It was Tarantina's turn to surprise me. I should have seen it coming, really. For our clandestine dates we would agree a place to meet, and then I would suggest an itinerary, usually involving a meal and a hotel. We went to different places each time to avoid suspicion. Getting away with a long-standing affair takes a bit of cunning and covering your tracks. Tradecraft, as the writers of spy novels call it. This time, she told me exactly where to meet her -- at a cocktail bar in a 5-star hotel -- at nine o'clock. Oh, and I had to dress sharp. Getting out in the evenings can be a bit tricky, but with enough notice I can come up with a convincing excuse. Work. Clients. That sort of malarkey. And dressing up goes with the territory.
When I arrived at the bar I took one look at Tarantina and realised this wasn't going to be an ordinary evening. She was a wearing a sheer silvery-white dress with a slash cut on the neck, and tiny little straps. It was the sort of thing you could roll up into a clutch purse if you took it off, and something told me she had every intention of doing so.
We stayed for a couple of drinks and then she led me up the street. I asked her where we were going but all she would say was 'you'll see'. As we strode out we had one of those conversations where you say everything except what you're thinking, which in my case was how gorgeous her ass looked in the dress, and what I wanted to do to it.
Half a block later she turned sharply into an alleyway, and then descended down a flight of steps to where a handful of pre-Georgian houses opened onto a courtyard. This was old London. It was pitch black in the courtyard, but a slit was visible in the heavy oak door of one of the houses. It slid across. A few seconds later the door opened. A couple went in. And then it closed again. Tarantina led us toward it. She knocked three times -- how the hell did she know to do that? -- and the slit opened.
'Private party,' said a man's voice.
'We're on the guest list,' she said.
'Names?'
'Tara and Seba.'
As we waited she pushed her body back into mine. I grabbed her waist and pulled her tight. My cock sprang into action and let that gorgeous ass know just how pleased it was to be making contact.
'Welcome,' said the voice, and the door swung open, heavy and slow.
Inside, flagstone floors, burning candles and the revelry of centuries filled the air. A woman ran by, dressed in only a red basque with her nipples cantilevered out the top, pursued by a man in a leather apron. As he passed, we saw he was wearing nothing else, his backside on show to the world.
Tarantina -- or Tara as she was calling herself tonight -- was laughing triumphantly, as if the place was already proving to be as much fun as she'd hoped.
I pulled her close again and kissed her hard. Our tongues were getting very twisted and my hands were about ready to roam when she broke it off.
'Before we go inside,' she said, 'we need some rules.'
'Same as before?'
'No, darling, last time it was my rules, this time it's your rules. It's only fair.'
Fair my arse. She was a sub at heart. She wanted the thrill of me being in control.
I said, 'In a place like this, a woman as good looking as you is going to get a lot of offers. And there are some men who enjoy being cuckolded. I'm not one of them. I have no desire to watch you getting pleasured while I make do with Mrs Palm. If a hot guy comes onto you, and you want to play, that's cool.'
'No limits?'
'No limits. But his partner has to be up for playing with me too.'
'You want me to pimp for you?'
'Exactly. You're my bait.'
She thought about it for a second. 'Okay. But what if a girl comes onto me?'
'Same. She needs to bring a friend.'
'What if the friend's a man?' She said it with a little smile and I realised I'd been set up.
'Then he has to be up for playing. Two guys watching their women get it on is a lot better than standing there by myself. But I still don't want to be an observer.'
Tara gave me a little frown. 'I'm not sure how many straight men are going to want to do that.'
I shrugged. 'I'm straight.'
She laughed. 'Except when you're gay.'
All during the negotiation we'd been standing in the hallway, and completely forgotten about the man who'd let us in. He cleared his throat to remind us he was there.
He was wearing a leather apron. I wondered if it was some sort of staff uniform.
'Don't worry,' he said. He pointed to an open door at the end of the passage. 'You'll find everything you want in there. And more.'
Tara led us down the hallway and I got another glimpse of that ass.
'Actually Tara,' I said.
She was in the doorway, about to enter the main room. She stopped and turned. 'Yes?'
'There's one limit.'
She smiled. 'My ass, right? You're so gay.'
She knew that my love of anal didn't mean I was gay, and I knew that she knew that I knew that she knew. But it was still funny, so I didn't care. That's what I loved about Tara, she didn't give a shit. We were on a wavelength where it didn't matter.
'No. Your orgasm. You're not allowed to cum with anyone else.'
She stood there, shocked, for a minute. 'What if I cum by accident? That happens sometimes, you know.'
'I'll bet there's a dungeon here, somewhere. It's simple. You'll be tied up and tortured. And I mean properly.'
'Maybe I'll like that,' she said with a wink.
I shrugged. 'Try it and see. Either way, you're still my bait.'
She rolled her eyes. 'Are we going in or not?' I held my arm out and she took it.
We swept into the main room of the ancient house. A fireplace racked high with hardwood burned hot on the back wall. Animal skins adorned the rest. Women with sharp-cut blonde and red hair strutted the room in black hide mini skirts and matching bras. The men looked like they'd stepped out of a Tom of Finland retrospective, all bulging and skin-tight. None of them were intimidatingly young and beautiful though. They'd just got the memo about the dress code.
As if she read my mind, Tara said in my ear, 'Don't worry, we'll all be naked soon.'
Nothing will make a man harder, or more idiotic, than the possibility of new pussy. Tara, for reasons that are still unclear to me, decided this was the moment to check. The back of her hand brushed across the front of my trousers and, encountering the protuberance she was expecting, saw fit to run her nails up and down it.
We got a drink and it didn't take long for a couple to make a bee-line for us. I found it slightly hard to speak as we all introduced ourselves. The other couple were David and Caroline. Sounded like their real names, I thought. How weird. She was skinny, blonde and angular, in tight silver leggings, with a deep, husky voice. He looked like an old tennis pro, deeply tanned and a little too thin for his own skin. But they both beamed at us like old friends, and there was no mistaking their intentions. I would have happily gone off to the fun room, but Tara wanted to window shop. We mingled and were chatted up by the exact men I'd been expecting. They'd brought their partners along but really it was an excuse to nail someone new. Their girls would put up with it or maybe fondle a little bit, but all the attention was coming Tara's way.
'Remember the rules,' I reminded her, more than once. 'I have to choke the chicken enough at home. I'm not doing it here too.'
My hopes rose a little too high when a pair of women, both in the leather mini and bra outfit, one blonde, one red, chatted us up for a while. But Tara, playing to the rules, cut them loose when they explained they were trying to recruit a sapphic mini orgy in one of the private rooms.
