I gave him the stink eye as I prowled towards her, hornets in my blood. He jumped out of the way as if he had come across a rabid dog. It was hot and crowded on the dance floor and the beat of the music was as relentless as jungle drums. I stuck my leg between her spread thighs and she ground her hungry pussy onto the leather of my trousers. Her tits were bouncing and shaking with excitement.

She wanted a show.

And fuck was she going to get one.

Picking up her left leg, I curled it around my waist. Her naked pussy splayed open. With one smooth movement my hand slipped down her stomach. Here kitty, kitty. I cupped her pussy.

Fuck she was wet! I ran my middle finger down her slick slit and slipped it into her. I had planned to be subtle, but she grasped my hand with both hers and shoved my finger deeper into her hot, hungry hole. I pushed another two digits in and she groaned in ecstasy and frenziedly ground herself on me.

The other dancers stopped their pathetic little moves and stood in a circle to cheer me on. It was that kind of club, seedy. And this was her thing. Exhibitionism. Letting people watch while strangers finger fucked her. This was what she whispered into my ear at the bar earlier.

Music crashed and lights flashed around us while she rode my hand. She didn’t last long. The heat. The music. The audience. She climaxed all over my hand. Her juices squirting on the dance floor.

I pulled my fingers out of her and looked down at the hot, sticky mess I had made between her open thighs. Her legs were still trembling and her pussy lips were red and swollen from the vigorous finger fucking I had just given her.

Yeah, she’ll do nicely.

I released her leg, and with a satisfied smirk she pulled her dress over her dripping bits. She’d had her fun and now it was my turn. I dragged her off the dance floor towards the men’s toilets. Unlike her I like a bit of privacy when I get my rocks off.

Here I wasn’t Lord Ivan De Greystoke. Here I was Ivan the Terrible.



Tawny Maxwell

Barrington Manor, Bedfordshire

‘Whatever you do, don’t ever trust them. Not one of them,’ Robert whispered. His voice was so faint I had to strain to catch it.

‘I won’t,’ I said softly.

‘They are my own flesh and blood so they are dangerous in a way you will never understand. Never let your guard down.’

‘OK,’ I agreed immediately. I just wanted him to stop talking about his children. These last precious minutes I didn’t want to waste on them.

He shook his head unhappily. ‘No, you don’t understand. You can never let your guard down for even an instant. Never.’

‘All right I won’t,’ I said in a placating voice.

‘I will be a very sad spirit if you do.’

‘I won’t,’ I cried passionately and reached for his hand. The contrast between our hands couldn’t be greater. Mine was smooth and soft and his was gnarled and full of green veins, the skin waxy and liver spotted. His nails were the color of polished ivory. The hand of a sixty-year old dying man. I lifted it to my lips and kissed it tenderly.

His eyes glowed briefly in his wasted, sunken face. ‘How I love you, my darling Tawny,’ he murmured.

‘I love you. I love you. I love you,’ I cried desperately. I felt frightened. I didn’t want to lose him. The world stretched out as a cruel and lonely place without him.

‘Keep our secret and they cannot touch you,’ he said calmly.

‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I promised.

‘No one,’ he insisted.

‘No one,’ I agreed, shaking my head.