Phil The Ferret

"Obviously not in here," I said, laughing nervously, dropping my handbag, .

"Sorry about that," he replied, stepping closer to me. "At least, though, we won't be disturbed. He moved in close to me. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck and face as he eased my jacket from my shoulders and I recoiled a little, but stood my ground as he relieved me of it and put it on a shelf. He was right I had made this choice. Surprisingly gentle he placed his lips on mine. I had not expected, somehow, that I would have to kiss him, but there was no backing out now. I allowed my lips to part and his tongue stole between them and ran against mine. His wispy moustache seemed strange against my skin. I felt his fingers unbuttoning my blouse, working their way deliberately down my chest and abdomen until it was fully unfastened, all the time his tongue lapping at mine, our lips pressed together. Then he was pulling my blouse free of the waistband of my skirt and caressing my abdomen. I gasped slightly. Then his hands were on my breasts, squeezing them, cupping them. I could feel my nipples hardening and I moaned involuntarily as he trapped them between his fingers.

There was a point - I'm not sure where - when I just gave way. I stopped thinking about getting out of that situation and where I accepted that what was going to happen would happen and that, if I resisted, it would be, not just unpleasant, but painful. Perhaps it was at this point, when his hands were on my skin, caressing it, teasing it; when his fingers were rolling my nipples and sending electric sparks to my groin, that I decided that, if I simply allowed my body to get what pleasure it could from the inevitable then I would be happier. It might have been at this point. I would like to think it was later. Either way, by the time he pulled away from me, there was a part of me that was getting turned on - a part I wanted to deny, but which meant that my pussy had become at least a little moist.

He pulled away from me and, his hand around my upper arm, guided me to the chair. I sat down, aware that I was breathing heavily and that my heart was pounding in my chest. He stood in front of me, unfastening his belt. I knew what was coming, but tried to reject the imagined scenario that was playing out in my head. He pushed his trousers and pants down over his hips and his thin, scrawny thighs, hairless and pallid. But his penis. I hadn't expected this - partly because I had spent the afternoon resisting thinking about this point in the events. His penis was bigger than any I have ever seen - though there haven't been very many of those. Semi-erect, it was already about eight inches and thickening as I watched. "I think you know what I want," he said as he stepped closer to me to the point where his stiffening shaft was in front of my face.

Normally I quite like sucking cock, but normally it gives me a kick to be in control - to be able to elicit little gasps of pleasure from the guy I love. None of that applied here. It was too late now, though - way too late - to imagine that this was about doing what I liked. Swallowing a feeling of revulsion I wrapped the fingers of one hand around the base of Phil's swelling shaft, drawing back his foreskin and revealing the puce crown. Tentatively I rolled my tongue over the head as his cock came to full rigidity. I licked that sensitive place on the underside where the foreskin joins the crown and he let out a soft moan of pleasure. "Good girl" he murmured.

He may not be a physically attractive man, but Phil the Ferret is quite fastidious about hygiene and his groin smelt clean and slightly scented. I opened my mouth wide and took his swollen glans in, feeling it move softly over my tongue. A little shiver of excitement ran through me. There was something about having to do this - about having no control - that was revealing a kink in me that I had never recognised before. I closed my lips tight around his shaft and started sucking. Aside from the slight saltiness from a drop of precum, there was no taste to Phil's cock, but the sensation of flesh gliding between my lips made me increasingly horny. There was a guy I went out with years ago who liked to thrust into my mouth, which I hated. Phil, though, stood there and let me work his swollen dick, gasping and moaning as I took him as deep as I could while I stroked the base of his shaft with my fingers.

Without being entirely aware of it I began to suck Phil's cock increasingly vigorously. I'd like to claim that I was trying to get him to cum in my mouth in the hope that that would be enough for him. The truth is that instinct had taken over. After a few minutes, though, my jaw began to ache and I released him. His shaft stood, confidently erect and glistening mockingly with my saliva, in front of my face; the ridge on its underside standing proud and ready to deliver his semen. I had brought it to that state, I thought with a mixture of shame and lascivious pride. Phil looked down at me and said, "That's all right. I think I'm about ready. But what about you?" I must have looked at him uncomprehendingly, so he continued, "I know this isn't an easy thing for you to do, but I would like it to be as pleasant for you as possible."

He took my arm and encouraged me up from the chair. Turning us, he stood me with my back to the long side of the table, the base of my spine against the tabletop. Numbly I just stood there as he hitched up the back of my skirt, then he caressed my naked arse. "So soft", he murmured and I shuddered with embarrassment. He then got me to sit on the table, my naked bum on the cold wood, and my back against the wall. He spread my legs apart so that the front of my skirt fell to my waist and my already moist and naked pussy was open to his gaze. My cheeks burning, for a moment I imagined that he would be reciprocating what I had done for him, and an image of his head buried between my legs, his thin grey hair grazing my stomach and his tongue lapping between my labia, flitted through my mind. Instead he simply sat down in the chair in front of me, his large, hard cock in his hand. "Go on then," he said.

"Oh God, please don't..." I began, realising what he meant. In response he arched his eyebrow and a self-satisfied smirk flitted across his rodent-like features. Quivering with shame or, possibly excitement, I closed my eyes and stroked my inner thighs. I sought out a fantasy - a place in my head as different, as far away as possible from what was happening. Katy. Yes - Katy. She had been two years older than me when I was sixteen and I had a girl crush on her. I'd imagined all sorts of things at the time. Now, as I cupped my left breast, squeezing my erect nipple and sending little electric jolts to my groin, I imagined Katy's long, delicate fingers touching me, teasing me; the fingers of her other hand slipping between my thighs and gliding between my lower lips, as she softly kissed the nape of my neck. My breathing was growing more rapid as I allowed my fantasy to play out in my head, but I couldn't resist, every so often, opening my eyes and catching a glimpse of Phil, gently stroking his cock as he watched me playing with myself.

I imagined Katy's long fair hair with its bubble perm stroking my breasts, my belly, my thighs as she kissed her way down my body. As I crooked my middle finger inside me and started to work it in and out, faster and faster, I pictured Katy's fingers deep in my pussy. I was moaning now and I was wet. Imagining Katy's tongue, rolling over my clitoris, teasing it, tormenting it, I rubbed at in reality, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my groin and out into my body. Aware that a lecherous fifty-five year old man was watching I pleasured myself with ever greater intensity, faster, faster, bringing myself closer and closer to orgasm.

"I think you're ready." Phil's harsh voice crashed into my fantasy and I felt his hands gripping my wrists, drawing them away from my pussy. A terrible mixture of disappointment and shame filled me as he drew me off the table toward the chair, my stomach trembling with unfulfilled sexual tension and apprehension. He had, while I had been lost in my fantasy, removed his shirt and tie and his thin, pallid body was, at best, unappealing. Sitting on the chair, his cold, skinny hands on my hips, he turned me to face him, then, his hands gliding up my thighs until they were cupping my arse cheeks and my skirt was gathered over his arms, he drew me toward him until my legs were astride his thin, hairless thighs. Oh God. It wasn't enough that he was blackmailing me into having sex with him, but I would have to make the running.

Crouching a little, I reached under my backside and my hand found his thick, hard penis. Trying so hard not to think about what I was doing; trying so hard not to think about Steve, or that this warm, pulsing shaft in my hand belonged to my rodent-like, middle-aged boss; trying to let my body's instincts take over, I guided the bulbous head to my entrance. I tried to suppress a tremulous moan as the first inch or two sank into me, but I failed. I hadn't had sex in more than six months and my body had needs that it was now seeking to satisfy. At least, that was the rationale I gave myself as I began to move up and down on Phil's rigid pole and as ripples of sensation began to flow from my pussy. I could feel him inside me, stretching my pussy walls and pushing at my cervix when, at last, my arse was on his thighs and I was completely impaled on his cock.

I want to say that it was terrible. I want to say I hated what was happening. It was, and I did. At the same time I can't deny how good it felt after all those months to have a cock inside me. I can't deny the need that drove me to thrust my hips onto it, grinding my clitoris against it, working it with my pussy. I can't deny the gasps and moans that were escaping my mouth or the pulses of pleasure that were flowing through my groin. There was a moment - I had wrapped my arms around Phil's shoulders to brace myself - when I caught sight of my wedding ring and a part of me howled that what was happening was wrong; and it was. And yet, faster and faster, harder and harder, I ground my pussy onto his hard, thick shaft; more and more wildly, more and more urgently my body reached for release.

Abruptly Phil stood up and lifted me off him. He was much stronger, it seemed to me, than I had expected. I could feel myself shaking as he guided me to the narrow side of the table. He unsnapped the fastening on my skirt and unzipped it, then I felt it sliding down my legs to the floor. He encouraged me up onto the table so that my arse was at the edge, then his wrinkly, thin-fingered hands were on my tits, pushing gently. A moment later I was on my back and my legs were wide apart and in the air, supported by his thin, wiry arms. "My turn to fuck you, I think," he said, leering at me. The word seemed so strange coming from him and it seemed to mock the way I had ridden him so wildly. I felt his cock probing at my entrance and grunted with sudden guilty pleasure as, with a single thrust, he drove it deep inside me.

I couldn't believe it. Looking downward, between my splayed thighs the scrawny, weaselly torso of my balding, middle-aged boss was driving his rod into me like a steam-hammer. It hadn't occurred to me that if a guy his age is that thin it probably means he takes exercise and has plenty of stamina. It hadn't occurred to me that Phil hadn't always been middle-aged - that he's probably had his share of sex and has learned a little. A lot! I felt his hand on my stomach, moving down between my legs and then a shock of near unbearable pleasure as his thumb rolled over my clitoris. I put my hand to my mouth to stifle a shriek. One last look at his rodent-like features - sweat beading on his hairless brow - over my tits, which were swaying with each powerful thrust, and I closed my eyes. I just abandoned myself to the surging tide of sensation that was building in my stomach and in my groin; to the rolls pleasure that were coming faster and faster. I didn't have to see him - I just had to feel him inside me, those waves and where they were taking me.

Abruptly he was gone and my pussy was empty. I felt his hands on my hips pulling and turning me onto my front, face down on the table, my breasts pressed to the hard wood, my feet apart and barely touching the floor. "You have a beautiful bottom, Karen," Phil was saying, his voice even whinier as it came through rapid breaths. Thwack! A blossoming of pain and pleasure mingled in my right buttock. "What do you want?"

The bastard! One last humiliation; one last coup; one last assault on what shreds of pride I had left. I knew exactly what he wanted me to say; the words he wanted to hear. I could have denied him - one final choice - but I was too far gone. As if to preserve dignity now long gone I spoke as quietly as I could, as if that would mean I wasn't actually saying it. "Fuck me."

Thwack! My right buttock too now burned with sudden painful heat. "Louder. What do you want me to do to you, Karen?"

"Please! Fuck me!" The words were out of my mouth before I knew it, before I could be filled with guilt and shame and Phil's cock was deep inside me moments later. I could hear the insistent slapping of his groin beating against my ass and the thumping of the table against the wall I could vaguely smell sex and sweat. I could taste salt on the skin of my hand as I pressed it to my mouth to suppress the moans and cries that I knew, vaguely, as if at some great distance, I was making. Above all, though, I felt pulse after pulse of pleasure ringing from my pussy and out through my loins to fill my abdomen. And then that's all there was. There was no Phil and there was no Steve. There was no guilt and there was no shame. There was no damp and no dirt, no creaking table and no grunts of sex. There was just cock thundering into me over and over and over again, sending wave after wave after wave of sensation out through my body, waves getting closer and closer and closer together, merging, amplifying, building, reaching to a crescendo that was nearly... nearly... nearly....

Oh God, I came so hard!

A roar of unholy joy shrieked from my pussy and burned in my abdomen then arced up my spine sending electrical fire along every nerve in my body before exploding in my brain like a choir of a thousand angels of ecstasy. I knew I was biting into one hand to stop myself yelling out a scream of delight that would fill the building and that the nails of the other were chipping as I clawed convulsively at the tabletop. More than anything, though, I knew the sheer, unalloyed sexual pleasure that was filling me. As I started to come down from that peak I heard grunting behind me. Phil thrust harder, deeper inside me as he began to empty his sperm inside me, his cock thicker, and pulsing in my pussy which was now a mass of sensitised nerves. Another tidal wave of sensation engulfed me.

As the sensations began to ebb I was aware of Phil stroking my upper back with one hand while a finger from the other hand idly drew patterns near the base of my spine while I trembled, my legs shaking and my breath ragged. "Wow," he said. "That was fantastic." I felt his cock softening inside me and eventually it flopped from my pussy. He stepped away from me and said, "Maybe we could do that again some time." Still breathing hard I straightened up and fastened my blouse. Then I retrieved my skirt from the floor and put it on before collecting my jacket and handbag and leaving. I said nothing. What could I say? On the way to the front door I a cleaner, but I kept looking ahead, unable to risk meeting her eye.

Once in my car I got a packet of tissues from the glove compartment and put a wad of them between my thighs in the hope that not too much of Phil's semen would seep onto my skirt. I stopped at the superstore and bought some panties and put on a pair in the toilets and then drove home. Turning the key in the lock I was so glad that Steve would still be with the chiropractor and that I had a couple of hours to compose myself.

I went into our bedroom and stripped off my clothes. My heart sank when I noticed a large semen stain on the back of my black skirt. I thought of the man standing behind me in the queue at the checkout and of the cleaner I had passed on the way out of the building and a wave of shame rolled through me. I put on a dressing gown, headed for the bathroom and turned on the shower. It was as I was getting into the shower that I saw it reflected in the bathroom mirror. On my lower back, near the base of my spine, in black marker pen: "Phil The Ferret FUCKED me" and an arrow pointing obscenely down between my arse cheeks.

I scrubbed at it for what seemed an age. At last it was mostly gone, but I was almost glad that Steve was laid up and that I could sleep in my nightgown and keep my back turned away from him. At least, though, I thought with a sigh, that might be it. Maybe I could relax now. I slipped my dressing gown back on and returned to the bedroom. I got my phone from my handbag to see if Steve had sent any word of when he expected to be home. There was only one message.

"Hi Karen. Phil has e-mailed me a really interesting file about a catering company called 'Zest'. I think we really need to discuss it. Phil says you know a suitable place to meet and that he'll give you the key. See you tomorrow. Eric x"