Mister Durrant's Fuck Photos

Who is he? thought Darren, wondering who the man was with his mother. And who took the pictures? Who the hell is Mister Durrant? which was a name he'd found written in faded pencil on the back of one of the photos.

Two:

1977

Amelia wore the skirt to purposely show off her legs. She knew he'd look, was certain he'd stare at the bare skin and get that hungry look on his face.

And she loved seeing that look; Amelia really enjoyed teasing the old man. She loved the way it made her feel, the way she could see through the chink in his armour of respectability. It was furtive and even a bit kinky, flaunting herself in a way she'd never have believed herself capable. Amelia had no clue exactly why she found it such fun, but after catching him perving at her legs one warm afternoon in the office she'd come over all thrilled-sexy, arriving home to find her kickers soaked through. After that episode Amelia played the occasional game, treating the old boy to her long legs or a flash down her blouse, wicked behaviour which got her all gooey inside and sometimes made her so randy she'd lock herself in the loo and rub herself off, chewing on her bottom lip to stifle the groans as she desperately rubbed at her clit or even used three fingers inside her cunny.

With no idea just what effect the brevity of her skirt and the length of her legs would have on her boss, Amelia she sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on her boots, the tops of which reached as far as her knees, the Cuban heels making that thick, chunky thunk as she strode along the pavement. Her long dark hair bounced against her shoulders as she walked to work, breasts jiggling inside her thin blouse. She made her way along the High Street, the morning sun warming her face, a couple of glances from passing motorists buoying her mood.

Amelia went past the café on the corner before hooking left along the terraced row of office doorways, stepping briskly along the frontage of an estate agent's and bookie's until she came to the door neighbouring the paper shop.

She climbed the steep stairs and moved along the uneven floor of the landing, excitement fluttering in her tummy as she approached the door to the couple of rooms that served as the solicitor's office.

"Hello, Mister Durrant," Amelia breathed, insides clenching as she watched his face when he looked up from his desk.

It was going to be a wet-kickers day, she could tell, the thick, throaty "Good morning, Amelia," he gurgled melting her sex. "You're looking lovely today," added her boss, the comment an unprecedented compliment. Mister Durrant had never before made any overt reference to Amelia's attractiveness, and the lupine expression which accompanied it sent a leaden sinker of something close to anxiety plummeting into the pit of her stomach.

"Thank you," she murmured, unable to stand looking at his face. "Uh ... is there anything particular you want me to do today?"

It was her standard question at the beginning of the day, an enquiry if her solicitor employer had any urgent correspondence to push out of the office.

His response was anything but the usual reply. Amelia felt a strange fluttering inside her when the old man's tongue slid over his lips, his gaze fixed on her legs before shifting up to her boobs. "Yes, well," he intoned, the catch in his voice triggering a shiver of anticipation through the girl. "I've been thinking about you, Amelia ... thinking about you a great deal..."

Amelia gulped, swallowing hard, her knees suddenly weak as she intuited something momentous was about to be said. "Have you?" she warbled, the atmosphere inside the office suddenly cloying. Sex, she thought. Oh God, that look on his face...

Mister Durrant nodded, snake eyes fixed on Amelia's chest. "I have," he said, once again running his tongue over his lips, his eyes going back to Amelia's legs. "And it's just an enquiry," he added, waving a nonchalant hand. "Something completely unprofessional..." He paused and glowered at Amelia over the rims of his spectacles. "Something which would compromise me completely ... If it ever got out."

"Cuh-can I sit down?" Amelia quavered.

"Of course, please do."

His eyes followed as Amelia made her unsteady way to the chair in front of his desk. Mister Durrant sat there and breathed through his nose, the sound of it oddly predatory to Amelia's ears as she sat down.

She was acutely aware he was looking at them when she crossed her legs.

"Now, Amelia..." her boss began.

Why did I wear this skirt? Amelia thought. He can see everything up to my arse.

"...I hope you realise that what I'm about to say is strictly between us..."

My face, look at my face. Get your eyes off my legs.

"...It's rather delicate and, as I said, a tad unprofessional..."

Does it involve sucking your dick, you randy old perv?

"...so the remuneration will reflect that, of course..."

You want to fuck me? Is that it? Is that what you're leading up to, Mister Durrant? Are you going to offer me money for sex?

His gaze lingered on Amelia's breasts for a moment or two. "And you're under no obligation at all. If you wish to refuse..." Mister Durrant spread his hands in an it's-up-to-you gesture as he smiled and finally looked the girl in the eyes. "All I ask is you keep it all to yourself. We'll muddle along as we have been for these past few months...

"How does that sound, my dear?"

There was quite a long pause, everyday street sounds coming up through the window while the pair stared at one another across a no-man's land of uncertainty.

Then Amelia was surprised to hear herself saying, "That depends, Mister Durrant." Her head canted to one side while she held onto his gaze. "What is it you have in mind, exactly?"

The following morning

"I don't know if I can," Amelia said through the door. "Mister Durrant ... I'm suh-sorry, I duh-don't think I can do it."

"If you don't want to," came his reply, "I understand, Amelia. "We'll just go back to how it was. Forget I ever asked."

And forget about the money, Amelia thought. Ten pounds a week.

"An hour?" she called through the wood panel of the door that separated the archive room from his office. "That's all -- two days a week?"

"That's correct," she heard her boss say. "Twice a week, an hour at a time."

"No touching?"

His sigh reached her. Amelia could just picture him shaking his head. "We discussed this, Amelia..."

"All right," the girl called through after a pause. "But I'm so nervous."

"It'll be fine," Mister Durrant cooed. "I ... I'll just ignore you at first. Come through when you're ready. Pretend it's a normal morning. You'll soon get used to it."

Amelia had her doubts about that, parading around in the nude at work was anything but normal.

She sucked in several deep breaths and then swallowed hard. "Oh God," Amelia muttered, her hand going to the doorknob.

"Is there anything particular you want me to do today?" asked the girl, face burning as she stood in front of her boss.

"Uhm, a cup of tea would be lovely," he managed to reply, the catch in his voice the only indication he was affected.

"Of course," Amelia said, putting her oddly prissy and somewhat formal tone down to stress of her situation.

Then, naked except for the high heeled shoes her employer had specified, Amelia turned to comply, keenly aware he would be staring at the bare cheeks of her arse.

As time goes on

She was surprised at the prescient accuracy of Mister Durant's words, the, You'll soon get used to it, coming more easily than the girl could ever have envisioned. The two hours a week quickly became three; Amelia breezing around in the buff without a care in the world. In fact, she got so used to being naked at work she could have kept it as a permanent deal, although she never became quite so blasé she didn't get turned on every time.

For his part, Mister Durrant was as good as his word. Never once did he try anything on; he made no attempt to grab a quick feel, kept his hands to himself despite his eyes roaming all over Amelia's body.

Then, one afternoon in early September, unable to look the girl in the eyes, Mister Durrant came out with another offer.

"You know," he began, stare fixed on the ceiling as he leaned back in his chair. "Amelia, dear ... well, it's like this..."

*

When he fished it out, she was impressed. She thought it was gorgeous: the length intimidating, its girth considerable. Amelia gasped, insides melting when she saw the thick veiny shaft and great purple end. Something rose in her throat, an emotion Amelia didn't recognise at the time but with which she would become very intimate as the next days and weeks went by.

"Come closer, my dear," he said, the words coming out treacly and thick. "That's good," added Mister Durrant, his stare going from the girl's face to her breasts and down to her bush. "You've such a thick mott. And absolutely exquisite breasts. You're divine," he told her while slowly fisting his length. "Have you ever watched a man masturbate before?"

Her reply stuck to the roof of her mouth. She couldn't take her eyes off it, the sight of him stroking that lovely example of male virility prompting a hot rush down between her legs. It held her rapt as she dimly thought to herself, I'm so bloody wet ... He's going to smell my twat. "Not like this," Amelia croaked before shrugging and adding, "Just a boyfriend I had. He'd do it a bit before we ... you know..."

He smirked and just kept on stroking, his tone low and narcotic while using both hands on his cock. "What do you think about me doing it now? In front of you, Amelia. How do you feel? Do you like it?" he purred, his face going slack as he gaped at her body.

Amelia gulped when he jacked at it faster, her insides doing somersaults while her clit pulsed with a life of its own. "Yes, Mister Durrant," mumbled the girl.

"Do something for me, my dear." His eyes flicked to the door. "Would you mind popping along to the lavatory, sweet girl? I'm going to need the hand towel that's next to the basin." Mister Durrant gave her a grin. "Otherwise I might ruin my suit." His voice followed when Amelia turned and walked away to comply. "You've got a wonderful arse on you, girl! And such lovely legs. You better hurry, my sweet," Amelia heard just as she grabbed for the towel. "I think an explosion is inevitable. There's going to be such a godawful mess!"

*

He'd been right, the mess was incredible.

Amelia relived the eruption while sitting on the toilet, fingers sloshing around through her vulva, her bush matted with lust. She fingered her bean and fucked two stiff fingers into her opening while recalling the grunting, teeth-clenched spectacle of Mister Durant's outpouring of cum.

She'd passed him the towel, which he then hurriedly spread over his middle, one hand working his cock as Mister Durrant laid out the spunk cloth as well as he could given the rushed circumstances.

"Turn around," the man groaned, spinning a forefinger. "All the way, Amelia; I want to see your arse. And back around," he moaned after a second or two. "Let me look at your tits..."

The need to touch herself was a heavy drag way down deep while the girl gazed at Mister Durrant getting himself closer and closer. An insane and very reckless image popped into her head as she looked at his face and saw lust in the man's eyes: she could be across the room in a couple of seconds, straddling his thighs while splaying her labia before sinking down on that length, his girth splitting her open.

His age didn't matter anymore. For Amelia it was all about the man's cock.

I could fuck it ... I could just climb aboard and ride him 'til I came...

Then another voice inside her head chimed in with: Oh yeah, and get yourself right up the stick. No johnnie, no pill; there's no way you could get off it before he filled you with spunk...

But, just for a moment, the thought of his seed pumping inside her vulnerable body sent a ripple down Amelia's spine.

"Fuck, Amelia, you're so bloody lovely," Mister Durrant hissed, the words bursting the girl's bubble of thought.

It was the first time she'd heard him utter the word, the shock of hearing him swear oddly exaggerated considering their circumstances. Amelia giggled in response, wondering how him using the fuck-word could be any more shocking than watching him wank off.

"I'd love to put this inside you," the man added on a low moan. "I'd love to fuck your tight little twot..."

After that he'd snorted and gone wall-eyed, grunts and groans coming out while he gritted his teeth and scuffed his heels against the carpet so much his chair shunted back two or three feet towards the window.

Amelia sat on the toilet, thighs wide, her hand moving quickly as she teased herself to a climax, her mind's eye filled with the geyser of gloopy fluid which had burst out of her boss.

She mewled and moaned as the spasms took hold, the memory of the viscous rain he'd poured all over himself too much to cope with.

Her orgasm boiled, delight bursting out in a series of sobs, the pleasure incredible. The girl squealed and gasped, her mind going blank until she eventually cooled into a knock-kneed and trembling post-orgasmic mess, almost slumped on the toilet as she sucked air into her lungs.

"Oh-Jesus-fuck," Amelia blasphemed while blinking around at the tawdry surroundings as though she'd just woken from a deep sleep. "What the hell has happened to you?" she gasped to herself, a question she would turn over and over inside her head during the fitful nights that would follow.

Amelia would wonder at how it had all happened, how she'd allowed herself to be coerced into doing what she had -- although deep down she'd know that word was a lie. Later on the girl would find the wherewithal to admit she was drawn to the darkly illicit, that Mister Durrant was only a catalyst and she'd been more than willing to go along with his pervy little game once she got over the initial reticence. But, for several troubled nights, Amelia would ponder her fall from innocence; she would question herself over and over and over without asking the only really relevant question: How far would she actually go?

Three:

Touching

"Mister Durrant," Amelia gasped. "Cuh-can I touch it?" They were at it again. She was watching him masturbate, desires rising up inside her. Amelia couldn't quite believe she'd just said it; the girl actually thought it had been inside her head until she looked down to where his hand had gone still.

His face was all slack when he gurgled, "My cock?" the feral expression sending a quick ripple of desire through the girl.

She chewed on her lower lip while a washing machine of emotions jumbled and surged in her guts: It won't stop there. You know it. If you touch his dick he'll want to touch you.

...And who says I don't want him to touch me?

But he's so old. He's fifty ... It's disgusting.

...No it isn't; he's got a beautiful cock.

If you touch him you'll end up sucking it ... and worse!

...No, I won't let him fuck me.

A dark snigger before: Oh yes you will; you'll end up sitting on his dick until you get a belly full of spunk.

...Oh, God, shut up, that only turns me on more.

His hand moved again, slowly at first, his fist moving over all of his length while Mister Durrant held Amelia's gaze with a hot stare of his own. "You want to touch this, my dear?"

The argument ended, the internal to-and-fro ceasing as Amelia nodded and whispered, "Yes please."

"Come on, then," gurgled Mister Durrant, waggling the thing. "See if you can make it spit."

The sheer filthiness of the suggestion was enough to bring a low groan from Amelia, her insides clenching with the urge to sink down onto her employer's erection.

"That's an awful thing to say," Amelia responded, the explosion of warmth down below belying her words.

Mister Durrant obviously picked up her true meaning, divining Amelia's sentiments from her tone before he replied with, "Sometimes crudeness is entirely appropriate. Here," he continued, thrusting up with his hips. "Wank it."

Amelia moved in close, her hand going to his cock while Mister Durrant slipped an arm round her waist.

He hugged her in closer, fingers kneading the flesh of one buttock while the girl's fingers encircled his girth for the first time.

"Oh God, it's so hard," Amelia murmured, excitement swelling inside her. "Am I doing it properly?" she asked. "Is this good?"

"You have no fucking idea," groaned Mister Durrant. "It's perfect, so bloody lovely. Fuck, Amelia, I can't begin to tell you how wonderful it feels to have you doing that to me. And your body..."

She let him do it. When her boss turned his head, his lips finding one nipple, his hands coming up to her breasts, she allowed him free rein on her tits.

"Wank it," the man grunted, fucking into her fist. "Oh fuck, oh-dear-fucking-God, pull it, you sweet, lovely girl. Tug on my cock."

"Mister Durrant," Amelia said, her breath coming in hard and fast, her eyes set on his dick. "You can touch me, too -- if you like. My cunny," she whimpered, face flaring hot with embarrassment when she uttered the coy word, not quite able to use the word cunt.

"I want to taste your honey," groaned Mister Durrant, his fingers finding her core. "You're soaking," he gasped. "Bloody hell, Amelia, it's like you're pissing yourself."

"Play with me," Amelia growled in response, squirming against the man's expeditionary digits. A sudden surge of lust brought out the beast, her burgeoning urges turning Amelia from demure compliance to actively making demands of her own. "Fuck my twat with your fingers, Mister Durrant," she mewled, somehow knowing her next sentence might be the beginning of the end. Without really knowing where the words came from -- maybe she'd heard or read it somewhere? -- Amelia pouted and lisped, "I'm such a naughty girl, Daddy ... Look at me now, wanking your big fucking cock ... Isn't that just too wicked for words? Good girls don't do this, do they?"

Mister Durrant blinked up into her face, his jaw going slack before he let out a low moan. His eyes rolled while his pink tongue slipped over his lips. "Dear God, Amelia," he blurted, then jetted a long burst of jizm high in the air.

Amelia yelped when the first spurt flicked over her breast. "You're coming!" she yipped in a completely unnecessary announcement.

"Keep going," groaned Mister Durrant, hips working as he fucked into the girl's stationary fist. "Don't stop ... Wank it all out."

Four:

Fucking Mister Durrant

The next step is inevitable. In her lucid times, Amelia fought it, but, in the end she just couldn't stop herself from sitting on her boss's desk, spreading her legs, parting the meaty folds of her labia, and inviting him to, "Put it in..."

She nodded and pointed at his cock. "Fuck me, Mister Durrant."

"Jesus, Amelia -- do you honestly mean it?"

Squirming while fingering the taut nub of her very aroused clit, Amelia gasped, "Yes, Mister Durrant; I'm so bloody randy."

He cranked his length and, looking slightly ridiculous with his trousers shucked to his shins, penguin-walked around his desk.

"Can we kiss?" the man mumbled, still working his shaft while staring at Amelia's scarlet slit through the dense matted hair down between her legs.

"Anything you want," she moaned in reply.

Mister Durrant gulped, a hand gliding over the silky smooth skin of the girl's inner thigh. He stroked one of her breasts, then fondled its twin, slowly nodding while gurgling, "Are you on the pill?" he asked.