Spectator Sport

It was a pleasant stroll in the sunshine. Randolph Trevais, unused to the bus­tle of London, was pleased by the greenness and comparative quiet of the many lawned oases within the great city. Finsbury Circus was no exception and he looked with pleasure at the City's planting, the great London Plane trees and the bowling green in the middle of the circular park.

Even Randolph found it difficult to be grumpy on a day like today.

A voice came from behind him; it was the girl he had just passed talking to the man with her.

"It's always been a bowling green and people sit on the grass and stuff."

Randolph was amused at the image the overused word conjured up. He missed the next few words but then heard,

"It's not a spectator sport..."

He smiled—presumably she was referring to the game of bowls for other­wise he disagreed. It would be very pleasant to sit on a park bench, in the warm sunshine, quietly watching couples stuffing.

The idea appealed and Randolph did indeed sit down on a bench and, lean­ing back, closed his eyes, feeling very content in the quiet and warmth of the garden. He imagined the couples in his mind. The ginger, curly haired girl with her green spotty sundress pulled up to her waist, her panties on the grass by her side, one creamy round breast exposed to display a sweet shell pink nipple and her boyfriend, trousers removed, working between her thighs and hiding the profusion of ginger curls Randolph had only just glimpsed before entry. They were certainly stuffing.

In his mind he turned to the tall dark haired girl with the small, remarkably conical, breasts topped by big puffy areolae. There was no shame about her, she had stripped off both jeans and blouse and had mounted her blond boyfriend to ride him with gusto. From Randolph's view­point the easy mechanical sliding of the penis was like the movement of hy­draulics—smooth and effortless, the sunshine making the hydraulic fluid shiny on the rod—at one moment the rod extended: the next hidden as the dark and blond curls merged—the yin and yang.

Some couples made more discrete, furtive movements of hands in trousers, beneath shirts, beneath skirts but all with a gradual movement to­wards exposure and insertion—a communal need to rut in the warm sunshine.

The Muslim girl, head modestly covered but trousers removed, the dark profusion of her curls revealed with the hint of hidden lips just glimpsed. Her boyfriend (husband?) with shiny headed circumcised penis at attention, no hint of foreskin to retain some passing modesty, slipping first between her nether lips before being hidden in the darkness between her legs.

The pale, strawberry blond, naked but for a pair of fawn strappy sandals just showing little toes between the strap work and with each nail painted sil­ver, on her hands and knees being taken from behind by a tall black man. Ran­dolph smiled at the thought of her knees reddened and stained green from the exercise, showing beneath her dress on her way home from the park.

To a casual observer there was nothing unusual about the short bearded man sitting on the park bench, eyes closed and with walking stick clasped in his hands. A passing pretty young office clerk in black skirt and tights did not give him a second glance and certainly could have no idea of the odd thoughts flowing through his head, might have been rather shocked by them: though no stranger to sex herself, even knowledgeable about pleasure with either of the sexes. She did not realise the remarkable ability possessed by the little man—but she had not seen his eyes, green eyes that caught and held you if you were unwary. Randolph Trevais, master hypnotist.

Randolph rather liked cascading curls and watched yet another girl, blouse open, sucking her boyfriend, as her dark curls hung around her head. It was warm in the sunshine and for the young man in the blue suit perhaps a lit­tle too pleasant and warm in the girl's mouth for all of a moment his eyes shut and it was obvious to Randolph that he was coming, prematurely releasing his fluid into her mouth. Her eyes caught his and her shoulders gave a little shrug. Perhaps she needed a little help, someone to take over: was it an invitation? She held his eye as she let the wilting penis drop from her mouth and slowly, deliberately her little pink tongue ran across her lips drawing in a hint of es­caped semen. Did she want another penis to suck?

Randolph opened his eyes and stood. Really, this was no good, day dream­ing of sex in the park. The girl with the cascading curls did not exist, the straw­berry blond wasn't there—he was just day dreaming. The ginger haired curly haired girl with her green spotty sundress who had been the first in his day­dream, did exist but was sitting, boyfriend less, demurely reading a book and most certainly did not have her panties on the grass to her side or one creamy breast exposed. Randolph was just daydreaming, but, and this was clear, he had a need to be satisfied.

The Underground was crowded. It seemed to Randolph it always was. Had he ever sat down in a car? He leaned against the glass for support and looked around him at the variety of humanity pressed into close proximity. The train slowed at Chancery Lane and a girl got on. Randolph watched her from behind. Bare shoulders, thin white cotton top held up by little straps tied on her shoulders in bows, dark blue jeans below. He could not discern bra straps and, with the train starting, her hand went up to hold on to the roof rail stretching the material of her top. Randolph was wondering whether, if she turned, he would see her breasts pushed against the top, faintly through the thin material. But, when she turned, he was to be disappointed - there was a bra but it was strapless. Randolph's attention changed and he glanced to his side at a short, rather flat chested girl in a knee length blue skirt. Small breasts could be a pleasant change but it was not to be: she got off at the next stop be­fore he had even speculated about her or formed a plan.

He turned back to the girl in the white top. What was she doing for the evening? He imagined, per­haps she was heading to see her boyfriend, going to a club and dancing into the small hours before returning to a flat. Once the flat door had closed he could visualise the lad undoing the little bows holding the straps, the top falling, the bra unclasped, breasts revealed. Would the nipples be hard, would the areolae be small or large, would the nipples point upwards, what shape the breasts - conical, rounded—there was so much variety! The boyfriend's lips closing on first one teat, then the other leaving them wet and elongated; jeans undone, a hand inserted, stirring the wetness between the legs; a falling into bed and the inevitable insertion; the energetic thrusting, the climaxes and sleep. Deep satisfied sleep. Randolph sighed. It would be good to watch the progress from door to bed but he did not want to stay up to the small hours whilst they clubbed and, in any case, how was he to be invited in to watch any­way? Few would welcome such a spectator to their sport, still less a joining in the game. Randolph smiled, a look that rather surprised the girl in question who happened to be looking at him. She got off at the next stop and Randolph was not inclined to follow.

Randolph sighed, it seemed as if he was just going to be a spectator, idly watching the pretty girls and no more. Certainly walking through Covent Gar­den in the early evening gave plenty of opportunity for this. A girl caught his attention, leaning on railings chatting to her friends showed bare skin between her skin tight jeans and short top, displaying just the hint of dimples and cleav­age; his attention diverted to a young girl with almost boyishly slim hips yet a bust that was quite out of proportion to her slight frame—Randolph wondered if she was pleased by the ampleness of breasts or irritated by their ever pres­ence unbalancing her; then just as he was starting to wonder where to eat (probably move on to Soho) his eye was caught, particularly caught by a girl in a red top. It was not the head of hair, the pretty face or the red top as such which attracted his attention but the bra-less contents of the top. The sudden glimpse of the shape of her breasts suggesting that their roundness was sur­mounted by little cones, a suddenly steeper angle at the apex, and this was in­triguing and arresting. Were her areolae really that shape, did they really sit in little cone shapes atop rounded breasts? Randolph had to know more, gain a better look; perhaps even... his interest was certainly aroused.

It was not speculation this time about the red topped girl's particular and real plans, she was definitely going to meet her boyfriend for she turned into a cafe and kissed the man who rose to greet her in a way which showed they were not simply friends, nor brother and sister. Randolph sat at a table a little away from them and settled to watch them, ordering a chilled Riesling whilst they sat and drank red wine. It certainly seemed as if the breasts were as he supposed, though it would have helped if he had been closer. Randolph's mind drifted back to the idea of the spectator sport. With 'Match of the Day' you had close ups, freeze frame, action replays, slow motion examinations of tack­les and goals. You also had football cards you could collect showing the play­ers as well as albums to stick them into. He wanted the card for this particular girl, one that showed all her details. What position did she play in, who had she played with, what were her attributes—even what was her name? He would also like to see her in the changing room showers.

Randolph had a choice to make. Was he just to be a spectator; or was he to take a more active role with this girl, indeed with this couple. Did he want to know more about them, did he want to see more of the girl and indeed did he want to have sexual relations with the girl? He held up his glass admiring the colour of the liquid before changing his focus to the table with the couple. Yes, those breasts were very interesting and he would very much like a closer view - indeed hands on experience. His mind was made up. Now how was a master hypnotist to achieve his goal?

The standing up of the man and his heading for the 'Gents' of the cafe gave Randolph an opportunity rather than a plan. A few moments later found him standing in the stalls next to the boyfriend. A simple enquiry led the man to look at Randolph, look into his rather curious green eyes and their hypnotic effect took over. Some minutes later Randolph came out of the 'Gents' his plan formed and half executed. It was not difficult to find an excuse to speak to the girl alone at the table, not difficult at all to get her to look into his eyes and lis­ten to his careful instructions. He already knew her name, knew a great deal about her from her boyfriend, knew their plans for the evening and the hotel they were staying in.

Sitting once more back at his own table, Randolph finished his glass of Riesling and paid the waiter. Over at the other table the girl was looking around a bit puzzled as to where her boyfriend was but exactly ten minutes after Randolph had left him he returned to the table. Randolph let them talk for a bit and then stood up and made to leave the cafe passing their table.

"Randolph!" The girl called with pleasure, "What are you doing in Lon­don?"

"Hey Randolph!" said the boyfriend and before Randolph could answer turned to his girlfriend and said, "You know Randolph?"

"Course I do, old family friend. You know him?"

"Why yes I..."

"Jessie, Hugh—well fancy meeting you—and together."

Randolph shook hands and accepted their invitation to sit and drink some of their wine. Their pleasure at seeing their 'friend', their surprise at finding they had this friend in common and the unexpectedness of the meeting all con­spired to create jolly and animated conversation. It transpired that Jessie and Hugh were going to the theatre and on to dinner; had Randolph seen the play? No, would he like to join them and dinner afterwards? Despite the obvious na­ture of the evening as a 'date', the normal desire of a couple to be just that, both Jessie and Hugh seemed to be falling over themselves to have Randolph join them and were delighted to do so—it was not merely a polite invitation given with the hope of it being declined but quite the contrary, an insistence on acceptance and Randolph was delighted to do so.

The play was good, the dinner excellent and the company marvellous. Ran­dolph had a superb evening and so did Jessie and Hugh despite the 'gooseber­ry' presence of Randolph. To be fair, Randolph could be very good company, when in a good mood, and he contributed as much to the evening's success as did the young couple. What was unfortunate, or apparently unfortunate, was nobody kept an eye on the time with the result that Randolph 'missed' his last train.

"No matter," said Jessie, "our hotel room has a spare bed - ridiculously it has two double beds. Why would anyone want two double beds in a room?"

Hugh made a slightly wine fuelled comment causing Jessie to blush.

"Well maybe. You could have the spare bed; that would be all right wouldn't it Hugh?"

Hugh looked momentarily unsure but nonetheless agreed to the sugges­tion.

Randolph was all thanks, "if you really don't mind, hope I'll be no trouble, if you are quite sure..."

The room was as Jessie had described but it was one thing to make the ca­sual offer, the reality with difficulties of undressing and sharing a bathroom was rather another, especially as Randolph had included an additional ingredi­ent to the mix, something he had added back in the cafe in his original hypnot­ic suggestions to them both: namely the closer they got to their room the more sexually excited they would become, the more in need of satisfying their mutu­al need, for more they desperately wanted to fuck. So as Randolph prattled on about how good the evening had been, how good they were to let him use their room, which bed should he take, who should use the bathroom first: all Jessie and Hugh could think of was how they would like to rip their clothes off and fuck in wild abandon.

Their discomfort and their desire was so very obvious to Randolph and so very amusing. It was also pleasingly exciting as he would shortly be the specta­tor once more to some very interesting activity.

They could have fucked in the bathroom but Randolph was so insistent they used it first, wouldn't hear of him taking precedence, given he hadn't any pyjamas it would be easier if he undressed in the dark etc, that there was not the opportunity as it would have kept him waiting an inordinate time. So Jessie and Hugh found themselves in bed fresh from the bathroom still with Ran­dolph talking away.

Randolph did wonder if they would be 'at it' when he came out of the bath­room. Not as such, it transpired, but clearly there had been some fumbling.

"Right, shall I turn the light out?" he said by the door.

"Please. Goodnight Randolph."

"Goodnight."

With the light off it seemed to both Jessie and Hugh very dark indeed and, safe from being observed, they, initially at least, quietly began to make love. Hotel rooms being what they are, it was quite hot and it was not long before the duvet was pushed aside. To them this did not matter as, firstly, it was pitch black and, secondly, Randolph was, no doubt, asleep already—certainly he seemed very quiet and was breathing regularly.

Jessie and Hugh were wrong on both counts. Firstly they merely believed the light to have been turned off. They saw, or rather did not see, what their minds told them and Randolph had arranged for them not to see. Secondly, Randolph was very much awake and was sitting cross legged on his bed with­out, as indeed he had said, his pyjamas or any clothes for that matter and it was physically evident, could Jessie and Hugh have seen him, that he was en­joying what he was seeing - as a spectator at Jessie and Hugh's sport.

And of course what Randolph had particularly wanted to see was Jessie's breasts. Hidden within her pyjamas their shape had been more indistinct than within her earlier top. It was stimulating to watch Hugh's hands at work with­in that pyjama top but its pulling over Jessie's head was what Randolph had been awaiting, the answer to the question that had first excited him about Jessie—did her breasts rise to little cones? They did, they certainly did and now the little pink cones were crowned by the hard points of erect nipples.

Randolph's hand moved on his penis—it was all he could do not to reach out and touch a breast but that was not in the hypnotism and would have pro­duced an outraged and shocked response (probably). It was, nonetheless, most enjoyable for Randolph to have live action to masturbate to, made extra thrilling by the occasional blank glances towards him by the performers, un­seeing in the pitch blackness that they thought enveloped them.

Hugh's hands on Jessie's breasts certainly aroused Randolph's jealousy. He wanted to touch, to run his fingers up those little cones; feel the soft round­ness of her breasts in the palms of his hands; perhaps take a hard nipple be­tween his lips and pull; all the interesting things that could be done with breasts particularly those as unusually shaped and attractive as those. But Randolph would have to bide his time. When sleep came, it would come very deeply to the performers, his hypnosis had seen to that. They would be 'out for the count' and Randolph would have the opportunity of examining, touching, tasting even, at leisure. Not perhaps really participating but a cross between that and being a spectator: not live action but a chance to examine, touch and to an extent interact with the tableau.

The pulling down of Hugh's boxers and the release of the already en­gorged item within was not particularly interesting to Randolph, he was not that way inclined, but what was to be done with the item and how it was to be used certainly was of interest. He lent forward in anticipation as Jessie's hand felt for and found the penis and squeezed. Almost immediately she went down on it but, unfortunately, the top of her head rather obscured her mouth's ac­tion from Randolph. To be fair this was not a staged bout, performed for the benefit of spectators, but very real—the amateur game—and Randolph had to accept its imperfections. Even so the sudden raising of Jessie's head when he made a small noise was a cameo delight—the blankly unseeing eyes looking straight at him, straight at Randolph's erect cock whilst at the same time her rounded lips continued to lick and suck with enthusiasm as they remained en­circled around Hugh's own cock. It was a superb image. Then the head low­ered again and all was obscured.

The absence of hair, of even downy hair surprised Randolph when pyjama bottoms were pulled down and off. He had not expected Jessie to shave and was rather disappointed. He was a connoisseur, preferring his women au na­turel and not at all averse to a profusion, a luxuriant growth, but here was Jessie looking more like a little girl than a grown women. Was this Hugh's pref­erence? Perhaps he would ask Jessie in the morning using a little hypnotism of course. It was not a usual question for the breakfast table in polite company where Randolph came from.

Randolph watched the play of Hugh's hand between Jessie's thighs and wondered whether he would go down on her too. He stroked as he watched. Of course he could see little of Jessie's sex, Hugh's hand and Jessie's thigh tended to obscure, particularly when she clamped her thighs tight together against the hand—but he would be able to examine at leisure once they were asleep.

He watched with some amusement as Jessie began to move, her knees taking her sideways around the bed as she rotated one-hundred and eighty degrees around the axis of Hugh's cock, her mouth remaining clamped to the penis all the while as she moved her sex towards his own mouth, facing down rather than up the bed, changing to the 'sixty-nine' position. As she moved the axis on which she revolved came once more into view as Jessie's lips rotated around it and her knees arrived at and straddled Hugh's head. Once more Ran­dolph was able to see Jessie's lips at work, sliding on Hugh's cock as, at the same time, she lowered her sex onto Hugh's outstretched tongue. This prompt­ed Randolph to move his hand rather faster. They were being less careful to be quiet now and there were distinct slurping noises. Randolph desperately want­ed to join in but that was not in his plan. He had to sit cross-legged and be the spectator.