Magic Flute

She’s clearly in love with Charlie and I’m doing my very best not to show my jealousy. Lora has logged out of her computer, grabbed her stuff and headed for Victoria Station as soon as she can get away with it.

There’s some old man that she’s known for years. I think, but I’m not entirely sure, that he’s an old friend of her family. All I know is that he’s some kind of famous potter with stuff in the Victoria & Albert Museum. Anyway, she meets him occasionally for nights out at West End plays and the like. She was supposed to go to The Coliseum with him last night but she was desperate to cry off and run home and get into the gorgeous redhead’s knickers.

“Please Jayne”, she begged, “He’s a truly lovely gentleman and he’s great fun to be with, would you go instead of me? I really hate to let him down”.

I’ve never been to an opera. And I had nothing planned, so I half reluctantly agreed to meet him. She made a call.

It was dark, gloomy and starting to rain as I was standing in St. Martin’s Lane on Friday evening wearing my little black dress and my best coat when a short, white haired gentleman approached me and introduced himself. It was Lora’s friend. He was probably in his seventies, but immaculately dressed. I noticed he had huge hands and big, fat, square, muscular fingers. He kissed me on the cheek and we went inside. We had a drink at the bar and chatted. He was utterly charming and frequently made me laugh before we took our seats in the auditorium.

I’m not sure whether or not the performance was really my thing; I liked some of the arias but certainly not all of them. Maybe I’m too much of a pleb, I don’t know. The old gentleman was very amusing company throughout though. After the interval we settled back in our seats and he put one of his enormous hands on my knee. Instinctively I covered his hand with the programme I was holding and before long I felt him caress the inside of my thigh. I parted my thighs a little without thinking (honestly). I turned to him and he was smiling as he listened to Mozart.

Those huge fingers carefully roamed further up the inside of my bare leg and his soft but firm touch moistened my pussy. I wondered what those big square fingers would feel like inside me. I found myself shifting forwards in my seat and my dress was pushed up my thighs enough to let the old man’s fingertips pass across the black knickers that just covered my wet cunt. I let him tease my swollen clit through the soaking lace. I couldn’t listen to the music for the rest of the performance. All I could think about was his strong fat fingers and how much I wanted them inside my cunt.

In the middle of the finale I turned to him and whispered, “Please”. And when he slipped my panties to one side and entered me, at that moment his muscular forefinger felt better that any cock I’ve ever had.