Butterflies

  He punctuated his reply with hard, easy thrusts. "I... love... you... wife."

  I still don't know to this day if Jenkinson was early, on time or late, but when we heard the sound of the car, my heartrate soared. "Oh god, Paul, I don't believe we're doing this!"

  "Oh, this is real all right."

  My excitement was spiralling out of control and I tried hard to block out the image of what Jenkinson was going to be seeing – and even harder to block out any thoughts of how he would react. A flash of panic surged through me when the car's engine shut off, but it arrived at the same time as the realisation I was rapidly approaching climax. I started to whimper and moan, "Paul, I don't think I can wait!"

  "Easy there, babe," he was trembling, "Just a few seconds more."

  I fought the shudders, my mind whirling, but when Jenkinson's voice floated up the stairs – ‘Hey, what's going on?’ – I began to panic for real. What if he was mad at us? What if he called the police? I pulled Paul down tight to me.

  My mind – my newly dirty mind – came to the rescue... or damned me. What if he comes in his pants?

  My orgasm began to rise in my belly, a surge as insistent as a tidal wave. I couldn't turn it back no matter what.

  As I began to lose control, my eyes turned to the doorway and Jenkinson appeared there, his face angry.

  "What on earth do you think you're-" He broke off, his jaw dropping.

  "Sorry, man," Paul gasped, "Couldn't help it. She's too fucking hot."

  With that, Paul pushed with his hands, his upper body rising away from me, leaving my naked breasts totally exposed.

  Jenkinson started to protest again but spluttered to a halt, his eyes locked on my shuddering body. "Oh fuck!"

  That did it for me. I yelled out as the first drowning wave of my orgasm crashed over me. I was totally helpless, totally out of control. As I realised that, another, stronger wave coursed through me and I was really crying out.

  Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I felt Paul stiffen and his cock spurting inside me. In the midst of it all I looked over at Jenkinson and saw his hands at his groin as he started to rub his cock, visibly hard in his suit pants. Stars exploded in my mind as I came again and again. Paul pulled even further away, and I dimly realised that he was inviting Jenkinson to look at the length of my nakedness, the air feeling cold as our bellies parted and Jenkinson was afforded an uninterrupted view of Paul's cock in my exposed pussy.

  White light filled me and my whole body shook with the intensity of more orgasmic spasms. I was lost, uncontrolled, helpless and in a state of true ecstasy. My back arched and I just about had the presence of mind to look again at Jenkinson, to see his eyes drinking in my bare breasts, my exposed pussy, my orgasmic reaction.

  I think that view unhinged my mind for a few seconds, and I was almost crying with pleasure as my body responded yet again, another wave of climax shuddering through me. When Jenkinson let out his own cry, his eyes screwing shut, I knew he'd come and that set off another chain of fireworks in my brain and in my belly.

  By the time I had subsided back onto the bedcover, little aftershocks making me whimper, the two men were panting and gasping for air, and a weird calm settled over us all. When Paul slid his still half-hard cock out of me and rolled to one side, I couldn't even begin to cover myself, and the look of joy on Jenkinson's face sent a final burst of orgasm through me, a single intense pulse that left me gasping.

  After a while – seconds, minutes, I don't know – I heard Jenkinson say "By rights, I should call the police or something. This is really... well..."

  "Sorry, man." Paul said beside me, "I just couldn't help myself. She's too fucking cute as I'm sure you've noticed."

  "Yes... well..." Unbelievably, Jenkinson was embarrassed, "I, um, that is, she is very..."

  "Fucking gorgeous? Say it, man, she won't be offended."

  My heart did a little back-flip when Jenkinson swallowed hard and said, "Well, yes. Very beautiful, very, um sexy."

  When I realised that the guy was still staring at my naked body, at Paul's juices running down from my swollen pussy, I had a sense of reality returning. I pulled the bedcover over my legs and pussy, but a tiny rebel part of my brain made me leave my breasts exposed.

  "I... well, thank you," I stammered, blushing under the flush that was already burning my cheeks, "And I'm sorry if we... well, offended." Speaking to the guy as he stared at my bare breasts gave me a feeling of power and excitement that I can't even begin to describe.

  Jenkinson managed to look into my eyes, "It's, um, okay. Better than okay, in fact. I was just shocked at first, but well, you are... what your husband said."

  Paul laughed, "Fucking gorgeous?"

  "Yes, that." After a pause, Jenkinson gave a sheepish grin, "Fucking gorgeous."

  That sent another aftershock trembling through me, but I didn't dare keep the game going any longer. I was getting worried about how turned on I still was – and what that could lead to. I pulled the cover up higher, covering my nakedness. "Thanks. But I guess we'd better go now."

  Beside me, Paul whispered "Sure?"

  "Yeah."

  "I'd better get your things then."

  I put a hand on his arm, "It's a bit late for modesty, isn't it?" I was almost as shocked as the two men when the words came out of my mouth. It took me a few seconds to work out what I was saying and then the reason became clear. I turned to face Paul, "It's a thank you to you." I glanced across at Jenkinson, "And to you, I guess."

  Before I could change my mind – or more accurately, come to my senses – I pushed the bedcover away and stood up, my legs trembling. Jenkinson was well inside the room now, and I took a circuitous route, so I didn't get too close to him – but I moved slowly enough that he got a damned good look.

  I could scarcely believe what I was doing – or how damned good it felt. I was feeling powerful, alive, celebratory, sated and yet still tingling with excitement. A part of me knew that some of these feelings were going to stay with me now, but another part knew that in a few minutes I was going to feel the shadows and echoes of my former shyness. It was weird, but those two strands of self-knowledge freed me up to enjoy the moment all the more.

  As I collected my underwear, blouse and skirt, I took my time, turning my body in all directions, deliberately displaying myself in a manner that would have been beyond impossible just a few days before. I relished the reactions of the guys – Jenkinson who would always be a first for me, but who I would never see again, and my beloved Paul now knew just how sexually provocative I could be, and who would join with me in celebrating my liberation.

  I felt so in control, even when the guys descended the stairs and stood close by as I dressed much more slowly than I needed to. Every time I focused on the situation, I experienced the strangest sensation of erotic fulfilment and that glorious power and self-confidence. The touch of my silky underwear against my sensitive labia and my still-erect nipples sent the gentlest of tingles through me. The best I can describe that sensation was that it was like the softest, gentlest and yet most intense orgasm.

  When it was all over and we left the house, climbed into Jenkinson's car and set off back to the town, I had the briefest pang of loss, of a moment over too soon, but with every turn of the car's wheels I felt more alive and in control of myself than I ever had before.

  At the estate agency, Jenkinson stood with is for a couple of minutes, his cheeks still aflame, and he thanked both of us in hushed tones. He shook Paul's hand, a gesture that had my husband smiling at me, and then Jenkinson turned to me.

  "I'm not sure what else I can say but thank you. Your husband is beyond lucky, he's blessed. You're the most incredible woman I've had the pleasure to meet." Even though he stammered the words – or perhaps because of his nervousness – they thrilled me to the very heart of my soul.

  I thought at first that he was going to shake my hand as well, but instead he lurched forward and gave me a hug. It lasted just a couple of
seconds before he turned on his heel and pretty much ran into his office – but it was long enough for me to feel the hardness at his groin and the trembling that run through his muscles.

  I don't think Paul and I spent more than three or four hours that weekend without making love.

  *!*

  It probably goes without saying that I spent a lot of time over the next couple of weeks trying to come to terms with what had happened – what I had done. It took a while before I was totally comfortable with myself and my actions, but all the time I knew deep down that I had done the right thing. It was as if a switch – my shyness switch, if you like – had been flicked from 'on' to 'off' and I was a new person in so many ways.

  Paul was gently disbelieving at first, but he knew me well enough even then to see that I was happy with myself. Even so, he was clearly reluctant to ask me whether I would do anything like that again and it was me who raised the subject when I couldn't bear to see him torture himself any longer. Perhaps it was the calm, even way I brought the subject up that had Paul's jaw dropping so comically.

  "Okay," I told him, "Here's the rules: no one we know or will meet again, no touching, no one too young or too old, no cameras of any sort, no places where we'd get arrested, and no restraints. Anything else is fine. Got that?"

  "Are you... do you mean... are you talking about...?"

  I laughed, "Want me to pick your jaw up for you? And, yes, that's exactly what I'm talking about."

  "Wow!"

  "Thank you."

  Paul shook his head like a cartoon-character trying to re-arrange his addled brain, "And you're sure about it?"

  "I am, husband. You have only got yourself to blame, but your wife has discovered that she is – or has become – an exhibitionist."

  "Now that's blame I'm quite happy to take."

  I smiled at his dog-with-two-tails expression. "Good, because I've worked it out and you really are to blame. It was Newton that got it all wrong."

  "Meaning?"

  "Well, Newton said that for every action there's an equal and opposite reaction. The trouble is, you performed an action and my reaction was anything but opposite. And then you reacted the same way, and I reacted the same way again... get my drift?"

  "I think so. As long as you're totally happy."

  "Oh, I'm way more than happy. From now on, it's fun and games all the way. And nuts to Newton."

  *!*

  That all happened nearly a year ago, and Paul and I are happier now than we were even on that day. We still play the fantasy game – played it last night in fact. It involved a game of cards and... well, I don't have time to tell you right now because I'm busy learning how to read a marked deck. Tell you what? I'll bring you up to date in book I’ve decided to write, okay?

  I might even include this in there as a sort of starting point for everything…

  Teaser No. 3 – She’s No Angel

  Preface

  She looked down at the vast floor all around her and sighed deeply. As she moved her foot gently, fine dust billowed in the sunlight. She sighed again.

  So this, she thought, was what boredom morphed into when it became bored with itself. Boredom squared. Or possibly cubed. Or even more likely given where she was, boredom to the power of infinity.

  She kicked her foot deeper into the dust and swore – demurely and sweetly – as a soft ‘thud’, muffled by the blanket of dust, echoed around the vast space. Peering down to where her toes should have been smarting from the impact – but were not – she saw what has caused the collision.

  “So, that’s where it went,” she said, reaching down and plucking a circle of brilliant-gleaming material from amid the gently tumbling motes. She looked at it for a few moments, then raised it above her head, releasing it so that it hovered above her dark tresses.

  With another sigh, she snatched it away and cast it to the side, Frisby-like.

  “Oh, fuck this for a game of soldiers!” She turned and crossed her arms, her delicate features crumpling into a deep frown. “Show me!”

  There was a silence that somehow expanded to fill the vast plane. Then a gentle hum. A susurration. Then a more focused tingling sound.

  She smiled, an oddly humourless expression despite it fitting every aspect of ‘smile’.

  “I’m going down there for a while,” she said, determination the scaffold for every word.

  A male voice, disembodied, said, “That may not be wise, Quiteria. Now is not the time for–“

  “To Hell with time,” she muttered, “I am not sitting around here for yet another bloody eternity doing fuck all when there just ­has to be something more to life for a while. And besides,” she added quic+kly, stemming an interruption before it could even start, “I’ve found the perfect moment.”

  “There’s no such thing, as well you know, Quiteria. Now stop this madness!”

  She sighed yet again, “Tell you what,” her mouth crinkled into something that was far closer to a real smile, “Fuck you!”

  With a soft rush of imploding air, she was gone.

  Chapter 1 – Dear Deer

  Some days you just know things are going to go against you, no matter how hard you try. This had been one of those days – to the max, as my younger friends like to say.

  I’d been in a hurry to leave the house that morning, my hair still damp from the shower, my blouse buttoned in a fetching – but annoying – incorrect style, my breakfast uneaten. I’d grabbed a coffee from the kitchen counter along with my car keys, file for the presentation I was going to, hair brush just in case I could ever drag it through the fuzz that was already forming and my clutch bag that might or probably might not have contained the days’ small essentials – phone, headache pills, lipstick, mascara and the silver Gaia necklace I almost always wore.

  The coffee had obeyed the still-unrepealed Law of Gravity when its mug had collided with the kitchen doorframe and poured itself eagerly, and spitefully, over my new Jil Sander’s. After some frantic application of tissues, followed quickly by surrender and the replacement of the Sander’s with my even newer Aeyde heels, it was a simple matter of regathering all of the bits and pieces – sans coffee now – and heading out to the car.

  The heels were not the most comfortable driving shoe ever, but since the traffic seemed to be moving slower than a one-legged rabbit with athlete’s foot it wasn’t a great concern. More of a concern was being twenty-plus minutes late for my morning meeting in town – and by ‘plus’ I mean ‘forty’.

  Ever since I moved into the wooded wilds of west Wales, I had done my best to shun city life but some days there was no getting away from the need to meet potential clients in the larger towns hereabouts – although Swansea was happy to claim city status. Thanks to the coffee, that day the entire journey was almost – almost – a pointless exercise, but the clients at least had a sense of humour and had agreed to wait for me.

  I wished they hadn’t, in truth.

  The presentation was a fruitless affair resulting in a grand total of orders numbering the same as fingers on a mitten – and yet it had dragged on and on and on. We had lunched together in the least Italian ‘Italian restaurant’ imaginable (‘Tortellini Lava for that authentic taste of Italian-Welsh’…), we had sat through my junior partner’s stammered presentation, we had laughed, we had supped the finest (i.e. foulest) coffee imaginable – and we had parted ways with hugs, handshakes and an empty order book.

  It was mid-afternoon by then and all I wanted to do was get home where two cats, twenty chickens (hopefully still separate), four goats and a bottle of vodka were waiting.

  Fully expecting to find my car’s tyres or battery flat, or the fuel visible as a puddle rather than in its tank, I left my junior to settle the account and take my papers back to the main office, and I headed out to the vehicle.

  Now I say ‘vehicle’ and earlier said ‘car’, but in truth the ancient Land Rover is something of a joy to me. ‘Favourite child’ syndrome may even apply. And that day, to
that point at least, it had been the one thing around me that had behaved impeccably. That afternoon I found it – where I’d left it rather than booted or towed away – and it was sitting on plump tyres, battery charge at one hundred percent, and with more than enough fuel to get me home easily. I took this as a sign that things were looking up at last and set off for my rural retreat.

  It’s worth pointing out that my driving record is somewhat cleaner than my morals and I haven’t had an accident of any note in years – despite living in the wildly rural area of Wales where other road users tend to verge into the ‘less than perfect’ category. That may be a very unfair generalisation, but I’ve often had near-misses with other drivers – and by ‘near’ I mean tissue paper fine. But as I say, my record was as immaculate as a certain conception around two millennia past (conception or brilliant excuse, your call), and I was as focused that afternoon as I always was behind the wheel.

  I escaped the municipal confines of Wales’ second city (or third, to the pedants) and made my way briskly but calmly into ever-more rural lanes. As progress was made smoothly and easily, so my mood lightened. I was even smiling a little when The Stranglers started to complain about the lack of Heroes Anymore – and, just a few miles from home in the midst of dense forest, I was thanking my father for his esoteric ancient taste in music when it happened.

  I saw the first deer as it leapt from between trees just ahead of me. I started to brake hard and felt a surge of relief as the animal took another leap and disappeared into the trees on my left. Perhaps that’s why I relaxed.

  When all is said and done, I’m talking about no more than maybe three seconds. My booted foot began to ease the pressure on the Land Rover’s brake pedal in full belief that the crisis had passed in a blur of pale brown fur. And then the hard thud shook the vehicle.

  Shock is always the first reaction, and as my foot hammered down once more on the pedal, my brain was already trying to work out what had happened.