Masquerade - A Revenge Story - Sex Stories

Masquerade - A Revenge Story

... incredibly toned and attractive, she was the epitome of MILF, although Sally wasn't the person at the masquerade she most looked like. Nope, Sharon took that accolade, and why wouldn't a daughter look like her mother? Leslie was even wearing a cat mask, making it even more like Mother, like Daughter.

Unlike Sharon, Leslie and Harry were fairly regular to the club, although I'd always kept my distance. If I'd been able to recognise them, it was possible they'd previously recognised me, although with my full face covered rather than just half, I'd say it was probably unlikely. They usually moved in a different crowd from my usual interests, with Harry a complete and utter cuck. They loved nothing more than Leslie getting fucked by as many men as possible as Harry wanked his pitiful few inches over his wife's body afterwards if he was allowed to at all, not always being given permission to do so even if he cleaned his wife up.

It wasn't usually my scene, but I found myself in a dastardly mood, and, instead of heading towards the delectable ginger, who now had a bloke attached to one nipple, I stayed near the bar, just hanging around as if I were focused on watching the action on the sofa, letting Leslie get closer and closer. I could see she'd opted for lingerie even more revealing than he daughter, her small bush visible under her sheer thong, her ass still tight. Her breasts needed a bit more support than her daughters, but they were still decent, her dark nipples were ...

... also visible.

It was only when I felt Leslie's eyes on me that I started to eye her up properly. Very unsubtly, I readjusted my shorts as if needing to organise my growing erection, and to my glee, she fell for it hook, line and sinker.

"See something you like?" Leslie giggled like a schoolgirl, bending forward slightly to show off her chest.

"I see a fine vintage," I answered calmly, "where experience has undoubtedly enhanced the flavour."

"Oh I'll give you a taste love," Leslie spoke, eyeing my body up in admiration, "it's nice to find a young man like you enjoy something a bit more, travelled."

"I admire the finer things in life," I spoke, before bowing before her, taking her hand, pressing it to my mask gently, "my name's Francis." The gesture once again caused Leslie to giggle, Harry standing behind her, still as a statue.

"Oh, Francis, well, I'm Leslie, and this is bitch-boy."

I didn't look at bitch-boy. He wasn't worth my attention.

"Well, Leslie, I wonder if you'd allow me the privilege to run my hands over your body?" Whereas her daughter had needed a firm, strong hand, Leslie needed charm, and I could tell by her smile it was working.

I began by running my fingers over her shoulders, gently, not wanting to rush, and spent about five minutes just brushing against her arms, stomach and the top of her thighs, before moving behind her, pressing my cock in between her cheeks, rubbing against the tiny strip of thong, as my hands began to slip ...