The Sixties Party

"So okay, then, here's what I got for ya, Princess."

Sly was in the midst of apologizing. Well, at least what for him is his best approximation of an apology. He's not very good at it and is clearly uncomfortable doing it. Raised on the streets, he's unused to such social niceties. I suppressed a smile listening to his forced efforts. Letting him see my amusement would have been unkind on my part, and really pissed him off. He can be pretty thin-skinned when reminded of the inequities of our very different life histories. Besides, I really was grateful that he thought enough of me to try.

Sly? He's my agent. We sell sex, if you didn't already know that. We're partners in the business. I'm the partner that provides the sex; he's the partner that provides the clients. We're both very good at what we do, and despite our radically different backgrounds we've developed mutual respect based on that. I don't know where he gets our clients, and I don't really want to know; his world is a dangerous one. I'd be a fish out of water in it and likely get into trouble, fast. What I do know is that he usually manages to get clients who are interesting enough to keep me happy, and, in his own rough way, cares about me and protects me. Coming from a big, tough guy like him, that means a lot to me.

He was apologizing because for the last couple of weeks he hadn't found any interesting clients. He'd kept our little enterprise afloat with a couple of ordinary ones, but he sensed my increasing restlessness. He knew that I had a well-paying day job in a law firm, and only worked with him for the fun of it (and, of course, the extra tax-free income, if I'm to be honest about it).

"Okay," I said, "I'm listening."

"Do you remember the 766 Club gig?"

"Sure. I also remember that I didn't much like the client."

"Yeah, yeah. Like, schmike. Sometimes, Babe, you forget that this is a business."

I flared a little. "And sometimes

you

forget that I'm in it for fun. I have a

real

job, after all."

"Okay, okay. Sorry Princess. Forget I said it."

"Yeah. So, what's this about the 766 Club job? Keep in mind that I'm not doing that same guy, okay?"

"I hear ya. Anyway, apparently you made quite an impression on some of the other guys there, and the guy you don't like passed your name on. So now there's another guy asking for you."

"Hmm. Do I get to wear my gown and dance all night again? I liked that."

"Well," he said with a smile, "you

do

get to dress up. It's a little different, though."

He watched my face. I stayed neutral. 'A little different' could mean a lot of things, not all of them good.

When he couldn't read my reaction, he continued. "It seems this guy and his buddies are big into the nineteen sixties."

"Wait," I said. "The

nineteen sixties

? In God's name why? What's so great about the sixties? Wasn't that during the Viet Nam war?"

"How the hell would I know? I ain't no historian. What he told me, though, was it was a time of free love, drugs, LSD, anti-war protests, Woodstock, that kind of thing."

"Jesus Christ, Sly. You're talking about guys who must be in their eighties! Come on!"

"No, no, Princess. Relax, will ya? Ain't none of them was actually

alive

then. They just

fantasize

about it. But I guess that ain't enough for them. So, they want to

live

it. They're throwin' a sixties party. They're goin' all out, with costumes and all."

"Costumes? What kind of costumes?"

"Oh, you know, dress up like characters in sixties movies, TV shows, politicians, that kind of stuff."

"Weird. Anyway, what's this all got to do with me? Oh, wait. You said, 'free love', didn't you?"

"Jesus, Princess, you're quick. Yeah, you get the idea. So, he wants a girl to play some sixties character he's fixated on. I guess she'd be someone he's always wanted ta screw."

"Hmm. Maybe. And who would that be? Who'd I be?"

"He wants you as Mrs. Peel." He looked at me for some kind of reaction. I just looked blank.

"Sly, who in the hell is Mrs. Peel?"

"Hunh. That's pretty much what I said, except I said 'fuck'; who the

fuck

is Mrs. Peel."

"TMI, Sly. TMI. So anyway, who

is

she?"

"

Was

, Princess,

was

. What he told me was she was a character in a classic sixties TV series called 'The Avengers'. No, no, not the superheroes in the movies. A man and a woman. Spies, I think. Brits. That's all I know. Go look it up."

Well, professional that I am, I did. It seems 'Mrs. Peel' was a character in a British adventure series that ran on TV in the early sixties. She was played by a very young Diana Rigg for most of the series. I found some of the programs on YouTube. It seemed to be a kind of tongue-in-cheek knock-off of the James Bond era, with super villains and impossible plots. I could immediately see why the client wanted me to play Mrs. Peel, though. She was a real beauty! I was completely taken by her. She was

way

ahead of the curve in 1960. No demure female, this one. Originally a Shakespearean actress, Rigg played Mrs. Peel as sexy, smart and assertive. She was easily co-equal to her male counterpart, a guy called John Steed. She dressed in gorgeous avant-garde clothes when she wasn't wearing a head-to-toe skin-tight black leather outfit. With high-heeled boots, no less. She drove a really cool sports car and effortlessly performed amazing athletic feats. I loved her! She was a skilled fencer and archer, and perfectly at home with a gun. And through it all, she was unmistakably all woman. She even somehow made her fight scenes feminine. This was going to be fun.

It might surprise you that I don't own a skin-tight black leather outfit. Full disclosure, though: I've kind of always secretly wanted to wear one, ever since I blossomed physically and became aware of my effect on the male sex. But in my previous life I never would have dared to wear one. Now was my big chance; it's one of the perks of my new (part-time) profession. I had Sly get one for me, since he has contacts in places that make such things. Oh yeah, he has my dimensions down pat by now.

A couple of days later I was at Sly's apartment to pick up the outfit before the party. It was pretty spectacular to look at. Lots of shiny soft black leather, zippers and belts. I went into the bedroom to change into it. I wasn't going to do that in front of Sly. As I've said before, I like to keep our relationship as professional as possible, with only an occasional slip, and Sly's smart enough to let me call the shots even though he says it makes no sense to him. Besides, just looking at the outfit made me think that figuring out how to get into it was not likely to showcase my gracefulness or my patience. I mean, a girl likes to keep up appearances, after all.

I was right. I stripped down to bra and panties and then unzipped the outfit and laid it out on the bed. This was going to involve some thought! After about ten minutes, Sly knocked on the door.

"Jesus, Princess, what the hell are you doin' in there? C'mon, you're gonna be late."

I grunted, half in and half out of the suit.

"Shit!" I said through the door. "Just what I need right now is to have you badgering me. I'm doing the best I can, for Christ's sake. God, I don't know how Rigg got into this damn thing. And if anyone is thinking of sex in it, forget it. This goddammed thing is more effective than a medieval chastity belt."

"Aww, Princess, you're gonna look great in it," Sly said cajolingly.

"Fuck!" I said in exasperation. "Okay. I give up. Come on in here and help me." It's a measure of my frustration that I would ask Sly in. But I didn't feel particularly sexy at the moment, however I might look to him. Just annoyed.

Sly didn't need a second invitation. Almost before I stopped speaking the door opened. Sly stood there for a moment, taking in the sights. I had one leg and one arm in the outfit, but that was it. So there I stood, with just a translucent thong and a skimpy black bra covering the rest of me. Period. I was bent over, toward him, so my breasts were overflowing the confines of the bra.

His eyes grew wide, and then narrowed. God, men are so obvious! He all but drooled.

"Jesus, Sly, how can you think of sex at a time like this!"

I couldn't help it; I had to smile at the patent ridiculousness of that statement.

"Christ! Anyway, never mind that, now. Help me with this damned outfit or I'm gonna be late."

He took a deep breath and helped me get into the rest of the tight-fitting leather. It covered me from neck to ankle, with a choker belt around my neck and another belt cinching in my narrow waist to accentuate my hips. I stepped into the low-cut high-heeled boots and then did up the two zippers that went from neck to hip on both sides, closing up what amounted to a front panel molded to my bosom.

I looked in the mirror to see the finished product. Wow. The effort had been worth it. The soft leather lovingly caressed and accentuated every curve I had. It was sexy as hell. And surprisingly comfortable. I loved it. Sly just stood and ogled. All due respect to Ms. Rigg, I filled it better than she did. I didn't think the client would mind.

I told Sly to close his mouth and stop staring; it was time for me to go.

Sly's neighbors have gotten used to seeing me in unusual outfits, but even under the concealment of a light topcoat this one got a few curious stares. The Uber driver had a hard time keeping his professional cool. I enjoyed that.

I arrived at the client's address. I could hear the music even from outside the apartment door. It sounded vaguely familiar, and I even recognized some of the groups, I guess from oldies I must have heard. Certainly the Beatles and the Stones were no problem,

The client answered the door. Despite my fears, he was not some octogenarian, but a guy in his early thirties. He was dressed as John Steed, Emma Peel's partner, in a really nice-looking Saville Row outfit and bowler hat. He clearly liked what he saw. He smiled and said "Mrs. Peel! How lovely you look tonight. Please do come in."

I stepped in and looked around. The place was amazing. There were lava lamps, beaded curtains, tie-dye drapes and posters in psychedelic patterns. A record player was playing vinyl records. There were album covers by the Stones, the Beach Boys, The Doors, The Who, and The Byrds, some whom I'd heard of and others I knew only through my research for this job. The guests, there were probably twenty or so of them crowded into the living room, wore bell bottoms, fringe vests, tie-dyed clothing, and head bands. There were some really good-looking women in mini-skirts and go-go boots. I was envious of their outfits. Several of the walls were adorned with peace signs. Wow, they had really gone all-out!

There were several black and white televisions in the room, playing 1960s shows, including "The Twilight Zone", "Gilligan's Island", "Bonanza" and, of course, "The Avengers".

The place reeked of pot smoke.

Most of the talk was about the sixties, obviously. People were pretending to reminisce about their imagined exploits, acting like the characters they were dressed as, or just sitting smoking pot, looking dazed. There was a fair amount of groping, some of which was quite pleasant (yeah, the pot helped). Eventually, though, couples began to pair off and disappear. My client, 'John', was sitting next to me on a couch. From the way he was stroking my leather it was clear we were soon going to move to the next stage.

"Emma, Emma, you are so beautiful," he said, only slightly slurring. "I have always wanted to fuck you. Having such a bright, beautiful and independent woman yield to me has always been a dream of mine. Will you fuck me?"

Duh. What did he think he was paying for? But I'm a professional, so I had to maintain his fantasy.

"You want me? Oh John, I am so pleased. There has always been this sexual tension between us. Many times I wanted to invite you into my bed but held back. Yes, my lovely man, take me. Now. Tonight."

God, I'm good.

He kissed me. It was a really good kiss. I felt pretty warm in my leather outfit, and abruptly felt rather confined in it.

He led me to a bedroom. Now came the hard part. No, not the sex. Hey, I'm a professional.

That

I do for a living, and I'm damned good at it. So, no worries there. The hard part was going to be getting out of this suit gracefully and keeping him turned on while I did it.

Well, hell. I've stripped for men before. This was just more of a challenge. I started with the belt and the choker. Nice and slow. Smiling at him I undid the zippers in the front and let the panel drop to reveal my bra. He just stared. As slowly and sensuously as I could, I slipped out of one sleeve and then the other, making sure that while reaching across my body I accentuated my cleavage. So far so good, and I wasn't even out of breath. I let the top fall; now I was naked to the waist, except for my bra. No point in taking that off too soon!

The legs were a bit harder to get off. I treated them like stockings. I sat down and stripped off one leg at a time, slowly sliding them down my leg while holding the leg in the air, toes pointed to accentuate the length and shape of my leg. The high-heeled boots at the ends helped. Curling over to reach down also nicely showed off my breasts overflowing the brief little bra. 'John' didn't miss a thing. His eyes followed my hands for the full length of each leg. His breathing was picking up. I was pleased.

At last, the black leather outfit was a shapeless pile on the floor. I languidly stood up and stretched luxuriously, now dressed only in a sheer thong and bra. I smiled fetchingly at him and reached behind and undid the bra snap. Very slowly I let the bra fall. My breasts stood firm, my nipples already standing up. I have to admit, 'John' wasn't the only one enjoying my performance; I was getting myself riled up, too, just watching his eyes. I'll let you in on a girl secret if you promise not to tell: it's

sexy

being sexy. And he was a great audience.

"Emma, Emma," he said, "I always dreamed of your body. The reality surpasses my dreams."

"It's yours, John. Take me to bed. Now." I sat down on the bed and leaned back, my arms behind my head and my legs demurely spread just a little to keep the mystery until the last moment while not being too obvious.

He didn't wait for an engraved invitation. The Saville suit came off in a hurry. His very erect cock sprang out. It was a really nice-looking cock, of a goodly length and girth, already announcing his readiness with a glistening coating of pre-cum. Quite promising.

I reached my arms up to him.

"Oh John, John. How I've wanted this moment. I won't wait any longer. I want you inside me. Fill me with your hot cum! Take me, my love, Now!"

In a second he was on me. My thong vanished in one quick move. His big cock pressed my pussy lips. Luckily I was already pretty well lubricated, so my lips parted around him easily. He drove into me with his full weight, his cock ramming into me like high-speed train entering a station. He didn't stop until our groins collided. It knocked my breath out. Clearly, he had been wanting this for a long time. He started pumping me vigorously. I mean, it felt good, and he was paying for it, but still..."

"Whoof!" I said. "Easy there, Steed. Not so fast! I want to enjoy this."

"Oh God, Emma. I'm so sorry. I just have wanted you for so long. I have to have you! I can't help myself!"

He kept pumping me. His hips rose and fell, with an audible thwack each time our groins collided. His hands grasped my shoulders and held on like a drowning man to a life raft. After the initial shock of his entry dissipated, I started to respond to his passion and was just beginning to enjoy the feel of that big cock filling my vagina and rubbing its sensitive walls when his strokes became quicker and more urgent. I could feel his thick member swell even more. He was panting with exertion. Over and over he drove into me. He moaned and gasped. I knew the end was near. I was getting more and more caught up in the moment. It was wild, but I liked it.

I needed to regain control, though. I pulled myself together and remembered who I was and why I was here. I reached up and grabbed his head and pulled it to me, kissing him deeply in spite of his heavy breathing. That did it for him. He drove deep into me, as deep as I could remember having been penetrated, and came. He gushed. All that pent-up passion he had for the imaginary Mrs. Peel poured into me in spurt after spurt of warm semen, over and over, filling me to overflowing. His cock swelled and throbbed. Oh Lord, it felt good. I surrendered to the urgent demands of my body and I came, gasping and shuddering. I squirted, adding to the pool between my legs, soaking the bed. I didn't want it to stop, ever.

Of course, inevitably it did. He eventually emptied his surprisingly copious load into me, ending with a few last spurts. When he was finally drained, he collapsed on top of me, gasping for breath. I waited a reasonable amount of time and then as gently as I could, rolled him off of me. I lay beside him, waiting for him to call an end to the proceedings.

I guess I was overly optimistic. After a minute or two he turned onto his side, facing me. He grasped my shoulder and hip and signaled that he would like me to roll onto my side. Sure, why not? I was still feeling nice and mellow, and he was, after all, paying for it. I complied, and he nestled against my back in the classic 'spoon' position. His arm reached over me and cupped my breast. It felt pretty good. He compounded it by rubbing my nipple between his fingers. I knew he could feel it stiffen. I certainly could. Consummate professional that I am, I relaxed and waited to see where all this might lead. Soon I felt the warmth of his cock as it grew between my legs and burrowed its way lengthwise between my pussy lips. I raised one leg a little to give him room. I expected him to penetrate me, but instead he just began to slowly side that nice warm cock up and down along the length of my pussy, ensconced in my groove, in essence having me masturbate him with my labia. We were both so well lubricated from before that his swelling cock slid easily back and forth between my embracing lips. He began to moan again.

Pretty soon I was really feeling good about this new situation. I reached down between my legs until my fingers felt the tip of his member. I pressed it deeper into the softness between my labia, where it could rub against my swollen clit. Lord, it felt good. We were essentially masturbating each other, now. It was just a question of who would fire off first.

I figured he'd last a long time since he'd just cum earlier, giving me time to really enjoy the electric feelings his stiff rod was generating in me. I was wrong. His moans turned to gasps, and suddenly I felt the liquid warmth of his ejaculation hitting my hand and falling between my legs. I knew I had only seconds, now, so I pressed him harder into me and squeezed him with my legs.

It worked! The magic lightning ignited at my clit and raged through my body. My legs twitched. I threw my head back and just moaned as I came again. My breasts swelled against his hands. It was marvelous! The world disappeared for a very long time.

Finally, we were both done. The bed was soaked, both of us were coated with a sheen of perspiration. Or maybe not so done. I could feel his cock between my legs, still fairly stiff. Well okay, then. I took my handful of semen and used it to lubricate his cock and with my fingers pushed the head an inch or so into my vagina. Then I put the rest onto my left nipple and placed his hand over it and encouraged him to massage my breast with it. I could tell by his indrawn breath that he liked that little touch. He held my breast for a moment, then gently kissed the nape of my neck, and without any fuss or fanfare, came again. Just a couple of gentle, unassuming spurts, but I could tell by his deep sigh and the way his body relaxed afterward that he was very satisfied. I smiled. I do take pride in my work.