by Bridy McAvoy
“I wondered if that was you.”
He grinned—he’d enjoyed himself, pleased he’d beaten me despite me knowing the road better than he did. “I wouldn’t have passed you if I’d known it was you. Nice car.”
I smiled. He was being gracious, if a trifle chauvinistic. “Ditto. I like the M5 but there’s a bit too much torque at low speed for me. It’s an open road car, and I don’t get onto the freeway that often.”
He nodded his head, acknowledging I was quite prepared to play vehicular one-upmanship with him if he wanted to.
He took my hand in his again as I walked up to him, then he let me lead him around to the front. He stopped in his tracks—much as you did, honey—and stared at the view across the decking and grass down to the dock and beyond. There was a little light left—the moon was behind the trees on the far side of the lake—so the water had a silver sheen to it, one that would turn gold in the morning as the sun rose.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Glad you like my etching.”
He winced at that but had the grace to laugh. Once inside, I closed the door and drew the drapes. I didn’t think he’d appreciate any public display. He excused himself to use the facilities and I nipped into the bedroom to close those drapes too. When he emerged from the bathroom I was in the kitchenette.
“Coffee?”
He shook his head and moved to stand in front of me. I kind of backed away a little until I felt the edge of the countertop press against my back. He closed the distance and put his hands on the counter, one either side of me. His head was only inches from mine. As he leaned in it was only natural to lean forward and brush my lips across his.
That was all it took. His mouth crushed against mine and his hands moved to my waist. As his tongue pushed into my mouth, my arms locked behind his neck. This kiss deepened, grew more ferocious, and I felt the cold edge of the countertop press against my naked skin. Naked skin! I had been so wound up in the kiss I hadn’t noticed him working my tight dress up over my hips until it was bunched up above my waist. The gasp from the cold edge touching my back had broken the kiss, and Roger took the chance to move away, looking down at me. I’d put on pale blue panties, and the black stockings were holdups. His eyes drank in the flash revealed between both. While he looked I grabbed the bottom of the dress and pulled it off over my head. There was no point in modesty—he’d already known I wasn’t wearing a bra under the dress. Not that he’d said anything, but I’d noticed him noticing.
He took a deep breath as I stood there topless. He reached out and I thought he was going to fondle my breasts, but instead he grabbed my hand and drew me out of the kitchenette and over to the couch. Roger kissed me again as we sat down, his arms initially around me, before one of them drifted down to my naked thigh. I shivered in his arms as his head moved south, his lips trailing tiny, delicious kisses down my neck and onto the outward swell of my breast. I arched my back as he latched his mouth over my nipple and bit down gently on the turgid, swollen flesh. His hand moved around on my leg, tracing circles and then moving higher. I allowed that leg to slip off the edge of the couch, opening my legs and providing him with access to my panty-covered crotch. His fingers made light work of pushing the crotch band of my panties out of the way, and he slipped his index finger into me, burying it to the second knuckle.
“I guess you’re ready for this.”
I didn’t answer, just humped against his finger and let a guttural groan escape my mouth. Quite how he’d managed to get me that hot, that quickly, I don’t really know, but he had, and I was. Within a couple of minutes I was cumming, my pussy spasming around the two fingers he had inside me at that point. By the time I came down from the high, he’d pulled my panties down and off, tossing them toward the ranch doors. Leaving me there panting for breath, he rose to his feet and ditched his jacket—I hadn’t even noticed he was still fully dressed. I guess Mr. Bryant had inured me to being naked in the presence of a fully-clothed man.
I lay there with lust-lidded eyes, watching as he kicked off his shoes, hopped for a few seconds to remove his socks, before stripping off his pants and shorts with a single move. His cock was impressive—not as large as Kirk’s, but impressive—and obviously hard. His roll neck came off over his head, showing off an impressive physique, and then he was coming toward me once more.
I struggled to sit upright, grabbing his hand to pull him toward me. I didn’t think this guy would be a one-cum wonder and, before I let him fuck me, I wanted to take the edge off. He was leaking pre-cum as I adjusted our mutual positions, finishing with him standing between my legs as I sat on the couch, my head at the right height.
At that point, Roger had no idea what was about to hit him. I looked up at him as I licked my lips, gently jacking his cock with one hand. My other arm was wrapped around the back of his thighs, providing some stability for both of us. I figured he might need it. As his eyes met mine, I slowly moved my head toward him and planted a kiss on the end of his cock. He chuckled as I pulled back, licking the pre-cum from my lips, smiling to show I enjoyed the taste.
I’d had enough of teasing him then. My head moved quickly, before he could even grunt, my mouth covered his cock and plunged down, taking the whole of it into my mouth, the tip into my throat. Mr. Bryant called it my hoover technique, although it should be regarded as his. He’s the one who taught me, and had benefited the most from it. It had impressed all my previous boyfriends—well, the ones who I’d slept with—and Roger was no different.
“Fuck!”
His hands tangled in my hair as my lips bottomed out around the base of his cock. His balls slapped against my chin as I sucked hard, contracting my mouth around him and then bobbing up and down while continuing to exert pressure. I’d seen myself in the mirror. I knew what I looked like with my cheeks hollowed like this and I knew from other guys’ reactions what Roger was probably feeling right now.
Pulling back, I held just the head of his cock inside my mouth and looked up at him once again. He was staring down at me, open-mouthed, low moans issuing from deep inside as I continued to torture his cock with my mouth.
It was clear I’d surprised him with my proficiency at this, but it didn’t put him off. As I took him back down, he pressed on the top of my head and started jerking his hips. Within seconds his movements had become more violent and I transferred both hands to his thighs, just to make sure I hung on for the ride.
I guess the fact I wasn’t objecting, and certainly wasn’t gagging, made him bolder, bold enough to really go for it. I’m not saying it wasn’t painful—it was, but not enough for me to stop him—it was too exciting. Even Mr. Bryant hadn’t been this rough with me. I think I almost came before he did—it was a close-run thing but we both came within seconds. He shot his spunk down my throat, and I squirted all over the couch.
That was embarrassing because I’d never actually squirted before, and I guess he got some on his feet because, when he pulled out and stepped back, his feet were wet. I guess I went red from embarrassment but he didn’t even pause. Before I knew it he’d bent down, swept me up in his arms and kicked open the only door he hadn’t been through. We hit the bed together, me face up, him face down, with his head between my legs, lapping up the excess moisture as I feebly tried to push him away. Roger was having none of it—he wanted me, wanted me bad. He did the same thing Mr. Bryant had done often enough—licked me to orgasm after orgasm until I was like a spent, wet noodle, sprawled obscenely on the bed.
He wasn’t finished either, not by a long chalk. If I thought Kirk had had stamina, this guy had it in spades. He fucked me then, despite my feeble protests to let me rest, and before long I was in the middle of the bed, my thighs pressed against my breasts as he took me—hard. It wasn’t like he didn’t care about my pleasure—he did. I think I came twice before he came for the second time. That just made the score something like ten to two.
He let me rest then, although I did get out of bed to make some coffee for both of u
s. He refused wine. I didn’t bother getting dressed. By the time we’d drunk the coffee he was ready to go again. This time he had me on all fours and fucked me doggy style. Then we rested and he kissed and worshipped my breasts for several minutes, before turning me over onto my side, facing away from him, and spooning me.
By then it was something like fifteen to four, and I was beat. Sore, even. I pleaded with him to stop, and he smiled and rolled over onto his back, suggesting I use my talented mouth on him again instead, just to give my pussy the respite I was pleading for. I did just that, making the score fifteen to five and he rolled me off and sat up.
“Do you mind if I shower?”
“Be my guest.”
“Good.”
Suddenly his hands were on me again, unrolling the stockings down my legs.
“What are you doing…?”
“We can’t have a shower with you still wearing these, can we?”
I hadn’t even realized it but I was still wearing my heels. He slipped them off, then my stockings, and massaged my feet for a couple of minutes which relaxed me back into the wet noodle state again.
He led me—well, half-carried me—through to the bathroom, and then got the water running before steering me under the spray. He joined me, as had been obvious since he’d started stripping my stockings off, and then started to work on me. It was crowded in there, but he made do, even managing to get hard again and, despite my half-hearted protests, fucked me from behind, my body pressed against the glass screen. Sixteen to six.
I couldn’t even summon up the energy to dry myself, but he was still a bundle of fizz. He dried me, carried me back into the bedroom and let me fall onto the far side of the bed. I was fast asleep before my head touched the pillow.
Sometime around six in the morning I woke up feeling full. There was a simple reason. He was spooning me again, having got himself hard, and then inserting his cock into me before I woke up.
The man was a monster, but he still made sure I came at least once every time he fucked me. We had breakfast after that. Breakfast before seven on a Saturday morning—that was just uncivilized. I cooked scrambled eggs and toast, and we both ate in the nude. After breakfast he fucked me on the couch again, then finally dressed. I don’t know what the final count was—something close to twenty-one to eight—but I was exhausted.
Bright as a button, he kissed my head and told me he had to get into the office to check a few things. He gave me his card with his cell number on it and told me to call him in the middle of the week if I wanted any more of his good luvin’. He actually used that phrase but I couldn’t giggle—I didn’t have the energy. He gave me another searing kiss and slipped out the door, making sure he kept the drapes drawn so I wasn’t exposed. Still the gentleman, despite having so thoroughly ravaged me.
I heard his car pull away, then locked the door, leaving the drapes closed, and collapsed back onto the bed. I didn’t wake up until late afternoon, had a late lunch, tidied up the condo, and headed home. I think I was in bed asleep by eight o’clock that night, and I more than slept the clock around. He’d worn me out completely.
Sunday was enough of a recovery day, and I was ready to face Mr. Bryant and his games once more the day after. I’d had my first taste of a Has Been, and it had been a doozy.
Chapter Four – Reflection
She lifted her eyes. For the last few minutes, while telling me how she’d been sexed up to such a height by a man who’d been a complete stranger only the day before, she hadn’t been able to look me in the eye. Now she looked up, and I could see there were some tears, unshed, glistening there.
“Can we stop now, honey? I really don’t want to cover any more tonight.”
“Answer me one question. Did you see him again?”
She bit her lip and sighed. “I did think about it very, very hard. In the end, no, I didn’t. I didn’t think my psyche could handle being fucked like that on a regular basis—or even more than once for that matter. I did see him again, but not for sex, not for a date. I saw him in his professional capacity. I asked around and found out he was the best in town. I had several of my father’s stocks, shares, and bonds spread across various accounts.
I let him manage them for a couple of years, then he decided to up sticks and move to the East Coast to be nearer his kids. I took back the management of the funds then—that was about a month before the wedding. You know that toaster you love in the kitchen—the one that lights up and changes color as it works?”
“Yeah.”
“That was from Winscott Investments—his parting wedding gift. His idea of a joke.”
“Ah. I never did understand where that came from, or why anyone would buy us a toaster. I assumed you’d lost the card.”
“No, honey, I destroyed the card. Roger was one guy I really didn’t want you to meet. I only dealt with him on the phone. I didn’t dare meet up with him again after that first visit to his office.”
“You mean…?”
She shook her head. “No, I didn’t. There were too many people around. But that didn’t mean I didn’t want to. I did, and I know he wanted to as well.”
I sat there for a minute, just looking at her, and she was clearly uncomfortable. She looked fabulous though—I had to admit that—sitting on the couch with her legs curled underneath her. The blue dress had, of course, ridden up, revealing a lot of thigh above her stocking top. I knew it was deliberate, she was trying to entice me, balance her confession with my physical attraction to her.
“I’m sorry, Sam, I’ve got a real problem now.”
She swallowed hard. “What, honey?”
“Well, this afternoon, you glossed over what happened in the weeks leading up to you meeting me. You said you simply continued to fuck Frank Bryant on Thursdays, you had five boyfriends, and fucked four of them, the fifth being Malcolm who you classed as a Never Evah, so dumped him. You treated it as nothing special happened then.”
I paused, looking her in the eyes. “In fact, the sex with Mr. Bryant got kinkier, to the point my soon-to-be girlfriend was fantasizing about dancing in a strip club.” That barb struck home and she rocked back in her seat. “My supposedly virgin girlfriend was thinking like that as she danced for him. Then twenty-four hours later you had what you described as the best sex of your life.”
She was shaking her head, clearly not agreeing. “That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what I heard.”
She almost exploded. “Then you should fucking listen. I said the best sex of my life up to that point. There’s a major difference.” She took a deep breath, almost as if she was surprised by her own outburst, then continued. “I suspect most women fantasize about performing in a strip club—some are nice fantasies, some nightmares. Nine out of ten women would never, ever, act on those fantasies. You can be so obtuse at times.”
She was still angry, and at one level that pleased me. It meant she was still in there fighting to save our marriage. I was beginning to wonder though—my doubts were piling up. I knew I could solve that problem by simply doing the Neanderthal thing. Stand up, pick her up, toss her on the bed and make absolutely sure it was my memory that she’d remember as the best sex ever on that bed. My cock had been hard all day—except for a brief respite in the restaurant. Every move she made, every item of clothing she wore, or deliberately didn’t wear, was designed to make me aware of her availability. She’d welcome me making such a move, and I was pretty sure she’d do everything she could to make it the best sex possible for both of us. Mind you, I’d seen that shower cubicle—I didn’t think I wanted to reclaim that in any sexual sense.
Opposite me, she rose to her feet and padded across the open space between us, bending down and placing a kiss on my cheek. Playing the peacemaker—my usual role not hers.
“You want a beer? I think we both need to calm down.”
“Sure.”
I didn’t smile, didn’t turn my face back to allow her to kiss my lips. She sighed and walked t
hrough to the fridge. When she’d bent over in front of me, she’d been flashing her cleavage at me. Now as she walked away her ass swayed from side to side. It was her way of saying I’m not giving up.
She handed me the beer than walked over to the couch and folded herself back into the same position as before. She raised her bottle to me in silent salute, then drained off the top third. I did likewise and decided I only wanted one more piece of information from her tonight. Everything else would have to wait.
“These other three you seem reluctant to talk about—”
She smiled and interrupted me. “Not reluctant, honey. Just…well, they were kind of unmemorable.”
“Unmemorable?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, one night stands that I never dated again. In one case the sex was okay, but the guy had really bad halitosis. The other two the sex was crap—they could satisfy themselves but they couldn’t satisfy a woman. In all three cases I cut the relationship off before it started.”
I chuckled. “A good girl is supposed to cut the relationship off long before she gets into bed with them.”
She winced and I thought I’d gone a bit far.
“Sorry, that was a bit harsher than I meant it.”
“I’ll let you make it up to me later.”
“Nice offer, but I may well decline. So, if I concede they’re not worth talking about, is there anything in that period about Frank Bryant I need to know?”
“No, honey. Sure we were still playing his games on Thursday afternoons, and two or three times each week after work he’d either get me to blow him, or he’d take me for a quickie. No, he didn’t get any kinkier.”
“So, in terms of your sex life, the only thing you need to tell me about from before you met me is Max…”