Amateur Hour

I learn my place, at the hands of two powerful women.

I'd just called in for a coffee, but as I have nothing pressing to do for the rest of the evening, I stay for a glass of wine, then a second. It's not unusual for coffee to become wine. I've been calling in after work just to chat, maybe bring some take-away, for a couple of months. Not every night, but most. We're both single, after a fashion, but there haven't been any awkward moments or anything, or any pressure. We've just been hanging out, enjoying each other's company, and talking through shit. Yeah, so the subject would swing back around to sex more often than it wouldn't, but that's standard. We're comfortable around each other, sharing secrets, the occasional fantasy, a bed when the sofa looked too lumpy. But still, up until now, we were behaving like the proverbial gentleman.

She's dressed in a dark check skirt, pleated, dark tights or stockings, otherwise barefoot, and a black pencil top, showing a polite amount of cleavage. Her bra strengthens the shape of her chest, and unique among women, appears to fit. Her dark hair is pulled into a low ponytail, straightening hair that is usually wavy. She wears Lacoste Pink, the only fragrance I can identify by name, because it drives me wild. I love it and everything it stands for. If I had to save one thing, organised religion, currency, medicine,

anything

, over Lacoste Pink, I would let the world descend into post-apocalyptic pandemonium, with scruffy anarchists smelling sweetly of orange and jasmine.

By now it's after 10, and we're in 'taxi home' territory, but there is no indication that I'm overstaying my welcome. Yet, anyway. I push my luck.

As she sits cross-legged on the sofa, ubiquitous cushion on her lap, I place my hand on her thigh. There is absolutely no reaction. The fibres of her black nylon stockings snag on the rough skin of my hands. She is firm, her muscles are taught. I follow the progress of my hand with my eyes, watching the material of her skirt pile up as I move closer to her crotch, my hand shifting from the 'friend zone' into the twilight of her skirt. The tips of my fingers glide over the top of her stockings, the change in texture from satin to skin, before they graze the lace material of her knickers. I glance up at her face to see an expression of powerful curiosity, like a lioness who watches a mouse approach. The power is so terribly unbalanced, any interaction fatal. Just what does the mouse think it's doing? I don't realise I'm the mouse.

Eyes one mine, she grips my wrist suddenly, and twists it painfully around on itself, in some sort of night class self-defence. I'd be impressed if it didn't hurt so much. The surprise is written as clear on my face as the satisfaction is on hers. I'd be reluctant to say this next bit under normal circumstances, but since this is by far the least of my humiliations this evening; my eyes well up a little.

I splutter an apology, but I get a grin in response.

'Do you trust me?' she asks.

'Pardon?' I'm confused. She's going to snap my wrist. That's my right wrist, that I... y'know, write with. She repeats her question, and I quickly answer 'yes'. I'm released to massage my wrist, mouth still slack with surprise.

'Good. Take off your clothes, and go and wait outside'. She has a look in her eyes that I have not seen yet. Her voice was calm, level, and authoritative. I didn't need to ask her to repeat, or clarify, there's no way I misheard. Hesitating only long enough for her to raise an eyebrow at me, I take off my clothes.

I've seen male strippers at work, and yeah, it's hot. I mean muscles, dancing, music, I get it. That's not how I looked. I didn't feel that was the way she meant, anyway.

Lola stood and watched, one eyebrow arched, lips pursed together, appraising. Her hand rested on her hip, the other twirled some hair about her shoulder. Then, once I was undressed, that hand gently gestured towards the door, palm upwards, lazy. It made her control, her power, more complete, wielded lazily like this. I frowned a little, hoping she would perhaps enlighten me, but nothing forthcoming I turned and left the room, closing the door behind me. She shouted 'outside' after me, so she clearly didn't just mean the hall. I trudged out of the front door, and waited.

Her house was a tall, Victorian townhouse, red-bricked, all dark wood and caustic tile. It was semi-detached, surrounded by a large Cypress hedge, so I was spared the looks of the neighbours. I must have spent ten minutes outside, standing in the cool night air, arms crossed, the skin turning white as blood concentrated about my primary organs.

I can only assume that she sent a text after I'd been evicted, because sweeping through the gate, striding purposefully, the hip-swaying walk of a catwalk model, was a deliciously tall woman of about our own age, confidently striding up the path towards the house. Her black dress was very short, revealing most of her thighs. Her shoulders were completely covered, a deep vertical slit over her chest, where cleavage might be, though she is quite small, nipples moulding the fabric, and her back exposed in its entirety from her shoulder blades down to the very bottom. No bra strap crossed the wide void of porcelain skin, she is devoid of jewellery, and her face adorned only by dark mascara and artificially reddened lips. Her hair, the colour of tarnished copper, shone in the light coming through the window.

I weakly raised a hand to wave, she passed inside and closed the door sharply behind her. If she saw an awkward-looking 6ft tall naked man in her periphery, she made no indication.

I didn't recognise her, though from the length of time I'd been outside before she showed up, she must be local. I'm pretty new to the area, Lola one of the first people I got to know here, so it's not surprising that she still has friends I haven't met, although there'd been no indication so far that she had friends like this. I couldn't wait to be introduced. She was fit!

When I'm finally invited in from the chilly night air, I am half the man I was twenty minutes ago. I'm treated to a humiliating up-and-down, before Lola and Amy (as she is briefly introduced) revert to their original conversation. I stand close to the fire, to try and warm up a little. Although I'm less than impressive in one aspect, the cold taught skin, hair and nipples on end, does make me look a little sculpted, like Michelangelo's David. Nevertheless, my hands cup my genitals. Lola sees this and gently shakes her head, so I let my hands fall to my side. I feel as exposed as my first time naked in front of a woman, combined with all manner of schoolyard embarrassment. It's not quite humiliation yet, but I don't think we'll be without its company all evening.

I'm asked to get drinks, rather rudely, by the newcomer. It's a complicated order for just two people. Some sort of Manhattan I hadn't heard of for herself, and a Mojito for Lola. I took the liberty of fixing a drink for myself; a large tequila on the fuck all. Didn't even dirty a glass.

Dirty Manhattan. This can't be pleasant, I think, reading the instructions from a trendy-looking cocktail book. Ice cold gin, the dashiest of dashes of Vermouth, a splash of brine from a jar of cocktail olives, strained over ice, and garnished with an olive. Fuck's wrong with a vodka & orange? Saying that, I was quietly impressed that the kitchen had all the ingredients. I have less problem with the Mojito, on principle mainly. At least I haven't been made to wear a dickie-bow.

I return, enjoying the warmth of the room, and place the drinks down alongside the two ladies. Amy must have caught a little of the tequila on my breath. She jabbed out suddenly, and squeezed my cheeks, bringing my face to hers, and inhaled, haughtily, turned and nodded to Lola, who reclined with her drink. I watched a heavy pear of condensation fall from the base of her glass, deliciously dropping onto her chest. Meanwhile I received a fiery slap across the face from Amy, who scolded me for taking a drink uninvited.

A series of tasks followed, from picking some music, making the bedroom nice, another round of drinks. Nothing Herculean, but definitely each an ordeal. Whenever I'd leave to do whatever, like getting some coal from outside, for example, I'd come in and find them kissing, hands inside tops, up skirts, sounds of heavy breathing. This made me hard. I stopped at the doorway, bucket in hand, watching. I watched for a good minute before Lola opened her eyes, and the two women parted.

I was told to come closer, which I took as an invitation to join in. I practically leapt across the room to land in the middle of them. This wasn't what she meant. I was told to stand up, and as I stood before them, hard cock an enormous elephant in the room, thinking,

sure,

that this was the moment that I'd be getting my cock sucked, Amy instead brought her open hand down HARD across my cock, a fast slap that stung, before being followed by a flurry of slaps to my thighs, and a short jab to the stomach, until I gathered my wits enough to back away, over the coffee table, sending things flying.

Amy marched over to me, and stood menacingly, accenting certain words with a hard prod to the chest.

'We're playing with a fucking

amateur

here, Lola', she snarled. Lola smiled back. 'Look, you're here to serve us. If you displease us, we beat you. If you get a hard on, we beat you. If we beat you, you stand there and take it like a man. We don't need a fucking boy, we want a man. Can you do that?'

I dig deep into my reserves of cool and collected. I stand tall, like some grunt being yelled at by an SM, looking off into the middle distance,

never

into the eyes (she has such green eyes), and I nod. I'm glad of some explanation, but this is probably going to hurt like hell because, she's right, I'm an amateur, completely new to this. I've never even been in a playground fight. This is going to hurt, but this is as close as I'm going to get to fucking these two, I sense, so I'm going to grow a pair, take my beatings, ride it out. This is as good as it gets!

As punishment, I was sent to make the bedroom ready. It seemed a little like a sentence, the condemned man digging his own grave, seeing inside the torture chamber, Bluebeard's secret room. I closed curtains, picked some crap off the floor, I may have had a look around for a laundry basket, but alas. The big light was extinguished, the room illuminated by two reading lamps and some really cheesy fairy lights.

Otherwise, the room was typical. A large double bed, dark sheets, deep red. Not exactly the dungeon I was expecting, but then I'd only been in this darker world for about 20 minutes, so I'm hardly expert. Sex-ed by free online porn has a lot to answer for.

I came back downstairs, again they were exploring one another, this time much more intimately. Amy had her face pressed into Lola's chest, and I get a cold-water shock as I see, for the first time, her left breast exposed, what looked like a perfect handful, nipple hard, Amy's fingers kneading away as she kissed. I have thought about Lola's tits for some time, imagining, and it's so nice to finally actually see them in the flesh, soft ivory, dark protruding nipple.

It's pretty obvious what happens next. As I'm discovered 'enjoying the show', Amy rounds on me. From out of thin air she produces a riding crop. This won't take long. Wielding the crop in her right hand, Amy strikes my left arm, then my side as I try to grab the crop. My 'training' kicks in after that, and I take the rest of the beating as best as I can. The hard-on subsides quickly under this onslaught, mercifully, and I'm allowed to return upright with only about eight red welts across my arm, side and leg. That stung. I stand upright and try not to show it. It's hard to say, as I wasn't looking directly at her, but I think Amy was impressed.

I'm told to refresh the drinks, and to do so wearing my friend's skirt, which came off in the recent round of intimacy. I place the skirt, which hangs around my hips, the material caressing my cock, and I feel the blood flood back in. I turn quickly, before my transgression is noticed. I'm now covered in about 8" of black pleats, which although an improvement on nudity, with a hard cock pushing out, I'm still pretty exposed. A hard cock in a skirt isn't subtle.

I return with fresh drinks, the women chatting like old friends. As I lean down to place them on the coffee table, Amy rubs her left hand up my leg, from just above my knee, sliding purposefully up my thigh, under my skirt, and up, way up. Her warm fingers curl around my leg, nudging against my balls, while the thumb, extended, continues its ascent, and pushes gently at my ass hole.

I have never put my hand up a girl's skirt (uninvited), but I've certainly seen it done, and never done anything about it. Never again! This is such a shock, a humiliation, an invasion, and next time I see it happen, I'll lamp the fella. Now, I can't call what I am going through abuse, as I'm a willing participant; the writing has been on the wall for about an hour, but fucking hell, I'm reading it one letter at a time!

I quickly regain my composure because I'm sure this is all for my benefit, and remain motionless as she shifts her hand and caresses my balls hard, like a stress toy. Lola sees the grimace on my face and smiles tenderly at me. It gives me a little strength. They know what they're doing. This might be uncomfortable, but we're only talking a bag of frozen peas in the morning, not hospital visits. Yet, anyway.

She reaches further still, to take my cock in her hand. It's half erect, but only for another couple of seconds, and I'm being driven into another frenzy of pain. This time I'm more ready for it. As the whip connects, I don't flinch. I wince, don't get me wrong, I'm hardly Spartan, but I take it like the man they want. The downside of this is that it took a little longer for the arousal to subside, so I count around twenty lashes that time. The sensation is more of heat now, than actual pain. A reminder, rather than an outright distraction. It would take broken limbs to distract me from the beauty and sensuality of the two women in front of me.

Finally, Lola speaks out. I haven't heard a word from her for over an hour, the evening orchestrated entirely by Amy. Quietly, Lola mentions that I would look good in high heels. I couldn't disagree, and wasn't in a position to argue, so...

Amy, having the larger feet by one size, slipped off her shoes, which were 4" or so high, with a stiletto heel. The material is a matt leather, with a toe-revealing gap. They were still far too small for me, 8 to my ten, but my discomfort hasn't been of much concern to them so far, so I wriggle in, thinking up an excuse to give the paramedic when they come to sort out my broken ankle. I giggle aloud at this, which earns me a slap across the face.

I wasn't sure where the power lay; with Amy, who doled out beatings and instructions, or with quiet Lola, who calmly watched everything unfold, changing the course of the evening by short sentences or gestures. It didn't really matter, though. The power was clearly theirs, to wield as they would.

So now I'm tottering around the room in a really short skirt, high heels that stretch my legs beyond anything I'd experienced yet, and trying to ignore the pain in my toes. As I stand there, it does feel good to be under the objectifying gaze of these two hot women.

I realise that I'm not currently hard, hanging limply below the skirt, some residual bulk from my last erection makes it still a little large, so they watch as I lift the front of the skirt, exposing my cock. Lola looks on with an appreciative smile, Amy looks unimpressed, and turns to face Lola. They lean in and kiss one another, hands on each other's thighs. Slowly Amy pushes Lola back, and she stretches out her legs on either side of Amy, while Amy kneels and buries her face between her thighs, sucks on her clitoris. Lola's head lolls back on the sofa, eyes closed, and they carry on as if I was not even there. Reaching under her own dress, Amy places her right hand on her own genitals, and slowly massages herself. I quietly step to the side, so that I can get a better view under her short dress, and I see with a start that she has two fingers pressing the material of her panties shallowly inside her, smoky-blue lace material squeezed, pink lips exposed either side. My breath catches in my chest.

Lola sits up a little, and removes her top, leaving her in a black lace bra, sheer, dark nipples visible through the material. Resting back, she squeezes both together, and a deep sigh escapes her parting lips. Her hips move rhythmically as she succumbs to the repetitive motion of Amy's tongue, performing somewhat expertly within Lola's labia. One hand remains between her own thighs, massaging, the other slowly sweeps her long hair behind her ear, giving me a much better view, an education in cunnilingus.

Lola has no underwear on, just her black stockings and bra, She is unshaved, though she must have been at some point, as her hair is short. I watch as every movement becomes more frantic, as Lola approaches orgasm, as waves of pleasure sweep over her, and subside in a rush of sighs, twitching bodily. Amy looks up, a grin of satisfaction plays across her face, a master of the art. As Lola enjoys the final few moments of her post-orgasm bliss, Amy stands up, pulls her dress down, and walks slowly over to me, her eyes making a purposeful survey of my body. She isn't surprised by how hard I am, and I'm not surprised as she flicks the riding crop at my bare skin again and again and again. I turn away from her, and she relentlessly strikes at my back until I stumble forward onto all fours. I'm still rock hard, and I can't take much more of this.

'Enough' Lola breathes the word, but it has the power of the roar of a waterfall. I've never been so grateful to anyone in my life, which I felt sure would end within another dozen or so strikes. I lost count this time. Lola and Amy own me now.

Amy throws the crop to the side, reaches down to my hair, and pulls me up strongly. I obey, standing upright. As the three of us stare down at my hard cock, pushing up the skirt, Amy agrees. 'He's ready'.

We move upstairs, where the air is a little cooler, and Lola turns on a stereo, to disguise my screams, I imagine. I'm sat on a chair to the side of the bed, and told to sit on my hands. Lola removes the rest of her clothes, while Amy merely shifts her dress off her shoulders and down to her waist. Her small pale breasts are picture-perfect, like something airbrushed in a magazine. I lick my lips like the poor pervert that I've become now, side-lined.

Amy bends down in front of me, her dress riding the rest of the way over her delicious white backside, and she peels down her blue lace French knickers. My cock twitches with anticipation, as if by now I still don't realise that she isn't going to fuck me. She straightens, steps out of her underwear, and moves onto the bed, lying on top of Lola. I watch as they grind against one another, bringing both to the brink of orgasm, the sound of heavy breathing and moans drowning out all other senses.

For an impossibly long time they writhe like that, kissing lips, necks, ears, gripping hair, ass, waist, in the unchoreographable movements of passion.

Amy finally extricates herself, leaving Lola laid back on the bed, eyes closed, temporarily sated. Reaching into a bedside drawer she pulls out a modest sized purple strap-on penis, and proceeds to strap it about herself. Then she remounts Lola, who hasn't moved a muscle, and pounds in and out, fucking mercilessly, her athletic body and plastic cock giving her the power to drive harder and longer. Her skin develops the gloss of sweat, each sculpted muscle outlined, her movements controlled. In and out, the plastic cock getting wetter with each entry and withdrawal, until Lola's wetness drips off the base. Amy keeps riding Lola until her pleasure capitulates in a loud, wailed orgasm. Amy remains inside for a moment, before rolling off the bed to address me.