After quitting her Tibetan Buddhist monastery in France Damcho Dyson, 45, spends her weekends cavorting in latex at fetish clubs.

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Image by fen357 from Pixabay "You know what I want." I can barely get the words out between gasps. Phil's got my blouse unbuttoned and is diligently sucking my nipple, with the expected effect. He stops briefly to swirl his tongue in a deft circle around the aching nub, then nips at the tip. I moan as my clit jumps in sympathy. Encouraged, he fastens his mouth on mine while he sneaks his hand up my thigh. I'm sopping and dying for him to touch me, but I slap his hand away. "No way! You're not getting into my knickers until you agree." "Oh, come on, Moe. You know I can't do it." "Of course you can. If you want to. If you want me, want me enough." He bends to my breasts for another long, delicious suckle. He's trying to soften me up. I mustn't let him know how much success he's having. "Really, I can't. It's like -- sacrilege." There's genuine distress on his face, but it might just be the result of frustrated lust. "Those uniforms were designed by Queen Victoria, for Christ's sake." I snuggle up to him with a sweet smile. "I know. That's part of what makes it so hot. The centuries of tradition. Don't you think that it would be hot, Phil?" I stroke the his swollen cock through his jeans and give him a wet kiss with lots of tongue. It's hardly possible, but I actually feel him become bigger and harder. "It's not like this is just for me. I know you'll enjoy it." "Yeah, but if Geoff catches me, I'm finished. A halberd through the heart! You know how he is about the Warders." "He won't, I promise. We'll be extra careful. We'll do it when he's on duty." "And what about my mum?" "Doesn't she play bridge a couple of nights a week?" "On Tuesdays and Thursdays, most weeks." "So all you need to do is figure out the next Tuesday or Thursday night that Geoff's on the watch." I find the bulb of his cock and pinch it through the denim. He yelps. "Should be easy for a smart guy like you." "Okay, okay, you win. Tell me the details of your devious scheme, and I'll do what I can." Phil stands up and starts pacing back and forth in front of the TV. He's trying to get his hard-on to subside. Mum's due back from work any minute, so I've got to talk fast. I lay out my plan. As I do, I get wetter and wetter. I've dreamed about this since I was in my pre-teens. Maybe earlier. But until Uncle Geoff, the man we all thought was a confirmed bachelor, married Aunt Helen, I never saw a chance to turn my fantasy into reality. I remember sitting on Uncle Geoff's lap when I was really young, four or five. It was a vast expanse of navy blue, with lovely red highlights. Geoff liked to show off his uniform when he came over to visit us. And he did look fine in it. He's not tall, but he's solid, and his sandy hair and beard look golden showing against the rich, dark blue of his hat brim. Even now, I remember the feel of the tight-woven wool against my thighs. It was smooth, almost silky, not scratchy like the wool skirt and blazer my mum made me wear to church in the winter. I can bring back the scent, too, smoky, cigarettes and wood fires, with just a hint of my uncle's Old Spice after shave. By the time I was old enough to be getting myself off, my mind was full of men in archaic blue and red costumes, touching me as I touched myself. They were faceless, but unflaggingly eager. Some folks, I know, will start quoting Freud to me at this point, babbling on about father figures and displacement and the subconscious. It's true that I don't remember my dad, that Uncle Geoff was all the father I had. But I didn't lust after my uncle. Just his uniform. I had a normal sex life. I lost my virginity in the last year of sixth form, then shagged a couple of guys during my two years at college. They didn't know that when I came, I was imagining blue wool and garnet trim. At first I mentally dressed them in the Beefeater uniform. After a while, though, I realized that I got more turned on picturing myself in the Yeoman Warder's costume. Anyway, it was all just fantasy until last summer. As soon as I met my cousin Phil at Geoff's and Helen's wedding, I knew that he fancied me. And to be honest, the feeling was mutual. I didn't let on, though. I figured I could use the attraction to get his help. Phil is artistically pale, with messy black hair, green eyes and a cynical grin. He looks just like the devil that he is. He actually hit on me at the wedding reception, cornering me and feeling me up in the coatroom. Here at last was the accomplice that I needed. He was clever, too, working on his MBA at Imperial College. He had turned out to be more timid than I expected. I had to work hard to convince him that some ancient English god would not strike him down in a bolt of lightning for conspiring with me. Lust, however, is a powerful motivator. "Maureen, I'm home." Mum bustles into the den only ten minutes after Phil leaves, juggling sacks of groceries. "Here, let me help." I take two of the bags and follow her into the kitchen. Mum considers me to be something of a disappointment, twenty four and still living at home, working as a shopgirl when Andy's already a junior partner in accountancy, and Cassie has given her two grandkids. But the truth is, she'd be awfully lonely if I took off, too. Of course, I will, someday. But at the moment, my goals are more near-term. "How was work?" she asks, putting the potatoes on to boil. "Slow. Lucy sent me home early, since they didn't need me." Of course, I don't mention the fact that Phil picked me up from work in his cute green Mini, or our clinch in the den. "You really should look for something more challenging, Maureen. Something with more of a future." "Yes, you're right, Mum." I'm saved by the sound of my mobile ringing. I stroll off to the den to have some privacy. "Tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" I mentally check the calendar. Tomorrow is in fact Thursday. "Right. Geoff's assigned to the Escort of the Key, so he'll be out until ten. And my mother's got a tournament. She warned me that it might go till midnight." Tomorrow. I'm simultaneously terrified and overwhelmed with excitement. My pussy is slick and swollen. "I didn't expect it would be so soon..." "Do you want to do this, or not?" His breathing is heavy. He's excited too. "Yes, yes of course." "I'll pick you up at seven thirty. You'd better be ready for me." I'm ready now, wet and open and dying to get off. Except that my legs are trembling. I sink down on the sofa. Tomorrow. Somehow I manage to make it through the next twenty four hours. I'm dazed with desire, my knickers a sodden mess from the moment I put them on. At work I nearly give Mrs. Washburn the box with Ms. Simpson's black lace teddy, instead of her WonderHold ExtraFirm girdle. I catch the error (imagine prim Mrs. Washburn opening that parcel!) at the last moment. Lucy notices and gives me a dirty look. When she touches me on the sleeve, electricity sizzles through me, straight to my pussy. My whole body is sensitized, pulsing with the current of fantasy on the brink of fulfillment. Mum has cooked roast beef, normally my favorite, but I can hardly eat a bite. "Are you feeling sick, Maureen?" "No Mum, I'm fine. I just had a big lunch. Maybe I'll have a cold plate later." I begin to clear. Mum looks at me suspiciously. "Are you going out?" "Oh yes, didn't I tell you? Cousin Phil and I are going to a movie." I always find that a half-truth is far safer than an outright lie. "I'd better go get ready." Mum is skeptical. She's not sure she approves of her brother's new step-son, though Phil's always polite and attentive to her. She told me that she thinks he's fast. If she only knew! "Well, make sure he has you back before eleven, now. Tomorrow's a work day, you know." "Of course, Mum." By eleven o'clock the Ceremony of the Keys will be finished. By eleven, it will be done, my lifelong desire fulfilled. My heart is beating so hard, I almost expect that she'll hear. "I'll see you later." In my room I strip and shower, then pull on a soft jersey that stretches seductively over my breasts, and a denim skirt. No underwear; I want to be as close to naked as is possible. My pussy throbs. I'm terribly tempted to touch myself, bring down the level of tension, but I resist. Save it. Save it for Phil and Queen Victoria. Phil is ten minutes late. I'm ready to kill him when he finally arrives, especially when his grin tells me that his tardiness was deliberate. "Hey, cuz, you look great." He leans over the gear stick to kiss me, and I let him, but when he starts to paw my breast, I pull away. He tastes of Wrigley's chewing gum and whisky. "Have you been drinking?" I try to sound stern, but his closeness sends my arousal into high gear. "Just a shot of courage. Or two." "Well, be careful. The last thing we want is for the police to pick us up." "Of course, madam." He drives through the mayhem of London with exaggerated caution, stopping on amber lights, keeping our speed well below 30. It seems to take forever. I glance over at his crotch. He's hard, I'm sure of it, which is a very good sign. I sit back in the bucket seat and try to relax. It's eight fifteen by the time we arrive at the outer gates of the Tower. Phil flashes his resident's pass at the guard on duty, and we sail through. We park in the common lot, then walk across the Green to the neat rowhouses that shelter the Yeoman Warders. The Warders and their families are required to live within the Tower grounds. Uncle Geoff's place is dark other than the lamp above the door. Phil looks around nervously before turning his key and letting me in. "Come on. The wardrobe's on the second floor." He whispers, even though we are clearly alone in the house. I follow my cousin through the shadowy halls and up the stairs. I can smell his sweat, his maleness. Juices from my pussy drip down the inside of my thighs. He knocks at a closed door. I catch my breath; doe he expect an answer? In any case, there's no response. The door swings open, and then we are there, in my Uncle Geoff's bedroom, where he sleeps with my new aunt, where he stores the regalia that set him apart from the common mold of man. Phil turns on a dim lamp near the bed. "There." He points to a plain-looking oak wardrobe in the corner. In a heartbeat I'm standing in front of it, pulling at the handles, but I can't seem to get it open. It's like one of those nightmares, where you try to move, to lift your hand and grasp your desire or to flee from your ultimate fear, but you're frozen. All your efforts are futile. Tears well up. So close... Then Phil grins, reaches into his pocket and holds up a key. "He keeps it locked. Thieves, he says. Each uniform is worth more than a grand, after all." The key turns smoothly. I fling the double doors open, and there they are: the uniforms. There's the scarlet and gold dress uniform, with its snowy white ruff and puffy headdress. A pair of black patent leather shoes are aligned carefully underneath. This gaudy finery doesn't interest me. I'm focused on the undress uniform, the sea blue tunic and trousers with the ruby-red piping spelling out ER, Elizabeth Regina, across the chest. The jaunty hat with its circular brim. It's a chilly October night, and my uncle must be wearing the winter weight uniform. The summer uniform is wool too, but light, almost like linen. I reach out a finger and trace the bright trim around the cuff. It feels as though someone is trailing his fingers through the folds of my cunt. Finally impatient, I pull my jersey over my head and toss it on the floor, then undo my zip and step out of the skirt. Phil releases an appreciative wolf whistle. I hardly notice. I reach for the tunic, pull it from the hanger, slip my arms into the sleeves, fasten it up to my neck. It's loose, of course. Every time I move, the finely knit fabric brushes over my swollen nipples, fanning the smoldering heat in my cunt into new flame. The cuffs fit snugly. On the shelf I find a pair of spotless white gloves. I pull them on, then consider the trousers. My cunt is soaked, dripping with desire. In my fantasies, I'm always bent over, my Beefeater's trousers pulled down to bare my bottom to the men waiting behind me. Geoff's pants are way too long, though. Plus if I bring them anywhere near my raunchy wet pussy, they'll be soaked and stained by my juices, and possibly spoiled forever. That thought by itself almost makes me come. But I cling to a shred of common sense and pass the trousers by. Instead, I reach up to the shelf and pick up the hat. I plant it on top of my tangled red-brown curls. My hair's so thick that it's a perfect fit. I turn to face the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. I can hardly breathe. The person looking back at me is a stranger, a saucy pixie with hazel eyes and flushed cheeks. Her parted lips look bruised from kissing, fuller and redder than mine. The royal hue of the coat contrasts with the creamy paleness of her thighs. When the placket in the front separates, you can glimpse the fur of her mound. Her hat is perched at an irreverent angle, not straight across the brow the way Uncle Geoff wears it. Under her venerable costume, her body is ripe and open. She lets out a little sigh. She's begging to be fucked. The tunic reaches to my knees, but I can feel currents of air creeping underneath it, caressing my naked bum. I'm aching to plunge both of my hands deep into my pussy. I imagine those pristine white gloves becoming wet and sticky with my fluids. I think about leaving them, afterwards, on the shelf in Geoff's closet, to fill up the hallowed space with the common, oceany smell of sex. Every depraved image makes me hornier. Then I notice Phil's reflection. He's sitting on the bed behind me, staring, his cock jutting from his trousers and pointing straight up at the ceiling. I want that cock like I've never wanted anything. "Turn around," he whispers. I drag myself away from the mirror and face him. "Open the jacket. I want to see your tits." He grips his swollen organ and it jumps eagerly. It's hard to undo the covered buttons in my gloves, but I manage. The fabric hangs open, the scarlet calligraphed 'E' brushing against one breast, the 'R' against the other. Without being told, I cup my tits and fondle them with my gloved fingers. The nappy cotton is soft as velvet. Every touch shoots straight to my clit. I brush my thumbs over my rigid nipples. It's like someone's rammed a thick, flaming candle deep into my cunt. My muscles clench, sending darts of pleasure out to my extremities. Phil gestures impatiently. "Get over here, wench, and eat my meat." I'm on my knees in front of him in a trice. I bend over and swallow his whole cock. There are no preliminaries, no teasing. We're beyond that now. Phil moans and grabs my shoulders for support. I work my mouth up and down along his impressive length, savoring the silky texture and salty taste. I can almost feel his hard, slippery rod, sliding in and out of my hungry cunt. As my head bobs, the hat tumbles off into his lap. Now when my mouth reaches his root, I graze my cheek against the hat brim. I have a vision of Phil's come, spurting white curlicues across the navy fabric. My pussy twitches and shudders. I'm ready to explode. I can't take anymore. I release his flesh with one lingering lick of appreciation, and flop onto my chest on the bed, my bum in the air. Phil needs no further invitation. I hear the crackle as he opens a condom package. He parts the back flaps of the tunic and sinks his cock into me in one smooth motion. He's in deep, so deep. It's delicious, incredible pleasure with a fringe of pain. I squeeze my cunt muscles around his resilient flesh. He moans and pulls out, only to ram himself in again. Groping his way through the wool bunched under me, he finds my nipples and pinches them hard. Now it's my turn to moan. "Please, oh yeah, oh... Fuck me, Phil, oh please, yes..." "You bet I will, you kinky little slut. I've been waiting for this a long, long time." Oh, and so have I, but now, it's worth it. He speeds up his strokes, slamming into me, pulling out, plunging in again, faster and faster, a train puffing and steaming as it hurtles down a hill. No brakes, we're going to crash, and we don't care, there's nothing now but his cock in my cunt. I arch my back, writhing against him, trying to force him deeper still. My clit feels huge and tender; I'm desperate for him to touch it. He releases my tits, but instead of ministering to my poor hungry clit, he grabs my butt cheeks and opens me wider. I'm so close, I'm quivering all over. Just one touch is all I want, all I need. He does touch me, but not my clit. Instead, he approaches the forbidden tightness of my back door, stroking, circling, then wiggling just the tip of a finger, barely inside. My whole body tenses, on the edge, trembling with terror and lust. He can't, he wouldn't, would he? Suddenly there's a rush of wind and I'm floating, looking down at my own body, at Phil riding me with all his strength. His jeans are down around his knees. Crumpled blue and scarlet fabric covers my upper back, but I can still make out the appliqued crown emblem across the shoulders. My bare buttocks swell out from under the tunic, pale and inviting. The dark crevice between them is easily visible in this tableau, Phil's meaty cock disappearing into my cunt, Phil's finger poised and pressing against that moist whorl of muscle. I see the Beefeater's hat, discarded, on the floor. My white-gloved hands clutch desperately at the bedspread. It's the hottest thing that I've ever seen. There's this moment where time stops. I'm on the peak. Then I swoop back into my body and everything happens at once. Phil pushes his finger into my bum-hole, triggering guilty pleasure too intense to bear. At the same time, he grinds his cock into me, his come exploding in my depths. It's finally enough. I shimmer, shatter, dissolve into a whirl of sensation. And I don't imagine anything. No dirty pictures. Everything is washed in clean, white light, pulsing in time with the throbbing in my sex. The striking of a clock somewhere in the house brings me back to awareness. The dead weight of Phil's body is still draped across my back. He's surprisingly heavy. Solid. Without thinking, I count the chimes. At ten, I yelp and scramble up from the bed, dumping Phil on the floor and simultaneously reanimating him. "Come on! It's ten o'clock. Uncle Geoff will be back any minute." Phil looks suitably alarmed. I strip off the tunic and hang it back in the wardrobe, trying to smooth out the wrinkles. He retrieves the hat and lays it on the shelf. I tug off the gloves and place them carefully next to the hat. With a twinge of regret, I realize that they do not, in fact, smell of my arousal. Phil grabs the condom and wrapper. I scoop up the pile of my clothes from the floor. We close the wardrobe just as we hear the slam of the door downstairs. "Come on. My room's across the hall." As we slip into Phil's bedroom, we hear Geoff's tread on the stairs. "Under the covers," my cousin hisses. He lies down and I press my body against his, enjoying the echoes of our recent pleasure. He pulls the sheets over my head. We both hold our breath. There's a knock on the bedroom door. "Phillip? Are you here?" The door opens and Uncle Geoff is silhouetted against the hall light. "I'm here. Went to bed a bit early. I've got an exam tomorrow." "Ah -- that's probably a good idea." Geoff takes a step into the room. I tremble, holding onto Phil's hand. What will Geoff do if he discovers our treachery? "Anyway, have you been here all night?" He switches on the light. I cower against my cousin. Phil sits up, pulling up the blanket so his step-dad won't see that he's fully dressed. "No, I just got home, maybe fifteen minutes ago. Why?" "Well, somebody left my wardrobe unlocked. The key's in the lock, but it's not turned. Do you have any notions as to who might be responsible?" I peek out and my heart does a somersault. Uncle Geoff's wearing his Warder's uniform. He sounds so stern, every bit the royal guard. Meanwhile something pokes against my thigh. I reach down to find that Phil's getting hard again. "Maybe my mum needed to put something inside and forgot to lock it? Or maybe it was Mrs. Ferguson?" "Hmm. Well, nothing seems to be gone. But I do like things to be in order. Anyway, I'm sorry to disturb you. Good night, and good luck in your examination tomorrow." He flips off the light, and I let out the breath I've been holding. "Thanks. Good night." The door closes. "Wow, that was close." I snuggle against my cousin, stroking his growing erection. "Thanks, Phil. Thanks for everything. That was really fabulous." He reaches under my arm and clasps my bare breast. His skin is cool and slightly moist. The bed smells of him, a smell that is now familiar, and definitely exciting. I can feel him grinning in the dark. "Yeah, it was, rather." "We'll have to do it again some time..." I slip my hand into his pants and give his balls an affectionate squeeze. His cock jumps to attention. "Well, actually, since you're such a kinky girl..." "I am not!" Phil insinuates a finger between my buttocks. I can't help gasping. "As I was saying ... since you're so kinky, maybe you'd be interested in trying something else." "Something else? Like what?" "Well..." He seems to be shy all of a sudden, but his cock is more swollen than ever. "You work at a lingerie store, right? Corsets, negligees, that sort of thing? Do you ever get to sample the merchandise?" Light is dawning. "Well, I get an employee discount. And sometimes if something is damaged, Lucy might let me have it." I stroke his silky hardness, imagining the possibilities. "So you want me to dress up in some kind of risque lingerie?" "Not exactly." Phil kisses me, a lingering kiss that's full of as much sweetness as heat. "I've never been able to tell anybody else about this, but I know that you'll understand." All at once I have a clear picture of what he really wants, in full, outrageous detail. My pussy liquefies. I grab his hand and force it between my thighs so he can feel my answer. He gently disengages and slips his cock into me instead. The clock downstairs strikes eleven. I realize that Mum's going to give me hell when I finally get home. Right now, though, I'm I'm imagining a longer term future. I hope you’ll leave a comment to let me know what you think about the story. Every comment is one more chance to win a $10 gift certificate or a free book!

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