Angry Voice

If he had been at home he would have heard the front door slam with the effect of a gunshot, and through the broken glass panel the sound of an angry voice.

“Fuuuck you arsehole!”

But he wasn’t at home, he was at work, and by the time he did make to his flat the smashed glass had been covered over with newspaper and sticky tape.

“It’s not much in the way of security but I figured putting the crossword page over the hole, it might at least slow down an intelligent burglar.” His ancient neighbour shouted at him on arrival.

He thanked him for his kindness and politeness for not passing comment on the mess or the previous night’s shouting matches between he and Kate.  She was without doubt totally bat-shit crazy and he wasn’t the guy to manage her.  She was fun in loads of ways but totally unpredictable.

The bedroom looked like he had actually been burgled. She had taken most of her stuff, and some of his. His hat was missing from the shelf and at least half of his vintage shirts. A small price to pay for a clean get-away he thought.  Leaving the mess behind to the safety of the kitchen he retrieved a two-day old take-away curry from the fridge and a similar aged half bottle of opened prosecco.  Fifteen minutes later with a piping hot curry and flat alcohol he turned on the TV and started channel hopping until he eventually stumbled into a kate-smelling bed some two hours later.

With the bedroom almost cleared, Saturday was looking much brighter. The front door had been boarded up by his brother first thing that morning after a late night text. All was secure, if not a bit dark.  Kate’s cast-offs had laid in a pile on the floor for too long, and with a flourish of toxic smelling bin bag, the clothes were gobbled up and thrown in the corner.  A knock on the front made him freeze.

“Shit, she’s back.” He told the black bag. He froze.  There was a knock again, and then a shadow moved across the blinds away from his door.  He waited a few seconds and peeked through the window. Coast was clear.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

He almost wet himself.

“There’s a big box blocking the hallway son – A BIG BOX I said.”

There had been a big box, although addressed to Kate.  Despite that he had opened it anyway and was slightly surprised to find it full of sex toys and underwear.  ‘Pam Winters’ products the invoice declared.  Then he remembered Kate had done some sex parties to raise some cash, but he thought she had stopped. What did he know?   There was a sealed envelope in the box when opened revealed the whole picture.  It seemed that the box should have been delivered to the party for tonight, and not to the flat.  He grabbed his mobile and sent a text to Kate.

Hi – a box of dildos arrived for u. What should I do with them?

A moment passed. ‘Pingggg’

You really want me to answer that dick face?

He didn’t text back.

It was only an hour later did he come up with the idea. It was stupid, but he could do with the cash. He had the stuff and the address; how hard could it be?

Having sent a confirmation text message to the party host and polished off a third of a bottle of Jamaican rum he found under the sink, he ordered a cab.

“Big bag you got there guv,” said the taxi driver as he bundled the oversized canvas grip through the vehicle’s door.  “Where we off to then, somewhere posh as you’re dressed up like a dog’s dinner?”

The cab arrived some 30 minutes later. He paid the cab driver, pleased to get away from his continual narrative on cyclists and Brexit, and stood facing an ordinary looking detached house with a trampoline in the front garden.  He checked the door number once again, and with a sharp intake of breath he heaved the bag to the door and rang the bell.

“Ohhh hell gorgeous,” said a rather large breasted lady carrying a glass of white wine. “Are you lost?”

“Hi, I’m from Pam Winters.” He said in his best sexy voice.

“Fuck me, you’ve got to be joking; a bloke, a bloke doing Pam Winters’ party?” Oh boy I’ve drunk too much for this to be real. Come in handsome, come in.”

He walked into the house and looked towards the back and saw a circle of six women seated in a large conservatory. He took the bag as far as it would go without blocking the dining room.

“Good afternoon ladies; I trust you’re all in a good mood?”

The response was a big cheer and large glass of wine was shoved in to his hand.  After 20 minutes of questions, and a few lies, as to how he became a Pam Winters’ part host, he was asked what was in the bag.  Feeling somewhat empowered by all the attention he delved into the bag and withdrew a large plastic sack.

“Ladies, this is my gift to you. You may have any of the clothing in this bag to keep, free of charge, if you wear it for the duration of my visit.  There was silence, and at first he thought he had blown the gig.

“We can use my bedroom!” Said the host far too excited. There was a slight pause, and then like an underground train producing a sudden rush of air, the entire pack of women rushed for the stairs holding the bag of clothes aloft.

For fifteen minutes all he could hear was banging and laughter.  Suddenly the music speakers in conservatory came to life and the banging changed to slow thumping feet in carpeted stairs.  He turned to look, only to find a procession of scantily clad women walking down the stairs and towards him. He felt his cock jump.

“Hello big boy!” One of them shouted.  He was out of his depth and drowning fast. This crowd were fuelled with Pino Grigio and comfortable with each other. He needed to think fast..

“What I have here is the very latest in female pleasure for the kinky ones of you. Ladies, let me introduce the…Vampire Bat!” He said, having improvised the last bit.  He held a black leather strap with a V cut into the end of it. “Who’s first?”

The host’s arse cheeks were very red, the alcohol probably numbing her senses. The little black negligee covered very little and it was clear from the marks on her leg that he was inexperience in using impact toys.

“Can we just look in the bag? One of the women said ignoring her friends welted thighs.  He waved his hand and nodded slowly as if he were a wizard opening his cave to tourists.

Dildos, vibrators, clamps, lubes, butt plugs, restraints, masks, flavoured condoms and all manner of sexual equipment fell from the bag.

“What’s delay-cream?” One of them asked.
“Maybe he will demonstrate? Said another.

“I don’t think this is the kind of environment to test that out ladies.” He laughed.

No one laughed back.

Before he could offer any further distraction, a woman straddled him and kissed him. He felt hands taking off his shoes and socks. Then his trousers and shorts, and as she kissed him he felt what was the unmisstakable warmth of a mouth engulf his cock.

Laying on the conservatory floor completely naked, and having had delay cream applied, the gang went about sucking his cock and finally, dispensing with frilly underwear, took turns in fucking him.  He really could not believe his luck. That was until he heard a banging on the glass structure’s walls.

There, wearing a black and yellow tight dress stood Kate.  She waved her arms violently and looked like a demented wasp. He smiled and waved not knowing what the protocol was for such occasions.

She stared at him and finally mouthed, “Fuck you, again, arsehole!”

The delay cream finally gave up. His cock looked like a light bulb in size, and by way of an apology was paid in cash for the entire bag of goods.  £500 and a promise of a recommendation to another group.

Walking home he felt rather pleased with himself. If only his cock would stop throbing he might consider calling Kate for a drink..

 

 

 

 

 

 

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