The Complete BBW Hotwife

by Sadie Somerton

  I gasp.

  “Tell me.”

  She pulls the sheet tighter. An incredibly intimate thing, yet such a tease when I’m so hard, so turned on.

  “Tell me.”

  §

  The story that came to mind was by no means my first time, but Lucy had asked for a story of innocence and this was a time when I was, if not exactly innocent, then certainly young, naïve, unworldly.

  So no, this wasn’t my first time, but that encounter with Catherine Beacham was certainly the most unexpected...

  I had just turned twenty, and I’d worked my butt off all year at college, not only to support myself and pay my way but to put a bit aside so that when the summer came I could get on that plane to Europe and do the trip Hugo Burns and I had been talking about all year.

  Things were a lot easier for Hugo, with his trust fund to finance his comfortable lifestyle, but I wasn’t going to let him make that trip alone. Male pride, competitiveness – call it what you like, but I think it was really much simpler than that. When it came down to it, I was determined not to miss out on a good time.

  We flew out from Logan Airport for London Heathrow, full of excitement about the trip ahead and even more full of youthful charm for the cabin crew. They loved it, the little blonde with the pale green eyes in particular – or so we told ourselves.

  The plan was to start the trip with a few days at the English country home of Charlie Beacham, another college buddy. Charlie had just spent a year in the States as his period of overseas study from his English university, and when he returned home he’d left an open invitation to visit. After catching up with Charlie, we planned to spend a week traveling around England before heading over to Paris and Rome, and finally ending up on a beach somewhere on the Mediterranean for however long was left before our return flights.

  As the airplane prepared for landing, Green Eyes passed by, checking that we all had our seatbelts fastened.

  “You think she’d give me her number?” asked Hugo. That was the thing with Hugo: the kind of optimism that meant he always thought he was in with a chance. And sometimes it even paid off.

  “You never know your luck,” I told him.

  A short time later we were on the ground and taxiing towards the terminal buildings, and not long after that we were lining up to leave. As we filed towards the door, Hugo said something to the green-eyed flight attendant, but I couldn’t hear what. I just saw the look on his face: the brief moment of confusion, then the understanding and finally the insouciant grin as he laughed off her response.

  “What did she say?” I asked him as we crossed the covered bridge to the terminal.

  “I asked her if she had a number for me,” he told me. “And she said, ‘Nine’. Then she said, ‘If you go to Germany on your trip you’ll get to know what that means.’”

  Ah: nine, nein, no...

  “So are you counting that as a ‘maybe’, then?” I asked, and we both laughed.

  When we’d cleared Immigration and retrieved our backpacks from the baggage carousel, we followed the signs to the exit.

  As we emerged into the crowded lobby, I paused to survey the sea of faces.

  “Can’t see Charlie,” I said, turning to Hugo. “Do you think he might be parked up somewhere outside?”

  Hugo wasn’t paying attention. He had that look again, the one he’d had every time Green Eyes walked away from us down the airplane and his eyes had followed her neat little ass.

  I followed the direction of his gaze and saw the little placard first of all, a piece of off-white cardboard marked with chunky black writing: ‘Hugo + Jason’. The card was held aloft by slender hands, nails painted a deep, glossy maroon. Up-raised arms framed a face with delicate features. Mid-thirties, perhaps, with a blonde, collar-length bob and bangs forming a geometrically straight line just above her eyes.

  She managed to look both alert and slightly bored as she stood there, not bothering to search the crowd for two young men she didn’t know, content to let the placard draw us to her. Hugo started to move and I followed. He was clearly quite taken. Enough so to make me look again as we approached. I revised my estimate to early thirties, only a few little crows’ feet around her eyes, her complexion immaculate. Slim, and about my height on those heels.

  “Isn’t she fucking gorgeous?” whispered Hugo.

  I nodded. The closer we got, the more I was coming round to his view.

  She watched us approach, nodded briefly as we came to a halt before her, and said to me, “Hugo? Or are you the other one?”

  “Definitely the other one,” I said.

  She smiled. “I’m Catherine,” she said. “Charlie’s mother.”

  I actually felt my jaw sag.

  “His mother?” I said, before I could stop myself. My mind raced. If my estimate of her age was correct then when she’d had Charlie she must have been... way too young.

  She laughed at my discomfort. Now that I looked more closely, maybe she was closer to forty, or... her age was so hard to place I told myself to give up trying.

  She held out a hand and I took it and shook. When Hugo took her hand he bowed his head and kissed it, as if he thought that’s what they did in England.

  “Charlie sends his apologies,” she went on. “Roped into a cricket match at the last minute. What can you do? The boy always did have a mean googlie...”

  I looked at Hugo. He looked at me. Not knowing how to respond, we just swung our rucksacks onto our shoulders again and followed Charlie’s mother out onto the concourse, following the signs towards parking.

  A few minutes later we stowed our luggage in the back of Catherine’s big ATV, and Hugo climbed into the back seat. I hesitated, about to join him, but then Catherine leaned across from the driver’s seat on the righthand side and pushed the front passenger door open for me.

  I climbed in, found the seatbelt, and tried not to be distracted by the glimpse of cleavage as she’d leaned towards me.

  Was I really lusting after a woman old enough – if only just old enough – to be my mother? I reached for my seatbelt, taking the opportunity to adjust how I was sitting. One part of me, at least, seemed happy to lust after her.

  I glanced across and she was smiling at me. “Is this your first time?” she asked.

  My face burned red. I don’t know why. I was never awkward like this with girls. “I... yes, it is. My first time in Europe. Hugo’s been here before.”

  “I have,” Hugo chipped in, leaning forward between the seats. I didn’t have to look to know he was checking out Catherine’s long legs, clad in skin-tight denim.

  She reached for the gearshift, and I did everything I could not to think too hard about the way her fingers curled around it.

  When I looked up she was still smiling at me. “Shall we...?” she said, and fired the engine into life.

  As we drove, I tried to work out what was going on in my head. I’d never really had a thing for older women before, but there was something about Catherine Beacham. Not just that she was hot, but that she had that mischievous look in her eye when she smiled sometimes.

  It was as if I had to convince myself that it was okay to react the way I had. There was no harm in the thought, after all. She was a hot woman and I was a red-blooded young man. It was only natural to respond.

  Only natural to sit there for almost the entire journey with an erection straining at my pants.

  For my eyes to be drawn to the long lines of her legs. To her profile as she drove. Down to the generous swell of her breasts.

  To be caught looking and glance rapidly away.

  And then, to have to look again.

  §

  We pulled up by a picturesque village green in a perfect English village, all half-timbered buildings and thatched roofs and rambling roses around the doors.

  A small crowd were gathered to one side of the green, and in the center a scattering of white-clad men played cricket.

  We left the car and moved over to where the crow
d had formed by a small pavilion. One of the walls of the building held a black board with numbers on it, all of which must mean something, I was sure.

  I heard a wooden thud, heard some shouts from the onlookers and saw that the players were running about, then another voice nearby and the clap of a hand on my shoulder and Charlie was there, blond hair swept to one side. “Jase! Hugo!”

  We group-hugged, then stepped back awkwardly, then hugged again.

  “Hey,” I said. “So good to see you again, dude.”

  Charlie was dressed in white, ridged padding strapped to his legs.

  He saw me taking in his outfit. “Next man in,” he said. “They needed me to shore up the middle order, otherwise I’d have been there to meet you guys.”

  “Your mom told us about your googlies,” said Hugo, and we all laughed again. I glanced across and Charlie’s mother was looking on approvingly. She met my look, smiled, then turned away.

  “No, that’s my bowling,” said Charlie. “The googlies. That’s what I bowl. Not all the time, but... it’s complicated. You want me to explain cricket to you?”

  Just then, a ripple of applause interrupted us and Charlie looked up. “Oh blimey,” he said. “Stu didn’t last long. Looks like I’m in.” With that, he picked up his bat from where it had been standing against a wall and strode out into the middle of the field to replace the red-faced man who was now trudging off.

  Hugo tugged at my arm and I saw that Charlie’s mom was waving us over to where she sat on a checkered blanket on the grass nearby. She sat with her legs stretched out, her high heels kicked off to one side. Her toenails were painted the same deep maroon as her fingernails.

  “On a scale of one to ten?” said Hugo as we went over to join her.

  “You serious?” I asked. “That’s Charlie’s mom.”

  “I know who she is,” said Hugo. “But jeez...”

  “Sit down,” said Catherine. “You boys must be shattered. All that travel.”

  There was room for the three of us on the blanket. Just. Hugo was pressed up against me, and I was pressed thigh to thigh against Catherine. I was very conscious of the contact, but there was no way to politely shuffle clear without placing myself in Hugo’s lap.

  We remained silent for a while, Hugo and I watching the game and trying to make sense of the movements of the players. When Charlie managed to hit the ball and run we cheered and clapped along with everyone else; when he swung and missed we all groaned, but I can’t claim it made much sense to my untrained eye.

  After a few minutes I closed my eyes and allowed myself to enjoy the heat of the sun and the press of female thigh against mine. As I’d already decided, there was no harm in the thought, so I might as well make the most of it.

  “I said you must be shattered,” Catherine said, her voice close to my ear.

  I opened my eyes and saw that smile again.

  “The jetlag,” she said. “I can never remember which way it goes. Is this late for you, or early?”

  “Early,” I said. “You’re five hours ahead of us. It’s still the middle of the day to my body. Hugo and I will be the life and soul of the party later, when you’re all flagging.”

  She held my look for just a moment too long, one eyebrow raised, and then said, simply, “Noted.”

  And that was when I started to wonder.

  Was she flirting?

  Had she picked up on my response to her? Was she playing on my reaction, on the flood of a young man’s hormones? Feeling flattered, having a little fun...

  I tore my look away.

  Heard the thud of cricket ball on bat and joined in with the cheering, even though I had no idea what was going on, either on the field of play or off.

  §

  The rest of the day passed in a blur. Charlie’s time batting turned out to be not much more than a cameo role, and soon he was back sitting with us on the crowded rug, his hot mom replaced by his own more bulky presence and the reek of manly sweat.

  We got talking, catching up on the few weeks that had passed since the three of us had last been together. When the game ended Charlie directed us to the village pub, just across the green, and Hugo and I went over and bought the first round of drinks while our English friend showered and changed. When he joined us a little later he smelled a great deal better, and we picked up where the conversation had left off.

  Sometime later that evening, Hugo said, “So... your mom, Charlie. What’s the story there?”

  He shrugged and said, “Not much to tell, really. Split up from the old man about ten years ago. Works part-time as some kind of design consultant, not that she really needs the money, you know? Enjoys village life, her small circle of friends. Bit of a cold fish, if you know what I mean.”

  I remembered the press of her thigh, those mischievous looks. I wouldn’t have said she was a cold fish. Anything but...

  Perhaps I’d misread the signals. I was tired. It had been a long day.

  Much later, the three of us headed out into the night.

  We still hadn’t seen Charlie’s house, but it turned out to be just a short walk across the village green – one of those picturebook thatched cottages I’d noticed earlier, with roses climbing up on a frame around the front door and that big ATV pulled up to one side.

  Charlie slipped inside and emerged moments later with the car keys so we could retrieve our luggage.

  His mother led us upstairs, and I was reminded of just how skin-tight those jeans were.

  “I’ve put you boys in together,” she said to me and Hugo, gesturing towards an open door.

  We passed through, close together in the confined space, and dropped our bags in the room. It was small, the floor uneven and the beamed ceiling sloping and low. Hugo had already dropped his rucksack onto the one single bed, so I put mine by the mattress on the floor.

  She put a hand on my arm. “Everything okay for you?” she asked. I hadn’t noticed her joining us in the room.

  She was flirting again. I was sure of it. Toying with me – or with us? Was she doing the same with Hugo?

  Then she stepped away, turned, and headed back out towards the stairs.

  I looked at Hugo, smiled, said, “So what do you make of that?” The two of us laughed, and I shook my head, then we went downstairs to join Charlie and his mother for a cup of tea and some very polite, restrained conversation.

  §

  As it turned out, I’d only been half right when I’d told Catherine that because of the difference in our body clocks Hugo and I would be the life and soul of the party when everyone else was flagging. When we retired to our small guest room a little after midnight, Hugo stripped to his shorts, crawled into bed, and was asleep in seconds, his breathing shifting to something that was somewhere between a sigh and a snore.

  Still wide awake, I went to wash, then came back to the room. My bedding consisted of a fitted sheet on the mattress and a thin summer duvet. I stripped, dropped to the mattress and pulled the bedding up over myself. Hands clasped behind my head, I lay and listened to the sounds of an unfamiliar setting. Occasional creaks, the screech of what might have been a cat outside, the sound of two motorbikes passing; movements in the house as Charlie and his mother did whatever they did at this time of night before going to bed. Footsteps on the stairs, the creak and thud of a door, the click of a light switch.

  I could see light around the bedroom door, the shadow of someone passing by outside.

  I thought nothing of it until the shadow stopped moving, staying so still that I thought perhaps the person had actually gone and I was mistaken.

  Then the door creaked open a short way. I saw the shadow of a body cutting out the light, a halo of blonde hair.

  “Everything okay?” It was Catherine.

  I glanced across, and Hugo was still motionless on the bed. “Yes,” I said. “Thank you. We’re cool.”

  “Just yell if you need anything. Help yourself.”

  When she moved away she left the door a few inches
open and I caught the glimpse of bare skin.

  Involuntarily, I sat partly upright, leaning on my elbows, but she was gone already.

  I lay back and one hand stole down. Goddamn it, I was hard again!

  I let my thumb slide over the wetness of my glans, thinking of those long, denim-clad legs, of the look in her eye as she’d toyed with me.

  Thinking of that glimpse of flesh as she moved away from the door.

  Help yourself.

  If only!

  I pressed my palm against myself, wondering if I could get away with a quick play while my buddy slept only a few feet away.

  Probably not, even though the aching need was suddenly intense.

  I wrapped my fingers around my hard shaft, squeezed and pulled, careful to keep my movements slow, as subtle as possible.

  That flash of cleavage in the car.

  The little rosebud of a mouth as she pursed her lips.

  Those long, slender fingers on the gearshift.

  I forced my hand away. Things were in danger of getting messy.

  §

  I must have dozed.

  The light had gone out, so I couldn’t see if the door was still partly open or not. Couldn’t tell if that slight creaking sound had been the door moving on its hinges.

  A moment later I was sure there was someone there. I heard the shift of feet on the carpeted floor, that creak of hinges, sensed a presence.

  I moved to lean on my elbows again, suddenly alert.

  Saw a shadowy figure move to the end of my mattress, lower itself to squat or kneel.

  I glanced across but Hugo hadn’t moved, was still out for the count.

  I felt the tug of the duvet against me, a hand on the bedding where it lay on my shin. A quick, firm squeeze.

  A hand under the duvet, sliding up the inside of my calf. A scrape of fingernails.

  I sat up, reached out. My hand found flesh, the smooth skin of an arm, the brush of fine hair.

  A hand in the center of my chest pushed me back.

  I glanced towards Hugo again, sure he must waken at any moment.

  I must be dreaming. A horny, rude dream prompted by my unfinished playing before I’d drifted into sleep. All the day’s fragments and images coming together.