Although their elderly cleaning lady's name was Mrs Bloxsome, Tim and Janet always referred to her as Mrs Blossom, due to the prodigious quantities of Blossom's lavender spray-on furniture polish which she managed to get through each month. Visitors to the house would always comment on the aroma.

Mrs B's weekly visits coincided with Janet's stint as a volunteer at a local charity clothes shop, where she assisted in the sorting and pricing of unwanted garments donated by the public. In the cash-strapped state the country was in, these secondhand items were eagerly sought after. Janet had the time to spare for what she termed her 'good works', having taken early retirement - and a generous dividend - when her law firm was bought out by a larger rival in the same town.

A second reason why Janet looked forward to her weekly shift at 'The Clothes Line', was because in her lunch break she would give the manager Carl a blow job in the back store room. She justified this marital transgression as her way of countering her husband's obsessive (and, as he imagined, undetected) use of internet porn sites.

Mrs Blossom's Monday morning arrivals were traditionally announced by the noisy vacuuming of the staircase carpet, followed by echoing crashes in the bathroom next to Tim's office. After a brief appearance in the corridor (a courteous 'Good Morning Mrs Bloxsome. Lovely day. Better get on with my office work'), Tim would eagerly dive back into his hideaway to enjoy the continuing delights of 'Vampire Bondage Extreme'.
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Across town, Janet Fallon was performing her traditional Monday lunchtime role. On her knees, dressed in black silk underwear but still wearing her black fishnet stockings and 'signature' black leather high-heeled boots, she would be expertly fellating the charity shop's manager Carl. Naked and with his eyes closed in ecstasy, the man was lounging back against a huge pile of discarded clothing.

"Suck it, bitch! Suck it you dirty whore slut!"

Sensing the 'moment of truth' was close, Janet got up off her knees and continued to massage him expertly with her cupped hands. She knew it was important - his desired wish, indeed - for him to finish, not in her mouth, but all over her beautiful lingerie (so expertly laundered each week by the redoubtable Mrs Blossom).

"I'm ready to spend my spunk, bitch!" snarled Carl. She stood, awaiting the giant ropes of semen which were destined for her breasts and panties. "Slut-bitch whore!" he shouted, finishing the masturbation urgently with his own fist, spurting onto her glorious cleavage.

Janet remained mute. Deep down, she loved it. Loved feeling the spunk's impact, followed by its slow erotic path down her body, dribbling over her knickers and even finding its way into her crotch. She loved his roughness. His utter uncouthness. She adored being defiled and debased. Would that her wimpish ex-accountant husband could sink to such depraved erotic depths, Janet thought, as the semen cascade ended.
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Janet Fallon was in high spirits on her return that evening. Mrs Blossom had defrosted a pizza which only needed heating in the microwave. The beautifully-laundered black lingerie was all hanging neatly on the airing line. In her handbag (to be savoured alone in bed later, when she would masturbate herself with her vibrator), Janet had carefully secreted the panties soiled by Carl that lunchtime. She poured herself a large glass of red wine. "I'm home, honey," she cooed up the stairwell.

Tim appeared after several minutes. "Good day at the charity shop?"

"Brilliant! In fact we're doing so well - Carl says sales last month were our best ever - that he's asked me if I'd like to go in two days a week in future." Closer to the truth, perhaps, was that sales at 'The Clothes Line' had remained static ever since it opened; Carl merely wanted Janet to go down on him more often.

"Well that's terrific!"

"But would you mind? All on your own here?"

"I can cope, Janet. There's plenty to do around the house and in the garden." He added, almost as an after-thought, "And there's always my computer."

"Are you quite sure? Can I tell Carl 'yes'?"

"Of course."

'Good' thought Janet. 'That means twice as much cock-sucking!' 'Good' thought Tim. 'More time with the evil vampire count!'

They ate their pizza supper together in the kitchen, with Janet consuming most of the red wine. "I don't know why you don't join a daytime bowling league in town," she said. "Get you out a bit."

"I've got one or two household jobs I'd like to tackle first," countered Tim.

"Such as?"

"Well, you're always going on about needing more storage units in the utility room for your boots. I thought I might make a start on that next week."

Janet approved of this suggestion. Then swigging the last of the wine, she announced, "I've got an early round of golf with Phyllis in the morning, so I think I'll turn in."

She pecked her husband on the forehead then rather unsteadily climbed the stairs. She fished her pink Nite Sprite bullet vibrator from the back of the dressing table drawer and slipped it under the pillow. She showered and put on a sheer black baby doll nightie (the sort she felt sure Carl would want her to wear) and applied liberal quantities of Carl's favourite perfume. Then she climbed into bed with the 'spoils' of their lunchtime session and pulled her Nite Sprite from beneath the pillow. She slid it slowly into her moistened quim and switched it on as she placed her soiled panties across her face, inhaling the pungent smell of Carl's spunk.
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The next morning, Tim Fallon lay in his single bed, listening attentively for the sound of his wife driving off to the golf links in her SUV.

As it departed, he bounded out of bed, wearing only a small T-shirt and went down to his office, to re-acquaint himself with the doings of the cloaked count and his voluptuous female prisoners. He knew he could safely remain in the dungeon until lunchtime.

The two women's golf games were pretty evenly matched. With her statuesque height, Janet's drives were impressive, while bustling little Phyllis's green work and putting were formidable. They finished level-pegging after nine holes and headed for the clubhouse.

They showered and began dressing in the spacious ladies' changing room and idly chatted about their respective spouses. Janet remained in the shower to wash her hair. Phyllis called across, "I can't stay for lunch, hon. I promised George I'd mow the lawn."

"Can't George mow the lawn?"

"It's as much as George can do to haul himself out of the armchair to go and plug the mower in for me, the idle lump!"

"I've got Tim quite well trained. He's even talking about fixing some more shelves for me next week. That's if he can drag himself away from his porn channel!"

"Oh yes? What's your one into?"

"Vampire dungeons and nubile wenches with bruised bums."

"George watches 'Trucker Suckers'."

"Yuk! So am I to take it that you're not getting any sex at the moment?"

"Haven't done it with George for over two years now."

"Nobody else?"

Phyllis was standing in front of the lockers, one foot planted on the bench, varnishing her toenails. She wore tightly-fitting pink polka-dot panties; her frilly pink bra hung from a locker handle. "No way, Jose! You know it would be all over our gossipy community like greased lightning. You and Tim not doing it either?"

"Nope. I'm afraid I have to rely on my trusty Nite Sprite for any action between my legs these days, though there is..." she paused mid-sentence, wondering whether it would be wise to confide to her friend about Carl.

Phyllis swung round as Janet emerged from the shower area. "Oh Jan! Don't leave me is suspense - tell all."

The taller woman had her towel twirled around her head turban-style. With one hand on her hip, she wore a sly grin. "I give the manager of the charity shop where I work a blow job in our lunch break."

"Wow! And d'you fuck?"

"No fear! At my age I can't afford to get up the duff. No fucking, no kissing; that's our rule. I just suck his big cock for him and let him empty his balls all over my tits. It's really pretty tacky, I suppose. Gross even. Calls me his 'slut-bitch whore'. But it sure as hell turns me on!"

Finishing her varnishing, Phyllis mumbled, "It's turning me on just thinking about it."

From where she stood, Janet thought how fetching her friend's bottom looked. Towelling her hair, she stood openly before Phyllis, making no attempt to cover her body or get dressed. Her voluptuous breasts were capped by large dark brown areolas and her nipples were clearly hard. Phyllis noticed this, then lowered her gaze to Janet's crotch.

"Hey, you've had a bikini wax job!"

Janet slowly stroked the palm of her hand up her pussie. "Yup."

"So how was it?"

"Very expensive... and very painful!"

"Suits you, though."

"Why thanks, hon. Now I'm as smooth as a baby's bottom down there."

"No stubble?"

"Nope. Wanna check?"

Janet moved closer, removing her hand from her smoothly-shaven vagina.

"May I?"

"Be my guest."

Cautiously, tentatively, Phyllis went to stroke the smooth skin that ran up to Janet's slender slit. She brushed her middle finger against it.

"Mmmmm. I'll give you five minutes to stop doing that," said Janet giggling. Then gently placing her hand on top of her friend's, she pressed Phyllis's middle finger so that it slid into her moist cunt. "Nice?"

"Lovely." Phyllis moved her finger inside Janet.

After a minute or so, Janet lifted Phyllis's hand to her mouth and sucked the middle finger. "Mmmmm. Wanna taste?" Phyllis smiled and licked the remains of Janet's juice from her own finger. They embraced passionately for the first time.

"Oh babe, I've been wanting to do that for so long."

"Me too. Hey Phil - what about the lawn?"

"Fuck the lawn!" They both chuckled.

Janet began stroking the cheeks of Phyllis's pert bottom through the pantie lining, then slid one hand inside at the top and slowly ran the tip of her thumb down the ass crease. She hovered on the brink of the younger woman's pink star-shaped sphincter.

"All right to go inside?"

"Be my guest."

Janet slowly eased her thumb into the tight anus, all the time whispering intimacies. Phyllis groaned with pleasure. "Ever been finger-fucked?"

Phyllis coyly shook her head. "Done it once or twice myself."

"Well, my sweet, next time we come here," Janet whispered, "I'm going to bring my little helper - my bullet vibrator - and let you feel it inside this sweet bumhole of yours. How'd you like that?"

Phyllis hugged her tightly, signalling approval. Then she felt a warm trickle run down her inside leg and realised she'd wet herself with excitement.
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Downstairs in the bar, the two women relaxed with coasters of Cuba Libres and club sandwiches. They sat close together, thighs touching, on a long leather sofa. Janet pensively stroked the smooth leather of her boot up Phyllis's calf. "I told you I'm going to be working at 'The Clothes Line' two days a week now, didn't I? Mondays and Wednesdays. Well, I was thinking. I'm sure Carl would love to meet you. Why not call by tomorrow, just before lunchtime? I'll bring my little helper and we could maybe lay on a show for him?"

Phyllis squeezed Janet's thigh. "You know what - I might just do that!"