We arranged a barbeque party, which, by good fortune, happened to be on a lovely, warm summer evening. Ginny dressed up, but as always, she looked a mess in a cream blouse that was quite unsuitable for finger food, unisex shorts, and a big, wide-brimmed sun hat. Why the latter? I don’t know; women really are a mystery.

Still, I love her and love that delicious, sexy body, those gorgeous breasts, and the secret place between her legs. And I love her blowjobs, especially her blowjobs.

About a dozen guests came, friends and neighbours.

George came with a new friend. When we were introduced to Richard, he appeared very dapper and seemed more than a bit effete. Still, George needs to have a nice group of friends; he can’t rely on us constantly being around to keep him company, and we had told him that my cuckolding was a one-off.

Alice, looking prim and proper, perhaps a bit overdressed for a barby (without her husband Geoff, who was away on business),

Phyllis, our elderly widowed neighbour directly across the road, was another of our guests.

I took my ‘alpha male’ position by the fire, turning sausages, burgers, and kebabs while handing out cans of drinks, pouring wine, and generally having a few for myself. Looking up at the darkening sky, Jupiter was shining brightly, and a few stars were twinkling. Perfect, I thought—absolutely perfect.

As the evening wore on, the numbers gradually dwindled, and eventually, I was sitting by the dying fire with just Phyllis for company.

I had lost sight of Ginny earlier; the last view was of her giggling with Alice on a patio, partly hidden down the side of the house. I stood up to rake over the embers and looked around. On the side patio is a swing seat with a sun awning facing away from the back area, where I was.

I could see the seat moving gently, and then the tops of two familiar heads appeared, facing together very, very close. Alice pulled herself up higher, oblivious to me in the gloaming just a few metres away, then bent her head forward as Ginny stretched her face up to meet Alice. Their lips touched, and they started to snog, their actions beyond doubt in my mind. I stood transfixed, watching my wife engaged in a lesbian love affair, one which I had seen once before when I stood watching them through the crack of our lounge door.

There was a gentle touch on my arm. I turned and looked into Phyllis's eyes.

“Let them be."

Her other hand stroked my thigh up and down, always stopping just below my crotch, but her intent was clear.

“Come with me.”

She took hold of my hand and led me across the lawn, through the house, and out of the front door.

Phyl (as we all call her) is a widow, her husband Jack having passed away a few years ago after a long spell in a nursing home. She has always been fiercely independent, but a fine neighbour and friend to everyone. Her house was an old pre-WW1 detached property with a big garden and tall sash windows that looked out over the street. Once upon a time, it would have stood alone, surrounded by meadows in a peaceful rural setting. Now it is swallowed up in suburbia. Our own house is just perfect for Ginny and me now, but it was very cramped in the past when our family was still at home, and we would have loved to be able to afford a home like Phyl’s.

She led me through her garden gate, up the path to the front door, put her key in the lock, and pushed the door open. I turned to look back, across at my home, wondering what Alice was doing to Ginny, but a sudden tug on my arm pulled me into the hallway, and I stood there silently, watching and trying to figure out what this woman wanted from me, someone I had never thought of having sexual needs. Perhaps a quick missionary?

She took my hand once more, leading me further from the front until she reached a door under the stairs, pulled it open, and put her hand on my back.

“Come into my den,” she giggled.

I walked in, then followed a flight of steps into the basement—not something found in my more modern home. I stood on a stone floor, and with virtually no light, the space was just a mass of indistinct shapes. Suddenly there was a click behind me, spotlights flashed on, and the room came to life.

Glancing around, I saw a large space, red brick walls, and several brick pillars supporting the floor beams. Along one wall were a bed with iron frames adorning the head and foot, a large wardrobe, and an upright piano with a leather armchair to one side.

“This was our play place, me and Jack. At least once a week, we’d come down here and unleash our fantasies, so now you can enjoy all the pleasures I have learned over my lifetime. So don’t worry about Ginny and Alice; you can relax here in complete safety with me.”

She turned to me, put one hand on the back of my neck, pulled me onto her lips, and thrust her tongue into my mouth for a few seconds before pulling away.

“Come here.”

She took my hand, guiding me to sit in the armchair, before she pulled a stool from under the piano, lifted the keyboard lid, and sat herself down. Her hands hovered over the keys, and then she started to play a gentle melody, familiar to me but something I couldn’t identify.

The music floated around me; I was entranced, and when her fingers stayed, I asked her, “What was that?”

She turned to face me.

“Für Elise. It was written by Beethoven but not discovered until after his death, so no one knows who Elise was.”

She continued, “I was a gifted pianist when I was young, won competition prizes, and was on the cusp of a solo career. I nearly made it and played a concerto with the Hallé under Boult once. Then a brace of even better players came along, and I was the past. Soloists are always living a life on the edge.”

Phyllis turned back to the piano, her hands poised, and suddenly a fast, raucous piece filled the room. Her hands flew up and down the keys, and she played faultlessly.

As the last notes reverberated, she turned to me again.

“I know that one; it’s the can-can.”

“Almost right, Stan, the proper name is le galop infernal, a dance representing a bacchanal orgy of the gods in an opera. A dance performed both by men and women.”

She grinned at me.

“Are you up to a bacchanal orgy for two, Stan?”

While she played, I could not understand why I was being treated to her performance, but the fog was beginning to clear.

“Yes, Phyl.”

She turned back to the keyboard.

Heavy, thunderous bass chords with a pounding beat sprang from her fingers. nothing like the previous pieces. On and on it went, pulling my mind down into somewhere dark. The perspiration beaded on her forehead as she hunched over the keys, seemingly living the darkness in the music until the final notes died away.

“What was that, Phyl?”

“That was Ave Satani, the main theme from The Omen, a truly horrible horror movie. Are you prepared to be Satan to my submissive damsel?”

“Are you prepared to hurt me in the course of sex?”

I stared at her, unable to speak or answer.

“I want you to hurt me, not injure me. Can you understand the difference?”

I nodded in understanding.

“Good, stand up, Stan.”

She came to me and pressed her body against mine.

“Spank me, Stan.”

I used one hand to tap her buttocks.

“Harder, Stan, harder!”

My arm cocked back, I swung with maximum force, and my hand landed on her cheek with a resounding bang. She exhaled a rush of air; it seemed I was a successful spanker now.

“Good boy, you’re a quick learner. Now we will get ready to play. Remember, I am a controlling submissive; you do as I want, not what you want. And there is a safe word, just in case you get carried away. If I use it, you must stop the play immediately.”

She put her lips against my ear and whispered the word. Then she stepped back and pointed at a curtained area adjacent to the steps.

“Go in there, strip off, and put on the costume that is on the chair. Wait for my call; do not come out until I am ready. Understand?”

I nodded again, turned, and walked through into a dimly lit, much smaller space with a chair and wall mirror. On the chair was a small, neatly folded, and colourful fabric bundle. I picked it up and let the folds drop to the floor, and I realised the distinctive red and black pattern with blue legs showed I was to role-play Spiderman.

Item by item, I undressed until completely naked, then I stepped into the costume and sat on the chair to pull it over my feet and legs. It was a slow process; accustomed to clingy, skin-tight clothes, I had to constantly twist and straighten the material. Eventually, I stood up and wriggled my torso into the upper body part.

Then there was the zip, stretching, and reaching around to pull it up my back. I did more adjusting before looking in the mirror and viewing my transformation, except that my head sticking out of Spiderman just didn’t look right.

I saw a small bundle on the floor behind the chair and picked it up to find the final piece—the hood. I pulled it over my head and lined up the eye shades, so Spidey was complete.

In the mirror, I admired myself with the famous spider logo on the front of my chest. As I looked down, the bulge of my cock looked quite impressive, and I noticed there seemed to be a slit just in the right place. I pushed my fingers under the flap and realised the pocket was open to my flesh, obviously designed for action!

My fingering had increased the size of my bulge, so when Phyllis called for me to come out, it was even more impressive! I turned away from the mirror and walked out into the main area.

My first sight of Phyllis was mind-boggling. She was Spidergirl, but her costume was all black with a white web. Her boobs sagged down, but her nipples pressed deep into the fabric between her spider logo’s legs, and between her legs was a beautiful, proud cameltoe.

“Stay there, Spiderman.”

She moved to a pillar and flicked a switch. Another section of the wall, lined with black plastic sheeting, was highlighted.

“Over there are fixings with cuffs for wrists and ankles. One of us is going to be trapped there and made to suffer. We will wrestle for the privilege; there will be no punching or kicking. I’m smaller and lighter than you, so you should win, but that isn’t certain.”

“Go over and have a look; the restraints are set for me but can be adjusted for you if I win.”

I walked across to gaze at the fittings, saw the cuffs and black velcro-backed leather, and then turned to look at Phyllis. She was crouched down, seemingly coiled to strike at me.

"OK, Spiderman, come and get ready.”

I moved forward, took up what I thought was a good defensive posture, and nodded my readiness. In a flash, she thrust up and forward, crashed into my body, and knocked me back onto the floor. Suddenly, I found myself looking up into the mysterious, cloudy eyes of her mask.

I realised this was not my finest moment, then pushed hard and managed to roll over, with her trapped underneath me. It took all my strength to roll her before I was able to stand and lift her shoulders at the same time. Upright, I grasped her crotch, digging into that soft cameltoe as I lifted her off the ground.

Oh, she wriggled like a true spider, but I had her fast and then carried her over to the wall where the restraints hung. At the wall, I slammed her body against the plastic sheet covering the brick and heard her exhale in shock.

I let go of her crotch; she took advantage and wriggled up, trying to climb over my shoulders, but I pushed her hard against the wall, and she was trapped.

Her legs went around my waist, gripping her body in place. It was a chance for me, and I took it, thrusting my erection against her pubic mound. She started to respond, returning my thrusts with her own.

But she continued to wriggle; there was no way I could get her arms up to the cuffs, and so I relaxed and let her soft body slide down as I went on one knee. I felt Phyllis was becoming just as exhausted as I was; the fight seemed to be leaving her, and I was finally able to control her enough so that she was draped over my knee on her back.

I looked at the tightly drawn costume between her legs and the prominent pubic mound. It was too much temptation, and I used a hand to rub her mound vigorously through the material. She moaned gently. I had her!

I grasped my hands around the bottom of her neck and then squeezed gently. Her hands gripped my wrists for a few seconds, and then she went limp and her arms fell to the floor. She had surrendered.

Carefully, I lifted her up, and by pressing her body against the wall with my trunk, I was able to lift her arms and secure them in the two cuffs, followed by her ankles in the lower set. I stood back and admired her body, every imperfection covered by the all-enveloping costume, and despite her age, there were no rolls of fat.

I reached out with one hand and grabbed her crutch, a handful of flesh and slinky material, then squeezed very hard. Oh, how she yelled! Then I shifted to the soft mounds of her boobs, grabbed them, and squeezed hard again. Another piercing yell. Underground and walled in by brick, no one else could hear her cries.

After one short step backwards, I stood directly in front of her with my arms outstretched, leaning on the wall. My knee lifted sharply and jabbed into her pussy, she exhaled with a grunt. Then, again and again, I repeated the harsh jab. As the residual pain from each hit ran over into the next block of pain, her grunts became louder, then morphed into cries, which descended into a series of sobs wracking her body.

“Oh God, please, no more; please stop; I beg you, please.”

There was no mention of the safe word, but I decided my knee needed a rest, so I stood up and swung my hand hard into the side of her face with a resounding smack. Then I did it again with my other hand. I constantly alternated between the two. Smack, smack, smack.

She was sobbing uncontrollably, unformed words tumbling out of her mouth. But the pain was what she sought.

Once more, I stood back, wondering what my next vicious assault should be. More kneeing? More smacking? Perhaps there was something in the wardrobe?

While I was pondering, Phyllis quietened down. Her sobs had turned to heavy breathing, and I watched her chest expand and contract as she struggled to regain some composure.

"Bananas," she whispered the safeword.

I smiled; perhaps she chose the word deliberately, anticipating she would be looking like a ripe banana once the bruises came up on her pussy and face.

“Make me cum, please, Stan, make me cum.”

I reached down to her mound and grasped the zipper there, pulling it back through the space between her legs, until her whole pussy was uncovered. My fingers slipped between her vulva lips, and even through my costume, it was obvious she was sopping wet and highly aroused. I gathered some lube and pushed three fingers into her hole; they slid in so easily that I slid out enough to put all five digits inside, then rammed my hand in and out several times before my whole wrist entered her love tunnel.

“Oh, God, that’s so powerful, Stan. Fuck me like that; fuck me hard.”

While one hand fucked her hole, the other worked her clit, flicking and sliding over the sensitive surface. She didn’t take very long to climb the hill to the climax.

“Yes, yes, I’m coming; don’t stop; harder, Stan, harder.”

Her body arched away from the wall, her whole weight carried by the two cuffs on her wrists. A series of pelvic thrusts, accompanied by grunts and shouts, were the outward signs of the huge chemical turmoil in her brain. Halfway through, I abruptly pulled my hand out of her cunt. The shock of being emptied seemed to prolong her pleasure, not shorten it, but I kept the pressure of my finger rubbing on her clit until the aftershocks of orgasm had completely died down.

She stood slumped, her arms stretched, with her full weight still on the two cuffs wrapped around her wrists.

“I’m done, Stan, absolutely done.”

So I released her feet, then pressed up against her body while freeing her arms. She collapsed, limp against me, and I held her waist tightly and guided us towards the bed.

Gently, I laid her out, then climbed onto the sheets and turned on my side to face her, then wrapped one arm across her body, thinking there was no way she could give me satisfaction.

We lay there for a few minutes, then she rolled towards me, and her hand slid between us to gently rub my half-hard cock through my costume.

“Now it’s time for your reward.”

She found the slit I had seen earlier and used her fingers to pull my erection out. Then she leant forward, and I felt the softness of her lips brushing the length of my shaft as she took the whole length in her mouth.

Sixty years of practice were evident in her technique. I was super sensitive and on fire. Her hand pumped my shaft while her lips and tongue worked over the head. Before long, I felt the familiar feeling of cum rushing up to freedom, but it got no further than Phyl’s throat when I forced myself deep into her mouth as my body jerked and thrashed around in orgasmic delight.

We lay together, cuddling and stroking gently as our breathing settled into an easy rhythm. After a while, I lifted the hem of my mask to expose my mouth, then did the same for her and pressed my lips against hers. This time, the contact was very long. a series of gentle tongue flicks, passing fluids from one mouth to another. It was a delicate post-sex play.

“Stan, that was great; I enjoyed playing with you. I’m sorry it was a bit short, but I’m eighty-five and can’t do what I did, even twenty years ago.”

I smiled behind my mask.

“Phyllis, you are the sexiest eighty-five in the world. It was fantastic, and you are a top-class blow-jobber, but I have to go home; Ginny will worry about me if I stay out until the early hours.”

“Of course, Stan. Let me help you get yourself back together.”

I retrieved my clothes from the alcove where I had changed into Spiderman, then, with Phyl’s help, stripped off the costume and dressed in my BBQ clothes. She took off her mask and wrapped herself in a towelling robe from the same alcove.

“Phew, I can smell the burgers!”

I grinned at her. “You were hotter than any burger!”

We passed up the steps into her hallway, and then at her front door, we had a final, long, deep kiss. As she opened the door, I heard the click, click, click of footsteps on the footpath across the road. Then I saw Ginny walk into our driveway and disappear into our backdoor. I stood transfixed, my mind in turmoil.

“Stan; put it out of your mind. Whatever is going on between them is not a danger to you, any more than our fun is a danger to her. Go home and sleep with your wife, but if you need a shoulder to cry on, I am here for you.”

I turned to her, bent down, and gently kissed her cheek.

“Thanks, Phyl.”

“Bye, Stan, take care.”

The door clicked closed behind me, and I walked across the dark street, back to my home, back to a situation that I did not understand, despite Phyl’s kind reassurance.