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From: "Spiller -" <spiller48@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} RP: Small Town, Small Street, all parts
Date: Fri, 17 Jan 2003 07:10:02 -0500
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This story is adult material, so stay off, if you shouldn't be here.

Remember: Authors' only reward is your comment. So please take a minute of 
your time to mail an opinion to:
spiller48@hotmail.com

Small town, small street.

	By Spiller

CHAPTER ONE.

	If you are driving your car or riding by train you shall hardly notice the 
small town, as you get closer. Only a few passengers get off the train, and 
a negligible number of cars turn off the motorway, while all the others 
continue their journey to somewhere else. And you certainly shall not notice 
the small street, which is hidden behind the few 3-story `high-rises', which 
this little town can boast.

	Coming in from the seaside, through the long and narrow `fjord', the small 
street is one of the first things you shall notice, though, as this street 
is right on the waterfront, and only one side of it occupied by houses. It 
is pretty but not flashy, it is colourful without displaying the full circle 
of the rainbow, and the houses are comfortably roomy, as they were all the 
homes of two or three fishing families in poorer times. Today they are 
restored and modernised, and they are all inhabited by only one family. And 
the families? Well, people from other parts of town would say that they are 
all very ordinary. Nothing special about them. Civil servants, teachers, a 
few shopkeepers, and only one fisherman, who owns the only remaining fishing 
boat in town.

	But, you see, I lived in that street for nearly 15 years, and I got to know 
my neighbours well. Probably better than any of them would have guessed or 
wished for. When  my wife died I sold the house and moved back to 
Copenhagen, and in the years to come I would hear, now and then, the 
`highbrows and straight nosed' make fun of `little boxes', `boring 
suburbia', `plastic people in plastic houses', etc.  I always chose to keep 
my mouth shut, but I couldn't help wondering: Our little street was far from 
ordinary, it was far from boring, and nothing about the houses and their 
inhabitants was plastic. So, what about all those other streets in all those 
other towns, which are called boring, suburban, bourgeois and plastic?  
Well, I'll never know, I guess, but I've decided to tell the stories of some 
of the houses in Smallstreet, and maybe you can tell me, if your home-street 
is that much different?

	How come I know so much, you may ask. Mainly for two reasons. I am a small 
time writer/journalist, and as such I consider myself pretty observant. And 
I do suffer from insomnia, often sending me out for long walks through the 
nights.

But let us get started. If you stand in the town hall square, which sounds 
pretty ambitious for our small administration building, and you walk a 
couple of hundred yards slightly downhill, towards the harbour, the last 
street on your left is our Smallstreet. And the first house is number one.

Chapter two, number one.

	Number one is the only house in the street, which was never inhabited by 
fishermen. It housed the production and administration of a long forgotten 
local brewery, and in its present day restored state it contained, until two 
years ago, the offices and the living quarters of the town's most successful 
lawyer. A highly respected man he was, and he had to be, or he would not 
attract business. At the age of 42 he really looked what he was, a 
successful provincial lawyer. Always well dressed, about 12 kilos 
overweight, hair getting thinner, and always doing the `right and proper' 
things. Member of the church council, free mason, chairman of a couple of 
societies in the `do-good-business.'

	"Hans P." as he was called in town, was married to Claire, a rather well 
preserved lady of 40 years. They only got one son, who had moved to 
Copenhagen to study law. Not much out of the ordinary there, I should say. 
But you see, Hans P. had a secret passion, or rather, he had a few. Claire's 
parents had moved to Spain for the warmer climate, and every other month 
Claire would fly down to visit them, usually for a week or two. Every night 
she was away Hans P. would draw the curtains, get naked, put on a heavy 
makeup, and dress in the sluttiest lingerie you could imagine. And hours on 
end he would masturbate, while looking at himself, dancing with himself, 
looking at pornographic pictures or videos, or he would join chat-groups on 
the internet and indulge in wild cybersex with likeminded men - and a few 
women. And that was his second passion: Women. Small women, big women, young 
women and old women, as long as they were horny, uninhibited, promiscuous 
and kinky. All four qualities, which he found out too late that Claire did 
not possess just a single one of.

	He had enjoyed his share of whores, when a case would take him to one of 
the central courts, and once he even visited a cross- dressers' bar in 
Copenhagen. But only that once. Fortunately he was made up beyond 
recognition, wearing a long, blonde wig and a red silk dress, because at the 
height of the evening, while he was dancing with a woman who liked cross 
dressers, his neighbour walked into the bar with a couple of friends. They 
had gone `slumming'. Hans P. got so scared that his cock immediately went 
hard, and he spurted semen down his stockinclad legs. He was not recognised, 
but the scare was so big that he never returned.

	Claire knew nothing about these escapades, mostly because she was not at 
all interested in his sexuality. Her's was of another inclination. On her 
trips to her parents she would visit a lesbian SM-club in Barcelona and take 
part in wild orgies of spanking, sucking, fucking and degradation. And at 
home she would spend many a morning having cybersex with girls and women 
from all over the world. Without being computer wizards any of them, Hans P. 
and Claire had managed for years to hide their sex activities in closed 
files on their computer. But one morning, while Hans had gone to Haag for a 
week, to attend a case at the Human Rights Court, their computer broke down, 
and Claire did not have a clue what went wrong, so she went downstairs to 
talk to Anna.

	Anna was a slim, slightly mousy woman around 40. She was responsible for 
the computer systems of the offices, and Claire asked for her help. Back 
upstairs Anna quickly diagnosed the error, but out of curiosity she told 
Claire, that she would have to copy their harddisk and then replace it, as 
the old one was worn out and had become unstable. Three hours later Claire 
was back on the net, and Anna had stashed the old harddisk in her handbag, 
so she could take it home and see, what those two `pillars of society' were 
up to. That Friday night in her home she spent an hour installing the 
harddisk into an older computer she never used, and fortunately the thing 
worked. A small program compared original program files with the ones on the 
harddisk, and soon she had a strange picture evolving. A whole bunch of 
files with strange names turned up, most of them named to look like parts of 
different programs, and all of them protected with passwords. Even a simple 
hacker program took care of the passwords, and what she saw inside the first 
couple of files that she opened, made her blood pressure rise.

	"Well, I'll be.... That dirty old bugger," escaped her. With glowing cheeks 
she got up from the computer, went to her kitchen to make a pot of tea, then 
to her bedroom to get out of her office clothes and into a comfortable 
housecoat, and then to her bed stand to pick up a couple of trusty 
`playthings'. Now it was Anna's turn to draw the curtains close and sit down 
by the computer. It is about time to tell, that Anna never had much luck 
concerning love or sex. Although she had a very pretty body, her general 
appearance was not very flashy, and she always attracted the wrong kind of 
men. Always the beginning of her relationships was fine, but as soon as she 
opened up a little to reveal, that inside this modest package lived a kinky, 
hot and most unusual woman, her suitors would run away, screaming.

	The first two files had raised her blood pressure, but what followed now 
was hour upon hour of wild stimulation, cybersex orgies, revelations about 
her employer and a lot more. When Anna got tired of masturbating with one 
hand and writing with only her left, she got up from her chair for a short 
moment, only to fasten her new butterfly vibrator to her clit, and then sit 
down and continue. She was extremely stimulated by the crosdressers' 
environment. Never would she have believed, that there were so many 
perverted persons out there.  By ten o'clock she had had 4 orgasms, and her 
chair was soaked through. An Australian transvestite told her to go and get 
a folded towel to sit on, and then he brought her to new heights. He made 
her download a camcorder program, and then he showed off for her, 
masturbated for her, told her how he would lick her cunt and her asshole, 
just for a beginning. With her butterfly humming slowly, she abandoned all 
the inhibitions her former lovers had planted in her, and she told her 
Australian friend to `force' her to make use of his dog. She made him show 
her the beautiful silicone breasts he had had for 3 years now, and for a 
long time Anna let him make lesbian cyber-love to her, until close to 
midnight, when she turned the butterfly up to full speed, and made him tell 
how he would fuck her cunt while they had girl sex, using breasts, hands and 
mouths. Her tenth orgasm, shortly after midnight, was so strong that she 
fainted, falling off her chair. When she came to, a little later, she felt 
utterly wicked, with the butterfly still running full speed on her clit, her 
thighs and pussyhair wet with her own juice, and `Cindy' still on the 
screen, asking her what went wrong. Anna finished off the conversation, 
promising `Cindy' that she would buy a cam Saturday morning, so they could 
meet for real, or rather as real as you can get on the internet.

	Anna went to have a shower and to make a fresh pot of tea, and then she 
returned to her computer. This time she found some files that Hans P. had 
saved, showing long conversations he had had in different chat-groups. She 
also found files with hundreds of pictures of women. At first she did not 
see any connection, because they were all kinds of women, all sizes and 
colours, some beautiful and some not so pretty, but finally she got the 
idea: They were all dressed in extremely sexy and vulgar lingerie, and they 
all gladly opened up to show their goods, some of them even masturbating in 
the pictures, and some of them with captions, written by their husbands or 
by the women themselves, telling how horny and wicked and naughty they were. 
By now it was 4 in the morning, and Anna was getting very tired, but a plan 
had formed in her mind, fortunately, because now we can get on with our 
story about the house in number 1.

	Saturday morning Anna woke up at nine, and half an hour later she was in 
her car, rushing to a town 40 km away, to do some shopping, that she 
definitely did not want to do in her own town. She bought a cam, because she 
had no intention to drop the internet, and then she bought a lot of very 
slutty lingerie and some really heavy perfume, because she had decided to 
seduce Hans P.

	In a sports shop she bought a tennis skirt. It could only be had in white, 
but some home-dye would correct that, and the cut of these skirts fitted her 
purpose excellently, showing off her tummy as even flatter than it was, at 
the same time giving her a chance to flash her panties whenever she wanted.

	Even though it is tempting to tell it all, I shall skip the wild internet 
sex Anna had all that night and part of Sunday, too. Her new cam was 
installed, and it certainly opened up areas she had never contemplated.

	Monday morning Anna arrived at the offices in number one, dressed like a 
new woman. A very short black skirt, a slinky white silk blouse with no bra 
underneath, and a very discreet make-up, which was a first for office use. 
She didn't want to be very obvious on the first day of her new life, and she 
felt that the slutty make-up she really wanted, would be too much. Hans P. 
was home from Haag, and several times on that Monday Anna got the chance to 
flash what she was hiding under the short skirt: Pantyhose, covering a 
minute, white G-string.

	Shortly before lunch time Hans P. called Anna into his private office. "I 
hear you helped my wife with the computer while I was away. That was nice of 
you."

	"Thank you. Of course I'll always help. Her harddisk was worn, and actually 
I had to make four attempts before I had a workable copy."

	"What did you do with the old harddisk?"

	"Followed office practice, mr. P."

	"And that is?"

	"I broke the casing and took out the disk, which I also broke, to make sure 
no one could ever read it. And then it went out with normal trash. So right 
now it's probably somewhere on city dump."

	"And you didn't notice anything unusual about it?"

	"No. Only that it was the same cheap quality that we use in the offices, 
and which I have often told you is too risky. The price of a high quality 
disk is not much bigger, and it would pay well, if we changed to that."

	At this time Anna dropped the folder she was carrying, and she turned round 
and bent down, with legs stretched, to pick it up, making sure that Hans P. 
got a fine view of her bum and pussy, only covered with a tiny G-string and 
her pantyhose. She got up again and turned to face her boss. "I didn't have 
time to open any of the files for a check, so of course I can't be 100 % 
sure, that one or two isn't damaged, but it seems highly unlikely."

	"Hmmm, hmmm, very good, very good."

	By the colour of his face Anna could read that her little show had hit home 
base. "All right, if that was all, mr. P., I've better get back to work."

	"Well, that's all right, Anna, and thank you for the help."

	The smile she flashed him as she turned round and left the office, was 
highly inviting, and she felt a sting of triumph as she closed the door. 
This was probably the first time in the years she had worked for Hans P. 
that he had noticed her as a woman.

	Over the next ten days she gradually upgraded her make up, she had her hair 
cut, and coloured a deep, reddish brown, and she started using little drops 
of heavy perfume now and then. Late Wednesday afternoon Claire entered the 
offices to say goodbye to her husband, as she was flying to Spain once more. 
Anna knew very well what was going to happen upstairs that night, and right 
she was. Around ten she entered Hans P.'s favourite chat-group, calling 
herself "Sandie", and pretty soon she had struck up a conversation with 
Hans, who always called himself `Clara' in that room. Really, Hans was such 
an easy target, as Anna knew all his preferences very well, and `in private' 
they had some raunchy cyber-sex. When Hans asked "Sandie" what she looked 
like, Anna gave him a vivid description of herself, and the underwear she 
pretended to wear, but which she had planned on wearing Thursday at work.

	That Thursday morning became the turning point. Anna arrived at the offices 
half an hour early, as she knew how Hans P. often liked to arrive early, 
especially if he would have to go to court later in the day. He liked to 
study the case in the quiet offices, before all the noise and questions etc. 
could disturb him.

	Anna stuck her face through the half open door and said: "Morning, mr. P. 
I'm going to make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one, too?"

	"That would be lovely, Anna."

	Five minutes later she entered his office with two big cups on a tray. She 
placed it on his desk and asked: "If you've got a minute I have a proposal 
which might save you a lot of work."

	"Sure, Anna. Sit down and let's have this tea in peace, before all the 
others arrive."

	Anna chose the chair, which would give Hans P. an unobstructed view from 
his seat behind the desk, and sure, he was stunned, when she deliberately 
raised the hem of her knee length skirt while she was sitting down, and 
flashed her thighs, clad in black nylons held up by the striped ribbons of 
her garter-belt, which she had described to him so vividly the night before. 
A silly look of confusion spread over his face, and Anna could easily see 
how the questions flew through his mind.

	"You see, I have this idea: The voice-simulation programs are so good these 
days, that a lot of those papers you have to read, can be fed through the 
scanner, into the voice program, and onto a CD, so you can listen to them in 
your car or whenever you have time, instead of reading and reading." While 
she was saying this Anna leaned forward to pick up her teacup, and when she 
leaned back in her chair she carefully crossed her legs, giving him a short 
flash of her thin, yellow panties with a red heart embroidered right over 
her pussy.

	"Ahh,...er.... I'm not quite sure I got that, Anna. You were saying?"

	Anna laughed good-naturedly and said: "Mr. P., your mind is wandering. If 
you can spend the time, I think it's better I give you a demonstration, when 
we have closed offices at four-thirty."

	"And you'd be willing to stay behind?"

	"I'd be willing," she said, and her tiny smile emphasised the innuendo of 
her words. "But we'd better finish our tea now, so I can get the cups out, 
because the others will be arriving soon, and we wouldn't want them to 
gossip, would we?"

	Anna went round his desk to pick up his empty cup, and as she was standing 
beside him, she made sure that a whiff of her heavy perfume reached his 
nose, before she left the office with slightly swaying hips. For the rest of 
the day Hans P. was on tender hooks. He even had trouble concentrating in 
court. He couldn't be sure, could he? On the other hand "Sandie"s 
description of herself and her underwear had been very precise. Chances that 
they should meet in such a special chat-room were one in millions, but then, 
those were the odds lots of people bought Lotto-tickets against. Several 
times during the day he recalled his antics with "Sandie" last night, and 
every time he did, he had to sit down behind his desk to hide his hard cock.

	Close to four-thirty Anna had everything hooked up and installed for her 
presentation, and it did not raise any eyebrows, when she stayed behind as 
all the other clerks left. This time Hans P. paid a bit more attention, and 
he got the general idea of the possibilities, although his mind was still 
preoccupied somewhere between Anna's slender thighs. And Anna, who had 
watched him most of the day, was growing more and more confident, that she 
had him hooked.  Unnoticed she opened up one, later two buttons in her silk 
blouse, giving Hans an unobstructed view of her small, pert tits, and as if 
by accident her skirt rode up her legs until once more he could see those 
slim thighs, the tempting stretch of bare skin, and the striped ribbons 
holding up her black stockings.

	Shortly after six Anna said: "I'm getting hungry. I think I've better get 
home and get some supper."

	"Do you have to? Why don't we call for a pizza to take upstairs and then 
lock up down here?"

	"OK, you order it while I unhook all this, so it's ready tomorrow morning."

	Upstairs they shared a bottle of wine with the pizzas, and when Hans 
offered to make a cup of tea or coffee, Anna accepted and sat down in a 
heavy armchair in the living room. Hans P. almost stumbled when he returned 
from the kitchen with a tray of coffee and brandy. Anna had leaned back in 
the armchair, and crossed her legs with her left ankle resting on her right 
knee, and the front of her skirt hoisted up as high as it would go, allowing 
Hans a glorious view of her thin, yellow panties with the embroidered heart, 
and now with a large damp spot in the gusset. For a few seconds he was 
standing there, unmoving like a statue.

	"Let's stop pretending, Hans. You get excited when you look at my cunt, 
don't you? And don't be afraid, I shall not land a harassment suit on you. I 
like that you are looking."

	Hans woke up and placed the tray on a small table. Then he smiled. "Well, 
if you like that I'm looking at you, then put one leg over the arm rest."

	Anna got up from the chair. "I'll do you one better on that one. I'll take 
off my skirt first." When she sat down again, she lifted her left leg over 
the armrest, and looking straight at Hans she unbuttoned the rest of her 
blouse and pulled it open. "Well, satisfied? Now it's your turn."

	Quickly Hans got rid of his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. While he was 
pulling it off he whispered: "You wouldn't be "Sandie", would you?"

	"Why the hell do you think I put on these smelly panties today? You made 
them plenty wet last night, `Clara', but I wanted you to see the embroidered 
heart. Yes, you have to be more careful when you are in chat-rooms. You gave 
yourself in, when I asked you about your wife. When you told about her 
journeys I knew `Clara' was you, and my cunt has been dripping all day."

	"Oh, my God, Anna. You are not going to rap on me, are you?"

	"Of course I'm not going to tell anybody. That is, if you are a nice `girl' 
like you are in cyberspace. If you can satisfy this hungry cunt just as 
good. Come over here. Kneel for me, and suck my wet, smelly panties. They 
have been wet for nearly 18 hours, now."

	His groan sounded almost like a happy sob, when he fell to his knees and 
buried his face between her thighs. He sucked, he licked and he sucked 
again, basking in the tangy smell, and when Anna grabbed her gusset with two 
fingers and pulled it aside, he buried his tongue in her cunt, and then 
slowly let it slide up to her clit.

	"Aaahhhh, that is good. Just a little more. MMmmm, suck my clit a little. 
Oooohhh, that's good. But now I want Clara." With a little snap she let go 
of her gusset and sat up more straight. "Take me to the room where you hide 
your dresses. If you're a good girl I shall help you with the make up and 
all, so you can get really pretty."

	Hans fetched a big suitcase in the attic and then he led Anna to the 
bedroom. He was shaking all over in anticipation, and he certainly was not 
disappointed. Anna was terribly horny by now, but she controlled herself. 
She told Hans to get naked and lie down on the bed. Then she pulled off her 
panties and handed them to Hans. "Here, you can sniff and lick these, while 
I choose your outfit from the suitcase." When she was satisfied with her 
selection, she turned round to face him, and to make a little show out of 
displaying her pretty body, by now dressed only in black stockings, 
garter-belt and an open silk shirt. From the suitcase and from Claire's 
dresser, she selected a few jars and bottles. Then she straddled Hans on the 
bed, led his cock to her cunt and lowered herself onto him. An electric 
tingle spread through her body as she felt his cock fill her up. Then she 
leaned forward, opened one of the jars and said:

	"I have better massage my girlfriend with this lotion, so her skin is soft 
and smooth." With deft fingers she spread the lotion on his chest and 
shoulders, and when the massage began she very carefully moved her whole 
body, so that Hans' stiff cock stirred her wet and hot `pot'. When she could 
feel that Hans was getting close, she got up from his cock, leaving it to 
cool off in the air. Instead she sat down on his chest with her legs wide 
open. "Now I'm going to masturbate myself to a lovely orgasm, and then I'll 
apply my `girl's makeup. Don't you dare to move while I do it." All Hans 
could do was to watch. Watch a sight he had never seen. A very horny woman 
masturbate herself to a violent orgasm. He had seen some fakes with a couple 
of whores, but never the genuine article. Anna was getting really close, 
when she suddenly panted: "Clara, Hell, Clara, stick one of your fingers up 
my ass... I'm coming now."... Happily Hans obeyed and was rewarded with a 
scream of passion and satisfaction, as the orgasm rolled through Anna's 
body, and he could feel her ass open and close round his finger.

	"Mmmm, you're a good girl, Clara. Now I'll take care of your face."  She 
leaned over and grabbed another of the jars. "First I'm going to rub in a 
nice foundation, and then I'll start making you up." When Anna sat down on 
the bed beside his head and went to work with brushes, mascara, eye-liner, 
and all the other tools, a scorching sense of happiness spread through Hans. 
It was the fulfilment of a twenty year old dream, to have a woman turn him 
into a woman. Her deft and soft fingers danced on his face like butterflies 
and sent waves of utter happiness to his heart. It lasted for more than 15 
minutes, and then Anna suddenly said:

	"All right, Clara, this is as good as I can do it today. Put on your long, 
blonde wig and then look at yourself in the mirror." The sight in the mirror 
was incredible. Some way or another Anna had managed to emphasize the 
feminine parts of his face, and down tone the masculine parts. A very pretty 
Clara looked at him from the mirror.

	"Satisfied with the result?  Now come over here, and I'll put your clothes 
on you." Hans was totally delirious while Anna gradually got him dressed up 
in a bra, flimsy blue open legged panties, stockings, a garter-belt, high 
heels, and finally a long, blue silk dress with a slit almost to the waist. 
And all during the process his cock became harder and harder, until it was 
almost painful. When Anna had given him the high heel pumps, she kissed his 
red lips and then grabbed his shoulders and turned him towards the mirror. 
"Say hello to my girlfriend Clara."

	A rush of adrenalin and passion ran through him, but before he had had time 
to think, Anna was behind him. "I know you usually have to do this alone, 
Hans, but not tonight."  Her cool hand crept through the slit in the dress, 
and slowly moved up to grab his pulsing and hurting cock. "We can't have 
this cock destroy your lovely dress, can we?" and she started masturbating 
him slowly, first through the silk of the panties, later through the open 
legs of them. The sight of it in the mirror was exhilarating. It was vulgar. 
The blue silk moving violently as Anna's hand ran up and down his cock. The 
thousands of times he had dreamed of this. It all boiled together into a 
violent, heartbreaking orgasm, which made him spurt again and again, into 
Anna's hand, across the silk in the panties and down his legs.

	"Go to the bathroom and clean up yourself, and take on a new pair of 
panties. I don't want my girlfriend messed up by some guy's semen."

	When he returned from the bathroom Anna had moved back to the living room. 
She had poured them two glasses of wine, and then she sat down in the 
armchair. She looked closely at Hans as he wriggled his way across the room 
on his high heels. "I shall have to teach you how to walk on those heels, 
Clara, you look quite clumsy. And tomorrow afternoon I shall go to town and 
buy you a corset. You haven't got much of a waist, you know, and you'll look 
a lot more feminine when you get one. But you'll do for tonight." Her words, 
implicating that she would be with him tomorrow, too, made him very happy.

	"You can leave tomorrow at noon. Just say that you need to pick up some 
computer-equipment. And you don't have to return to work."

	"Sure, I'll do that, but now kiss me like a true girlfriend would, and show 
me you can make love to a woman like a woman should do." Hans tried his 
best. His kisses were a bit too rough, and his pussy licking sure needed 
improvement. But they danced, they fucked, they masturbated, they talked 
nasty, and Anna even spanked Clara into submission.

	For the two weeks Claire was in Spain, Anna and Hans met almost every 
night. During the weekend they even drove to Copenhagen with the big 
suitcase, booked a hotel and made Clara ready for a night of clubbing. And 
it was during these two weeks of uninhibited sex that Hans made the mistake 
of his life. He began talking about love. He even persuaded Anna that he was 
serious. And he even promised that he would get rid of Claire so he could 
live with Anna for the rest of his life. Anna had never had intentions in 
that direction, but she believed him, and it became a serious goal for her.

	But when Claire returned, and it became vastly difficult for them to meet 
so often, Hans realised he had made promises, which were impossible to 
fulfill. Claire owned 75% of the business, as she had invested her 
inheritance in it from the start. So all in all a divorce would be a 
disaster for Hans. Financial ruin, social deroute and a need to start all 
over again.

	When he finally got the courage to tell Anna, she had sensed it a lot 
sooner. On the surface she maintained her usual behaviour, while the wish 
for revenge burned her out. As soon as she became suspicious of his 
withdrawal,  she had started gathering evidence in the computers and on 
photo copies, of some of the more shady deals Hans P. had been involved in, 
like tax evasion, empty companies, fake bankrupcies, etc. Anna had no 
intention to blackmail Hans into keeping his promises. His behaviour had 
been so low and cowardly, that she didn't want him at all. But she wanted 
revenge.

	Just a few months later photo-copies and floppy disks turned up at a few 
selected newspapers and at the Prosecution of Economic Crime. Hans P. was 
indicted, sentenced and imprisoned. In back taxes, fines and damage suits, 
his whole fortune was lost, and most of Claire's too. When the final 
accounts were made, only 300.000 dollars were unaccounted for, but that was 
judged to be the result of Hans P.'s creative bookkeeping.

	Today Hans P. still has 8 years to serve, Claire has moved to Spain 
permanently, and Anna has bought an old farm close to Copenhagen, and she 
has turned it into a highly successful club for crossdressers, where they 
can meet secretly for weekends of wild sex.

	So much for number one. Not that ordinary, is it? Well, number three is a 
bit special, too.

CHAPTER THREE, number three.

	Number three is one of the old fishermen's houses, restored and decorated 
in a classy, light blue colour with all the woodwork painted white. The 
narrow front garden is filled with glowing red and yellow roses of many 
different kinds, emphasizing the luminant blue of the house. I passed the 
old town only a month ago, and I couldn't help turning off the motorway to 
go back to Smallstreet to have a look. Ulla and Erik were still the 
inhabitants of number three, and I even had a chance for a little chat, as 
Ulla was in the front garden, pruning the roses. In her early fifties Ulla 
is still one stunning woman to look at. Tall and slim, athletic, with a 
beautiful, classic face and long, wavy, blonde hair, which for the garden 
work was gathered in a decorative bun on top of her head. I told her to give 
my greetings to Erik, and on my way out of town I couldn't help wondering, 
if those two were still up to their special sports.

	Ulla and Erik had given up having children many years ago. None of them 
wanted to adopt, and instead they turned their attention to each other, 
which they gradually found to be highly rewarding. They were both very 
beautiful people, and highly successful in their jobs, Erik as a teacher and 
Ulla as an illustrator for the local advertising agency. They were highly 
sexed too, and for many years they gave each other so much pleasure, that 
there was no need for the exotic. Their general attitude towards sex was 
very open. "I'll try anything at least once," Ulla often said, and variation 
was a great part on their menu.

	About twenty years ago Ulla got a phone call from her best friend in art 
school. She was going to get married, and she wanted Ulla to be one of the 
bridesmaids. The party following the wedding itself was very animated. Lots 
of people in their twenties and thirties, lots of dancing to a great band, 
and lots of gropes and snuggling taking place in corners and in the garden. 
It was close to midnight before Erik started the long drive home, with Ulla 
relaxing in the passenger seat.

	"I hope you are not very mad at me, because I let Sven touch my breasts 
while we were dancing."

	"Are you crazy, it was terribly exciting to watch. I had hoped he would 
touch you in other places too."

	"Please don't get mad, but he did."

	"Really?"

	"Yes. A little later he took me out into the garden on some pretext I don't 
even remember, and behind the big walnut tree he had his hand down into my 
panties."

	"I wish I could have seen that. Was it exciting?"

	"Oh, God, yes. You know very well that I get horny, when I drink red wine. 
I couldn't stop him, and he made me come on his fingers. You should feel my 
panties, they are soaked.

	Erik let go of the steering wheel with his right hand, and slipped it 
across to touch her thigh. Willingly Ulla turned a little in the seat and 
hoisted up her skirt, then she grabbed his hand and led it to her panties. 
"See?"

	"Holy Moses, you are so wet." When he began rubbing the gusset of her wet 
panties Ulla let out a deep moan and opened up her legs a little bit more.

	"Aahhh, this is good. Sure you are not mad?"

	"If you could reach over you wouldn't doubt me. This makes me very hard."

	"That it was some other guy?"

	"That `my' pussy has been made so wet by a stranger's hand, yes.  And that 
you are such a horny woman, that you let it happen."

	"I'm horny, all right. You know, sometimes I have trouble having an orgasm. 
This took less than two minutes, that's how horny he made me."

	"Because he was a stranger?"

	"Because of that, yes, but also because it was forbidden, and it was like 
the first times as a teenager, when somebody touched me. Oh, God, Erik, it 
even makes me horny now, talking about it. If I take off my panties, will 
you go on rubbing me?"

	She sure was horny. Her panties were saturated, and when he got his fingers 
on her naked pussy, one of them easily slipped inside her. "Oh, Erik, rub 
me, and tell me again that you're not mad I let a stranger finger my pussy."

	"I'm not mad, love, it excites me no end that you let a stranger masturbate 
you till you came. You like to hear me say that, don't you?"

	"Oooohhh, God, yesssss. It's lovely."

	They were approaching one of the motorway rest areas, and suddenly Erik 
turned off the lane. "Open your blouse and let me see your tits," he moaned, 
as the car slowed down. With trembling fingers she did what he had told her 
to do. By that time Erik had spied three men standing round their car at the 
other end of the rest area.

	"Roll down the window, love," and while she was doing it, he drove up 
beside the three men. They turned round to look at the car, and then Erik 
leaned over, across Ulla, and asked through the window: "Any of you want to 
feel up this lovely woman?"

	"Are you crazy," Ulla asked, her voice trembling.

	"I am."

	A young guy, looking like he was still in his teens, said: "I'd sure like 
to feel her."

	"Then put your arm through the window and feel free to do whatever you 
want."

	The young fellow aimed directly at Ulla's flat stomach, and in a few 
seconds he had found his way to her dripping pussy. This elicited a deep 
moan from Ulla, turning into a little scream, as he pushed a finger into her 
and began fingerfucking her.

	"Oh, my God," Ulla groaned. "This is absolutely wild."

	"Enjoying it?"

	"Ooohh, yes, yessss. It's wild and crazy, and I'm going to come. I am! I'm 
coming. Oh, God, so fast, I'm coming." When Ulla was recovering from her 
orgasm the young guy was still fingerfucking her.

	"Stop now, and give her a break," Erik said through the window. Let one of 
the others try.

	"OK, and thank you, lady," the youngster said and withdrew from the window, 
only to be replaced by an older guy.

	"You sure have a pair of beautiful breasts, lady," the older guy said, as 
he stuck his left arm through the window and carressed them for a little 
while. Then his right arm went in, too, and pretty soon Ulla started her 
groans again. The sight of this obviously experienced stranger bringing his 
wife to new heights, thrilled Erik no end, and when he began mauling her 
small tits, and sometimes pinching her nipples, at the same time 
masturbating her clit with two fingers, it excited Ulla just as much.

	"Oooohhh, Erik, his hands are so rough. My God, he'll make me come again. 
Eeeeeooowwwww, I'm coming, I'm coming." The powerful lust raked her body, 
and with quivering thighs and a rippling belly she worked herself through a 
long, lovely orgasm.

	"AAaaaahhh. That was something!" she groaned. "But I want to go home now, 
Erik."

	"OK, love. You heard the lady, didn't you? She wants to go home now, so 
we'll go. But thank you."

	"Well, thanks to you, too. Some woman you've got there." He removed his 
arms, and pretty soon Erik had the car rolling, while Ulla rolled the window 
back up.

For a little while they drove in silence, Ulla still slumped back in her 
seat, making no attempt to cover up herself. Finally, as they were 
approaching our little town, she pushed herself up into the ordinary sitting 
position. "Erik, this was absolutely crazy and wild. Please tell me you're 
not mad, that they made me so horny."

"Not at all, love. On the contrary. It was terribly exciting to watch you, 
and don't you dare to cover up. This late there'll probably not be any 
people out in the street, and I want to walk you inside, just the way you 
look now."

"You really have gone crazy tonight, haven't you?"

"MMm. Do you wonder? And do you know what I'm going to do in three minutes?"

"I think I've got an idea about it, but tell me."

"I'll do two things at the same time. I'll fuck the horniest and wettest 
cunt in town, and I'll make love to the prettiest wife in town."

"What a nice thing to say, love."

Erik did as he had told: He walked her, half naked, up the front garden 
path, and inside they barely made it to the living room. He asked Ulla to 
sit down in the big armchair, and to resume her position from the car, when 
those strangers had masturbated her, and then he ran his hard and horny cock 
up her slobbering cunt in one unobstructed push. "God in Heaven, wife. Your 
cunt is so hot and alive. Tell me if it was as good as it looked."

"You lovely, horny husband, you. I don't know ..... how it looked, .... but 
you can be damned sure .... it was good. I never .... let anybody touch me, 
.... and then .... in one night.... I can't believe it, .... but three times 
.... I did it, .....  and I came three times..! Oh, Erik, and I'm going to 
come again. Fuck me, fuck me hard, fuck meeeeeee...."

Erik had been horny for such a long time, that he didn't last very long. It 
was short, it was furious, it was dirty and wild, and when he yelled his 
orgasm out into their living room, she exploded yet another time, while he 
collapsed on top of her. A little later, when his softening cock fell out of 
her, he got up and took her hand.

"I'm so damned tired, now. But I don't want this to end right now. Will you 
do me a favour?"

"I'll do anything once, you know that, love."

"Then I want you to put those soaked panties back on, and I want you to keep 
on these clothes, while we sleep. I want to wake up tomorrow and see this 
lovely, randy woman on my pillow."

"You got it, dear. And may I presume you've got some plans for tomorrow 
morning?"

"Ooohh, you bet I have. And if I wasn't as exhausted as I am, I'd carry them 
out right now."

Sunday morning was one of those glorious summer mornings. A cloudless sky, a 
bright sun, almost no wind, and at about five o'clock Ulla woke up, as the 
sun reached their bedroom window. For a little while she listened to her 
sleeping husband, and she wondered how yesterday's antics would look in the 
bright light of morning. God, she had been horny last night. Hopefully Erik 
would have the same attitude when he woke up !  She willed herself to fall 
asleep again, and not until nine o'clock was she awakened by Erik's kisses 
on her eyes and forehead.

She lifted her mouth towards him, and as he pressed a loving kiss on her 
lips, she cuddled up against him. A little later she became very much aware 
of his hard cock, pressing against her thigh. A small flash of passion ran 
through her body. Thank God he was horny again and apparently he had no 
regrets about yesterday. She wriggled her right thigh against his hard cock 
and whispered:

"Hey, good morning, lover. What's that, you've got for me?"

"A compliment for a very horny lady from her just as horny husband."

"Mmmm, I like such a compliment when I wake up. And may I ask, why?"

"Because your open blouse reminds me of what happened to your pretty 
breasts, last night. And the skirt around your waist reminds me of what 
happened to your pussy, last night. That's why."

"And my panties, what do they remind you of, my naughty husband?"

"They remind me of how wet they were last night. Oh, my, and they are still 
wet."

"No dear, not still, they are wet again."

"How wonderful."

"Why don't you pull them down, then, so you can feel if my pussy is wet 
again? It is not as wet as yesterday, but I'm sure you can do something 
about that."

"I shall." He pushed his right hand down into her panties. "But first I 
shall do this, to remind you of how you got your first orgasm last night."

"Oh, yesssss. I did get carried away then, didn't I?"

"That's what you told me in the car."

"Rub it up and down for me. Just short movements up and down - then you'll 
really remind me of what happened."

"Like this?"

"A little shorter, and a little more pressure."

"This?"

"Oh, oooooohhh, yessss. Just like that. You are crazy, Erik, that you want 
me to remember. All other husbands would want their wife to forget.   
Aaaahhh, it's good."

"And you came very fast, didn't you?"

"God, I was so horny I made his hand wet, and when I came I could have 
swallowed an elephant up there. Aaahhh, I'm getting close again. Do you 
really want me to remember?"

"Really. I want you to remember it all."

"All right, but then leave the talking to me, eeehh? Just rub it like you 
do. I'm out in the garden. Sven has his arm round my waist. The big tree. I 
lean against it. He kisses me.... oooohhhh, - his hand is on its way up my 
skirt.  God, it tingles. Now he touches my pussy behind the panties. Oh, 
he's creaping up, higher up, now his hand is inside my panties.... Oh, this 
is wild, he touches me so differently. God, he rubs my clit so good. Just 
like you do now. Oh, I'm going to come so fast, I am. I'm coming, Erik,  I*M 
COMING.....eeeeeeiiiii.... oh, stop rubbing, just hold your hand there.  
Aahhh, push one finger in. You can feel it, can't you?  Ahhh. Phew.."

Ulla suddenly went all soft. All tension was washed away, and for a minute 
or so she just relaxed, enjoying the feeling of Erik's hand in her panties, 
and the finger resting in her wet opening. Then she grabbed his hand and 
pulled it out of her panties. She rolled over to rest on her hands and 
knees, and reached back to pull off the panties.

"Now, my lovely, wicked husband, I have a little plan, which I made when I 
was awake around 5 this morning. She straddled his legs and slowly moved 
upwards until his very hard and horny cock was pushing against her cunt. 
Slowly she wriggled her hips until she was sure that the first couple of 
inches were securely embedded in her moist folds, and with a very erotic 
sigh she pressed downwards till he was buried all the way inside her.

First she leaned forward until her long, blonde hair formed a tent round his 
face, and then she kissed him, lovingly at first, sexily thereafter. With 
tongue and teeth and all. Then she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed 
herself up, until she was sitting upright on his pulsing cock. "I want to 
see if you're all words, or if it really makes you horny, what we did last 
night. I can't fingerfuck myself like the young boy did, because I don't 
want to let that lovely cock out of my pussy, but I can ask you: Did you get 
horny when the older guy mauled my breasts like this?" With one hand she 
repeated what he had done to her breasts the night before. She mauled them 
and she pinched her nipples.

"You know, it hurt a little. But he was very good, and it was only a good 
hurt."

"Grrrrr. It is great, Ulla. A really god hurt?"

"Can't you feel how my pussy turns into a cunt? Feel it, it's opening up, 
and you are going to become very, very wet, I tell you."

She was looking straight into his eyes, and it was so very true: Her pussy 
became alive around his cock, and he felt it open up, wide and wet and hot.

"And now look at my right hand. See how he masturbated me? He did it exactly 
this way, and he was very good at that, too. Do you like to see it? Do you 
like me to remember? I like it. I love to be your horny fuck-machine; I love 
to have other men do this to me. Aaaaahhh, love. I can feel you like it. 
It's not just words, is it?"

"God, no, Ulla. This is the wildest."

"MMMmmm. And in a little while I'm going to come, oh so hard, because he 
made me come yesterday. And I'll make you spurt all your lovely juice up 
into me." She continued mauling her breasts with her left hand while she 
masturbated with her right. As she was getting closer she started little 
rocking motions on him, until she suddenly gasped and started yelling.  
"Yesssss, oh yesss, this is bloody good, I'm coming. I'm your whore and I'm 
coming because I remember.... OOooooooooo."

She had closed her eyes, now, and her head was tilted backwards. When Erik 
felt her sloppy cunt start its contractions round his aching cock, it was 
just too much. With a deep groan he started spurting, again and again and 
again, while Ulla in the last throes of her orgasm clamped down hard on him, 
so his cock hit bottom.

Their exhaustion was just as much mental as it was physical.

Apparently Ulla and Erik had found their mutual little perversion, because 
over the years they never strayed much from it. Four or five times a year 
they would visit some rest area on the motorway. A few times Ulla would step 
out of the car. Standing outside the car, several men could fondle her at 
the same time, which she found extremely exciting, but usually she much 
preferred the relative safety of the car. They never advanced to actually 
fucking the strangers, but a few times Erik persuaded her to masturbate 
them. By the look of contentment on her face, that day I saw her among her 
roses, I should say that they have not yet stopped their antics.


CHAPTER FOUR, number 5 and number 7.

	There is not much to be said about number 5.  In this case you could talk 
about `provincial' and `boring', or maybe I just do not know what has been 
going on earlier. Today it is occupied by an old couple in their eighties, 
and all the years I lived in the street there was no hanky panky with them. 
A retired fisherman he is a stout and weather-beaten man, and she is your 
archetype grandmother and great grandmother. Solid, kind, always busy and 
taking care of a lot of things.

	But number 7 ! When my attention was attracted to them they were in their 
mid thirties. Two nice and kind persons, and their children just as nice and 
well behaved. Helly was a school secretary and Peter was a clerk at the town 
hall. Not two very well paid jobs, but taking care of the pennies assured 
them a comfortable life in the house, which was their big hobby. Peter was 
very proficient with his hands, and Helly had done a lot of preliminary work 
in the city archives, so today their house was definitely the best restored 
in the street. Best in the way that it was absolutely true to its original 
looks.

	I had lived in the street for four years before I noticed anything. In the 
afternoon the kids were picked up by the grannies for a weekend in Legoland, 
and at around 7 three couples arrived at number 7. At about 9 I went for a 
short walk, and nothing out of the ordinary took place. From the windows of 
number 7 I could hear music, and people could be seen dancing. But when I 
returned from my walk about an hour later it looked as if the house was 
empty. No light, no people, no party. Quite early, I had to admit, and it 
tickled my curiosity.  I went home (I lived in number 11) and changed into a 
black cotton coat and a black hat. Then I went down to my back garden and 
along the path running behind the fences of all houses in Smallstreet.

	Number 7 was the only house in Smallstreet, which had a basement. And it 
was not even a proper basement; more like a first floor dug a couple of feet 
into the ground. A thin stripe of light penetrated the curtains, and I just 
could not help myself; my curiosity demanded satisfaction. What I saw 
through that narrow opening in the basement curtains had started five years 
earlier.

	Helly and Peter had been married for 7 years when they ran head on into a 
severe stalemate. It was absolutely no case of the `seven year itch'; it was 
more a case of the `missing itch'. Two highly active children, quite 
demanding jobs for both, work on the house, and then the 30-year syndrome: 
Your future seems put on rails, some of the dreams of your youth never came 
through, and the days turn monotonous and bleak. Each factor on its own 
would have been easily handled, but together they formed an efficient 
`passion killer', and gradually their lovemaking deteriorated into once a 
week, once every two weeks and once every month, if the weather was not too 
bad.

	On a gloriously warm afternoon in June they had filled up one of those 
portable plastic pools for the kids to play with in the back garden.  A 
little later Helly jokingly splashed a shower of water onto Peter, as he was 
sunning himself beside the pool. Equally jokingly Peter chased her round the 
garden, and right in front of their kids their love life took a drastic 
turn. He caught her, wrestled her down on the grass, held her arms, and 
jokingly started spanking her round bottom through her bikini briefs. Peter 
had expected her to fight back, but suddenly she went very soft in his 
hands, and her heavy breathing was no longer caused by their running around. 
It was just a short moment, because the kids thought it great fun, and came 
running to take part in the joke, but the moment was not forgotten.

	That night when they were undressing for bed, Peter saw that Helly had not 
changed her bikini into underwear, as she always did. When she took off her 
summer dress she was standing in her bikini, very conscious of what she was 
doing. Fortunately Peter is a very sensitive man, and he immediately 
percepted her wish.

	"Come over here, Helly. I think I didn't finish that spanking you deserve 
for splashing water on me." Slowly, without saying a word, she walked up to 
him. Her nervousness showed clearly in her slow steps, because this time it 
was not for fun, and she only had a faint idea of how she would react. In 
one swift movement he wrestled her down on their bed, lying face down, and 
when he had grabbed both her wrists with his left hand, he started slapping 
her pretty, round bottom. Quickly her breathing changed, just like it had 
done in the garden.

	"Don't you move while I take off your top." Peter let go of her hands, and 
true to his order she stayed where she was. When her top was off, he grabbed 
her hands again, and in a very determined way he dealt her 10 slaps on her 
arse and the backside of her thighs. This time Helly wriggled her hips, but 
not as if to avoid him, more like she tried to make her ass even more 
vulnerable.  Strong currents of passion and submission cursed through her 
body and her mind, and her breathing became more ragged.  After the last 
slap Peter let his hand rest on the backside of her thighs, and a little 
later he slowly and deliberately moved it up between the insides of her 
thighs until he touched her cunt through the panties. Her gusset was 
dripping wet. "She must have anticipated this for hours," he thought, "she 
couldn't get this wet in just a few minutes." He pulled out his hand and 
said:

	"In a little while I shall let go of your hands for a short moment. That 
doesn't mean your punishment is over. I only want you to stand up and take 
off those panties, and then turn round to show me that pink arse you've 
got." As if to emphasize his words he landed another two slaps on her, and 
then he let go. Helly got up from the bed, and stood in front of him for a 
little while, knees trembling, and a host of new sensations running through 
her. Then she hitched her thumbs into her waistband, and pulled down her 
panties and stepped out of them. When she was standing upright again she 
turned round and stood dead still, showing her glowing arse to her husband. 
Peter ran his hand gently across the pink, hot skin, and Helly shivered at 
the difference of his touch. When he grabbed her hips and pushed, as if to 
turn her round again, she willingly followed his silent direction. Peter was 
still sitting on the edge of their bed with Helly standing close in front of 
him, when he said: "Spread your legs. I want to feel how wet my cunt is."

	Helly was a little puzzled by his words, but willingly she moved her right 
foot, now standing with legs spread and her cunt on display. "Put your hands 
on your hips and push my cunt closer to me, but don't move your feet." Helly 
couldn't hold back a loud gasp of excitement when his hand finally touched 
her naked cunt. And wet she was. Very wet. Peter pulled back his hand and 
showed her the glistening juices on it. "Mmm, my cunt is deliciously juicy 
tonight. Only a pity it's hidden by too much hair. Go and fetch your 
sharpest pair of scissors, I want to trim it."

	"But I've never done that before. I don't want you to trim it."

	In one very fast movement Peter pulled her down across his lap and landed 5 
hard slaps on her arse. Then he lifted her off again and made her stand in 
front of him. "Didn't you hear me tell you that it's MY cunt?"

	"Yes, Peter, I heard it."

	"And can't I do to my cunt what I want to do?"

	"Yes, Peter."

	"All right, then. Go and fetch the scissors."

	Helly quickly fetched the little pair of scissors from their medicine 
cabinet in the bathroom. When she returned she handed it to him and said:

	"These are the sharpest we've got, Peter. But please be careful."

	He looked at her pussy for a little while, snipping the scissors in the 
air. "No, dear, this is not a safe angle to do it. Come and lie down on your 
back across the bed, and I'll see what I can do." He stood looking down at 
her as she stretched out on the bed, her ass close to the edge. Suddenly he 
turned round and grabbed the wire, connecting the lamp on his dresser. Then 
he went to the other side of the bed and pulled her arms together over her 
head, quickly tied her wrists together, and then secured their position over 
her head by tying them down to the side of the bed.

	"You see, I've better make sure that you stay where I want you. Now, open 
your legs and lift your knees up to your breasts."

	Never had she felt so vulnerable and degraded, and her pussy started 
running again. With his left arm supporting her thighs Peter now started 
cutting her pussyhair very short. Around her arse and her pussy lips first, 
which elicited a few scared gasps from Helly, when she felt the scissors 
touch her most vulnerable places. Then up to her abundant bush, which soon 
was a lot less abundant. When he had finished cutting, Peter fetched a warm, 
wet washrag from the bathroom and removed the snippets of hair from her body 
and from the bed. "My God, Helly, you look absolutely ravishing. I can 
really see how your cunt has opened up." He ran a finger from her 
bellybutton down across her protruding mons and all the way down touching 
her clit, vagina and arse. "And deliciously wet it is. I'm sure I'll get a 
lot of pleasure out of my cunt tonight."

	"Can I see it?"

	"I'll untie your hands for a little while, and you can look all you want 
while I go downstairs and fetch the cloth-line."

	When he returned with the bundle of line Helly was standing in front of the 
mirror. "Peter !  This is too much. I really can't go to the showers after 
the gym tomorrow, looking like this."

	"Why not? To me it looks a lot better."

	"What am I going to tell them, when they start asking questions?"

	"Tell them that your husband likes it so much that he wants to have a 
better look."

	A little snicker escaped her. "That would make a few of them quite 
envious."

	On the bed Helly was tied up spread-eagled, without a chance to move. For 
almost an hour Peter `tormented' her, sometimes spanking her thighs and her 
cunt, sometimes licking and sucking her fiercely, right up to the point of 
orgasm. Time and again he tested her to see, how far he could go, how hard 
he could pinch her nipples, how she would react having her face slapped with 
his hard cock, how much spanking would give her lust, and what made her 
flinch. Finally he masturbated her to a glorious orgasm, and before she had 
finished coming he plunged his red-hot cock into her and started fucking her 
fiercely. He could feel, that he would not last very long, but neither would 
Helly, considering it would be her second orgasm. When he saw the signs of 
her oncoming orgasm, her pink cheeks and chest, he suddenly pinched her 
nipples very hard, with his nails. He pinched them and he pulled them, while 
he hammered her the last 6 or 7 times. With a roar he emptied himself into 
her, and was rewarded with the most wonderful contractions of her cunt, as 
her orgasm overtook her.

	When his cock dwindled and plopped out of her, he got up on hands and knees 
and untied the strings, at the same time caressing her gently in the places 
where he had afflicted pain only moments earlier. They were totally 
exhausted, and it was way past midnight, when Helly snuggled up on his 
shoulder, her eyes shiny with tears of happiness.

	Peter realized, that for two absolutely unprepared beginners, they had been 
very, very fortunate, that the whole evening had developed so well. When 
they woke up next morning Helly was very loving and still very happy, and 
that day and over the next weeks they agreed to seek more information and 
inspiration before they tried again. For a couple of years they gradually 
developed their relationship. One problem, though, were the children. The 
risk of being disturbed, while Helly was tied up, was imminent, and on 
Helly's suggestion Peter redecorated one of the rooms in the basement to be 
their `darkroom'. Of course a darkroom must have a lock on the inside, and 
of course children cannot get in there just on the spur of the moment, and 
of course he put up a lot of sound isolation when he set up new panelling 
and ceiling.

	About a year later they got a computer, and together they surfed the 
Internet for information, and when they found the homepage of a Copenhagen 
SM club called `The Black Society' they were very silent for the time it 
took them to read about the club. When they had finished reading they turned 
to look at each other.

	"I don't even have to touch, Helly. I can see in your eyes that you are wet 
now."

	"And I can see your pants all right, but I wouldn't need to, to know you 
are hard."

	"What do you think? Should we give it a try?"

	"It looks terribly exciting, doesn't it?"

	"You bet. I'm very hard just talking about it."

	"And I'm wet. But...."

	"But what?"

	"With other people around, I'll sure need two `stop' codes. One like we 
have now, if things get too painful, but I'll also need one, if I really 
feel it's getting out of hand and I want to go home at once."

	"I'll need that one too. We could use the same word, and make the 
agreement, that it has to be respected under all circumstances. No 
discussion, no hesitation, just up and go if the word is said."

	She leaned over and kissed him. "You are such a sweetheart. God how I love 
you. And praise be the moment I splashed you with water."

	"Mmmm, only too happy you did, love. Well, let that be the word, then: 
`WATER'."

	Later they often talked about how easily they came to this agreement. If 
they had known how it would change their life they probably would have 
discussed it a lot more, but they did not. Peter contacted the club, they 
got more information, they were told about evenings for `beginners', and of 
sections of the club where people, who were into severe pain, could stay by 
themselves, and a lot more information.

	Two months later they `parked' the kids at Helly's parents and drove to 
Copenhagen on a Saturday evening. Helly had spent the better part of the 
afternoon making herself look like a million, in a slinky, red silk dress, 
high heels, sexy lingerie and heavy makeup. Peter was very elegant in casual 
slacks, white shirt and a coat. On the ride to Copenhagen they didn't talk 
much, but Helly felt herself  getting more and more heavy and damp between 
her thighs, and her belly felt, as if half of Denmark's butterflies had 
moved in there.

	The kind people in the reception had shown them the facilities and had 
advised them to take a look around, first. "You'll have to go and change 
first, though. Our erotic dress code is very unrestricted, but you have to 
be dressed in something erotic, like sexy lingerie, fetish gear, or whatever 
you like. We do not allow `suits on sightseeing' inside." Helly's underwear 
was fine for the occasion, shiny black stockings and suspenders, a tiny bra 
and flimsy panties. Peter's red G-string pouch would serve the purpose, and 
from his little suitcase he chose a short whip with 10 very soft leather 
thongs. Just before they entered Peter landed the whip on her arse and said: 
"Those panties will have to go, too. I want my cunt to be available."

	The sight that met them was unbelievable, and for a short moment Helly was 
tempted to cry `water'. About 30 people in various stages of nakedness, and 
as if it was the most natural behaviour in just as varied ways of 
domination. A tremendous rush of adrenaline ran through Helly, and she felt 
herself terribly turned on by the sights, but scared at the same time. A 
couple of the spankings were really severe. In a smaller room there were 
about 15 people engaged in different activities, but this time it looked a 
little less advanced. Peter sat down and told Helly to sit on the floor at 
his feet. For a little while they absorbed the activities and the different 
utilities.

	"That's right, sit down for a while and look at things." The tall woman 
from the reception came up to Peter's chair. "It is always a bit 
overwhelming the first time. But in this room, as you can see, there is no 
hard pain." She squatted in front of Helly. "I can see you are the slave. 
You do have a safety word, don't you?"

	"Yes. Actually we have two."

	"How is that?"

	"One for the pain, and one for going home."

	"Oh, that is very clever for the first times. But things will not turn 
nasty if you don't want it. It is a very strict rule, that you can ask for 
or offer assistance to other couples or individuals, but a `no' must be 
totally respected. May I offer you some advice?"

	"Certainly," Peter said.

	"For beginners I can recommend either the big X at the wall, or the solid 
bench with clamps for wrists and ankles." She got up from her squatted 
position and talked to Peter: "If you want to, I'd be happy to help you 
secure your slave to the big X, and show you what you can do there."

	"That would be very nice, in case she should put up a little struggle.  
Let's try that. Come, Helly."

	Helly felt her knees turn into jelly as she was led across the room to the 
big X on the wall. She didn't put up any resistance as Peter and the tall 
woman cuffed her wrists to the cross. Peter stepped back and looked at her. 
"I like that. Very nice."

	"The legs can be fixated in two ways." The tall woman showed Peter. "These 
cuffs are just like those for the wrists, so you wife will be tied up, 
really spread eagled. These other two are special. Look here: If you tie 
these leather cuffs to her ankles, you can hoist them up to be level with 
her wrists. A most interesting position. If you intend to leave her in that 
position for a long time, I'd advice you to put up this shelf to support her 
arse. Hanging unaided for a long time may be harmful to her back, apart from 
the pain and discomfort."

	"For a beginning I'd like her spread-eagled. She'll have to get used to 
other people looking at her, and I think I'd like to warm her front side a 
little."

	"OK. You start warming her, and I'll cuff her."

	Peter went up close to Helly and pressed a kiss on her trembling lips. Then 
he stepped back, and landed a number of lashes, which were more symbolic 
than really whiplashes, on her belly, pussy and thighs. He stepped back and 
admired the sight of his wife.

	"Yes, she is very pretty," said the tall woman. "Do you think she's going 
to like it here?"

	"I should hope so, but why don't you check her out for me? I'd guess she's 
reasonably wet already."

	There was a frightened look in Helly's eyes as the tall woman stepped up 
close, but she didn't say neither `break' nor `water', as she gave in and 
admitted her curiosity. This was the first time ever she was going to be 
touched by another woman. A divine tingle cursed through her body, as the 
soft, slim fingers parted the petals of her `rose', found her abundant 
juice, and went on to touch her clit with a lovely, soft pressure. A low 
moan escaped her, and she pulled at her cuffed wrists, as if to struggle 
against being tied up, but really it was in order to allow herself to rub 
her clit against that slender finger.

	"I'm sure she'll like it here," the tall woman said. "Do you want to 
taste?" She pulled her hand away from Helly's pussy and held it up in front 
of Peter's lips. He saw that they were glistening with juice, and it was a 
very erotic feeling to suck his wife's juice off another woman's fingers.

	"I should say so," Peter remarked. "And thank you for your help. I think 
I'll take it from here for a while. Thank you."


CHAPTER FIVE, number 7 continued....

	Peter went up closer to Helly and landed little stinging lashes across her 
thighs and belly. A couple of the leather thongs slipped in between her legs 
and hit her pussy with a stinging pain. Once again the adrenalin rushed 
through her, and she was totally concentrated on what was going on now, not 
five minutes or two years ago. When he stepped up very close to her, the 
uncertainty about what he was going to do was like a hot, erotic caress. He 
placed the whip in front of her mouth.

	"Hold this with your teeth, I need my hands elsewhere."

	Willingly she opened her mouth and bit into the shaft of the whip, and then 
she felt Peter's hands move down to her tiny bra. Fortunately it opened in 
front, and soon it was hanging lose on her ribs, while her proud, small and 
pert breasts stood out all naked. He took back his whip and stepped back.

	"Mmmm. You look absolutely edible now, the only thing I need for now is to 
get that lovely pink colour on your whole front."  God, he was good at that: 
Small, smart lashes, just hard enough to hurt a little, but never really 
violent. Her tiny breasts quivered in the most enticing way every time the 
soft leather thongs hit them, and gradually her whole front started to glow. 
For a short while he concentrated on hitting the top of her thighs and her 
pussy, and soon he saw her try to push her abdomen forward to meet his 
lashes.

	Throughout this, a nice couple around 40 had been watching them intensely. 
When Peter stopped the whipping and turned round to look at them, a moan 
escaped the woman. "That looks wonderful. You are very good at that." She 
was a full-bodied very pretty woman, dressed only in numerous thin chains, 
which intricately exposed her body where it ought to be exposed.

	Peter turned to her husband: "I could do with a little help. I'm not quite 
sure how to hoist up my slave's legs. Do you know how it works?"

	The excitement Helly had felt when she saw the club's homepage had been 
very nondescript, but suddenly her hidden lust broke out. Having a stranger 
help Peter hoist her legs up, so her ankles were close to her wrists, and so 
that her arse and cunt jutted out in such a vulnerable position, was the 
wildest and horniest situation she could have imagined. The two men stepped 
back to enjoy the sight, and Peter said: "I think we'll let her hang like 
that for a little while, before we put up the little shelf to support her 
arse. I think I'll whip her arse a little, but then you should feel free to 
touch and play with my slave."

	This time Peter put quite a bit more power into his lashes, and in just a 
few minutes Helly's behind and the back of her thighs had acquired the most 
lovely rosy colour, and her moans of pain had changed to moans of lust. 
Peter reached out and fondled her cunt as if it was just some piece of meat. 
  "Oh, dear. She's very sloppy now. I shouldn't blame you, if you want your 
slave to clean up this wet cunt  with her tongue, before you handle her."

	The man turned round and pulled at a thin chain, which was fastened to a 
dog's collar around his wife's neck: "You heard him, Ulla, there is a wet 
cunt to be licked clean. Get up and do it."

	Helly opened her eyes, and through a haze of lust she saw the pretty 
brunette walk up to her, felt how she reached out and caressed her rosy 
thighs, and then lowered her mouth to her wet cunt. A soft, moaning "ooohhh" 
escaped her, as Ulla proceeded to lick her with that tiny, pointed tongue, 
almost as if her cunt was an ice-cone to be consumed. Rushes of lust flew 
through her as she savoured this first: A woman licking her out. Ulla 
withdrew her mouth.

	"She's cleaned out now, John."

	"Did you clean out her arse, too? Some of that juice must have run down 
there."

	With shiny eyes Ulla dived in again, this time lapping the whole crack, 
from arsehole to clit and back again. Her own nipples swelled visibly as she 
was doing this.

	"Ready for you, John. She tastes very good."

	John looked at Peter, who nodded his head in approval.

	"Ok, and thank you Peter. But maybe you would do me a favour?"

	"Of course."

	"Ulla thought you were very good with the whip. If I chain her arms to that 
rope, hanging from the ceiling, would you please give her a good lashing? 
I'd sure appreciate that."

	Only a minute later Ulla's arms were raised towards the ceiling, and she 
was left standing on the front of her feet. Her breasts were heaving, and 
the big, brown nipples stood out. Peter waited to watch Helly's reaction 
when John started licking her. There was no way she could hide her 
excitement, and then he turned round to Ulla. Without any preparation he 
landed the first two soft lashes on her front. Only a few of the leather 
thongs landed on her skin, the rest hit her chains. Soon he found out how he 
could lift the light chains to bare Ulla's skin wherever he wanted it bared, 
and very methodically he proceeded to warm her. It was a great delight to be 
able to walk around her, as she was hanging there, and so was the little 
kitten-like mewing she uttered, every time the whip hit her.

	Suddenly he heard the familiar sounds of Helly approaching an orgasm. Peter 
turned his head to look at the scene. John lifted his head out of Helly's 
cunt and asked: "Should we allow her to come?"

	"Since it's her first time here I think we should. If you put two fingers 
up her slave cunt I'm sure you'll like her contractions."

	"OK, I'll enjoy them."  John soon had a couple of fingers up her cunt, and 
then he started licking her again. Helly opened her eyes for a short moment 
and looked at Peter through a blurred haze of lust, and then she closed them 
again and succumbed to the orgasm. Peter had moved in behind Ulla, and while 
they both enjoyed the horny sight, he fondled her breasts with one hand and 
masturbated her with the other. Ulla was so wet, that juice had seeped down 
and made the soft insides of her thighs abundantly wet. Her cunt was 
certainly a delight to touch.

	"I'm sure your lovely, red skin tells you, that we are in command tonight, 
doesn't it," Peter whispered into Ulla's ear.

	"Oh, yes, it does. You and John are in command, sir."

	Peter reached up and untied her wrists from the rope. "Fine. I order you to 
go and suck your husband's fingers clean, and then you can help him guide 
his cock into my slave's cunt. And mind you, it's the first cock other than 
mine, that she's had for ten years."

	"But I need John's permission, too."

	"Hey, John. Your slave needs your permission to guide your cock into my 
slave. Can she do that?"

	"Sure. I'd be delighted if it's OK with you and your slave."

	"It's OK with me, and that's all the OK you need. Helly is here tonight to 
obey and enjoy, those were my orders when we entered."

	John fetched a low box to stand on, which would bring his cock level with 
Helly's vulgarly open cunt, and with shaking hands Ulla rolled a condom on 
to his fat cock. While she rubbed it up and down Helly's slit and then 
positioned it at the opening, John turned round to look at Peter. "And you 
are very welcome to take your pleasure out of my slave. That fuck-bench over 
there is perfect."

	While the two slaves were fucked for good, Helly's screams of joy had 
called the attention of several of the other guests, and when John pulled 
out his dwindling cock Peter invited all, men and women alike, to touch, 
masturbate or lick his slave. Later Peter fucked Helly's by now very sloppy 
cunt, but without a condom, and their first club evening ended when John 
ordered Ulla to suck Helly's cum-filled cunt while he fucked her from 
behind.

	In the shower and sauna still later, they talked about what had happened. 
John and Ulla and three other couples were in the sauna too. Peter admitted 
that the evening had surpassed his hottest expectations, and Helly just 
nodded her exhausted agreement.

	"I just loved that you two do not use all that strange lingo of `Master', 
`sub', `Lord' and all," said John. "It seems so strange to me."

	"Me too," a couple of the others said.

	A little later Peter said:" The only thing which could have made this even 
better would have been the absence of rubbers, but with AIDS and all, it's 
too dangerous without."

	The evening turned out to be Peter's and Helly's only visit to the club. 
Before they left five couples had agreed to start their own, private club, 
with strict promises of an HIV-check plus abstinence from other 
extracurricular activities.

	Those were the guests I had seen enter number 7, because the club was still 
going strong, with one monthly club evening, taking place in peoples private 
`dungeons'.


CHAPTER SIX, number 9 and 11


	I'm writing this sixth chapter with some reluctance, because it involves 
myself. Earlier I have told that I lived in number 11, but as you shall see 
I couldn't very well write the story about number 9 without involving 
myself, and to tell you the truth, I'm not too proud of my part in that 
story.

	In number 9 lived the younger of our two vicars with his wife. He was a 
tall, skinny and somber man, and from official records I knew him to be 46 
years old. His wife was 8 years younger, and to the eye she was the typical 
vicar's wife, a demure, slight woman, always dressed in the same type of 
outfit: A pleated skirt, often in Scottish clan patterns, a white shirt and 
a cardigan, brownish stockings and sensible, low heeled pumps. Only at a few 
special occasions had I seen her with a hint of lipstick, but otherwise her 
face was always without any make-up under her curly, short hairdo, which 
would have befitted a lady of 60.

	Oluf Lindvig was an unusual vicar. He pretty much stuck to himself, held 
the sermons he was expected to hold and did as little of the public service 
as he could get away with. But never did he mingle socially. He always 
thanked `no' when the odd newlyweds invited him to their party, or a 
grieving family invited him to join them for the coffee party after a 
funeral. I had had a few neighbourly talks over the fence with his wife 
Annie, and she seemed to be a sensible woman, perhaps a little bored, but 
interesting to talk to. Our relationship changed drastically one late 
Wednesday evening. My wife had been taken to hospital by the illness, which 
would kill her a couple of years later, so I was alone at home, not 
expecting visitors, when my doorbell rang.

	It was Annie. "Can I come in for a moment?"

	"Sure, be my guest." I guided her into the living room and showed her one 
of the armchairs. "Do you want a cup of coffee, or maybe a drink?"

	"No, thank you. I haven't got much time to talk, and to tell you the truth, 
I'm not sure I should be here at all."

	"Oh, dear, then you've better get started."

	"You told me a couple of weeks ago that you were trained as a medic in the 
navy. That's true, isn't it?"

	"Yes it is, but that was quite a few years ago, mrs. Lindvig."

	"Please call me Annie. Well, some things don't change. My problem is that 
Oluf fell down the stairs a few minutes ago, and he hit his head badly. He's 
lying on the floor in there, unconscious and bleeding."

	"Oh, but Annie ! You should call an ambulance immediately and have him 
taken to the emergency ward."

	"That's my problem, Anton. I can't do that. To tell you the truth, he's as 
drunk as they come, and I can't let them find out, that he is an alcoholic. 
Would you please go with me and see if there is anything you can do to help 
him? I trust you, not to tell anybody about his condition."

	"I'll keep my mouth shut. But if it's that bad, we've better get going. Do 
you have any medical supplies in there?"

	"Sure, we have plenty."

	Oluf Lindvig was in a pretty bad state, all right. He was lying at the 
bottom of the stairs, an ugly gash in the top of his head, a scratch on his 
forehead, and plenty of blood around him. Plus the unmistakable stench of 
lots of liquor on his breath. While I checked him for pulse and breathing, 
Annie brought a bowl of hot water, some rags and towels, and a big emergency 
box with a wide selection of bandages and all. I knew that type of emergency 
box, because I had one myself. It was given only to elite drivers by one of 
the insurance companies. I knew there'd be everything I needed, including 
`butterflies' to close the gash, so I wouldn't have to sew him up.

	"Phew, Annie, you're right. He's as drunk as they come. I'm sure he won't 
feel much.  I'm going to clean him up a little, then disinfect his wounds 
with peroxide, and I'll use `butterflies' to close up the gash on top of his 
head, and then a band-aid for the scratch in his forehead."

	"All right. Do you want me to clean up the wound?"

	"No, thank you, I'll clean it. I sure hope, that you know I shouldn't be 
here at all, Annie. If anything happens, like a bad infection or some 
permanent damage, I risk a severe sentence for doing unqualified medical 
service. You know that, don't you?"

	"Yes, Anton, and I am so grateful that you'll help. Of course I'd never 
tell it was you. Never."

	Over the next half hour we did not talk much as I patched up the drunken 
vicar. When I squeezed in the `butterflies' there was a small reaction from 
him, showing me that he was not unconscious any more, only dead drunk. While 
I did the last bits of patching him up, Annie cleaned the blood off the 
floor, and finally we dragged him into the guest room and lifted him on to 
the bed. Although he was skinny he was a heavy man, and I am not sure we 
could have carried him upstairs to the bedroom.

	"I want to stay here for a couple of hours, to check on him now and then. 
Him being drunk is not the healthiest condition, if he's had a concussion. 
Would you please make us a pot of coffee to keep us awake? And really I 
could do with a drink of that whisky he stinks of, if there is any left."

	"Coffee and whisky coming up," she said with a smile.

	For the next three  hours we talked, and talked, and talked, interrupted 
every ten or fifteen minutes when I went to check Oluf's pulse and general 
condition. After half an hour Annie lit a few candles and turned off the 
light. "Can't have people wondering what's going on in the vicarage," she 
smiled. During these hours she gradually opened up and confided in me. She 
told the whole story of her sordid marriage to an alcoholic, who refused any 
kind of treatment, but who somehow managed to mind his job, always staying 
sober, when he had duties to perform. At home it was quite different. 
Evening after evening he'd go to his study and gradually drink himself into 
a stupor, and then sleep it off on his couch, only rarely making it to their 
bedroom on the first floor, and never with the intention of making love to 
his wife.

	"How can you afford all that alcohol? It's quite expensive, you know."

	"That's no problem. Oluf inherited a substantial sum 10 years ago, and I 
wish he never had. That's when he lost all control. Every two or three weeks 
he'll drive to Copenhagen early in the morning, while he is still sober, 
with the trunk filled up with empty bottles, and he returns around noon with 
boxes of whisky and brandy which he unloads, when the garage door has been 
closed. The sad thing is I don't really know the reason for his drinking. He 
refuses to talk about it, and most of his mental power is spent staying 
sober when he is needed on the job. We hardly ever talk, we haven't made 
love for 9 years, and thank God we never had children."

	"Why do you stay with him? It seems such a waste of a pretty, young woman. 
This can't be the life you wanted."

	"Flatterer. I know I'm not pretty. And my upbringing makes it almost 
impossible for me to leave him. He wouldn't last a month if I left."

	When I returned from yet another check of my `patient' I found her silently 
crying in her big armchair. I reached out my hand, and when she took it, I 
dragged her up to stand close to me, and I put my arms round her slight 
figure. Apparently that was too much. She leaned her head against my chest 
and started crying uncontrollably. I gently guided her to the sofa, where I 
sat down with her head in my lap while she stretched out. I gently caressed 
her out-of-date curls and her tiny shoulders, and she just cried and cried 
for half an hour or more, I lost track of the time. Finally her crying died 
out, and she turned round to lie on her back, still with her head in my lap.

	"God, I needed that. This is all so pitiful, but I haven't really cried 
about it until now."

	As she had turned over I felt the need for somewhere to rest my left hand, 
so I placed it on her belly, right at the waistband of her skirt. "You know, 
you are very welcome to cry, and I don't blame you. Seems like you are 
locked up in a prison cell, and you make the bars in your own head. Is that 
right?"

	"I guess I do. You know, this is the first time in years I've had physical 
contact with any person? Not to mention that it's the first time I've felt 
like crying with someone present."

	"You can use my shoulder any time you feel like it."

	"Are you sure your wife wouldn't mind?"

	"Well, I think she'd mind, but she is in hospital and she is going to stay 
there for a long time, so she never needs to know."

	By this time I was very conscious about my hand resting on her belly, and 
I'd just given it a thought when she moved her hand and placed it on top of 
mine, just resting there.

	"I don't think we have to check on Oluf any more. Right now he's just 
sleeping it off, I think."

	"He's not going to wake up for many hours, and I think he's going to have a 
lovely hangover, when he does." She said this with a little smile, but 
suddenly she closed her eyes, and I felt her hand move on top of mine, as if 
she wanted to push it upwards to her chest. Very quietly I followed the 
slight push she gave my hand, and when I stopped the movement, she pushed 
again, ever so slightly. We had both become very, very quiet, but as my hand 
got closer to her breasts I heard her breathing become harder. Suddenly she 
grabbed my hand, lifted it and placed it directly on her right tit. Lovely 
and firm it felt. Not very big, and of course encased in her bra, but lovely 
to the touch. Her eyes were still firmly closed when she gave me the next 
hint: She moved up her hand to open the top button of her shirt. I got the 
idea, and for a short moment I let go of that lovely breast, only to 
unbutton the rest of her shirt, which was accepted without any resistance at 
all. As I pushed my hand into her blouse to touch her bra I said: "Are you 
sure you want this?"

	"If I didn't feel so insecure, I'd get up right now and rip off all my 
clothes. I'm very sure I want this."

	"I'm certainly happy that you are, it just seems out of character."

	She opened her eyes and looked me straight into the eyes. "It is many years 
ago that I stayed with him for any other reason than a sense of duty. It is 
nine years ago he last touched my body, and I don't even remember when 
someone called me a pretty, young woman. If you are a nice fellow, like I 
think you are, then take me upstairs, undress me and make love to me, and 
don't talk so much." She threw her arms round my neck and hoisted herself up 
to press a trembling kiss to my lips.

	Five minutes later we were naked on her bed. Once Annie got rid of her 
frumpy clothes and her glasses, she was a real beauty, that is, apart from 
her `hausfrau' hairdo. Slim and slender, with beautiful, small and sensitive 
tits and perfectly rounded hips. I kept my promise not to talk, and I also 
refrained from anything kinky or violent. Annie was nervous and eager, she 
was terribly out of practice but very willing, and most unexpectedly she 
came easily and violently that first time.

	Afterwards we rested, arms round each other, and with a feeling of deep 
satisfaction. What surprised me most was the total absence of guilt. I had 
cheated on my poor wife in hospital, and she on her husband in their own 
bed. Given her religious upbringing and environment I should have expected 
her to feel guilty, but she did not. "Ooohhh, it was so lovely, Anton. I 
never knew it would be this good. If you'll leave your backdoor open, I 
shall come to you every evening when Oluf passes out, for as long as your 
wife is in hospital. Are you OK with your feelings about your wife?"

	"I wouldn't have thought so, but yes: I'm OK.  I just don't want to hurt 
her."

	"I don't want to hurt anybody, either. But I don't want to stop living, 
once again."

	For the next 7 months Annie visited me almost every night, and to tell the 
truth I got into the habit of resting for an hour or so after dinner, just 
to have the sufficient strength. Once she got going Annie was almost 
insatiable. Oluf reported sick for well over a week, until I could remove 
the butterflies from his head. He expressed his gratitude that I had handled 
the problem without giving him in, but it didn't stop him from drinking. 7 
months later he held a scandalous service, which still is the talk of the 
town, and he was fired. He and Annie moved to Jutland, and later I heard he 
had been through a Minnesota detoxification program. Then I lost track of 
them.

	If you think the descriptions of sex in this chapter have been too boring 
and not very explicit, write it on the account that they were about myself 
in a not too flattering situation.


CHAPTER SEVEN, number 13

	My next-door neighbour in number 13 was the only active fisherman left in 
our street. Not that Claus had all that fishing to do in the waters right 
outside our town, because the outlet of different phosphates and salts from 
agriculture consumed most of the oxygen in the waters, plus all the toxic 
wastes from Russia, Poland and Germany that were brought here by the Baltic. 
During the winters some of the fish returned, and Claus usually spent two or 
three months every winter here, but the rest of the year he did his fishing 
in the North Sea or parts of the Atlantic Ocean.

	I was rather well acquainted with my neighbours, I thought. Claus was a 
solid, amiable man in his mid fifties, whereas Jytte, in her early fifties, 
looked exactly what she was: A healthy fisherman's wife, not overly pretty, 
but with a lot of energetic charm and a bubbly sense of humour. I got to 
know a lot more about them, when an old friend moved to town. Johnny had 
inherited his mother's small house on the other side of town, but was 
contemplating to sell it, because he really didn't want to move away from 
his well-paid job in Esbjerg. Just before he sold the house, when he was 45 
years old, he was involved in a serious traffic accident, which left him 
crippled for life. As the house was fully paid for, he would be able to live 
a reasonable life on his insurance money from the accident, and the 
invalid's pension he was granted, so Johnny returned to his hometown in an 
ambulance. And that's when I learned a lot about Claus and Jytte, which I'd 
never have guessed.

	Johnny spent all his time either in bed or in a wheel chair. He needed a 
lot of help from the `home-aid' service, where Jytte was working, and Johnny 
became one of her clients. When I visited him, a month after he had moved 
in, he had a most interesting story to tell. About this helper who came 
every other day to give him a bath in his bed and help him with other 
chores. She was one of three nurses/helpers to visit him at least once a 
day, but Jytte was very special.

	"She had come here about eight times to wash me, when suddenly I got this 
terribly embarrassing hard on while she was cleaning my naked body. I told 
her I was sorry, but I couldn't help it."

	"Don't feel sorry," she said. "That is a nice compliment to pay to a lady. 
Only a pity you can't do much about it yourself, can you?"

	Johnny's hands were badly severed and of no practical use.

	"I could take care of it for you, if you'd like." Jytte had taken a firm 
hold of his cock, while she rinsed off the rest of the soap, at the same 
time making tiny, suggestive movements up and down. "That is, if you don't 
mind an elderly lady doing it."

	"You're damn well not elderly, Jytte, and it's because I think you are so 
sexy that this happens."

	"Well, if it's up to me, then......"  Without any further preliminaries 
Jytte lifted up her nurse's apron and her skirt, showing that she had no 
underwear underneath. She climbed the bed and lowered her furry cunt down 
onto Johnny's hard cock. "Aahhh," she groaned, "this is good, Johnny. Very 
good."

	She had just started the most delicate movements up and down, when she 
caught him trying to look under her skirt. "Oh, dear, do you really want to 
see what's going on?"

	"Aahh, that would be great," Johnny groaned.

	"Do you expect any other visitors this morning?"

	"No, you are the only one."

	"OK, then." With a big smile Jytte started to unbutton her clothes. "I'll 
treat you to a strip-tease, de luxe. I'm going to hold on to your cock with 
my pussy, while I undress."

	What followed could only be described as the horniest sight Johnny had ever 
seen. Gradually Jytte bared her body, a little bit at a time, while she 
continued to massage his throbbing cock with her pussy. Finally she was all 
naked herself, and Johnny was treated to a wonderful sight. She was a solid 
woman, meaning she had wide hips, wide shoulders, strong arms and thighs, 
but not many ounces of fat on that solid frame. Her breasts were round and 
sat high on her chest, and her nipples were small, rosy and very hard by 
now. Her pussy was dripping plenty of juice down on his hair and his balls. 
"MMmmm, did you enjoy my strip-tease?"

	"You bet. The best ever. I never saw such a lovely body being exposed, 
while a wet, tingling cunt was wrapped around me. God, you look good, 
Jytte."

	"I feel rather good, too. I shall have to wash you once more, later." She 
laughed good-naturedly, and at the same time she took to fucking him for 
real. She would stretch her thighs slowly, so her wet pussy would slide 
deliciously slow on its way up around his cock, and then she would slam down 
hard on him, making his cock hit bottom every time. Pretty soon she was 
panting just as hard as Johnny was, and her cheeks and her chest took on a 
lovely rosy colour. "Ohoohhh, this is good," she moaned. "I know your hands 
don't look too good, but don't be shy about it. You are welcome to touch me, 
I don't mind." Johnny stretched out the two little stumps at the end of his 
wrists and caressed her high, firm tits, and later the soft skin on her 
belly. All the time Jytte was gradually increasing her speed and her 
moaning. "Oh, my God, Johnny, I'm going to come very soon. Come with me. I 
want you to spurt me full, I'm so hungry for your come in my belly. And 
don't worry, I can't have babies."

	She looked so gloriously good, and she felt even better. Her hair was 
flying round her head, and her rounded breasts quivered with every stroke. 
Johnny felt his orgasm rise in his body, and with an electric whisper he 
said: "I'm coming. God, I'm coming so good, Jytte. Aaaahhhhhh."

	His groans and the pumping of his cock was the last straw for Jytte. With a 
muffled scream she exploded on top of him. For a little while she just sat 
there, savouring the last contractions in her pussy, then she leaned 
forward, gave him a short kiss, and rolled off him. "See, I could do 
something about it, couldn't I?"

	"Wow, you certainly could. God, it was so great. Believe me, I had thought 
that I'd never try it again, after the accident."

	"Never say never, my boy. You might even get lucky and have a repeat 
performance some other day. You never know."

	"Part of the home-care service?"

	"Naughty boy. Only for a selected few. And only on the condition that you 
never tell. I'm a married woman, you know."

	Kindly, and just as matter-of-fact-ly as she used to, she cleaned him 
again, washed her pussy, gave him a peck on his cheek and left him to figure 
out what had happened to him.

	Of course Johnny swore me to eternal secrecy before he told me this story, 
and I must admit that I looked at my nice neighbour with quite different 
eyes. Over the next six months they got pretty close, and Johnny gradually 
got the picture of what she was doing. When menopause had passed, she found 
her libido turning into turbo-drive, and she was thinking, dreaming, and 
fantasizing 24/7 about cock. Small cocks, big cocks, young cocks, old cocks, 
and as she gradually became more and more dissatisfied with masturbation, 
she came to the only sensible conclusion: Time and time again her clients 
would get hard-ons, just like Johnny did, and it seemed such a pity to let 
them go to waste. About four years ago, when a new client sported a raving 
and exceptionally big boner, the temptation was too much, and she fucked him 
royally. From that day on she had lost her inhibitions, and although she 
certainly didn't fuck all her clients, she entertained quite a number of 
them, if she liked them. That was the best of her, Johnny felt. She was 
certainly not a `mercy-fuck'. She was one horny woman who didn't care, if a 
man was 40 or 65, as long as he was a nice guy and lusted for her, and she 
didn't care much about handicaps either, as she was so used to being around 
handicapped people all her life.

	I had still one shock coming up. One summer Monday I was relaxing in the 
shade of our garden when Jytte came to the fence with two beers. "Hi, 
neighbour, time for a cold one?" Of course I invited her into the garden, 
and for a little while it was just small talk about the street. Then she 
smiled at me:

	"I knew Johnny had a friend who visits him pretty often, but it was not 
until yesterday that I knew it was you. I recognised you in a picture he has 
on his wall."

	"Oh, yes. We were very close, right until he had finished his education and 
moved to Esbjerg."

	"Yes. I got the impression that you are very close. I also got the 
impression that he'd like very much to visit your place."

	"Sure, but it's such a lot of trouble for him, and very expensive, too."

	"It's not expensive at all. Don't you know he has 6 free ambulance 
transports a year? They'll bring him and take him back anywhere he wants. 
And if you're scared about taking care of him, you've got me right here."

	"God, would you really do that? I'm sure it would be such a boost to him. 
If I could rely on you to take care of things I cannot handle, I'd sure 
invite him. How would we go about it?"

	"First we find a Sunday where we are both free, then I book the ambulance 
next time I visit Johnny. Next Sunday is my weekend off, and you know that 
Claus is on the North Sea right now. How about next Sunday?"

	"That's a deal, then. God, Jytte, you are such a gem."

	"Yeah, sure, and I'm pretty as Marilyn Monroe, too.  I'll tell him tomorrow 
when I get to him."

	And so it came to be, that next Sunday we were three people on my terrace, 
and it was great fun. Johnny and I told Jytte about all the tricks we had 
played as teenagers, the girls we had dated, fishing trips, etc.. Jytte and 
I took turns helping Johnny with his food, and when it started raining in 
the early afternoon, we wheeled him into my living room to continue.

	"Listen, boys, I can feel that you two guys are so close, that Johnny no 
doubt has told you what we do on my visits."

	Johnny blushed profusely and stammered: "J-j-jytte, yes I have, b-b-but 
only `cause I'm so h-h-happy `bout it, and he's m-m-y best friend, and I 
t-t-trust him c'mpletely."

	"Take it easy, Johnny. I won't cut you off like I threatened to do. I just 
can't afford to become the talk of the town and lose my job."

	"And your husband."

	"Yeah. I know I said something about him, but there's no problem about him. 
Claus knows what I'm doing, and he doesn't mind as long as I don't neglect 
him. And I've got plenty to go round." She had that pearly, rippling 
laughter.

	Johnny had calmed down, when Jytte startled us again. "Is it true that you 
two guys dated the same girl?"

	"No. Not the same girl, the same girls!"

	"Cheeky you."

	"Sure. We even shared a couple of them, didn't we Johnny?"

	"Oh, yes. Great fun, too."

	Now it was Jytte's turn to become silenced. You could almost see the wheels 
turning in her head, and suddenly she blushed in the most unexpected way. 
"Then...eh...then....."

	"Then, what?"

	"Oh, all right. I'll never forgive myself, if I don't ask you. I have often 
dreamed of being shared, but I never had the opportunity. You guys wouldn't 
accept a come-on from this old lady, would you?"

	Like in our younger days Johnny was first. "Of course, Jytte. You know I'd 
do anything for you." He turned his head and looked at me: "We have tried it 
before, you know, even if it's a long time ago."

	Now my inner wheels were churning. "It would be hard for me to refuse any 
come-on from you, Jytte, and I certainly would like it, but I feel a bit 
awkward about the practical thing. What about Johnny and the wheelchair and 
all?"

	Jytte jumped out of her chair and with a catching smile she kissed Johnny 
first, and then me. "Wonderful. Never say never, and don't you fear the 
practicalities. Leave them to me, that's what I do for a living, then I'll 
leave the lovemaking to you two. I can hardly wait. Deal?"

	We were all enthusiastic, once the decision had been made, and I was 
surprised by the efficient way Jytte went about the preparations. Certainly 
no romantic hesitation or modest holding back. The folding sofa in my 
guestroom was opened into a comfortable double bed, Johnny was carried on to 
it, and Jytte undressed him. All of it done in Jytte's usual efficient and 
humorous way, with laughter, jokes and little kisses. But the minute Johnny 
was naked on the bed, Jytte changed her attitude completely.

	"You are going to undress me, aren't you? I've done my part up till now." 
Of course I undressed her, slowly, with a lot of caresses, and with her body 
turned towards Johnny so he could enjoy the sight. When she finally was 
naked I couldn't help admiring her. Johnny had described her to me, but she 
was much prettier than I had imagined. Big and strong, well formed, and her 
pale skin might have made many 30-year-old women envious. I kissed her neck 
from behind, and with my arms round her body I played with her tits and her 
tummy. Then I said: "Lie down beside Johnny, I'll be there in a second when 
I have undressed."

	Jytte stretched out beside Johnny, resting her head on her right arm, with 
her left arm draped over his chest. I certainly admired the fine curve of 
her hip while I undressed, and when I was naked I laid down behind her, 
enjoying the soft pressure of her arse against my abdomen. Her skin was 
lovely warm and dry, and as she felt my hard cock against her buttocks, a 
shiver ran through her. I pushed my right arm under her waist so I could 
gain access to her tummy and her cunt, and with my left hand I first lifted 
her arm down, to bring her hand in contact with Johnny's hard cock, and then 
I moved it up to caress her left breast. Her tiny nipples were wrinkled and 
contracted, and very hard. When I tried to push my right arm further down to 
get in touch with her cunt, she easily adjusted her position a little, so my 
right hand now was hovering at the opening.

	"Bend your arm, Johnny, so you can touch the other breast," I said. "I'm 
sure Jytte will like that."

	"Aaaa, you bet, I'll like that. This is so exciting."

	The abundant amount of juice seeping out of her cunt was proof of her last 
remark. God, she was wet. I could not move my right arm very much, but I 
managed to get my middle finger in contact with her clit, which quickly grew 
to a rather impressive size; at least it felt so. I tried to push my arm a 
little closer, and Jytte kindly facilitated me by lifting and twisting her 
hip a little. Now I could wedge that big clit between the tips of my index 
and middle finger, turning my movements into a genuine masturbation.

	"Oh, Heaven, this is too good to be true," she groaned. "Please stop, 
Anton, I don't want to come yet, and I will if you go on. Ooohhhh."

	Of course I stopped my movements, but I maintained the wedge around her 
clit for a while. Jytte was shivering like a teenager on her first date, and 
even though it was a warm evening, she had goosebumps on her arms. Suddenly 
she started moving, pushing us as if she wanted to sit up in the bed. 
"Please, I have a few images in my mind from my fantasies about this. Will 
you oblige?"

	She had reached a sitting position beside Johnny's chest, while I was 
almost pushed off the bed. "I want to feel a hard and horny cock in each 
hand. Is that OK?"

	"Of course," Johnny groaned. "Anything you want, say so, and we'll do it if 
we can. That is, if I can."

	I got up on my knees beside her. "Be my guest, lady, it's here for your 
pleasure."

	She closed her eyes and grabbed my cock, so now she was holding both of us. 
At the same time Johnny pushed his arm under her arse so she was sitting on 
it, and immediately she started little rocking motions with her hips, 
masturbating herself on his arm.

	"God, this is wild. You are so different. Ooohhh, I can hardly wait to feel 
them somewhere else." In sheer excitement she pushed up her shoulders, 
almost to her ears, and now her breathing had become hard and fast. "I can't 
wait much more. What'll we do first?"

	"Stop squeezing the life out of them, lady, and straddle Johnny. Then I'll 
guide him to your dripping cunt."

	"Oh, yes, it is a cunt, isn't it? I don't think it has been this hungry for 
years." She was standing on her knees, hovering over Johnny's hard pole, 
when I grabbed it in my right hand and aimed for her cunt.

	"Sit down, lady, your dream-chair is ready." Her deep sigh, when she sat 
down on him, and his long cock pressed hard against the bottom of her open 
cunt, was a very erotic sound. I moved over till I was standing on my knees 
behind her right side. With my left arm I held her shoulders, and my right 
hand found its way through her curly, wiry bush to her swollen and wet lips. 
For a short moment I played with her clit and her lips, which were, wrapped 
round Johnny's cock.

	"Lean back, Jytte. I want you to feel something you have never felt 
before." I supported her shoulders while she leaned back as far as she 
could, supporting herself on her hands. Then I moved over to kiss her belly, 
and then her thighs, and that's when she got the idea.

	"Oh, my God. You are going to suck my clit while Johnny is in me? Oooohhh. 
It's divine. You're right, I never tried this before. God, it's so good and 
wild. Oh, no, you make me come. I'm coming, I'm coming." Her scream was 
sheer ecstasy, and the sight of her belly rippling from the orgasm was 
wonderful. I tasted a wash of juice on my lips as her cunt contracted again 
and again round Johnny's cock. When her orgasm was dying down I lifted my 
head from her cunt, and helped her get up in a sitting position again.

	"Phew, Johnny, this was so great. Give me a second to come to my senses 
again. Then I'll fuck you for good, my boy."

	True to her words she fucked Johnny hard and good, while my hands were all 
over her body. The excitement was too much for Johnny, and he only lasted a 
few minutes. With a wild groan he pumped her full. Jytte laughed. "Ooohhh, 
was that good, Johnny? Can you do without my pussy for a little while, 
because I have this friend of yours. He's right here behind me, and now I 
want him to fuck me real good with his fat cock."

	She slipped off Johnny and lay down beside him with her legs spread. "And 
now you, Anton. God, this is luxury. Come on in and split me."

	To say I split her would be an exaggeration. She was utterly wet and 
slippery, with juice and come seeping out around my cock, which slid into 
her like a hot knife into butter. While I fucked her she reached out for 
Johnny's relaxed cock, and with a big smile she panted to me: "Anton, will 
you look at this old lady getting fucked, and making the other cock hard, so 
she can get fucked again the minute you're finished !  You can't imagine how 
good this is for me."

	I think we fucked for nearly two hours. Then we had to get dressed because 
the ambulance was coming to take Johnny back. Jytte stayed overnight. Not 
that we fucked any more, but we cuddled up comfortably on the double bed and 
did a lot of talking.


Over the next 8 months, up till the time I sold my house and went to 
Copenhagen, we repeated this meeting in my house a couple of times, and once 
Jytte invited me to come to Johnny's house in the morning, when she went 
there to give him his bath.

CHAPTER EIGHT.  The end.

I have told you the stories of the first 7 houses in Smallstreet, and there 
are only three more houses in the street, numbers 15, 17 and 19. The people 
in number 15 are old, and they may have a story to tell; only I don't know 
it. The story of number 17 is interesting all right, but not in the context 
of an erotic tale, and that leaves only number 19, nicknamed `The Castle' 
because of its size and the square turret, which in earlier days served as a 
lighthouse. The present day owners have had the house for the last 5 years, 
and there certainly is something fishy about them, only I haven't been able 
to get any information about them. They stick to themselves, wife and 
husband and three kids, and not one of the other people in the street has 
been inside the house. If some day I find out what is going on there, I 
shall write the story, but for now I shall have to end the tales of 
Smallstreet.

Like I said in the beginning: "These stories came about because some snotty 
snobs called `my' people provincial, boring, plastic etc.  Now, you tell me 
if your street is that much different, even if it is `small town' or 
`suburbia'. Perhaps the houses around you have their tales to be told.

THE END.


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