Mrs Harrison Peepshow Star 1

Adele Harrison checked her watch.

Steve was standing her up, even though his football match had finished long ago. Still, he could appear at any moment. She took a deep breath, gulped, blushed, leaned in what she hoped was a languid manner against the lamp-post behind her, and thrust her shoulders back and her breasts out, ready for him to come up to her and proposition her.

A couple were staring at her. She lowered her eyes to avoid their stare, and saw that her tight leopard-pattern top had ridden up. She smoothed it down with brisk, nervous fingers, disclosing an extra inch-and-a-half of milk-white cleavage below her tan line, Then she looked around for Steve. But her only reward was an admiring glance from a burly young market stallholder wheeling his stall away.

Actually, the stall-holder was quite attractive.

It was her and Steve's wedding anniversary, and she had thought up a way to celebrate. A little adventure. A sexy adventure, because she thought their sex lives needed jazzing up. Steve had surprised her by not being reluctant -- he had even proposed that they travel down to London for it. He had booked the hotel, then remembered that his team was playing in London that day, so they might as well travel early so he could watch the game beforehand.

She didn't expect any surprises when Steve took her back to the hotel bedroom, but she liked the idea of Steve seeing her as an object of lust. Speaking of which, here was the stallholder again, smiling and openly eyeing her up. She gave him a tiny smile in return, lost her nerve, cleared her throat, and inspected the red polish on her fingernails.

Anticipation was having an effect on her. Or perhaps it was the stallholder's look. Dessi, her friend at work, who was always a bit over-the-top, would have said 'she wanted cock, she wanted it massive, and she wanted it pronto'. Dessi made her laugh.

Adele frowned. Where the hell was Steve? It would be fun if the stallholder came back again. She could pose with her feet a bit apart -- like this -- and show a lacy stocking-top through the slit in the miniskirt. Serve Steve right if he saw the stallholder proposition her.

All the same, she jumped when an unfamiliar male voice spoke cautiously from below her left ear.

'You don't happen to be waiting for anyone, darling?'

A short, shapeless man in a bow tie and a wrinkled blue suit had appeared by her left elbow. His diffidence calmed her. 'Well, yes. I'm waiting for someone called Steve, actually.'

'Steve?' The man looked oddly relieved. 'He's already here. Been waiting a while, in fact. Follow me.' He immediately set off down the side-street at a rapid waddle, with Adele and her smart little white suitcase following uncertainly behind.

The side-street was more as she'd expected Soho to be. One of the several bars was below street-level, with an old-fashioned neon sign that showed alternately a cocktail glass and a woman in a bikini. Possibly Steve had arrived much too early and popped into a bar to wait, and then he had asked the bar staff to keep an eye out for her.

The man in the suit said over his shoulder, 'The name's Michael.' He abruptly swerved into a narrow alley. 'Girls often can't find the place. Follow me, follow me.' He turned right through a dark doorway.

The wheels of the white suitcase rumbled hollowly on uneven floorboards. It was all starting to feel like a misunderstanding. Adele spoke uneasily towards the man's bald patch. 'Is this the staff entrance?'

'That's right. Just follow me, follow me.' They went down stairs to the basement and another grubby passage. At its end the man opened a door. 'And here,' he declared, 'is Steve. Steve, here's your six-thirty.' He turned to Adele. 'I'll let you two get on with it.' And with that he slipped past her, leaving her staring into the eyes of an older man who was distinctly not her husband.

After a moment's hesitation -- her uncertainty made him uncertain -- the man reached out a strong hand and shook hers, saying, 'Steve,' in a deep, warm voice.

'I'm Adele.'

The wrong Steve said, 'I get the impression you're new to this, Adele.'

Whatever 'this' was, it was certainly new to her. So she confusedly said, 'Yes,' to the tall, broad-shouldered, well-groomed patrician smiling at her -- the faintly devilish older gentleman in a grey dressing-gown of figured silk, who was clearly intrigued by what he saw.

She should phone her husband. Her phone was in her coat pocket. Where was her coat?

Steve saw her glance down anxiously at her suitcase. 'Oh, you're worried about your... Shall I...?' He lifted the suitcase.

Thinking that he was going to put it on the table for her to delve inside -- behind him was a dressing-room table, with a mirror surrounded by lights -- she nodded. But instead Steve slipped past her, opened a door in one side of the passage, said something she didn't catch to someone she couldn't see, and handed the suitcase to the hidden person. Then he closed the door and returned.

'It'll be perfectly safe with Michael,' he said.

The suitcase seemed to have taken the last vestiges of Adele's presence of mind with it.

'Now,' said Steve, 'after you.'

Adele stepped forward into the room. It was small with a low ceiling, and was divided into three by cheap Chinese paper screens to left and right.

Steve said, 'You won't see the audience, so you really won't find it terribly different from what you're used to.' His tone was friendly, reassuring. 'Actually, you'll hardly have to speak if you don't feel like it. If you can trust me to lead, you should find it's all rather fun. OK?'

Adele turned and smiled back at Steve. 'I get it,' she said, despite not getting anything at all. He was not handsome in a cliché way, but there was something commanding -- the iron-grey hair gave him distinction -- and there was an energy about him -- and though there was something raffish in his grin, he was obviously a gentleman, so he was bound to be considerate. She had come to London for an adventure. This might be the adventure.

'The theme is younger and older,' Steve explained. 'As you may have guessed when you saw me. Look, Michael's always fussing about the time, but we do genuinely need to get a move on. If you'll just go behind that screen,' he pointed to the screen on the left, 'you'll find a lot of costumes. Pick anything that fits the theme.'

Adele went behind the screen, where she found two clothes rails hung with garments.

Younger and older. She wasn't that young any more, but there was certainly an age difference. Presumably she was to take part in some type of experimental improvised theatre. Very London.

She said apologetically, 'I haven't done any sort of acting since my Drama GCSE exam.'

'The ability to act is desirable but not essential.'

The first costume was a Dutch milkmaid's outfit. Then came riding kit, complete with boots and spurs -- an air hostess uniform, but PVC -- a black leather corset-like thing made largely of straps and buckles -- something made of red latex, tubular and stretchy.

And a hooker's skirt and top exactly like what she was wearing.

She gasped, and her face turned scalding red. She'd been so confused that her brain had slipped completely out of gear.

Steve's deep voice came from beyond the screen. 'I'll explain the setup. We do the sex in a circular room, with twenty or so peepholes round the walls. There's a low stage. Everything's painted black and the scale is, you might say, intimate. The stage slowly revolves -- Michael's just had the wiring seen to, so tonight we can be fairly sure it will actually revolve -- and on it is a high ottoman of scarlet leather. A sort of couch without a back or arms. And next to it is a bar stool with a clear moulded seat.'

Adele went on mechanically leafing through the costumes, barely seeing them. The wire hooks of the hangers scraped and squealed on the rails. She had to choose a way forward, and quickly. What would Dessi do?

'See something you like, Adele?'

She did not speak. But a few seconds later she stepped from behind the screen holding up a hanger in each hand. She cleared her throat and said tentatively, 'If it's about being younger, there are these two.' One hanger carried a school uniform: white blouse, pleated tartan miniskirt, tie, white knee-socks, and a straw boater with two blonde hair-bunches hanging from the back. The other bore a nun's habit, hat and wimple. 'I don't know, but, I mean, I could be a novice nun? Like Maria in The Sound of Music. That would be amazingly rude.' The ruder the better. Now that she'd taken the plunge, she wasn't going to throw this away on half-baked rudeness.

'Nun and priest is always fun, and plain sailing compared to the school uniform. I'll look out my cassock.'

Her voice was almost steady as she said, 'Yes, the school uniform is a bit complicated.' Adele was behind the screen again, slipping off her high heels. 'I'd have to cram my hair up into the boater.'

'That too. But I was thinking of audience expectations.'

'Oh, well obviously.' Blasé. She would die if he realised how naive she'd been. She gripped the hem of her tight leopard-pattern top, ready to peel it off. 'But I'm game for anything.'

'They do tend to expect a bit of spanking.'

Adele's head was now inside the top. She paused in a world of out-of-focus leopard spots, cleared her throat and said,'Naturally.' Spanking! But she should have known. Dessi had explained to her about spanking.

'Don't worry,' he said. 'Just pop on the wimple and that provocative behind of yours will be safe.'

'Yes. I mean...' Nobody had called her bum provocative before. She hesitated, then asked, 'Provocative, how?' and stripped off the top. Safe from what? She hoped he didn't mean anal sex. Dessi said you had to train for that.

'Spanking a tempting bottom like yours gives me great pleasure. The punters love it too. Brings them back for more. Still, whatever we do or don't do, they're not going to complain to the Office of Fair Trading. So I always let my lady partners set the agenda, if they so wish.'

On the wall at the end of the clothes-rails was a full-length mirror. She inspected her shapely outline and her breasts, which bulged a little around her soft bra -- she had deliberately chosen the pink one that was slightly too small. Her boyfriends had all loved her boobs, and if she was a little bit bottom-heavy, well, apparently Steve liked a good target for his spanking activities.

A neat triangle of dark hair showed through her white panties. Dessi had explained to her that sex workers these days -- all young big-city women, really -- waxed their pussies. That had seemed a bit extreme to Adele, and itchy when it grew back, but as a compromise she had trimmed her pussy-hair very carefully.

And that same body in the mirror would soon be hardening a roomful of dicks. Twenty or so! She let out a long, excited breath.

'Well, spanking can be a lot of fun, can't it?' Despite her bounding heart she spoke coolly. Experienced. Sophisticated. Decadent, even.

The scrape of coat-hangers came from Steve's side of the room now. 'Absolutely. The cane can take a bit of getting used to, though.'

Adele started to unzip her miniskirt, but paused in mid-zzz, frowning, considering. Then she took a deep breath and announced, 'I'm definitely going for the school uniform.'

'Attagirl!'

She smiled at his enthusiasm, and rolled down her stockings. She wanted to experience Steve in all his devilish intensity. She might never get another chance.

A rustle of clothing was coming from the other side of the room. He had started getting changed. A vivid image came to her, of his naked body as he prepared to put on his costume: not heavily built, yet well muscled, with a flat stomach. Her husband had the beginnings of a beer-belly.

'By the way,' he said, 'stating the obvious, but they like to witness the moment of truth, so to speak, so I'll cum on you, not in you.'

'Oh, I'd like to see you cum!' Not the cool tone she had been aiming for. But watching Steve ejaculate would be wonderfully filthy. She had never dared asked her husband to oblige. He'd have thought it strange.

'Let's see, what else do you need to know? Hmm.' The 'hmm' was a deep purr. 'OK. Wear your own knickers. Michael is a conscientious manager but he does tend to forget to wash the house knickers.'

'Right.' She had just started peeling her white panties away from her wet pudenda. White, with a minimal strip of lace round each leg-hole, because her husband liked simple white panties. He liked clean, normal sex. She pulled them up again.

Adele heard a series of snaps, like press studs being closed.

'How's the costume coming along?' Steve's voice was nearer.

'The tie?' Adele asked. 'Oh, I see. Velcro.'

'You must be almost ready.'

'Completely ready.' Adele stepped out from behind the screen.

'Young lady, you look just the job.' He ran appreciative eyes up and down her body, and she blushed and could not keep herself from tugging down the hem of the tartan skirt, to cover the cheeks of her rear.

'I left off my bra,' she said.

'I noticed,' he said, with that raffish grin of his. Adele's dark nipples could be faintly seen through the crisp white blouse. 'And the heels are a nice touch.'

Steve was the first man to show he appreciated her party shoes.

He had changed into a black academic gown over a white shirt and grey silk tie. Dark grey tweed trousers showed below the gown, and heavy black slip-on shoes.

'The gown and the shirt and tie are all one piece,' he explained, as he settled the outfit over his shoulders, shrugging and tugging. 'Press studs behind the buttons. Tricks of the trade, you know?'

'Clever. Would you mind checking the back of my hat?'

Adele turned her back to Steve. As he deftly tucked a few loose strands of her brown hair up between the straw-coloured fake bunches, his fingers brushed the nape of her neck.

'All done, young lady.'

She settled the hat and adjusted the elastic -- it had a narrow navy-blue band under the jaw -- then turned back to him, and let his grey-green eyes hold her brown ones for a moment.

'Look, I'd better show you the cane.' Steve disappeared behind the further screen. When he reappeared he was holding a traditional bamboo schoolmaster's cane, curved into a handle at one end. He flexed the cane in his hands. 'Quite whippy.' He raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

Adele nodded. 'Um, is this particular cane very painful?'

'For dramatic effect, I do raise a proper swish and crack. And that does mean -- well, let's just say you'll get serious welts.'

'Oh, I can't be doing with welts.' Her husband was unobservant, but even he would ask questions about welts.

Her main feeling was relief at having a reason to refuse. Yet she she felt her rear cheeks tingle... She imagined Dessi, wide-eyed as she told her, 'An erotic caning? Oh, you know me. Try anything once.' Nonchalant.

But back in reality she said to Steve, 'I have a regular who wouldn't like welts. What else could we do?'

'There's OTK, of course. That just raises a blush like a red traffic light.'

Before Steve could explain there was a knock on the door and Michael's voice said from the corridor, 'You're on, you two.'

Steve called back, 'It'll be student-professor.' To Adele he said, 'This place is a bit of a warren. I'd better lead the way.'

It had started. She followed Steve along the corridor. They turned into a dark side-passage near the stairs, and almost at once stopped at a heavy fire door. They stood under a dim tungsten lightbulb while Michael's voice came faintly from beyond the door.

Steve murmured, 'Listen. Spanking. We use a signal. After each smack, wiggle your bum if you can take another one.'

Adele's eyes sparkled with a mixture of nervousness and glee. 'But what if I just keep wiggling?' she whispered mischievously.

'Then I will just spank harder and harder.'

Adele spluttered, 'Oh gosh!'

They heard Michael finish with, 'All performers are over eighteen. Thank you very much.'

'My cue,' said Steve with an encouraging smile. He opened the door. Michael squeezed past them muttering fussily about a full house. Steve whispered to Adele, 'Let me be alone on stage for ten seconds, then knock on the partition.'

'Partition?'

But the word only met Steve's departing back. She followed him as far as a flimsy black curtain, hung across a gap between black-painted plywood partition walls. The air was hot. As she mentally counted to ten she heard a masculine cough from perhaps a foot away, behind the plywood on her right. The peephole cubicles must be narrow.

Through the flimsy curtain she could just make out Steve on the low stage, lit by overhead spotlights and looking magisterial in his black robe. That red blur would be the ottoman.

She took a deep breath and rapped with her knuckles on the plywood.

'Come!' Steve commanded.

Adele pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the black space. As she put her high-heeled shoe on the revolving stage she wobbled, and a bolt of anxiety shot through her.

'Ah yes. Miss Smith,' Steve said severely. 'Stand here.' He pointed to a spot a few feet in front of him.

Adele took her place facing him. Shoulders back. Tits out. All those lusting male eyes behind the peepholes. Actually, she had always been a good girl at school. The revolving stage made the soles of her shoes vibrate.

Steve looked her sternly up and down. 'It has come to my attention, Miss Smith, that you have lately been in the habit of sending so-called "sexts" to boys. I have seen some examples. They are of the most disgraceful variety.'

'So?' said Adele defiantly.

Steve frowned into her eyes so convincingly that Adele stifled a nervous giggle and dropped her gaze, to see that at the front of the closed academic gown something was jutting forward, peaking the cloth at crotch height. Thanks to her. Thanks to her!

'What is worse,' Steve continued, 'I have been forwarded certain so-called "selfies" of a revealing character.'

Adele looked up at his face again with a teasing curl of her lips. 'Yeah? And did you like what you see, sir?'

'Very nice -- I mean, that is beside the point, Miss Smith.'

'How about a look at the real thing, sir?' Adele tugged at her tie. There was a vicious tearing of Velcro and it fell to the floor. She began to undo the buttons of her blouse with tantalising slowness while Steve looked down at her bust in mock horror.

'Miss Smith! I order you to stop that at once!'

'Whatcher goin' to do about it, sir? Spanking's against the law now, sir,' she taunted him, and undid another button. She had plainly discovered her inner pert minx.

'Miss Smith, you will cease on the count of three or I may forget what the law forbids. Understand?'

'Yes sir, I understand exactly, sir.' She popped open another button.

'One.'

'I understand you're planning to spank my naughty bum, sir. Oh my!' Another button. Now a fold of the black fabric of the gown was draped over something almost vertical. Its size was hard to judge among the hanging folds, but it was certainly bigger than her husband's.

'Two.'

'That'll make my pretty arse-cheeks lovely and rosy, won't it, sir?' Her blouse was only held closed by the waistband of her skirt now.

'Three!'

Steve shot out his hand, seized her shoulder, and snatched her towards the ottoman. A very genuine squeal escaped her as she lost her balance. In one movement he sat down and steered her onto his lap, so that she ended up draped across his thighs with her rump pointing to the ceiling.

'Oh sir, you're so strong!'

'A fact which you are shortly going to regret, young lady.'

He flicked the tartan skirt up over her back. Adele just had time to realise that this must be 'OTK' -- Over The Knee -- when she felt the back of her panties dragged down below her buttocks with one tug of his hands. The uniform blouse was short and covered very little. Her rump was bare and at his mercy, and exposed to the gaze of the lusting punters.