4 comments/ 101254 views/ 11 favorites Stopover By: quinn rogan (Author's note – if you enjoy this story, be sure to read "Suzy's Show and Tell", by Catesby, also on this site. My thanks to Catesby for providing the original inspiration for this recollection, and for his generous agreement to my 'plagiarism'. Q.R.) * * * * * My wife, Carol, sighed in contentment as my limp cock slid out of her very well-lubricated vagina. Her words surprised me, though. "That was the best fuck we've had for ages," she whispered, then giggled at her own temerity. Carol never used words like 'fuck'. Not ever. I did, sometimes, if I got a bit carried away, when we were making love – fucking. I got a real rise, talking about her 'tits' and her 'cunt' – sometimes, even, in the context of some other lucky guy having an imaginary feel of them. I sensed that, sometimes, when she was in the right mood, she got a buzz from hearing me talk that way about her, but she never reciprocated. We married young, had our three kids early, and, since neither of us had much experience of sex before we met, our 'education' was, of necessity, self-taught, in our own bedroom and, from very early on, with children within earshot, just a wall's thickness away. So many inhibitions still remained ...... Twelve years down the line, this was the first time we had been away, on our own, without the kids. The occasion was a wedding, up in Scotland – one of Carol's cousins. When we got the invitation, our first reaction had been, as before, to decline gracefully, and send a present and a card. But it was my mother who said – 'Why don't you go? The children are old enough to spend the weekend with us, now. Drive up on Friday night – spend the night in one of these 'Lodge' places near the border – and drive on the next day to the wedding. Then you can spend the Saturday night in the hotel where the reception is, and come back South the next day." And, really there was no reason why not – so we did. At first, it was strange, being alone with Carol, in the car – we were so used to travelling 'mob-handed' – but, after a while, during which our conversation was a little awkward, and stilted, without the constant chatter of the kids in the back, I began to feel quite good about it. And, after another little while, I started to get another feeling. At thirty-one, Carol didn't look too different to what she had looked like at nineteen. She was never going to be a model – she wasn't tall enough for that – and she was too round (in all the right places!), but she was always very sexy – very 'womanly', if you know what I mean! She's about five foot four, with dark hair cut in a 'pageboy' style, with lovely liquid brown eyes and a rich full mouth. Her body is curvy all round – nice fleshy shoulders and arms, full firm 36C breasts, a nice waist, with just a hint of a belly – and a beautiful jutting round bottom you could stack a tea-service on. The enforced pubic shaving brought about by childbirth means, sadly, that her profuse dark bush has never quite regained its original glory, but, largely at my behest, she has never shaved or trimmed it herself, and her beautiful vaginal lips are framed in what I regard as a superbly enticing forest of dark brown curly hair, which reaches up, in an ever-widening V, halfway to her deep-set round navel. And, as we sped up the A1(M), not saying much but comfortable in our silence, each of us busy with our own thoughts, the lowering sun of what had been a very hot day crept over my right shoulder, and my mind began to dwell, more and more, on our private room at the Granada Lodge, and my trousers started to feel a bit tight ...... ...... and it had been all I had hoped it would be. I think some of my thoughts had transmitted themselves to Carol. I was certainly driving quicker than usual, without bringing forth the customary word of reproof from her, and, as we neared journey's end – well before nine o'clock – our silence felt just a little less comfortable. I was certainly aware of my own anticipation, and hoped that Carol's thoughts were drifting in the same direction ...... Checking in, I was as nervous as I would have been, if it had been 'another woman' at my side, and not my legally married wife of twelve years. I even stammered over identifying ourselves, and the reception girl gave us both a quick look over the top of her glasses as she handed me the key. The room was at the end of a long corridor, which we paced along, together, in silence. Carol took over when we arrived at the door – my uselessness with keys is legendary – and we entered. It was a featureless room, with a bathroom on the right of the entry door, a shelf with tea and coffee making equipment, and a small television, on the right, one easy chair, a single bed – and a double bed. I dropped the cases while Carol immediately began an inspection of the bathroom. Acting nonchalant, I turned on the television, to see what cable channels were on offer, then Carol emerged from the bathroom and slipped off her coat, dropping it on the bed. This was the moment to signal my intentions. I hesitated, awkwardly. Christ, this was ridiculous – but I wasn't used to making the first move anywhere but in bed, when we were practically naked, to start with. I took a deep breath and slid my arm round her waist ...... And, praise be, she turned immediately and pulled my mouth down on to hers. I tasted a hint of spearmint as my lips mashed on hers – obviously the complimentary disposable toothbrush and paste had been sampled already! I hadn't been the only one thinking about the potential benefit of a completely private room, all to ourselves, with no danger of a gang of kids bursting through the door ...... And Carol was right – it did turn out to be the best fuck we'd had in ages. It was a long, slow one – we stripped each other, slowly, in the glow of the setting sun sliding through the curtains. My whispered suggestions, as I appreciated the individual parts of her body, gradually, as she replied with more avidity than I could ever recall previously, became more and more outrageous, and louder, as we realised we couldn't be overheard. And Carol had an orgasm – a loud, intense orgasm which shook me rigid as she spasmed beneath me, impaled on my rigid cock – minutes before I shot my load deep inside her, by which time she was well on the way to a repeat performance ...... "Oh, Jesus," I muttered into her soft shoulder. "Christ, Carol, that was fabulous. It was like, in your bedroom before we were married, when your folks were out. Only – your tits are even better, now!" "And your hard-on lasts longer," she said, her hand burrowing down and cradling my limp cock and balls. "You're a much better fucker that you were, then." "Am I?" I leaned back, and smiled down at her, then leaned forward and took one of her thick little nipples into my mouth. The sun was still up and her lush body looked utterly delightful in its soft glow. She shivered a little as I took her nipple between my teeth, and I felt her hand stray across my thigh. I looked down – her finger was gently rubbing her clitoris. I could feel my cock stiffening again. I couldn't remember Carol ever being like this before. I had never seen her touch her clitoris before. I didn't even know if she masturbated. I realised I would love to watch her do that to herself, and wondered if she'd enjoy watching me ...... "It's only ten to ten," she said, suddenly, squinting over my shoulder at the red digital figures on the TV display and she wriggled out from under me and stood by the bed. "Let's go for a drink," she said, "then come back here for another ...... one." "Another what?" I asked, grinning, recognising that her nerve had failed her at the last minute. I'm sure she blushed, but her chin came forward and her voice fell as she said – "Another fuck, you dirty swine!" "You mean – you want me to stick my big hard cock into your wet juicy cunt again?" She turned her back on me, displaying her exquisite bottom. "Maybe – if you buy me a drink first," she flung over her shoulder. My cock was already hard, again, and the sexual atmosphere was rising rapidly. "Only if you go dressed like that," I said, jokingly, but feeling my balls tighten at the outrageousness of my suggestion. Carol turned round, and looked at me, her face serious. "I will, if you will," she said, and her gaze fell on my rigid cock. She slid a hand between her thighs and I watched her thighs contract, squeezing it against her pussy lips. She sat down on the bed and gently closed her fist round my erection. "I'll tell you what," she said, in a slightly breathy, trembly voice. "Let's put on just our top clothes – a dress for me and trousers and shirt for you – no underclothes – then find a village pub, and go in, separately. Then you can 'pick me up' and bring me back here for another good fucking." I was shaking with excitement. I wanted to fuck her again, there and then, but – I had never seen Carol like this. I had to take it further – to see where it went – I might never get the chance again. "OK," I breathed, and she gave my cock a little squeeze, and let it go. She went over to one of our cases, and opened it. I pulled my shirt back on, and hauled up my trousers, slipping my feet, sockless, into my shoes. It felt strange, with no boxers or socks on, but not particularly sexy. But me not wearing underwear wasn't supposed to be erotic ...... Carol turned and faced me. She was wearing quite a long, print dress with a yellow flowery pattern, which reached down past her knees – it was loose, and I felt a slight twinge of disappointment. But – it had buttons all the way up the front. I stepped forward and put my arms round her. Her soft breasts pressed against my chest. I ran my hand down her back and felt the naked contours of her bottom, pushing my fingers between her cheeks. She rubbed up against my groin and I hoped my trousers were dark enough to conceal the telltale stains, which, even now, must be seeping through the material. "Come on," she breathed, and led the way from the room. It took just ten minutes or so in the car to find the nearest village, and locate the pub. It was one of those which still performed the basic function of a village pub, but had 'added on' a trendy restaurant in an extension, at the back. There was the usual selection of upmarket silver BMW's and maroon Jags, parked side by side with rusting Fiestas and Mini-Metros – and the place looked busy. I switched off the engine and looked across at Carol. "You go first," she said. "See if you can find a seat at the bar, and get a drink. I'll come in after a couple of minutes and stand beside you – but we don't know each other!" "Are you sure?" I asked, suddenly concerned. She nodded, with a tight little smile. "Yes – go on. It'll be fun!" The public bar, in fact, wasn't overly busy, although the restaurant seemed to be packed. There were a couple of games of dominoes in progress in the bar, and it looked as if a darts match had just finished and the players were settling down to some more serious drinking. There must have been about thirty men, of assorted ages, and just two –elderly – women, sitting, glumly, with their equally lugubrious husbands, at a small table by the door. There was a spare high stool at the end of the bar, facing into the restaurant, and I claimed it, ordering a double Glenfiddich from the dowdy, middle-aged barmaid. I looked around. It was obvious which of the darts teams had won, judging by the triumphal noises issuing from the motley group of players and supporters in the far corner, by the fruit machines. I glanced into the restaurant. There was a blonde girl, sitting on her own, chair backed against the wall, legs – very shapely, long legs – stretched out in front of her, away from the table. She was a real looker, but there was something a little odd about her demeanour, about the teasing little smile hovering around her lips. I looked at the adjacent table, and the penny dropped. A group of six – three young men and their girlfriends – were enjoying after-dinner drinks, but one of the men was distracted. As the blonde girl slowly raised one leg, and crossed it over the other, I realised why. He was in the perfect position to see right up her very short skirt– and she knew it, hence the little smile. "Must be something in the air tonight," I mused as the first sip of the Speyside malt dribbled over my tonsils. Then a drop in the hubbub of conversation alerted me, and I turned, to see Carol framed in the doorway of the bar. She had not been totally unoccupied while waiting in the car. Her dress was now only partially buttoned – the top three or four at the top had gone, and the neck was now open, and the bottom of the dress was now open to mid-thigh. And, somehow, it didn't seem as loose as it had been before. She looked round the bar, her gaze flickering over me without recognition, then, apparently not seeing anyone she recognised, walked towards the counter. I was aware that several eyes followed her progress, taking in the slight jiggle of her unfettered breasts, and the roll of her hips, under the light material of her dress. My own eyes dwelt on her, appreciatively, and I felt a twinge of nervous excitement. The barmaid, a slight disapproving scowl on her face, watched Carol as she approached. "Yes, madam," she practically hissed. "What would you like?" The emphasis, though slight, was on the 'you', rather than the 'like'. Carol faced her down. "I'll have a Frascati," she said, clearly and confidently, and the barmaid sniffed, unimpressed. I was impressed that the place stocked Frascati – whatever that was – presumably some of the regulars in the restaurant drank gallons of the stuff ...... I slid off my stool. "May I offer you my seat?" I said, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. I couldn't believe how my heart leapt at the sight of my wife's smile, and I almost blushed, like a schoolboy. "Thank you very much," said Carol, and the hum of conversation dwindled again as she mounted the stool, as gracefully as she could, but not without exposing a long stretch of thigh – and, I wondered, what else? But no – surely not? "May I buy that for you?" I asked, as the barmaid appeared with a wineglass full of some red liquid. A slight frown crossed Carol's face. "Well ......" she said, hesitantly, then – "oh, well, thank you very much – again." "My name's Jude, by the way," I said, and her eyebrows shot up into her hair and she nearly broke her cover by collapsing into helpless laughter. She has confessed to having fantasised about Mr Law, and I thought it was a nice touch. She was equal to it, though. Dropping her eyes modestly, and holding out a hand in introduction, she said – "And I'm Nicole!" I took her hand and moved a little closer – close enough so that even the barmaid, who was, by now, eaten up with curiosity, couldn't overhear. "Your tits look absolutely gorgeous in that dress, Nicole," I said. "Tell me, are your nipples really as big as that, or are you just pleased to see me?" She smiled sweetly as she took a sip from her glass, glancing around the bar, casually. "You bastard!" she murmured. "Anyway, your cum-stains are showing through your trousers!" "Well, that's not surprising, really," I answered. "After all, I wasn't the only one who got a flash of your pussy as you climbed up on that stool. I should think half the bar has a hard-on, now!" She looked around, in apparent disinterest, but I could see the flush creeping up her neck. "Did you, really?" she whispered, anxiously, and I couldn't resist it. This conversation was driving me wild. "Yes," I said, "and I can see your nipples poking holes in your dress!" The last bit was true. They were sticking out like organ-stops, and the smile on Carol's face was beginning to waver. "Jesus, Stephen," she muttered. "I'm beginning to leak on to this bloody stool. Can we go back, now? I really need you to fuck me again." I sipped my drink again. I didn't want to go back to the room yet. My mouth dried as I had another idea. "Why don't we just go outside?" I said. "Wouldn't you like a 'stand-up' against the wall – like in the old days?" "No!" she replied, fiercely, the smile now completely gone. "Take me back to the hotel!" I smiled at her, and said nothing. I glanced into the restaurant again. The blonde was gone. I wondered if she was driving home, teasing her clit as she recalled her little game with the bloke at the next table. He, I noticed, was all over his girl-friend, now – she looked very happy. I wondered if she'd be so happy if she knew what had flicked his switch ...... "All right," said Carol, suddenly. "All right, but help me down from this bloody stool!" My cock jerked and, quickly swallowing the last of my whisky, I held out a hand and she managed the descent decently – just! I turned to the barmaid and winked at her as I shepherded my 'pick-up' towards the door, my hand dropping, casually onto Carol's bottom. Once again, eyes followed us – well, Carol – as we made our way through the double swing door, into the warm evening. I hesitated, wondering which would be the best place to go, but Carol seemed to have it all worked out. She pulled me round the corner of the building, away from the car park. The back of the pub faced empty fields, surrounded by a high hedge. There was only about a yard of rough concrete between the back wall and the hedge. At the very end of the wall stood a couple of dustbins. Carol hurried along the wall and stopped about halfway along, standing with her back against the blank brick wall. I closed up against her and put my right hand on her left tit, squeezing it hard. Her hand closed round my erection and I kissed her. I could feel her wriggling against me, her hips pistoning back and forth. I dragged my mouth off hers and rasped – "Is this what you wanted – to get your big tits felt outside the pub, after you flashed your cunt at everybody in the place?" "Yes," she muttered, hoarsely. "Get them out! Get my tits out of this bloody dress – rip the buttons off, if you have to, but get my tits out and suck my nipples before they burst!" I had never seen her so turned on – she was almost like a different woman. Her hand was working my cock frantically and I was praying she wouldn't make me come before I actually got it into her. I pushed her hand away, and took a deep breath, then eased her back against the wall and started unbuttoning her dress, starting at the bottom. I was half-kneeling and, as the buttons parted up to Carol's waist, revealing her hairy pussy, I sank my head between her legs and licked her engorged labia. I was rewarded with a muffled groan, then the pressure of her hands behind my head, pulling it into her quivering groin. I groped blindly above me to reach the rest of her buttons – then there was only one hand behind my head and I slid both hands round to clutch her bare bottom as she finished the unbuttoning job for me. When I rose, it was to see Carol's spare hand pulling on one of her exposed nipples, her dress wide open, all the way down. I slid my hands inside her dress so that it fell away to either side of her body, and embraced her, passionately, one hand in the small of her back, the other clutching the soft flesh of her bottom, my tongue pushing inside her wide-open mouth and halfway down her throat. She was clutching at me, desperately, one leg hooked round my thigh, low moans coming from deep in her throat when, suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder. My heart leapt, and I whirled round. The face that leered down at me was vaguely familiar – he was one of the 'hangers-on' with the victorious darts team. He was a very tall, very thin man in his late fifties, with a cadaverous, unshaven face with dull, deep-set eyes and a lantern jaw. He was wearing an ill-fitting ancient tweed jacket over a heavy woollen pullover and filthy baggy grey trousers. He was swaying back and forward, and was clearly very drunk. Stopover I always stopped at the same place after I left Joel's house. A half-mile away. Thursday night around ten or ten thirty. Joel's family's house was the only one within a few miles. The radio would be playing "American Pie," or "Vincent" or "City of New Orleans." If the weather was warm or hot summer or cool Fall, or even cold winter, I would turn off the ignition, roll down the window, and have the music playing low. No one from his house could see me around this bend. I would sing, badly, to whatever was playing. I would say, "Joel, I love you." I would cry a bit. Then I would go on my way. I never was happy, not before him, not since. But during him—my god! It was called, I seem to remember, feeling alive. Whatever good is in me, whatever creativity I might have, what dreams I have, what I believe, what shakes me to the core—he is Joel—and he is my heart. I can't explain love. I can't explain why him. I've been called to account. I've had glassy eyes stare at me in defiance, in disbelief mostly. I've lost friends when they found out, which I think means they weren't friends to begin with, though it still hurts when I'm treated back to role of outcast. He was beautiful. He was this class act carnival in my eyes and I secretly danced with him, and I still do because he was Joel, and nobody else NOBODY is Joel. How odd a thing a name is. As a very good poem from a nice guy says. And of course there is Maria in West Side Story. I think those of us who are forlorn tend to still do lonely boy things as though we are still boys and I mean that in both interpretations of the phrase "still boys." I think some of us were on the cusp of being born, and my birth was Joel's delivery deep inside me, his looks, his voice, his clothes, his hair, his poetry, his books, the minutes and seconds of his life I hide in forevermore. I still sing my songs to him and I still believe I can get back there. To him and to me of then too, for I miss me then also. Sometimes I wish I did not feel, did not care, could be normal, but to have, as another friend pointed out recently, not have had Joel in my life—would I excise him if I could? The answer is a resounding no. I've not been alive in lots of ways since that April day he said goodbye to me and smiled his Joel smile, as he waved to me one last time, as I walked out of his parents' house and to my car, to drive away. I have never driven away. I have this habit of crying often these days. My mother cried often. I thought it was an act to make people feel sorry for her. Well, some of it was, but me? Now I do it too and it's embarrassing as hell. I cry for no reason. For every reason. I miss being born. I miss being an almost. I miss my dream. I miss, my god, Joel. For every explanation there is some foolish answer. They are in books and on TV chat shows and in magazines and in movies. But one thing always eludes these purveyors of quick one or two liner answers—when a person is deeply, from the first second, in love with another human being, words don't fit, words don't count. You cannot take this love and examine it and dissect it and say this living entity is not stillborn, is nothing at all, and does not deserve to have ever lived. I was—with him. I walked railroad tracks in deep Autumn—with Joel. We listened to music. We let each other borrow books. There was Joel. And that is a moment of my life of lasting measure. I used to give a damn what other people thought of this, I used to rush my heart words to tell them—now I have finally gotten hit with enough brickbats from oh so moral individual types who twist slowly in the wind of rationality and death inside, I can't and won't bother telling them again how death inside me, the autumn of me is the birth of me waiting to be, is a burgeoning, not a seed shrinking smaller of the kind Conrad Aiken warned about. And that is the type of life I believe in. That is the type of birthing, of coming redemption in which I have faith. I flew in those days and I sang and I was askance and I was giddy and I was brilliant because Joel was brilliant and askance and giddy and flew and danced and sang. An attachment is a word. An obsession is a word. An analysis is a group of words. Words can be incorrect. Love for Joel is correct. Love for all these years that keeps me opening my heart as I sit down at this computer keyboard, love that keeps me singing my song to Joel, love that keeps me remembering fast frames and slow nights and laughter and my name in his mouth, and his hand in my heart—these are real. I said Joel and he smiled and was happy to be with me. The unspeakable beauty of that allowing.. There is no need to destroy me over them. He waits inside me and some day like Joe Bonham, I shall sneak away, and they can put material possessions in their places and they can move the world round as a stage play presuming their own reality as they please and there will be one more microsecond, there will be one finite motion of a forgettable entity once here that was me, and they shall continue on their appointed rounds, with a forgotten sign of not even noticed slim breath of more room. I never told Joel I loved him. I celebrate him, as a friend says, I take him from my imagination and my memory and I make and re-make him and I toss a dream to the winds of cyber space and I say come look at the heart of golden darkness, come feel his golden long hair, and remember-- peace, brother? And the Age of Aquarius and "..how can people have no feelings; you know I'm hung up on you...easy to be cold; easy to say no." And if you are not young, then remember young and flowers in our hair and neck chains. And love children. And love. I say I and I say Joel with every mention of that word. He and I are one—we are a seedling wrapped in a seedling. I never think one thought, write one sentence without him in the forefront of my mind. I've been through my own species of hell, just as has or are or will everyone. Forget Joel? I am lost then. Am I not lost now? Yes and no. I should then be far more lost without him. He could not birth me. Therefore, I have seen fit, impossible not to do it, birth him in me. Still, in me, yet. Both meanings of that phrase as well. And some day full of fearfully made, I shall birth him and he shall do the same for me and everything-the air, the ground, the deep Autumn, the house, the hands to be held, the necklaces to be taken so carefully off, the hearts to find simultaneous beating—these will all be Joel—as every season and every book I've read and every song quotation and writer's quotation I've memorized and which I hold deep in my heart for solacing—all of these too are Joel. Count the stars. Throw the oceans at me and I shall and shall not survive because I have Von Helsing's cross—I know the territory—I know the words said and the words read and the dime store mentality that says health is our most important product—buy yours now at a mark down rate today only—here, let us categorize it for you because you need to take such baby steps when we who deserve to be around, we who condescendingly understand your poor reasoning—to which I say In Your Hat Charlie...you know nothing. There are no actuarial tables where I live. This to be place between the lines of my face and the palm prints of Joel's hands inside me. Dwell in the wellspring of me, Joel, for it has been impossibly lonely, for there are nothing but the morning stars and they are so strangely silent, for I remember them once upon a time in the greatest fairy tale ever. bounding up and pulsing with sheer and utter joy and rapture. Touch me again and remind me that time, that time I waited late night in my car on that country road, listening to "Vincent," how I heard your voice and looked with no fear but for the first time, total lack of fear, at your face, outside my driver's window---and your patented Joel smile and your hand to me—to dry my tear-- --To finally touch in an instant and I'm out of the car and holding you and the music is not sad anymore, and the sky says born—and the stars pulse and bounce and dance—and I was right about one single small enormous thing in my entire stupid mistaken fall down idiotic painful shameful ungraceful ungrateful ridiculous never-was failure of a life, I was and am right about one integral ingredient of magic forever shining bright--- Joel is my darling. Happy Valentine's, Joel. From Barry, with much love. I never forgot. I am good at this one thing—I never forgot. And I still love Joel. Stopover in Peoria Randy drove slowly through the red light district of Peoria. Work had brought him to Peoria, but his lust drove him to the decaying west end of the town. He had been through this town many times, driven down the gritty streets, watching as half naked women, some young and others not so young walked the sidewalks, waving and smiling at him through the car window. But this time was different. He was actually going to do this, this night, with one of these. Trapped in an unfulfilling marriage with an unresponsive unattractive blob of complacency, he could sublimate no more. He finally had gotten up the nerve and was ready to live out some fantasies with someone who would be willing to play along at the right price. He would command and pay for their response, but at least they would be pretending to connect to him. He knew what he wanted. A brunette, slender but with some curves, long hair, dark eyes. A real sweetheart who would really want to earn her money. He drove several blocks without seeing her. Then he caught a glimpse. Dark curly hair, fair skin, flashing eyes. Not tall, but nice proportions with a curvy plump ass and tits spilling from her top that was pulled off her creamy shoulders. She turned and saw him and smiled the kindest smile he had ever seen. This was it, now or never. It was exactly what he was looking for. He had been fucking a slut like this in his mind for years. He rolled down the window. "How much?" She leaned over into the window, her cleavage staring him in the face. "Depends on what you want, twenty for straight, other stuff more depending on what it is you want." She smelled clean, like soap and rosewater. Her voice and scent didn't go with the slutty off the shoulder top and miniskirt that barely covered her round ass. "What would you want for all night, anything I want until tomorrow morning?" Her kohl rimmed eyes widened. She fingered the narrow silver chain around her slender neck. She shrugged, "I guess $200 would get you anything you want until seven tomorrow morning." He nodded his assent. "Do you have a place where we can go?" "Yeah, up the next block and then one street to the left. It's just a room, but it's clean and nobody will bother us." "Get in." He watched as she settled herself into the sedan, self-consciously pulling her miniskirt down to cover as much as she could. Randy laughed to himself. A whore who was trying to maintain some modesty. "I like to see some leg if you don't mind." She looked up at him almost bashful, blushing, but she did as she was told and let the mini ride up her thighs, flirting with exposing some ass. "A blushing whore. What on earth I have I bought?" Randy thought as drove slowly through the twilight. Stealing sideways glances as he drove, he tried to determine her age. She wasn't a child, that was for sure, but there was almost an innocence in the way she bit her bottom lip and nervously picked at her schoolgirl manicure. "There," she said pointing, "The house on the right." She motioned to an old Victorian in the middle of the block. Not entirely unrespectable looking in some ways, just more like any one of several apartment houses Randy had rented a room in while he was in college. He parked the car across the street from the house and watched the girl as she fumbled in her purse trying to find her keys. She looked childlike, with her wide eyes, upturned nose, and smooth porcelain skin, but at the same time was pure sex, come and give it to me hard, let me taste your body type of lustiness oozing out of her. He liked the way her chocolate curls fell across her face went she bent her head forward. She had exquisite features, not hardened at all, but almost refined and very sweet in her softness. Her lips pouted as she searched for the keys. He wanted to grab her and kiss those lips, bite them and suck on them, but he waited patiently. "There," she announced, holding up a key ring decorated with a silver filigree heart, "I finally found them. I live upstairs. We'll have to go through the front entry. I hope you don't mind. The room is pretty private. The bathroom is on one side and the room on the other side is vacant, so we can make noise, if that's what you want." She smiled at him wrinkling her nose like she was laughing at some inside joke they shared, her white teeth flashing in the darkening car. "Sure, why not make some noise", thought Randy, wondering why he suddenly felt embarrassed at the thought of anyone hearing them. They got of the car, Randy matching her step, which was somewhat shortened and slowed because of her red stiletto heels and let her lead the way. They entered a dim entry hall and climbed up steep, dark creaking stairs. They made their way around a corner and came to a door at the end of the hall. "Here we are", she said, unlocking and swinging open the ancient varnished door with a solid glass doorknob, "It's not much, but it's home." Randy stepped in and the girl quickly turned on a lamp with a rose colored shade. The room was meticuliously clean and almost little girl-like in its charm. The ivory satin wallpaper was faded and loose in a few placed, but was covered with tiny pink tea roses. Her dresser, vanity and night table were covered with little what-nots, antique looking porcelain dolls and fancy perfume bottles. Surprisingly, there were stacks of books in odd corners, but a large bed dominated the room, covered with an almost virginal looking quilt. It looked more like the bedroom of a debutante than of a common streetwalker, but Randy was beginning to wonder just how common could this streetwalker be. Not many whores would have the same taste in literature that this one had. As he picked up a few tomes he realized few debutantes would have read some of the works that this little slut had in her boudoir. She definitely had a taste for reading material that would challenge many educated people in the world he inhabited. She turned after moving an arm load of throw pillows off the bed into the floor. He could see her now for the first time clearly, as it had been nearly dark when he selected her for purchase. She was exactly what he needed. She was the right height, had luscious soft looking tits, small waist spreading down into rounded hips and backside. Her hair fell just below her shoulders and he could have stared at her hypnotic eyes all day. He moved toward her to take her in his arms, but she quickly turned away, reaching towards a CD player that was half hidden under the bedcovers. "We need to have some music, don't we?" she asked as she touched a button, the room filling with a Bach concerto. Randy shook his head slightly, not knowing what to say or think. He felt a little dizzy. How could this little street trollop know that he would like that better than any background music she could have chosen? He reached out and pulled her roughly by her small wrists towards him and staring deeply into her eyes, moved down toward her reddened lips, and devoured them. After a few moments he released her, his head swimming, and said, "Your name, what is it?" "Isabella." That made sense. This was not a Trixie, a Rita, a Krystal, or a Bambi. This was an Isabella, well read and accustomed to making love to men to the strains of some of the finest symphonies in the world. He reached to taste more of her. She melted into him like a small kitten purring, her small hand running down his chest and then down until she touched his manhood, hardening through his pants. She pressed and stroked him and he released his kiss to pull her top down further, exposing her breasts, her light brown nipples erect and upturned. He moved downward, taking them into his mouth, first licking and sucking the tips, but then latching on and pulling her nipple back into his mouth. She began breathing heavily and before he realized what was happening she pressed into him and moaned. When she relaxed, he released her from his mouth. "Did you just come?" She nodded shyly and dropped her eyes. Was this a little actress or was she for real? She couldn't be real. He abruptly reached his hand up under her skirt and pushed a lacy thong aside. Well, her cunt was certainly soaked. It would be hard to fake that. "What do you want me to do for you tonight?" she asked quietly as he felt of her private parts, enjoying her warmth and wetness. "First of all, you need to drop to your knees and suck me some." He loosened his belt and quickly dropped his pants and underwear. Isabella obediently dropped to her knees and at first licked and kissed the crease at his groin on both sides. She flitted, teasing her tongue across his cock as she switched from one side to the other and only when he insisted did she then finally start on the cock itself, licking and then taking it in her mouth. She ran her warm wet tongue around the head and the hole and then flicked it repeatedly on the underside just below the head. Then, much to his surprise, she deep throated him in one motion, almost gagging herself on his length, but recovering quickly and diving her nose down to his pubic bone again, covering his entire shaft with her mouth and throat. Randy felt his eyes rolling back with the intensity of the sensations she was providing him. He couldn't last long with much of this. He quickly reached down and pulled her to her feet. He pulled her top and skirt the rest of the way off and she stood standing before him clad only in a red lace thong. "Turn around." Yes this was nice, a white creamy plump ass with a thong dissecting the two cheeks. "Bend over". Isabella obligingly bent forward over the bed. Randy reached out and kneaded the ass flesh and then decided to rid her of the thong, pulling it down to her ankles. He could see her fat shaven pussy lips as she lie bent over the bed. He spread her ass cheeks exposing her tight asshole. He mounted her and slowly began to spread her fleshy lips around his penis. For a whore who probably serviced dozens of men a week she was exquisitely tight. She was certainly well lubricated and with some patient pushing, he was finally able to enter her completely, filling her to the rim of her cunt with his hard cock. "You have a cock that could cut diamonds, you know that?" she whispered, as she began rocking her hips back and forth accepting his penetration, grabbing his cock with her wet flesh. He smiled at her compliment and had to agree that it was quite hard. He could not remember ever having been so aroused. He rode her until she seemed to have gotten off several times. It seemed to be real. Her body quivered and tensed, throbbing around his flesh. Each time she came it seemed to be accompanied by a gush of more warm pussy juice over his cock. After her fifth orgasm, he pulled out despite her cries of protest. "Get down her and suck, you bitch. Lick your own pussy juice off of me." She obeyed and actually seemed to enjoy it, licking and slurping all the way up and down his penis. He then again pulled her up to taste her mouth, filled with the taste of her own cunt and then pushed her back down over the bed. He entered her quickly this time, plunging in just a few times to lubricate his cock. He pulled out and began spreading her ass cheeks, fingering her tight little asshole. "Do you mind?" "No, go ahead, I really like it." What a little liar, he thought. He had never met a woman who liked it. You were lucky to find a woman who would tolerate it even once before they told you that you must be some kind of pervert. Well, he was paying for it, so she should say she liked it. He pressed the tip of his dick against her opening and began prying her ass open. She tensed a little for a moment and then said, "Go ahead, take it." With that he pushed it into her with one smooth stroke as she cried out, struggling to accept him. It was like heaven to feel her close up around him. He pulled at her hair, forcing her to arch her back, pressing her ass closer against him. He pulled her until she was fully erect on her feet, his dick still impaling her ass, pumping insistently as they stood front to back. She was moaning and he reached around, delicately fingering her clit and pussy as she accepting his ramming. Her wetness was running down onto her thighs. He felt his penis swell and fill and her ass began to be filled with his hot semen. He jerked repeatedly, emptying completely inside her. He rested his head over her shoulder as he composed himself. He slowly left her and turned her towards him, kissing her softly. "Go down and clean it with your mouth." She smiled slyly, arching one eyebrow. She finally had realized who she was dealing with. As she took him into her mouth, he closed his eyes and enjoyed her warm touch. "This is what sex should be," he thought. He lifted her again to her feet and picked her up gently, as though she were his bride. He placed her on the bed and crawling in next to her, pulling the crisp, bleach scented sheets over them both. He cupped her small body in his, putting his arms around her, owning her for the night. Stopover "I thought you were on for a shag there, mate – mind if I have a feel, too?" His eyes were looking past me and I turned round again. At the shock of his tap on the shoulder, I had released Carol – but she hadn't moved. She was leaning against the wall, her hands dangling by her sides, her dress still wide open, exposing her entire naked body! Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing jerky and excited, and her big brown eyes were wide, staring – but her gaze was fixed, not on me, but on the huge, swaying drunk by my side. Stunned into complete inactivity, I stared at her, then at him, as his dulled eyes raked over Carol's full naked breasts, and the thick dark jungle between her parted thighs. Then, in absolute astonishment, I heard her say in a low, tense whisper – "Come on, then – if you want – come and have a feel." For a few tension-laden seconds, he didn't move, but then he lurched forward and put his hands on my wife's naked breasts. His hands were huge, virtually covering them completely. Carol, unbelievably, gasped, and a little smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. I saw the drunk's tongue come out to lick round his lips, then his hands squeezed Carol's tits, hard, and she moaned with pleasure. "Oooooohhhhh," she whispered. "Yessssssss – hard – squeeze them hard. Squeeze my tits – yesssssssss ........." I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Carol was staring into his face, with an expression on her own face which I had never seen before. She was encouraging him to squeeze her harder, to pull her nipples. Her eyes were fixed on him, as though I was a million miles away. "Go on," she groaned. "Go on – squeeze my nipples – yes, like that – now kiss them – go on – put it in your mouth – oh, yes, suck it – oh, that's wonderful – oh, yes, yes, yes ......" Then, as he took her left breast into his mouth, Carol grabbed his hand and pulled it down between her thighs. "Do you want to feel my cunt, now – it's all wet, and ready – go on – feel it – feel how wet it is ......" He pulled his head back and stared down between her naked thighs, then his hand cupped her groin, forcing his fingers between the soft flesh of her upper thighs. Carol took her hand off his and leaned back against the wall, her hands flat against the rough brickwork, thrusting the centre of her body hard against his groping hand. I looked on, in stupefaction, as his fingers slid back and forth in the juices streaming down her inner thighs, and Carol's groans of pleasure and passion became more and more unrestrained. Her head was rolling from side to side, and her unfettered naked breasts were jiggling up and down as her hips pushed against his huge bony hand. Then he withdrew it, slightly, and curled all his fingers up to his massive palm – except the middle one, which stood out, thick and straight – and he plunged it up through her bush, deep between her quivering thighs. Carol's entire body stiffened and her mouth opened wide as she took in a huge, quivering, gasping breath, then she released a piercing shriek of pure ecstasy ...... Her joyous cry of pleasure jerked me, at last, out of my trance. I grabbed the shoulder of the heavy tweed jacket and heaved the man backwards. He stumbled, tripped, and fell over, cursing, into the thick hedge. With one swoop, I pulled Carol's dress round her and manhandled her back to the car, dropping her into the passenger seat before racing round and starting the car and skidding out of the car park as though all the devils of hell were after me. I made it back to the hotel in a matter of minutes, and threw a coat over Carol before rushing her into the entrance. Fortunately, the reception desk was temporarily unmanned and we were able to get to our room unobserved. I slammed the door behind me and, breathing in short, almost panicky gasps, looked at my wife for the first time since I had dragged the old drunk off her. She was sitting on the end of the double bed, holding my coat round her, her head down, but her eyes looking up at me, through her thick eye-lashes. She, too, was breathing quickly, and her eyes were glittering with an intense excitement. I realised that her whole body was shaking uncontrollably. Through a maelstrom of emotions, I became aware, gradually, that my erection had not subsided, and that the thing I wanted to do most, in all the world, was to roll Carol back onto the big soft bed and fuck her like I had never fucked her before. I took a step towards her, and her head snapped up. One look at me told her my intent and she put her hands up, as if to fend me off. The coat fell open and I looked at her revealed body – it had never looked so desirable. "Stephen!" she said, her eyes pleading. "Please – please – don't fuck me – not yet." I looked at her, uncomprehending. "Please," she went on. "Not for a little while ......" Her hands reached out and grasped the buckle of my belt. She pulled frantically at my trousers until they slid down to my ankles. Then she did something she hadn't done since the first year of our marriage – she cupped my balls with her left hand, slid the fingers of her right round the lower shaft of my throbbing cock, and drew the head into her mouth. As her lips closed round the corona, I felt her tongue lick fiercely at my swollen, pulsating glans, as her hand slid wetly up and down the part of my shaft which was still exposed. I groaned and threw my head as I felt the pressure build up in my tight testicles – then I was pumping ferociously against the back of Carol's throat, my body jerking in long, shuddering spasms. I could feel her jaw and throat muscles working as she swallowed my sperm, her tongue racing frantically round the pulsating head of my cock, licking and sucking every drop out of me, her hand squeezing it up my channel. When, at last, it was over, my legs felt like rubber, and I folded, none too gracefully, on to the bed. Carol let my cock slide out from between her lips, but kept her hand round it as it slowly shrank back to normality. For a few seconds – minutes? – I was in that post-orgasmic state of euphoric bliss where your mind remains totally empty, cleansed of all thought. I was dimly aware that Carol had removed my shirt – my shoes and trousers having long since been discarded – and, also, her own covering garments. It was still too warm to slide under the duvet and we lay, naked, on top of it, side by side, on our backs. Usually, at this point, I would have been drifting contentedly off to sleep but, as soon as my mind began to function again, a whole host of questions began to plague me and, as I thought about them, I realised that the remembered images which provoked them were stirring further pulses of excitement at the root of my still quiescent penis. At exactly the same moment, we each raised ourselves on to an elbow, and faced each other. I looked into my wife's eyes – now serious and, I thought, just a little apprehensive. A rush of emotion overwhelmed me and I reached out and took her in my arms, hugging her fiercely. Burying her face in my neck, Carol wound her arms round me, in return, and pressed her body as close to me as she could. I felt her soft breasts squash against my naked chest and I tightened the pressure of my arms round her. She was still shaking, a little, and I wondered if she was crying. "Are you OK?" I whispered into her thick, slightly damp hair, curled round her ears. She raised her head a fraction to let me hear her reply. "Yes. You?" I nodded my head, and leaned back to look into her face. "What happened?" I said. "I – you – what happened?" We eased apart a little. I moved a hand from Carol's back and gently slid it over her left breast. She covered it with one of hers, and raised her mouth to kiss me. I expected her to taste a little strange, after having my cock in her mouth, but I couldn't detect any difference. It was Carol who eased her mouth away, first. "I don't know where to start," she said. "As soon as we decided to do this trip, I wondered what we'd be like – just the two of us. It's been so long since we've been – alone. And – I thought about having a room where we couldn't be interrupted, or overheard." She gave an embarrassed little chuckle. "Actually," she went on, "that's why I started going to the gym, with Janice and Sonia – to do a bit of 'firming-up'!" "You didn't have to," I affirmed, running my hand down over her hips, by way of reassurance, and she laughed – with, I thought, a hint of relief, that we seemed to be 'back to normal'. Her hand slid down between us and closed affectionately over my cock and balls. Her eyes closed, momentarily, and she gave a tiny shudder. "Do you remember when we were passing Catterick? We were in a line of cars, all doing about eighty – and we passed a police car, in the inside lane." I did remember, but had reasoned he couldn't possibly book all of us, so I just drove on, and got back into the inside lane at the next opportunity. "Well, you know what I'm like," went on Carol. "I felt so guilty, I couldn't resist a sideways glance. There were two policemen in the car, just talking to each other. They didn't even look over, but – do you remember you once read out a letter to me from one of these magazines you get, sometimes? It was about a man who was stopped and breathalysed – and – and his wife went into the woods with two policemen, so that he wouldn't be arrested ......" I did remember it. My balls tightened and I felt my cock stiffen slightly at the memory of it. "The two policemen in the car reminded me of it," said Carol. Her voice was a little lower – a little bit breathless. "I sat beside you, wondering about how I would feel – if that was me. Walking into the trees – away from you, away from the car – with two men, knowing what was going to happen. Two men I didn't even know. How would I feel, knowing that I was going to be stripped naked? Knowing that they were going to put their hands on my breasts, and my bottom – and – between my legs. I even closed my eyes, to imagine it better. I though about them walking along, with me between them, their cocks getting hard inside their uniform trousers, as they thought about taking my clothes off, about seeing me, touching me – and then laying me down on the grass, and fucking me ......" "And how would you feel?" I managed to breathe, my mouth dry as I, too, conjured up pictures in my mind's eye. My cock was fully erect again, and Carol's hand was stroking it, almost absent-mindedly – but her mind was elsewhere. "Oh," she breathed. "Frightened – I'd be so frightened – but so excited! When I was thinking about it, in the car, I wanted to touch myself, I was so – sensitive – down there. I thought about me naked, them touching me, all over, and making me touch them – their hardness, through their trousers, and then about them opening their trousers and taking out their – penises." "And then, about how I would feel as the first one entered me – how ashamed I'd be because it would be so easy, because I would be so ready – so moist. And then I started thinking they might not want me just lying down. Maybe they would want me up against a tree, or bending forward – the way you like it. Maybe they would want me to – to use my mouth ......" Her voice trailed off. Her hand was now gripping my cock, hard, and I could feel the tension flowing through her. "Oh, Stephen," she whispered, "I was so turned on. The thought of just fucking – being fucked by – two strange men. No love, no affection – just sex. Just fucking – like animals. All I was to them was a pair of tits and a cunt – a nice warm wet hole for them to stick their big hard cocks into, and fuck, until they came. And no choice – no 'woman's right to refuse'. I was just there for them to use – to fuck, until they had had enough, and then to walk away, leaving me lying on the ground, my cunt full of what they had pumped inside it." Suddenly, she burrowed her head into my neck again, and her hand left my cock, her arms squeezing me with every ounce of strength she possessed. "Hey," I tried to reassure her, my own mind a complete whirl, my heart thundering with excitement. "It's OK, my love," I whispered. "It's just a fantasy – we all have them – you know I do ......" "Yes," she whispered back. "But – tonight – that man at the pub – if you hadn't stopped him, I think I would have let him ......" "It was the shock," I said. "Your mind just stopped – reasoning – when he appeared. You were worked up – all ready for me to do it, and ......" "No!" Carol interrupted, sounding almost desperate. "No! You don't understand, Stephen." "Carol," I said. "Look – it's OK. It didn't happen – and, in case you hadn't noticed, what did happen is one of the most exciting things that's ever happened – for me – in my entire life." And it was. I was still a million miles away from sorting out my long-term reactions, but one thing I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, was that the image of his hands enveloping Carol's naked tits, and groping her wet and ready pussy, and the sounds of her responsive moans of desire and pleasure, were seared into my consciousness for all time and I could not imagine that these memories would ever provoke anything but unadulterated arousal in me, in future. Like now. My erect cock was as hard as if I hadn't had an orgasm for a month, and I was yearning to feel it enter my wife's welcoming pussy again ...... I pushed my hand between her thighs. Her lips felt full and moist, and her vagina opened like a flower under my probing fingers. I felt Carol's thighs part, and I slid one finger inside her, my thumb finding the hard bud of her clitoris, and sliding easily over it. "Do you know why I didn't want to let you fuck me as soon as we got back?" she whispered, urgently. "It was because I could still 'feel' his finger inside me – inside my cunt – probing and poking. I didn't want to 'lose' the feeling. When he took hold of my tits, it was like being grabbed by two pieces of sandpaper – his hands were so rough, and hard. He made me feel like a complete slut – like a hooker, but without the money – and I loved it!" "And it wasn't a shock, Stephen! He knew what was going on. When I left the car, and approached the pub, he was playing the fruit machine by the window. He looked out at me – he watched me all the way from the car. He must have seen you, too. He knew we were together – he knew we were playing a game." "He never took his eyes off me all the time we were in the pub. I could feel him, watching me – I knew he was picturing me, naked, without my clothes. And it excited me – and it was OK, because we were only staying for a few minutes, and then going back to the hotel. I was going to tell you about him, then – I knew it would make you excited." "And then you suggested we should do it outside. Of course, my first reaction was to say 'No' – and then I thought about him, watching – Peeping Tom – maybe masturbating while he watched – maybe letting me see him masturbate while you were fucking me. And that's what made me change my mind ......" "I saw him come out of the door as we turned the corner to go behind the pub. I could hardly breathe with excitement, Stephen. When I stopped, against the wall, he was looking round the corner, and, when you grabbed me – oh, I couldn't believe it! – he came round and started walking towards us! I thought he would just stay there and look, from a distance, but he came right up behind you, and watched. He was right behind your shoulder and – I just lost control!" "I was worried that you would just pull my dress up and screw me without taking my clothes off – that was why I asked you to take my tits out, then, when you started on the buttons at the bottom, I undid the top ones myself – so that he could see my tits, clearly, while you were bent down in front of me. I couldn't believe you didn't know he was there – I really thought you knew, and that you wanted him to see me, too!" "I thought, when I started pulling my nipples, that he would touch me, then, but he didn't, and – and – I was disappointed! I wanted him to touch me and squeeze my tits with his big hands – and then he touched your shoulder, and I realised that you had no idea he had been there all along!" "And you stood back, and left me, naked, against the wall. And I looked at him, looking at my nakedness, and I had never been so aroused! Every nerve-end in my body was standing up and still he didn't touch me. And I had to ask him, Stephen – I had to ask a dirty old man to give my aching tits a feel! And when he did – when he grabbed them with his filthy hard hands, and squeezed them, and pulled my nipples – I wanted more!" "So I pushed his hand between my legs and pled with him to feel my cunt! You heard me – I begged him! And then, when he stuck his finger up me – that's when I wanted his cock, Stephen. I wanted him to pull out his cock and spread my legs and fuck me, while you watched. Oh, I wanted you to watch your polite respectable wife being fucked like an animal – by an animal – until she screamed for mercy ......" At some point during Carol's 'confession', I had mounted her. She was now lying on her back, legs wide, my cock driving into her with slow, regular, deep strokes. Her voice, as she spoke, was breathless, not with contrition, but with steadily building excitement, as she – and I – mentally relived the events of the past few hours. Her arousal was at least matched by my own. Her confession that she had deliberately displayed herself to the piece of human flotsam who had so recently taken such intimate liberties with her, far from horrifying me, had sent me into a fever pitch of arousal, and her final sentence provoked me right 'over the top'. "Did you, Carol?" I stared down into her eyes as I withdrew, then slammed up into her harder than before. "Did you want him to fuck your sweet pussy with his dirty hard cock?" I demanded, using the last vestiges of my strength to ride my wife harder than I ever had in my whole life. "Did you want him to stick his cock into you until it hit the back of your throat and you could feel his sperm shooting into you – did you want him to make you come and come until you slid down the wall in sheer exhaustion?" By now, she was screaming "Yes! Yes! Yes!" and clutching me like somebody drowning, her body shaking uncontrollably in an endless series of violent spasms, and, from somewhere deep inside me, I at last dredged up the energy to heave myself over the edge of yet another orgasm, and pinned her flailing body to the bed as I pumped the last dregs of my semen deep inside her ...... As my personal collection of starshells burst into a myriad fragments inside my head, I could feel Carol finally slacken as her own climax waned. Her arms slid away and fell, limply, beside her, and she took a huge shuddering breath. And, as the last vestiges of consciousness prepared to depart my brain, I heard her whisper – " But thanks for stopping me ......" (As ever, e-mail comment is welcome, and will receive a reply, if a return address is provided.)