is waiting for me to make
my move.
I should say at this point that I am a pretty
consensual sort of a guy. I am into mutual pleasure,
and I don't get pleasure from another's pain or
humiliation. But here the lines were getting blurred.
She had laid a trail for me from party to bedroom, and
all the arrows said "Tie me up! I love it!"
But she wasn't going to spell it out loud. She wanted
me to make the first move.
So I made it.
"Put down your glass."
She placed it on the dresser.
"Hands behind your back."
She turned away from me, and held her wrists
together behind her. I grabbed a couple of the silk
scarves and lashed her wrists firmly. She did nothing
to resist.
There was a useful length of scarf left over, so I used
the free ends to tie her wrists to the brass rail at the
foot of her bed. She was still standing, facing me, and
unable to use her hands or move away. Her shoulders
were pulled well back by her bonds, so that her bosom
stuck out at me even more prominently.
I stood in front of her, looked into her greeny-blue
eyes, studied her aristocratic features . I touched her
on the cheek with a fingertip. The skin was soft, and
lined from age and smoking. She looked cooly back at
me. Almost taunting me, daring me to make her loose
that cool.
"Now I can do any fucking thing to you that I like," I
told her, trying to rattle her and get into the spirit of
what she seemed to turn her on.
"Like what?"
She was not easily rattled.
I put my hand on one of her large breasts, cupping it
and feeling it through the fabric of her cocktail dress
and bra.
"Like that!"
She gave me a look as if to say Oh puleez! Is that the
best you can think of?
Well, I like to take my time, no need to rush. She
wouldn't be going anywhere. Meanwhile I would let
my fingers do some walking.
I spent a while feeling her tits, squeezing them
through the bra, taking their weight in my hands,
rubbing my fingers over the place where I expected her
nipples to be. After a time I was able to positively
locate the nipples, when they became erect and could
be felt as two hard buttons through the bra cups. Her
breasts really were massive. In her younger days she
would have been the All-American dream, a tall skinny
girl with big bust. They hung lower now, but there
was still a lot to hang.
She was still fully dressed, and I was just going to
grope her through her clothes at first. I put my hand
on her crutch, lightly stroking her pubic mound
through dress and underwear. She was still regarding
me cooly, and I wanted to make her lose that cool
somehow. What about a little finger-fuck?
"I am going to stick my finger up you," I announced.
"How do you feel about that?"
She sniffed. "Please yourself."
"Thanks, I will."
I knelt and gathered up her skirts until they were
bunched up around her waist. This revealed her long
tanned legs, and loose-fitting French knickers. These
were easily pulled aside to expose her sex, with its
liberal thatch of brown curls. Holding the gusset out
of the way with one hand, I lightly inserted the index
finger of the other into the start of her groove. She
looked down at me kneeling before her, my finger
touching her softness in the most private place
imaginable. She was unable to do anything except
scream, yet even then she chose to stay silent.
I pushed my finger in further between her legs, which
were not that far apart but enough to gain access to
the entrance of her vagina. I could feel heat rising
from there. Things definitely got warmer as I neared
her insides, and my finger easily slipped past her soft
and swollen opening. I changed the angle to push
upward, deep as I could into the slick moistness of her
passage. This lady was wet! Wet and very open.
Absolutely no need for additional lubrication, she was
already well lubed!
Holding my finger deep in her, I rotated my hand in a
twisting motion, and looked up at her. By avoiding
her clit, I was able to make sure that she would not be
enjoying this too much yet. But she still seemed to be
enjoying it too much for my liking, having her eyes
closed and a look of intense concentration on her face.
She started moving her groin against my finger in
little slow fuck movements, trying to get it even
deeper and get my knuckles bumping against her clit.
She was using my finger to fuck herself, like a mini-
dildo. Enough was enough.
I pulled very suddenly back out of her, and her eyes
flew open with surprise.
"You're liking this too much. I will get nasty in a
minute."
Again, that cool look.
I reached to the vee neckline of her dress, and grasped
it with one hand on either side. Then I suddenly and
violently tore the dress apart from bust to navel.
"Bastard! This dress cost a fortune!"
"Well, it's in the way," I answered, continuing to tear
the fabric until I reached the bottom hemline. Her
whole front was now exposed, showing French
knickers and bra. Seeing some fingernail scissors on
her dresser, I grabbed them and snipped at the bra
between the cups, until it swung away and her breasts
hung free. The French knickers were easier, I slid
them down her long legs and she stepped out of them.
I could now see her nakedness in a full frontal, from
large dangly breasts with pink circles on the ends, to
extemely hairy brown bush.
Time for me to get exposed. Except I only removed my
trousers and briefs, leaving my shirt on. My cock was
erect, and sprang up from under my shirt. She looked
at it with interest.
I wondered whether I should make her suck it for me,
but decided to save that for another time (assuming
there would be one). Right now, I just wanted to
ravage her. The thought of her being helpless to stop
me made me feel like skipping all the usual
preliminaries and just cutting right to the chase. Lets
fuck this lady!
I stood right up against her, my face only an inch from
hers, my cock brushing her lower belly. She could feel
it coming at her. I kissed her full on the lips. She
didn't respond, but just passively relaxed her mouth
so my invading tongue could snake its way between
her lips and into her mouth. I dry-humped my cock
against her belly, just to make it a bit harder than it
already was.
"Lady Jane, I'm going to fuck you now."
"Well, I can't stop you."
"That's right, you can't," I replied.
Normally screwing while standing is awkward,
especially from the front. But Jane was tall enough
that I only had to bend my knees slightly to get my
cockhead between her thighs and butting at her
entrance. I lined it up in the right direction, held her
buttocks in my hands, then suddenly heaved while
pulling her to me. She gasped at the shock of being so
completely filled with absolutely no warning, but she
was so wet that my dick went up easily. It was now
encased in her hotness, not a deep penetration
because her legs were not very far apart, but very
pleasing because of the warmth and wetness of her.
I started thrusting, trying to get deeper up her. This
was taking her offbalance but her bonds kept her on
her feet, plus I had her arse firmly gripped with both
hands and was pulling her to me to meet each thrust.
I buried my face in the side of her neck and sucked
firmly at the soft skin, to give her a massive lovebite.
Try explaining that to the other old biddies down at
the tennis club!
My thrusting was becoming very pleasant for me as
my tempo increased, and the force of it was drawing
all sorts of "ooofff!" and "Unnh!" noises from her. I felt
myself starting to come. It was not going to be a big
orgasm, because I usually need a lot of foreplay and
oral sex before I can have a reeeaaallly big orgasm, but
I was going to enjoy this one by pumping as hard as I
could.
I started to shoot in her, and the thought crossed my
mind that I should have found out if she were on the
pill, or menopausal, or anything like that. Too late
now! My jism was coming out in spurts, helped by
huge thrusts that had her butt jammed up against the
brass of the bedstead. It was lovely! The feeling of
release after all that pent-up excitement, plus the extra
turn-on of knowing that Lady Jane's insides seem to
melt at the very idea of her hole being all mine for the
taking.
I pulled my wilting cock out of her and hugged her to
me, sticky cockend pressed between our bellies. She
hadn't come yet, but then I hadn't wanted her to.
Time for that later. First, I better go and get my van
of gear, otherwise it might not be still there in the
morning.
"Lets make you a bit more comfortable."
I untied her from the bed (but not her wrists) and led
her around so that she could lie down on it. I retied
her hands to the bed head, and tied her feet to the
railing at the other end. I checked everything to make
sure she couldn't get free.
"Are you having fun yet?" I asked her.
"Yes. Carry on. I badly need to come."
"Sorry, gotta go," I said, pulling my pants back on.
"I'll be back in a couple of hours. Don't go away!"
On my way out I picked up her apartment keys and
locked the door behind me. Out on the street, I hailed
a cab and told the driver where the van was parked.
As we drove, I kept thinking about Lady Jane, tied
helpless to her bed waiting for me to return, her cunt
already sticky with my semen, wanting to come but
unable to do it herself, and wondering what was going
to happen next.
Be patient, dear reader. I will tell you later.
_____________________________________________________
Kristen's collection - Directory 8 - Text 8353
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