the undoing of mrs O....

when i was twenty seven years old i moved to London and 'took rooms' on the top floor of handsome townhouse on the edge of Lewisham. So much on the edge that Mr O - my landlord - insisted that the house was in fact situated in Blackheath - an altogether more respectable address.

Mr O was a tall, vaguely effete man of around sixty - though it was difficult to fix his age with any accuracy as he had once boxed for his county and his features had been so re-arranged that they had been rendered immune to the normal aging processes. over the years his hips had thickened and his shoulders softened so that there was now something almost feminine about him. Mr O had very little contact with his boarders, and left it to Mrs O to settle me into my rooms. (the plural is a little deceptive - there was one room with a small shower room built into the corner.)

Mrs O was a tiny creature of around forty. thin lipped and rather sternly she gave me a tour of the upper floor (it was an attic really).
i was, she told me, permitted to use the stairs at any time but should not enter any rooms other than my own. She took particular care to direct me to the door of her bedroom and to make clear that no-one, not even mr O, was allowed across that threshold.

'mr O and i... have an... arrangement,' she said, clipping her voice and fixing me with hard grey eyes - that refused to soften despite my most charming smile.

Mr O was no beauty, but she wore her age lightly and had a rather elegant neck and clavicle - both of which i determined to decorate with cum at the earliest opportunity. this thought only made me smile more, which only hardened the little creatures already brittle mouth. her lips thinned to such an extend then that they almost disappeared entirely.

'why did you tell me that?' i inquired, not entirely innocently.

'tell you what?' she crisped.

'that you no longer have sex with mr O? why would you tell me that?'

she hesitated. her eyes softened into a sort of confusion - if only for a moment - as she worked back through what she might have revealed.

'i... didn't say that...' she concluded at last. but looked, for the first time, less than confident of her usual armour.

rather than argue with her interpretation i stepped into my room and began to unpack. it was large room and not untastefully decorated - if a little pink for my own tastes. i learned later that mr O was responsible for the decor. i did not find myself overly surprised when i learned this.

as i unpacked i kept my back to the door, though i was well aware that mrs O had taken up station on the threshold.

'there's nothing... wrong.. with such... arrangements,' she almost stuttered.

'we live very.. busy lives and mr O is often away.. and he has problems.. sleeping. but i didn't say that we don't... i didn't say that.'

i continued to unpack and said nothing more, other than to thank her for her kindness in showing me where things were. after a short time she left me to settle in and i didn't see her again for several days.

one morning i watched from my window mr O heave a large case into a cab, peck his tiny wife on the cheek, and then disappear off down the long street. shortly after mrs O presented herself at the door. she said that she just wanted to make sure that i was settling in and no problems - particularly with the shower, which, she said, could be quite 'temperamental'.

almost indifferently i told her that everything was fine and i had mastered the plumbing well enough. while i gave no indication that her presence was unwelcome, neither did i betray any enthusiasm for conversation. as i anticipated this only encouraged her to linger.

she seemed.. softer than previously. her lips a little fuller, her posture more open, her voice less... brittle.

i explained to her that i was preparing to go out but that she was welcome to stay and that there was coffee in the Moka Pot if she felt inclined. she was not reluctant to pour herself a cup or settle onto the small settee that squatted under the sill of the sash window. she tucked her legs under her and sank a little way into the cushions - looking relaxed for once.

i excused myself and took a quick shower. when i was done i returned to find her very nearly smiling. i did not dress immediately but settled at the foot of my bed still draped with several towels.

'mr O,' she said, after some consideration 'mr O has the most beautiful cock. large.. and thick and with the most.. exquisite bulb on the end.'

she almost shivered as she spoke of it. shifted her legs under her, and began to stroke at the fringe of her hair - mid-length and well cut.

'beautiful,' she said, of her husbands seemingly impressive member. 'but... totally... useless.'

she sighed, and then fixed an almost weightless smile on her lips.

'mr O has not sustained an erection since 1982. at least.. not in my presence. but then... perhaps it is me.'

she leaned forward as though to impart a secret with an old friend.

'i never really... enjoyed sex with mr O. he was very...' she rummaged in her head for the perfect word. 'he was very... swift. i often thought that he just wanted it done... as quickly as possible. as though it.. disgusted him in some way. but.. it was such a beautiful cock that i really didn't mind.. to begin. it was almost a.. privilege.. though that changed quickly. in the end i would wait a few seconds, stick my finger up his arse and then it would be done..'

she snapped her fingers to illustrate how quickly. perhaps aware that she had betrayed more than a confidence she was quick to insist that mr O was a 'lovely man', and a perfect husband... in so many ways. but all the while her eyes were straying to the towel around my waist.

'do you.. have a beautiful cock?'

'no,' i tell her. 'mine is just a cock. but,' i add, without haste, 'it does.. function adequately well. and, perhaps, that's more important than.. mere.. aesthetics.'

i do not prove my point... immediately... but wait for her to finish her coffee and gather up her courage enough to cross the room and uncover my erection for herself. it is best to be patient at such times...

because the had waited so long to feel a hard cock in her little mouth i permitted her to indulge herself, and took very little part other than to ensure i sustained myself for as long as she needed. her technique was a little wanting.. but she had.. enthusiasm and, i felt sure, could be taught quite well... in time.

when she was done i fulfilled the promise i had made to myself and decorated her lavishly. and then, still cum-dripped sent her back to her room.

the few months that followed proved not so much the undoing of mrs O, but, i remain convinced... the making of her..

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